Wed., 12/30/2009--1-3:30 pm. Anja and I borrow Uschi's VW (in German: 'FaoVay') and run some shopping errands, then we drive along one of the main country roads past Hachborn until a little huddle of buildings appears on our right. Erbenhausen. It starts to rain pretty heavily again just as she lets me out, asking me me again if I really want to do this. Answer: more yes than no (I was cooped up all day yesterday and enough is enough). I push out. It is country and just above zero celsius/32 fahrenheit. Visibility is 500 ft or so to a dead gray horizon or whatever comes first. The fog pulses in, clears now and again, then settles back down.
If this was Young Frankenstein I would tell my sidekick, 'It could be worse, it could be windy.' and the wind would come up immediately. But thankfully it doesn't. The rain is intermittent, but the air is always heavy with the portent of more. And when the fog really comes close and hangs in the tree branches and magnifies the sounds of dripping I wonder what it is like to be a wild animal in the woods I'm passing through. I know I am heading, however indirectly, to a shower and a meal and a warm bed. Your Wildschwein (wild boar), the deer and rabbits and foxes....they've got 3-4 more months of this. Short gray days. Cold and wet. And there will be wind. And either prey to catch or predators to avoid.
I walk thru the middle of the Hofs; well maintained, cobble-stoned courtyards of easily 2500 square feet, ringed on three sides by living spaces and storage for humans, farm animals and everything needed to support them. There are only three Hofs here but they are all large, 3-4 stories all around the perimeter and still doing the work for which they were originally intended hundreds of years ago. I have often thought of buying one of these just like this along with the land with which most of them come. And they are not remotely expensive relative to anything in an urban area. I find the architecture beautiful and the bones of the buildings extraordinary; stone and brick on the bottom, often in combination with massive half timbered oak supports above, and between the oak a stucco of sticks and wadding, the actual daub often interestingly painted in a style called Kratzwerk; literally 'scratch work'. The style of architecture is called Fachwerk and it is supported and protected by the German government. I think to blow out the floors on just one wing, reinforce the structure with I-beams, and make the 'great room' to end most great rooms. 50 x 100 feet with 40 foot ceilings. With a huge country kitchen at one end looking out at the fields and forests and gardens, and the room extending from the kitchen becoming a giant work room with desks and couches and bookshelves, a giant fireplace with a spit, and an open mezzanine for reading and erudite philosophical discussions over port and other conversational aids. This is eminently doable and a dream I have not completely given up on......but who will come visit us in the back of beyond? I am working on that.
The Fachwerk challenge German faces is that the younger generation doesn't like to work much with their hands in the cold; instead, they'd prefer to live in condo's, create synthetic securites for banks to bet on, and eat sushi in Frankfurt or Munich. Sound at all familiar?
In a minute (not a New York minute) I'm thru the Hofs and in the open, Wald (forest: 'vault') on my right and Feld (field: 'felt') on my left. I am walking straight away from the road. I pass a tiny country cemetery to my left and go right into the Wald. The rain continues. The ground is slushy and slippery, patches of ice and what is left of last nights snow. There has been some heavy machinery thru here recently and it created big ruts and ridges. The ridges are mush and the ruts are a sludgy mixture of ice and snow and water and mud; I have to watch each footfall because I don't want to end up up to my fetlock in freezing mud with a few hours ahead of me in unknown terrain.
The path ends after 100 yards or so. Nowhere easy to go. I retrace my steps, go past the cemetery and head uphill. 200-300 yards or so and I hit another dead end. Now what? I decide to make my own path through close pine woods and after a few minutes of dodging wet branches I come out into a clearing and do find a path of sorts; overgrown and treacherous, unused except I can see paw prints; something without a human master has passed by since last nights snowfall.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Germany in the Fog January 2010
I see the beginning of a blood trail, crimson soaking into ice. I hear snarling and rending noises. I pick up the pace as silently as possible but they are all around me. I see them at the edges of my vision in the fog, loping along, fangs dripping gore. They're herding me somewhere. I start to run thru the woods, thighs pumping in the mud, cap pulled off by a passing branch and forgotten, face lacerated, heart heaving. Why didn't I bring the Glock?.......
