The Layover

“Flight LH 1523 from Frankfurt to Warsaw has been cancelled due to weather at the destination.” The announcement boomed over the intercom. “Please see our customer service agents to be rebooked.”

A collective groan echoed through the boarding area, pulling Diana’s attention from the lone stamp in her passport. Chaos erupted around her as people leapt to their feet and rushed to be first in the queue, leaving Diana and strewn luggage in their wake. By the time Diana joined the queue, half the flight was ahead of her, filling the mostly empty terminal with bickering grumbles and disgruntled sighs.

A few gates over the 6:45 to London called for final boarding.

Half an eon later, Diana reached the front of the queue and came face to puffy face with the heavily abused customer service agent.

“How can I help?” the woman asked automatically.

“Hi, sorry, I don’t mean to be a bother but I do need to get to Warsaw for a work conference. But it doesn’t start until tomorrow night so I don’t have to be on the first flight. Sorry,” she added again for good measure.

The agent smiled just a touch and typed into her computer. “Unfortunately, the earliest I can get you to Warsaw is a flight out tomorrow morning at 7:30, which would get you into Warsaw by 9. Would that work?”

“That would be perfect.” She hesitated, nauseated at the thought of being high maintenance. “Sorry, but is there anywhere around here I can stay for the night?”

“There are several airport hotels.” More typing. “Looks like the Sheraton has vacancies. Just one room?”

“Yes, that’d be lovely, thank you. Sorry.”

Some more typing followed by the sounds of a printer’s shrieking. The agent slid a plane ticket and a hotel reservation across the counter. “Thank you. I hope your day gets better!” said Diana, grabbing her luggage and heading off to the hotel, away from the harsh view of other people.

The white, modern interior of the airport was starting to swell with crowds for the mid-morning flights, bringing with them a cacophony of conversations in at least twenty different languages, carrying across the air in various intonations and vowel sounds. Diana breezed past them all, following the signs to the hotel, which was set just off a busy walkway not far beyond the end of the security area.

It was still hours before check-in time, stymying her effort to get away from people, so she left her luggage at the front desk and went for a walk. Turning away from the airport, she quickly found herself in the large concourse of a train station. Diana had never been on a train before – outside of one childhood trip to the Grand Canyon.

As she watched people file past toward trains with unknown destinations, she was struck with the realization that the whole day was at her disposal, with no meetings, no appointments, no one checking in on where she was.

This sudden rush of freedom and possibility was dizzying. She could just…go somewhere and spend a day exploring. Like shedding a house coat and revealing a stunning evening gown underneath, she felt confident and renewed. Nothing that happened on this layover mattered, as if the whole day existed in a different dimension.

A quick scroll of the destinations later, she had a ticket booked to Cologne for the sole reason that she thought it would at least be a destination of pleasant smells.

She joined the hoard looking up at the departure board and not a minute later, her train was boarding on platform 5. She was swept up in the wave of passengers that carried her to the platform and onto her train, waning just before she was carried all the way to her window seat near the rear of the train. As the train pulled away, she waved out the window at everyone and no one, lost in a dream world.

The view gradually shifted from city to countryside, skyscrapers to terraced houses. The screen at the front of the carriage told her they had reached their cruising speed of over 200km/h which she didn’t have an exact conversion for but knew she’d be pulled over for driving that fast on a US highway.

Her stomach grumbled and she regretted not getting a bite to eat before she boarded. Just then the screen changed to advertise the restaurant car just one carriage up from her seat. She popped up and scurried over, finding a young man manning a small bistro surrounded by several standing tables.

“Guten morgen,” the man said.

“Bon matin. Un cappuccino, s’il vous…please,” she said, feeling a little betrayed by her high school French teacher’s lack of German instruction.

He smiled. “English?” he asked.

“Yes, sorry. And I’d also like a-“ She froze. She didn’t know what she’d like to eat. She hadn’t prepared for this conversation. But today didn’t count. She straightened her shoulders. “What is the best breakfast food you have?" The question rolled confidently off her tongue.

“I’d suggest one of our croissant sandwiches. We have ham, gouda, or vegetable.”

Back at her seat, she enjoyed the melty gouda on the flaky, buttery croissant as she watched the world whizz by outside. Her only reference for Germany was pictures from history class which was a stark contrast to the enchanting deep green forest with early autumn foliage sprinkled throughout glistening in the sunlight, sporadically interrupted by quaint little towns of dark gray centered by a church steeple that looked older than her entire country.

The last drops of her cappuccino dripped into her mouth as the train slowed to a stop in Cologne. Stepping off the train, she was met with only the smells of trains and nearby fried foods, much to her disappointment. But, upon wandering out of the station, she was astonished to find herself in the shadow of a towering gothic cathedral. It drew her toward it with an invisible string.

She circled the cathedral, admiring the intricate detailing of the archivolts, the delicately carved niches, a forest of finals perforating the skyline, all set in the gradience of marble white to charcoal black that showcased the individual bricks placed there hundreds of years prior by hands long buried.

Inside the cathedral was, unbelievably, more breathtaking. Striated columns stretched up like millions of arms reaching for heaven, ending in extraordinary vaulted ceilings that made Diana feel like an ant in a castle. Light streamed in through stained glass windows, filling the grand church with a rainbow of colors. All melded with the white light that glistened brightly through the far windows with a heavenly touch.

