Germany – Page 23

A Day In Geisenheim, Germany

April 18, 2013 JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Caroline and I had to leave Frankfurt relatively early today for a drive to Geisenheim. Our date is with Vevie Engelhardt, Caroline’s stepmother. It took nearly an hour to get out here; it would have taken longer if we could have stopped at all the places along the Rhein River we drove along, but we didn’t get away from Frankfurt at 8:00 like we wanted to. Once in the small village where Vevie lives, we picked a parking spot and started walking through the fussgänger zone (pedestrian area – no cars allowed) until stumbling upon her street. This didn’t work out as perfectly as it sounds; once on the street, we easily found house numbers 2 through 8 on the right but couldn’t find numbers on the left. Towards the end of the street, we turned left to see if maybe there were backside entrances, only 1 and 5, we needed number 3. So we returned the way we came, certain that we were missing the obvious. Once more, we checked the back of the building and found that number 3 was out of sequence. Great, in a moment, we were at Vevie’s door being greeted with some mighty big hugs.

We spend a few minutes seeing Vevie’s apartment, having a drink of some homemade? Berry syrup she made before she put lunch in the oven and took us on a walk of her neighborhood. It’s another beautiful day here in central Germany, though a touch on the cool side.

As Caroline and Vevie catch up on a couple of decades of conversation, I linger behind the two and enjoy the sights, concentrating on the photography.

I’m in love with these small villages. They are quaint, old, full of character, and while occasionally tagged by a graffiti hoodlum, as opposed to graffiti artists, they are not run down, dangerous, or falling into decrepitude as so many small towns in America are. How these places remain vibrant is nearly beyond my ability to comprehend.

We cannot pass an old church without trying the door. Sadly, the Lutheran and Protestant churches are closed all days except Sunday, where the Catholic church’s doors remain open every day.

I’d like to wonder out loud if a street-side display like this would survive 24 hours in New York City, or would the plants and containers quickly find themselves scattered around town at other people’s properties? Don’t get the wrong idea about my kvetching about America. I love the land I live in, but I’m saddened by our nearly silent acceptance of decay, crime, and lack of education that afflicts so many.

After our walk around town, we returned to Vevie’s place and sat down to lunch, and we talked. And we talked some more. Time for espresso and more talk. Along the way, we got a commitment from Vevie that she’d like to come visit us and see some of the beauty of the Grand Canyon, the Redwoods, and Yellowstone. We agree that next May or September would be best; a loose date has been set.

As we talked through the afternoon and were not quite ready to part company, we followed Vevie to a local Italian Eis Shop (ice cream) for a sweet. Awesome, spaghetti eis is on the menu; see earlier entry for an explanation of this amazing treat. Caroline and Vevie opt for a fruity eis. The ice cream was great as long as the sun bore down on us, but some pesky clouds kept sweeping by, throwing a chill down upon us. With it getting later, we had to bid adieu to leave us enough time to visit Jutta. It was a bittersweet farewell, although it was tempered with the hopes we’d meet again in little more than a year; our fingers are crossed.

Not an hour later, we were back in Frankfurt and arriving at Bürger Hospital much quicker than we’d anticipated; it was rush hour. As it has been every day we’ve been here, Jutta is thrilled to see us. We spend a couple more hours talking with Jutta and laughing with her, too, before the fullness we left Geisenheim with starts to fade, and I start thinking about what we’ll find in this city for dinner tonight.

Frankfurt and Old Friends

April 17, 2013 JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

The first half-dozen photos in this entry are for my friend Rob Lazzaratto, who lives in Tonopah, Arizona, and runs his own farmers’ markets. These markets in Frankfurt move around the city and can be found nearly every day; today, we are in the Bornheim area. What’s crazy is Frankfurt while considered a large metropolitan area, its population is just under 700,000 people. On the other hand, Phoenix, Arizona, is home to nearly 1.5 million people. The point is that Frankfurt has a more vibrant active marketplace for independent sellers and the number of people who visit them than the Phoenix area. Not only that, the markets here are open from early morning to just before evening. The same is true for the arts here. At every train stop we pass through, we find posters and flyers announcing various arts, music, and speaking dates across the area. The culinary and art cultures are alive and well in Frankfurt.

Germany, while it imports much food also grows a lot with the help of its extensive network of greenhouse growers. With the opening of the European Union, food products started moving across former borders with ease, just as we people are allowed to do now. Some 20 years ago, while those of us in private cars lined up at border crossings, the really long lines were formed by the kilometer or better of trucks that were moving livestock and produce between countries from France and Denmark to Italy and Greece and all lands between. These days, there are no border traffic jams; everything sails right through. The effect of all this unencumbered trade is that the selection of food choices has grown to offer Europeans incredible choices.

This potato stand was offering eight different varieties of potatoes, along with a few types of onions and garlic – all staples in the German kitchen.

No German table is complete without bread. This may be the single most important food in Deutschland. The biggest complaint you are likely to hear from Germans traveling in America or England is that we eat the most boring, spongy-soft, taste-free substance that we dare call bread. Bread here has gusto, crunch, and heft. There may be more bakeries in Frankfurt alone than all the convenience stores in the state of Arizona. As a matter of fact, the typical German dinner at home is called abendt brot (evening bread), and it’s just that: a couple of pieces of bread with some cheese and deli meat, maybe a small salad too.

All things olive. From sheep cheese marinated in olive oil to more than two dozen variations of the olives themselves, this stand was offering the gourmets of Frankfurt nearly every form of this famous fruit to the public walking by this morning. Nor do these sellers have the market cornered, as another street-side shop was offering a different variety of olive-drenched products.

A seasonal favorite in Germany is asparagus, but not just any asparagus; it must be white asparagus. So, how does one grow white asparagus? The fields across this region where asparagus grows are covered with plastic or a thick cover of mulch. This process ensures the asparagus shoots never see the light of day. Deprived of sunlight, they do not produce chlorophyll and so they remain white. The color is not the only difference; the taste is also much more subtle, well, at least to me anyway. From April through June, this German delicacy remains in high demand; its price also reflects that point.

One might start to think that Germans are foodies, though many would argue that German food is quite boring. When looking at the important staples in this country’s diet, cheese and plenty of it, plays a big role. At today’s market were three vendors selling cheese products, and not a slice of yellow nondescript cheese product was to be found, nor ‘cheese’ in a spray can. While cheese may not be a religion as it is to the French, Germany could easily be in second place for bragging rights to those who love cheese more. When perusing these cheese mongers wares be prepared to walk away with a little of everything. Also, here in numbers are the meat sellers, from chicken and fish to tons of pork, beef, and wild game, but I didn’t capture a photo worth sharing.

This is not graffiti. It is a painting at the end of an apartment building showing typical daily life in Frankfurt, where women drinking apple wine hang out with blue goats, laughing the day away.

