A visit from Mary

We just got back to our flat late this Sunday afternoon, after saying bon voyage to our friend Mary at the bahnhof. She’s on her way back to Oslo after a fun 3-day visit during which we walked our socks off, all over Lübeck. 

We saw all the sights, ate schnitzel with noodles, window-shopped, went to a violin recital, even discovered some new kuchen places, including this one that I’ve been wanting to go to. I’ve been longing to sit in the big red sofas in the window of Confiteria Czudaj (which I assume is Czech). It was a serendipitous day: when we walked past this place to check it out, the big red couches were vacant (hooray!) so we went in and sat in them. This place turned out to be a real gem: they have a kitchen downstairs where they bake their beautiful confections on the spot.

And they have a lot to choose from in the kuchen case.

I had the kåse-kirsch (cheese cherry) torte, Gary had a wonderful apfel strudel mit eis (ice cream), and Mary had a mandel-halbmond (almond crescent) with its ends dipped in chocolate. 

Yesterday it snowed like mad, and even accumulated for the first time since our arrival. It must have been the Norwegian influence from Mary. In self-defense, we spent a pleasant afternoon in Lübeck’s little art museum, just around the corner from our flat. (We’ve heard that everything in Lübeck is “just around the corner” and it seems to be holding true.) We saw this painting there, by Lübeck artist Heinrich Eduard Linde-Walther (1868-1939), and Mary had the brilliant idea of searching for the real location of this painting, to see if it still looks the same. Fortunately, the painting’s title  — Die Hartengrube in Lübeck — gave us a clue of where to look, as did the cashier at the museum bookstore. 

This morning, we walked to Hartengrube, and to our joy, it was apparent that this particular strasse was still intact. A few of the buildings have changed -- or maybe Heinrich took some artistic license -- but this is the scene! 

It’s still January, but this blooming forsythia in front of a house along An Der Obertrave has given us hope that spring is “just around the corner," just like everything else in Lübeck.

Skating in the market square

Now that the Christmas markets are a memory in Lübeck, the market square next to Marienkirche in the center of town has a new attraction: an ice rink. We happened to be walking by on opening night this past Friday night, and they really did it up right, with fireworks and a skating exhibition, to kick things off. 

They have pretty white tents set up around the perimeter of the rink, renting skates and selling wursts and candies and muzen (puffy pillows with powdered sugar, like mini donuts) … und gluhwein und glogg! My kind of stadt!

I think of Lübeck as a sister city of Duluth (similar in size, both interesting cities), even though Duluth is about 700 years younger. Duluth should do something like this skating rink, with the tents selling goodies and places for onlookers to sit and have glogg. Unlike Lübeck, they wouldn’t even have to use refrigeration to freeze the ice. I wonder if it’s legal to sell hot glogg in a public area in Duluth? 

For little kids who are learning to skate, they can take a penguin to hang onto. I would like to take a penguin too, if I try to skate. Which I will not do, sadly. 

Wismar

This morning, the sun came out after 5 days of rain. So we walked to the bahnhof, bought two tickets (27 euros total), boarded a local train and, an hour and half later, disembarked in beautiful Wismar. 

Wismar is located about 30 miles east of Lübeck, by a bay on the Baltic Sea. It started out as a fishing village in the 13th century, gradually grew to be a harbor town, then a Hanseatic city. At the end of the Thirty Years’ War in 1648, it was taken over by Sweden, of all things, and remained under Swedish rule until 1903. 

The part of Wismar’s history that fascinates me even more than its Swedish past -- and that's saying a lot -- is the Soviet occupation from 1945 until German reunification in 1990. For someone perhaps a little too fascinated with how hard life must have been under Soviet occupation, I was surprised to learn recently that Lübeck was the only West German city situated at the border of East and West Germany. Which, of course, means that all of these beautiful old Hanseatic cities east of Lübeck were mired under Soviet rule for a good long time. It’s been 25 years since reunification, but it seems like yesterday. (The main event that had happened 25 years prior to my high school years, and those of many of my friends, was the end of World War II, which really puts the length of our lives into perspective. History isn't very long ago.)

