IN A LAND WHERE FAIRYTALES ARE BORN

ESTABLISHED in the year 8 BC, the city of Koblenz began as a military post under the command of Nero Claudius Drusus Germanimus.

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     The forecast called for sunshine--something I’d seen very little of during my German stay--and a less-than-desirable 39 degrees.  In spite of the cold I was not about to pass up an opportunity to see a beautiful city that promised to be brightly dressed instead of wearing its normal suit of gray.

     I waited on the two-lane country road for the bright red bus marked 357 (easy number to remember) and paced back and forth on the sidewalk trying to keep “Jack Frost” from “nipping at my nose.”  It seemed the only creatures adequately dressed that cold dewy morning were the dogs with their thick winter coats taking their owners for a morning walk…not that I wasn't wrapped in enough layers to qualify as a mummy!

     The bus was late and crowded with passengers so I took the first available seat next to a woman with her head turned and staring blankly out the window. Inasmuch as this was my first bus trip to the city and I was a little unsure of where to get off I dared to interrupt her moment and tapped her on the shoulder, “Excuse me, do you know if this bus stops at the base of the Mosel River Bridge?”  She turned her head and paused for thought, finally answering in German.  I admit to being a little put off initially as she smelled a little more like alcohol than one should at ten-thirty in the morning, and it looked as if she’d applied her jet black eye liner with an unsteady hand and a wide paint brush.  But she was smiling and I was committed so I waited while she struggled to recall her "twenty-five-year-old, unused English," and I quickly realized that beyond the alcohol and paint, there was a kindness behind her eyes and that she was very gentle of manner. She then began to instruct me through nervous giggles and in a kind of Germanglish on where to get off and  where to catch the bus later on.  She was now my protector, hanging on to me when I started to rise and exit the bus prematurely.  “Nine, nicht here,” she said taking a firm hold of my arm.

      

       Safely delivered on the streets of Koblenz I left the noise and the pavement of the busy street behind and entered the cobblestoned street of the quiet Alt Stadt (old town) overseen at its entrance by the centuries old Altburg Castle. 

I came to a flight of stairs and stopped to look across at the colorful houses complimenting the Mosel River’s bank on the other side then descended to the wide promenade that followed along the river.  In the winter gardens, the heads of the cold-resistant pansies were drooped over from the frost and the grass was covered with ice and glistened in the morning sun.  I was virtually alone except for a panel truck (motor running) parked along the river, with two workmen leaning on their clenched fists catching a few moments of sleep on the city’s nickel!  I guess I was the only one crazy enough to go sightseeing in thirty-five degree weather along the windy Mosel.  Gloved hands tucked in my pockets and a scarf hugging my chin and neck, I walked with the wind in my face, claiming the moment.

I walked for perhaps a kilometer beside the mud-stained waters of the Mosel watching it race towards its partner the Rhine, where, at the Deutsches Eck (German Corner) the two mighty rivers converged and the land was shaped like the bow of a ship.  There,  I stood beneath the centerpiece of the Eck, an ostentatious monument of the first German Emperor, Kaiser Wilhelm I, on his horse, having been told earlier that the original monument was completely destroyed under the command of General Patton during WWII.  I had stood on the ground in the hills above the city where that act was initiated so I understood the turbulent history that had taken place on that very spot. 
       Much of the city of Koblenz was destroyed during the war, but  like the monument you’d never know it for it was rebuilt to replicate all of its original gradeur.The rivers’ Rhine and Mosel are burial grounds to many relics from the war.  Imagine if you can walking along the Rhine and seeing, to your amazement, two WWII bombs protruding from a shrinking river.  It happened last year after a drought. The smaller of the two bombs was later identified as one that had been dropped by American forces between 1943-45 and was determined the more dangerous of the two necessitating the evacuation of forty-five thousand people.  To many of those evacuees it must have been a painful reminder of that terrible time in history when the sky was filled with British and American bombers, sirens screaming out warnings, the sound of exploding bombs hitting their target and reducing a once  beautiful city to  rubble and an inferno.  This was a vision I simply could not get out of my head  as I stood alone in that peaceful surround.

        I removed my gloves to take a picture blowing my warm breath onto my hands for they were nearly frozen and I could hardly press the button to open the lens of the camera.  So I ducked out of the wind struggling to compose a shot of Wilhelm seated atop his horse and overseeing the Eck. 

As I looked across the landscape, the morning mist was beginning to dissipate, revealing the varied scenes along the Rhine. 

There was a fortress dominating the hill on the east bank.  Below, long barges moved steadily along the Rhine, kicking up water in their path as they traveled against the strong current.  Trains traveled the tracks along the river’s edge looking more like toy trains from my vantage point on the other side. 

