Germany again. Having become enamoured of Germany and the Germans during our visit to Eastern Germany last year, we are embarking on another expedition. People in England tend to be surprised. “Why Germany? Why not Burma - or a trip up the Amazon?”
There are various reasons. The first is that we like the place and enjoy the friendliness of the natives – as to which I’ll be returning. But there are more specific, and some might think curious objectives.
Neil MacGregor, Director of the British Museum, organised an impressive exhibition last year called “Germany – Memories of a Nation”. It was accompanied by a series of 15 minute talks on Radio 4, plus a book, identifying many of the exhibits – frankly using the whole exercise as a means of encouraging us Brits to focus on things other than the two world wars and the Holocaust. One of his talks – and chapters of his book – was devoted to a sculptor called Tilman Riemenschneider (the spell-check didn’t like that!). He compares him to Donatello and they lived at much the same time. I was so struck by the statues MacGregor had managed to get for the exhibition that I thought of doing a tour of the places, mainly churches, where they still exist. He worked in Würzburg, so our first port of call is Würzburg.
Another objective, also cultural, is quite different and is inspired by my having been an admirer of the extravagantly decorated and ornate baroque churches of the brothers Asam, perhaps the most famous of which we saw last year in Munich. They are to be found mostly in Bavaria, but many around Nuremberg. So that’s another destination.
Finally, we want to meet up with our Bequia friend Gerhard, who lives in Hamburg and to our dismay has announced that he doesn’t feel able to go to Bequia any more.
So: Würzburg, Nuremberg - and Gerhard. All arranged through the firm of Kirker and in particular their German expert, Dominic Rossi, who has of course been to the places we’re going to.
Incidentally, and before we start, Mary warns that I mustn’t overload this with stuff about statues and churches. To some extent I write these journals as an aide-memoir for me, so I may include more about such things than my readers may want. If I think I’m overdoing it, I will include an “alert” – such as “Skip the next bit if you’ve had enough about Tilman R”.
Saturday 17 October
We are installed in a modern hotel in Würzburg, having flown to Frankfurt and driven here.
The drive from Frankfurt is fine, although the non-German driver has to get used, pretty quickly, to the lack of speed limits on the autobahn – with cars bombing past at vast speeds.
Another challenge for us is the Sat Nav. I had ordered a car with one. It’s possible that these days I wouldn’t have been able to get one without. But I never really got to the bottom of how it worked, certainly not during the drive to Würzburg. The Avis man in Frankfurt set it up, keying in, with some difficulty, the address of the hotel in Würzburg. Frankly, Frankfurt to Würzburg is pretty straightforward as there’s an autobahn between the two. Despite this, the Sat Nav lady (for she was a lady, although not one who could pronounce German names) kept telling us to leave at the next exit. God knows why. We failed to take her instructions, relying on common sense, a map (including Kirker’s excellent instructions) and all the signposts. The next challenge is to find someone to explain which wrong button we’d pressed. Or how to switch the damn thing off.
First impressions of Würzburg have to be influenced by the dreadful events of the night of 16 March 1945 when in 22 minutes British bombers destroyed the place. Apparently the devastation was on the same sort of scale as Dresden. It has obviously been rebuilt. But frankly it shows. The buildings look new, even though constructed as much as possible in the earlier style. Happily, the great Residenz palace of the local prince-bishop must have largely survived, as did the castle that overlooks the city from the other side of the River Main.
We have supper in the very gemütlich weinstube of the hotel. Mary had sauerkraut and mashed potato (sooner her than me). I had a delicious venison stew.
Sunday 17 October
First on the agenda is to see the Residenz, the enormous baroque palace of the archbishops, then prince-bishops, of Würzburg – as already mentioned, not quite destroyed in 1945, although massively damaged.
Its great claim to fame – which makes it a World Heritage Site (whatever that actually means) – is the grand staircase over which is the biggest ceiling fresco in the world; by the Venetian, Giovanni Tiepolo, who spent a few years at the court of the then Prince Bishop.
The fresco is truly amazing. Each side represents one of the four continents (sorry, Australia, you hadn’t been discovered), rather like the statues at the base of the Albert Memorial. You have an elephant on one side (Asia, I think); camels and a rather misbehaving monkey on another (Africa); a large alligator and an impressive Red Indian on the America side. Europe concentrates more on people, but manages a dog – a very nice dog – and a horse lurking in the background.