Although Wismar has done an immense amount of reconstruction since 1990 — it’s a UNESCO World Heritage site, and is charming and beautiful now — there are still scars left from the Soviet occupation. Renovation is still underway

on some of the old buildings that had been neglected, and they're a reminder of how sad the city must have looked in 1990. But the most striking scar — and it’s a big one — is the ruin of the massive St. Marienkirche in the center of the old town. St. Marienkirche was heavily damaged in WWII, and the nave was torn down during Soviet occupation, in 1960. 

This photo is taken from what used to be the altar area inside the nave, looking back toward the church tower, which was the only thing saved when St. Marienkirche was torn down. I’ve never seen anything like it. From far away, you can see the huge hole that the cathedral roof left in the skyline when it was demolished.   












It's not hard to imagine how the residents must have felt about this. This sculpture in the former nave speaks volumes. 

Back in the town square, there’s an old Swedish burgher’s house called The Old Swede. It's now a restaurant, and I thought it looked so irresistibly wonderful that I insisted we go there for kuchen and kaffee in the afternoon. (You can see it in the first photo in this post: it's the brick building on the left.) Gary obliged me, but it turned out to be a bit corny, with photos of the Swedish royal family on the walls, and background music of Barry Manilow songs played on the pan flute. Needless to say, Gary gets to choose the next kuchen place. 

Back outside, we found this funny little couple standing in the town square. Oh my! 

We also stopped into this church, the Church of the Holy Spirit, which was built in the 15th century.  It was unusual in that the ceiling was elaborately painted and was flat instead of lofty. The place had an odd feeling to it in general. Maybe it was the offering of gluhwein for

the bargain price of 1,50 euros. 



Or maybe it was this painting on the wall. At any rate, we decided to walk down to the harbor.

On the way, we passed this neat old place . . 

. . . and this guy, selling fish from his boat. It was one of our favorite days so far. 

Just living here

How quickly we’ve become spoiled. When we first arrived, we were so joyful about the above-freezing temperatures, we would walk for hours, even in the rain. Now, when it’s raining we aren’t as forgiving, and try to time our daily walks to avoid the worst of it. But the temperatures have stayed above freezing so far, so it’s a really pleasant winter, even in the rain. 

Yesterday it dried up in the afternoon, so we checked out the salt warehouses, where they stored the salt that came from Lüneburg. The interiors of these old buildings have been completely renovated, and house a collection of high-end clothing shops. 

We’ve discovered that walking in the early evenings is particularly nice, because Lübeck is so darn pretty at night. They don’t light up every street with streetlights, like they do in the States, so some of the residential streets are dark. Very medieval. Lübeck is a pretty safe city, so the most dangerous thing about walking in dark alleys at night is your footing. Photos don't turn out so well, either. 

Speaking of bad photos, we went to Hamburg last Saturday, and I didn’t get any photos due to wretched weather. We later learned that a big storm had come through the region and taken out trees in various areas. We aren’t getting TV weather reports that tell us the sky is falling whenever the weather isn’t perfect, so we just go about our business, even in storms. As for Hamburg, it’s very big. We visited the Arts and Crafts Museum there, just to be indoors. 

Mostly we’ve been enjoying just “being” in a place where you can walk a short way and find a beautiful bakery or a pretty street, like this one.  

Gary is working on a list of things to do when we get home, and he has over 100 projects on his list so far. Meanwhile, I've been working on learning watercolor painting. I love those whimsical old drawings of European cities, and have been trying to capture a little bit of Lübeck. 

Lüneburg

We've been laying low for a few days, staying close to home, as it's been rainy and windy outside. I was looking through my photos thus far, and found a few that I haven’t mentioned yet.

Here's a photo of the Hanseatic town of Lüneburg, southeast of Hamburg. I find these old Hanse towns so pretty that it was worth it to me to read three whole books on the Hanseatic League before we came. This is how I learned that Lübeck has herring to thank for its early wealth, and that Lüneburg provided the salt to preserve it with. 

The story behind the Hanseatic salt trade is that a hunter near Lüneburg shot a wild boar that he saw bathing in a puddle. After hanging up its hide to dry, he found salt crystals in the bristles, and went to take a closer look at that puddle, as salt was hard to come by and very valuable. The result was a rich trade between Lüneberg and Lübeck, along what became the Old Salt Road. The wagon trip to Lübeck took about 20 days, past forests, heath bogs, and small villages, with occasional surprises from the usual thieves and marauders who seemed to be lurking everywhere back in those days. 

