A world of castles

[There are so many castles in this post, you will be completely overcome with castles by the end of it. You won't be able to take in a single other castle. But just imagine how WE felt, seeing them in real life! I've saved this post for last because it was my favorite part of our trip.]

A long time ago, right after I graduated from high school, my friend Rachael and I got to go on a trip to Germany with her grandpa (who is the Candy Bomber). I know, I'm always going on about it. But it was SO exciting. And such a formative experience for me. We were 18, we were best friends headed to the same college, we were taking this amazing trip together AND we got to be part of her famous Grandpa's entourage! It was just the best. That was back in the days when camera pictures had to be jealously meted out because you only had a couple rolls of film with you. And half the time, you'd get your pictures back from the developer and they'd all be blurry, or overexposed or something. So I really don't have a good pictoral record of that trip. But I have a record in my memory, and especially of a place called Rudesheim. I can remember riding there on the train, gazing out at the scenery and chattering excitedly with Rachael, with her grandma sitting there across from us, full of her typical serenity and reserve, probably wishing we wouldn't be quite so giggly. The trees across the river were emerald green, and every so often we would glimpse a perfect fairy-tale castle peeking up out of the trees. When we got to Rudesheim we rode an aerial tram above the vineyards overlooking the Rhine, and it was so quiet, and the sun was so warm. I remember Rachael and I clutched each others' arms in pure delight, overcome by the beauty and wonder of it all. I really think it was the most beautiful place I have ever been. We cried a little as the tram came to a stop, and we made a solemn promise to each other that someday, we would come back. "With our husbands!" we squealed, hopeful but hardly daring to believe that there would ever BE such a thing. 

I've thought about that place so many times since. It almost seems like a place that exists outside time and space, waiting there unchanged and unchanging for us to come back someday. (And we WILL!) I knew it was somewhere near Frankfurt, but I had never even really looked for it on a map, because, as I said, it seemed too magical to be on a map! 

Well…I still haven't gone back. But after we visited Drachenfels and loved it so much, that night I was looking online for something to do the next day that might be similar; maybe another castle we could visit. I ran into some information about the Rhine river cruises that floated through the Middle Rhine Valley, which people were describing as one of the most beautiful places on earth. And suddenly I saw Rudesheim on the map and realized it was in the same area as the river cruises I was looking at! It was about three hours away from us by train. Strangely, my first emotion upon realizing this was…I don't know…something like fear. I wanted to go to that place again. But I also didn't. I'm a different person now. I see with different eyes. And I was so afraid it wouldn't be what I remembered. I couldn't get past that feeling. And I didn't want to go without Rachael!

But of course, I also wanted Sam and Malachi to see this amazing area! So, I decided we would compromise by finding another, closer, spot along the river where we could get on one of the cruises. (And in a lucky coincidence, it happened to be the very last day these riverboats were running, before stopping for the winter!)

As we rode the ICE train down to Frankfurt, and then the regional train from Frankfurt toward the Rhine, it was drizzly and grey and cold. I was worried that we might not be able to even see anything from the boat! I was praying (apologetically) for just a little sun. Even just a little! I promised to try to appreciate and enjoy whatever weather there was. But I wished for just a clearing of the sky, so we could see the beautiful things around us.

When the train pulled into the station, it was still raining, and we had only minutes to find the boat dock, so I pulled the baby wrap over Ziggy's head and we RAN. We were so afraid we wouldn't make it. We had farther to go than it had seemed on the map. But finally we were racing breathlessly up to the ticket office, and hearing the ticket man yell to the boat to wait one more minute, and then boarding the boat in a flurry of apologies and coats and camera bags.

And just then…the sun came out! It lit up the hills and cleared away some of the fog, and warmed up the upper deck where we were settling ourselves. (There was an indoor lower deck with windows, but somehow looking at the scenery out of a window wasn't quite the same!) The deck was nearly deserted, except for a young couple enjoying a romantic outing together (we seemed to be forever disturbing romantic outings, on this trip), so we stood there exclaiming to each other, and taking pictures, and ducking under the canopy when it rained, and leaning over the side railings when it didn't. I couldn't quite believe we'd made it and we were actually doing this!

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Zons

While we were in Germany, a girl who lives near Düsseldorf and follows Sam's art on Instagram sent me a nice message, saying that if we liked Medieval villages, we ought to visit Zons. It was a place I had researched a little before we came, but it was so hard to figure out stuff on German websites. I couldn't tell what was going to be too hard to get to, or what would even be worth attempting to see…only to find out it was inaccessible or closed for the season or something! But based on this girl's recommendation, Zons seemed worth doing. It was tricky to get to: regional train and then bus and then walking, and all of this in tiny, out-of-the-way, non-tourist areas that would probably not have any signs in English! It was our last day in Germany and I felt so responsible for making it a good one, since I'm usually the one planning what we'll do and I was afraid we would spend the whole day getting lost! But at least Sam would be with us. So we made the attempt.

