Ah, the Tour! With drama and intrigue, lacking the shadow of doping that has haunted the past few years. As soon as the route for the 2009 Tour de France was posted I scoured the calendar to determine a promising date to visit a stage. The mountains are where the excitement is: a cycler cannot win the Tour without conquering the mountains and the slower pace while climbing allows spectators to better see the peloton as it is stretched by the ascent.
This year the first high mountain stages in the Pyrenees were over the weekend before Bastille Day, which is celebrated on a Tuesday. This would give us a few extra days to make the long drive back from the Spanish border. We targeted the finish in Andorre Arcalis for stage 7, the Col d’Agnes in stage 8, and the Col du Tourmalet for stage 9.
Drama began to build months before the race would begin, when Lance Armstrong announced he was returning to competitive cycling. And he would be racing with Astana, the New York Yankees of cycling, a team already stacked with top talent including the 2007 Tour winner Alberto Contador, American Levi Leipheimer (3rd in 2007 Tour), and Andreas Kloden (2nd in 2004 & 2006 Tour). Astana performed well in the races leading up to the Tour; Armstrong began to show flashes of his prior form in the Giro d’Italia, despite having broken his collarbone only a few weeks before. Tension between the Astana team members added to the interest, as the debate centered on who would be the leader and contend for the overall title in the General Classification.
The stages we were planning to visit were over a weekend from Friday to Sunday. We had planned to drive halfway on Wednesday night, camp near Limoges, then drive to Andorre on Thursday morning. This would allow plenty of time to find and setup a campsite before the mountain filled with spectators. But the week before we had visitors from the US, Shereen’s brother and two friends, and we were not able to pack before Wednesday. So we made the 9 hour drive on Thursday. Interestingly, the traveling trio was flying to Barcelona and would be there when stage 6 ended on Thursday evening and stage 7 left on Friday morning.
We zipped along the smooth French highways, making good time until we arrived at the base of the Pyrenees. Then the steep switchbacks slowed our progress, so that the last few kilometers took hours. In the mountains there is only one road between each town, making it easy to track the Tour route. There were banners hung from houses and already painted cyclist’s names were drying on the road. We twisted higher, nearing the peak, stopping to ask a police officer standing with a group where to camp. He directed us to follow another officer into a car. Driving higher he pointed us to a gate by a bridge leading to a short gravel road wrapping around a large meadow on the slope. Other cars were already there and several tents were in various stages of being setup. We turned to the left in the first level grass path, squeezed the car past two others, avoiding the boulders, sidled over against the slope, leaving room for the tent in front of the car. This was a nice spot to camp. We were several kilometers from the finish, but we could see the large metal ring at the peak of Arcalis near the finish line. Camping beside us was an older French couple. The man was very friendly and spoke enough English that we could communicate. On the other side of the French was an Australian with a Japanese woman.
It was peaceful as we sat next to the car munching the food we had stashed in the cooler, overlooking the small stream below. There was plenty of empty space for campers between the tents already dotting the hillside. Cars trickled in throughout the evening, but we were to discover the next day that the main camping site was further up the mountain. The temperature dropped quickly, encouraging us to hide in the tent, deep in our sleeping bags.
The next morning I woke up early, anticipating the activity I had been most looking forward to since the 2008 Tour: climbing the mountain on a bike in imitation (a poor one) of what the pros would do later in the day. Our mountain bikes had made the trip hanging from the back of the Golf. I would be in sneakers and sweatshirt (it was still quite cold in the morning), but would fit right in with the motley crew soon to be pedaling towards the peak. All types tackle the challenge before a Tour stage: from the past professionals and up and comers, to the weekend adventurers like me using whatever bike is available to ascend the mountain. My excitement got me out of the tent and on the road before most. I coasted down the hill, bumping across the grate of pipes guarding the entrance to our camping area, then across the stone bridge, beginning the initially gradual ascent. There were only a few bikers and hikers on the road this early; the campers perched on the roadside between blacktop and cliff, lounging and eating breakfast, were entertained by the few of us climbing. Shouts of “Allez, Allez!” were common from the French, although in Andorre the Spaniards were probably more numerous. The knobby tires of a mountain bike are not optimal for road climbing, but this was offset by the lower gearing of a mountain bike versus a road bike. Ascending Arcalis I was able to find a low gear that I could sustain and crank slowly. Once my body warmed up, and I reached the series of switchbacks farther along, I would shift to a higher gear, stand in the pedals and pretend I was Contador putting the hurt on the peloton. But being in only a semblance of fitness, this did not last long, and I was soon back in the saddle, fumbling for a lower gear as my heart beat a quick staccato inside my skull. My pride was only saved by being able to ride the several kilometers to the finish without having to stop, even if at an extremely slow pace. Arcalis is classified as a “hors categorie” (HC) climb, meaning “beyond classification”, a climb among the most difficult due to its steepness and/or length. I had begun at roughly the mid-point of the climb and pedaled up grades averaging 6 to 7%. Rounding the last corner to the finish, I passed by the large, steel ring sculpture, then the Tour trailers and a few team vehicles. Then looping around and beginning the long descent. The ascent had been difficult, but dropping down 7% grades was thrilling, enhanced by the thought that my brakes may not be up to the task.
The sun was warming things nicely by the time I arrived at the campsite. We ate breakfast, chatted with our neighbors, including two guys from California who were on sabbatical from IBM, grabbed our American flags, and then began the hike towards the top. We took a direct route on a grassy road, which met with the stream at a mini falls, before we had to deviate up the steep hillside through scattered fir trees. Probably more difficult than just following the road, but definitely more interesting. People were now out and about, in various activities to kill time before the cyclists would arrive in the late afternoon. We passed groups painting the names of their favorites in white, yellow, and orange across the road. Paint rollers were put to good use spreading white paint in broad letters. At one switchback, a couple of enthusiastic Livestrong volunteers were darkening the yellow letters of LIVESTRONG spread across the road. Someone was filming the activity. The Livestrong organization was well represented in each of the stages we attended. Flags of all varieties, from countries and provinces, were draped, hung, and waved from the rows of campers. Amongst the cultural mishmash we spotted more American flags than one might expect.
The switchbacks nearer the peak would allow us to see more of the road from above, so we continued hiking until reaching the Skoda advertising section, then climbed over the temporary, yellow railing to stake out a spot. We had a good view of several switchbacks and could see the long-haired Livestrong volunteer still occupied with his yellow letters far below. It was now time to wait. It would be an hour or so until the caravan would arrive. Then a few more hours until the cyclists reached us. We amused ourselves watching the bikers struggling up the mountain. Some were wearing costume, one had a turkey on his head, another was clanging along with a large cow bell under his seat. The loudest cheers were for a one-legged man cranking up the hill at a good pace (much faster than I had been on two legs), a group of teenage cyclists dressed in blue who appeared to be the next generation of Tour hopefuls, and a woman who was running up Arcalis. There are always a few runners in these mountains; I have seen them running up and down, though I’m not sure how their knees survive the pounding descent. The grass beside us began to be filled by others; a large group of young bikers threw their bikes over the railing and stretched out to wait.
Cars, bikes, and hikers continued to move up and down the mountain. Soon the first arm of the caravan approached. The caravan is a several mile long string of cars and floats that travels the length of each stage, preceding the cyclists. Tour sponsors will create elaborate floats with various themes, surround these with cars or vans painted with company colors and logos, and fill all of the vehicles with models who throw freebies to the throngs. This is almost more exciting than the race, screaming and waving your arms to catch the attention of a model who either lobs green, foam fingers over her shoulder without looking or takes deadly aim and whips packaged candy directly at your head. There then proceeds a chaotic scramble amongst your neighbors to grab the key chain or hat that bounced off your hands to the ground. If you are quick, soon red, blue, and checked hats have been stacked one atop another on your head, a replica bike jersey is stretched over your shirt, your bag is full of magnets and key chains, and you are munching on sample packages of sausage. It’s one of the few times an adult can act like a kid at Christmas gloating over his loot. And it makes the wait for the race much more interesting.
