For many travellers, the railway station is often their first and last impression of a place. And sometimes it is the only one. “I know the place”, they say because they know the train station. It is like everywhere, and like everywhere it is … different. You have tête-à-têtes of good-byes and reunions: Who deserves this rose? That old woman, who is she with? And is there someone for Mr Lost?

In the throng of people – fleeing, returning, selling pretzels, longing, eating fish rolls, coyly smoking just outside the designated smoking zone – a man in a suit is looking for Mr Whatshisname. How would the evening end for someone who sees the sign first and who would leave no doubt as to his new identity? Would it be possible that the imposter is never discovered? A thought which makes it more difficult to throw yourself into the arms of strangers; resolve and determination help.

The ticket office was always nowhere to be found, and now that is even seen as a modern day treat. The Travel Bank pretends to international flair, and in the large and empty side aisle you feel like lighting a candle and making a wish. Another quarter of an hour to spare: maybe take in the exhibition about the new station in the station tower which makes you wonder why politicians are so keen on people passing through their city as quickly as possible. Or maybe inspect an abandoned suitcase? Or maybe go to the quick opening of a Slow Food restaurant or wait for a delayed express train?

“15 minutes delay.” Where do these children play if not on the tracks outside Stuttgart! Enough time to wait for the train, to let it leave again and then leave the place of the big transformation, going home on time instead with the commuter train.