Germany, 2012
The road transitioned from asphalt bike lanes to cobblestone paved with reclaimed castle walls, and then the pavement ended. For five miles, I rode on a dirt path through the forest, dodging between trees and fallen logs. When the forest ended, and my view opened, my path changed again, this time to gravel, moving me through the countryside, behind farmhouse and vineyards, and past chickens and shepherds.
I felt confident in my direction, for I couldn’t lose my way if I followed the riverbank south. I figured I could ride until Mainz, look to my right, and find the hostel. I hadn’t accounted for the size of the city.
The days’ shadows had grown long when I finally reached the street where my map showed the hostel. Single-family homes lined one side, with a grassy park on the other. I felt uncertain, but a man walking his dog pointed me up the hill and into the park. I followed his directions and soon came to a mansion with “Jugendherberge” flying on its flagpole.
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I felt grateful to finally arrive at my hostel that night, sunburned and fatigued, with a long day’s cycling now in the wind and my camera memory card overflowing with castles and vineyards. I needed a shower, a meal, and some company to unwind with, but I found loneliness.
For the last two nights, the hostels felt incomplete, filled with school-aged children or retired couples, and no one between them. I’d had entire castle wings to myself, big rooms with twenty empty bunk beds. I didn’t fill them so much as they emptied me. All night, I heard nothing but the hum of the fluorescent lights and the echo of my own breath.
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That night, I had company—a Brit about my age in town for a friend’s wedding. He introduced himself as “Stephan,” and despite my exhaustion from my day’s ride, we stayed up all night, walking through the city, drinking beers, and talking.
Instead of indoor bars, we found beer carts alongside the cobblestone streets, and the city’s parks catering to people’s current activities. I remembered the nearby riverbanks looking empty as I rode down them during the day, but as we walked through Mainz now, I saw hundreds of small, autonomous groups of boisterous, intoxicated German youth blanketing the lawns. They lit bonfires in the grass, and all hung out, drinking, and talking, until sunrise.
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The next morning at breakfast, the Brit was gone. I picked up my bicycle and stared along the Rhine riverbank.