After a few hours the last car in the caravan passes and things become much quieter. Only Tour cars have been allowed on the road, but fewer of these now pass and the majority of the bikers have climbed the hill and found a place to watch along the road. There was little room in our area, and Shereen protected her personal space with sharp words to a few Spaniards who were crowding. One responded with a joking “do you have a ticket”, but in a friendly way and they moved over and sat down to give us room. The first indication the racers are approaching is the helicopters. There are typically two choppers circling at a high elevation and a third hovering low to get a closer camera angle. At times during the Tour this chopper has gotten too low and the breeze from the rotor has blown cyclists into one another. Once the higher chopper is in sight, the stream of Tour and team cars begin to thicken. From our vantage point we could see the leader emerge from a tunnel, then enter the switchbacks, passing in and out of view as he approached. We could not identify the leaders, but it was easy to see the Astana colors on a cyclist ahead of a small pack. Was this Armstrong? He was not wearing a black helmet, so we knew it was probably Contador. The cheers from the Spaniards around us confirmed this. The yellow railing was intended to keep us out of the road, but there was not enough security to enforce this, so everyone was over the barrier, standing in the road. As a biker approached, police motorcycles would zoom by attempting to push us back. But as soon as they passed the crowd would press in leaving only a few feet in the middle of the road clear. Then would come the slower moving motorcycles carrying the camera crew, closely followed by the cyclists. Contador had broken ahead of the other contenders, who were clustered in a small group charging towards the finish. Looking down we could easily distinguish the black helmeted Armstrong (great idea on his part) among the group. As they passed we could have reached out and grabbed them, one of the few sports that allow fans this close to participants during the competition. The peloton was well spread over the mountain, Arcalis being the first HC climb of this Tour. We cheered each as he passed for several minutes before joining the others walking down the mountain. The majority of the spectators began walking down the road before all the cyclists had passed. The road became crowded with walkers and bikers descending against the cyclists still trying to finish the stage. We passed one pro who had been dropped several minutes behind struggling up the hill who nearly collided with a walker who was looking the other direction. The pro swung his arm and walloped the guy in the chest grabbing a fistful of shirt and shoving him away. He was venting frustration at the fan, but also at having been dropped. A bit further down we were passed by a large pack of cyclists; the sprinters who climb the mountains together for moral support ride just fast enough to finish under the time limit so they can continue the Tour. The sprinter group occupied the entire road, forcing spectators into the grass. We continued walking, past a group of drunk, costumed guys, one wearing a police uniform sans pants and underwear. All of sudden Shereen said, “Was that Lance?” Sure enough we saw the Astana colors and a black helmet on a cyclist descending at a fast pace. He was dodging in and around the crowds. Soon we were able to pick out other pros descending among the amateur bikers. Apparently the quickest way for them to get back to the hotels in the town below was to hop back on their bikes after finishing. There is no town at the peak in Arcalis, and the only building is a small ski lodge. But only in the Tour would the pros risk injury riding through an inebriated crowd at breakneck speed to reach the nights lodging.
We had been planning to drive that night to see the stage on the following day. But it was late in the evening by the time we were at the campsite, and the road would be closed for at least another hour, so we decided to setup the tent we had torn down in the morning. This night was colder than the previous; we had only time enough to eat dinner before hiding in the tent to escape the chill. We woke early the next morning so that we could get down the mountain ahead of that day’s stage before the roads would be closed. It was a long drive down into Spain, twisting through too many hairpins too count, then looping around and climbing back into France. We went through rural areas and were greeted by a herd of cows loose on the mountain scattered across the road. Our destination was the Col du Tourmalet. To reach the Tourmalet we went over the Col d’Aspin, the peak where I had watched the 2008 Tour. We passed the place where I spent a memorable night on the hillside, sleeping in the car wedged against the passenger door while rain pelted the windows. Several kilometers farther we were at the foot of the Tourmalet and began the long ascent. The Tourmalet is another HC climb, one of the longest and steepest in the Tour. Although both Arcalis and Tourmalet are classified HC, the Tourmalet is a more difficult climb, reaching grades approaching an average of 9%. We arrived in the afternoon, but it quickly was apparent that finding a camping site would be more difficult than Arcalis. There was not much open, flat space beside the road; most campers had simply pulled to the side of the road and were teetering on blocks beside the cliff. The few campsites were already filled with those who looked like they had arrived the day before. There was no place to camp on this side of the mountain; the side the cyclists would ascend the next day. We drove to the peak and then down the other side. It was a similar situation near the peak on the opposite side, but far below we could see flatter space with cars parked. After a few kilometers we swung to the left on a gravel driveway, passed a small, stone building and parked near a few other campers.
This was pasture of some kind, there were dried, manure pies scattered in the grass. The peaks bowled around us and then marched in parallel down the valley which opened up below us with scarcely a tree to break the view. Near our car were several large concrete slabs, the purpose of which we were to discover the next morning. Shereen was not too happy as we watched our step to avoid any fresh “pies”. We found a somewhat flat place to spread the tent. The sun was bright, and it was quite warm as we dragged our gear from the car. The sound of a clanging cow bell was ringing incessantly; we soon located the source far away, halfway up a steep mountain where a large flock of sheep was walking. The sheep intermittently created small rock slides as they minced along a narrow ledge. There progress was slow since a lead sheep would often lose heart and stand motionless for several minutes until working up the courage to proceed. Unlike the Andorre campsite (which had port-a-potties), there was no nearby place to use a toilet. There were no trees or hills to hide behind. Walking far out into the sheep pasture we found a dry gully that cut deep enough that we were hidden from view when inside. We were to make several treks here over the next two days; others were to leave evidence that they had done likewise. This did not add to Shereen’s enjoyment of the experience. The Tourmalet stayed warmer longer than Arcalis; we were comfortable as we stood and watched the sun disappear behind a distant peak.
In the morning, I woke to ride my bike up the vaunted Tourmalet. As I was getting the bike at the car, the clanging of the sheep bell was getting louder along with the bleating of sheep. Soon the shepherd appeared and began to spread salt (it was white substance that looked like salt) on the concrete slabs. Periodically he would whistle loudly. Soon a few sheep came over a hill hump, hesitated for a moment, then thundered down to lick the salt. The sheep dog ran round the herd keeping them in a tight pack. Spectators soon gathered to watch. The sheep milled around licking and the shepherd dispersed more salt. Then putting down his bag he grabbed a modern shepherd’s crook and moving quickly through the furry mass soon had his target by the leg. I stayed long enough to snap a few photos of the sheep milling near our tent before riding to the road. I was to hear later that Shereen woke up to see Dolly looking into the tent. One more reason that she does not have fond memories of the Tourmalet.
Initially the ride to the peak was similar to Arcalis, but nearer the top the road steepened significantly. I passed a sign stating that the grade averaged 10%. There was an obvious difference at this point and it was all I could do to stay in the pedals while in first gear. At the top there was a large banner stretched across the road near a sculpture of a biker with a face contorted in agony with the strain of climbing the grade. A small bar was across the road, snuggled against the shoulders of the mountain. Crossing over a river of campers twisted down the mountain. This would be the gauntlet that the cyclists would traverse during the stage. I rode down a short way, before turning and imitating an Armstrong charge to the peak (well, in my mind anyway). I returned to the campsite to hear the sheep story from Shereen.
