Say what you like about German ferry boat receptionists, but they are impervious to Gaz Charm. It’s a rare skill and very annoying. Mind you, she did redeem herself by letting us off the ferry while frantically searching for the other two, foot passengers.
Which makes me wonder how the other, two foot passengers boarded the ferry in the first place. They definitely were not on the shuttle from Trelleborg. But there they were, boarding the shuttle in Rostock.
Something similar happened on Mirinda’s return trip from the UK. Curiouser and curiouser. There’s clearly some sort of singularity in the Baltic.
Anyway, having left the ferry and been politely dropped at the terminal, we were worried about how we would order a taxi given it was 6am on a Sunday morning. I’d already asked the aforementioned receptionist and her advice was to head into the terminal and they’d call one for me. The terminal doesn’t open until 7am.
Anyway, as it turned out, we needn’t have given it a thought. A taxi was waiting. Not specifically for us, I should add. Just anyone needing a taxi. Like us.
Train 4: Rostock hbf to Leipzieg hbf
Obviously, we were way too early, so we sat in the largely empty station for a bit.
Fortunately, coffee was available from a lovely woman with blue hair and a sunny smile, contradicting the weather which was successfully trying to rain.
A word of warning: learn the German word for sugar and avoid putting salt in your coffee. It’s not very nice. Mind you, the cheese wrapped pretzels are fantastic.

Knowing the Weasels enjoy a good Germanic repast, I posted the above photo to the WhatsApp group. John remarked “Nothing like a healthy breakfast.” I suggested he was correct that it was nothing like one. Though, Mirinda said it was basically cheese on toast.
Our train to Leipzig was comfortable and quiet while the weather continued gloomy. So gloomy that by 9am, we wondered why sunrise hadn’t happened yet, but it was the steely grey clouds that were blocking any chance of seeing it.
There was a woman on the train selling coffee and what sounded like ’emergency snacks’. We didn’t need snacks, emergency or otherwise, but the Turkish style coffee was very welcome. Particularly without salt.
The rest of the journey was filled with watching South Korean drama and listening to podcasts as we headed south.
Mirinda, on the other hand, was listening to “…shit about locusts and grass hoppers.” Which clearly didn’t agree with her.

Leipzig station is massive. Big and mighty impressive in a sort of ‘we are damn fine station builders’ kind of way.
There are a couple of big white busts of old serious looking white men, at one end, perched on very high pedestals. One had something to do with the establishment of the railway in Leipzig, while the other was a banker. Let’s leave them be.
Then there are the lockers. Electronic and likely to steal your luggage if you’re not careful. There was a moment of panic when the door to ours refused to open. Fortunately, brute force proved more than a match for the technology. I may also have sworn at it as well.
The locker situation came about following our short visit to this very interesting city. We started at the station…

… then walked through the trams, tried to ignore the very small busking bagpiper, and continued into the old town.
The city suffered a fair bit of bombing during the war, then of course the Russians were in control but, I think there must have been a lot of restoration, because it has the look of newly built 19th century wealth about it. Particularly the sculptures on the outside of many buildings.
We didn’t see a lot, but we did manage to walk down a couple of Passages. Think of the Paris Passages but a lot newer and cleaner.
It was in one particularly beautiful passage that we heard a wonderful guitarist and had our first, ever Flammkuchen.
For those that don’t know and are too lazy to click the link above, a Flammkuchen is a sort of German pizza. The dough is different, and it has no tomato, and it’s not round and there’s no cheese… actually, it’s nothing like a pizza except you eat it with your hands.
We both had one after chatting to a German waitress with the demeanour and appearance of a perfect little China doll. With the complexion and smile to match.
Sadly, they’d run out of the goose, so I had salmon topping instead.
The eatery was called Kandler and is in Speck’s Passage. Both are highly recommended. For food, drink and visual delight.

Mirinda hasn’t been that keen on Germany in the past, but she was quite delighted with Leipzig. We might just return. Particularly given that Sweden owned it once. That was from 1642 to 1650. There’s even a monument to everyone’s favourite king, Gustav II Adolf, on the site of the Battle of Breitenfeld.
Train 5: Leipzig hbf to Mannheim hbf
But, it wasn’t long before we had to head back to the station for the final train for today.
Again, it was very comfortable but, this time, quite busy. We had reserved seats, so that was okay. But it felt a bit unusual being surrounded by other passengers.
The journey proved to be quite eye-opening as we passed by the massive spoil heap that the locals call Monte Kali. It is a lot of salt, a bioproduct of local potash mining. It has salted the local water and killed off almost all the fauna in the area.
And they’ve not finished growing this evil monstrosity. The company responsible are allowed to keep going into 2030.

Sometimes human brings are just completely fucked in the head.
Speaking of rank stupidity, there was a woman sitting across the aisle from me wearing a covid mask. When it came time to eat, she produced hand sanitiser then proceeded to open a plastic container filled with plastic bags full of some sort of yellow crispy stuff. She crunched her way through it, briefly lifting her mask each time.
I found interesting how she had no problem ingesting plastic and whatever highly processed monstrosity she had brought with her, but was afraid to breathe the air in the train. Still, that was her problem.
Eventually, we arrived at Mannheim and emerged into the main station concourse at the same time as a massive peak hour crowd of fellow train travellers. Except it was just gone 6pm on a Sunday evening. Weird, we thought as we wrestled through the hordes.
Our hotel was not far away, and we checked in then, pretty soon right away, we headed out for dinner. We found a highly recommended Persian restaurant: Bustan. And it was heaving. Apparently, it’s very popular on a Sunday evening. That was so true. And you can see why.
The food was plentiful and delicious. It’s the first time, for a long time, that I’ve had Persian food that’s not my own, and I thought it was super lush. I had the lamb stew. It was melt in the mouth superb. Mirinda had the chicken which was a bit too much, so I ate the rest of hers. I didn’t finish her glass of dough though, a strange yoghurt concoction that is nothing like a lassi.
I had a sip and can vouch for its awfulness. I’m sure there are people who think it’s brilliant and the best thing since fermented milk but we are not two of them.
Still, the food was good, as was the Pilsener I had.

We then strolled back to the hotel in order to collapse into bed. Tomorrow, Avignon.