The Events of Wednesday, June 22, 2011

                With an earlier wake-up time this morning, we were able to be out of the house at 9:15. The drive along the Romantic Road, the main route through the quaint towns of southern Germany, was rather unspectacular. The real sights on this well-visited path are the cities; the road just serves to connect one sight to the next one. Our drive took us from Dinkelsbühl to Rothenburg ob der Tauber, the most famous stop on the 240-mile road.

                Upon arriving in Rothenburg, we wound our way through a mess of construction projects and the set-up for the regional carnival. Finally, we arrived at a free parking lot just outside the medieval town walls and headed into town. After passing through Galgentor, one of the four gates in the wall, we ambled toward the center of town. Our map wasn’t the best, so we struggled a bit amongst the narrow, curvy, unnamed streets. Eventually, we found our way to the main Marktplatz, the Market Square and the tourist information center.

                After asking a few questions, getting a better town map, and using the free internet terminal, we headed onto the Marktplatz. Here, we joined the groups looking at the large clock for the Meisertrunk show. While the bells tolled 11 times, the windows on either side of the clock opened and gave a slow reenactment of this medieval myth. As the story goes, Rothenburg was about to be ransacked by the invading Swedish Army during the 30 Years’ War. To save his town, ex-mayor Nusch asked the commanding officer, “If I drink this three liter tankard of wine in one gulp, will you spare the town?” The commander agreed, the mayor chugged (and then fell asleep for three days), and the town was spared.

                After explaining that the story was made up during the 19th century to promote tourism (hence the crowds on the square), I pointed out each historic building on the square. Our self-guided walking tour then led us to the Rathaus, the old town hall. On a side wall, about six feet up, three metal bars were nailed. In medieval Germany, there were over 300 individual countries, each with their own weights and measures. This country’s base measures were a rod, an “ell” (length from elbow to fingertip), and a foot. Climbing up on a stone ledge, we compared our “ell” and foot with the standard. Lindsey, surprising us with her flexibility, was the only one able to lift her leg up to the height of the bars. Incredible!

                Next, we headed through the market hall, the center of Rothenburg’s famous Christmas Market. Our tour took us through the adjoining courtyard and to St. Jakob’s church. St. Jakob’s, or James in English, was an important stop for pilgrims on their way to Santiago (St. James) de Compostela in Spain. Since the church had an entrance fee, we decided to move on to the Convent Garden, near the old town walls. The highlight of this manicured courtyard was the small, sweet-smelling herb garden. Scattered throughout were various poison herbs, which were marked by crosses—the more crosses, the more deadly the poison.

                Exiting the garden, we walked along the town wall to the Burgtor, the gate from the town to Castle Park. This gate was protected very well. Above the door was a “pitch mask”, where defenders could pour boiling pitch or oil on attacking soldiers. There was also was an “Eye of the Needle” door. This was the only way into the city after curfew; for a fee, the night guard would let any latecomers through the door. It was just big enough for a man to fit through, but not an armed attacker. Heading through the open gate (thankfully, not the Eye of the Needle door), we entered Castle Garden. This modern park is situated where a castle once stood. Enjoying the cool breeze and magnificent views, we sat down under the shade of bushy trees for a picnic lunch. It was a great lunch; there was even a street performer playing flute to provide entertainment!

                After the meal, we walked around the edge of the park. On every side, we had great views over the Tauber valley. The name of the city, Rothenburg ob der Tauber, comes from this park. Here, there was once a red castle (roten Burg) on the (ob der) Tauber River. Below the cliffs, we saw the village of Detwang, great views of the rest of the town, and Toppler’s Castle far below. The quiet green fields and woods provided a contrast with the loud tour groups. But, as we left the park and headed onto Herrngasse, the commercialism, noise, and crowds returned. Rothenburg’s elite, rich, and famous (the Herren), lived on Herrngasse, the largest and most opulent street in the city. All the houses have colorful, elaborate facades to show off their wealth. Back on the market square, near the end of the street, was our last sight on the tour: the Christmas Village shop. The three floors of the shop were full of delicate ornaments, elaborately carved pieces, and candle-fan scenes. Although we didn’t make any purchases, it was a welcome stop for air conditioning and Christmas music in the heat of June.

