The next morning we could at least use the hostel’s luggage storage. We went to a fuel-station shop for coffee and Bockwurst, then continued to Lidl and Aldi for some final German shopping: chocolates, Schnittlauch, Lebkuchen, Haribo and everything else that seemed worth trying to fit into our bags.
For lunch we found a traditional German restaurant frequented by office workers and Porsche mechanics still wearing their overalls. We ordered schnitzel and pork ribs.
We should probably not say it too loudly after eating our way through Europe for more than 70 days, but those ribs were one of the best meals of the entire trip.
Back at the hostel Hugo worked while Caro walked to Edeka for a few things we had not found, including Goldsaft.
Caro somehow managed to pack everything into our backpacks, which had gained another 10 kg with the help of an overflow duffel bag containing shoes and some of the other purchases. Hopefully nothing breaks.
At 17:15 we caught Tram 11 and changed to the S8 for the airport.
Frankfurt’s underground S-Bahn stations are quite something to see. About eight regional lines funnel through the same underground corridor, sometimes only two minutes apart, before fanning out again in every direction.
At the airport we took the Skyline to Terminal 3.
As at almost every other border crossing, there were only one or two officials working while about ten booths stood closed. Our queue barely moved. There was another queue with four officers, but nobody knew who was allowed to join it because people were being directed there individually.
Every now and then somebody ahead of us gave up and moved to the other queue. The only reason we moved forward was because other people kept leaving.
We had arrived four hours early, so we simply waited our turn and had a good conversation with the man in front of us: a fellow “South African” with a New Zealand passport who lives in the UK.
After that, there was nothing left to do except wait to board.
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