Frankfurt Travel Blog: Germany’s “Most Dangerous City” Isn’t So Bad After All

Let me start with a disclaimer: I was in Frankfurt only for a day, and it happened to be one of those weekends when the weather was impossibly good. Somewhere near the Euro monument, a lunatic suddenly shouted some slur that sounded like “Shina”. I didn’t even glance his way – just kept walking. Aside from that ugly moment, the city struck me as remarkably alive, brimming with youthful energy. Along the Main River, skyscrapers shoot up into the sky, glass and steel slicing sunlight into sharp reflections – it felt like a city borrowed from the future, entirely unlike Dusseldorf’s heavy, sleepy calm.

Yet turn a few corners, and you slip back through centuries into the old town the Middle Ages left behind. The cobblestone streets are rough beneath your feet, and the timber‑framed houses stand with their weathered façades—battered by time, yet quietly tender, still keeping watch over it. That weekday tension you might expect from the financial district – the brisk pace, the air taut with ambition – was nowhere to be found. There were, however, plenty of polished men in suits who lived up to the city’s reputation.

For all the tales of Frankfurt’s relentless rhythm, the Main River on a weekend moves at its own unhurried tempo. Yachts glide by with practiced ease, kayaks and sailboats drift lazily downstream. The water flows wide and calm; Canada geese on the banks graze unbothered. As the day folds into evening, the sunset stretches its colors across the skyline, softening the city’s hard edges into something almost tender. Here, it feels as if another kind of time exists – one that leans close and whispers, “Slow down. There’s no need to rush.”

Around noon I wandered into a local music store. The shopkeeper, a middle‑aged man with a cigar clamped between his teeth, told me unhurriedly that they rarely keep instruments in stock – special orders only, the few models on display were just the basics. I bought a couple of accessories as a token gesture and went on my way. Most of the weekend students were Asian kids, their parents evidently masters of the art of after‑school optimization; very few of the students were white.

And as for food – Frankfurt doesn’t disappoint. Mediterranean restaurants are everywhere – Italian, Spanish, you name it. You’ll find Japanese spots, Chinese hotpots, even grilled‑fish places scattered all around. People like to say Düsseldorf is the place for Japanese food; honestly? That’s exaggerated. People nickname it “Dorf” for a reason. Frankfurt’s standing as a minor European financial center speaks for itself. At least the musical instrument stores here are open on Saturdays; in “Dorf,” well, let’s not even bring it up.