OKOK. Nothing is going to happen. I just thought, if you're bored, I'd liven it up a little. I do recommend Saki's The Interlopers if you like death stalking in the forest stories.
My way home will eventually be marked by a line of electrical towers that march thru the woods like kilted samurai warriors. Follow them and eventually I'll find my village and the fields around it I actually know by sight. But the fog is so dense I can't see the towers anywhere, which means I'm just wandering in this surreal field/forest landscape with no landmarks whatsoever. Up and down. I hear birds and somewhere in an undefinable distance the sounds of traffic. Fog is a strange conduit; sounds travel but direction and distance are scrambled. I am in the middle of a field or forest and I hear a truck that sounds like it is 100 feet away. Worse, it sounds like it is coming from my right, then my left, then from dead ahead.
I find an asphalt lane edging another Wald and Feld; then suddenly I am cresting the middle of several Felds, completely in the open. The rains lessens, the fogs lifts, and I see the Hochspannung towers (the samurai) like sentinels and follow them. The road twists and turns, rises and dips. I am completely alone. I have not seen another person since I left the Hofs.
It is so strange to walk in this world. Alternatively wonderful and a little scary. In an era of instant communication I didn't bring my cell phone. For a few hours I don't exist. I am quite cold and wet, but as long as I move my core is warm enough. I pump with my hands until they begin to freeze, then I put them in my pockets next to my femoral arteries. Two or three years ago I walked in a similar landscape through fields and forests. It was Fall and only cool, but my mind wandered and after a couple of hours I came out of a forest expecting to know right where I was, and instead saw absolutely nothing I recognized. It was late in the afternoon and the sun was already behind the last hill. I realized I had no idea anymore, having twisted and turned so many times, which way was even home. But even more than that, looking over this timeless Dorf (village) it seemed like I might have also walked into the Twilight Zone. I imagined my next vision being that of an old man and a horse drawn plow, and then other signs to let me know it was 1850 or 1750, not 2007 or so. I thought maybe I could retrace my path back to where I got lost and get home that way, but remember this place and how to find it when I wanted to go back in time again.
I follow the power lines around a series of Felds and finally take a path down a hill. Almost an hour has passed. I can hear traffic ahead of me (that's how it sounds) and when I come out into the open a sense of chagrin is total; I am less than 200 yards from where I got out of the car. All the lefts and rights, of fighting my way through a pathless forest and slushy, slippery paths and I am right back to exactly where I started.
Back up the hill I go. Over to the right looking again for my power poles. Can't see anything thru the fog. My hands are wet and freezing and it is hard to get them to go into my pants pockets, which are sticking to my skin. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. Maybe I should have brought the cell phone. I turn right at what appears to be the top of the hill, go along for a bit, then hit another downhill path, the only one visible. Another 3-4 minutes dodging puddles and ice. Traffic sounds. I am back to the same road. Shit!
I read an article in the last couple of years, about how French peasants in the countryside whiled away the winter months in the 1850's. It turns out they whiled them away mostly by sleeping. 4 or 5 to a bed for warmth since there was never enough wood to keep them warm. 18 hours a day for months at a time since they had no incentive to do Jacqueshit, neither the land nor very little of anything else actually belonging to them. And never enough food to keep their energy up, so why get up in the first place? Basically, they hibernated.
It is 2:20 or so. What passes for sunset here, a kind of joke since the gray that never leaves most days just gets darker until it becomes black again for another 16 hours, happens at around 4:30. Sunset is called here, with typical German precision, 'Sonnenuntergang', or 'sun go under'. 'Look Wilhelm, sun go under'! You may have notice I capitalize lots of German words....in German they capitalize each and every noun. Always.
I head again back up the hill. The fog lifts and the power lines come into view finally. Things start to make real sense. The weather comes and goes but now I know where in general I am. I could venture back into the Wald beyond the poles, but I do worry now that I'm going to be late for dinner, which is set for 4pm. Like the French peasants we often eat just two meals a day in the Winter. Root vegetables two ways! Actually, we eat like kings. Better, even. But especially if there are only 2 meals I don't want to miss one. So, I hurry....back thru Hachborn, along a Feld thru Ebsdorf, then across the last mile or more of fields separating Ebsdorf and Beltershausen. I can't see much of anything but I'm close to home.
