I make no secret about my love of Japanese food. And, while Mannheim may have little to recommend it in terms of beauty, it has an excellent Japanese restaurant. It is called Senju and I really recommend the ramen.

If I ignored the view out of the window, I could have been in Kyoto.
But we were not in Kyoto. We were in Mannheim which I have seen described as the second ugliest city in Germany. I don’t know where the ugliest is but it must be unbearable. In Mannheim, the few tourists that accidentally find themselves visiting, can go on Ugly Tours.
According to Weasel Tom, there is some ‘interesting stuff’ in Mannheim. If you ask me, the most interesting thing is why anyone lives there. Or why it was rebuilt after the war to be so brutally ugly.
Actually, I think I know. The people that decide those things were getting a bit tired with the constant need to rebuild Mannheim so they just threw up some concrete blocks, knowing they’d not last very long.

The thing is, Mannheim was destroyed the first time in 1622. Shortly after being rebuilt, the city was taken by surprise by the pesky Swedes. This was not unusual. The city was taken over and controlled by many different people until 1689, when it was completely destroyed by the French.
The next time they rebuilt Mannheim, they didn’t even bother renaming the streets properly. They made do with designations like J4 and K6.
Finally, during the second world war, 51% of the place was flattened by allied bombing because the city was making munitions. It all starts to make terrible sense.
Anyway, we had a walk around and a couple of coffee stops. Unfortunately, we didn’t stop at barista cafés, so the coffee tasted a bit pathetic and plastic. Still, the staff were all friendly and some even smiled. The ones who had been to other cities, maybe.
There was one thing I really liked about Mannheim and that was the trams. So many of them. Such a perfect way to traverse a city.

But that was about it. We would have liked to have checked out the big water tower which, apparently, is a Mannheim must-see but, unfortunately, it was obscured by eight lanes of continuous traffic.
Such a shame. But in a city with such a devotion to vehicles, it makes sense. It should be stressed to walking visitors to the city, that pedestrian crossing lights give barely enough time for people to cross the roads while the cars get hours. Of course.
Naturally, the day wasn’t without its drama. We’d had a coffee and had just passed an extraordinary building painted in a non-Mannheim way when Mirinda looked at her watch.

Now, that may not sound particularly dramatic, except it wasn’t on her wrist. Her face suddenly took on a mask of panic. It was her father’s watch and is more important than just for telling the time. Though it does that as well.
She frantically rang the hotel, then sped off back the way we had come. She quickly disappeared from view as I walked as fast as I could. Which would never be described as ‘fast’.
I caught up with her back at the hotel, where the watch was retrieved from the bedside table in room 17, exactly where she’d left it.
Catastrophe averted, we headed back out, onto the mean streets of Mannheim.
Mirinda’s plan had been to visit the Baroque Palace, which may be attractive, but it’s closed on a Monday. As is everything worth visiting in the city.
We had our Japanese lunch, then headed to the station to wait for our train to Avignon.
Train 6: Mannheim to Avignon
Of course, it was delayed but, more irritating than that, the display on the platform had the carriage placement in the wrong order.
There was a general race along the platform in both directions as the first and second class passengers switched ends. We almost made it.
We were one carriage short, but a pretty French train woman ushered is into the first first class carriage and said we could sit wherever we wanted. I collapsed into a wide seat with the relief of a frazzled old tomte.
And so, the next leg of our journey began as we headed further south, entering France at Strasbourg and trundling down to Avignon on our longest leg so far.

There was a great sense of joy when we crossed the Rhine and were suddenly in France.
Six and a half hours later, the joy had dissipated somewhat.
Still, we arrived in Avignon and took a taxi to our accommodation, dropped our luggage off then joined the homeless drunks along the main road, intramuros. It felt so good to be back in France. It’s been a few years.
After so long on the train, we felt a short walk was in order, followed by a drink in a bar. It was glorious, as was the rilletes avec porc et pain.

Tomorrow we have a free day to explore. I’m just looking forward to a bit of a sleep.