       People strolled along the tree-lined promenade taking their dogs for their morning constitution, their faces peeking out of fur-lined hoods.  And lo and behold, I spotted two other crazy tourists looking at their city map and stopping to take photographs.

Once I left the rivers behind and disappeared into the Alt Stadt I lost myself to the narrow streets, at times finding that I had them virtually to myself, a privilege only winter sightseeing can afford.  The camera remained strapped to my wrist as I looked for those special places where the lens would tell the real story. 

      I finally gave in to the overwhelming cold and found one of many of the city's warm cafe/restaurants where I went inside to thaw out! I peeled off the layers of clothing laying them in a pile next to me, frantically rubbing my hands together and again blowing my warm breath into them while the waiter stood over me waiting to take my order. “Cappuccino, bitte,” I said throught a shiver. The coffee was steaming hot, rich and dark, covered in a mound of cinnamon-dusted foam and I held the cup tightly with both hands to absorb the warmth. I settled back in the padded booth, feeling the warmth return to my body with each sip, amused by the chubby teenage girl across from me leaning over the table giggling and chattering non-stop to the attentive male who gave an occasional nod but could not have gotten a word in even if he’d tried.

    

Twenty-five minutes and a sufficient thawing and I head back to the streets, wandering between the rows of buildings knowing not where I was,

discovering along the way beautiful squares,

stunning architecture,

colorful buildings with painted facades,  playful statues,

beautiful churches with clock towers,

and Turkish restaurants decorated with middle-Eastern furnishings and hookas (water pipes) adorning each table.  I stood with my face pressed against the glass of one of them, debating whether or not to go inside while a dark-eyed, dark-skinned man inside viewed me with curiosity.  I continued on.

        I had spent five hours exploring and discovering the city and the day was beginning to close in on me. I had walked miles, at times repeating what I’d already seen, only seeing it cast in a different light.  One-hundred and fifty-five pictures later, I felt that it had been a day well spent. It was time to go back to the bustling city street and wait in the glass bus shelter for  “Dirty Harry’s” number 357.

These are just a few of the additional scenes I witnessed along the way.

XXX

        Each and every day of my stay in Germany has brought with it some very special gifts.  I have loved traveling by car along the Mosel, the window filled with beautiful castle-dominated towns where fairytales are born,

and where the narrow country lanes that wind their way through hills covered in a carpet of lush green, lead to castles hidden deep within the valleys.

       I  have tromped many a cobblestoned street discovering gingerbread-like houses, feeling like a character from a Grimm fairytale leaving imaginary pebbles behind so as not to loose my way.

I have walked to the neighboring village of Karlich

managing more than a chuckle at the signs advertising a sale or a service. 

I have stared over the neighboring rooftops--beyond beauty--at the nucleur beast claiming the foreground. 

        I have explored Mulheim-Karlich's streets and its charming squares, catching a  glimpse of its history along the way, then, stopping for a cappuccino in the warmth of its modern day café where the locals stop for a fresh pastry and pass a little time.  There, I stare out the window at the old, two-story brown stone house with the forest green shutters, a standing symbol of another time, and I am reminded that we are only caretakers in this life….we own nothing.

      


         I love traveling to my destination via a bus or train, brimming with excitement in  anticipation of the days adventure. 










One such day found me in the old walled city of Andernach

where I shared the promenade with the swans and ducks competing for the grassy spot along the Rhine,

                                          and traversed the streets where the new

and the old came together in harmony,

and the town's people went  about their daily lives.

      
       Last, but certainly not least, I am grateful for the angels who have helped me along the way.  Yesterday, it was a young man named, Phillip, whom I hailed down in the middle of the empty tunnel beneath the train tracks asking him in a near panic where the ticket machine was.  He did an abrupt about face and said to this total stranger, “I’ll help you get your ticket.”  Later, he asked my permission to sit next to me on the train, saying, “I will make sure that you get off at the Andernach stop.”  I told him he was my “angel” for that day.  This young man who exuded kindness did not view that as strange, but instead looked deep into my eyes and smiled his approval.

       I will say farewell to Germany on Sunday, February the fifth. It has been a rich experience, not only because of the places that I have seen, but because of the people with whom I’ve shared those special and unforgettable moments.  I will miss those evenings with friends so dear, of great meals and lively "discussions."

AUF WIEDERSEHEN

    

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     Fellow travelers repack your bags for we are moving on to Trieste, Italy.  Giovanna would not have it any other way!  I can tell you that shades of destiny are already beginning to unfold... and I’m not even there yet.