The rain begins to sheet down and my hands are mostly useless. I spare a moment for soldiers trying to load ammo into old rifles in the trenches in WWl. Their hands were useless and their feet were rotting in their boots. Bombs were falling, and other people they often couldn't see were firing machine gunsat them while they huddled waist deep in mud and blood and snow. And death. Every once in awhile an officer in a warm house somewhere would decide it was time to jump up and charge across the Feld with fixed bayonets. What a good idea that must have seemed!
3:15 sees me home. I am sopping wet. It takes minutes just to get my gloves off. My hands can't grip or feel the zippers on my jacket or the laces on my shoes. But no one was shooting at me. And dinner was terrific.
OKOK. Nothing is going to happen. I just thought, if you're bored, I'd liven it up a little. I do recommend Saki's The Interlopers if you like death stalking in the forest stories.
My way home will eventually be marked by a line of electrical towers that march thru the woods like kilted samurai warriors. Follow them and eventually I'll find my village and the fields around it I actually know by sight. But the fog is so dense I can't see the towers anywhere, which means I'm just wandering in this surreal field/forest landscape with no landmarks whatsoever. Up and down. I hear birds and somewhere in an undefinable distance the sounds of traffic. Fog is a strange conduit; sounds travel but direction and distance are scrambled. I am in the middle of a field or forest and I hear a truck that sounds like it is 100 feet away. Worse, it sounds like it is coming from my right, then my left, then from dead ahead.
I find an asphalt lane edging another Wald and Feld; then suddenly I am cresting the middle of several Felds, completely in the open. The rains lessens, the fogs lifts, and I see the Hochspannung towers (the samurai) like sentinels and follow them. The road twists and turns, rises and dips. I am completely alone. I have not seen another person since I left the Hofs.
It is so strange to walk in this world. Alternatively wonderful and a little scary. In an era of instant communication I didn't bring my cell phone. For a few hours I don't exist. I am quite cold and wet, but as long as I move my core is warm enough. I pump with my hands until they begin to freeze, then I put them in my pockets next to my femoral arteries. Two or three years ago I walked in a similar landscape through fields and forests. It was Fall and only cool, but my mind wandered and after a couple of hours I came out of a forest expecting to know right where I was, and instead saw absolutely nothing I recognized. It was late in the afternoon and the sun was already behind the last hill. I realized I had no idea anymore, having twisted and turned so many times, which way was even home. But even more than that, looking over this timeless Dorf (village) it seemed like I might have also walked into the Twilight Zone. I imagined my next vision being that of an old man and a horse drawn plow, and then other signs to let me know it was 1850 or 1750, not 2007 or so. I thought maybe I could retrace my path back to where I got lost and get home that way, but remember this place and how to find it when I wanted to go back in time again.
I follow the power lines around a series of Felds and finally take a path down a hill. Almost an hour has passed. I can hear traffic ahead of me (that's how it sounds) and when I come out into the open a sense of chagrin is total; I am less than 200 yards from where I got out of the car. All the lefts and rights, of fighting my way through a pathless forest and slushy, slippery paths and I am right back to exactly where I started.
Back up the hill I go. Over to the right looking again for my power poles. Can't see anything thru the fog. My hands are wet and freezing and it is hard to get them to go into my pants pockets, which are sticking to my skin. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. Maybe I should have brought the cell phone. I turn right at what appears to be the top of the hill, go along for a bit, then hit another downhill path, the only one visible. Another 3-4 minutes dodging puddles and ice. Traffic sounds. I am back to the same road. Shit!
I read an article in the last couple of years, about how French peasants in the countryside whiled away the winter months in the 1850's. It turns out they whiled them away mostly by sleeping. 4 or 5 to a bed for warmth since there was never enough wood to keep them warm. 18 hours a day for months at a time since they had no incentive to do Jacqueshit, neither the land nor very little of anything else actually belonging to them. And never enough food to keep their energy up, so why get up in the first place? Basically, they hibernated.
It is 2:20 or so. What passes for sunset here, a kind of joke since the gray that never leaves most days just gets darker until it becomes black again for another 16 hours, happens at around 4:30. Sunset is called here, with typical German precision, 'Sonnenuntergang', or 'sun go under'. 'Look Wilhelm, sun go under'! You may have notice I capitalize lots of German words....in German they capitalize each and every noun. Always.
