South Africa Journal

The Black Forest

Sunday, July 13

This is coming to you from Germany. On this keyboard only the z and the y are transposed, which presents far fewer problems than switching the q and the a or the m and the comma. Luckily through the kindness of friends I am not paying by the minute and can take the time to spell check.

My visit to Strasbourg included a three day tour of the Black Forest. It started out just as I imagined, a rather dark rainy day, driving on narrow roads enclosed by tall stands of dark pines on either side of the road, as we wound our way up hillsides with brief views from the lookouts near the top. One the father side we headed down into gentler terrain toward Tuebingen, a famous university town, small enough to have been largely ignored by World War II bombs and notable as the home of Johannes Kepler among others. On the wall beneath the cathedral is a small memorial to those Jews of the Tuebingen community and university who suffered from the Nazi terror, but otherwise the town remains a gentle reminder of Medieval Germany. Using the French Routard Guide, their equivalent of the Lonely Planet or Rough Guides, we found a wonderful "Wurstkuche" which was clearly a hotspot for young locals and tried a dish call "Maultaschen" which I had never heard of. It was described to us as similar to ravioli, but in fact it is more like Chinese dumplings, including ground meat and a lot of spices. I am surprised not to have run across that in my travels, although in truth, I have spent very little time in Germany in my life, an odd fact, since I speak the language.

Our second day we drove southto the Danube and started back west through gorgeous rolling hills, in a region full of sports vacationers -- kayaking, bicycling, hiking and even a few canoers. We headed towards a famous lake called Titisee, which would be considered a German version of Lake George, but at the last minute headed south to the a less well-known area, ironically on the larger lake called the Schluchsee. We had an interesting time selecting a pension for the night. Not everyone in these small B&Bs seemed enthusiastic about welcoming us on a rainy afternoon, but in the ended up in a delightful place with a small terrace, and a gourmet dinner in an unassuming restaurant which was again clearly a local favorite.

Our third day included a tour of the city of Freiburg, which was more harshly treated during the war, but most of the old city has been repaired. There is a daily market around the cathedral with lots of wooden toys for sale. Historically Germans took more interest in toys than the French, and Jane noted how different the markets were in this respect.

Most distressing in our walk through Freiburg was to see a wonderful stone bridge across the main street marred with a sign for McDonalds. I can't say that I would do battle to get rid of McDonalds worldwide, as some in France would have it, but it is distressing that the only billboards we saw (on the sides of private barns) in all of our travels were for McDonalds. The area around Freiburg is also considered the Black Forest, but its hillsides are gentler, more open with farming and graying further up the mountain sides. It reminded me a lot of the Berkshires. Farther west the hills offered nothing but vineyards and vast vista from the hilltops.

Finally for the trip home we crossed the Rhine and drove up along the flat floodplain straight to Strasbourg. It is worth nothing that our relatively new Michelin Guidebook (guide vert) was for the Rhine valley including both the eastern German side (the Black Forest) and the western French side known as the Voges. As the book points outi n the introduction on the geography of the region, it is identical on both sides of the river, only politics have made the river a dividing line rather than the unifying force that it had been throughout the Middle Ages when the Rhine was the major means of transportation and commerce in Western Europe.

Speaking of unifying, the Tour de France will cross into Germany for the first time this year, and pass through the city of Freiburg. It was interesting to see ball caps and t-shirts for sale on the streets of Germany, publicizing such an historically French event.

Yesterday I re-crossed the river, this time by train and headed to Frankfurt and then on to the small town of Lohr, in the picturesque valley of the river Main. My roommate from my second year in Switzerland lives here and raises Welsh terriers. Of her most recent litter only one is left -- she suffered a broken leg as a pup and had a pin in her leg. Now that is finally out and the stitches and bandage finally come off tomorrow.

I had a chance to reflect yesterday on what rules means in German culture. On the train from Strasbourg to Frankfurt, one changes in Offenburg. Our train was a little late and quite a number of us where struggling to get from the one platform, down and up onto the next platform for the connection. As we were coming up the stairs, the conductor told us not to rush, there would be another train in fifteen minutes, and it would actually get the Frankfurt first. So fine, we waited, and I explained in French to one woman, traveling with a small child, what the conductor said.

The next train arrived as promised, but turned out to be a special elite train, and once aboard, it turned out there was an extra charge. The conductor came first to the French woman and child. The mother insisted she had no money, nor a credit card, and could not pay. It was possible to take her address and send her a bill, but the conductor explained that in that case the fare would not be 24 marks (12 dollars) but double the entire ticket. There was some discussion, with various people telling the conductor just to ignore the ticket. I chimed in that we had all been told to wait for the train, with no explanation of an additional cost (since I felt somewhat responsible for having translated that message). When the conductor got to me, she said my ticket was equally problematic. I said I understood and got out German money to pay, but she said she couldn't take it from me if she didn't take it from the other woman, so in the end neither of us paid.

An hour later a woman got on the train who came over to me and said "that is my seat." I looked a little puzzled, because up until then everyone had just taken an empty seat. She said "That is mine, I reserved it." "Oh," I said, "in that case, be my guest, by all means. (Nehmen Sie es ruhig.)" There is nothing to be a guest about, she declared, it is a reservation! (Ruhig kommt nicht in Frage, es ist mein Platz.) Well certainly this woman is sure about the rules!

When I got into Frankfurt I bought my train ticket on to Lohr and asked if I could also buy a ticket to the airport for Sunday, when I head to London for the flight to South Africa. No he said, you can only buy tickets to the airport 1 hour ahead. Why was that, I asked, puzzled since it is just a $3 for a ten minute ride. Because we have rules he said. I wanted to ask why there was such a rule, but figured his answer was complete. Because we do.

Well, that's it from a cool and rainy Europe. I hear it is unseasonably warm and sunny in Capetown, but that the grapes are suffering, so on their behalf I will hope to arrive in a cool and rainy South Africa next Tuesday.