Lost for words, she stepped back out into the sunlight of the day, changed by a grandeur she could hardly comprehend.

The sun filled the air with warmth tinted by the slight chill of an early autumn breeze, carrying with it the joyful music of a small brass band at the bottom of the square. The tune they were playing touched Diana at her core as it was one she played in marching band a lifetime ago.

Reminding herself that she was in a different reality today, she let down her drawbridge and stepped into the outside world.

“I used to play sousaphone in marching band,” she told the players between songs.

“Play a song with us!” the sousaphone player said, already lifting the instrument toward her.

“Yes! Join us,” agreed the trumpeter.

“You must,” insisted the trombonist.

She smiled. “Do you guys know Axel F?” she asked and reached for the tuba.

The cold brass hug of the tuba was like going back to the drink that gave you your first hangover; she simultaneously wanted to vomit from the stress memories and social anxiety of playing it in public while also being filled with the warm tipsy feeling of being surrounded by community.

It started with the trumpet line then her muscle memory kicked in and she filled out the bass line, her fingers on auto pilot, her lungs regretting having downsized since high school. It took only two songs before she was winded but exhilarated.

“Come have a drink with us!” the trumpeter said.

“Yes, you must!” agreed the trombonist.

“I insist on buying a round,” finished the tuba player.

They shuffled across the street to a famous brewery, Gaffel, serving their classic Kölsch beer from wandering waiters. At a table near the back, with their instruments piled on a nearby stage, they got their first round of drinks and started sharing snacks and stories from pretzels with a side of crazy tourists to a crash course in German history told through bratwurst, all with an extra helping of Diana’s own stories of football games and band camp.

When the food was gone and everyone had bought a round, it was time for the players to return to their playing and for Diana to venture forth, once more, into the city. As the players left, they patted her on the shoulder and remarked on how friendly and charming she was, words no one had ever before associated with the shy, anxious woman known mostly for being forgotten.

For the first time, perhaps ever, Diana stood tall and welcomed the world with open arms, confident in who she was, only partly due to the alcohol.

With this newfound confidence, she meandered through the cobblestone streets of Cologne, soaking in the ambient history from the stone buildings and admiring the seamless way in which the buildings blended together despite centuries of age differences. It was the most walkable city she’d ever been to with whole streets and plazas dedicated to pedestrians, each filled with restaurant tables, benches, and plenty of trees.

She found herself imagining that she lived there.

Her apartment would be on one the third or fourth floor, over a pharmacy or chocolatier, a short walk across the square to a bar and her favorite restaurant where they’d know her and have her order ready for her every Wednesday and Friday, served to her at a table outside where she’d be enjoying a drink with friends, many of whom were her neighbors, and they’d be planning the next of many trips across the continent via train.

She turned the corner onto a side street and was stopped in her tracks. This narrow cobblestone street was straight out of a book nook with a cozy shop on either side and autumn trees in the center, their vibrant green topped with oranges and reds that were turning gold in the late afternoon sun.

“Schön, nein?” asked a buttery voice. From the tone, she knew the voice was admiring the view, too.

“It’s incredible,” she replied.

She turned and saw that the voice belonged to a woman around Diana’s age with a similar frown line etched into her forehead. Her dark brown hair cascaded past her shoulders as she looked up at the trees, a smile spread across her face just touching the corners of her sea blue eyes.

“I love this time of year,” the woman continued. “Autumn in Germany is the most beautiful time of year.”

“It’s my favorite season,” agreed Diana.

The woman turned her attention to Diana. “Are you in town long?”

Diana shook her head, feeling a connection to the woman as if they shared a secret. “Just today, actually. I have a train to catch in-“ she checked her watch, “two hours.”

“Then you have time.”

“For what?”

“Come,” the woman said, reaching for Diana’s hand to lead her. Her hand was solid and comforting, like a life preserver in a storm.

She led her back down the cobblestones streets, winding their way through the city until the cathedral was suddenly in front of them. At the end of the street, they reached a café and the woman ushered Diana into a seat before disappearing inside. From her seat, the southern façade of the cathedral was framed by trees, the brick gradients were brush strokes on canvas.

Diana barely noticed the woman’s return until she looked down and saw a plate of spaghetti with red sauce in front of her. She wasn’t quite sure what to make of such a gesture. “Oh, um, thank you. No fork?” she asked, noticing she’d only been given a spoon.

“It’s ice cream,” said the woman with a laugh. “A German specialty. I used to live not far from here would sit at this table with my Spaghettieis every week in the summers.” Her eye line dropped and a shadow crossed her face. “Now I do the same whenever I get a chance to visit.”

“Why did you move away?” She wasn’t normally one to pry, she was drawn by a quiet sadness in the woman that spoke to an inner bruise of her own.

“My mother is sick so I moved back to Bielefeld to care for her. She’s too proud to admit that she needs help so it’s just me she relies on. But someday, I’ll be back here. My heart is in Cologne.”

As the woman spoke, a tear rolled down her cheek, her eyes never leaving the cathedral.

“Part of my heart will always be here, too,” said Diana, meaning it.

When it was time to leave for the train station, she thanked the woman, took one final lap around the cathedral, and then boarded her train. As they rolled out of Cologne, she realized that the day had mattered after all.