To the Bedspring Factory!

Red Clogs here, reporting in from Lower Saxony (Hannover, Germany) this Sunday morning. It’s raining lightly, the rowers are gliding (seemingly) effortlessly across the tree-encircled Masch lake, and the ducks are having it out with another. Should they stay on the right side with the yellow benches or should they swim out to the middle? Decision reached. They swim to the middle, quacking noisily.

It’s the perfect backdrop for reflection; something I’ve had ample opportunity to do these past 2 weeks as I make my way across the autobahns and backroads of Switzerland and Germany.

19 days, 1200 miles in a rented VW Passat,  55 meals and just, ummm… me.

“Wow, you’re brave”, “I could never do that”, “Really? You’re all alone?” were some of the comments I heard when explaining my planned trip. And it’s not without reason. Given the virus, the changing CDC guidelines (level 3 became level 4 the day I landed in Switzerland), the lack of clarity about what to expect…one could certainly argue that I’m crazy. But I was compelled to come by some force within, something that defied guidelines and the media, and I felt confident in my choice.

I followed 2 principles – 1) as long as things weren’t worse in Europe than at home, my trip was a go, and 2) I would, as my Driver’s Ed teacher taught me all those years ago, “expect the unexpected.” I mentally prepared myself for something to go wrong  –  a delay, a misunderstanding, the order to quarantine, or even an immediate need to return home.

In fact, none of this has occurred. The greatest disappointments have had to do with Stau (omnipresent traffic jams which stretch for kilometers/hours on the autobahn) and getting drenched in a late afternoon downpour in Cologne  after visiting the Chocolate Museum (but heck, I had chocolate!). Oh -and the bit about Bedspring Factory Street. More on that to come.

The majority of people here are masked, respectful, and keep a distance. In hotels and restaurants, if your mask slips below your nose, they are ON IT asap.

I’ve shown my Vaccination card a bit randomly; at a cathedral but not a museum, at a coffee shop (where I sat outdoors) but not at the historic mustard mill. I’ve filled out multiple paper forms with my name and address. I’ve eaten 95% of meals outdoors. It’s quite a time to be here as the only other “tourists” are from within the country or just over the border. I hear no English. In Switzerland, I was the only German speaker at my hotel (guests were French, Spanish, a couple of Brits) and in Germany, they are visiting from other parts of the country. Everywhere you go, you see signs reminding you to keep a distance of 1.5 meters, hand sanitizer stands, and the 3 G’s rule (“geimpft, getestet, genesen” – vaccinated, tested, or recovered.)

After 18 months of drowning in media reports, politics, uncertainty, and fear, it’s regenerative to be here. I’m reminded, at a visceral level, why we travel. There are so many reasons, but ultimately, I travel to reclaim the deepest part of myself, to persevere and triumph despite the unknown, and to emerge stronger and more resilient than before. (ok, and yes, to drink amazing coffee and eat baked goods, chocolate, and cheese.)

Some highlights:

But what’s all this about a bedspring factory, you ask?

Well, one of the most enjoyable things to do on a Saturday in Hannover (or Vienna or Berlin, for that matter), is peruse the Flohmarkt (flea market). In Hannover, this stretches along the expanse of the Leine River and it’s good fun to check out the people, listen to snippets of conversation, and see full validation of the principle “one man’s junk is another man’s treasure.” I will admit, it wasn’t completely by chance that I scheduled myself to be in Hannover for the weekend 😊

Friday night, I went online to confirm opening times for the Flohmarkt only to discover it, like so much else, had been temporarily stopped by Covid. But wait! There was a notice for a “Market for Handmade Goods”!! The address was “Zur Bettfedernfabrik 3” or “To the Bedspring factory” (street).

It looked like a bit of a distance to get there but I had nothing better to do so I set out by foot. I walked. And walked. And walked. Walked some more. I walked through some very interesting parts of town. I walked by a stream I hadn’t known existed and by some new housing and by benches with left-behind bottles from who-knows-what-happened the night before.

After close to an hour, I came upon Bedspring Factory Street. To be fair, Bedspring Factory Row is a more appropriate moniker. (Yes, back in 1861, a factory was established on this spot which made and cleaned bedsprings.) And there, in a covered alley, were about 8 tables, manned/womanned by locals with very unique (as in, not so desirable for someone like me) goods. Homemade jams and brews, which normally would appeal, but were packed in such a way they would never make it back to the US without spilling their contents. Crocheted baby sweaters and socks. Really weird jewelry. Tissue pack holders made from umbrella fabric. T-shirts with silhouettes of women with sharply defined nipples. It was like I had just arrived at the Mad Hatter’s Tea Party.

Did I despair? I did NOT. I enjoyed the moment and laughed. I chatted with a few of the folks and respectfully showed interest in their crafts. I explained that it wouldn’t be a good idea to try and fly to California with a barely-stopped-up bottle of homemade quince liqueur in my bag. And then I walked another couple of miles to the 126 year old Dutch Cocoa Parlor and ate a large square of Italian plum streusel cake and drank a mocha and felt immense gratitude.

NB – the author realizes that her choices are hers alone and are in no way meant to provoke or devalue differing points of view about how safe it is to travel overseas at the moment!