A week ago, the trees were still bare, the air freezing cold and everyone was bundled up in winter clothes. Not so true today as the trees are exploding in color, and the temperatures have crawled out of brrr into the mid-20s Celsius (75 Fahrenheit). And the flowers are not the only thing making themselves seen; it’s time to break out the “I’m not sure yet if it’s time for summer clothes” – skirts still have heavy leggings underneath them, and short sleeve shirts have jackets draped over the arm; just in case.

If you only walk with your eyes looking straight ahead, you will miss much in any given European city. Details pop out of nearly every corner; in this case, it was a face adorned to the front of an apartment underneath a balcony just overhead.

Meet To Kuehne (pronounced Toe), an old friend of ours. To is approaching a level of fame that has him being recognized on the streets of Germany, but he still has time for us. So much time, in fact that we have been invited to dinner on Friday night, he’s promised to make dinner himself. Also on the invitation is another old friend, Olaf Finkbeiner, but I’m having trouble getting hold of him. I hope he makes it.

Who did make it for today’s meeting with To was Manuel Francescon von Oberursel! These two guys are very special in our lives as some 20 years ago; they helped me make a video for Caroline’s birthday that still makes us laugh to this day. After our departure from Germany, Manuel made a career for himself making short films and ultimately started working in TV and radio. The four of us sat outside in the sun at a local cafe for hours, hearing their voices again kept smiles on our faces the entire time. Saying goodbye to Manuel was hard, as the idea that we may not see him again for many more years was a bitter pill to swallow. Today, we realized just how much we miss our old friends.

By late afternoon, we were once again on the move, back to Bornheim to pick up a prescription for Jutta.

After arriving at the rehabilitation clinic, we couldn’t find any sign of Jutta. We knocked multiple times at her room, figuring that maybe she was in the restroom. We’d already checked the dining room and were on our way to the doctor’s office when Stephanie showed up, telling us that Jutta was back in Bürger Hospital. Just before panic sets in, she tells us that Jutta’s wound is infected. Could be worse, at least, as she didn’t break her other hip! With all of the required train stops that would be needed to go to the hospital and Caroline behind with work she’s been trying to keep up with from her job back home, we decided to head back to Stephanie and Klaus’s place.

This is the headquarters of the European Central Bank. We left our first train at Hauptbahnhof (the main train station) to walk up the street to the train stop, where the subway would take us to our temporary home. With restaurants from Malaysia and the Balkans to fast food joints selling Pakistani and Lebanese specialties, we walked amongst the international throngs, admiring the diversity that has become Frankfurt. It seems fitting that this multi-cultural city would become home to this conglomeration of states that make up the E.U.

Twenty years ago, this subway stop was Theater-Platz; today, it is Willy-Brandt-Platz, named after the popular and long-standing German Chancellor. Downstairs, we will board the U1, U3, or U8 for our short ride home, which not only runs underground but emerges into the light of the day for the majority of our trip to Heddernheim.

And this concludes this very long entry. Earlier, I said summer had arrived; maybe I exaggerated a little, as here’s proof that spring is upon Germany: cherry blossoms.

Lüneburg – End Of The Road

April 16, 2013 JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Looking up Ilmenaustrasse in Lüneburg, Germany

Standing on the corner of Ilmenaustrasse and bei der St. Johanniskirche in Lüneburg, Germany, just doesn’t have the ring of the old Eagles song about Winslow, Arizona, does it? Then again neither does Hotel California remind me of our hotel here in Germany on a foggy morning. I’m not even sure if there is a song that conjures these gray morning blues that accompanies the feeling that we’ll be exploring under potentially overcast skies the entire day. This is such a strange contrast, remembering that there’s always the threat that we’ll not see any blue sky today, it is after all, a frequent European phenomenon compared to the Arizona desert where we can be 99.9% certain that we’ll see some corner of blue sky every single day over the course of a year. But we are here, and it’s the end of winter, and so as we are apt to do, we’ll make the best of it.

Man riding his bicycle in a narrow alley in Lüneburg, Germany

It is too early out here for much foot traffic yet, just the way we like it. Watching a city wake up became a passion of mine while visiting Paris for the first time. Back then, I was up early, and our hotel did not include breakfast, so I had to head out in search of a bakery. The boulangeries were still closed, but the people who worked in them had already arrived and were in the process of opening shutters, washing down the sidewalk, or sweeping out their shop. In the quiet of that gray morning between twilight and sunrise, the sounds and smells of an old historic city waking up spoke to my most romantic ideals of being immersed not in a place as much as in the stories of that place’s stories. Who else strode these cobblestones as their minds wandered at the end of a night of thought, or maybe it was just the need for food after an evening of drunken debauchery? As the merriment of celebration closes and the necessities of the day bring people back to their routine, it is in these early morning hours that their echoes sound through the lonely streets and alleyways for me.

Colorful entry to a pharmacy in Lüneburg, Germany

No bland glass and generic storefront here. With a blast of color and a story out of the history of trade, this Apotheke (pharmacy) enthusiastically welcomes its customers through this beautiful passage. Where I live in Arizona, this type of brazen nonconformity would never be allowed.

A narrow passage through downtown Lüneburg in Germany

Cobblestones and a bulging wall were not the only things that attracted my attention here. I’m in love with the curves of a street that wasn’t master-planned. Only a building exceeding hundreds of years old could exist where the weight from above has made an exterior wall buckle and bulge. Do you tear that down and make way for bigger and better, or recognize that the historic, when well preserved and cared for, might have greater cultural value? Fortunately for us travelers, there are enough communities outside of North America that recognize the import of allowing the old to continue to act as examples of charm. This is why I must go beyond recognition that is not only a street in the city; it is also the seduction of the historical and wistful meanderings of my imagination being intrigued by possibilities.

A fragment of a church and the steep path leading up to it in Lüneburg, Germany

Looking for something to eat and not finding it, nor are we finding an open building to dip into yet. We have sliced our way to the far side of the old town and see that we’ll have to walk back towards the main shopping area if we are to have breakfast. We told ourselves that we needed to come back to this church after 9:00 to pay a visit, but that never happened. Once we are back near where we started, we return to a bakery that had originally grabbed our attention for a sweet and yummy something-or-other.

The Deutsches Salz Museum in Lüneburg, Germany (German Salt Museum)

After having read Salt by Mark Kurlansky a couple of years ago, Caroline and I have had a voracious appetite for all things salt. Not necessarily eating it, but the history and culture that surrounds it, and so it seemed obligatory that we would have to visit the Deutsches Salz Museum here in Lüneburg. The museum is not a very big one, though it does still house one of the original industrial-scale fixtures that were used for the harvesting of salt from a local source. More interesting than that, though, is the old history of how salt was collected and its importance to the region. With fires raging under metal pans in a cramped, hot, and humid workplace, those who tended the evaporation pans worked nearly naked or in loose-fitting linens in order to remain cool enough to endure the harsh working conditions. Places like this that produced salt were essential to society as humans must have salt in their diet. As such, the salt works were protected and considered an essential industry, which afforded them a kind of status that was more typically only offered to the clergy. Sadly, as salt is no longer produced here, we were not able to bring a sample back home. Today, salt is produced by exploited young women working in factories in China that also build iPads.