Later in the morning we again chose the more interesting route up the mountain and hiked across the pasture, then followed a zigzag grass path up the cliff, before deciding to go straight up the hill, climbing by grasping handfuls of bushes. We popped out on the road near the 10% grad sign, then continued the short distance to the peak. By the time we arrived the police had blocked the peak and were not allowing any bikers to cross over. There was a huge mass of bikers jammed, trying to turn around. We decided not to navigate through this mess and staked out a place in front of the bar within view of the banner and sculpture. The wait was similar to Andorre, but security was tighter here and no one was allowed on the road. We remained leaning over the barrier. Near the end of the caravan some officials cars pulled up and Bernard Hinault (a Frenchman and 5-time winner of the Tour), Christian Prudhomme (the Tour director), and a few others placed flowers at the base of a bust to some dead man with significance to the Tour. It was short ceremony, mostly they stood with necks craned back to look at the bust while photographers snapped pictures.
The cyclists soon began arriving at the peak. Typically they were zipping up their jerseys to prepare for the cold wind of the descent, after having opened their jerseys to cool down while climbing. Many grabbed bags filled with newspaper, slung the bag around their neck, then stuffed the paper down their jersey to act as an extra layer of insulation. It is not hard to imagine it would be very chilly to descend at high speed after being drenched in sweat from the ascent. Shereen and I were caught on film for a few seconds by a camera shooting the leaders. I am in the yellow shirt and blue hat taking a photo, Shereen is behind me in the yellow hat waving the US flag. Check out the 2:03 mark in this video: http://www.steephill.tv/players/vimeo/large.php?title=tdf-st9-highlights&id=5564609
We stepped inside the bar to get a snack of fries and watched the cyclists zipping through the towns below on TV for a few minutes. Then merged with the crowd for the walk back to the car. We were both tired and ready to get back to civilization. As in 2008, the Tour had delivered a great spectator experience. What other sporting event is free (there is no ticket required), allows you to imitate the pros the day of the event on the competitive surface, immerses you in a cultural bonanza, puts you close enough to see the competitors grit their teeth, and provides eye candy for nearly an entire day (or 21 days if you attend each stage)?
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Two Week Roadtrip Wrap
Our trip was completed with one more night in Brugges, Belgium. I have written about this town in prior posts, so I will keep my comments short. Overall each of our stops on this 2 week tour was an enjoyable feast for the eyes and mind. More time could have been allocated to each, but we were able to get a solid flavor of the towns without feeling that we were missing too much. It’s difficult to say if there was any one place that was the highlight, each was interesting in its own respect, and I am glad that we made time to visit the places we did. From medieval to modern, we were able to gain perspective on the geographic and architectural features that influenced the people who drove events of recent history: rolling fields and forests for the Meuse-Argonne where thousands died, the remote mountains that inspired the castles of King Ludwig, bustling Munich where Hitler found his lungs in the cacophony of the beer halls, the Austrian hills where Mozart was inspired and the von Trapps sang, medieval defenses along key trade routes in Bavaria, a granite quarry where murderers coerced the undesirables to extract stone for Nazi building projects, the symbolic center of the struggle between Communism and Capitalism in the German capital, the quiet calm of canals and bikes, and the impressive stone wealth of a previously powerful Belgian city.
Haarlem & Amsterdam
We left Berlin early in the morning to start the long drive to Haarlem in the Netherlands. Traveling at high speed on the German autobahn makes for a more interesting drive, but it was still a long distance. We were hustling to arrive at the Corrie ten Boom house for the last tour of the day. The house where the ten Boom family hid Jews is located in Haarlem, looking very similar to the war times. At the entrance we met friend of my parents from Holland. We were ushered inside by a friendly lady, along with a handful of other visitors, and sat in the same living room where the family had socialized before the tour started. The father had run a clock and watch shop on the first floor (there is a ten Boom clock shop still active on the first floor, but it is not associated with the family and the name is kept only for marketing reasons). Corrie was one of the first women in Holland to become certified in clock repair. The hiding place was more than just the small room we were to see later in an upper room. The family organized relocations of Jewish families to the country to escape the Nazis. Corrie was the coordinator, arranging transportation and lodging for the families on the run. There were several Jews who lived with the family for an extended period of time, and the “hiding place” was designed to protect them. The family used a small sign in the window to indicate if it was safe for Jews to enter or if the police were searching the house (as they did on many occasions) the sign was removed from the window. Our guide gave us a passionate description of the life of Corrie and then took us upstairs to see the “hiding place”. The hiding place was behind a false wall in a small bedroom. Designed by an architect, the false wall was made of brick and the floor boards were cut so that it appeared they ended at the wall. These features foiled the police who usually discovered such places by knocking on hollow wooden walls or noticing floor boards extending beneath walls that they shouldn’t. The size of a small closet, the hiding place is about 30 inches deep, just high enough for a person to stand upright, and extending to allow about 6 people side-by-side. The entrance was a small panel at the bottom of a closet that was lifted out of the way to expose an opening just large enough for a person. The group practiced entering the hiding place regularly, increasing their efficiency at squeezing through the hole and returning the shoes to their proper place to disguise the door until they could be inside in less than one minute. The brick wall has been opened up, so we were able to step inside and get our pictures taken while standing in the hiding place. After we climbed more stairs to the roof, where a small balcony was the only place where the Jews could safely see the sun. The balcony was hidden from the street and the railings were extended with boards to block the view from neighboring house windows.
We were escorted through the Holland countryside by Jenny and her husband, driving past canals guided by small dikes to feed the fields. We stopped at a harbor, shivering in the wind while large boats passed. Then went for dinner at a cutesy neighborhood, isolated on an island. The houses were picturesquely snuggled together and wooden boats pulled their noses tight against the piers.
Our hotel was in downtown Haarlem, just around the corner from the central Market Square and cathedral. The town is an idyllic collection of canals and cobblestones, enlivened by the bicycling populace. Everyone rides a bike; very popular are bikes with a large box attached where kids happily bounce as their parents pedal. We enjoyed meandering through the streets, our eyes soaking in the views of boat-lined canals and well-kept houses.
The next morning we took the train to Amsterdam for the day. Amsterdam is Haarlem on steroids: bigger, busier, and bustling. Our first stop was the Anne Frank house. This is one of the most popular sites and we joined the line to enter. Inside we traipsed through empty rooms, well described through plaques on the wall. Anne’s father has refused to allow the rooms to be furnished as they were when the family lived there. Instead he prefers to emphasize the house as a memorial to all who had to live through this experience. The most moving part of the visit was video clip of Anne’s father near the end of the tour. He was speaking about his relationship with his daughter, with who he was very close. I was struck by his comments that even though he and his daughter were as close as any father and daughter can be, that he had no idea of what she really thought until reading her diary. His comment was that he doesn’t think that any parent ever truly knows their child when they are young. And without her diary he would have had a very different view of who his daughter was.
Amsterdam is covered with museums, both world calls art and history and those focused on various niche subjects. We avoided being trapped in any of these and wandered the streets, crossing wide canals with house boats in all directions, dodging bikers from all directions. We stepped inside the courtyard of the Begijnhof; this was “old” Amsterdam, an open area surrounded by homes with a church in the center. Later we joined a canal boat cruise on a long ride that looped far enough to reach the sea. We caught the train back to Haarlem to allow time to explore there in the evening, including finding a storybook type windmill for pictures.
