18 June 2005 Saturday
5:45 am
Sailing quietly toward Passau, our last city in Germany before we go on to Hungary. Bright sunshine on the Danube River. We are sailing more towards the left bank, which is lined with lush forest all the way to the very edge of the bank.
One difference is that there is a line of rocks that is visible at the edge where the Main/Danube Canal's banks tended to dropped directly into the water. All this is still completely domestic scale. None of this fantastic middle Rhine River castles and green hills time. Still very Beatrix Potter. We are passing yet another unnamed town with a church with a square yellow tower and a black metal onion dome. Can you just imagine a river and banks so very clean and neat. NO adverstisements on the river, only distance markers which may have a number that is meaningful to the captains of the ships that pass.
Now tall oak type trees with fields beyond and much further distance away is a line of tall deciduous trees, a dark border against the distant horizon. There have been some overtones of Fayetteville TX in the springtime before the heat of the summer burns everything away to crispy brown. I can see some of the European influences in the land in Fayette County, and even more in the Fredericksburg area translated West Texas style
Even as I have been writing, the trees have grown up suddenly next to the bank and obscured the view beyond, but the river waters continue quietly. Occasionally we pass an area of the water from which little bits of steam rises up and we glide by at about 10 - 15 mph or so.
There are some who are up as early. One woman reads, her husband is picking at the fresh pastries, another walks about in his white T shirt with a cup of machine generated coffee. A woman in capris and very short white hair has stepped out beyond the sliding glass doors and drinks orange juice at the railing. The few of us who are stirring speak quietly, greet each other cordially, but are favoring the morning bubbles of private silence.
A temporary settlement of little colorful pup tents now sprinkled near a bank. We are told that trailer parks are not permitted in Germany, but vacation campers may camp temporarily. The banks of the Danube River are as good as any travel spot. Funny how Germans are said to be as numerous and obnoxious as the Japanese, and when we descend upon one of our destinations with our GCT tags hanging around our necks with our names and our American cities and states identified and our colored dots, I think about that. We represent euros for the local community, but we must also appear as gawking pests joining the throngs of other gawking pests.
DANUBE GORGE/WELTENBERG MONASTERY/KELHEIM/REGENSBERG
I am still pondering the death of our watches in Nurnberg. It was as if Hitler's evil still was infused into the stones of the city. I did not feel like speaking very much through dinnerIt was as though we had lost the sun for months and I was severely malnourished. It occurred to me that I could just pick up the phone and tell Katya at the desk that I wanted to cancel going to the optional tour the next day to the Danube Gorge. I just wanted to sit and think about Nurnberg. But then again, perhaps Katya was already in her quarters, so I fell into a deep forgetting sleep of my own.
When I awoke, I got up, walked up to the receptionist desk, found the two emails - one from you and the other from Kristin, and all was much more right with the world. By the time the ship was really stirring, more than just the industrious staff who polishes the brass railings, the marble tiles, dusts the padded library chairs and generally makes the ship just right for we spoiled passengers.
I was at the computer with my endless cups of coffee tapping away when we pulled up to the little dock near Kelheim. Took photographs of the sailors who jumped ashore and pulled the ropes and directed the small crane to bring down the aluminum walkways. Routine, precise, coordinated and so fascinating that I hadn't noticed the fantastic round temple structure high atop the hill.
A round yellow knob with copper dome and statues all around. Classical references for sure, and just looking down at us beyond the fields and borders of trees. We had enough time to have breakfast before we set off for the optional tour. Those of us who had chosen the Danube Gorge Tour walked the short distance to the buses (2) and the rest were to stay aboard the boat that sail on to Regensberg and meet us there for lunch. This was only a morning tour and then after lunch on the ship, we were to take a walking tour of Regensberg with local guides and then be entertained by Hans O in the evening.
My mother had opted two days ago to forego the Danube Gorge trip because she was beginning to anticipate the trip back (still 3-4 days away at the time) and I knew that she was walking slower and slower.
I took some photographs of the wheat growing and the road side before I jumped onto the bus, and then off. Short trip in the green and then disembark. The path we are to take goes beside sheer walls of limestone that rise up. A complicated wire fence has been erected to keep any falling limestone bits from leaping off and striking the cars below. We walk the 1/2 mile to the Weltenberg Monastery because buses are not allowed to take the route so as not further weaken the road.
On the way, Katya stops at a pillar-like monument with German on one side and English on the other. Apparently in 1975 three American soldiers were on some mission on the road above and slipped/fell from the limestone path and died in the Danube River. Ironically, one of the three names was Lucky. Not so. Dodging the lone car or bicyclist, some of whom drove up the path to the unassuming monastery, Katya stopped at a statue of St. Nipacook (sp) and proceeded to tell of the King who was suspicious of his wife's possible affairs. He demanded that the bishop of the area (her confessor) reveal to him any sins she may have confessed. No no. Sworn an oath of silence on all confessed sins, so even when tortured, the bishop refused to speak and was eventually drowned at the king's instruction. Now the bishop is saint of all sailors and for those who may fall into perilous waters. Discussion of baroque and then the extreme exaggeration of that which is known as roccoco. Why we would be having this discussion in front of a monastery?
We walk into the open area within the monastic walls and cross what is clearly a beer garden. There are already other travellers drinking their pre 10 o’clock beers. We are told that this is a very thick dark beer though there are many many different types in this brewery. No one from our group tries beer of any color.
