05) Friedrichshafen – A Walk Between Old and New

Friedrichshafen. For Jürgen, the name carried the weight of memory. It was not just a city by the lake; it was where his first steps had stumbled over cobbled streets, where familiar winds off the water had once tousled his childhood hair. For Huayna, though, it was all new—a fresh map slowly being drawn with each step they took.

They hadn’t come for sightseeing. The real purpose of the trip was clear and pressing: to care for Jürgen’s 85-year-old mother and her partner, Hermann. After her fall and broken vertebra, everyday life had become an uphill climb for her. She moved carefully, cautiously, and sometimes not at all without help. The days fell into a steady rhythm—grocery shopping, carrying heavy bags up narrow stairs, waiting in pharmacies for delicate packages of medicine.

But when the rain softened or the grey skies lifted a little, Jürgen and Huayna would slip away for a short while to explore the city between errands.

They wandered the lakeside promenade, where the sound of water lapping against the shore seemed to ease the tightness in their chests. Ferries came and went like breathing—arriving, departing, arriving again—and for a moment, the rhythm of the lake matched the rhythm of their lives: steady, necessary, alive.

They climbed the 22-meter-high "Moleturm," a steel lookout tower standing near the harbor. Step by step, higher and higher, until the city opened up beneath them—rooftops, church spires, the blue spread of Lake Constance stretching toward distant shores. The view wasn't just beautiful; it was freeing. Jürgen looked out over the town of his birth, and Huayna saw it for the first time through young, wondering eyes.

On another day, they visited the castle church—the "Schlosskirche" with its twin towers rising above the town like steady guardians. Inside, the air was cool and still, and the silence pressed gently against their shoulders. Huayna took in the intricate stonework, the flickering of candlelight, the echoes of countless lives that had passed through before them.

Later, they hiked to the castle pier, one of Jürgen's old favorite spots. There, time seemed to slow. Jürgen showed Huayna where the light hit the water just right for a photograph, how the lake turned to silver when clouds parted in the afternoon. Huayna, camera in hand, tried to capture the feeling—something between wonder and a quiet kind of longing.

Though their days were full of small duties and careful attentions to Jürgen’s mother, these "stolen" hours in Friedrichshafen became precious too. They were hours of simple presence: of walking, seeing, and silently stitching new memories onto old ones.

And as May rolled on—with more rain than sun—they found that sometimes it was enough just to stand together by the water’s edge, watching the ferries come and go, feeling the steady heart of the lake beneath the shifting skies.

Published: 02/05/2025