We were escorted through the Holland countryside by Jenny and her husband, driving past canals guided by small dikes to feed the fields. We stopped at a harbor, shivering in the wind while large boats passed. Then went for dinner at a cutesy neighborhood, isolated on an island. The houses were picturesquely snuggled together and wooden boats pulled their noses tight against the piers.
Our hotel was in downtown Haarlem, just around the corner from the central Market Square and cathedral. The town is an idyllic collection of canals and cobblestones, enlivened by the bicycling populace. Everyone rides a bike; very popular are bikes with a large box attached where kids happily bounce as their parents pedal. We enjoyed meandering through the streets, our eyes soaking in the views of boat-lined canals and well-kept houses.
The next morning we took the train to Amsterdam for the day. Amsterdam is Haarlem on steroids: bigger, busier, and bustling. Our first stop was the Anne Frank house. This is one of the most popular sites and we joined the line to enter. Inside we traipsed through empty rooms, well described through plaques on the wall. Anne’s father has refused to allow the rooms to be furnished as they were when the family lived there. Instead he prefers to emphasize the house as a memorial to all who had to live through this experience. The most moving part of the visit was video clip of Anne’s father near the end of the tour. He was speaking about his relationship with his daughter, with who he was very close. I was struck by his comments that even though he and his daughter were as close as any father and daughter can be, that he had no idea of what she really thought until reading her diary. His comment was that he doesn’t think that any parent ever truly knows their child when they are young. And without her diary he would have had a very different view of who his daughter was.
Amsterdam is covered with museums, both world calls art and history and those focused on various niche subjects. We avoided being trapped in any of these and wandered the streets, crossing wide canals with house boats in all directions, dodging bikers from all directions. We stepped inside the courtyard of the Begijnhof; this was “old” Amsterdam, an open area surrounded by homes with a church in the center. Later we joined a canal boat cruise on a long ride that looped far enough to reach the sea. We caught the train back to Haarlem to allow time to explore there in the evening, including finding a storybook type windmill for pictures.
Berlin
After our sobering stop at Flossenburg, we drove north to Berlin. Berlin is a sprawling city, much different from the petite towns we had just visited. On the highway entering the city we noticed large bleacher seats along the road, aligned as if the spectators would watch traffic. They obviously had not been used for years. I assume a sports stadium had once occupied where the highway now passed, but money was saved by leaving the bleachers untouched. Our hotel was a modern place within walking distance of the Kurfurstendamm a street modeled after the Champs Elysees in Paris. Before dinner we meandered along the Kurfurstendamm; there were many people walking and the sidewalk cafes were full, but we did not feel crowded. Berlin is sized for a much larger population; the 3.5 million residents are engulfed by the wide streets, which feel empty. Almost immediately our eyes were caught by a broken church steeple towering over the neighboring buildings. Intrigued we walked for a closer look. At first we were not sure if the steeple had been designed to appear broken, but once we stood in its shadow it was clear that the church had taken direct hits during the bombing of Berlin. Only the portion of the cathedral supporting the damaged spire remained. The spire perched uncertainly on a foundation of blasted stone that was supported by a massive steel belt wrapping tightly and large steel i-beams jutting at various angles. It was a bit disconcerting to walk to the foot of this fiasco; I had the impression that the entire stone and steel edifice was about to topple. Later we learned that this was the Kaiser William Memorial Church that was left standing as a memorial to the damage caused by the bombing. An interesting first taste of Berlin, foreshadowing the focus of our remaining time in the city.
The next morning we had a delicious breakfast of croissants and pastries at a walk-up counter, then walked to the meeting place for a Berlin walking tour. Since Berlin is an overwhelming city, we decided it would be best to maximize our day by seeing the main sights through a tour. Our guide was an enthusiastic, young New Zealander, who was a 20th century historian (he was a great guide, the best of the excellent guides we had on our trip). I’ll copy the list of the sites we visited from the tour company website to document what we saw and then highlight the most interesting:
Brandenburg Gate
The Berlin Wall
Hitler's Bunker (stand above)
Site of Goebbels' bunker
The "Deathstrip"
Checkpoint Charlie
Nazi Air Ministry
Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe (Holocaust Memorial)
Reichstag Dome (new home of the Bundestag)
Pariser Platz (and site of new American Embassy)
Museum Island and Pleasure Garden (Lustgarten)
Pergamon Museum
Bebelplatz, scene of the Nazi Bookburning
Potsdamer Platz
Site of SS and Gestapo HQs (Topography of Terror)
"Ghost Station"
Palace Square (Schlossplatz)
Unter den Linden
New Synagogue
Red Town Hall
Royal Armoury (Zeughaus)
Russian Embassy
War Memorial (Neue Wache)
TV Tower
Berlin Cathedral
Catholic Cathedral (St. Hedwigs)
Friedrichstrasse (1920s cabaret mile!)
Humboldt University
State Opera
Gendarmenmarkt
Royal Hunting Grounds (Tiergarten)
We passed by numerous cathedrals and museums with classically impressive architecture. Berlin is spending money it doesn’t have to rebuild the city as it was before the WWII bombings leveled the majority of the city. Many of the buildings stand again as copies of the originals. There are still several projects underway, including the resurrection of a massive palace that was originally replaced by a modern structure. Staggering under the debt load of this architectural spree, the city has adopted the slogan “Poor, but sexy”.
The Unter den Linden is a broad, tree-lined street that begins at the symbolic heart of Berlin, the Brandenburg Gate, stretches past the modern international embassies, the renowned Humboldt University (which claims 29 Nobel Prize winners and where Hegel, Einstein, Max Planck, Karl Marx, and Frederich Engels studied), to the Museum Island where several world class museums are huddled in classic buildings. Across from the Humboldt University we stopped at the Bebelplatz to see a memorial to a Nazi bookburning that took place here. The memorial was underground; we looked through a cloudy plexiglass window in the cobblestones into a dimly lit room, painted white with empty book shelves as the walls.
We heard many stories about the Berlin Wall. There are still sections of the wall standing, in one place the wall has been protected by a wire fence to prevent Berliners from destroying it. Where it has been torn down there are bricks in the pavement marking where the wall once was. There were a few versions of the wall. The first was a short strip of wire fence and barbed wire that the East Germans built to test the response of the US. There was no response, other than to celebrate that Communism was in such dire straits that they needed to build walls to keep their people from leaving. Within a day or so the building of a more substantial wall made of concrete and stone began. Almost immediately there was a mass exodus of people to West Berlin. The first casualty of the Berlin wall was a women jumping from an upper floor of a building located along the wall. The wall was built through densely populated areas and initially buildings were part of the wall. But people began jumping through windows on the first floor to escape. So the first floor windows were bricked up. People moved to the 2nd story and started jumping. So the 2nd story was bricked up. People moved to the 3rd story and continued jumping. It was from here that an older woman died from injuries sustained in a fall from the 3rd story. Eventually the upper story windows were sealed as well.
One of the metro stops we passed was called the “Ghost Station” during the Cold War. When the wall divided the city the metro lines were also divided into East and West trains, but there were a few trains in the West that passed by stations in the East. The trains did not stop at these since no one was allowed to exit by the heavily armed guards standing watch, but the trains had to slow down for safety reasons while passing. The West Berliners could look through the windows at these Ghost Stations occupied only by guards.
Hitler’s bunker still exists in Berlin, despite numerous attempts to blow it up with explosives. To prevent Neo-Nazis from using the site as a place of honor the bunker has been closed off and visitors can only stand above it and read a small sign indicating the significance of the location. There was not even a sign until the soccer World Cup was in Germany a few years ago and the tourism office bowed to requests from the numerous visitors to identify the place. The bunker was fed by extensive tunnels leading to the ugly, blocky, gray Nazi administrative buildings.