Wasserturm Lüneburg - the Lüneburg water town in Lüneburg, Germany

Wasserturm Lüneburg, known in English as the Lüneburg water tower, was built by Chinese slave labor 950 years before Christ and is the oldest known water tower on Earth. Seriously though, salt is not produced by exploited women, nor was this tower erected by slave labor. The tower from 1905 does offer the best view of the city as next to the churches it is the highest building in Lüneburg. An elevator makes for an easy climb to the viewing platform, while a set of stairs will carry us down and through the old 18,000 cubic foot (500 cubic meters) water tank.

View of Lüneburg, Germany from the water tower (Wasserturm Lüneburg)

Oh, what a beautiful view. The sun and sky are starting to smile upon us, while in the distance, the gray of the early day is moving away. We must have lingered up here for close to a half-hour before starting the hike down. Inside the water tower, the sight of the massive tank is impressive and works to shrink us “Alice in Wonderland” style as we become smaller, entering this rabbit hole. An exit was cut near the bottom of the tank, and that’s where we met up with the rest of the stairs that brought us back to ground level.

Stained glass window from inside St. Johannis Kirche (church) in Lüneburg, Germany

Around the corner is the Church of John the Baptist (St. Johanniskirche). We’ll spend some time here admiring the details of the oldest Lutheran church in Lüneburg. This also brings me to the reason we are in Lüneburg anyway. This was one of the cities besides Magdeburg, Hanover, and Frankfurt that my mother-in-law Jutta lived in. She’s spoken of her time here often and seemed impressed by the city, so it was our time to visit and be able to share with her our impressions. We also thought it would be nice to surprise her when we got back to Frankfurt by showing her the photos of where our road trip took us.

Church of John the Baptist (St. Johanniskirche) in Lüneburg, Germany

A little Wiki search tells me that the church was built between 1300 and 1370 at a height of 108 meters (about 324 feet). The organ was finished in 1553 and is said to have been practiced on by a young Johann Sebastian Bach under the guidance of Georg Böhm while Bach was in residency at the nearby St. Michaeliskirche. It’s another unfortunate day that while we are here, there will be no music flowing from the pipes of another multi-hundred-year-old church organ. Reminder for the bucket list: visit old churches on days the organ is in use.

On one of the many shopping streets in Lüneburg, Germany

The clock is being watched; we still have to drive back to Frankfurt today. The weather has been cooperating in making this a beautiful day to be anywhere that is as pretty as this. If only we could hang out a few more days, really wander every street, and learn about the history of each and every house of interest, but that isn’t part of this trip. We’ll have to be happy to leave with these memories and photos until maybe one day we are spending six months back here in Germany with the intention of indulging our interest in history. One day.

The Rathaus (City Hall) in Lüneburg, Germany

Earlier in the day, we walked by the Rathaus (City Hall), and I did, in fact, photograph it then. With the sun out, along with some cars and people in the view, I had to return for a photo. Nearly a scary phenomenon is occurring here in Lüneburg, the city is sinking. That salt museum I told you we visited, well, too much salt was mined from under the city; that was built on a salt dome. While we didn’t visit St. Michaeliskirche, it is a good place to see the effects of the subsidence where the columns and the west wing of the nave are sloping. We grab a bite from a little bratwurst shack on the plaza here at City Hall and start our walk back to the car.

On the Ilmenau River in Lüneburg, Germany

From gray to fantastic, that’s the way we like to spend a day. Instead of taking the most direct route to our parking spot, we revisit some of the paths we walked earlier for the sake of seeing them in this now-perfect light. We are standing under the Alte Kran (Old Crane), built back in 1797, one of the landmarks of Lüneburg. In front of us is the Ilmenau River, and beyond that is the old town, with all of those restaurants asking us to come back and have a seat by the river to enjoy a lazy meal and soak up the history, atmosphere, and sun that has made this a perfect day.

From Denmark to Lübeck and Lüneburg

April 15, 2013 JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Roadside in northern Germany

A peculiarity of this trip into Europe was that jet lag was at a minimum, and something was triggering an internal alarm clock that had us getting up every day between 6:00 and 6:15. Downstairs, a great breakfast awaits us, that is, if you love a traditional German breakfast. We pay our hotel bill as we check out. Strange, isn’t it that we pay in the morning because not only do they trust us to pay, but they have my passport number too, so I guess trust is secondary. The same goes for gas stations around Europe; no need to pay first, pump your gas, and then go pay. Sure, some will forget to pay, and others might think they can get away with it, but that’s only on rare occasions. We are now ready to go. Some construction along the way detours us through Leck and Süderlügen, but we are soon back on track, traveling the country roads to somewhere up north.

Blooming crocus flowers in Ladelund, Germany

To our right, a sign grabs Caroline’s attention and she asks me to indulge her a detour. We are heading to Ladelund, heck I’d go just because the name sounds so nice – Laadaloond. What’s got her interested is the detail that tells us that a KZ-Gedenk und Begegnungsstätte (Concentration Camp Memorial and Meeting Point) is up the road. The sign doesn’t tell us how far away it is, and we’re not traveling with GPS; call us old school. In any case, even if we’d had a navigation device, we’d still be going because what it would have failed to let us know was that the site is closed on Mondays. Good thing this beautiful yard of crocus was in bloom to distract us, making the extra miles worth the effort.

Caroline and John Wise about to enter Denmark for the first time

With no fanfare or announcement of what was approaching, the border for Denmark was upon us. Strange thing, this EU construct, no more border checks, no encounter with law enforcement ready to examine orifices or search under the car for god-knows-what. Nothing more than a blue sky with wispy clouds and a warm sun that has allowed us to leave behind the winter gear. Nice way to be introduced to the Danish and their land.

An old windmill in the town of Høyer, Denmark

After driving back towards the coast with no real destination in mind or on the map, we are soon pulling into the town of Høyer, Denmark. Cool, a windmill. Let’s get a closer look. Hey, the door is open, it’s a museum, and it’s open on Monday. Not only have we never been to Denmark before, but neither of us has been inside a windmill either. That’s about to be rectified.

Potato cake and sour cream at the Høyer windmill and museum in Denmark

On the way to Høyer, we’d seen gas stations offering fuel for €11 a liter, but we were certain they must be using gallons because we were paying €1.58 per liter in Germany, and there was no way that gas could be $68 a gallon in Denmark. Turns out that the Danes opted against the Euro and have stuck with their Krones. Now that we know the currency in use, we also learn that our Euros are taken everywhere in Denmark, but change is given in Krones. We pay for our admission before noticing the treats. I asked if they were something special to the Danish (of course, I was looking for Danishes) and was told that they were, in fact, Danish specialties. One of each was on order; the first was a stack of pancake-like wafers with jam between the layers. The other is pictured here; it is potato cake, a bit sweet, served with a big dollop of sour cream. With some hot coffee, we sat down to enjoy our first flavors of Denmark. I promise I won’t continue to note all the firsts experienced this day.

