Final sights on my German pilgrimage

OK, I've got to back up a few days, to give you the highlights of the rest of my time in Germany.

After my visit to Dachau, I was going to see some sights in Munich, but I was wrecked, so I just went back to my hotel. The next day, I had a bit of driving to do. First down to the south side of Bavaria, near the Austrian border, where I was planning to visit a castle. (There are lots of castles in Germany; apparently, this is the one to see. Back to that in a moment.) Then, from there, I was driving northwest toward Rhineland, where I was planning to visit the city where the Foxes may have come from.

So, the castle. Have you ever heard of "Mad King Ludwig"? While he probably wasn't mad, one reason he was declared insane was the way he spent money on this castle called Neuschwanstein. Here's a Wikipedia article with more information.

Now, I hadn't known much about King Ludwig, but his is an interesting, and ultimately, sad story. He seems to have been an eccentric fellow, very much taken with the stories of German myth, especially as presented by Richard Wagner. He also seems to have felt strong homosexual feelings, but it appears he sought, all the same, to be chaste.

All this became public fodder when members of his family maneuvered to have him declared unfit to reign; in the process, they gained access to his correspondence and diaries. The effort was successful; and only a day after he was shunted aside, he died under very dodgy circumstances, at the age of 40 -- having lived in his dream castle for only a short time. And his great friend, Wagner, who he hoped would visit him there? He died before Ludwig ever moved in.

Anyway, let's have a look at the castle -- actually, two. The first castle I'll show you was the one Ludwig lived in growing up, situated across the valley:

Here's Ludwig's creation:

This shot was taken from the Marianbrucke -- that is, the bridge that spans the nearby stream. The bridge was quite crowded when I took this shot.

The tour doesn't allow photographs inside; I suspect to keep things moving, as the schloss gets a huge number of visitors every day. Here's one of the views that captivated poor King Ludwig:

On the way from the bridge to the castle, I ran into this fellow playing some music:

Here's a closer look at the instrument, which he told me is a Hurdy Gurdy, and it originated in the High Middle Ages.

The castle was certainly impressive, although I can somewhat understand why the king's advisers and family were alarmed. It is a huge undertaking, and a bit odd.

That said, the king's quarters confirm that he was a devout Catholic; his throne room makes clear he saw himself accountable to God, and his bedroom has a lovely chapel included.

If you read the Wikipedia story, you'll see that the Nazis stowed a good deal of their stolen art and gold here, which was discovered by the Allies at the end of the war. And you'll see pictures of the interior, which really is stunning.

After this, I had the idea of driving a mile or so south -- and thus into Austria -- and then looping up to the Rhineland. Well, I followed my plan, but I never saw any sign indicating whether I crossed into the Osterreich. So I can't really claim I made it there -- but maybe I did?

Now we come to the more personal part of my journey, visiting Wiesloch, which information came from my Fuchs ancestors, who came to America in 1740. I didn't have any Fuchs contacts in Wiesloch, but I was curious to see what it was like; and whether I would learn anything that might help me know why the Fuchs came to the New World. And, of course, could I find any definite connection to any Fuchs in the Old World?

Well, I won't keep you in suspense. There were no dramatic discoveries. As I knew already, the local histories I looked at in the library confirmed that the area had been caught up in the religious conflicts in the wake of the Protestant movement. Interestingly, hard by the Rathaus (i.e., town hall) was an Evangelische Kirche. Unfortunately, it was closed; and while I emailed the church, in hopes of talking to someone the next day, I have yet to hear back.

But there was also a Catholic church in town; several, in fact, but one right in the center of town. And it was open. Here are some photos:

And here's the parish's patron, Saint Lawrence. See the grill?

From what I could gather from various things I looked at (some of which was in German, so I didn't get much from that), this area was governed by the Elector of Palatinate -- "elector" meaning he had a vote on who got to be the Holy Roman Emperor. At one time, the Elector was Protestant; but in the late 1600s, a Catholic branch of the family took over -- and that appears to be when this church was erected.

Something else interesting happened in this area at the end of the 17th century. It got caught up in one of the tedious wars that the various crowned heads of Europe waged on each other, this one the "Nine Years' War. Short, perhaps, but for the Palatinate, excruciating. Long remembered in Germany was Ezéchiel du Mas, the Comte de Mélac. So awful was the devastation he inflicted, that many Palatines began emigrating to the New World in the early 1700s -- which is precisely what my ancestors did.

At the library, I found a book of surnames; I was excited to see this, because it would, perhaps, tell me just how long my ancestors were in this area. Well...not very long, based on the book. There was only one or two preceding my ancestors' time; which could mean the Fuchses weren't here long, or else, there was no record of them (since the book was in German, I couldn't read in the Forward how the information was gathered). But I copied the pages, and when I get home, I can see what I can glean from it.