One comment as an interlude to the heavy history, the crosswalk signs in Berlin are of tourist interest in their own right. They use little Dutchman to indicate walk and don’t walk: a briskly stepping green man in a Dutch hat with hand raised to indicate “walk” and a one-legged red man in a Dutch hat with hands extended straight out to indicate “don’t walk”. These are quite amusing and popular; there is various paraphernalia available, including actual replicas of the crosswalk sign.
We also passed by a tour company that gives tours in the infamous Trabant, the East German creation that resembles a car. I believe the Trabant is actually worth less than the sum of its parts and is a strong competitor for the worst transportation vehicle ever imagined. I will quote from a Time website which says it better than I can (http://www.time.com/time/specials/2007/article/0,28804,1658545_1658533_1658030,00.html):
“This is the car that gave Communism a bad name. Powered by a two-stroke pollution generator that maxed out at an ear-splitting 18 hp, the Trabant was a hollow lie of a car constructed of recycled worthlessness (actually, the body was made of a fiberglass-like Duroplast, reinforced with recycled fibers like cotton and wood). A virtual antique when it was designed in the 1950s, the Trabant was East Germany's answer to the VW Beetle — a "people's car," as if the people didn't have enough to worry about. Trabants smoked like an Iraqi oil fire, when they ran at all, and often lacked even the most basic of amenities, like brake lights or turn signals. But history has been kind to the Trabi. Thousands of East Germans drove their Trabants over the border when the Wall fell, which made it a kind of automotive liberator. Once across the border, the none-too-sentimental Ostdeutschlanders immediately abandoned their cars. Ich bin Junk!”
Our tour passed through the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe, an intriguing, thought-provoking monument of square pillars of varying heights aligned in long rows in a large square area. The pillars were shorter at the outside and as you walked toward the center they gradually became taller until you could see only the sky above, the path in front, and periodically the side paths to your right and left. The feeling was one of disorientation and uncertainty, which was relieved as you progress towards the opposite side and reached the blocks shorter than you. I enjoy the interactive monuments and this was abstraction at its best; a creative use of art to simulate the confusion and helplessness of the Jews during this period.
After the tour ended, we walked to a memorial to the Berlin wall where you can still see the wall as it looked during the Cold War. The wall was actually two walls, one on the East, one on the West, with a “dead-zone in between wide enough to allow time for the guards to shoot runners or dogs to chase down border crossers. We peered through a slit in the wall into the dead-zone and climbed a tower to look down into this area.
From there, we returned to Checkpoint Charlie, which we had briefly visited on our walking tour. The museum at Checkpoint Charlie was a moving tribute to how far man will go to achieve freedom. There is still a large, white sign, with black, block letters stating that “YOU ARE ENTERING THE AMERICAN SECTOR” in English, German, and French. Checkpoint Charlie was the 3rd checkpoint between East & West (Checkpoint C after Alpha, Bravo, Charlie). The museum opened while the hostilities of the Cold War were at their height as a showcase for the elaborate schemes that were used to escape East Berlin. Located in full view of the wall, anyone could enter and see descriptions of tunnel digging, balloon flying, and hidden compartments in vehicles. Some of the most intriguing included a guy who invented a board with propellers attached that he held onto while it dragged him through the North Sea to Denmark. Upon arriving in Denmark he patented the invention, which is now used by the Marines in amphibious exercises. Another guy built an airplane on his kitchen table. He took a car engine, attached a body and foldable wings on the table. Then carried it outside to where he had enough room to take off and flew just far enough to cross the border.
Our day finished with a visit to the Reichstag building, a classically styled building with a modern dome above the rooms where the German parliament meets. Entrance is free, and after a short wait we were whisked by elevator to explore the dome accompanied by a modern audio guide that automatically described what we were seeing by sensing our location as we climbed the dome. As in Munich, government transparency is a theme of the dome. Visitors can look down through the opening into the room where the legislators debate. The glass dome is an exceptional example of attractive styling combined with functional features. The center of the dome is open to the air, and acts as a natural ventilator for the building. Mirrors arrayed on a central funnel direct sunlight down into the building. The pathways of the dome are creatively aligned to direct rain away from the rooms below. We had a great view of the city, including the massive Tiergarten (a large park) and the Frank Gehry designed DZ Bank building. Viewed from above, the glass and steel roof of the Gehry building looks like the tail of a whale rising above the sea. Earlier we had stepped inside the building to see the massive titanium sculpture “whale” that shields a conference room beneath. Gehry also designed the Astaire and Rogers Dancing House in Prague.
Our condensed visit to Berlin ended the next morning. We had seen the highlights, but Berlin is definitely deserving of an extended stay.
The next morning we had a delicious breakfast of croissants and pastries at a walk-up counter, then walked to the meeting place for a Berlin walking tour. Since Berlin is an overwhelming city, we decided it would be best to maximize our day by seeing the main sights through a tour. Our guide was an enthusiastic, young New Zealander, who was a 20th century historian (he was a great guide, the best of the excellent guides we had on our trip). I’ll copy the list of the sites we visited from the tour company website to document what we saw and then highlight the most interesting:
Brandenburg Gate
The Berlin Wall
Hitler's Bunker (stand above)
Site of Goebbels' bunker
The "Deathstrip"
Checkpoint Charlie
Nazi Air Ministry
Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe (Holocaust Memorial)
Reichstag Dome (new home of the Bundestag)
Pariser Platz (and site of new American Embassy)
Museum Island and Pleasure Garden (Lustgarten)
Pergamon Museum
Bebelplatz, scene of the Nazi Bookburning
Potsdamer Platz
Site of SS and Gestapo HQs (Topography of Terror)
"Ghost Station"
Palace Square (Schlossplatz)
Unter den Linden
New Synagogue
Red Town Hall
Royal Armoury (Zeughaus)
Russian Embassy
War Memorial (Neue Wache)
TV Tower
Berlin Cathedral
Catholic Cathedral (St. Hedwigs)
Friedrichstrasse (1920s cabaret mile!)
Humboldt University
State Opera
Gendarmenmarkt
Royal Hunting Grounds (Tiergarten)
We passed by numerous cathedrals and museums with classically impressive architecture. Berlin is spending money it doesn’t have to rebuild the city as it was before the WWII bombings leveled the majority of the city. Many of the buildings stand again as copies of the originals. There are still several projects underway, including the resurrection of a massive palace that was originally replaced by a modern structure. Staggering under the debt load of this architectural spree, the city has adopted the slogan “Poor, but sexy”.
The Unter den Linden is a broad, tree-lined street that begins at the symbolic heart of Berlin, the Brandenburg Gate, stretches past the modern international embassies, the renowned Humboldt University (which claims 29 Nobel Prize winners and where Hegel, Einstein, Max Planck, Karl Marx, and Frederich Engels studied), to the Museum Island where several world class museums are huddled in classic buildings. Across from the Humboldt University we stopped at the Bebelplatz to see a memorial to a Nazi bookburning that took place here. The memorial was underground; we looked through a cloudy plexiglass window in the cobblestones into a dimly lit room, painted white with empty book shelves as the walls.