                On our way to our next attraction, the town wall, we stopped at a small shop for our dessert: Schneebällen. Schneebällen, or snowballs, is a Rothenburg specialty. The pastries consist of dough wrapped in a ball, baked, and coated in powdered sugar. They come in a huge variety, with plenty of options for fillings and outer coatings. We ordered six treats, packed them up, and headed back to the convent garden. There, in a beautiful setting, we sat to enjoy our special treats. Caitlin and Abby both tried caramel; Mom and Lindsey both sampled chocolate. Dad enjoyed his chocolate and coconut treat, while I (Ben) had rich nut nougat. The rather dry pastry tasted better with the soft, moist filling and the slightly melted coating. They were all superb.

                After devouring our desserts, we headed to Klingentor, where we climbed onto the town wall. Rothenburg is famous for its medieval town wall. As we walked along the ramparts, we peeked through arrow slits and windows for glimpses of the scenery. The town, viewed from above, is a mass of quaint, half-timbered houses bordering cobbled streets. Walking further away from the center of town had its advantages: simpler homes and fewer crowds. As we circled the town, clouds came rolling in and it started raining; it didn’t affect us, since we were sheltered by a small roof. When we headed through Rödertor, I suddenly heard a shrill scream. Lindsey just happened to look up to see two teenage boys hiding in the rafters, looking down at her! It was really startling for her, but hilarious for the rest of us.

                The real highlight of the wall was the huge round bastion at the southern end. Stairs led to three floors of original stone walls, dimly lit passageways, and great views over the city. We climbed and scrambled up and down, really enjoying this hidden gem of the city. Once we had thoroughly explored the ramparts, we wanted to continue on the wall. But, for the next little bit, there was no path on the wall. Instead, we walked among the higgledy-piggledy houses to the next access staircase. Continuing on the wall, we enjoyed the western wall…until it ended. Although the wall still circles the old town, not all of it was accessible for tourists. Descending the stairs, we planned the next part of our afternoon.

                By now the rain had lightened, so we ventured out from our sheltered path to the tourist-filled streets. Since our house in Dinkelsbühl does not have internet, we wanted to get online. Mom, Lindsey, and Abby stayed at an internet café down the street from the Market Square, while Caitlin, Dad, and I rotated through the tourist office’s one free terminal. Among the chores was finding an inexpensive, authentic German restaurant for tonight. With a couple options in mind, we headed through the back streets towards our top pick.

                Our top choice turned out to be the best one: Spätzle-Schwob. The food looked good, the prices were reasonable, and the atmosphere looked cozy. Even though it was only 5:30, we headed in and were seated at the only unreserved table. We were almost alone in the restaurant, but we were lucky to have a table. The staff was expecting a huge tour group later that night, so ours was the only free table. Minutes after we arrived, two groups were turned away because there was no room.

                The menu was full of Spätzle-Schwob’s specialty: spätzle. It is a local specialty—a type of noodle, made from potato, that comes as a side with everything. Instead of getting several dishes to share, we decided to each enjoy our own dish. Caitlin and Lindsey both ordered Wiener Schnitzel, and Mom and Abby both decided they wanted the bratwurst, but with spätzle as a side instead of sauerkraut. Dad got a beef roll, a slice of beef filled with onions, pickles, and mustard, then rolled and baked. I enjoyed lentils, very flavorful sausages and succulent smoked meats with my spätzle. All our dishes were very flavorful but very salty, so we downed all our waters fairly quickly. As good as German food is, the monotonous flavors almost become boring. We decided we liked the variety in French food more than the single, powerful flavor of German food.

                It was almost 6:30, and now it was pouring outside. We had nothing to do for an hour and a half, and we didn’t want to go out in the rain. To extend our stay in this warm, dry restaurant, we ordered desserts: warm Apfel Strudel mit eis (with ice cream) and vanilla ice cream with chocolate sauce. The apple strudel was very different from apple strudel back in America. Inside a super-thin pastry was a dense filling of nothing but apples. It was the real thing, and very tasty.