An old boat on display at the windmill museum in Høyer, Denmark

Upstairs is the museum with a focus on local life. Being a coastal community it only makes sense that the ocean and life next to it is the main feature. Høyer is a small village; the museum is appropriately small too. There are two floors to the place with an interesting look at how the encroaching and receding ocean has affected life here. I say receding because, like most of the coastal areas between the Netherlands and Denmark, much engineering has been done over the centuries to claim land from the sea that works determinedly to take it back.

Grinding stones in the Høyer windmill in Denmark

These are the grinding stones in the windmill. Some years ago, the windmill was started up to see if things were still working, and sure enough, grain was turned into flour just as it had been so many years ago. Back in the day, it was able to push out 600 kg (1300 pounds) of flour a day; I wonder if it makes more money now as an attraction or back then when it was hard at work.

Gears that when engaged spin the various elements of the mill here in Høyer, Denmark

When the wind blows, the blades on the mill allow for these gears to be engaged, starting up the process of turning all of the elements that are required to work. The history on display is intriguing to us; we are delighted to be here, and if we had a wish, it would be to visit again when the mill is working. All but the very top of the windmill is open to our exploration. We learn more about the operation of one of these iconic landmarks than we had ever dreamed of. On our way up the steep stairs to one of the upper floors, I noticed in the dark a piece of equipment that really grabbed my eye. It’s a modern machine, relatively, that was used to slow down the turning blades and also to help on windless days. The motor near the ceiling was made in Buffalo, New York, the same place I was made.

A butterfly Caroline saved from being trapped in the Høyer windmill in Denmark

Saved by the wife. Fluttering, struggling, and frantically trying to escape a closed window, this butterfly didn’t stand a chance. That was until Caroline caught sight of the forlorn symbol of spring. Carefully scooped up, it fought the hands that were trying to free it from its imprisonment. Once outside and able to fly away, it settled in, maybe to catch its breath. Today, we saved a butterfly so a hurricane may live to churn the sea another day.

Old wheelchair sitting broken and unused in the basement of the windmill in Høyer, Denmark

This old broken wheelchair in the basement was beautiful in the glowing light; it could have been scary and creepy if it was found stowed further into the darkness. Nightmares yet to be created could manifest from the sight of this chair as it creeks by itself in the darkness with no one else around. Instead, it was right up front and melancholy, if anything at all.

We're on the road to nowhere in Denmark

No, this isn’t Kansas or Saskatoon for you Canadians; it is the road to nowhere, where nothing really happens. Sorry, but it isn’t a Talking Heads song either; it is The Road to Rømø.

Caroline Wise walking on the Danish side of the Wattenmear near Rømø, Denmark

Somewhere out there is an ocean; it’s called the North Sea. It was here earlier; there are signs of it in the form of shells and wormholes. Later, it will return, but we’ll be gone. Reminds me of Schrödinger’s cat.

Caroline Wise walking the beach on Rømø Island in Denmark

While it is indeed overcast, this beach on the North Sea is worth every minute it took to get here. We followed some other cars out on the beach that drove on the sand with confidence. Our one other opportunity to drive on a beach was met with a sinking feeling that the car was sinking in the sand. The park ranger yelling at us from her vehicle couldn’t holler loud enough, telling us, “Don’t stop.” It was exactly what we did. With that memory still fresh in our heads 15 years later, it’s easy to see why we were reluctant. Lucky day today because we drove right out, parking just feet from the sea, and drove away before a rogue wave could have taken our rental and delivered it to England across the open water.

Pølese Mix from Perlen in Skærbæk, Denmark

We’re not famished, but hot food sounds like a good idea to us. At the intersection of Rømovej and Nørre Skærbækvej on the way to Kruså, we see something that looks to be a fast food place. It’s called Perlen, and we are curious to see what else the Danish eat besides tasty sweets and danishes. Mmmm, Pølese Mix sounds too good not to try. Not exactly sure what we’ll be getting but it didn’t look like a burger or a pizza, so give us one of those. French fries with deep-fried sausage topped with salad and Crème Fraîche is what we got, adding to our collection of new experiences.

Caroline Wise standing in the Baltic Sea at Lillestrand in Denmark

Our last stop in Denmark is at Lillestrand, where Caroline is able to step into the frigid waters of the Baltic Sea (Ostsee for Germans). My wife has now stood in the Pacific, Atlantic, Gulf of Mexico, North Sea, a few of the Great Lakes, the Mississippi, Colorado, Missouri, Snake, Columbia, and Alsek Rivers, and now the Baltic. This is only a partial list of the waters she has doffed her shoes to stand in.

A windmill in the German countryside.

We most often choose the roads we travel by their proximity to something that suggests great views are possible on this route. The road we are driving this afternoon parallels the Baltic Sea; the only problem is that it doesn’t ever really come close to it. Things like windmills and farms stand between us, and great views of the sea, though windmills are nothing to sneeze at, so we are quite happy to be amongst the rolling green hills and the occasional surprise.

The harbor at Eckernförde, Germany

Eckernförde, Germany, is not really on anyone’s tourist map. It doesn’t resonate like Berlin or Munich, but those cities are easy to visit. Eckernförde requires you to get off the main route, drive through the countryside, and take things as they come. We’re good at this method of travel. Kind of reminds me of a small New York town along the St. Lawrence Seaway.

St. Mary's Cathedral in Lübeck, Germany

Inside St. Mary’s Cathedral in Lübeck, Germany, looking straight up. You may notice a trend when you view blog posts I make while in Europe that the first pictures are of churches. Not just any churches either, typically it is the main Dom, as it’s called in Germany; we call them Cathedrals in the West. The reason this occurs is that when aiming for a downtown (Zentrum) area, it is the Dom that first demands your attention. Once our gaze is fixed on those iconic vaults, it seems we are drawn right to their doors. And anyway, what better way to start seeing a city than in one of these magnificent buildings?

St. Mary's Cathedral in Lübeck, Germany

In fact, this wasn’t the church we intended to visit first; we were looking for the Dom. Not until we returned to Arizona did we realize that this was St. Mary’s Church (Marienkirche), not the Lübeck Dom. Checkmark number one for a needed reason to return to Lübeck. This old church is Germany’s third-largest and has the highest brick vault in the world. Construction on the church began in 1250 and took 100 years to complete.

Ceiling detail in St. Mary's Cathedral in Lübeck, Germany

St. Mary's Cathedral in Lübeck, Germany

We arrived at St. Mary’s shortly before closing, only fifteen minutes before six, to be precise. The guy at the door waved the fee and allowed us to sprint through the church. Photos would have to do for now to save some memories for later. The circumstances were obviously not ideal for a visit to such an incredible amount of work and history, but as the old saying goes, “It’s better than nothing.”