We heard many stories about the Berlin Wall. There are still sections of the wall standing, in one place the wall has been protected by a wire fence to prevent Berliners from destroying it. Where it has been torn down there are bricks in the pavement marking where the wall once was. There were a few versions of the wall. The first was a short strip of wire fence and barbed wire that the East Germans built to test the response of the US. There was no response, other than to celebrate that Communism was in such dire straits that they needed to build walls to keep their people from leaving. Within a day or so the building of a more substantial wall made of concrete and stone began. Almost immediately there was a mass exodus of people to West Berlin. The first casualty of the Berlin wall was a women jumping from an upper floor of a building located along the wall. The wall was built through densely populated areas and initially buildings were part of the wall. But people began jumping through windows on the first floor to escape. So the first floor windows were bricked up. People moved to the 2nd story and started jumping. So the 2nd story was bricked up. People moved to the 3rd story and continued jumping. It was from here that an older woman died from injuries sustained in a fall from the 3rd story. Eventually the upper story windows were sealed as well.
One of the metro stops we passed was called the “Ghost Station” during the Cold War. When the wall divided the city the metro lines were also divided into East and West trains, but there were a few trains in the West that passed by stations in the East. The trains did not stop at these since no one was allowed to exit by the heavily armed guards standing watch, but the trains had to slow down for safety reasons while passing. The West Berliners could look through the windows at these Ghost Stations occupied only by guards.
Hitler’s bunker still exists in Berlin, despite numerous attempts to blow it up with explosives. To prevent Neo-Nazis from using the site as a place of honor the bunker has been closed off and visitors can only stand above it and read a small sign indicating the significance of the location. There was not even a sign until the soccer World Cup was in Germany a few years ago and the tourism office bowed to requests from the numerous visitors to identify the place. The bunker was fed by extensive tunnels leading to the ugly, blocky, gray Nazi administrative buildings.
One comment as an interlude to the heavy history, the crosswalk signs in Berlin are of tourist interest in their own right. They use little Dutchman to indicate walk and don’t walk: a briskly stepping green man in a Dutch hat with hand raised to indicate “walk” and a one-legged red man in a Dutch hat with hands extended straight out to indicate “don’t walk”. These are quite amusing and popular; there is various paraphernalia available, including actual replicas of the crosswalk sign.
We also passed by a tour company that gives tours in the infamous Trabant, the East German creation that resembles a car. I believe the Trabant is actually worth less than the sum of its parts and is a strong competitor for the worst transportation vehicle ever imagined. I will quote from a Time website which says it better than I can (http://www.time.com/time/specials/2007/article/0,28804,1658545_1658533_1658030,00.html):
“This is the car that gave Communism a bad name. Powered by a two-stroke pollution generator that maxed out at an ear-splitting 18 hp, the Trabant was a hollow lie of a car constructed of recycled worthlessness (actually, the body was made of a fiberglass-like Duroplast, reinforced with recycled fibers like cotton and wood). A virtual antique when it was designed in the 1950s, the Trabant was East Germany's answer to the VW Beetle — a "people's car," as if the people didn't have enough to worry about. Trabants smoked like an Iraqi oil fire, when they ran at all, and often lacked even the most basic of amenities, like brake lights or turn signals. But history has been kind to the Trabi. Thousands of East Germans drove their Trabants over the border when the Wall fell, which made it a kind of automotive liberator. Once across the border, the none-too-sentimental Ostdeutschlanders immediately abandoned their cars. Ich bin Junk!”
Our tour passed through the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe, an intriguing, thought-provoking monument of square pillars of varying heights aligned in long rows in a large square area. The pillars were shorter at the outside and as you walked toward the center they gradually became taller until you could see only the sky above, the path in front, and periodically the side paths to your right and left. The feeling was one of disorientation and uncertainty, which was relieved as you progress towards the opposite side and reached the blocks shorter than you. I enjoy the interactive monuments and this was abstraction at its best; a creative use of art to simulate the confusion and helplessness of the Jews during this period.
After the tour ended, we walked to a memorial to the Berlin wall where you can still see the wall as it looked during the Cold War. The wall was actually two walls, one on the East, one on the West, with a “dead-zone in between wide enough to allow time for the guards to shoot runners or dogs to chase down border crossers. We peered through a slit in the wall into the dead-zone and climbed a tower to look down into this area.
From there, we returned to Checkpoint Charlie, which we had briefly visited on our walking tour. The museum at Checkpoint Charlie was a moving tribute to how far man will go to achieve freedom. There is still a large, white sign, with black, block letters stating that “YOU ARE ENTERING THE AMERICAN SECTOR” in English, German, and French. Checkpoint Charlie was the 3rd checkpoint between East & West (Checkpoint C after Alpha, Bravo, Charlie). The museum opened while the hostilities of the Cold War were at their height as a showcase for the elaborate schemes that were used to escape East Berlin. Located in full view of the wall, anyone could enter and see descriptions of tunnel digging, balloon flying, and hidden compartments in vehicles. Some of the most intriguing included a guy who invented a board with propellers attached that he held onto while it dragged him through the North Sea to Denmark. Upon arriving in Denmark he patented the invention, which is now used by the Marines in amphibious exercises. Another guy built an airplane on his kitchen table. He took a car engine, attached a body and foldable wings on the table. Then carried it outside to where he had enough room to take off and flew just far enough to cross the border.
Our day finished with a visit to the Reichstag building, a classically styled building with a modern dome above the rooms where the German parliament meets. Entrance is free, and after a short wait we were whisked by elevator to explore the dome accompanied by a modern audio guide that automatically described what we were seeing by sensing our location as we climbed the dome. As in Munich, government transparency is a theme of the dome. Visitors can look down through the opening into the room where the legislators debate. The glass dome is an exceptional example of attractive styling combined with functional features. The center of the dome is open to the air, and acts as a natural ventilator for the building. Mirrors arrayed on a central funnel direct sunlight down into the building. The pathways of the dome are creatively aligned to direct rain away from the rooms below. We had a great view of the city, including the massive Tiergarten (a large park) and the Frank Gehry designed DZ Bank building. Viewed from above, the glass and steel roof of the Gehry building looks like the tail of a whale rising above the sea. Earlier we had stepped inside the building to see the massive titanium sculpture “whale” that shields a conference room beneath. Gehry also designed the Astaire and Rogers Dancing House in Prague.
Our condensed visit to Berlin ended the next morning. We had seen the highlights, but Berlin is definitely deserving of an extended stay.
Monday, August 17, 2009
Flossenburg
Our journey took us east, to the German/Czech Republic border where we stopped at the concentration camp in Flossenburg. We were interested in stopping since this was the camp where Dietrich Bonhoeffer was executed, and were pleasantly surprised to find an absorbing museum housed in one of the remaining buildings. We walked through an intimidating gate house into a large gravel courtyard between long, white buildings. The museum was located in the one to the right, a thorough collection of describing in detail all aspects of the concentration camp, augmented with audio and video from survivors. The initial camps were working camps (the death camps came later and were located further east, mostly in Poland), built to produce something for the Reich. Flossenburg was a stone quarry. The intent was to extract stones for use in Hitler’s grand building plans. There is a certain skill required for quarrying stone of a quality good enough for building, but the Nazis did not focus on training the unskilled labor, so the stone from Flossenburg was only adequate for roads. The progression of inmates to Flossenburg demonstrated Hitler’s opinion of who was undesirable: the first wave was the criminals (murderers, thieves), a second wave brought in the political enemies of the Reich, and the final wave was the social outcasts (Gypsies, Jews, Homosexuals). Looking through blurry Nazi lenses, criminals were esteemed higher than political foes who were better than social outcasts. Often a criminal was given charge of a group of political enemies and outcasts; you can imagine how pleasant it would be to work with a murderer as your boss. In the basement we walked through the large, concrete block rooms where the unfortunate were deloused at first entry. Outside a path led down the hill to the crematorium, which still contained the furnace that was used. The majority of those who died were buried in the neighboring city; sad that the locals participated in carting the bodies out of the compound to the city cemetery. The furnace was put into use near the end of the war.