I head again back up the hill. The fog lifts and the power lines come into view finally. Things start to make real sense. The weather comes and goes but now I know where in general I am. I could venture back into the Wald beyond the poles, but I do worry now that I'm going to be late for dinner, which is set for 4pm. Like the French peasants we often eat just two meals a day in the Winter. Root vegetables two ways! Actually, we eat like kings. Better, even. But especially if there are only 2 meals I don't want to miss one. So, I hurry....back thru Hachborn, along a Feld thru Ebsdorf, then across the last mile or more of fields separating Ebsdorf and Beltershausen. I can't see much of anything but I'm close to home.
The rain begins to sheet down and my hands are mostly useless. I spare a moment for soldiers trying to load ammo into old rifles in the trenches in WWl. Their hands were useless and their feet were rotting in their boots. Bombs were falling, and other people they often couldn't see were firing machine guns
3:15 sees me home. I am sopping wet. It takes minutes just to get my gloves off. My hands can't grip or feel the zippers on my jacket or the laces on my shoes. But no one was shooting at me. And dinner was terrific.
Mallorcan Journal November 2009
We land on Mallorca around 2 in the afternoon and find our rented car and Anja gets her navigational bearings and off we go to the Marriott Son Antem near Llucmajor. Area seems clean but as with much of the island there is some undefinable smell that takes getting used to. Weather is a balmy but not humidly tropical 70. The pattern every day has been a quick fade from sun thru sunset into darkness between 5:30 and 6:15, with nightime down to a still nice 50 and days at or above 70. There has been some fog reported but we've been getting up late we've missed it.
We settle into our way too big accomodations (three very nice bedrooms, with 5 beds in total, two quite nice baths, three flat screen tv's, etc). Way better this than our shithole in Brac last year. Everything works, the showers are great. Super kitchen with washer/dryer. We're happy.
The Marriott is out by itself in very flat countryside but near a freeway artery and is primarily a golf resort, with 3 or 4 tennis courts tossed in. It could be SoCal except for the predominance of German accents among the guests. The island, like the Canaries, does have a lot of Germans. But we much prefer Mallorca...everything seems much more lively and there is much more scope for hiking in various terrain and the availability of different foods, and of a retained Spanish culture (as opposed to an offshore German old folks home). And it really is clean, with, like Prague and Dresden, lots of work going on on historic buildings, etc.
We unpack and head up past Llucmajor to the Monasterio de Cura on top of the Massis (massif?) de Randa. Nice views but we missed sunset so they are all pretty muted. We drive back down into and Llucmajor, getting lost in the tiny one way streets and gingerly making turns with inches to spare. Eventually we find our way to the store we were directed to and stock up on the necessities. Then home to plot our moves for the morrow and chow down on chicken and rice.
Sunday finds us on the way to Valldemossa on the north side of the island about 45 minutes away from our resort. Our path leads up and up, through rocks and roots and scrub oak and olive trees and healthy looking wild goats. And more rocks. Very reminiscent to us both of our walks all over Brac early last year. Also the smoke here and there in the air, spiralling up from the pruning fires. We pass a small enclosed field/back yard of ancient olive trees, huge trunks, dead in places, but supporting new growth on top. Like gnarled body builders with withered arms. We can hear a dog barking down in Valldemossa, and then a confused rooster joins it discordantly. We pick our way up, coming after a couple of hours or so to a, rocky, plateau. And along with the fabulous views.....the Archduke's path. Of rocks, of course. The Austrian Archduke Ludwig Salvator bought this upland territory and had his 'people' build him a path so he could ride around and look about, much like Yertle the Turtle. That must have some piece of work and it really is beautiful in places where they literally built causeways that make it easier to negotiate the terrain and the path takes you out to views back into the interior of the island and out to sea and along the northwest coast ( I would have hated to have been any of his horses). We found some trees just down from the heights that provided some shelter from a very brisk wind and had our lunch of 6 grained bread with olive oil and jamon, accompanied by an apple and some gruyere and water. Wonderful. Then we picked our way along the plateau for awhile and then traversed down and down back to Valldemossa. Near the heights we came across two ex-pat Brits, having the time of their lives to listen to them....they had just mountain biked up from the other direction and were headed down the path, which they knew, that we had come up....pretty impressive! Back in Valldemossa we spent a few minutes casing the town; very nice but again the smells...weird. Then the drive back to the Marriott and a sub par dinner at one of their restaurants. But not bad enough to ruin a terrific day.