Inside the Lübeck Rathaus (City Hall)

We didn’t even get 2 minutes in the Rathaus (City Hall) because it was technically closed. While the doors were still open, the last guided tour was finishing up, and we would have to satisfy ourselves with a quick peek at the lobby. How this worked out is that the other day, on the way up, we just missed everything, and now, again today, we’re having a repeat is almost a bummer. What saved the day was that the Niederegger shop was open till 7:00 tonight. If you have to ask what a Niederegger is, well, you then do not know the most famous brand of marzipan in the world.

Detail of a door ornament on the Lübeck Rathaus (City Hall) in Germany

This ornament was seen on the door to the city hall. The door is one of the last things you see upon exiting the building before spotting the Niederegger shop across the way. Marzipan might well be what Lübeck is most famous for today.

Backside of the Lübeck Rathaus (City Hall) in Germany

This facade is part of the city hall, and behind it is St. Mary’s Church. There’s a new version of Photoshop on the horizon that might ultimately help with un-wonking the perspective of the building; it is an incredibly difficult place to photograph. Next stop, the world of almond paste; marzipan.

City gate of Lübeck, Germany, now an iconic figure for Niederegger Marzipan

The Twin Tower gate is nearly all that remains of the old city gate. Today it is more famously known for its depiction as part of the Niederegger Marzipan brand. Caroline and I spent nearly 45 minutes in the shop wanting to buy one of everything, but that would likely cost someone hundreds of dollars. It’s amazing how many things can be made from almond paste, and it is all very tempting. We bought gifts for nearly everyone we know, except those of you who didn’t get any. Next time we head off to Germany, let us know you love the stuff, and we’ll be sure to get some in honor of you. I say in honor because the likelihood of it making its way back is slim. All you need to try is one of the walnut marzipan bonbons to know what I mean.

The Trave River in Lübeck, Germany

It’s getting late, and this is not where we’ll be calling it a night, so from the tower gate just to the right of this photo of the Trave River, we are heading across town to enjoy the remaining light that still filters through the heavy cloud cover.

A narrow street in Lübeck, Germany

Narrow cobblestone streets that curve into the distance are my perfect idea of what a street should look like. There’s never enough time to do it all. Rushing around is less than ideal, but here we are with a few more impressions and the knowledge that Lübeck can easily pull us back to its charm for a return visit. For our overnight stay, we drove south to Lüneburg. About halfway down, it started to rain. Finding an affordable hotel after 9:00 p.m. was a chore. The place we settled on we agreed, must have been one of the top five worst places we have ever stayed in. Anyone who has stayed off Interstate 10 or parts of Route 66 in the United States would know just how bad the place must have been.

The Wattenmeer

April 14, 2013 JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Sunrise over Kiel, Germany

We wake in time to see the sunrise over the harbor in Kiel. This is a rarity for us, as in Frankfurt, we are surrounded by buildings, and seeing the horizon is not possible unless your day starts in one of the highrises. It was late last night when we finally found a hotel. Our corner room on the 8th floor at Hotel Astor was only €69, and the view was tremendous. Time in the room, though, is short because we are excited to get back on the road for our visit to the Wattenmeer.

Heading to the sea in northern Germany

Where we are headed on the coast is even flatter than this. The Wattenmeer (Wadden Sea) is a shallow coastal plain now recognized as a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Neither Caroline nor I have ever visited this far northern corner of Germany, and we are both excited to be doing so, even with the gray weather. While it’s only about 70 miles (114 km) from Kiel to St. Peter-Ording on the western coast of Germany, the country roads slow us down, leaving time for some sightseeing.

A stork seen in Christiansholm, Germany

Wat in Dutch is mud, so Wattenmeer is loosely translated as mudflat sea. For Germany, the area is a National Park; for us, it’s a once-in-a-lifetime dream come true; we hope. The drive takes us through a number of small villages, including Christiansholm, where we see this stork occupying its nest. This is the first stork in the wild that either Caroline or I have seen.

A reetgedecktes haus (reed roof house) in northern Germany

The area we are heading into while German is also home to the Frisians. The land along the coast from the northern Netherlands up to Denmark is known as Frisia or Friesland. The native people were first mentioned in 12 BCE and speak Frisian, though not that many these days. The homes in the area are famous for their old-fashioned roofs known as “Reetgedecktes Häuser,” or thatched roofs made of reed.

A reed roof (thatch) in northwest Germany

Getting up close to the thatch roof is not to be missed. From the distance the roofs are beautiful, but up close to it, the details from the hollow reeds can really be appreciated. Where thatched roofs were once commonplace, today, they are nearly a mark of luxury. To build one is labor-intensive and I can’t imagine there are many craftspeople around who work on such roofs. Now I wonder how sound and weather-insulating they are; we’ll have to find a rental to stay in on a subsequent visit.

A thatched roof house in northwest Germany also known as a Reetgedecktes Haus

Older homes whose roofs have withstood the test of time or have so far avoided renovation can be an artwork in part crafted by the hand of nature. If you were wondering how fire retardant a dried reed roof might be, look no further than this healthy covering of moss that lives atop this house.

Caroline Wise standing in front of the Karolinenkoog sign in northwest Germany

Hey, did that sign read Karolinekook? I had to turn right around for a photo of that. Oh, it reads Karolinenkoog. So what the heck is a koog, and why Karoline? First of all, a koog is a polder; now that this is cleared up, I can move on to Karoline. Do you say you don’t know what a polder is? Well, neither did I. A polder (also known as a koog in German) is a low-lying area of land that is kept dry by a dike or was a former lake or sea bed. Karoline is in honor of Princess Caroline of Denmark (28 October 1793 – 31 March 1881). For me, the sign will always read CarolineKook.

Roadside toilet huts in northwest Germany

What’s a road trip without the need to stop at nearly every roadside toilet? It’s a trip without my wife. This outpost for the disposal of bodily waste is a marvel of modernity. The door is controlled by auto-locks. After the depositor has entered the facility, he or she has a set amount of time to take care of business before the auto-clean cycle convinces the user to get out or get cleaned up by the uncaring, unceremonious tools of auto-cleansing. And to make the toilet experience better for women, the left-side “pissoirs” are urinals for us men. The WC or water closets on the right are for more serious business and women. Inside, which I should have taken a photo of, there is no room for vandalism, and in any case, if the pissoir senses destruction of any part of the facility, the floor is covered in water, and the perpetrator is electrocuted.

On a narrow road separating some homes from the sea behind the dike on the left. In northwest Germany.

South of Tönning, we are about to have our first encounter with the dike system that keeps the North Sea at bay. We scrambled up the grassy hillside to look out into the gray murk of an overcast day. Not a lot to see when the horizon is obscured by mist and flatness that defies finding monuments or objects that allow one to orient oneself. No wonder it is recommended for people taking long hikes on the Wattenmeer to have a guide show them around. There are stories of people getting disoriented out on the mudflats as the tide comes in, which can end in disaster.

