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Beauty in the old, cold heart of Germany

May 08, 2015
The Domplatz (cathedral square) in Erfurt. Photo: Jack Baldwin

The Domplatz (cathedral square) in Erfurt. Photo: Jack Baldwin

It was the start of February and the tail end of summer in Australia. I was sitting on a train and, outside my window, blinding white snowfields stretched in every direction. I wasn’t in Australia, you see – I’d gone to Germany, gone to catch the end of the cold.

The train was taking me east, to a city called Erfurt in the state of Thuringia. It was dark when I arrived but in winter, it’s dark most of the time. The doors of the train swung open and a violent chant rang through the carriage. Across the platform riot police were swarming the station, holding back crowds of hooded thugs.

Well, shit. I’d been reading about the Pegida anti-Islam protests and riots happening across the country, particularly in nearby Dresden. First night in town and I was sure I’d just walked into the middle of one. My first thought was to blend in – don’t let them catch the whiff of a foreigner – but I figured putting on an accent would get my head kicked in.

I got closer and it became clear. It was a football game. The local teams were clashing and, with the usual passion that Europe brings to bear on such cataclysmic events, the riot police had been called. A quick body check was required, to ensure I wasn’t wearing the wrong team’s colours. Neutral grey. Smart move.

The city itself, even in the dark, was beautiful. It’s a patchwork. Medieval, baroque and neoclassical structures intertwine through its centre. Ice-fed streams trundle past, straddled by ancient wooden bridges. Tendrils of Bauhaus reach to the outer suburbs. Every window glows with light and warmth. In winter, it’s freezing.

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Beautiful patchwork: the city of Erfurt. Photo: Jack Baldwin

I was staying on the outskirts of town in a Plattenbau – one of the great, imposing prefab high-rises of the former German Democratic Republic. The logarithmic rise of endless windows brought to mind the sleepless eyes of the Stasi that used to haunt East Germany.

They’re gone now, and the Plattenbauten were never meant to represent repression. They were cheap, and quick, and desperately needed to house thousands of people – but it goes to show that even things built without a meaning can acquire one over time. In parts of Germany, they’re being renewed and reclaimed, splashed with colour and art. Not here, not yet, but it will happen.

Morning brought a bit of light and a lot of snow. It was freezing. Outside there was a far-stretching dirt road with tiny fenced plots on either side. I’d seen them all across the country on the ride in, too. Tiny huts sit in each one, with fold-out couches inside. My first thought was that poor souls lived on these plots, stretched across the width of the country, trying to scratch out a living from vegetables grown in a 5sqm garden.

Not so. They are Schrebergärten – tiny allotments of which there are 1.4 million dotted across Germany. In times of crisis, they provide food security. In summer, they provide a handy spot for an outdoor barbecue and touch of nature for the urbanised population. In winter, they’re covered in snow, and empty.

Just like the city of Erfurt. It is the perfect walking city, and during the cold months, the perfect introvert’s city. One cobbled street is particularly intriguing: each building that lines it is decorated with “grotesques” with gaping mouths. Apparently in medieval days these buildings brewed beer; when it was ready to go, they’d stuff hay in the mouths to signal it was time to come in and get boozed.

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A pair of grotesques – minus hay. Photo: Jack Baldwin

I never did see hay in the mouths, though I kept hoping. The old centre grants enough reason to draw mouths agape. In parts it is vast, in others tightly wound. Each cathedral in Germany, particularly the east, seems to bear a mirror image. The Protestants and Catholics each deserve their own place of worship, they say, and their piety stands parallel in Erfurt.

The Domplatz, centre and market square of the city, is crowned by two Catholic cathedrals. One is rich and gold on the inside, the other somewhat spartan, but they are both massive. This is where Martin Luther was ordained and later launched the reformation. The wide medieval centre is ringed by daunting, gothic-style Protestant churches.

The cold must have seeped in to my bones, because I found myself wishing all the devotion and treasure that built such monuments had flowed through onto the streets instead. I can understand the appeal, though, of something so obviously solid in a time when lives are increasingly liquid.

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The elaborate interior of one of Erfurt’s cathedrals. Photo: Jack Baldwin

Erfurt also houses Europe’s oldest standing synagogue, from the 11th century. Nearby there are cubist fountains and art-deco chapels. The city was almost untouched during the war (unlike neighbouring Dresden), which has resulted in a wild mix of architecture. It is one of the best open-air museums in Europe.

I stumbled on many welcome innovations in food, as well. Thuringian cuisine is hearty – made for the long nights. Restaurants all around the region serve the local dish – a plate of potato dumplings and roasted game with crispy skin, thick with gravy and sweet cabbage.

The food found on the streets was more of a revelation. Hard-faced men stood watch over hot grills. Locals crowded around the good ones, sucking in the heat of the grill and forking out a euro for a piping hot Thüringer Bratwurst, a local specialty. It’s simple, it’s warm, it’s all you need. They come in a tiny bun, just big enough to clasp with one hand, just big enough to keep the mustard from your fingers.