Monday we drive further afield, out to Alcudia on the east side of the island (about an hours easy drive, but we both wonder what it is like in the summer?). Here we park in a preserve and then hike around and up to Talaia d'Alcudia (445m), meeting many wild goats (dark brown on top, black on their undersides; very handsome) along the way, birds soaring in the distance (could some of the black ones be ravens?). It is a great path up the ridge to the peak, marked with rock cairns and that is about all. But well done. It reminded me of the Wat between Amrum and Fohr in the Frisian Islands, where if you're not careful to know and stay on the path the tide will come back in and kill you (here it would just have meant clambering back down and trying different ascents until you got it right). The peak here (the Talaia), as opposed to Sunday's rounded plateau, is a point with enough room for the 20-30 folks we find (having met nobody til we got to the top) there lolling about having lunch. We have our snack and head back down the other side, along a nice ridge path with grasses and waist high vegetation, descending into a cool pine forest, switchbacks, ferns, and the rocks sharing space with softer footing. Then back along an undulating road to our car. And back to Llucmajor to do some shopping and then back home for steaks, red wine, and rice. Another great day.
Tuesday finds us wandering Palma. First the cathedral, then the old town. Then along the harbor and finally up to the Castillo de Bellver, a round little fort with nice views back down to Palma and north along the coast up to the mountains. We had a frankly bad lunch at the Grand Cafe but a terrific dinner at a little place in the old town called S'Olivera. Then back home. 3 for 3.
Wednesday we get going a bit earlier. Drive to Palma and park. Walk thru old town and buy tickets on the 100 year old, narrow guage train to Soller. This wonderful little contrivance with its lacquered wood simplicity and old time lighting, was a time travel treat. Winding thru the countryside and then noisily ascending into the mountains amidst peaks and forests with views and my head (carefully!) out the window from time to time to look along the track and catch the late morning breeze. Lunch in Soller's central square seemed kind of timeless; our waitress coming out of the restaurant and across the street to serve us our pasta's and drinks, standing there with our meals until traffic went by, the locals and long time tourists meeting and greeting in babel-like fashion and the children just out of school for lunch running back to their homes.
Then we walked to this tiny town of Biniaraix (how to say it?; still don't quite know) and from there another spirited climb of near 2,000 feet up an old 15th century pilgrims trail, all rock of course and beautifully done, up and up and up, passing through unbelievable numbers of terraced gardens, a steep, twisting gorge opening up on our right and our path just twisting and hugging the mountainside. Sadly, we ran out of time somewhere near the top and had to double time it back down in order to try and see another highly recommended little town (Fornalutx, which we also decided to bypass) and get back to our train on time. This we eventually did, the train clanking on its way under growing darkness and both of us dozing most of the way back to Palma, where we had a terrific seafood dinner at Duke's, walked back to the car and drove home. 4 for 4!
Thursday we drive back to Soller on the MA-11 and then up the MA-10 to the Cuber reservoir (some world famous chef who works here says its the nicest spot on the island. Basically driving up the same mountains we climbed yesterday but we were curious as to how our hike was supposed to have ended on Wednesday. At the reservoir we find a high mountain rocky terrain with lots of sheep, some cows, and up in the rocks we see goats...the same healthy looking dark brown on top/black on the bottom variety. Watching them bound down a hill can excite a fair amount of envy! There was a variety of very thick and useful looking horns (shapes like ten speed handlebars and reverse bicep curls...very sturdy) on the goats. It took us a steady 70 minutes to hike down to our end point of Wednesday, so our total descent time was 2:15. After a snack it took another 70 minutes to go back up to the car, so the total ascent time, with stops for water and photo-ops, was on the order of 2:30. So, all in all a total of 3:45, while the signs say the total time each way is 4:05. So, we're about 50% faster!