Here's a detail from a Lüneburg fountain . . 

another street view . . . 

. . . and some cute bird feeders for sale in front of a hardware store, which made me think of our friends back in northern Minnesota, for some reason. 

Mews

We're enjoying a few days of staying "home” before our next outing, which will be either to a small town in Poland to visit Gary's relatives, or to Hamburg for the flea market, depending on the weather. 

One nice thing about having a place to live while you're traveling is that you're not kicked out on the street with your suitcase every morning, like you are when you're constantly moving from place to place. With a home to call our own, our life has gotten a bit routine, in a "let's go for a walk again today, in a beautiful city full of ancient surprises" kind of way. Not a bad life. 

Some of the most interesting things in Lübeck are the mews, or courtyards, built between larger buildings. We discover new ones on each walk we take. Some are reached by tunnels so short that you have to bend over to walk through them, and some are gated and locked, but most are open. Some provide a secret way to cut through to the next strasse without going around the block, others are sweet dead ends. 

The purpose of these little courtyards was a money-making scheme by landlords in the 1600s, to develop the space between houses as the population boomed. There used to be 190 of these courtyards, and 90 still exist in Lübeck's innenstadt. The tiny buildings inside the tunnels and arches used to be booths for artisans as well as widows' homes, but now they seem to be mostly housing. Today we discovered one that contains a print shop and a little cafe with a courtyard. We have to imagine what they must look like in summertime, with all the flowers blooming. 

We're also checking out the cathedrals we come upon as we walk. Some were bombed in WWII and have very spartan interiors. The ones that were left undamaged are dripping with artwork. 

It's warm enough outside (high 30s F) that some of the cafes have outdoor seating, with propane heaters between the tables. We stopped at one for apfel kuchen and tee yesterday. 

A day-trip to Schleswig

Yesterday we got up early and took a 2 1/2 hour train trip to Schleswig, located mid-way up the Jutland Peninsula, just south of Denmark. Schleswig has a fascinating history, having been the location of the largest marketplace between Scandinavia and northern Europe from around 800 to 1066 (the year of the Battle of Hastings, after which historians say Medieval Europe began). At that point, this Viking settlement — called Hedeby — was destroyed, and Schleswig became the new city at this location. 

Before I continue, I have a confession: except for the first photo, I'm using stock photos in this post, because they’re better than the ones I took, but I swear, everything we saw looks exactly like these photos.

Our goals for Schleswig were to see Gottorf Castle, St. Peter’s Cathedral, the fishing village of Holm, and the museum at Hedeby, which we should have known was far, far too much to fit into one day. We ended spending most of our time at Gottorf Castle, and had just enough time for a quick peek into St. Peter’s before it started to get dark and it was time to head back home. Lesson learned, we hope. 

Gottorf Castle was built in the late 1600s, although the estate itself began in 1161. It’s located on an island in the Schlei fjord -- not at all like the majestic fjords of Norway (it’s much lower terrain in this area, so the fjord looks more like a Minnesota lake). The castle was home to various local dukes and counts for a while, until they were overthrown in the late 1700s and the estate became part of Danish crown land. In 1864 it was annexed to Prussia, and now resides in the German state of Schleswig-Holstein. 

Gottorf Castle looks more like a barracks (which it was, in fact, in the late 1800s) than a castle, but is nevertheless very grand. It now houses an excellent art museum and an archeology museum. 

Our favorite things at the castle were the reconstructed rooms from Medieval northern Europe (including a wine stube from Lübeck!), a huge Viking boat called the Nydam Båden, which was discovered in a swamp in Nydam and restored, and the “moor people”: mummies from the moors. 

This is a photo of Windeby, a man who lived in the moors around the 1st century, A.D. It's uncertain why he was blindfolded, but despite earlier theories of a violent end via sacrifice,  scientists have concluded that Windeby had been quite sick during his lifetime, and may have died of natural causes. One German scholar suggests that he may have been blindfolded at burial "to protect the living from the gaze of the dead."










Unfortunately, while looking at all these fascinating things, we failed Rule #1 of museums — Do Not Attempt To Look At Everything — and by mid-afternoon we had run out of time and energy. 

We did manage to walk into the town of Schleswig just before it closed (yes, the entire old town apparently closed at 4:00 sharp), and got a far-too-quick glimpse inside St. Peter’s Cathedral. 

