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.