Other rooms have more frescos by Tiepolo; one of Frederick Barbarossa getting married, as he apparently did in Würzburg in the 12th century (it was a more important place in those days). Tiepolo has him dressed as an 18th century Venetian, so he may be having difficulty recognising himself as he turns in his grave in Palermo (he was King of Sicily too).
A splendid feature of the palace is a room of mirrors, much damaged in 1945 but wonderfully restored. There are photographs showing the process, together with some information about an American soldier who took it on himself immediately after the war to ensure that as much of the palace as could be preserved was. He is, I am sure rightly, regarded as the hero of post-war Würzburg. (The Americans, not the British, were in charge of this part of Germany at the time.)
So, the discovery of Tiepolo at his finest is compensation for a minor disappointment. As already intimated, we are in quest of Tilman Riemenschneider, not exactly a household name in England, but highly regarded in Würzburg where, although a mere artist and sculptor, he was mayor of the city until he got caught up in the strife of the Reformation – and some revolting peasants (where he took the wrong side – theirs).
We go to the Mainfränkisches Museum to see what the guidebook says is a magnificent collection of Riemenschneider statues. Well, not that magnificent. Mostly “studio of” or even “circle of", whatever that means. Nothing to compare with the beautiful and moving statues that Neil MacGregor got for the exhibition.
A piece of good fortune. I had a wander on Saturday evening and went into the cathedral. There I saw some fliers for a performance of Bach’s B minor Mass at 3.00 on Sunday afternoon. We wonder if we can manage two hours sitting in the cathedral on our only full day in Würzburg and decide we can. It was great, hearing it performed where it should be, in a magnificent church. It was very noticeable to us Londoners that the audience, throughout, was absolutely silent, with no coughing, not even between sections. Are the Germans healthier than we are? Or just more civilized, and/or more appreciative of music? A critic once remarked that no one goes to the theatre in London unless suffering from acute bronchitis.
It was an afternoon of music. As we waited for the doors of the cathedral to open, we found ourselves listening to a solitary, large man in a black suit, standing almost motionless in the cathedral square, singing classical arias at high volume to an admiring crowd. Most were throwing coins into a hat. After he stopped, I asked him whether he did well from it. He gave me a knowing nod of the head and said “Ja, das geht”. I think he meant that he did indeed do pretty well.
I must now add something about one of my continuing themes, the high quality of German food – at all levels and at all prices. We had lunch before the concert at a fish bar, intending it to be a snack. The counter displayed an amazingly varied selection of fish dishes, raw, cold, hot, whatever. Easy to choose one of that, and then why not a bit of the other, with perhaps a few prawns thrown in. With the result that you eat much too much; the concept of a snack is a tricky one in Germany. But even so, it all came to less than 20 euros for two.
This evening we go Italian. Curiously, everything seems to be closed, Würzburg taking the Sabbath more seriously than most other places, certainly in London. Looking round the restaurant, we reflect on the very profound question of why young men, at least in England, and particularly when going a bit thin on top, shave it all off. In Germany, on the basis of the modest sample of those in this small restaurant, they do not – to Mary’s strong approval. The older generation have a tendency to grow beards – less approval there. It makes them all look alarmingly like Jeremy Corbyn.
Monday 18 October
Today we move on from Würzburg, to go on the so-called “Romantic Road” to the ancient and well-preserved town of Rothenburg ob der Tauber.
But first we decide to sort out the Sat Nav. I’ve spoken to a nice young girl at the hotel, asking her if there would be anyone with the expertise to help. Oh yes, she could and would be happy to do so. I got the car in front of the hotel and asked her to set it up and, crucially, explain to me how it worked. Reader, I have to tell you that she was defeated. She said hers (in a BMW – sensible girl) was different from the Mercedes version. The latter mystified her, as it had me. We switched it off – after it kept saying that it would take four hours to go 30 km. It was, of course, reassuring to know that it wasn’t just extreme stupidity, allied to old age, that was preventing me getting the hang of it. It’s an example of a gadget being much too complicated than it need be – too clever for its own good. It lacks the simplifying genius of a Steve Jobs.
On to the Romantic Road, armed with our trusty map. It starts by being only marginally romantic: going through large ploughed fields and past massive forests. The weather is overcast, which of course makes it all a bit subdued.
