Since I was last stuck in Frankfurt the lounge situation has
changed, with numerous relocations and renovations and stuff
like that. I ended up at the upstairs business lounge in
lower A, as that was where our departure gate was going to
be, and tried to track lili down.

Eventually I got a note that AA 120 was delayed, but lili
had scheduled herself to arrive in FRA at 1520, okay for
our 1720 connection; but delay followed delay, and the domino
effect happened, and she didn't appear on the 1520 (which was
itself 15 min late) - some frantic e-mailing revealed that
that she had missed the flight owing to a mishap at CDG and
would be arriving on the 2200 flight. I asked the agent at
the counter if I could reschedule, and he sensibly said that
it was only a 20-minute flight, and the change fees would be
high, so why bother.

Back to the lounge, where I sampled the house red wine, a
most undistinguished Dornfelder. I decided to go with Beck's,
which vom Fass in Germany has much more punch than the
bottled stuff has in the US. Soup of the day was some kind
of chicken noodle: not bad.

And so to the gate by myself.

But not for long - a huge crush there, which sorted itself
mostly out when they called for business class, HON, Senator,
and Star Gold. Only one person was rejected at boarding and
required to stand to the side.

LH 148 FRA NUE 1720 1800 733 7A

It was about a 25-minute trip, and so it was earlyish when
we landed, and I made it to the hotel in full daylight, which
given my eyes is a good thing. Piece of cake taking the
subway to the main station and hoofing down Bahnhofstrasse.
Though only 300 m from the station, part of the route is cut
off by construction, so I had to cross the street
coincidentally next to a Chinese restaurant called Fulihua,
out of which some pretty good smells were coming. I resolved
to give it a looksee when I got my room squared away.

The Hampton Nuremberg is new and clean and fairly snazzy.
Though I like the Hilton south of town a lot, I will probably
stay here again.

A pleasant fresh-faced girl checked me in. I asked if the
Chinese place was any good, and she got this serious look
and said "All restaurants in Nuremberg are good."

When I came back down after putting up my bags, she had been
replaced by a Chinese kid to whom I posed the same question.
He said things were good, some not so good. Then he leaned
over and sort of whispered, "Don't order the fish."

Figuring I was going to have enough Franconian food over the
next few days, I did go there and ordered the eight treasure
duck (ba bao ya), which sounded promising, in my German-as-
a-third-language, from the cute young new immigrant waitress
for whom German was no doubt a third language, only hers was
tons better than mine.

The food took a while to come out: a battered, deep-fried
boneless half bird minus the thigh meat (I figure this was
the kitchen's tribute (I've encountered this many times in
many restaurants, even the most eminent) in the style that
in Cantonese-American eateries is called "hon sue," in
a brown cornstarch gravy with soy and hoisin in it. Also
cashews, red peppers, broccoli, bamboo shoots, pork, beef,
and chicken. I can't figure what the eighth bao was, maybe
the duck itself, or perhaps it referred to the pitcher of
extra sauce on the side. Steamed rice was fresh and of
good texture.

Ambience: not much, though there were a number of dating
couples there; weird muzak including messed-up versions of
Beethoven and Tchaikovsky with a rhythm section, something
that sounded like Azerbaijani mugam, and odd renditions of
pop tunes that I sort of recognized from my youth.

A Tucher Pils was exceedingly fruity and went well with
the duck.

By the time I left, the place was hopping, and a sizable
part of the clientele were Chinese.

After a couple beers at the lobby bar it was time to hit
the sack. The sack did not resist.