And, miraculously, nothing went wrong! I even managed to read the bus schedules correctly and get us on the right bus, and as we rode along the winding roads into the countryside, with all the school children heading home from school, and the mothers carrying their shopping, I could almost imagine living here, in one of the old brick houses tucked away behind tiny gardens and rows of trees.

We didn't know exactly where to even go, but we got off the bus and walked toward a church tower, which seemed like a promising landmark.

We passed a square full of pigs. I wish I knew the story behind them. Even if there had been an explanatory sign, we wouldn't have been able to read it!

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More around Düsseldorf

This was a long avenue in Düsseldorf with a canal running down the middle of it, and lined with trees, called Königsallee. There were lots of fancy stores, and some guy let Malachi sit in his McLaren P1. 

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The Cologne Chocolate Factory: a moral tale

Malachi loved the Cologne Cathedral so much that he requested we go there again on another day. There were some other things we could do in Cologne too (a zoo, a chocolate factory), so it seemed like a good idea. One of my favorite things about riding the train there (it's about 40-50 minutes from Düsseldorf by train) was seeing the cathedral towers suddenly appear out of the city from various angles. I knew to be watching for it this time, and it was so fun and surprising every time, as you were walking along what seemed like rather ordinary streets, to suddenly realize you were approaching one of the most famous architectural landmarks in the world! It just serves as a reminder that there are hidden wonders all around us…

But that is not that moral part of this tale.

It was kind of a chilly morning, so Ky and I decided to go to the chocolate factory since that was indoors. There was a museum talking about the history of chocolate, with various applicable artifacts. It wasn't terribly different from this exhibit, but still interesting.

We were quite tired and suffering from Museum Knee by the time we were done with the exhibit, but then there was a hall where you could watch the chocolates actually being made, with samples, and that revived us wonderfully. There was a cool machine making molded chocolates and then placing them on a conveyor belt to be wrapped, which you can watch in this video if you like that sort of thing:

Then we were feeling a bit peckish, so we stopped at the chocolate cafe for something to eat.

(This guy is always peckish)

At the cafe, there was a menu in English, thank goodness (…although "Schokolade" is fairly easy to decipher), and Malachi got the Hot Chocolate and I got the Cold Chocolate, which sounded like it would be sort of a float or milkshake of chocolate. Having built up enormous appetites with all our walking that morning, we waited with great anticipation until the waitress brought our orders at last.

Malachi took a sip of his. Then I took a sip of mine. And…it was HORRIBLE. Absolutely, horrifyingly HORRIBLE. Probably the worst taste that has ever crossed my lips. I was first shocked, then saddened as I thought to myself how cultural expectations had probably caused this terrible misunderstanding. The Germans in Düsseldorf must just have different tastes, I reasoned. Perhaps they made this chocolate from straight ground-up cacao beans (it did sort of remind me of a bitter cacao bean I had tasted once). Perhaps they would be equally shaken if they tasted a milkshake I made. Perhaps it was an acquired taste, or I had just been caught off guard by the unexpected. I took a cautious second sip.

HORRIBLE! I looked at Malachi with dismay. Were we both to suffer this dreadful fate? But he seemed to be enjoying his hot chocolate. I tasted it. Delicious. I was so confused!

Malachi and I spent a few minutes marveling at what had occurred. How was this possible? Even the darkest of dark chocolate had never offended me in this way. I hoped the waitress wouldn't be disgusted with me for a leaving a nearly-untouched drink! I decided I was probably just not as adventurous of an eater as I had liked to think myself. It was slightly embarrassing. Malachi had a sip of the cold chocolate and didn't like it either, but he was just a boy! We sat in silence for a time, while I fed Ziggy and flipped idly through the menu.

Something was nagging at me about the (HORRIBLE) taste of the drink. There was something familiar about it. It tasted almost…like…the smell of coffee. (I have never tasted coffee; it's a religious thing.) So when I saw that the menu also offered a "Cold Coffee" drink I suddenly became very suspicious. The next time our waitress appeared, I asked her, "Is this drink made of chocolate, or coffee?" She smiled pitying at me. "It's chocolate. Schokolade." I felt embarrassed, but pressed on: "Are you sure? It's just so…bitter." At that she looked puzzled. "Bitter? No…it should be quite sweet…" She peered at the drink more closely and then turned abruptly. "One moment. I'll go ask."