But it lightens up. It is a perfect time to be going. The autumn colours are probably at their best – and would be even better with a touch of sunshine. The colours are wonderfully varied, with much gold and deep red.
Our first stop is Bad Mergentheim, a pleasant old town with a castle museum devoted to the Teutonic Knights. It is closed on Mondays. We are able to contain our disappointment (Mr Michelin fails to give it a star) and opt for a cup of coffee in a somewhat gloomy café.
The next stop is Creglingen for one of the Riemenschneider masterpieces. Hard to find, as the guidebook warns. It’s a mile or so outside the village and the signs are intermittent and confusing. We eventually discover it. Why is it in such a remote spot? Apparently a farmer, back in the 14th century, found in his field what a local leaflet describes as “an intact communion host” – ie the consecrated bread and thus, I suppose, the body of Christ. The chapel (the Herrgottskirche) was built as a pilgrimage church on the exact spot.
The chapel itself is small and somewhat bizarre. Right in the centre it has the famous Riemenschneider altarpiece (and at the east end it has another altar). The famous one is a large, rather Gothic, structure in the centre of which are the carved wooden figures showing the Assumption of the Virgin Mary. The particular quality of Riemenschneider’s figures is their moving and expressive features. This one does demonstrate this, although, it has to be said, each is relatively small and frankly hard to see.
The only other building to be seen anywhere near the chapel is a nice-looking Gasthof. I go in to explore and am greeted warmly by Carmen, the lively owner, and her friends, all having lunch. She is delighted to give us pork steak, fries and veg – the only things on the menu. Not unexpectedly, it’s delicious, cooked by her husband who, she explains, is blind. The restaurant is full of curiosities, including stuffed animals and birds, various photographs and memorabilia, including a United States flag under which is a certificate explaining that it – the very one – originally flew over the Capitol in Washington DC. Much embracing as we leave. She speaks good English in what she maintains is a Carolina accent – where she has never been.
We arrive in Rothenburg in mid-afternoon, but take a small detour just before we approach the city walls, to see another item on the Riemenschneider trail: the church at Detwang, one of the oldest in Germany having been founded in 968 AD. The Riemenschneider altarpiece is a Crucifixion, with the Agony in the Garden of Gethsemane on the left and the Resurrection on the right. Here the expressions are indeed striking, particularly the Apostles sleeping in the Garden of Gethsemane and the soldiers sleeping even more soundly beside Jesus’ tomb. He is good at people fast asleep.
Rothenburg is obviously the jewel on the Romantic Road. But that’s for tomorrow.
This evening we go to a “typical” Franconian restaurant, the Kloster-Stüble. We get the warmest possible welcome from the two waitresses and select our Franconian dishes. All delicious, with perhaps one exception, the potato dumpling (Kartoffelknödel). These are obscenely large balls of predominantly potato, but are distinctly an acquired taste. I wasn’t brave enough to have one (not myself being much of a fan of our very own mashed potato). And Mary failed to make much headway with hers. We noticed foreigners at other tables being similarly challenged. Maybe you have to be born and bred in Franconia to develop an easy relationship with the Kartoffelknödel.
Tuesday 19 October
Today we wake up in Rothenburg to very heavy cloud. As it was in Würzburg, but it matters more here. It deserves its place among the most amazing towns in Germany, but it is mainly to be seen from the outside.
It has been scrupulously preserved. All the buildings are old – 17th century, they say. Not too many cars. Cobbled streets. No modern street lighting. And absolutely no McDonald’s or Starbucks.
It’s a big place. You can spend many hours wandering happily through seemingly endless delightful streets. A very very large number of the shops are gift shops. They seem mainly to concentrate on toys, plus some slightly ghastly German memorabilia in the shape of decorated beer tankards and the like.
Our hotel, the Eisenhut (the Iron Helmet), is top of the range: old-style, large oil paintings on the walls (one a famous Rembrandt portrait, possibly not the original), doubtless once the grand house of a prosperous Rothenburg merchant. Very friendly and welcoming staff.
I mustn’t go on about the weather, as it’s certainly not spoiling our fun – and, hey, it’s not raining. But the lack of any sun is a pity. Looking out of our bedroom window, you see the gorgeous autumn colours of the trees between the red roofs of the buildings. In sunlight it would be magnificent.
The most important thing to see in the town is the Riemenschneider altarpiece in the Church of St Jakob.
