Germany is a tranquil place, but a dark history lurks beneath the surface, and while some would rather forget Germany's atrocities, others take time not too. I am intrigued by this country's story and am similarly moved by its progressive liberalism and open-mindedness. It's an interesting and utterly fascinating juxtaposition; one that I have not seen anywhere else in the world. Strangely, I feel quite at home here, as though assimilation would be easy. The people, the language, and the history and culture feels organic and natural to me, more than any other country I've visited.
23 December: Nürnberg Chriskindlesmarkt
My arrival in Germany coincided with the last night of Chriskindlesmarkt in Nürnberg and I had longed wanted to experience it. Thomas picked me up from the Munich airport and we set off. I couldn't wait to drive speed limitless on the autobahn but as soon as we got on it, we were stuck in traffic. This was not what I had expected. But my excitement wasn't completely dashed, because soon, we would be at the world's most famous Christmas Market. On the way, Thomas revealed a secret: Harald was going to meet us. Hurray! (I'd first met Harald in St. Jean Pied de Port, France before crossing the Pyrenees and saw him many times along the way to Santiago and then finally in Finisterre.) Our hotel was in the heart of the old city, next door to a sex shop. I knew Nürnberg was a famous for it's toy making industry, I just hadn't realized the full extent of the type of toys they were famous for. Shortly after check-in, Harald arrived. We spent time catching up and and once it was dark, the three of us walked through the city. Thomas had never been to Nürnberg but Harald, who lives in Switzerland, had spent much of his childhood here.
Scents of pine and gluhwein (mulled wine, a traditional German holiday drink) filled the air. We walked through the winding cobblestone streets, peering into shop windows. The buildings, adorned with glowing white lights, cast a warm, inviting glow around the market. People were bustling about, vendors were selling their goods: fruit, vegetables, coffee, tea, and various sundries and Christmas gifts.
At the edge of the village an old stone wall surrounded the city, and the medieval Nürnberg Castle, which survived both world wars, overlooked the town. On our walk, we discovered a blue tile with a scallop shell near the perimeter wall. It was the symbol of the Camino, or Jakobsweg as it is known in Germany, which runs right through Nürnberg!
The night grew colder and the fog and mist created a mystical glow around the Bavarian town. It seemed as though I was inside a fairytale storybook rather than walking through a real place and I couldn't stop smiling. Just like a child at Christmas, each place vied for my attention. "Oh look at this! Oh my gosh, this is amazing. Wow, would you look at this?" I bounced from place to place as if I was jumping from one page to another in a Dickens novel. After several hours perusing the town and market, we ducked out of the cold for a terrific Indian meal in a warm restaurant with Buddhist flare. After dinner we recounted the travails of 27 April 2015, a day that will live in infamy for those of us who crossed the Pyrenees that day. Afterward, we said our goodbyes and Harald returned to Switzerland.
24 December: Christmas Eve––Nürnberg's Zeppelinfeld and the Palace of Justice
In the morning, Thomas and I had a traditional Bavarian breakfast with more food than we could possibly eat: croissants, toast, eggs, platters of cheese and meats, and delicious German coffee. We enjoyed our meal and headed out for our next adventure. There were two things I insisted on seeing before leaving Nürnberg. The first was Zeppelinfeld––the former Nazi rallying place. It was hard to imagine that the Nürnberg I'd seen last night bathing in all its Christmas magic once played host to Nazi rallies while its citizens stood by and watched hundreds of people––including Americans––be beaten for failing to offer the heil Hitler salute. Yet it happened and it was here, at Zeppelinfeld, that the Nazis held its annual rallies from 1933 on.
On one side of the field, a large, Greek-style stone grandstand topped with columns sat facing the open expanse. The structure, designed by Albert Speer, was barren––it is not a tourist destination––and it remains a functional place––a race track, a gathering place, a place to run stairs––not entirely forgotten, but not highlighted either. From the outside looking in there seemed a hushed silence––spoken but unspoken at the same time. A large orator platform in front of the bleachers overlooked the field. I stood on the platform in the very place Hitler had once spoken and tried to imagine what it must have been like to be swept up in such an event––the energy, the intensity, the beginning of what many believed would save their country, not knowing then that their rallying cry was going to be their downfall. Atop the columns a large swastika, the symbol of the Nazi party, was missing; blown up by American forces at the war's end in 1945. I reflected here for quite some time and wondered, How did any of this happen? How could we have allowed it to happen?
On one side of the field, a large, Greek-style stone grandstand topped with columns sat facing the open expanse. The structure, designed by Albert Speer, was barren––it is not a tourist destination––and it remains a functional place––a race track, a gathering place, a place to run stairs––not entirely forgotten, but not highlighted either. From the outside looking in there seemed a hushed silence––spoken but unspoken at the same time. A large orator platform in front of the bleachers overlooked the field. I stood on the platform in the very place Hitler had once spoken and tried to imagine what it must have been like to be swept up in such an event––the energy, the intensity, the beginning of what many believed would save their country, not knowing then that their rallying cry was going to be their downfall. Atop the columns a large swastika, the symbol of the Nazi party, was missing; blown up by American forces at the war's end in 1945. I reflected here for quite some time and wondered, How did any of this happen? How could we have allowed it to happen?
The Nürnberg Palace of Justice, the site of the Nürnberg Trials where some Nazi officials were tried for war crimes, was the second place I had to see. Though it was closed, I peered at it through the iron gates. Construction of the site began in 1909 and it was used for the trial because it survived the war with little damage. The courtroom is still used today, though it has been partitioned off into smaller courtrooms. Thomas mentioned that the city of Nürnberg is considering building a new courthouse and converting the Palace of Justice into a museum.