                Just as we finished dessert, the rain let up. We were about to leave when a huge American tour group came in, laughing and talking as loud as they could. Americans! As awkward as it was to have a completely silent restaurant, this group was just too rowdy. Luckily, since it had stopped raining, we could head out, through the quiet streets, to Marktplatz. While we waited for our Night Watchman tour, we watched a queer dog training session on the square. We were surprised how different dog training is in Germany; the owners were very militaristic and almost violent, shouting at the dogs and yanking their collars. After a little while, the dogs left, and a HUGE tour group of teenagers and chaperones came into the square. The group of at least 150 people, like the group from Alabama we met in London, was on a musical tour of Europe. The Nebraska group was singing on the Marktplatz tomorrow, so they had just enough time to do some sightseeing tonight. The group certainly made for an interesting tour experience!

                Hans Georg Baumgartner, the Night Watchman, arrived a couple minutes before eight to and allowed the crowd to take pictures with him. Then, at 8:00, the bell tolled, the windows of the clock tower opened, and the two statues began their rather boring show. After two chimes of the clock, almost everyone’s cameras were focused, not on the Night Watchman, but on the little wooden figures in the windows. Mom and Caitlin walked through the crowd, laughing at the idiocy of all these people, whose attention instantly riveted on two slowly-moving statues.

                Soon, our fun (but crowded) tour began. Mr. Night Watchman told us about the role of the night watchman and the history of the city. Starting at its founding, rise to riches, fall in the 30 Years’ War, we traced the city’s history through the era of stagnant poverty, to its rediscovery in the 1850s, it’s bombing in WWII, and tourism today. From the Marktplatz, we headed down Herrngasse, through the Burgtor, and to the Castle Garden, where we saw the southern end of town illuminated by the evening sun. Then we came back via some back streets we hadn’t explored this morning.

                Rothenburg is situated 300 yards from the intersection of two major trade routes: Hamburg to Rome (north to south) and Prague to Paris (east to west). As a result, it rose to riches because of trade and its specialty, cloth, and had a whopping population of 6,000. Even now, the intersection of two autobahns, which follow roughly the same route, is located only 20 miles from the city. The town’s glory days suddenly ended in 1618 with the 30 years’ war. The Swedish Army, 40,000 strong, needed a place to winter, and they chose Rothenburg. Although terribly outnumbered, the townspeople wouldn’t give up without a fight, and settled in for a bitter siege. The Swedes were moving closer, and the townspeople were almost out of gunpowder. The man in charge of the powder room went in—with a lit torch—to check how much was left. There was just enough gunpowder to explode, destroying a big chunk of wall. It just happened that that hole was at the Swedes’ strongest point, and they used the gaping hole to invade the city. During the entire siege, the townspeople only lost two people: the guy with the torch and another guy who stood too close.

                The town stagnated for 250 years until some romantics discovered a perfectly preserved medieval gem. However, its perfection was threatened during the last weeks of WWII. A couple high-ranked Nazi officials (and their troops) fled to Rothenburg during the bombing of Nürnburg. The next day, a fleet of American bombers flew over Rothenburg, dropping their bombs…but missing. It was a foggy day, so the bombs intended for the town center ended up just hitting the wall and outskirts. Later, American command ordered an old-fashioned artillery siege. However, the American man in charge had heard about the town’s history from his mother. He went into town, requested that the Germans surrender, and saved the town from total obliteration. Thanks to that one man, the 2.5 million visitors to the town aren’t visiting bombed-out ruins but a historical treasure.

                The tour ended on a side street near Market Square. As we walked back to our car, we overheard a gaggle of girls (from the Nebraska tour group) discussing the tour. “HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! That was so funny! ‘One was the guy with the torch’”…

“ ‘and the other guy was too close!’ HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! This is so Facebook worthy!”

“I am so going to put that on Facebook as soon as we get back to our hotel! HAHAHAHAHA!”

                While they were laughing at this supposedly hilarious joke, we were all chuckling at their conversation. How inane! We have certainly realized how some aspects of American life irritate Europeans. Americans abroad are loud, obnoxious, addicted to their cell phones and to Facebook, and not always a pleasure to be around. (Reader, do not worry. We still like you.) I guess that, after three and a half months in Europe, we are getting to be Europeans.

                The drive home, although late, was incredible. This part of Franconia is flat except for the occasional gentle rise. With the sun setting, the sky became a gorgeous painting of blue, pink, and orange. The cumulus clouds that had threatened rain all afternoon were now gracefully pushing upwards. And all of those pastel colors were contrasted with the silhouettes of the row of small trees and fields of golden grain. This is the closest I’ve ever been to heaven on earth.