I have had many trips to Germany and now that I live in the UK, I cannot say that I miss the 26 hour plus flight but if I had to, I would traverse the galaxy just to spend an hour there.
Germany is the original land of fairy tales - the Grimm's stories with which we are so familiar come from Germany and each time I wander through a dark forest or spend some time in the impossibly beautiful little villages, I can see it all for myself. Belief in witches and princesses, arch villains and magic all seems reasonable and probable.
On a recent trip we travelled to the Harz mountains right into the centre of it all. This is a beautiful spot at any time of the year and it is famously the highest mountain range in Northern Germany, home to the Brocken, the highest summit hereabouts and famous for its legends of witches and other dark beings.
Again, entirely probable in the swirling mists and atmosphere on the mountain. In a modern city far away from here, I can be rational and tut about such supernatural nonsense. Here in the shadow of the Brocken itself, I am checking under the bed just to be sure.
We visited in the wintertime and stayed in a small apartment in Altenau, a small village in the Goslar region. If you had to make up your own tale of things living under bridges and elderly peasants who were really enchanted princesses, this is your go-to model. The woods are dark and deep and around every corner are trees with secrets.
I love the water courses rushing through the town. They have determined business and nothing has swayed them from their hypnotic path for what seems like millennia.
Beautiful, and as I say, hypnotic. Lean over the bridge and fall under the spell. I challenge you to look away. And such peace as I have never known. The sight and the sound of water doing what it has always done is amazing - what I wouldn't give to sleep near it.
Unfortunately, with only two days to spend, our stay in Altenau was not as long as it deserved. I will return to there and I will try it in summer where I hear that the camping and hiking on the mountain are superb - the campsite yarns would be worth hearing that's for sure! In company with the wild lynx and wolves, the odd witch just might be standing nearby, listening to every word.
The second day, we returned home via the town of Goslar. In the lead up to Christmas (only a fortnight away) the town had on its best gingerbread and gluhwein scented glad rags. German towns really push the boat out at Christmas time. The weeks leading up are some of the best times to visit. There are Christmas markets everywhere and nothing makes the mood settle like a proper market with everything that you would expect from the land that supplied us with a great many of our Christmas traditions.
Founded in the 10th century, Goslar is home to the administrative centre of the Goslar district and it is full of things to see, even if only on a flying visit. I love the market-place. It was love at first sight too with everything just as I would expect it to be. Half timbered houses and history oozing out of every stuccoed front and ancient beam. The decoration is overwhelming and that is without looking at the Christmas market itself.
And even yet it is not gaudy. It looks as though it belongs and has belonged for an age. This is Christmas done very well and it is not set up in a faux town for the tourists. You are glimpsing into the private life of the locals. This is their normality. Even if no-one visits, they will continue to stage the Christmas market, just for themselves. I cannot say what a difference that means to the atmosphere. It is like being invited into a private home for the festive season.
Preparations are still underway here and a lot of the real action is reserved for after the sun has gone to bed. That is when the lights are really appreciated.
There is always a tree. And it is a good one. A small time ago, in the misguided eighties, some areas were not decorating the trees because it was believed to be cruel to the tree (!) - I might venture here that cutting the tree down in the first place might ruin its day but there you go. I love trees but I accept the sacrificial Christmas specimen that is singled out by the forest managers to grace the town square each year. If it has to die, there can be few nobler causes.
Clop-clopping over the cobbles are horses hooves and it is musical in the cinnamon scented twilight. Perhaps a bit of a tourist trap, these conveyances are still very much at home in the town. You can find them in a lot of towns in Germany and they are a great way to see a place so long as the weather is kind. Somehow, looking at a beautiful old spot over the nodding heads of the horses seems just right.
(C) Debbie von Grabler-Crozier 2014
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