I went to my Uncle’s 60^th in Germany the other day. It was a wonderful affair. Apart from celebrating, I thought it an apt opportunity to look out for abandoned shoes. Although I was travelling with family, meaning finding time to wander would prove difficult.

We took the car to the Euro Tunnel to get over to mainland Europe. Big slay. The journey started off on the right foot (pardon the pun) thanks to one discarded DC high-top sitting next to the awaiting cars. Either some Roadie had decided to part ways with it before starting a mind-bending metal tour in the EU or some kid lost it by sticking his foot out the car window. I’m think either excuse would suffice.

Unfortunately, this would be one of only two shoes I would come across during the weekend trip. Many shoes were dotted along the roadside but due to the fact that we were whizzing past in the car, I was unable to snap a photo in time. I did however notice an awful lot of flip flops, or thong sandals discarded along the French motorway.

Perhaps the Havaianas R&D team would benefit from a European road trip. Equally, any influencers promoting the latest #toesoutsummer trend might benefit from this excursion. Side note – is the flip-flop and jeans look authentically Scandinavian or is it a move from the ruling class so people forget they’re losing more money to taxes each year by the distraction of toe action. Suspicious right?

Needless to say, little to no abandoned shoes were photographed. Later that evening we found ourselves in a cash-only German dive bar. It was there that I spotted the most typically German footwear left on the tiled floor. Underneath the bar stools lay a heavily-worn pair of Birkenstocks, the Arizona to be exact. I didn’t get to find out to whom they belonged to either as they sat there alone the whole time.

I imagine the owner of the Birkenstocks was a local, someone who frequented the bar and enjoyed feeling the grooves underneath their toes that they put in the hours working for. My only other thought is that they were a memoriam to a bar-legend, but I was not willing to find out if they were glued to the floor. ‘Never touch another person’s Birkenstocks’ is a good rule to live by.

The next morning I retraced my steps around the town I had so often visited as a child. Walking down memory lane. All the toy and shoe shops seemed so much smaller than I had remembered. I suppose this is the usual realisation for places people rediscover later in life. I loved it all the same. In fact, it had become more charming a place than I had remembered.

My Uncle, reluctant to splash out on a pair of shoes for my other Uncle’s party asked if I knew of any shoe repair shops in the area. While my shoe knowledge is extensive, I would be lying if I said that I had a sixth sense for where cobbler’s dwell. If I did I’d probably be rich. Or arrested.

A quick Google later and we were in the first cobbler’s. A middle-aged German lady looked us up and down, realising we weren’t the usual clientele. My Uncle, pointing at a loose stitch on his forefoot, gestured for help, to which the lady pulled a face and said, “no sorry”.

Not wanting to have completely wasted the journey, I asked if I could take photos of the shop, which she politely invited me to do. I spotted a very snazzy pair of women’s shoes and asked if she knew the brand name. She shrugged, “I don’t know, I only repair the shoes.” A lady of few words. Germans are known to cut to the chase, allergic to dancing around the point, so I took no offence. Onto the next.

The other shoe repair shop was in the local mall a short stroll away. The man’s shop was small in comparison, more like a pop-up Timpson’s equivalent, although with fewer ex-convicts as staff members. Noticing we were interrupting a friendly catch-up with a local on a Saturday morning, we were hesitant about receiving help.

My Uncle did the same one-shoe dance, pointing to this somewhat broken shoe in his other hand. An animated point of the finger later and the German cobbler shook his head, “No sorry”. It seemed to be an easy response to fending off the English. They know we can never be offended if there’s a ‘sorry’ on the end of it. E.g. “I burnt your house down, sorry”. To which the standard reply would be, “All good, how’s the family anyway?”.

It was at this point that my Uncle conceded to buying a new pair, so off on a shoe hunt we went. Heading over to the next town, a place which had a bigger and better selection of trainers, spirits were somewhat high. Recruited as an impromptu celebrity shopper/stylist, I fuelled up on a mango and watermelon ice cream. I was on holiday after all.

A lot of shops were full of very German-looking leisure shoes. Think Clarks but on steroids. Better yet, Clarks on a mild dose of antidepressants. It was here that I spotted a pair of formal leather walking Strober shoes. I knew little of the brand, but the shoe was so Grandpa, I was infatuated with it.

Suddenly ,my penchant for dad jokes and white socks made all the more sense. The only thing holding me back was the 99.95 Euro price point (discounted from 199.99 Euros), and the fact that my mum told me in a Peruvian-equivalent way that I would ‘look like a geriatric’.

