Along the Rhine - The Traveler's Commandment

Another change of plans.

From Enkuizen, Tom and Jim had planned to head straight to Berlin. They wanted to see the Wall, the Brandenburg Gate, the Reichstag, and Checkpoint Charlie—so much history. And though they would never have admitted it back then, they were also intrigued by the descriptions in Let’s Go Europe of some of Berlin’s more unusual nightclubs. According to the guidebook, each table had a phone. If someone at another table caught your eye, you could call that table to see if they were interested in a chat—or something more. (They later learned that these clubs dated back to the Weimar era, when both telephones and pneumatic tubes were the tools of flirtation.)

Unfortunately for their cabaret dreams, when they got to the Enkhuizen train station, they learned that their Eurail passes did not cover the train to Berlin. After checking their money belts and adding up their American Express travelers' checks, they agreed that the cost of a separate ticket was a budget-buster. Berlin was scratched. They needed to pivot.

Tom pulled out his already well-worn map of Europe, and he and Jim mapped out a new route. Because they had learned that the best-laid plans can go awry at any point, they only made plans for the next several days along the Rhine River, veering slightly off at a town they’d never heard of, but which was another “must see” mentioned by a backpacker in one of Amsterdam’s coffee shops.

The days were a blur, but here’s a condensed summary from both journals:

Cologne: As with Stockholm, the weather—cold and rainy—had a negative effect on their first impressions. While Jim marveled at the view of its famous Gothic cathedral as the train rounded a bend, its black discoloration from centuries of exposure to coal from factory chimneys, along with algae and moss, was not an inviting characteristic. Still, he and Tom ventured out in the rain to check it out. They learned that it took centuries to build, starting in 1248 and concluding in 1880. According to the guidebook, it was built to house the relics of the Three Wise Men. Big eye-roll from Jim.

Bonn: The main destination was the Beethoven House, founded in 1889. Tom’s journal indicated his new appreciation for the composer’s genius. Jim’s only comment in his journal was less enthusiastic—not with Beethoven, but with the venue. “You’d think they’d at least pipe in some of his music,” he wrote. 

Boppard.  Partly surrounded by medieval walls. As they disembarked from the train, Tom and Jim saw two backpackers sitting on their packs, one of whom was wearing a Cincinnati Reds baseball cap. They struck up a conversation and, Six-Degrees-of-Separation style, uncovered a mutual acquaintance of Jim’s. Jim didn’t record the name, but it was probably one of several friends who attended Xavier University in Cincinnati. A foreshadowing of meeting an ND grad in a bar in Cairo.

Bingen. From Jim’s journal: Beautiful view of the Rhine, crowded youth hostel. After settling in and joining the others, the game of “Where’ve you been?” begins. You win if you can name more places than the others. One-upmanship at its finest.

Bacharach: Tom and Jim met two more Americans—Barb from Erie, PA, and Linda from Upstate New York—who recommended a youth hostel that was also a medieval castle. With their pleasant and memorable stay in a castle at Einkhuzen in mind, Tom and Jim trudged up a steep hill to Schloss Stahleck. They were rewarded with another beautiful view of the Rhine. 

From Tom’s journal:  Barges moving in both directions seemingly one every five minutes; HO trains on both sides of the river; bicyclists and hikers enjoying the walking paths along the mighty Rhine. It turned out that the Hostel was closed, but both Tom and Jim’s journals report that they talked their way into staying the night. Still a mystery how they did that.

Rothenburg ob der Tauber. Though on the Tauber and not the Rhine, Rothenburg turned out to be one of the most memorable places the Overlanders visited—ever. With its medieval walls still intact, Rothenburg is one of only four towns in Germany that escaped invasions, regional wars, and two world wars with its city walls untouched. (The other three are Nördlingen, Dinkelsbühl, and Berching, all in Bavaria.) As Tom recounted (aloud!) from his Let’s Go guidebook, Rothenburg even escaped destruction during the 30 Years' War of Protestants and Catholics (1618-1648). One reason may have been the Catholic General’s innovative idea for avoiding a massacre. He said he would not invade the city if someone in the town could drink a gallon of beer in one gulp!  Rothenburg’s retired mayor appeared and accomplished that goal. Village saved, and what a village!  Bells towers, cobblestone alleyways, clocks, specialty shops (lots of Hummels)—Rothenburg is the quintessential Christmas card.

 

In fact, the town was already decked out with lights and Christmas decorations when the boys arrived on a late November night. And by late, we’re talking near midnight, well after closing time for the hostel they had planned to stay in that night. The town seemed deserted. The boys had no Plan B.

 

And then, as they would experience more than a few times during their travels, salvation came out of nowhere.

 

“Do you need help?” a deep voice called out. Heavy German accent.

 

The boys turned to see a burly blond man in a leather jacket approaching.

 

“Ah, oui…yes… I mean, ja,” Tom started, using his trademark broken-English diplomacy. “Um… una pensione? Know where is?”

 

“Nein. All closed.”

The boys looked around as if for a miracle hotel to pop up or a couple of benches to sleep on. Not a great prospect. It was cold.

 

“Follow me,” the man said, “My wife speaks English more.”

 

Out of options, the boys followed the man to a nearby parking lot. He led them to one of the few cars still in the lot. On the back windshield was a decal for Northern Arizona University. The passenger door opened, and a woman stepped out and spoke with the man in rapid German. She then turned to Tom and Jim and smiled.

“Why don’t you come with us?” she said in flawless English. “We live not far from here. If you need a place to stay, you can sleep on the floor of our family room.”

 

Did the boys pause to consider the possibility that they were being invited to a house far, far from this safe, Christmasy town by a husband-and-wife tag-team of sado-masochistic killers?

 

“Sounds great,” they said.

 

Hermann and Linda lived on a small dairy and soybeans farm just outside of Rothenburg. They had been in town to have dinner at a friends. Once they reached their cozy little home, they insisted on a bedtime snack for the boys, which turned out to be more of a complete dinner than a few crackers with cheese. While the two of them stuffed their faces and drank down several bottles of powerfully stout German beer, Hermann and Linda shared their story. The couple had met while Linda was touring Europe, fell in love, married, and went into the family farming business, taking over the business from Hermann’s father, Peter, and had been living on the farm ever since. Hermann’s face grew ruddier with every beer, and his laughter as Binks interrogated him about life on the farm.

 

Before retiring to the floor of the family room, Binks’s last question to Hermann was whether he and Linda often extended such hospitality to bedraggled backpackers.

 

“Nein,” Hermann replied. “But if a traveler needs help, you help.”

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 And now for the NOW. Reflections on "Along the Rhine - The Traveler's Commandment"

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