Days 320–323: Hamburg – Between Grit and Grandeur

The Road South

I left Copenhagen early, slipping out of Alexandra’s flat and heading for the bus terminal, where my eyes caught this moment before the bus station (Check the photo). The FlixBus was only a few minutes late, and soon I was rolling south through Denmark. Autumn here shows in the fields—leaves thinning, colours dulled, a country winding itself down before winter.

I had expected the route to swing across Odense and over the Great Belt Bridge, that elegant 18 km ribbon of steel linking east and west Denmark. Instead, our bus carried us to Rødbyhavn for the ferry crossing.

The Princess Benedikte

Waiting to board, I discovered that travel is as much about patience as it is about movement. After half an hour, we were waved forward, and the M/F Prinsesse Benedikte took us aboard. Built in 1997, she’s no luxury liner—just a hybrid diesel-electric ferry built to haul cars, trucks, and even trains across the Baltic. For over a century, this “Vogelfluglinie” route has tied Denmark to Germany, a bird’s flight line across the sea.

On board, passengers surged towards the cafeterias. Had I known what was to come, I might have skipped breakfast. Instead, I found a beer and a quiet window seat. The ship shuddered under the waves—just a couple of bumps, nothing serious.

Returning to the bus was less simple. Deck 2 had an inner and outer section, and my bus was hidden beyond the steel walls. I paced one side of the ship and then the other, heart quickening at the thought they’d left without me. Relief flooded in when I finally spotted it.

At the border, the first since Romania, there were no passport checks—only our tyres sprayed for foot-and-mouth precautions. It felt oddly anticlimactic, but then Germany opened before us with blue skies and rolling fields.

A Rocky Start in Hamburg

That welcome soured on approach. A crash ahead brought 7 ambulances, 2 fire trucks, 3 first responders, police and flashing lights—overkill for two battered cars. By the time we rolled into Hamburg, I was nearly an hour late.

From the terminal, I grabbed two local trains and stopped for groceries. A carton of ten eggs priced at €15 left me baffled—six eggs for €4 made far more sense. But the real frustration came at my hostel: the Wi-Fi only worked for Apple devices. Android or Windows, Microsoft? No luck.

For someone running Inspire Seniors Travel on the road, that wasn’t an inconvenience; it was a roadblock. I cancelled my second night, booked a different hostel nearby, and salvaged the evening with Wi-Fi across the street. Back at the hostel, frustrations softened as I fell into conversation with travellers from Turkey, India, and Germany. Once again, travel proved that small human connections can balance out larger irritations.

The Red-Light District

My new hostel lies near Hamburg’s red-light district. The atmosphere was raw: graffiti stretched across walls, doorways, and even toilets. Maintenance crews scrubbed tags from the promenade walls, only to have new ones sprayed behind them before the paint dried. It felt like a battle the city had already given up fighting.

This graffiti wasn’t art—it was noise, a declaration that public space belonged to whoever claimed it last. Walking those streets, I couldn’t imagine wanting to live here.

Hamburg’s Maritime Heritage

Yet Hamburg is also a city of proud seafaring history. Down by the river, the Altonaer Fischmarkt has thrived since 1703, when fishermen were first allowed to sell on Sundays so their catch wouldn’t spoil. Over centuries, it grew into a bustling market, spilling over with fruit, vegetables, and all manner of goods. Its red-brick auction hall, built in the 1890s, still anchors the waterfront—even when Oktoberfest banners hang where barrels of herring once stood.

Nearby, history loomed in steel. The Soviet Tango-class submarine B-515, better known by its German moniker U-434, sat rusting at the dock. Once a vessel of espionage and patrol, its thick rubber coating once helped it evade sonar. Now pigeons have claimed it, streaking its hull white. The €30 entry fee kept me outside, but in truth, the decay spoke loudly enough.

Just along the promenade, the Rickmer Rickmers, a three-masted barque launched in 1896, stood tall and proud. She once carried rice and bamboo to Europe, later sailed under Portuguese colours, and even served the British in World War I. Now she serves as a restaurant, a museum, and an escape room. I chose a simpler indulgence: a beer on her deck, the masts rising against Hamburg’s skyline, a reminder of the city’s long bond with the sea.

Bureaucracy and Beer

Travel often tests patience in unexpected ways. For me, it was the simple act of buying a SIM card. What should have taken minutes turned into a saga of online forms, passport checks, and clerks unwilling—or unable—to help. Hours later, I left exasperated, hungry, and in no mood to cook. A pizza seemed the easy option. Unfortunately, it was as uninspired as the day had been. I told the server, “Food is art. If it’s made without care, it shows.” He didn’t argue.

The next morning, after leaving the hostel for the town hall, I passed a building in Hamburg with plants and shrubs growing on it is the Bunker St. Pauli, also known as the "Green Bunker". This large World War II bunker has a rooftop garden with thousands of trees, shrubs, and other plants, making it a distinctive green landmark in the city. Returning my SIM card to the shop brought a resolution, a refund. A second shop—Telekom this time—had me registered and connected in ten minutes flat. Sometimes, persistence wins.

Hamburg Rathaus

The frustrations faded as I reached Hamburg’s Rathaus, the sandstone City Hall completed in 1897 after the great fire of 1842 destroyed its predecessor. Its scale alone is astonishing: 647 rooms, more than Buckingham Palace, with some hidden chambers only discovered by accident in 1971.

Standing in its courtyard, I thought of the city’s resilience. Hamburg had been pounded by Allied bombs in WWII, yet this building stood with only minor scars. Inside, I found a quiet restaurant and shared a beer with the barman, who was planning travels through Thailand, Vietnam, and Australia. I encouraged him to add New Zealand to the list.

Reflections

Hamburg was a contradiction. Its Rathaus and ships spoke of grandeur, resilience, and history worth celebrating. Yet its streets told another story: graffiti unchecked, drug deals in open view, and bins torn apart by scavengers looking to cash in on discarded bottles.

I walked more than ten kilometres during those days, tallying up 2,064 km since the start of this journey. But beyond the numbers, Hamburg tested my patience more than most cities. It offered moments of wonder—standing on the deck of a nineteenth-century ship, marvelling at a city hall built on ambition—but it also showed me a side of urban grit that left me weary.

Travel isn’t always beautiful. Sometimes it’s messy, uncomfortable, even aggravating. But it’s in those contrasts that the real character of a city emerges. Hamburg may not have charmed me, but it left me thinking. And tomorrow, Berlin promises a fresh beginning.

Andrew (inspireseniorstravel.com) or leave me a message at a.matthews2453@gmail.com