Could I pull them off? I truly believed in that moment I could. A pair of loose sporty diabetic-friendly socks and some beige chinos, chef’s kiss (FYI I don’t have diabetes but I did accidentally buy a pack of diabetic socks in 2018 off Amazon, hence the reference). In hindsight, I am rather glad I didn’t end up purchasing them as it meant I could justify the pair later on.

It was wandering around where I saw this golden boot (not a reference to Headie One’s hit song) and other silver baby shoes. I feel like if I got to the level where I justified buying these as house decorations, I would truly be ‘cooked’.

Here is an interesting sock packaging that I spotted in a souvenir shop. It was a very Japanese present in my mind. Would you be happy to receive this from your partner on Valentine’s Day? Let me know in the comments as I cannot figure out if these are a big yes or a big no.

My Uncle did successfully purchase a pair of shoes for the birthday party the following day. Opting for a Bugatti formal/sporty shoe hybrids in a light brown, the mission was a relatively fun exercise. Even if he didn’t go for the more hybrid sole pair I was vouching for. They looked in the vein of the Nike Cole Haan hybrids from the early 2000s where you would get a formal shoe sat on a Lunarlon midsole.

Had I ever ended up in the finance industry, I’d have got a doctor to write me a note so I could wear these. That’s where the diabetic socks would have really come into play. In fact, maybe I should buy another pack for future health-related excuses. Is it a hate crime to dislike someone with diabetes? If not it should be.

Getting back to the hotel, I decided now was the time to go for a wander while the rest of the squad went to nap. Darting straight for the local sports shop, I was eager to relive my childhood-sneaker epiphany by going to the sports shop that started it all. The only problem was I couldn’t remember which one it was or if it was still open. Regardless, I headed to the nearest Intersport hoping memories would come flooding back.

Entering the shop triggered a deep sense of nostalgia. A distinct memory of helping my mum and auntie buy my cousin a pair of adidas football boots returned to the front of mind. Tracking through the racks, it was clear that the shop had a decent running shoe selection. I pored over the prices and sizes on display for almost thirty minutes before heading to the other side of the store where the hiking shoes were kept.

It was then that I spotted the Meindl glowing from afar. Long had I thought about this premium hiking shoe. It’s understated leather upper bowed in elegance and silently spoke to its marvel of German footwear making. I had strolled into many Outdoor shops in the UK to only stare at the high price point of the Meindl footwear selection.

Paying £175 was out of the question, yet the suede and tightly woven stitches called my name each and every time. Not to mention the leather GORE-TEX edition, which reached as high as £220. Now it was all making sense, acknowledging the top-tier quality and the way it poked its head above the rest. The 250 Euro price point was eye-watering but I was eager to find a way of making it happen.

I discussed the shoe with the Intersport employee, where she took out the insole to see how my foot fit against it. Opting for a bigger size to allow for any foot swell during a hike (hot I know) I went with the UK12.5.

I also decided to go on the obstacle course, feeling no pinch points across the stone edges and wooden logs. I felt like a man in his forties testing out a pair of shoes for a grand adventure. Although I am still in my twenties, I am not the head of a family or a father to any children, so I was coasting on pure adrenaline (a slight exaggeration and artistic license are used here). I was in my element. I felt awesome, as the Americans would say.

The store assistant left me to umm and ahh as I tried to figure out how on earth I could bring down the price. One University discount, size-related discount and cash deposit later, the card machine read 140 Euros. I had won the game of life (or thereabouts).

Walking out of the store, it was obvious that the stars had aligned. Not only had I returned to the mecca of shoes, the place that started it all (to be confirmed), but I had also managed to pick up the Made in Germany Meindl’s that I had wanted for years. Elated, I felt it was right to snap a photo and capture the moment.

Feeling a strong post-success hunger, I decided to walk to a fine kebab shop where I was able to pore over the quality upper in the town square. You can see the slightly confused lady in the background, either that or her face is one of pure envy. You can decide for yourself on that one.

The next day I told my cousin about purchasing a pair of Meindls. He laughed, stating he only knew that avid German hikers wore them, not really hip people in their twenties (not his exact description). I asked if he would ever own a pair, to which he replied, “If you ever saw me pushing a stroller in them, you know I am near the end.” I think the German craftsmanship was lost on him. Needless to say, I am absolutely chuffed with them and they look grand on foot.

Fond memories, cheap bakeries, good value double Espressos and a wander down my footwear-related past meant I was made up.