After spending a good portion of the day in Wiesloch, I drove back to my hotel, stopping in Speyer for a visit. When I walked up to the front of the cathedral, everything seemed locked up for the day, so I snapped this shot of Emperor Rudolph. There were a lot of kings commemorated in this foyer, as Speyer had been an imperial city for some time.

There was a Protestant church in town, also closed, but it had a window in the door. Here's a photo:

There was a Jewish community in Speyer that was wiped out by the Nazis. Well, they want everyone to know, they weren't entirely wiped out:

Circling back to the cathedral, I noticed a bunch of people go in a side door; so I followed them. It was open after all!

I'm sorry to say, this was underwhelming. I'd like to say it was because Allied air forces bombed the hell out of the cathedral, but in fact Speyer was spared almost all that -- not so Worms and Mainz, nearby.

Here are some lovely paintings high on the nave wall:

When I got back to the hotel, I hoped I'd have some email back from either the Evangelische church, or the individual at the town hall who, I'd been told, might be able to tell me about the city's history -- but he was out sick. I had the next day free to return and talk to them. But no one emailed me back; so the next day, I headed north to Worms, which has several claims to fame:

> Martin Luther made a famous defense here at the "Diet of Worms in 1521

> It is one of the very oldest cities in Europe, already existing when the Romans came here in 14 BC; Drusus captured it.

> It was wrecked by the aforementioned Melac.

> It was a center of Jewish life and learning in the Middle Ages.

Anyway, here's a view of the cathedral. At least, I'm pretty sure.

Here's an interesting plaque on a building near the cathedral. I think it refers to various things that happened in the building. Note the last reference: Martin Luther.

And, in fact, another sign nearby indicated that Luther's defense of his teachings had taken place in a nearby building -- which was destroyed by...you guessed it: Melac.

I'm getting out of order here, sorry. This lovely image of our Lady was in the cathedral. When I sat down to gaze at it -- it dates to the 14th century -- I sensed our Lady urging me to pray my Rosary. So I did.

And then there was this statue outside the Protestant church:

That is an overview of Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday, and that completes my visit to Germany. Until next time!

Dinner in Rome

Before I get to my Germany Wrap Up Post, just a little vignette of this afternoon and evening.

I got into Rome around 1:30 pm, right on time -- early, in fact. With Italy and Germany both being members of the EU, no more "passport control"; so I got over to the baggage claim area, no problem!

But as mentioned in my last post, while waiting for my checked bag to vomit out onto the carousel, I discovered I'd left my iPad on the airplane. Fortunately, it was found, and an Alitalia employee brought it over. I asked if his name was Antonio (it was Diego), explaining that I'd been praying to San Antonio to find my iPad! (I don't think he understood that part.)

So I headed back -- this time, catching a train, which was a mistake. Actually, the mistake wasn't the train, necessarily, but in not having very precise plans for which train-and-bus-combination I would take to get back. Rome's transportation system is not well designed for people who "wing" it. So when I ended up at Stazione Trestavere, asking the lady behind the glass what my next train or bus should be, her answer was less clear than...well, let's say I didn't understand. And when I told her this, she repeated it, only much louder.

That's when I walked out and caught a taxi.

Now, I should explain, in case I didn't (I can't remember), that for this stint in Rome, I'm not staying at the same location as before. Before, I was taking part in a program through the North American College; and so I was at a residence on the NAC campus. But since I opted out of the "module" currently underway (so I could make my German pilgrimage), the institute had booked my room for another attendee. So I had to vamoose. Recommended to me was a guesthouse run by some Sisters of Saint Philip Neri. So that's where I came back to. And when I got back around 4:30 pm, I spent some time checking emails and so forth.

It turns out, my rectory back in Cincinnati was burgled. Our admirable director of vocations, Father Kyle Schnippel, has been covering things for me in the parish. And when I got a connection at the airport, I saw a message from him about a break-in, in which he lost several very valuable things; also stolen was my cell phone.

My $9.88 special from Wal-Mart. Stolen.

So when I got back here, I realized I should probably contact Tracfone and see about cancelling it or whatever. But since I don't have a phone, I did it via the Internet. Unfortunately, they really wanted me to call them; so it wasn't easy finding the way to do it via "chat" -- but I did it.

With all the delays and disconnects, I got that taken care of. If you have my cell, don't bother calling. It's cancelled. When I get back, I'll get a new one; I hope with the old telephone number, but we'll see.

So it's getting on to dinner; add the fact that I didn't have lunch, I'm getting a bit peckish. But in Rome, you don't go get dinner at six. In fact, for restaurants, even 7 pm can be a bit early. So around 7:30, I walk down the street to a restaurant I'd visited last week. Even then, I was "early"! I was going to leave and come back, but they said, no, no, have a seat; and no less than the cook came out and went over the menu with me (it was all in Italian). I explained that since it was Friday, in Lent (I'm wracking my brain to remember how to say "Friday" in Italian, and I haven't a clue about "Lent"), I didn't want meat: "sin carne." He nodded and pointed out several items.