Rothenburg
Our hotel in Rothenburg was another family run affair. Located within the city walls (Rothenburg is a medieval city completely surrounded by a stone wall), this hotel had more of a ramshackle feel than the clean, country charm of the one in Salzburg. The furnishings in every room were made by the owner, including the beds. The rough finish and dark carpets exuded the 19th century. We dropped our bags and went for a stroll through town. Each of the towns we visited has architectural eye candy in all directions, but Rothenburg epitomizes a cute European city. The tourist money has been put to good use; the houses are in excellent condition, painted freshly in bright colors that appear to have been coordinated so that each street is a blaze of multiple hues. We walked to the main square, and craned our necks to look up at the clock. On the hour the doors on either side of the clock face open and reveal two figures, one of which woodenly tilts a mug towards his face. This charming display represents a legend of the mayor of the town preventing an army from invading by downing a mug of beer in one gulp. Cute story, but almost certainly a myth, and the clock charade is a recent addition to please tourists.
The next morning, breakfast was a heart-warming affair. There were others in the breakfast room munching happily, but we didn’t see a table with food, so after some standing uncertainty we assumed that someone must have served them and found a table in the corner against the windows. Sure enough, after a few minutes a gentleman with a bushy mustache greeted us and took orders for tea and coffee. Several minutes later he returned with a basket overflowing with a variety of breads and jellies, accompanied with pots of hot drinks. Simple and satisfying. We tore the bread while watched by a mustachioed head carved in wood on a post in the corner (looked disturbingly like our kindly host).
Our first activity was to walk the wall around the city. The wall has been rebuilt with tourist money through a brilliant marketing campaign. Individuals or businesses were able to sponsor the refurbishment of sections of the wall; stones carved with the names of the donors mark the number of feet that were paid for. The city is very popular with Japanese tourists; it was humorous to see that several feet of wall were sponsored by an international airport in Japan (making sure that the tourist destinations are in good condition to keep their planes filled). It was quite fun to stroll the wooden walkway, 10 feet from the ground, underneath a wooden roof, peaking through the vertical archer slits. At the southern gate there were extensive defense towers. A large circular tower had ramps to allow cannons to be pulled up by horses and arranged in a wide hall wrapping the tower for maximum effect. Near the main eastern gate we climbed a tall tower, up several stories of wooden stairs that zig-zagged through mostly empty space broken only by wooden floors stretched inside the square, stone tower. Above we were treated to fine views of the red-roofed homes, shouldering snuggly along the curving streets.
Leaving the wall on the north-west, we walked through town to the St Jacob’s church, stopping along the way for pictures of immaculate flower displays and interesting doors and windows. We did find one house that appeared to have been abandoned for some time, with dirty windows and junk piled high inside. St Jacob’s contains an intricate wood carving called the Altar of the Holy Blood. It shows the last supper, with Jesus giving Judas a piece of bread (Judas is prominent at the center of the arrangement, but his carving is removable and he is taken out of the display during particular times of the year). Outside the church we stopped for lunch on the outdoor patio of a nearby restaurant.
In the afternoon, dad and I visited a Crime and Punishment museum. This was a fabulous collection of historic and bizarre medieval artifacts. I found most interesting the descriptions of medieval punishments for minor crimes. There were funny masks that those who were rude or loud-mouthed would wear, pictorial demonstration of how a man and women would be allowed to fight to resolve a conflict (with the man in a hole up to his waist), the double neck violin that quarrelsome women would be put in face-to-face, and a description of “unroofing the house” which was done when a wife beat her husband, the husband was therefore not worthy of having a roof on his house. There was also an iron maiden, although in the opinion of the curators, the original iron maidens did not have spikes; they were simply a confined space. The spikes were said to be a dramatic addition long after the iron maiden was out of use. We also took a long walk through the valley below the city, passing by Toppler castle (more like a small house, elevated from the ground).
In the evening we joined a huge crowd following the Night Watchman tour, led by an appropriately dressed watchman carrying a wicked pickaxe. We thoroughly enjoyed hearing the history of the city from this colorful chap. The city of Rothenburg was only taken by force one time. The walls and elevated location were an effective barrier against hostiles. The only time that an attack was successful was when one of the Rothenburg soldiers entered the powder tower that was located in the wall with a lighted torch. Surrender was quick given the wide gap created in the defenses. Similar to Bruges, Belgium, Rothenburg was a wealthy city situated on critical trade routes in the middle ages. But eventually the position lost its value and the city was abandoned for hundreds of years before tourism brought it back to life.
The next morning, breakfast was a heart-warming affair. There were others in the breakfast room munching happily, but we didn’t see a table with food, so after some standing uncertainty we assumed that someone must have served them and found a table in the corner against the windows. Sure enough, after a few minutes a gentleman with a bushy mustache greeted us and took orders for tea and coffee. Several minutes later he returned with a basket overflowing with a variety of breads and jellies, accompanied with pots of hot drinks. Simple and satisfying. We tore the bread while watched by a mustachioed head carved in wood on a post in the corner (looked disturbingly like our kindly host).
Our first activity was to walk the wall around the city. The wall has been rebuilt with tourist money through a brilliant marketing campaign. Individuals or businesses were able to sponsor the refurbishment of sections of the wall; stones carved with the names of the donors mark the number of feet that were paid for. The city is very popular with Japanese tourists; it was humorous to see that several feet of wall were sponsored by an international airport in Japan (making sure that the tourist destinations are in good condition to keep their planes filled). It was quite fun to stroll the wooden walkway, 10 feet from the ground, underneath a wooden roof, peaking through the vertical archer slits. At the southern gate there were extensive defense towers. A large circular tower had ramps to allow cannons to be pulled up by horses and arranged in a wide hall wrapping the tower for maximum effect. Near the main eastern gate we climbed a tall tower, up several stories of wooden stairs that zig-zagged through mostly empty space broken only by wooden floors stretched inside the square, stone tower. Above we were treated to fine views of the red-roofed homes, shouldering snuggly along the curving streets.
Leaving the wall on the north-west, we walked through town to the St Jacob’s church, stopping along the way for pictures of immaculate flower displays and interesting doors and windows. We did find one house that appeared to have been abandoned for some time, with dirty windows and junk piled high inside. St Jacob’s contains an intricate wood carving called the Altar of the Holy Blood. It shows the last supper, with Jesus giving Judas a piece of bread (Judas is prominent at the center of the arrangement, but his carving is removable and he is taken out of the display during particular times of the year). Outside the church we stopped for lunch on the outdoor patio of a nearby restaurant.
In the afternoon, dad and I visited a Crime and Punishment museum. This was a fabulous collection of historic and bizarre medieval artifacts. I found most interesting the descriptions of medieval punishments for minor crimes. There were funny masks that those who were rude or loud-mouthed would wear, pictorial demonstration of how a man and women would be allowed to fight to resolve a conflict (with the man in a hole up to his waist), the double neck violin that quarrelsome women would be put in face-to-face, and a description of “unroofing the house” which was done when a wife beat her husband, the husband was therefore not worthy of having a roof on his house. There was also an iron maiden, although in the opinion of the curators, the original iron maidens did not have spikes; they were simply a confined space. The spikes were said to be a dramatic addition long after the iron maiden was out of use. We also took a long walk through the valley below the city, passing by Toppler castle (more like a small house, elevated from the ground).