The altarpiece is called the “Holy Blood Altarpiece”, because – not very obviously – it has a cross high up containing some of the wine spilt at the Last Supper, which had become the blood of the Eucharist (I hope I have the theology right). This aspect is not emphasised, perhaps because we are now in Lutheran territory. I only discovered it reading the guidebook afterwards.
The main central sculptures are showing the Last Supper, not actually the Eucharist part but the exchange between Judas Iscariot and Jesus – the “Is it I?” moment. All the faces of the apostles are full of engagement and life: two are having a heated discussion. Only St John (perhaps the most expressive) is looking somewhat bemused. All highly impressive.
On each side of the central panel are others: the Entry into Jerusalem on the left; the Agony in the Garden on the right, with more sleeping apostles.
In the east end of the church there are three tall windows with very early stained glass (around 1400, we are told). Rich colours, probably even richer if the sun was shining outside.
In the market square there is the typical clock, with a famous performance every hour. This one is on the tame side. A window opens and a man inside slowly raises a beer mug and appears to drink. Not very exciting, but it depicts an old legend. During the Thirty Years War the town was to be razed to the ground, unless someone could volunteer to drink six pints of wine in one go. The Mayor stepped forward and performed this impressive feat. The town was saved.
Today this performance attracts large numbers of tourists, who record it on their mobile phones.
On the subject of tourists, Japan and these days China are well represented. We have our first bratwürsts in a café on the market square, next to some people who I guessed were Japanese – largely on the basis of their high quality clothes – but Mary guessed Korean, maybe on the same grounds. She was right.
Wednesday 20 October
We are now installed in Nuremberg - in quite an unusual hotel, the Drei Raben (the Three Ravens). I had been expecting another old-style, traditional establishment reminiscent of the days of Albrecht Dürer and Hans Sachs. It’s in the old town and the outside is indeed traditional, but the interior has been ruthlessly modernised. The reception area looks like an ice-cream parlour without the ice-cream. Our room has a central, dominating feature, namely the bathroom (see above). It is a bizarre structure composed of nearly 100 mirrors, each about a foot square and each angled in a slightly different direction. It is all certainly modern, even edgy (whatever that means), except for a large antique wooden desk – at which I am now sitting. I hope we get used to the mirrors.
Our drive from Rothenburg involved continuing down the Romantic Road to the slightly comically named Dinkelsbühl. (I asked our friend Gerhard whether it sounds comic to a German and he said no.) We only stopped in the town for a coffee but saw enough of it to think it charming – in some ways even nicer than Rothenburg. This may have been because the sun decided to make a brief and welcome appearance.
Today’s drive provided another opportunity of attacking the Sat Nav (sorry, this is getting boring!), this time with the help of a kind man at the Eisenhut hotel. He almost despaired of it but eventually managed (a) to key in the address of the hotel in Nuremberg and (b) to switch it off in such a way that I could switch it on again when we needed it to negotiate our way into Nuremberg. I feared that getting into Nuremberg would be tricky, even with Kirker’s directions. But I couldn’t stand the idea of the Sat Nav lady endlessly saying she was “recalculating” as we (deliberately) didn’t go the most direct way. It worked. The only complaint, as I’ve already mentioned, is that the pronunciation of German place names would defy comprehension, at least initially, by anyone, especially a German I would think.
We met our friend Gerhard, who arrived exactly according to plan by train from Hamburg. We just had time for a bratwürst and sauerkraut before making our way to the opera house.
This was one of the main thrills of the whole trip. I had originally asked Kirker to explore whether there were any musical events anywhere along the route, but particularly in Nuremberg as Gerhard is an avid concert and operagoer. We were very lucky. It so happened that the Marriage of Figaro was playing today. Through Kirker we managed to get three tickets – at a fraction of the price you have to pay at Covent Garden or anywhere else in England, thanks to the generosity of the German taxpayer.
The production was a delight in every way. It was largely traditional (thank the Lord) although the staging was modern and minimal. It worked well. Gerhard, who says he must have seen the opera some 50 times and plans soon to see two more productions, was very enthusiastic. He was particularly pleased to see who was playing Cherubino, as he had recently met her.
Thursday 21 October
This is our day exploring Nuremberg. The usual tragic story. Much of the old town was destroyed towards the end of the war, but major buildings either survived or, more usually, have been meticulously restored.