Christmas Eve dinner was to be at Thomas's home in Peissenberg with his children. We departed Nürnberg and drove the autobahn (at warp speed this time) to Thomas's home, passing by the 1972 Olympic stadium in Munich on the way. With no time to spend in the city, I only saw it from the periphery. Modern glass buildings lined the highway, the greatest of which was the life-size glass Mercedes advent calendar. Each enormous window contained a single car, and on each day, one window was opened just like the calendar. The final 12 days of Christmas were especially glorious with a custom painted Mercedes in each of the final 12 windows. It was remarkable!
Thomas's apartment in Peissenberg, a village of 13,000 in Bavaria near the German and Austrian Alps, could have been used as an IKEA advertisement, decorated with modern furnishings, artwork, and Buddhas. Charming, quaint, and warm I was instantly taken with it and could understand why Thomas was planning to purchase it. After settling in, Thomas took me to the mountain top adjacent the town, and I stood in awe of the stunning 360 view of Bavaria and the Alps. At the top of the ridge-line there was a small church, which once inside, stole my breath away. On the ceiling was a biblical tale painted in fine detail, laced with gold that cascaded down the walls like waterfalls. Icons of Mary and Joseph were in each corner and an empty cradle sat waiting for a child to return. As glorious as it was, there was something about this church that was different from many other Catholic churches I'd seen in my travels. There was a touch of grace, humility, and simplicity that most others did not possess. The wooden benches were carved in a distinctly Bavarian style. They were warm and inviting––welcoming even to me, an agnostic. Outside the church I stumbled on yet another familiar site: Jakob, the pilgrim.
"Here?" I asked Thomas.
"Here?" I asked Thomas.
"Yes. Here is part of Camino. Jakobsweg," Thomas said.
"How far is Santiago from here?" I asked.
"About 1000 kilometers," Thomas replied.
"You could start in Muxia and just walk home then, couldn't you?" Thomas laughed but I wasn't really joking. I thought it would be kind of neat thing for him to do. I'd met others while walking the Camino who had started in Santiago and were walking home. One man had even walked back to Rome.
Later that evening, Christmas Eve night, I met Thomas's 18-year-old son Daniel, and his 20-year-old daughter Anke, "An" for short. Afterward, they exchanged gifts and we spent the rest of the evening listening to music.
Christmas morning Thomas prepared a traditional breakfast much like the one we had had in the hotel. Then, we took a long drive through the Austrian Alps, stopping first at King Ludwig II's Schloss Neuschwanstein for a few photos. Thwarted by the number of tourists, we opted to continue our drive. We passed through Fussen before climbing upward. Mountain tops were dusted with snow, and I was giddy with excitement. These traces of snow had officially made it a white Christmas as far as I was concerned. Winter had proven so unseasonably warm that tourists traded in their skis and snowboards for bicycles and hiking boots, but the sites were no less amazing. My eyes feast upon the mountains like a child in a candy store, ohhing and ahhing around every bend. The fresh mountain air was crisp like snowfall. Scents of pine and burning wood glazed the mountains like sweet syrup poured gently over the trees.
When the sun was getting low in the sky, we stopped at the 1936 Olympic stadium in Garmisch. Always intrigued by this time period, we ventured inside. The ski jump was center stage, sorrounded by a tiny stadium that to this day hosts an annual ski jump on New Year's Day. We warmed up with coffee and chocolate mousse inside the cafe and were contented to be still for a bit. The cafe servers were dressed in traditional Bavarian outfits (for the tourists' sakes) and the walls were adorned with black and white photographs from the 1936 Winter Olympics. Though I was not familiar with these games I recalled the 1936 Summer Olympics in Berlin, during which US runner Louis Zamperini broke the world record for the fastest final lap in the 5000 meter run. Afterward, Hitler insisted on meeting him. In 1943, Zamperini became a POW in Japan after spending 47 days at sea after his plane had crashed during a search and rescue mission. His story was later captured by author Laura Hillenbrand in her book "Unbroken." Zamperini passed away in 2014 at 97 years of age.
Christmas night, I joined Thomas and his family for a Bavarian Christmas dinner. It was a cozy affair with little room to spare; about 16 of us snuggled together in a small flat. For dinner, vegetables and meats were cooked on a hot stone like an indoor barbecue, and salads of all types were offered up. Beer, wine, gluhwein and kinderpunsch flowed generously. Later dessert––tiramisu and ice cream followed by espresso, coffee and tea. After dinner, Thomas's nieces and nephews played drinking games and the adults soon joined the "anti-aging table." Hours of laughter interlaced with heavy metal music and a German stand-up comedy routine made the evening pass quickly and soon, it was time to make the short 10 minute walk back to Thomas's flat.
The day after Christmas, Thomas and I remained idol and luxuriated in nothingness. I curled up with Harry Potter, we listened to music, and snacked on food all morning. In the early afternoon, Thomas showed me around Peissenberg, a former coal mining town. We climbed a small hill, atop which was the smallest steeple I'd ever seen. It was adoringly sweet with stained glass windows portraying coal miners and benches that could only seat a dozen or so parishioners comfortably. On the other side of the hill was the old part of town and a small downtown area filled with privately owned shops; it was a mix of traditional Bavarian architecture and modern design, an undiscovered jewel waiting to be polished––perhaps not a diamond or a rare pearl, but surely an emerald. We passed by the entrance of the now-closed coal mine and an art studio where movie props are made. The sun fell below the horizon and the warm day gave way to a colder night. We spent the evening watching Harry Potter with Thomas's children, and his friends Michael and Annette who drove in from Hamburg. It was a nice way to spend my last night with Thomas before going to Heidelberg to see Dominique.
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