One of them was a Tuscan soup, with beans and vegetables, so I ordered that, plus a tuna dish. Please understand, dear reader: what I heard was, ItalianItalianItalianTUNAItalianItalianItalian. I didn't really know much more than that -- but isn't that the adventure of traveling? But then, I have two advantages: there are very few things I won't eat (isn't that obvious?); and I'm in Rome, where they take food very seriously. So this is where one of my rules applies: they wouldn't put it on the menu if it wasn't good. (Note: that only applies in places that actually respect food -- like Rome.)

In going over the menu, the chef had highlighted one of the antipasti; but I didn't really need three courses, and I really wanted some soup, so I skipped over that. Then, a few minutes later, he came out with a sample! When he came back to see how I liked it, I showed him an empty plate, and that made him smile.

So then came the soup: and to my surprise, it was quite thick! I asked the owner when who came by (did I mention I was the only patron in the place at that point?) about this, as I remembered the soup I had here the last time was likewise thick. He confirmed that Tuscan soups (the restaurant specializes in Tuscan dishes) tend to be very thick.

Then came the tuna. When I saw it, I wondered if it actually was tuna; because tuna, when I've seen it, turns greyish-brown when cooked; but this was a rose color all the way through. According to the all-wise Wikipedia, some tuna is pink. Did you know that?

In any case, it was delicious! When the cook came back, I told him, in an atrocious mixture of English, Spanish, Latin and Italian, that not eating meat on Fridays is supposed to be penance; but not this fish he served me! I don't think he got much of that, except he saw I liked it.

So that was my dinner tonight; and now either I'll write my wrap-up of my German pilgrimage, or I'll fall asleep...

Back in Rome, wrap-up on German pilgrimage to come

I just landed at Fiumicino Airport in Rome . . . and realized I left my iPad on-board. So now I'm waiting to check again with the help desk.

It was my plan to post something last night on the past few days in Germany; but as those of you who travel know, "we have wi-fi" is not a reliable promise from hotels. And, of course, whether there will be pictures depends on the nice folks at Alitalia.

A few random notes...

> I think I've had my fill of schnitzel for awhile. It was on the menu everywhere in Germany, often the special -- and it was one thing I recognized. But it was generally pork schnitzel, and if you've ever had a "pork tenderloin" at fairs and church festivals in the northern part of the diocese, you've had pork schnitzel.

> They seem to consider wurst either a breakfast or a snack food. I really wanted to have more wurst  than I had. I had weisswurst for breakfast a couple of times -- basically, a smaller version of the white bratwurst we often have in Cincinnati. I ordered a currywurst at one place, and it came in a kind of barbeque sauce -- and tasted like a hot dog to me.

> Europe tends to designate the ground level floor as floor zero. The first floor is the next one up. Still not used to that.

> European traffic lights also turn yellow before turning green. I like it!

> If I never see another cobblestone, I can live with that.

> German highways aren't seldom marked "east"  or "west" but toward a city. Which is fine if it's the city you're going to. If you're vague on German geography, it's not so helpful.

> I am thinking about organizing a Heilige Deutschland pilgrimage -- visiting many of the same places I saw this trip. What do you think?

Hell's prototype

It's a beautiful day in Munich and I spent a lot of it in hell.

Today I made the trip up to Dachau, the infamous concentration camp that became the prototype of worse to come.

First, a curiosity. As you might imagine, Dachau was the name of the nearby town. And it still is. What to make of that?

Or what to make of the fact that hard by the concentration camp, I saw residential housing? How would you like to have this conversation in your home?

"What's that back there?"

"Where?"

"Behind you--beyond your back yard."

"Um, that's...Dachau."

"But...oh.."

How to begin this? I almost didn't write it. When I visited the Holocaust memorial in Jerusalem, I didn't write about it. What could I say?

But I'll try to offer something here.

First, did you realize that Dachau was not actually a "death camp"? It was -- not to be fussy -- a concentration camp; it's purpose was to imprison and punish; and later, to provide slave labor. But it wasn't actually designed for death. That came later. Yet Dachau was the prototype. This is where the SS figured out how best to do their work.

Here is the main gate:

Doesn't look so bad, does it? Except that's a guard tower on top. If you look closely, you can see a door in the middle. In the door appears the slogan more commonly associated with Auschwitz: "arbeit macht frei."

It's hard to tell this story in pictures. The camp now is mostly empty; all the barracks are gone; two were rebuilt for display purposes, but the rest are indicated only by footprints of the buildings, and their numbers. And the buildings that are there aren't, in themselves, very frightening.

At the far end one of the original buildings still stands -- dubbed "the bunker" by inmates.