One such is the St Lawrence Church, a large Gothic structure, now Lutheran but with much ornate statuary. The guidebooks direct one to a statue of the Annunciation by the local Riemenschneider contemporary Veit Stoss, but it is being cleaned behind plastic sheets. Also a Crucifixion that is hanging so high as to be close to invisible.
Rather similarly there is a massive 14th century Gothic fountain in the market square – that is also being restored behind plastic covers.
Rather than admiring the fountain, we happily have a cup of coffee watching the people go by in the central market – which incidentally has the most perfectly formed and coloured raspberries I’ve ever seen in my life. I wonder what they taste like.
The Frauenkirche on the market square, I need hardly say, has one of the mechanical clocks that are a required feature of German cities. This one – at noon, as it so happens just as we are sipping our cappuccinos – has elaborately dressed men emerging from the tower and then progressing round a seated figure wearing a crown. They are the Electors swearing allegiance to the Holy Roman Emperor. It is called, rather impertinently, the Männleinlaufen, translated as “The Running of the Little Men”. The scene is well recorded on the mobile phones of countless, probably mystified, Japanese tourists.
We make our way to Albrecht Dürer’s house. Beautifully presented, although obviously there are no Dürer originals. It tells the sad story that most of his work has found its way out of Nuremberg, much of it into the Alte Pinakotek in Munich.
I’m failing to mention that Nuremberg is a delightful city simply to walk around, with enough of it surviving the differing troubles of war and modernity.
Our hotel is growing on me – having been rather rude about it to start with. It is small (only 22 rooms) and has a small and narrow “footprint”, as I think the expression is. It follows from this that there is no grand entrance and no communal seating area, grand or otherwise. And it is certainly modern in the extreme, by way of design. But it all works perfectly. Very comfortable. Excellent breakfast. Delightful and friendly staff. And every evening they have a Franconian wine tasting, all on the house. What’s not to like?
Friday 23 October
Today we go to Bamberg for the day. This is not part of the master plan, but we reckon we’ve seen Nuremberg and hope the inhabitants won’t be offended if we take off for the day.
We think about driving (it’s only about 30 miles away), but the joys of Deutsche Bahn are such – and the potential perils of finding our way out of, and then back into, Nuremberg by car – that we take the train. As immaculate as one would expect – including, Mary reports, the spacious on-train loo.
Bamberg escaped the attentions of the RAF in 1945, according to legend because of the insistence of an American general.
The most spectacular and picturesque building is the Altes Rathaus (the Old Town Hall), on its island in the middle of the River Regnitz (see left). It has a magnificent gateway with elaborate baroque decoration around it. Next to it, or rather part of it, is the half-timbered Rottmeisterhaus that seems to hang over the water.
We have our coffee as we admire the Rathaus gate, having already in my case had the traditional Bavarian Weisswürst. This should only be eaten before midday, but they were happy to break the rules.
This is getting a bit out of order as we started in Bamberg by seeing the great cathedral, an impressive Gothic building with its four towers that dominate the city. More Riemenschneider viewing, so some readers may like to skip the next couple of paragraphs.
In fact, one of the reasons I was very glad to squeeze Bamberg into the schedule was to add another notch to our progress on the Riemenschneider Trail. The cathedral has a tomb by him with marble statues and reliefs. It’s the tomb of the Emperor Henry II and his wife St Kunigunde. The tomb took our man 14 years to complete (it was done by 1513). Henry II died in 1024, so he must have had alternative accommodation for a few hundred years.
Just by the tomb, which is magnificent, is perhaps the more famous equestrian statue known as the Bamberg Reiter. It gets three stars from Mr Michelin. Why is unclear. It’s a fine, but very ordinary, statue, although it dates from 1230. Maybe that’s the point.
There’s also a beautiful altar in highly polished dark wood (most of Riemenschneider’s are in light brown lime wood) by Veit Stoss, a Nuremberg and Bamberg sculptor in the tradition of Riemenschneider.
We’re getting luckier with the weather. It’s mostly sunny in Bamberg – and in Nuremberg on our return.
Our last dinner with Gerhard is at the Albrecht Dürer Stube, near (unsurprisingly) the artist’s house. This is the epitome of a Franconian/Bavarian restaurant. Packed with people. All the walls covered with pictures, mostly Dürer related. The waitresses in long Germanic dresses, dirndls I guess. We had the house speciality, roast pork shoulder with crackling, accompanied by red cabbage. We negotiated our way out of the potato dumplings, although Gerhard could deal with them, apparently happily.