Besides seeing its carvings and artwork, I wanted to visit this particular church after reading its history. In 1134, the Danish King Niels found himself in enemy territory near Schleswig, and despite the danger, he went for a walk, remarking as he went out the door,“Should I fear tanners and shoemakers?" It turns out he should have, because the townspeople killed him, beheaded him, and threw his body into the fjord. It was later pulled out by fishermen in their nets, and laid out in St. Peter’s Cathedral. 

The monks who attended the corpse claimed they heard strange noises, and believed that the spirit of King Niels wandered about in the church. So they moved his body to Gottorp, and buried it in the bog.

King Niels of Denmark

Just to make sure Niels stayed put, someone hammered a stake through his heart. Niels, I gather, was not a well-loved man. As far as I know, his body is still there, but local legend says he still hunts the bogs at night, with his hounds. 

With a history like that, Schleswig deserves a second look. I hope we'll have time to go back. 

A wild boar, and kuchen

We're back in Lübeck to recover from the holidays, but before I move on I wanted to share a couple more photos from Georg's farm. 

The speck you see to the right of the hunting stand here in the farm field is a WILD BOAR! No lie! We were just walking along, and this wild boar came running across the field! I nearly dropped my camera, it was so fun to see him. Unfortunately I didn't have a time to zoom in, but there he is, at any rate, running away from us as fast as his stubby legs could carry him. In the foreground, you can see his handiwork, looking for grubs and truffles. I'm probably kidding about the truffles. 






















Later that afternoon, Maria invited us over for kuchen and kaffee. I got a few more photos of the inside of the house -- first the entry room from a different angle:

And my perspective from the sofa in the sitting room where we had our kaffee und tee:

Along with the beverages, Maria served the Berliners that the group had forgotten to eat the night before. A short while later, she brought out a platter of two kinds of kuchen: one nut, and one plum, and offered whipped cream for each, which we naturally accepted. A bit later, a tray of pfeffernuss cookies and stollen, followed by candy. And, for dessert, more candy. How happy were we?

On our way out the door, we passed this collection of hand-carved canes:

The next morning, we said Bis Bald to Angie, Georg, Maria, and their security guard, before heading back to the train station. 

More House/Barn

Next, we were shown the upper level of the house, and the barn itself. 

Up these stairs in the center of the house is a large open room, with bedrooms leading directly off from it, like spokes:

Two of the bedrooms are reached by a small stairway leading down into them . . .

... and the stairway in the middle of the central hall, leading up, goes to a room where they used to smoke and cure hams and sausages, of all things! 

Here we are, looking as happy as we feel, in Maria's room, which doubles as a sitting room and bedroom.

Next to Maria's room, a little door leads directly to the barn attic, which looks enticingly explorable.

Back downstairs, we passed the red bathroom  . . .

And through a door into the barn:

They sometimes open the doors on the far end and have parties in here. The thing hanging from the ceiling is a harvest shrine, a crown decorated with straw to celebrate a good harvest.

Back in the early 1950s, when Georg and Maria were growing up here, family farms were diverse, just like they were in the U.S. before specialization arrived. This farm had about 20 cows, 6 working horses (with unpleasant personalities, according to Georg, and I suppose we'd all have unpleasant personalities too, if we were working horses), 50 pigs, 20 ducks, 20 chickens, 3 or 4 turkeys, a handful of geese (there are baskets of blown-out goose eggs all around inside the house), 2 or 3 dogs (wire-haired German pointers for hunting, and German Shepherds for shepherding and security), a few cats, 2 to 6 sheep, 3 tractors, a combine, and a male goat who was responsible for the romantic life of the female goats around the village and adjoining farms. They also had a beekeeper who would bring 30-50 skeps each summer and stay with them. The farm also raised wheat, barley, rye, potatoes and sugar beets. In other words, this barn saw a lot of action, and not all that long ago.

In early days, the family would have cooked and sat right in the barn with the animals, something like this (although this isn't the original kitchen, Maria is explaining):

This is a hunting wagon. The back seat flips forward to hold animal carcasses, kind of like an early pick-up truck:

And here is the barn's technical equipment storage room:

And lastly, the business entrance to the barn. I think it was very progressive of them to include the women's names, too, and not just the men's. 

Thanks for coming along!