Please note: This article contains affiliate links, meaning I may earn a commission if you make a purchase by clicking a link. Here are my top recommendations to plan a great Frankfurt itinerary! This article provides options for those who want to spend one day in Frankfurt (a phenomenal day, by the way). Plus, having a German last name (I am a sixth-generation descendant of a German) helped me to fit in with the locals. Frankfurt captured me with its sunny weather, cheerful atmosphere, whimsical river views, and the fact that a lot of people walk with a sausage in hand. That ended up being a fantastic decision. Nevertheless, a little voice inside kept telling me to spend some time in the city. When I visited, I had the option to fly there and move on to my next destination right away. I know a lot of people use Frankfurt as a transit or layover point. This is an ideal read for people who are short on time or want to make the best of a long layover. Frankfurt is the mother ship.This guide gives you tons of details on how to spend one day in Frankfurt, Germany. Info: apfelwein is Germany’s take on cider. Time: Can vary - some places are open in the day, some aren’t. Food: Think cheese and sausage and sauerkraut. Cost: The apfelwein is cheap – mostly 1.50 euros a holiday goose with the trimmings is around 100 euros. We just hope he doesn’t cut it with champagne.ĭirections: Scattered throughout Frankfurt’s Sachsenhausen area. But all the same, he never forgot about Frankfurt and its forbidden fruit. A German sitting next to us tells us he’s lived in Paris for 27 years but was born on this very street. There are several young women here - at last! Two Japanese men eat what look like pork chops from a prehistoric boar. Once that mission is complete, we’re back in Wagner’s. We order a bembel that is too big too much cider for two. I have cheese and onions and kraut and Peter goes for blood sausage. We leave and find a place that’s jumping. The younger of the guys, about 40 to the other’s 60 or so, offers to his elder: “I never want to be as old as you are today, that I tell you.” I have to steal this.”Ībout the only other customers are two men and their wives celebrating a birthday. “I don’t believe this,” says Peter, eyebrows waving. Not only are there kebabs and Guinness now, but one apfelwein place even adorns its tables with slick ads for something called Pomp, plugged “apple seduces grape.” It’s apfelwein-plus-sparkling Riesling Sekt, allegedly the drink of the German upper classes way back when. Sachsenhausen is definitely faster than it was in the days when those men in the frescoes tanked up in the sunshine. It takes some looking, but we do indeed find more äppelwoi. We pass a Turkish kebab shop and a Lebanese place and a couple Irish pubs. So we’re back outside in Sachsenhausen and its old dormered buildings just across the river, but a world away, from Frankfurt’s “Mainhatten” skyline. This is all very instructive, but there’s more product to be sampled. Often, the drink is brought to tables in a bembel, a round ceramic jug of five, six, seven, eight, 10, 12 or 20 glasses, painted gray or blue. A daytime drinker would use his deckel to keep bugs and leaves out of his sour nectar come summer. The museum proudly shows off a case of the discs. In the old days, whenever those were, gemalten haus regulars had their own deckels, wooden caps adorned with metal seals depicting the logo of a particular bar or town. Sometimes Germans even cut it with water or lemonade. The German cider is much less sweet than its Irish and English cousins. No, the real gems are small, hard and as acidic as a BMW battery. The museum is also a restaurant and its displays eagerly relay how today’s supermarket apples, all sugar and shine, aren’t up to apfelwein standards. Peter is eager to educate and we find ourselves just off the big Christmas market and inside the Frankfurter Apfelwein Museum. This is nice, but I want to know more about the cult of the apple. Another gent, who looks about 6-foot-10, walks in and is immediately waved down by throngs of old friends. One guy with a wire brush mustache brushes up on the Bild, the tabloid daily renowned for its front-page cleavage. There are a few young people, yes, but a larger number of silver-haired types in vests and jackets. And it turns out Georg has been sipping cider in this very place for the past 50 years. Straightaway, Peter strikes up a conversation with Georg Otte, 66. “And you talk to the person next to you.” “See, this is traditional here,” says Peter, a towering, gray-headed German who is expert on apfelwein and fermentation in general.
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