A Week of Wandering: Rothenburg ob der Tauber

The Romantic Road begins in Würzburg and wiggles southward to Füssen. It sounds very much like the brainchild of the tourism industry, and, if it isn't, I haven't bothered to read up on it sufficiently to find out. One of the towns along the way is Rothenburg, which has a well preserved medieval town centre, and is essentially a conglomerate of shops. As we stepped out of the comically roomy special train that shuttles tourists to and from Steinach and Rothenburg itself, I quipped about the medieval satellite dishes, garbage containers, etc. In any case, we only had to walk a little before we reached a gate, and a moat filled with a shallow puddle of the most noxious green sludge I have ever beheld, where a suicidal pigeon was killing time by pecking away vaguely at the shore.

Above the moat there rises a town wall surmounted by wooden hoardings, and M. climbed it later. But first we strolled along the cobbled streets and peered in the shop windows. The town is not so bad; it is not too sanitized, not too bright and shiny, and altogether not the Disney experience I had expected. Mysterious, or beautiful, or quirky, it isn't either, though, nor does it have the nobility of age, at least not in my view. M. ended up buying us "Schneeballen" or snowballs, a local specialty which is a tangle of egg dough that is deep-fried and dusted with icing sugar; after experimenting, we found that the best way to break them down for eating is to grasp them in one hand and pry off chunks through the cellophane with the fingers of the other hand. In Schlecker's, the omnipresent drug store chain, M. bought Coke, too, which she likewise shared with me. Out of the less than 3 Euros I had left in my wallet, I bought a nectarine and an apricot from a stall in one of the squares.

The culmination of our trip was, however, our descent into the recesses of the Christmas store. We were greeted in the entrance by a scene of animated stuffed animals, who industriously saw away at wood, etc., in the windows of a tremendously phony facsimile of a traditional house facade. Then we plunged down the stairs into the suffocating cellar, bristling with fans and air conditioning that fail to relieve the heat. Shelves run along the walls, and stand in the centre, and curve around the niches, teeming with armies of Christmas tree decorations and enamel tankards and other articles that are invariably expensive, and either charmingly old-fashioned or, more often, positively tasteless. Mulberry plush baskets are at the disposal of the shopper, and so are the saleswomen, who are decked out in rustic checkered(?) skirts, white shirts, and thin vests. The seasonal theme is further illustrated by a horrid white plastic Christmas tree luridly adorned in red globes, larger house facades, and clusters of artificial fir branches that are slung across the ceiling and ranged along the walls. First "The Entertainer," then the theme from The Third Man, and then "Edelweiss" were playing in the background, as I thought with mingled amusement and pity what Mama would say and feel if she were with us.

There are deep brown cuckoo clocks in the grand old tradition, ticking away in chorus like a cemetery full of tell-tale hearts; if I'd had hundreds of Euros and a love of them, I'd have been in heaven. Then there are the Erzgebirge nutcrackers, and little wooden men in which to put incense cones, and the light wooden carousels in which one places candles, whose heat then turns the blades at the top, which in turn rotate the little figures inside. What struck me above all was the feeling that Christmas is no longer so enjoyable if it costs so much. Even if I were a millionaire, I am sure I'd still find that presents that cost more than, let's say, 50 Euros (except in the case of trinkets like necklaces or bracelets, if they do not flaunt their costliness), are excessive.

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In any case, M. and I were soon on our way back to Würzburg, where we picked up our bags at the hostel, and I finally managed to withdraw money using my EC card, which put me in a good mood. Hesitatingly, we took a train to Bamberg, which does, however, lie along the ICE route between Berlin and Munich. It rattled and shook as if it were about to fall apart. M. went to explore another train compartment, to see if the seats were more springy, only to hurry back, remarking in shocked tones that she could see the ground between the cars. When we finally arrived at Bamberg, and waited at Platform 6 for the train, I was overcome with joy at the prospect of returning to Berlin, and the appetite that had been missing for over a week suddenly returned. The ICE is always a pain to take, as so many of the seats are reserved, but we were lucky and found good seats soon, opposite a mildly sad-eyed, blonde lady who was absorbed in a pile of newspapers and magazines and rather interested me. The rest of the trip went well, and, though we had trouble getting home from Südkreuz station, which is not connected to the U Bahn as I'd thought, it was lovely to be back.

Altogether I am very glad that I went travelling, and very grateful to M. for inviting me to come along and be her "tour guide." It was nice to find something of the Germany I know from the literature, in the scenery alongside the train tracks. It was also interesting to try to find what is characteristic of the German landscape. On a superficial level, here is a list: churches, cornfields, green meadows, fields of wheat stubble, dark brown horses, cows (white and black, brown, grey), red roof tiles, pink fireweed and Canada goldenrod, elderberry bushes and pale purple butterfly bushes, wind generators, firs and beeches and maples, tranquil rivers, factories, haybales, shooting platforms, sunflowers, mountain ash, apple trees, soccer fields, solar panels, and gardening colonies. Lastly, I am a little in love with Munich; and, whenever I can, I should like to return to the hills in Füssen or elsewhere, so that I can stretch my legs and breathe the clean air, in the wilder and freer natural surroundings that I have missed since we left Canada.