Should you have a spare euro, spend it on a cup of Glühwein. Literally “glow-wine”, this hot spiced drink coats your insides with inner warmth. It is fortifying on a snow-drenched day, especially if you left your gloves at home.

Twenty minutes away by train lies Weimar, former capital of Thuringia and perhaps still its cultural capital. It is the birthplace of the art school Bauhaus, as well as home to Germany’s two most famous writers and philosophers, Goethe and Schiller.

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Goethe’s house in Weimar. Photo: Jack Baldwin

Goethe’s house is encapsulated in a museum. It is a sight. Filled with facsimiles of Greco-Roman statues, it borders on tackiness at times. But the statesman and proto-physicist was a learned man who believed in absorbing knowledge by sight and observation, and there is much to see. Minerals, art, furniture and writings adorn every wall.

Look him up. Like most philosophers, his work has been reduced to a tweet.

Each room is hung upon a heater, a wood burning oven to keep it warm in the winter. I’ve heard a lot of talk about automation and the robotics revolution in recent days; that our jobs will be taken or perhaps humanity will be saved from the five-day work week. Spare a thought for the housekeepers who once filled those heaters with wood – air-conditioners knocked them out of a job long ago.

I stumbled upon a holy place. In a small square not far from the Goethe museum was a butcher. I am a devotee of smallgoods and all things cured. What set this place apart from others was that this butcher would cook the meat on display and offer it for lunch. Combined with a local lager for a euro, it was heaven. Perhaps this is one solution to the death of the local retailer in Australia.

Further along the train tracks, to the west of Weimar and Erfurt, is Eisenach. The city itself is mix of Middle Ages and modern-industrial, less diverse than Erfurt but set on more dramatic terrain. Hundreds of metres above is the Wartburg, a 1000-year-old castle.

It casts a commanding silhouette in front of the setting sun. The hike from the city centre runs through steep, winding streets, snow-covered driveways and finally a coarse stand of forest with slick, iced walkways. It is not easy, and a bus runs for the less daring.

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Views from the Wartburg. Photo: Jack Baldwin

Hills and valleys dance beyond the walls of the castle. Doves flutter about the watchtower and a light snow covers each walkway. Salt is spread to melt it away, and that likewise ends up clinging to your boots.

The interior of the castle is as cold as everywhere else. There are simple chapels here, gilded libraries and small studies. Martin Luther found his way here, too, after the Pope had him hunted for heresy. He sat down and translated the bible into German, which, as you might have heard, caused a great deal of trouble in a great many places.

Luther’s room is sparse, which fits the aesthetic. A simple workspace is perhaps the best place to undertake a great work. I wonder if Luther would have brought on the reformation if all-pervading wi-fi had penetrated the stone walls and thickset timber doors of the Wartburg?

I took a shortcut down from the castle, through a more thickly wooded section. The sun was setting and wild deer ran across the path and into the darkening forest. There were a few people taking the same path, and they waved as they passed me by, more sure of their footing.

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Through the darkened forest. Photo: Jack Baldwin

It occurred to me that the sincere welcome of a German in these old, cold places is perhaps more profound than most. It is easy to be hospitable living on the sunlit coast of Spain or Italy, where life’s most basic elements are pleasant. Harder to muster up that kind of greeting in the wet, snow-trodden soul of winter.

Every window glowed with light and warmth as I reached the outskirts of town. It was comforting to know that, even though it was freezing cold, there was a glowing window waiting for me, too – and a warm meal, and a place to rest.

An Erfut streetscape. Photo: Jack Baldwin

An Erfut streetscape. Photo: Jack Baldwin

Getting there

From Frankfurt, catch the Inter-City train to Erfurt from the airport’s train station. It is a two-and-a-half-hour trip

Places to stay

Augustinerkloster (Augustinerstrasse 10, 99084 Erfurt, Thuringia): this is a working monastery in the middle of Erfurt. The rooms are a little bare, but there’s atmosphere in spades, and good food. It’s also only a short walk from the Domplatz, the city’s medieval core.

Hotel Elephant (Markt 19, 99423 Weimar, Thuringia): This place lives off its past in some ways, but it’s worth a look. It features comfortable hotel-style rooms (with wi-fi, unlike Augustinerkloster) and a historic tavern with Thuringian cuisine. Goethe threw his 80th here. Other notable guests include Sting, Hitler and Putin.

Places to eat

Feuerkugel (Michaelisstrasse 3-4, 99084 Erfurt, Thuringia): This is a simple place, but as good as any on a cold day. Old-school Thuringian food abounds. Potato dumplings of all kinds, roasted venison and goose – it’s all good. Get a hefty Kostritzer (the local dark beer) while you’re there.

Bratwurst grills on the street: These are dotted all over Thuringia. My favourite was in the Domplatz. A euro for a bratwurst is the ideal price. Never pay more than two. They also do other sausages and pork chops in a bun. Sophistication, in a word.

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