Sheep (four legged organic lawnmowers) standing on the dike ready to go to work at the Wattenmeer in northwest Germany

Further down the road, we find another location that looks inviting, mostly because there were all these sheep hanging out, and my wife is nothing if not a sucker for the furry four-legged organic lawnmowers. Up the hill, and there it is, the mudflat and no sign of the sea.

Caroline Wise sans shoes out on the mud flat of the Wattenmeer in northwest Germany

Of course, it would be Caroline who would have to dip her feet into the mud, maybe even some shallow water, if she could find it. As for me, well, my weight tells me that I’ll be ass-deep in sucking mud 1.6 seconds after placing myself in harm’s way. Caroline assures me that the mud is solid; I’ll take her word for it, but still opt to remain on the shore where I can snap photos from the dry comfort of land.

Caroline Wise's mud covered feet after walking in the Wattenmeer of northwest Germany

The fine, silty mud covers Caroline’s feet like hot fudge on ice cream. A smile likewise graces her face because she has now strode in the Wattenmeer. A nearby shower head and hose are available just for these occasions of cleaning one’s muddy feet, and we move to take advantage of the convenience. This is the first time during this trip that Caroline will voice that if we had to return to Frankfurt right now, she’d be happy with what we’ve already done. It’s great being married to someone who is so satisfied with such small things in life.

Caroline and John Wise stand before the sign announcing the World (Welt) in Germany

We now have proof that we have seen the world. The sign reading Welt behind us is German for World. Should there be any doubt that Caroline and I have seen the world, we can show any naysayers that it is true; we have, in fact, seen the World.

A beaver in a waterway near the Wattenmear of northwest Germany

The Watt (pronounced “Vot”) is a bird sanctuary, it is also home to other species that are being pushed out of Europe as humanity has continued to change the environment. The Wattenmeer itself exists due to people reclaiming the ocean floor and trying to manage lands that otherwise would be submerged. Beavers have done this for a millennium; today, they have little ground and river-ways left for their type of engineering. I do think we were pretty lucky today to see this guy heading for his hideaway.

A gaggle of geese perusing the grounds on the Wattenmeer in northwest Germany

Thousands of birds and many species of various types call the 500km coastal region of the Wattenmeer home during migration periods. This gaggle of geese is making a pit stop on their trek north while skeins of others are seen overhead looking to do bird things I’m poor at interpreting.

The lighthouse in Westerhaver, Germany on the Wattenmeer

Our drive took us out on the far side of a peninsula jutting off of mainland Germany. We looked for every opportunity to visit the sea along the way. In Westerhever we spotted a lighthouse in the distance, time to schedule a visit. From the view of the dike, we thought we were satisfied and that this was good enough. Anyway, the people walking out to it were way over on our right, starting at the crowded parking lot I had turned my nose up to. Maybe we’ll just walk a short while to the right and see if the view improves. A little further and pretty soon, we are on the boardwalk. Is this far enough? Okay, just a bit further. Forty-five minutes later, we are at the lighthouse which does not offer tours but does have a toilet available. Oh yeah, on the horizon past the lighthouse, you are looking at mud; the tide is still out. When the tide is in these channels in the foreground are filled with water.

Sheep on the Wattenmeer in northwest Germany

Sheep are everywhere on the dike system, as is evidence of their passing. A lot of sheep, and you find a lot of sheep poop but no fiber anywhere. Not even a lamb sandwich was found.

A lone black-headed seagull soaring by against a gray sky at the Wattenmeer in northwest Germany

Shorebirds are not here in big numbers yet. The occasional black-headed gull swoops by, but the cacophonous sound of flocks of seagulls is not to be heard. I dream about being here on a quiet summer day when Caroline and I can have a stretch of the Wat to ourselves to watch the shorebirds work the mudflats and marshes.

A drainage canal on the Wattenmeer that helps preserve the land

These lands have been worked for centuries as people have wrestled with nature to keep the land they have carved out of the sea. This is one of the many drainages that are kept clear so the land drains as the tide goes out. In this way, the land isn’t washed away and serves as sheep pasture. Unfortunately, we could not be here at the Wattenmeer for both low and high tide.

Another thatched roof house at the Wattenmeer in northwest Germany

This photo is being used not because the old house was built in 1737 it’s because the photo of the windmill I took didn’t turn out all that nice. Mühle Catharina (The Catherine Mill) is a three-story rental property that sleeps eight right in the windmill! If you want to book it, as we do and hopefully will someday, it costs €165 per day (about $200) with a minimum 1-week stay required. Located in Witzwort, Germany, it is a perfect location for a week of biking the flatlands of the Wattenmeer and even making a day excursion to Hamburg or even Copenhagen, Denmark.

The harbor of Husum, Germany

In Husum, the sun is struggling to work its way past the clouds that have dogged us all day; it’s uncertain if it will win. Neither of us knows a thing about this city and so we find a parking spot and start walking right on over to a maritime museum.

An old ship wreck on display at the North Frisian Maritime Museum in Germany

We don’t hesitate to pay the small fee to enter the North Frisian Maritime Museum. Inside and downstairs (near the toilets) is the museum’s newest big display item: the Uelvesbüll shipwreck. Discovered in a side channel near a dike, the wreck is over 400 years old. We can walk right up to it, even reach over and smell the wood. To stop the decay once it was pulled from the silt, preservationists cured the wreck in a giant vat of sugar water. According to the info on display, the sugar crystals create a protective seal of the wood, and the technique is far cheaper than the alternatives. I’m enchanted with what history this small ship may hide and wish to know more. Being here is also a reminder that there may be many more maritime museums along the English, Irish, Danish, French, Dutch, Spanish, and Belgian coastlines; we need to move to Europe.

A cicada enclosure made of whale bone on display at the North Frisian Maritime Museum in Husum, Germany

Never seen a whalebone scrimshaw cicada enclosure before; heck, I’ve never seen a cicada enclosure of any type prior to this one. In the case of various scrimshaws was this one particular item that fascinated me enough to want one. Of Moorish influence, this work of art was carved around the year 1700. Does someone out there want to make a 3D print of it?

A device for measuring the speed of a water craft as measured in "knots" on display at the North Frisian Maritime Museum in Husum, Germany

Caroline is a font of information; some of it she keeps to herself because she thinks it’s common knowledge. Almost under her breath, she suggests I must obviously know what this thing is that we are looking at. Of course – not, I reply. Did you ever wonder where the term “knots” came from for measuring the speed of a boat? Neither had I, but my wife knew. By throwing out a line and measuring the knots tied into the rope, a seaman could estimate the speed they were traveling by counting the knots unspooling against a measure of time. Thus, a speed could be calculated.