The Drei Raben went even further up in our estimation by offering us nightcaps on the house.
Saturday 23 October
We say our sad farewells to Gerhard who is off to see various friends on a grand tour of Germany as he goes back to Hamburg.
We also say our farewells and thanks to the people at the Drei Raben – and confront the dread issue of tipping. I’m slightly ashamed to say (only slightly, frankly) that I almost never leave any tips at a hotel (Bequia is an exception). It’s partly because I don’t know what’s expected in the different counties, and in particular how much, and partly because I don’t like it - it seems demeaning. Americans, who of course love to tip, often say that hotel (and restaurant) staff are underpaid, so they need it. But how does one actually know what the different pay structures are in the different countries?
Anyway, Gerhard, who has to be an expert in the customs of Germany, and indeed of hotels having been a Lufthansa man for most of his life, advises that, in Germany, the cleaning maids and others do expect a tip – and that a mere five euros does the trick. So that’s what we do. The waitress at the breakfast bar, who we had particularly befriended (and who is about to study “development economics”), when presented with her tip, seemed to me absolutely not to expect it – and to be slightly embarrassed. But perhaps there are a lot of disappointed (and underpaid) people in the various other hotels we’ve been staying in.
We are now in Regensburg, having got here without problems, putting aside the Sat Nav and relying on maps and the directions supplied by Kirker and the hotel – the Goliath, right in the centre.
Regensburg is another charming old city that has miraculously survived the assorted disasters of the 20th century. It had been an important Imperial City, but the princes concerned moved to Munich and it declined in importance. How lucky – it wasn’t worth bombing.
One of the reasons we are here, as I’ve already mentioned, is the brothers Asam. When we went to Munich last year, Anthony Figgis lent me a book called The Ludwigs of Bavaria by Henry Channon, none other than the diarist better known as Chips Channon. He includes in the book an appendix with ecstatic descriptions of the extravagant baroque churches built by the Asam brothers, Cosmas and Egid, in the early 18th century. Some are in the Regensburg area. We plan to see some, hoping that refurbishment and Sunday services don’t get in the way.
Incidentally, Chips Channon refers throughout to Regensburg as Ratisbon. I do some investigation. Apparently the English called it that until well into the 20th century (Channon was writing in the 1930s) – as essentially the French and the Italians still do. It derives from an earlier Celtic name, but the Germans have always called it Regensburg after the River Regen. I guess that we English are increasingly calling places what the locals do. Livorno, rather than Leghorn. Although we still seem to be sticking to Vienna rather than Wien.
Regensburg, at least in the old city, is pedestrianised, which makes it a pleasure to walk around. It also means that they ride bicycles in a leisurely, civilised way, not too fast, and avoiding pedestrians. Cars are not completely prohibited – we drove right up to our hotel. But they cruise around at the same speed as the pedestrians. It’s a very tolerant regime. We got a bit lost driving back from a trip and I found myself driving the wrong way up what seemed to be one-way streets. No one seemed to care. There was no hooting or even wagging of fingers. Not conforming at all to the German stereotype.
We go to an Italian restaurant for dinner, having temporarily had a surfeit of Bratwürst and sauerkraut. It’s called Fedrico Secondo, named appropriately after the Holy Roman Emperor who was king in both Germany and Italy. Delicious food, very Italian, lovely ambience – although no Italians to be seen.
Sunday 25 October
With the extra hour in bed (summer time having ended this morning), I’m reflecting on a curiosity of our room at the Goliath hotel – which incidentally is the most spacious and comfortable that we’ve had. Between the bedroom and the bathroom is an internal window, allowing one to observe one’s beloved as he or she ablutes. At which particular stage of one’s relationship is this arrangement thought to be useful, I wonder? And at what age of the hotel guest concerned?
Today we go on our exploration of the works of the brothers, Cosmas and Egid Asam.
The first place is Weltenburg, which was a Benedictine Abbey and maybe still is. It’s still a religious establishment of some kind. And yes, unsurprisingly perhaps, a service is being held just as we arrive. It is Sunday, so tourists like us can’t exactly complain if a church is being used for what it’s meant for.
Actually, we can squeeze in at the back, stand quietly and listen to the musical and moving service. We sneak out (with others) when they get to the sermon and find ourselves a cappuccino.