Brother Antonio of the Benedictine clothed in black robes greets us smiling. A grey haired man with a gentle voice and flawless English. He leads us through the church which is swathed in reconstruction covering and .... oh my goodness, the most elaborate and church interior that we have ever seen. Gold leaf, frescoes, gilded panels, statuary, a frescoed dome and huge oil paintings. We are speechless, or at least I am. The most unexpected treasure that had once been only for the Benedictine Order monks now has services attended by the community.
Brother Antonio takes us through the history of the saints, and refers to the three levels of the church and the stories and references and allusions by pointing his flashlight and illuminating the spots which he speaks. And we sit with our mouths wide open. Finally he leads us (in a bold missionary way) in a Taize chant: Jesus Remember Me, When You Come Into Your Kingdom; Jesus Remember Me,When You Come Into Your Kingdom. Practice and then we sing. Some of us know this and others find themselves singing despite themselves. We leave the church feeling somewhat overwhelmed.
I head quickly to the gift shop and buy the Kloster (Cloister) Weltenberg Monastery charm for my bracelet and the little postcards. On to the WC and then to the ferry boat dock.
Imagine if you will Big Bend. Do you see the sheer rocks that rise up straight from the water on either side? Add green to this and then in the distance, place several rectangles with clay tiled roofs and the yellow knob of the classical Liberation Hall of Ludwig I. And a bright blue sky. And sit atop a large ferry boat with your fellow passengers. Announce in both German and English, and then serve late morning beer in tall clear glasses and just float. Glorious glorious little trip. And this made me definitely want to schedule a Big Bend trip (is anyone listening out there?) The cool of the spring and the sun. We arrive in Kelheim completely refreshed, though not with beer which was extra. At Kelheim, there is a bus for those who cannot negotiate the walk through the small town center to the (yes) the beer garden. And there are several who do need to make use of the bus, particularly the two mothers who are now thoroughly exhausted. These two mothers incidentally do not walk through Regensberg and since my mother is ready to go, she is fresh for that walk.
Kelheim is a little town with real stores and a farmer's market. Oh! We have forgotten that it is Saturday and the farmers have brought their fresh wares to the little center. Unlike Nurnberg that had a huge market of vegetables and fruits and cheeses and meats and plants and flowers and on and on and on. Spragel, white asparagus a speciality. This was a humble little affair, but one of our travellers touched the glass meat case as we passed and found out that yes, you could buy the meat and cheese because it was refrigerated. Our sense was that this was a real town with real stores and thus real prices. Unfortunately no charm for my charm bracelet however.
We are ready for the beer (even us NON beer drinkers) by the time we arrive at the beer garden. We have been told that we must compare the three-in-a-row Nurnberg sausages with the white sausages of Regensberg. Something about the minor competition between cities for the oldest and most delicious sausages. Costumed waitresses, in the familiar young German Miss outfits, serve us tall slender-waisted glasses of a welcome amber beer, a large soft pretzel, and the white sausage. I sit with some folks, photograph our lovely Jamaican waitress in traditional German hostess wear, and then photograph some of our jolly group that grows more jolly with the consumption of the beer. The beer garden itself is a large area with a surrounding white wall and the most beautiful climbing red roses trained by strings. Trees offer shade and are a perfect backdrop for the tables of travellers.
Our two program directors, Katya and Gerald, who have now sampled several of the available beers, lead us in an unsteady toast whose words I absolutely cannot remember, just the laughter. Drink and eat, eat and drink. By the time we stand up, we are weaving a bit, but we do have enough time to make a quick circle of the open stores. Maybe a watch? Maybe that inexpensive duffel bag to stuff last minute purchases. Everything is wiggly with beer, that was unabsorbed by pretzel or white sausage. Even though I had eaten one of the small packages of Mestemacher bread (rye bread) from my purse, everything is loosened.
In a stationer’s store, I find a roll of wrapping paper and two refills for the pen I purchased in Nurnberg . I resist any more purchases, though the colored pencils call so piteously - especially the blues and greens. No time to draw.
We board the bus that waits beyond a yellow church with white trim and the square tower. We do not peek in this church, as we are reeking, we think, of beer fumes. We might frighten the pious. On the way back to the boat, we pass an unassuming area of houses - the sign reads: Pentling. Pentling is where the former Cardinal Ratsinger (now Pope Benedictus XVI) and his brother have a house. Anecdote of Ratsinger's used Golf that was ebayed for an outrageous amount is re-retold. Still worth mentioning, and we pass wondering what it would like to be a pope, and wonder again of the status of things in the universal Catholic Church. And how does this area of Germany give rise to a man who would be pope and is?
Lunch is on the boat. My eyes are still full of the church at the Weltenberg Monastery and I feel all of sudden that the entire trip has been put in perspective, and that perhaps all of this was about the discovery of the little church jewel in the hills. More new people at our lunch table
and by the time we finish, we have 10 - 15 minutes before we get off at Regensberg, which is another story entirely.
There is a sudden glare off the water even as I am typing. I know that if I just wait for a little while, we will pass this patch. Gorgeous clear morning continues and now the ship stirs seriously with breakfast eaters. 7:30 am and we will be getting ready for a walking tour in Passau. Coat or no coat. One woman approaches the Germany Hotel Manager and tells him that in America it is Father's Day. Oh Father's Day in Germany is in March, he said, but maybe we will announce this on the intercom. Meanwhile, I change the heading of this email to honor the two fathers who will read this email and then think about the Hyde Park Tour and the fence that is finished and how nice it will to be back home and how we will miss Germany at the same time. How can that be?
posted by Articulate Pen @ 5:05 PM
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