We drive back thru Soller, back thru the tunnel and make a pit stop at the Gardens of Alfabia, dating from the 1240's or so, having been originated by a Moor who snuggled up to Jaume l when he invaded the Balearics. Very nice little terraced gardens with some great old vines and a place where you can start your own waterworks. Sadly, most of the flowers are completely gone this time of year, but on the other hand we had the place mostly to ourselves and with the fog coming down it gave the place an otherworldly, time warp kind of feel that was ghostly and cool. Definitely worth a visit.
Then back to Llucmajor for our last shopping trip and home to a nice dinner of pork filet, rice, sauteed onions, some very nice concoction Anja cooked up of diced olives, herbs de provence and other seasonings; accompanied by tasty red and white beverages, of course! 5 for 5!
Friday-last day. We decide instead of up and down to go coastal and around. So, it's off on the familiar series of roundabouts up to Valldemossa, then continuing on to Deia. We have parking problems (max two hours) so I go up to La Residencia and the friendly Mabel lets us stay for free in their lot. Place on a fast blush looks wonderful, but we pick up sticks and head downhill to Cala Deia (Deia cove) and the ocean, then along the coast to Port de Soller..what turns out to be an adventurous scramble and Anja's favorite hike. Here they say the hike takes 4+ hours and they're not far off; you just can't do it fast. There has been recent and constant erosion and the trail is obviously a work in progress, across precarious washes, pulling oneself thru fallen trees, slipping here and there, getting lost at least half a dozen times and having to go back and refigure the trail, which is marked with blotches of red paint and little rock cairns. But because of all the course changes occasionally the markers aren't clear, or lead nowhere and we have to go back and find the newer markers, etc. There were fences to climb (they call them stiles, and they are mostly of wood and you climb up one side and down the other), the crystal water to admire, the rocky and pine strewn headlands to gawk at, and of course the rock walls to walk on top of and along and through (when they have fallen down and that's the new path). Like all the walks plenty of chances to turn ankles, etc., but we made it through again, clambering straight up and straight down, slipping occasionally but always catching ourselves, without mishap. No way to mountain bike or jog this path. It's just too treacherous and too easy to get lost. Eventually we climb out, find a road and then another path winding around and down to Port de Soller, have a beer and find the bus stop, and take, in the gathering darkness a fascinating (I was a front row spectator) half hour bus ride on the coast road back to Deia. Sometimes the bus driver comes to a complete halt to let oncoming traffic come by, other times making turns he goes so wide the branches on the other side of the road were brushing our vehicle. We are on the outside side of the road most of the time going south so my side of the bus often seems to be hanging out over thin air or about to hit the roadside curbs (after going through which we'd just be in free fall). But we make it back to Deia, we go back for a drink at La Residencia and tour the place in the darkness....definitely a place to fall in love with and we grab brochures and promise ourselves to come back. One of most charming hotels (part of the Orient Express chain) we've ever seen....something to do on a honeymoon!, or next year.
Then it's windy roads for us back thru Valldemossa and back home, deciding we don't need any more gas and will have done the whole week on one tank. Home finds us with a problem: the internet is out. That's a pain (and one reason why I've been up since 4am), but no biggie in the scheme of things. Obviously, we're back up and soon will be leaving for London and the kids.
Anja, usually the more reserved of the two of us, is already making plans to come back. There's clearly more to see and do and explore, and if we've been lucky (we have!) it will be great fun to do the things we've already done over again. We are told we got very good weather (lucky again!) but this seems like the time to be here...cooler, less crowded, etc. And still escaping from the much colder mainland. And we can still stay at Marriott for at least a week of our stay.
Notes:
-We've actually not spent much money here; eating in most of the time and taking sandwiches for our hikes.
-We did not see one lizard (and only one snake-dead) the whole week; are there none/so few or have they already, like most of the tourists, gone into hibernation. No deer, no predators (though we did see one warning sign for something that looked scarily like a wolverine!) evident.
-We're very impressed with how much care the island shows; it's clean and really well maintained. Hope they can keep the balance in the little towns where clearly much is changing and tourist and ex-pat money is flooding in. Who wants to slave rebuilding rock walls in the mountains when you can earn much more in an office or building spec homes?
We'll be back!!
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