After quite a long wait – they’re long, these services – we go back in and admire the amazing church. Chips Channon goes overboard about it – quite rightly.
The most amazing thing is the high altar. Above it there’s a huge gilded statue of St George on his horse plunging his spear into the angry dragon, with a cowering maiden reacting in horror at the side. (See left.) What makes it even more striking is the dramatic light effect. The chancel is lit from behind St George by an amber lunette, lighting up a fresco behind him. The effect is certainly dramatic.
The whole interior is in the most extravagantly baroque style, with saints adopting elegant poses, angels emerging from clouds, and a ceiling fresco showing people wafting up into the higher reaches of Heaven.
A nice little touch is a figure representing none other Cosmas looking cheekily down from the ceiling with a knowing grin on his face. The bookshop has a very clever photograph of him so doing, with his younger brother Egid behind him in the ceiling fresco dressed up as an angel – on his other side is the bare bottom of another angel clambering up to Heaven.
Chips Channon regarded this church as “the most wonderful” of all the Asam brothers’ work. I can’t resist quoting from his description, to give a flavour of his splendidly florid style of writing:
“There are marble confessionals fit only for the most expensive sins, while over the rich doors are ladies with silver plumes and bosoms, likely, one would think, to disturb the newly absolved penitent . . .”
Having seen all this, we reckon we hardly need to see any other German Baroque masterpiece. Anything else may be an anticlimax. However we press gallantly on. Via Walhalla, appropriately enough.
This is a very German structure. It’s a large temple in the Greek Doric style, looking like a perfectly preserved version of the Parthenon, built high up on a cliff overlooking the Danube. It was built by Ludwig I (the father of Wagner’s friend Ludwig II) in about 1840 to honour German heroes. It contains over 150 busts in white marble of eminent Germans. German for the purpose includes Austrian, so Mozart and the other great Viennese musicians are there. Also Catherine the Great of Russia, but she was originally German, so she counts. High up there are some plaques to more ancient heroes. Our own King Alfred gets one. I guess he spoke a variety of German in those distant days, so he counts too. Our King George I doesn’t. Nor does Prince Albert.
We stop for lunch at a Gasthof (the Kruckenberger) near our next Asam target and get the warmest, friendliest welcome possible from the lovely Irmgard, who runs the place. She also makes her own wine from the grapes growing above the house. It would be a gorgeous place in summer, overlooking the Danube.
Today is another grey day, so the river is hardly to be seen from the Kruckenberger. We do of course see a lot of it as we drive along it. I suppose it sometimes lives up to its poetic description as the “Blue Danube”. But not today. More like the “great, grey, green, greasy” Danube. But even in the greyness the trees are sometimes fabulous. Maybe not quite up to New England standards, but banks of gold and copper and varying shades of green, with the odd touch of deep red. It’s a good time of year to come – even though a tiny bit of sunshine would be nice.
On to the next Asam church – at Frauenzell. No one seems to know about it, although our new best friend Irmgard did. It is in a tiny village in the middle of nowhere. We get there and it’s semi-closed. You can get in, but have to look at the baroque magnificence through an iron grill. Which slightly takes the magic away.
Back to Regensburg, as it’s starting to get dark – under the new regime at 5.30. Ugh!
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I thought I should end this by coming back to where I started – why do we like coming to Germany? Obviously, as with so many other places in the world, there are beautiful and interesting things to see and explore. But basically it’s the people. We find everyone exceptionally friendly and welcoming. I’m in danger of repeating what I’ve already said. But a good example was our last, randomly selected lunch stop, the Gasthof overlooking the Danube. There we are, sitting in the corner, having struggled with a gigantic plate of delights – and the owner of the restaurant, Irmgard Riedl, comes over, sits down and chats – even though conversation is slightly limited by our hesitant command of each other’s language. We leave with much embracing and hopes of coming back soon. Sadly, I’m not quite sure when . . .
I suppose it’s partly the conflict with the stereotype – the dour, strict, formal German, with his rigid adherence to rules. On the subject of rules, I think the Germans have moved on. We all probably have memories of being ticked off by passing strangers for crossing the road as a pedestrian on a red light. Now it seems that, at least in Regensburg, one can drive a large car in a pedestrian zone, the wrong way up a one-way street, without causing so much as a raised eyebrow. Are the Germans getting too relaxed?
Tony Herbert
28 October 2015
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