Notes that had at one time been tied to the leg of a pigeon used for communication. On display at the North Frisian Maritime Museum in Husum, Germany

Tauben-Depesche – Pigeon Dispatch. These small notes were once rolled up and attached to the legs of carrier pigeons. If nothing else brings you to the North Frisian Maritime Museum, surely a now-historic note that was once carried by a small bird must nag at your curiosity. The great forgotten things we can find in museums. I think I need more time to explore the world’s hidden treasures.

Our last glance at the sea in Dagebüll, Germany

By the time we exited the museum, the sun had peeked through the clouds, and with its light, a multitude of sun-seekers filled the town square with the intention of having an ice cream. That sounds great to us and we join in with a visit to Janny’s for something called the Eis & Heiss (Hot and Cold). The concoction is made of hot cherries, chocolate syrup, cherry water, and ice cream, all topped with whipped cream. Trying to use all the daylight we can, we continue the drive north for another 45 km (28 miles) before pulling into Dagebüll and the Hotel Neuwarft for some dinner and sleep. The room was great and inexpensive. Dinner at the hotel’s restaurant was also very good. All-in-all, it was a perfect day.

Going North – Closing Circles

April 13, 2013 JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

The view from a roadside toilet facility called Krachgarten on the autobahn in Germany

This being Germany, there’s no better place to start with a scatology reference. After leaving Frankfurt early this morning on autobahn A5 for areas north, it wasn’t long before Caroline needed a rest stop. How about the next one? Sure. We slow down from 100 mph to 30 mph in seconds before zipping into the roadside toilet or the rest area called Krachgarten. Caroline bursts into laughter as “Krach” is noise (think farting), but the word is also similar to “Kack,” which is politely known as poop. So stopping at the noise garden to make some noise yourself fits the play on words that this is a noisy crap stop. While she runs to the toilet hut, I point my camera into the distance to capture this idyllic village nestled in the rolling hills. Before I finished shooting the panorama, it was immediately evident that Caroline was skipping out on making noise or water, which was what she really needed to do. Someone or something exploded in the women’s room; the shit had hit the fan and was flung far and wide. It’s not often that my wife can’t handle a rather disgusting loo, so this must have been exceptional. I asked if she took a photo, and she said, “Oooh,” refusing to go back to snap a pic. She laughed through her gagging as we sped back onto the autobahn.

Caroline Wise in front of the house where Konrad Duden lived in Bad Hersfeld, Germany

We had left Frankfurt without eating a thing because we just wanted to get out of town and feel like we were going somewhere. By the time we are approaching Bad Hersfeld, our stomachs are growling in German for food. Just what kind of town is this? We can’t find a bakery to save us from starvation; the only thing left to do is to violate a rule of manhood; we’ll stop and ask someone. But is it rule-breaking if you send the wife in your stead? I stop the car in front of an open flower shop and wouldn’t you know that I would pull the car over in front of a historic house. Caroline is impressed; it’s the Duden House. Konrad Duden is the creator of Germany’s dictionary; it is he who became the bane of many a German learner who first noted the orthography (rules) for how the German language would be written, punctuated, hyphenated, and otherwise be made nearly impossible to learn by those of us lacking in linguistic skills.

The Bad Hersfeld Rathaus (City Hall) - Germany

A lady at the flower shop directed Caroline to go to the end of the road and park, and it would be obvious where the bakeries were. No, it isn’t. We finally figure it out, we are supposed to walk into the fussgänger zone (pedestrian area; every self-respecting German town has one). Now, we have four bakeries to choose from. The first didn’t strike a chord, a good thing too, as the one we chose had Zwiebelbrot (onion bread), which is an old favorite, and the bread we shared on the very first German road trip we took together back in 1989. We walked around for a moment, eating our breakfast before spotting this really cool Rathaus (City Hall) to ogle. At the left corner of the building is the Ratskeller, which is not a rat cellar. Ratskeller is a restaurant that is in or very near the city hall and is found in the basement. Only 90 minutes out of Frankfurt, and I’m starting to feel like this is a vacation.

Die Wölbung der Hände (The Curvature of the Hands) is a monument that stands at the former West German / DDR border near Helmstedt

First, we saw the monument, and then we saw the border crossing. That didn’t do us a lot of good, as autobahns are notorious for not having very many exits. At the next off-ramp, we left the highway and decided to use backroads to find our way first to the monument and then to the border check. Signs would be helpful back here; guessing was not. Finally, we find our way back to the autobahn, and this time, we are prepared to exit. This is the monument titled “Die Wölbung der Hände” or The Curvature of the Hands. These entwined hands are supposed to represent the coming back together of the two sides of Germany that existed during the Cold War. On to the next exit.

The former East German check point where drivers were inspected before traveling to Berlin, Germany

This is part of the old East German checkpoint where travelers would be inspected as they drove to West Berlin, which was a part of West Germany. Back during my military days, it was Russians that we American troops had to clear with. This was an intimidating event for us as we had to turn over our passport, military I.D., and travel authorization to some Russian soldiers who worked on the other side of a divider that we couldn’t see through. The situation was quickly defused as a voice from beyond the wood panel shoved some Russian medals under the divide and asked for twenty dollars. They needed cash like the rest of us. I told the faceless voice that I didn’t have $20, and he said “$10.” I told him I had five sold. With my inspection over, I was “free” to travel eastward to Berlin. Today, the checkpoint is a quiet reminder of a time that feels far away.

A house in Magdeburg, Germany where Jutta Engelhardt lived as a little girl

We weren’t supposed to drive so far east, but the detour felt like an obligatory one, and so we took it. Magdeburg was our destination. It was the childhood home of Caroline’s mom, Frieda Louise Auguste Jutta Linenkohl. Jutta is her preferred name. This house is part of the Schlachthof (slaughteryard) which is where her father worked, who was a veterinarian. Jutta was born on 25 July 1935 to Wilhelm and Helene Linnenkohl. She was the second born; her brother, who died during the war, was ten years her senior. During the war, Jutta and her family evacuated themselves 16 miles west to the small village of Druxberge due to the danger of living in a city that was starting to get bombed. Ultimately, the family settled in Hanover, another 75 miles west.

A building ornament depicting pigs going to market in the schlacthof area of Magdeburg, Germany

Jutta has never been back to Magdeburg, though she would love to visit. The next best thing was for us to visit, hence the detour. Most of the buildings in the area are falling apart, though there is visible evidence that the city is trying to save some of the structures. One building, in particular, has been converted into a large grocery store, Kaufland. In front of the store, we stopped for a couple of grilled sausages, grabbed a basket, and went shopping. With our onion bread from earlier, we needed some things to put on top of it. Salami and cheese sounded good, and so did the strawberries and oranges. Sadly, we didn’t see any goats, sheep, cattle, or pigs being brought to market, as depicted in this ornament on the facade of one of the buildings.

