Frankfurt, the abandoned Theme Park

by - Sunday, March 29, 2020

It's a late March day in Frankfurt, Germany. According to the calendar, Spring is already here. You wouldn't know from the dark grey sky, the cold winds and temperatures hovering in the mid 40's. And it doesn't feel like Spring, either.

A visit to the local supermarket confirms what measures have been put into place in the city. In the parking garage, it appears that even the cars are complying with the social distance requirements, as there are several empty spaces separating each car. There are no shopping carts. To get one, you need to walk through the sliding doors and get one, no token or Euro piece needed, for obvious reasons. The less you touch anything around here, the better. 

There's a greeter at the door ensuring that everybody has a shopping cart, which is there to enforce the social distance of 1,50 meters. That's about five feet, and Germans don't need to be told twice. For the Germans, not necessarily known for being the warmest or most physical people on earth, the extra distance requested of them is not a big deal. Germans are the typical example of people who harbor plenty of affection but don't necessarily want the world to see it, especially on their sleeves. Hugs and kisses have their place, usually in songs and poems about Rome or Athens. In Frankfurt, the thought or the emoji will do, thank you...and maybe an extra hug when all of this is over with.

In the supermarket, people move quickly and with purpose. They are here to buy and not to shop. People are hesitant to stay in one place for too long. All of a sudden, there is no friendly conversation with the baker or the cheesemonger. Today it's business only. Don't touch anything unless you want to buy it. Keep your distance at the cashier. A few people are wearing surgeon masks, and people steal sideward glances at them as if looking at the masked people for too long might prompt a virus to jump at them after what can only be considered mild eye contact.

Outside, a U-Bahn, or subway train, coasts along the tracks heading north. There are no passengers on board, none at all, yet the train rattles on, almost defiantly. I watch three of these trains. Line 1 to Ginnheim, Line 3 to Bad Homburg and Line 8 to Heddernheim. The transit system's website has already announced that, beginning Monday, the trains' itineraries will be following Sunday's schedules, meaning services will be cut nearly in half. And I still doubt you will need that many busses or trains.

The busses are no different. One of the typically turquoise Frankfurt busses stops along the Eschenheimer Landstrasse, the doors open with a wheeze and close again. There are no passengers on the bus, either. Busses and trains are literally going through the motions here. 

The state of Hessen itself has 3,000 Coronavirus cases, not nearly as many as their neighbors to the south in Bavaria and Baden Württemberg, but the number keeps rising. Relief from Berlin is on the way, at least for people who have been laid off or might lose their jobs. Germany's economy, like every other, will take a hit. 

Germans are extremely effective at self-policing. A polite warning from a neighbor or even a stranger is usually sufficient for the person to mind his p's and q's, or in this case his umlauts. The last thing Germans want is any confrontation with the law. The single-minded collective goal is the flattening of the COVID-19 curve.

The parks, predictably, are still full. This seems to be the last refugee for citizens of Frankfurt. They can close playgrounds, but not the park. It almost seems like Frankfurt is a giant playground or theme park, only that nobody will come out to play. Even when the weather improves, people will stay inside...and ride the storm out.

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