Towards Frankford 2

Frankford (like most of the cities of Germany) seemed to me from the begining a reinventing city, that even if it is a phrase long enought listened, as I remember it is the perfect to interpretate what was happening before my eyes. As I entered to the Schnellbahn (German for "speed train") station I submerged into that particular urbanity of Germans, a half tube like metal sheet seeling suspended over our heads with a square net covering the exits until the archery of Eiffel like pillars that supported it ended its reign.
That would be the first time I took a train (if I have permission to call it that way), because who ever knows my land, will know Mexico has just two trains, one being a turistic one, the Chepe, over the northern part of the country, traveling across the Copper Canyon, and the other, brand new suburban rail that links Mexico's downtown with the agro-industrial center of Cuauhtitlan, that even it started to run almost exctly a year before I began this journey, I had never enjoy its ride.

And when the train began to increase it speed  and emit a soft but then hardening noice who every one would compare it to a Star War's sound effect, my heart began to accelerate, I felt in a movie, just getting into anothers life without opposing myself, feeling to be dragged by the story, schedules, plans and routes bluring in my mind, I just wanted to arrive to the hotel, check in, leave my rucksack, wash my self and get lost in the city.
As the doors opened, I found the only seat available at my disposal (being a Mexico City dweller has its advantages in public transportation space monopolisation). So my ruck and my haversack were at my feet with out my crowded surroundings even try to penetrate my fortress.

About a minute of dashing flashlights at my left and right overpassed my eyes.

The arrival 1

Little did I knew, when I arrived for the first time to Europe that that year was going to be so tempestous as it was.
I found my self in Frankford's airport, reciving my baggage, thinking about the midatlantic view, in which you can watch day and night, the old and the new continents, just standing there, divided by the sea between Greenland and Iceland (even their names completely antithetic) a rounded-edge-window to a picture that perfectly conjugates Earth, untouchable and harmonious, I was pushed to kiss the cold floor feeling myself as the Pope; the continent at last was going to meet me.

I've landed at the heart of Europe.

And indeed, I was at the neuralgic center of the EU's industry, transportation, comerce and economics (since the bank of Europe is here and in that moment, more related was that this is the second buisiest airport of Europe, second below Charles de Gaule's), watching every nationality came out of tunnels quick walking throught corridors or waiting in the middle of a chair plantation. But before seeing the S-Bahn enter doorway, I looked for a settle moment, just to leave the thoughts come by.

I soon found a place where the the mouvement couldn't bother me, I touch my left mound (feeling very American?, wrong thought, means buttock) where my notebook in my never ending jeans or khakies (not so sure if my liking of khakies started in Europe or just linked to my infance back in Veracruz) is always carried off, took it out and started my first impression of Europe.

As this note was printed I commenced the evergreen attestation of my wandering.