Würzburg, Rothenburg.....and beyond

Sometime during the night we crossed into the southwestern German state of Bavaria.  Because of light traffic on the Main we were already docked several hours ahead of schedule, so when my feet had barely hit the floor at 8:30 I was surprised to hear over the loud speaker that there would be a walk into Würzburg at 9:00.

Even though it meant only one cup of coffee and that I was less that photo shoot ready we headed off at a brisk pace with leader Emil over the cobblestones into the city center.  Würzberg is an interesting place, part railroad junction, industrial center and the commercial hub of an agricultural region noted for its vineyards...and the vineyards abound.  Like a patchwork of green corduroy strips, the grape vines bandage the hillsides, wrapping up and around the peaks and valleys.  The word verdant immediately comes to mind.

We are headed to the stone bridge at Würzburg, the oldest one still surviving on the Main.  Purportedly begun in 1120 and finished in 1133 it is decorated with twelve stone statues standing fifteen feet tall all admittedly done to detain the traveler and his cash in the town.

Of course we are looking up at the 13th Century Marienberg fortress high atop the ridge which was the episcopal residence from 1271 to 1720.  Not too shabby as it is decorated with frescos by Tiepolo, so much for the poverty part of poverty, chastity and obedience.  Like many prelates, this bishop had problems with the locals whose advocate was Tilman Riemenschneider, local mayor and sculptor extraordinaire who ended up being imprisoned and tortured for his advocacy.

Well there are no dramas like liturgical ones so in the succeeding centuries the bishops of Würzburg were prominent also as temporal princes.  Around 1720 these bishops commissioned the vast Würzburg Residenz compound near the center of the town that remains in all its Baroque splendor to this day.  We have a visit there scheduled for later today.

Our walk is brisk and energizing after yesterday's inactivity.  The city is starting to come to life.  The floral stalls are open and the traffic building.  We peek into store windows; some of us grandmothers admiring the cuddle- worthy toys.

Emil gets us turned around straight away and before long we are back at the boat. The FitBit people are all consulting their wrist.  Brunch awaits because we will be away all day.

Those who have chosen to journey to Rothenburg board our buses.  Rothenburg is on the Romantic Road, Romantische Strasse, which is a 220 mile stretch from Würzburg south to Füssen.  This route includes the Main River to the Bavarian Alps, connecting old castles and unspoiled villages.  Named in 1950 by tour managers who wanted to portray a happier side of post-war Germany, its holiday routes get two million tourists away from the big cities and out into the countryside each year.

We, however, are on the autobahn.  Capable Sieggy is at he wheel.  The area is agricultural and we pass massive field of corn, freshly mowed hay and sunflowers. Huge wind mills and solar panels are also crops, ones of electrical energy. Germany produces all of its energy from these sources.

It takes one hour to reach Rothenburg ob der Tauber (Rottenburg...remember there is no th in German).  Sieggy drops us off as no coaches are allowed within the city walls and we hike into the city center, past all the brightly painted half-timbered houses, all festooned with baskets of the most beautiful blooming geraniums I have ever seen.

Here we meet our guide, Claudia, who will tour with us for the next hour.  She is short, her dark cropped hair flying around her elfin face.  She exudes fun and manages to inject it into all her commentary.  Much of our visit revolves around the historic St. Jakobs Lutheran Church.  Dedicated to the apostle St. James it is one of the churches on the pilgrimage route to the grave of St. James in Santiago de Compostela in Spain.

We are most interested in the west gallery's Altar of the Holy Blood.  Remember Tilman Riemenschneider, last seen in a dungeon at the bishops house?  In addition to being the political activist mayor, he was a master sculptor working in the unusual medium of wood.  He was commissioned by the Rothenburg Council to provide a worthy setting for the Reliquary of the Holy Blood, venerated in the Middle Ages by scores of pilgrims.

By way of explanation, this blood was not collected at the time of the Crucifixion by some entrepreneurial person with an eye on the relic trade, but is instead, cloth saturated with spilled wine after the transfiguration of turning ordinary wine into the blood of Christ in the Holy Mass.  I'm sure there may be priests all over the world saying, "Why didn't I think of that?"  The detail and scope of the piece depicting the Last Supper is extraordinary.  Considering it was finished in 1505, it is remarkably preserved.

Claudia sends us on our way to discover Rothenburg on our own and we scatter.  Paul has it in mind to buy a heavier layer of clothes and using Claudia's direction set off to a department store....sorry, no luck here.

But we do pass a drug store where I buy an eyebrow pencil.  I must say that we have come up quite short this trip on packing efficiency.  We both have been cold and without an eyebrow pencil I have the expression of a rabbit.  I expect to look a full ten days younger now that I have purchased my eye enhancement.

Heading back into town a pizza pan worth of Plum Küchen calls to us from a bakery window.  Paul orders a slice which is the size of a slice of pizza and we enjoy it with cappuccino.  Please don't tell my Italian friends because it is after 10:30 AM.  We passed on the Schneebollen, or snow balls, the local specialty.

For Ingo...his favorite plum küchen

We weren't the only ones enjoying a snack.  The South Carolina contingent was enjoying apple strudel, a mountain of razor cut apples enrobed in pastry and covered with cream.. topped off with local beer.  Listen..it sounded better when they described it.

Shopping done, we sleepily board the bus for our return into Würzburg.

If your name is Penny and you are having a first birthday, we've got you covered!

We are headed to the Residenz where we will have a private wine tasting in the cellars.  What a memory this will become as it is a magical setting.

We descend the stairs to the light of 250 plus tapers, some affixed to the wine casks that line the walls, even the walls going to the toiletten, but most lining the fifty yards of tables centered under a massive chandelier with a wine motif.  At the far end of the chamber, a wine press anchors the space, so large a man could stand within it.

We proceed to sample three varieties, of the 90 plus they bottle, here in the Franconian capital of wine making.  We note their unusual wide bottomed bottles ending in a graceful neck.  The freshest of brown breads cleanse our palates between pours.  Back on the bus, Paul is horrified to find that he missed the gift shop where he might have purchased the signature glasses used today for essentially nothing.

Soon we are back on board and congregated per usual in the lounge recounting our adventures.  But for all our fun the real adventure was had by one intrepid traveler who chose to visit his father's home in Millmars, Germany, some ninety kilometers from Würzburg.  Strapped into a Volkswagen taxi piloted by Cisse from Africa he gets a taste of what the autobahn is really about while he pulls some G's making the trip in a mere hour.

The Mayor, who has been mayor-for-life a la Marion Berry, warmly greets him and ushers him into his office, part of an annex to his house filled with office equipment and scores of leather binders filled with archival information about the town and property. With the assistance of Cisse's translation, pictures of his father and photos of the family home as it was and as it is now are produced and copied.  It turned out to be a wonderful experience with one person's kindness and interest making another's day, and trip.

So while we had Rothenburg in all its quaint loveliness and the splendor of a Bishop's candlelit palace, simple humanity trumps all.

.