I was traveling for a couple of weeks last month. I spent a lot of time in airports. In each one I had time on my hands. As a result I wrote at least one post in each of the airports, which I will post over the next few days. After that, castles and Roman ruins and some things that will surprise you and (I hope) interest you.

One of the benefits of travel is that it can be a learning experience. Not that the lessons are ones you necessarily want to learn. Such was the case with my first visit to the Frankfurt Airport.

It was 1986, my first visit to continental Europe. Vivian was taking me to meet some of her relatives in Germany, for the first time.

We stopped in England though on the way. Actually stopped is too strong a word, it was more changed planes. We were coming back to England in a couple of weeks to go to the Greenbelt festival. To make things easier we had made arrangements to leave our camping gear with a friend in London.

There was just enough time for the trip into the city and back out to the airport to catch our flight to Frankfurt. Or so we thought. Our flight was delayed.

We arrived in Frankfurt late, after midnight. The whole airport seemed to be closed. No customs clearance or security (possibly because it was a European flight, but I was expecting more – the airport had been bombed in a terrorist attack the previous year. You could see the fresh paint.)

We were to stay in Frankfurt for a couple of days, staying with a friend of Vivian’s from her teen years. She wasn’t there to meet us. And that’s when I learned an important lesson.

All I was carrying was traveler’s cheques and Canadian cash. I figured I didn’t really need anything other than that. That was back in the day when traveler’s cheques were the norm and could be cashed pretty much anywhere. That is if there was anything open, which there wasn’t. But it was no big deal – we were being met.

Except we weren’t. Vivian’s friend was not there to greet us. In 1986 no-one had a cell phone, so we had to find a pay phone to call her home. We had no change for the phone. Nothing was open, we couldn’t cash a traveler’s cheque.

Eventually, having scoured the airport trying to find someone to help (even the airline service desks were al closed) we went to the Sheraton Hotel located adjacent to the terminal They wouldn’t cash a traveler’s cheque, but they did exchange some of my Canadian cash for German Marks (this was pre-Euro days). They then exchanged bills for some change so we could use the pay phone.

No answer at the friend’s place. It was 1:30 a.m. and she wasn’t at the airport to greet us, and she wasn’t home. Naturally we were concerned. But we figured there was nothing we could do.

So we gave up o Frankfurt. Armed now with a bit of cash we were able to take public transit to the train station and get an overnight train to Lippstadt to visit Vivian’s aunt there. As I have said before, you gotta be flexible when you travel.

Vivian’s friend? We eventually received a letter in which she mentioned that she was sorry not to have seen us when we were in Germany. Almost 30 years later, I’m still waiting for an explanation as to why she didn’t show up. Somehow I don’t think I’m going to get it.

Written at Frankfurt Airport, May 21, 2015.