Suddenly, I can’t go anywhere without bumping into famous, fit men. It sounds like a wonderful problem to have, but every Kluvberg player I encounter who’s not Adler Beck increases my chances the next one will be. Ellie said FC Kluvberg spends most of the summer at their nearby training facility, giving up the stadium for tours and Scholenberg. Either she has inaccurate information—which, given who her uncle is, seems unlikely—or I have questionable luck.

“Do you know how to get out of the stadium from here?” I ask, hoping he speaks English.

“Two floors down and through the lobby,” he replies. Of course he does. Everyone I’ve encountered in Germany speaks perfect English, albeit with a range of accents.

“Thank you,” I reply, flashing him a grateful smile and rushing into the stairwell.

His directions are accurate, and a few minutes later I’m emerging from the dim lobby into the brilliant German sunshine. I wave at the security guard as I head out the gate reserved for players, coaches, and others with some form of special access to the stadium. For the duration of Scholenberg, that includes me.

Once outside the fence surrounding the stadium, I pause for a minute. I expected to have downtime during my first week here until my knee was cleared.

I didn’t expect to have free time.

Coach Taylor, Lancaster’s head coach, has a strict policy that requires all players to attend practice, even if injured. I was expecting something similar here.

Instead, I’m standing outside the most famous football stadium in the world with no idea where to go. Every person I know in Germany is inside that stadium, and it’s not even ten in the morning—the middle of the night on the East Coast—so I can’t call anyone back home to kill time.

The four-story structure Scholenberg houses us in is only a few blocks away, but returning to a twin bed and unpacked suitcases doesn’t sound appealing. So, I just start walking.

Kluvberg’s stadium is nestled amidst the oldest section of the city that shares its name. The location is a tribute to both the club’s esteemed relevance and its entwined history. I wander along streets teeming with character and charm.

I would have jumped on a plane to Antarctica if that was where the best women’s soccer camp in the world was located. I didn’t really give any thought to my destination beyond the ways it could advance my soccer skills.

Wandering along cobblestone streets that look straight out of a storybook, I take a moment to appreciate the fact that I’ll be spending the next two months in one of the oldest cities in Europe for the first time.