Tuesday, January 30, 2007

Fortress Marienberg after a Strong Suffolk Ale

The town of Wuerzburg lies one hour west of Bamberg. The river in the above photo is in fact the Main river (pronounced "Mine!"), which confluences with the Regnitz in Bamberg. I spent an evening and a day here in Wuerzburg with friends. The evening was a bit of a pub crawl, starting at a bar serving over one hundred beers.

Bavarians are very proud of their wonderful beers, and for that reason, it can be very difficult to track down imported or even non-regional beer. Strong Suffolk Vintage Ale is a luxurious, complex blend of a two year-old, oak barrel aged ale (12% ABV) and a freshly brewed dark ale (5%). And we were walking toward a pub that offered this speciality, this nectar of the gods, as if we Bierwolves of Bamberg were awoken with full moon nigh, and the very tears of Gambrinus lay before us in half liter glassware.

My friend had been describing the beer to me, how he had come to find this wonderment of cellarwork, of plums and wood and raisins and spice, of philosophy and prose that left me thinking of nothing other than sitting in a dark english pub and sipping on a fine old beer whilst some laddies play fiddle -n- pan flute in the corner an the salty ol Captain Haddock pulled gently on a pipe, whispering stories of leviathans and sirens to the fearstruck greenhorns.

We walked right into "Jaegermeister On Tour", comically coloured just like merry ol Halloween in the Great U.S. of Amorica. Police siren lights, slick Brunos with Junkanoo whistles, call and response "Jaeger!" then "Meister!", everyone dancing on tables and the bar, some guy dressed in a deer suit trying to make us take free shots, and music horrible and loud, preventing any conversation whatsoever.

Needless to say, Captain Haddock was nowhere to be found. We sat down and enjoyed our fine beers, and commenced yelling at each other, trying to be heard. What was ammusing to me, was that once the Jaeger troopers left, the music quieted down and was suddenly likable, the other customers sat down and were mellow, we could hear each other and you could barely tell that such a storm of pop marketing had come and gone.

The day after the Strong Suffolk Ale and some of his freinds, we toured the Fortress Marienburg. This is a castle that saw battles. The hill on which it stands has been home to some version of fortification since the 8th century. Over the centuries, it was taken and reclaimed and fortified and remodeled and so on, ending in a fortification with multiple defensive wall structures and an intimidating presence.


The keep, the tower in the photo, originally had no door where the two tourists peer in. The door was build more recently. The door enters a chamber, that used to be accessed only from a hole in the ceiling. This is where prisoners were lowered into the "Room of Fear", as it was known. Nasty times, those middle ages.


An invasion force of over 15,000 peasants tried to capture the fortress in 1525, but were stopped by the steep defenses. When their leader went looking for bigger cannons, the bishop's formally trained army rode out and massacred the leaderless farmers army.

One hundred years later, during the Thirty Years War, Gustav Adolf of Sweden conquered the castle as his army swept southwards towards Munich. Napoleon armies captured the castle in the early part of the 1800s, as did the Americans in WWII.

Friday, January 12, 2007

A Late Autumn Bikeabout in Castle Country

I first saw Geichburg through my rear-view mirrow, so to speak. At a moment of stretching and route contemplation on an early winter bikeabout, I looked back along the road I had just rode. Atop a ridge rested a medieval castle and a church, separted by the hill's saddle. By the time I reached the castle, I was cold and tired, so I didn't bother to go inside.

The nice part about riding in the winter is that the light starts getting interesting in the early afternoon. The bad part is when your eyes tear up on downhills from the cold wind and you have to brake and slow down an piss off all the impatient German motorists behind you who then try to pass you in their little BMW on a blind corner doing 70 kmh even though your 40 kmh is really fast enough given that you might have had a bit too much Bayrisch Rotkohl und Rindfleisch for mid-bike lunch and the gulash from yesterday is making you fart boarishly, making steering tenuous to say the least!

Earlier in the day, riding to Tiefenellern, along the "Roadway of Art". There is a multi-use path on the way to Tiefenellern, and it is strewn with "art". Some of the sculptures are quite interesting, some an eye sore in a pretty country landscape. I wasn't sure, but I thought that pile of bricks at the base of the tree may be a commisioned piece.

I spent most of my free time last fall exploring the landscape east of Bamberg, on the way to Bayreuth, and as far south as Ebermannstadt. I am looking forward to getting back on the bike as the weather improves, and pushing out a bit farther.