In a moment she was back, looking shamefaced. "I'm so sorry. They made this one with coffee. Let me make you a new one." Sorry? I felt like dancing for joy! Cold German Chocolate wasn't horrible! What reassurance! What relief! Yes, I had inadvertently drunk a substance I never intended to drink in this lifetime…and I felt strangely disgruntled about that for a minute…but the Platonic ideal of chocolate could now remain pure and untainted! I was so happy.

When the Cold Chocolate drink finally arrived, I took a cautious sip, and it was wonderful! Ice creamy…rich…delicious. Everything I had hoped. And so all ended well. But I was left with a vast awe for my fellow humans who, voluntarily, DO drink coffee. What on earth do you see in it? And, remember, the version I tasted was full of cream and ice cream and probably other ingredients…so it ought to have been more palatable than the pure version. I've heard coffee is an acquired taste, and okay, I get that, but for what possible reason would one want to acquire it? All my life, I have watched people drinking coffee in movies and in cafés with idle curiosity, wondering what it would taste like, but not really wishing to try it. But now! I just can't believe it is a substance that anyone ever thought of as a food for human beings, let alone enjoys consuming. *shudder*

But even THAT is not yet the moral part of this tale.

This is a picture of the chocolate we brought home with us from the Düsseldorf trip. We got some after our adventure at the chocolate factory, and some at Heinemwummmummmn, and some at pretty much every other chocolate shop we passed on our travels. (We ate some of it as we went, of course.) It looks like quite a bit, doesn't it? A few of these bars were to give away, but most of them were just for eating ourselves (and maybe sharing with the children…occasionally…if they were lucky). And we did fill up the spaces in our suitcases with this chocolate quite tightly. After our Great Regret of not bringing back enough chocolate from our Berlin trip, we were determined not to make that mistake again. 

(I might briefly mention here how much we love the "Goldschatz" RitterSport chocolate. It is so good! I happened upon a review of it somewhere which was acting like RitterSport in general was for only the least refined of palates, Philistinic palates if you will, but I will proclaim my love for it nevertheless. Even after tasting so many [all delicious] types of chocolate in Germany, it remained one of my top choices. And this "Goldschatz" [Gold edition?] was a milk chocolate with 50% cocoa in it. It was intense but not dark, if that makes sense. Mmm. Sam and I are both already mourning the inevitable day when what we brought home is all gone.)

So when we packed up to leave Germany, we felt rather pleased with ourselves, and with how much chocolate we had amassed in a relatively short space of time. But when we got home and I laid it all out on the bed and contemplated how many children would want tastes of it, I realized with dismay that it was nothing like as much chocolate as we'd thought. It was a pitiful amount. Paltry. And I could see with painful clarity how soon it would all be gone. How I wished I could go back and warn my former self of the inadequacy of her efforts! Alas, I could not, and thus we see how vain and foolish are the efforts of man. But you, reader, I can still warn (**moral alert!**), and I do so now in the strongest possible terms:

When visiting Europe, bring home more chocolate than you think you will possibly need. Much, much more. And then add just a bit more just to be sure. OR YOU WILL BE SORRY! As I am, even now.

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Cologne Cathedral

Cologne is one of those places (like Germany itself, actually) about which I wonder HOW we English-speakers have the audacity to call it what we do. In German the city is Köln. So why don't we call it "Köln," or at least, if we harbor a justifiable suspicion of umlauts, "Koln"? And if we're going for a spelling that gives a more phonetic pronunciation, surely we could think of one without a "gn" in it?

Well, it's a mystery to me, but the city itself was wonderful! After we went to Drachenfels, we headed back on the train to Cologne, which is quite close to Düsseldorf. I didn't have a sense of any of the geography before we went, but the city of Cologne is about equidistant from Bonn on one side, and Düsseldorf on the other. And they're all along the Rhine, which flows UP (well, you know, downstream, but north) from the southwest side of the country. 

I had heard of Cologne, of course, mostly because of Cologne Cathedral, which must be mentioned in every study of Gothic architecture. When we went through Cologne on the train on our way to Königswinter, we saw the ghostly spires of the cathedral rising up through the misty clouds. But in the afternoon when we came back, the clouds had thinned and the sky was brighter. You walk out of the train station and the cathedral is RIGHT THERE. It is amazing and surreal, kind of like walking out of Westminster Station in London to see Big Ben not fifty yards away. Looming dark and massive above us, it was breathtaking. (This picture is actually of the other side, once we'd walked around a little.)