In the evening we joined a huge crowd following the Night Watchman tour, led by an appropriately dressed watchman carrying a wicked pickaxe. We thoroughly enjoyed hearing the history of the city from this colorful chap. The city of Rothenburg was only taken by force one time. The walls and elevated location were an effective barrier against hostiles. The only time that an attack was successful was when one of the Rothenburg soldiers entered the powder tower that was located in the wall with a lighted torch. Surrender was quick given the wide gap created in the defenses. Similar to Bruges, Belgium, Rothenburg was a wealthy city situated on critical trade routes in the middle ages. But eventually the position lost its value and the city was abandoned for hundreds of years before tourism brought it back to life.
Salzburg
Leaving Munich in the afternoon, we continued our drive to Salzburg. Our hotel was a family run affair outside of town. A friendly Austrian woman greeted us as we parked next to a barn and large house. Our room came with a balcony overlooking a grassy field that stretched far out to touch the toes of the Austrian Alps. We had time to catch the bus into the town center and look around. The old town is relatively small, squeezed between the river and the cliff, atop which a castle overlooks. Houses are built right into the cliff. The bus slowed to a crawl to fit through the old, stone gates that were designed for narrow carriages, and we exited along the river. Walking into town we passed the usual array of interesting shops and stopped at one with an extensive display of decorated eggs. Thousands of eggs painted in various themes crowded the counters. Further along we were in Mozartplatz, then ducked between arches into an opening with horses & carriages waiting for tourists. Around the corner was a group watching two men play chess with 5 foot tall pieces. We arrived in time to see the final few moves, in the shadow of a large, gold, Mozart chocolate ball (a piece of modern art). After a lap in one of the carriages showed us the fountains where horses drank and bathed, Mozart’s birthplace. The driver was a jovial fellow, who greeted us by asking “do you like football, I mean American football?” Apparently he is the one Austrian who follows American football and rambled about Tom Brady, the Patriots, the Eagles. Or at least he has studied football enough to have a conversation with tourists.
Breakfast the next morning was a delicious assortment of breads, meats, cheeses, boiled eggs, and fruit in small, but cute, dining room beneath a ceiling hung with a collection of tea pots. Our hosts served us personally, the woman returning on her bicycle with fresh bread from nearby. The first activity of the day was a Sound of Music tour. We were the first on “Bob’s” van, driven by a friendly English guide. Another group of 4 tourists climbed on at their hotel and we were on our way. Many of the scenes from the movie were shot in Salzburg. From what we were told by the guide, the basics of the movie are based on facts. Artistic license was taken with the songs (written by Rogers & Hammerstein) since the original songs were in German, and the mountain that they hiked over to escape would have led into Germany (they actually left on a train). The locals don’t understand the fascination with the movie and have failed to take full advantage of the tourist opportunities. The tour took us out into the countryside, up the narrow twisting mountain roads. We were able to dance next to the gazebo (since an old lady hurt herself dancing inside the gazebo tourists are not allowed inside), look across the lake to the house where scenes were shot on the patio, climb the stairs near the fountain where the kids sang, and enter the church where the wedding was held. One stop was a dry luge, where dad and I were pulled to the top of the hill on wheeled luges, then released to descend a twisting aluminum chute. Another was for a snack of cake and coffee at a café with a spectacular view over a lake surrounded by mountains. And on the way back to town the movie lovers in the group belted along to “Do, a deer…” and others from the soundtrack.
Rain arrived as we were enjoying the gardens near the Mirabel palace. We ducked inside Mozart’s residence to escape the wetness. The house is now a nice museum, displaying instruments Mozart used in surprisingly good condition. That evening we had dinner reservations at a nice hotel, followed by tickets to a Mozart violin concert in a marble room at the Mirabel Palace. Few things better than absorbing the melody of strings inside a small, high-ceiling, marble room while rain falls soundlessly outside. There were 5 musicians: 2 violins, 2 violas, and 1 cello. It was interesting to observe as the musicians played off one another. There was a lead violin that the rest followed, glancing over during key moments to get cues for the following segment. The violin and viola players switched chairs at intermission, allowing their colleague to lead the next set. Afterwards we ran, splashing through the garden to the bus stop. The cozy breakfast under the hanging teapots the next morning was our last Salzburg experience, and we reluctantly boarded the car for our next destination.
That evening we were planning to stay in the German town of Rothenburg od der Tauber. Before that we detoured a few minutes to meet Nathan Dietz and his family, who were vacationing near the Austria/German border. We found them in a small town near a mountain stream and then followed to a tourist village with an extensive collection of buildings in styles from over one hundred years ago. Most of the buildings had been relocated from other German cities (similar to the Greenfield village in Detroit). We traipsed through barns and houses for several hours, observing demonstrations of weaving on a massive loom, shaping wood shingles with an ax, before saying goodbye.
Breakfast the next morning was a delicious assortment of breads, meats, cheeses, boiled eggs, and fruit in small, but cute, dining room beneath a ceiling hung with a collection of tea pots. Our hosts served us personally, the woman returning on her bicycle with fresh bread from nearby. The first activity of the day was a Sound of Music tour. We were the first on “Bob’s” van, driven by a friendly English guide. Another group of 4 tourists climbed on at their hotel and we were on our way. Many of the scenes from the movie were shot in Salzburg. From what we were told by the guide, the basics of the movie are based on facts. Artistic license was taken with the songs (written by Rogers & Hammerstein) since the original songs were in German, and the mountain that they hiked over to escape would have led into Germany (they actually left on a train). The locals don’t understand the fascination with the movie and have failed to take full advantage of the tourist opportunities. The tour took us out into the countryside, up the narrow twisting mountain roads. We were able to dance next to the gazebo (since an old lady hurt herself dancing inside the gazebo tourists are not allowed inside), look across the lake to the house where scenes were shot on the patio, climb the stairs near the fountain where the kids sang, and enter the church where the wedding was held. One stop was a dry luge, where dad and I were pulled to the top of the hill on wheeled luges, then released to descend a twisting aluminum chute. Another was for a snack of cake and coffee at a café with a spectacular view over a lake surrounded by mountains. And on the way back to town the movie lovers in the group belted along to “Do, a deer…” and others from the soundtrack.
Rain arrived as we were enjoying the gardens near the Mirabel palace. We ducked inside Mozart’s residence to escape the wetness. The house is now a nice museum, displaying instruments Mozart used in surprisingly good condition. That evening we had dinner reservations at a nice hotel, followed by tickets to a Mozart violin concert in a marble room at the Mirabel Palace. Few things better than absorbing the melody of strings inside a small, high-ceiling, marble room while rain falls soundlessly outside. There were 5 musicians: 2 violins, 2 violas, and 1 cello. It was interesting to observe as the musicians played off one another. There was a lead violin that the rest followed, glancing over during key moments to get cues for the following segment. The violin and viola players switched chairs at intermission, allowing their colleague to lead the next set. Afterwards we ran, splashing through the garden to the bus stop. The cozy breakfast under the hanging teapots the next morning was our last Salzburg experience, and we reluctantly boarded the car for our next destination.
That evening we were planning to stay in the German town of Rothenburg od der Tauber. Before that we detoured a few minutes to meet Nathan Dietz and his family, who were vacationing near the Austria/German border. We found them in a small town near a mountain stream and then followed to a tourist village with an extensive collection of buildings in styles from over one hundred years ago. Most of the buildings had been relocated from other German cities (similar to the Greenfield village in Detroit). We traipsed through barns and houses for several hours, observing demonstrations of weaving on a massive loom, shaping wood shingles with an ax, before saying goodbye.
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