Rapeseed is grown for oil, for cooking and for fuel. It smells divine in the field; I have yet to learn why these fields are unharvested at this point of the year. The crops could have been damaged by the rains, maybe the guy who lives in the barn wants to live on a sea of yellow. It is interesting to me to see a plant flower so long and vibrantly into the winter.

My friends Ian and Jenni and I drove to Nuernberg one Saturday before Christmas, to visit the world famous Christmas market. The market is full of stands selling Gluhwein, Lebkuchen, trinkets and candles. We walked through the city to get to the market, seeing just enough to warrent a return trip. Coming from Bamberg, it seemed modern, commercial, and teeming; I spotted two Starbucks, the new canary of Americanization.

Zermatt, An Engaging Town

One of the most fantastic places on earth lies near the Swiss border with Italy and France. Zermatt is the last stop on a long train ride. The crisp snap of clear fall weather greeted us, and the delicate gold of tamarack trees lent a certain je ne se quoi to the visit. The backdrop to the sublime alpine scene is the ever unique Matterhorn.

Zermatt is a tourist town that doubles in population from 5000 to 10000 during ski season. A poor agrarian settlement in the early 19th century, the discovery and conquering of the once unclimbable Matterhorn put Zermatt on the map, and changed its fate overnight.

Whitney and I redevouxed in Grenoble, France and spent a short two days with my cousin and her husband. Susan graciously drove us to Geneva, so we could begin our train tour of Switzerland. The train ride from Geneva east to Visp passed through wine country on the north shore of Lake Geneva. Vineyards on the left, huge lake on the right shaded by massive uplift alps to the south, all the while passing through charming Swiss towns. I'm not a big fan of using the word "charming", but I can't find a better general descriptor for this purpose.

From Visp we took a night train up the valley to Zermatt. No combution-engine cars are allowed here, maintaining pristine air. If you do visit, beware the stealth battery powered taxis, they navigate throngs of tourists rapidly and seemingly under the impression that people never change course.

On our first day, we went for a hike. During the beginning of the hike, about the first two hours, we were enraptured by the beauty of the surroundings and the hyperbolic joy of being together again after four months apart. We floated upon trails soft with tamarack needles. We took pictures in this little village called Zumsee, a short walk uphill from Zermatt. These antique buildings were originally sheepherder dwellings, from back when many a livestock were set to graze on the high alpine summer grass and edelweiss.

Still wearing our bliss helmets, we frolicked a bit in the glacial runoff.

We found a tram station, and decided to take it all the way up, for a view, and then we would take it back down and perhaps hike a bit more. Perhaps we could find one of those quaint little cottages that serve plum cakes and gluhwein. The view from up top is very nice, if you like glaciers and rocks, which I do.

Still smiling, despite the cold wind, despite the gnawing feeling that Hans is about to lead her on an underestimated downhike that would last way too many hours.

After hot chocolate and plum cakes, she is happy again. I begin to plot the rest of the day.

Way above treeline, the lifeless landscape lent something of a lunar feeling to the little walk. We were so high up that color no longer existed. After this photo, things went downhill. Figuratively as well as literally. Tricky route finding, very nasty steep scree, my lame humour... It started to wear on the poor girl.

At this point I'm carrying Whitney. She had had enough and made it known by just refusing to walk. Like a little child, crying and pouting and stubornly staying put.

By the time we got here, we had walked downhill through scree for a few hours, and still had a long way to go to get back to town. I had made bad assumptions about the operating times of the trams, and misjudged distances and times. But I had a compass and a headlamp, what could go wrong? This beat up old shack looked pretty inviting, but we couldn't find a way in.

We finally arrived back in town after dark. Hungry and bitchy, I believe was how Whitney was feeling. I kept trying to convince her that all would be well as soon as we got showered and into a restuarant. That all of this pain and suffering would melt away; hard-earned food tastes even better. Now I do strongly believe this statement, but it somehow didn't work to encourage or smilify mon cheri.

After the hike was done, showers were had, clothing changed, we were relaxing at the Casa Rustica, enjoying a wonderful local wine and fondue. The wine was a Humagne Rouge from a village we passed through by train enroute. The wine was outstanding, the company even better, and the inescapable force of destiny hard at work in my words. I asked her to marry me. And she said yes! We opened a bottle of champagne to celebrate and forgot all about the hike. Except for the fact that our legs hurt for the next five days.