The Magdeburg Dom (Cathedral) in Germany

This stop in Magdeburg, as I said, was not scheduled, so we had little time for sightseeing. Not wanting to just shop, look, and run, we decided we had time for one more stop. The Magdeburg Dom (Cathedral) was our next stop. It was easy to choose this building as it towers over every other building in the Magdeburg area. Many of the other churches in town are now gone, destroyed to make way for other buildings, as communism/socialism had little use for these historic relics. Dynamite was the preferred method for elimination. Fortunately, not all churches suffered such a fate, such as this thick-walled giant. This cathedral is so well insulated that as we walk in, the first thing we notice is our warm breath billowing in front of us; it’s that cold.

Inside the Magdeburg Dom (cathedral) in Magdeburg, Germany

While I’m not a religious person, I am happy that these old cathedrals are still standing. They are often opulent and nearly always striking in their grandeur. There is trouble on the horizon, though, for some of these artifacts from our past: maintenance for a building this size and age is expensive. At what point do communities decide they are too costly? In other areas of Europe, I’ve traveled on previous visits; former churches have been converted to concert halls, private residences, and office space, but what would a city do with a cathedral of this stature in a place not on most tourists itinerary?

Pulpit detail at the Magdeburg Dom (cathedral) in Germany

Within these houses of worship can be found some amazing art, sculptures, tapestries, and carvings. At the base of the pulpit was this beautiful piece of work; it is now part of our good fortune that it never came into contact with the destructive force of dynamite.

Inside Magdeburg Dom (cathedral) in Germany

Jesus on the cross at the Magdeburg Dom (cathedral) in Germany

The colonade walkway (also known as the Cloister) of the Magdeburg Dom atrium in Germany

Sculpture from Magdeburg Dom (cathedral) in Germany

The Magdeburg Dom was built in 1209 atop an older church that was founded in the year 937, making it the oldest Gothic cathedral in Germany. Back in the early 1500s, Martin Luther preached here during the Protestant Reformation, and then in the 1800s, with the city under Napolean’s rule, the church was used for storage, including pens for keeping livestock. Since the fall of communism behind the Iron Curtain, the people of Magdeburg have raised over $2 million to renovate this historically important icon on their skyline. Let’s hope future generations see the importance of maintaining our cultural history.

Detail from the pulpit in the Magdeburg Dom (cathedral) in Germany

It’s not easy walking through this cathedral so quickly, but we don’t have much time to give proper attention to the details on display. We can only look, register the memory in a moment, and move on. While my photos will give me something that allows me to linger for a time after getting home to Arizona, I’ll still have missed half of everything here that could have been collected by hungry eyes.

Outside looking up at the Magdeburg Dom (cathedral) in Germany

About to leave the sky is looking a lot more inviting than when we arrived. If only we had a few more hours to hang out, set up a tripod, go on a docent lead tour, see the place lit up at night, or come back for a service when the organ is being played. Instead, we need to get back on the road for our long drive north to Lübeck.

Caroline Wise making onion bread and brie sandwiches on the road to Lübeck, Germany

Time to break out the Zwiebelbrot and brie; we’re hungry.

North German countryside

The north of Germany is a pretty flat area, making for some expansive vistas. With no time to stop for photos, I had to shoot this from the moving car. No worries, though; I slowed down to 80 mph.

Remnant of an old city gate in Stendal, Germany

Houses from the village of Stendal, Germany

Trying to drive around a village brought us right into the middle of town. Welcome to Stendal, Germany. This place dates from the year 1022 but didn’t really show up on the map until Albert the Bear granted the community “Market rights” in 1160. At that point, it quickly became an important member of the Hanseatic League. Back when I lived in Germany, I never recognized the “Hansa” designation or its importance. It was only on this trip that Caroline asked if I knew the significance of a Hansa. The Hanseatic League was a confederation of merchant guilds that operated similarly to a union. The League provided protection and laws that governed merchants and the trade routes they operated in. It was in Lübeck back in 1159 that the league was started by Henry the Lion, Duke of Saxony. Right in front of me, all these years have been a glaring example of the name at work to this day: Lufthansa!

Leaving Stendal in northern Germany

The broad sky, crepuscular rays, and dramatic clouds had us oohing and aahing in ways we didn’t 20 years ago while living over here. Maybe we were too jaded, or maybe too self-absorbed, but for whatever reason today we have a greater appreciation for the beauty we are seeing today out here on our first German road trip in nearly two decades.

The Elbe River during the late afternoon in the Wittenberge area of Germany

We were already on the bridge when we recognized that we needed to stop, but there was nowhere to stop on this part of the road. So we continue our drive. After about a mile, we figured out that our continuation wasn’t a great idea and turned around to get a better look. Just before the northern end of the bridge is a small parking area; we park and start the long walk to the middle of the bridge.

The wet lowlands of the Elbe River valley in the Wittenberge area of Germany

Looking east, we have a great view of the wetlands of the Elbe River valley. While it is still “winter” temperature-wise, it is a glorious day to be on the road.

Approaching the Ratzenburg area in Germany

Approaching Ratzeburg, we are really short on time, nervous that the shop and sites we want to visit in Lübeck will be closed by the time we arrive. The only thing we can do is to take photos out of the windshield, and as we pass through Ratzeburg, we look on with dreams of our ultimate return. On that day we come back, we’ll hopefully be out on canoe’s rowing the Domsee, Kleinersee, and Ratzeburger See (lakes).

Caroline Wise in Lübeck, Germany riding a stone sheep

Lübeck, we have arrived. Hey John and Caroline Wise, we are closed. This is a bummer. The Niederegger shop is closed; they are the marzipan gods of Germany. The churches are closed. The Rathaus (city hall) is closed. Drats. At least this stone sheep can’t close or leave and so it will have to act as the main attraction.

Archway that is part of the Rathaus (city hall) in Lübeck, Germany

Just because the city is shutting down doesn’t mean there isn’t anything to do. There is plenty to see in nearly any European city just while walking around. Above us is part of the Rathaus, and in the distance on the left is Niederegger. Pretty will have to suffice.

On the streets of Lübeck, Germany

Down one street, up another. We meander this way and then that way. If only we had a full day to explore Lübeck, or better yet, an entire weekend. Not far from where we parked, we spot a hotel and step in to learn the price. Too much for us, we’ll keep looking or head on up the road. Hunger has returned, though, so we put the hunt for accommodations on hold and instead search for that special place that will sate our appetites.

Caroline Wise enjoying a beer at Im Alten Zolln in Lübeck, Germany

Right around the corner, we find the perfect place for dinner: Im Alten Zolln. Perfect because it’s right here, and our car is across the street and up the block a bit. As will be the routine for all meals while we are in Europe, Caroline starts her dining experience with a glass of beer or, when in Frankfurt, a glass of apple wine. For dinner, I had something called Sauer Fleisch (sour meat) with roasted potatoes. Caroline ordered potato pancakes with smoked salmon. Full and energized, we decide against looking for a place in Lübeck and aim the car towards Kiel. Driving further north better positions us for our goal of reaching and spending some quality time at Wattenmeer. You’ll have to read tomorrow’s entry to learn what the Wattenmeer is.