The birds sing loud and clear outside the open window, it is barely light and they are a chorus of a thousand different voices and a multitude of songs. What a way to wake up, struggle into the clothes and descent the three flights of stairs in the tiny old half-timbered house.The toilet is in the back of the building, ground floor.
Afterwards, sit down on the comfortable park seats outside. They are wood and steel, but still, they are comfortable.
Listen to the bird song, not understanding anything, but enjoying that cacophony of calls and whistles, some seem to chant, some just manage an irregular staccato burst of sound. There are so many voices, it is like a crowd of opera singers doing their warm-up exercises independenttly of one another.
Then climb up to the third story of the small house, there is a wire for an aerial hanging across the stairs and leading to the Polish worker's room, he likes to watch polish television at night.
Return to the room, and sleep for another hour, it is so pleasant just to rest and relax, to know that breakfast is being prepared by the master of the house and his wife. This is not a thing that should be, but it is pleasant to meet with such generosity. There is time to take a short shower in the basement bathroom, and then to take a walk in the garden and to have a chat with the brother who is taking pictures of the plants that have developed so well here.
Breakfast is a delight, with eggs and bacon, bread and cheese. There is good coffee to drink.
And when all is done, accompany the brother on his journey to Frankfurt, time to admire the landscape and to chat with the brother about things that have hitherto remained unsaid.
And at Frankfurt airport, say goodbye, and try to take a train to Nuremberg.
The trains are all broken and slow, it takes two hours to lose sight of the banker's towers in Frankfurt.
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