pass by, I follow their direction, follow
the street, towards the peeks in the distance, towards the bridge across the river.
River? Indeed, there is a river. I check my map, and yes, there it is, too. The
Pegnitz. Half hidden behind market stalls. I walk past baskets of fruit and vegetables,
to a small balcony that offers a river view. There, a house built on stone piles.
A small island guarded by trees. A bit further, another bridge, connecting the
island with the city.
the water, ducks. They don't seem to mind the cold. They know the way to get through
winter without owning a house, a heating, a wool jacket. They don't need maps
to navigate, nor do they need money to buy their food. They probably have never
been out of this town, but in some ways, they know so much more than I do
thoughts, I walk on, passing stalls filled with Christmas decoration. Candle holders,
Santas, golden angels, wooden nutcrackers, silver lanterns, all waiting in line
to be bought and carried home. The next stall offers Lebkuchen, the classis small
Christmas cakes made here in Nuremberg, shaped in forms of trees, of stars, of
hearts. It's all about Christmas, or so it seems, even though it isn't December
And about money:
a huge bank is dominating the next crossing, next to it, another one. The name
of the street: Bank Street. How very fitting. But understandable, with Nuremberg
being a main trading place in the fifteen hundreds. I stroll through some more
streets, yet the river draws me back to its shores, to another bridge.
it wasn't so cold, I would sit here longer, watching the ducks swim past, watching
peopled pass by. But it is chilly, even though it is sunny. And the museum is
waiting. Now, after this walk, it will be perfect place to be - inside, surrounded
by warmth and colors. All I need now is to find the Lorenz Street, and then the
back to Lorenz Kirche is easy to be found. Now for the street. It can't be far.
And it isn't. Actually, it is the street connecting to the parking house. Maybe
some part of my brain remembered this city after all, taking me to the right places.
Behind the parking house,
the scene changes - no cobblestones any more, but flat asphalt. No Christmas shops,
but Thai restaurants. No banks, but newspaper stands. This could be everywhere,
a busy street, practical shops. But where is the museum?
check the address again, and yes, I am right. And once I understand that the museum
called Kunsthalle - "art hall" - is not a hall at all, but a classic
stone building, I see it. It is right there, across the street.