There are a lot of Roman ruins in the area, including this archway and wall. There was a Rome museum we didn't go into, but we peered in the windows and could see old Roman mosaics on the floor. Very cool.

We did go inside the cathedral, and it was stunning—just the vastness of the space was impressive enough, but together with the stained glass windows and the intricate piecing and carving of the stone, it was almost too much to take in. You can never really get a picture that captures that Gothic splendor.

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Drachenfels

When we were in Berlin a couple years ago, we got to see some cool castles and palaces, but they weren't really the sort of castle one thinks of, when one does think of castles. Or perhaps one's ideas of castles are constrained by an imprecision in the language. What I'm trying to say is that I never thought about the fact that there are different sorts of castles, but I guess we could say there are the medieval fortress-y types, and the 18th-century Frederick the Great types. But when I think about it, I can see that castle makes me think more of the former, and palace of the latter. And I think that the German language has this same distinction (though I could be wrong, having picked all this up indirectly); that is, burg for the fortress-type and schloss for the palace-type. (Then there's this distinction, but let's not get into that.)

Anyway, though I loved the Berlin palaces, I also was hoping someday we would get to see some real CASTLE castles. So I was excited to learn that there were some not far (by train) from Düsseldorf. In fact, there was one place where there was both a burg and a schloss, both of which had similar names and I'm still a little confused about it. One was Burg Drachenfels and one was Schloss Drachenburg (so…Palace DragonCastle?). But at any rate the city they were in was called Königswinter, which, accordingly, we set out for. It took us awhile to decipher the train schedules, but at last we made it.

We walked past the little town, and then to the bottom of a big hill where there was a rack-and-pinion railway! I was very pleased about this, since we had ridden a funicular railway in Italy, and at the time I thought to myself, "Now if only I could ride a on rack-and-pinion train, my specialty-train-related life would be complete." Haha. Most trains can't go on a grade steeper than around 2%, so on steep hills, there are sometimes special trains that use cogs or pulleys to keep them on the tracks. A funicular railway uses a pulley system, and a rack-and-pinion has gears or cogs that grip a special track. (If you want to know more—and why wouldn't you?—go here.)

We hurried onto the train without getting to look around much, and I said to Sam, "If only I could see the cogs working under us! I need to be able to describe it to Sebastian!" So I was happy when, in the little train station on the way down, we saw this:

As you can see, there are two regular train wheels on the sides, and then the special gear-wheel in the middle, which climbs up the grooves in the middle track. The parts lock together to stop the train from rolling back downhill. Cool, right? And this particular railway, the Drachenfelsbahn, is OLD, too—I read later that it has been around since 1883!

When we got out of the train at the top of the hill, we were greeted by this amazing view of the Rhine. It was so beautiful! Then behind us, at the very top of the hill, we could see these castle ruins:

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Düsseldorf: Adventures with Malachi

A few months before Ziggy was born, Sam got invited to do a workshop in Düsseldorf, Germany. (And you better believe I'm spelling it Düsseldorf rather than the anglicized Duesseldorf. How often does one get a chance to use an umlaut?!) I love Germany, so I wanted Sam to accept the job— although we weren't totally sure if it would work for me to come with him, with a brand new baby! But I didn't want to stay home without Sam with a brand-new baby either…and I remembered how easy it was to travel with Teddy when he was a newborn, so we thought we would try to make it work! As we worked out tickets and child care arrangements (my wonderful mother took the girls and Teddy, and the older boys stayed with our homeschooling neighbor friends) we realized that we could pretty easily take one of the kids with us, and that would be nice because I'd have someone to keep me company and help with Ziggy while Sam was working.

Malachi ended up being the lucky chosen one, and he was SO excited about the trip! I was mostly anxious about getting Ziggy's passport in time (you can't apply for one until the baby is actually born, obviously), and I would lie awake at night before he was born, worrying about it. I don't know what good I thought worrying about it would do, but that didn't stop me! After he was born and we finally decided on his name, we hurried and got his birth certificate, and then took him in to the passport office, and everything worked out just fine—we even got the passport a couple weeks early. Just like Sam said we would. And then I finally felt like I could start thinking about the actual trip itself instead of just the lead-up to it.

I'm almost embarrassed to write about how good Ezekiel was on the plane ride. We had a nine-hour flight first, which could have been so awful with a crying or fretful baby, but he was just good. (He did stay awake most of every night while we were in Germany, just like he does every night at home, if that makes you worry less that he's too good for this world.) Even while we were waiting in the airport (eating at Cafe Rio, yum), he fell asleep in the most awkward position on my arm! Such a tiny little sleepy guy.

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