If you go, you can spend a lot of time in the bunker, reading the descriptions. There are accounts by the prisoners available there, including drawings of what happened there:

While there, I read Mr. Buzengeiger's description of having his ankle shackled to a heavy chain which was pegged to the floor of his cell; and living with that, month after month, walking around his cell for exercise, and priding himself on being able to do it without rattling his chain.

Here's another drawing:

Dachau was created to house political "criminals" -- those who, for various reasons, were judged a direct threat to the regime. This was before the implementation of the "Final Solution" -- the vast enterprise dedicated to the extermination of vast numbers of people, Jews above all (but others as well). This is where political opponents were sent; religious figures who didn't toe the line; and assorted other "undesireables." That did include communists, homosexual persons, Jehovah Witnesses, probably Quakers; and it did include Roma (aka Gypsies) and Jews. Yet this was just the beginning of the horrors. The Nazis were only just beginning to learn how to be what they became.

This was the interrogation room. Note the thick walls; the door was also extra thick -- to muffle noise, the exhibit said.

As mentioned, those religious figures who opposed the Nazis came here. At one point, they were congregated here; and some -- the high-profile ones -- were given quarters down the hall from the interrogation room. They were treated better: no work and better food; probably because they were famous. Meanwhile, the general camp was filled with clergy. This Wikipedia article includes a chart, indicating how many were there from various countries, and who died and who survived. Toward the end of my tour -- at the other end of the camp, on the backside of the Catholic chapel erected in the camp -- I found this plaque:

Here's the section in English, enlarged:

Well, let's walk down the hall to see where the high profile prisoners -- including a lay Catholic theologian, a Catholic bishop, and a Protestant pastor.

As mentioned, these higher-profile prisoners were treated better. They were allowed an altar and the use of one of the rooms for Holy Mass:

Now, if you're wondering why they got better treatment, let me add one more detail: they were allowed to be in touch with their families and friends. Get the picture now? Propaganda, I'm guessing. And, in any case, these were folks the rest of the world knew about.

According to a sign behind where I'm standing for this photo, a gallows was in that corner; and that wall, to the right, is where people were executed by firing squad.

Here are bunks in one of the rebuilt barracks. Remember, thousands of men were crowded in these barracks. 

But what was truly awful was the people who were in charge. And it occurred to me that, while the SS men who ran the place were considerably better off, nevertheless, I can't imagine many felt anything but loathing for this experience, day after day. Remember the bunker I showed you? The upper half was set aside as a prison for SS members who were being punished. Punished for what? Probably the usual things; but the one thing I'll bet didn't get punished -- taking out your rage on the prisoners.

At the other end is an opening in the fence, leading to the crematorium. This is where the thousands of prisoners, who died from illness, infection, overwork, malnourishment, beatings, medical experimentation and executions, were taken.

Of course, there was a gate. Here you can see it, as well as the fence. In the background, you can see the cement wall that surrounded the camp. Also, notice the ditch, which would slow down any escapees. This doesn't show the guard towers, and what's not clear is that the inner perimeter -- i.e., before the ditch --  was a "no-go" zone; if anyone stepped into it, he or she was shot. (Yes, there were women here too; and children.) Also, I don't think you can see the layers of barbed wire on the ground in front of the fence -- designed to entangle any escapees who got that far. Some folks would deliberately run into this area, knowing they'd be shot.

Remember I said Dachau was a prototype? One of the things that was developed here was gas chambers designed to look like shower rooms. So prisoners would be told, disrobe here, put clothes here for disinfecting, then shower here -- and then they'd be killed by poison gas. After the first crematorium proved to be inadequate, a much larger building was built, and it included the very set up I just described. Here's the "shower" room (the picture does not make clear how low the ceiling was -- probably 7 or so feet):

According to information on site, this set up was used for some murders, but not in a systematic way. That came later in the death camps, mostly in Poland.

Here are the ovens. There was one more to the left. It wasn't easy getting all my shots, because of lots of visitors. Lots of teenagers. I'm glad.

Here's one of many markers in the area around the crematorium, indicating where ashes were dumped. 

Here's another plaque I found in this area:

A big part of the exhibit told the story of the liberation of this camp; what the American soldiers found when they came here -- including thousands of dead bodies, and later, graves -- and the challenges of dealing with jubilant yet starving and ill prisoners. For example, you couldn't just give them ordinary food; there were a lot of miscues, until they found something that the prisoners could handle, that would bring them back to health. 

After a lot of walking, I sat down in this area, near these markers. No one came by while I was there. Using my iPad, I'd been praying my daily office at various points during my visit, and I prayed some of it here.

And it occurred to me, that in the entire camp, this was the only place where there was any life. Here there were plants, grass, trees; and perhaps flowers in the spring. I needed that.

There are several religious memorials nearby. The Russian Orthodox Church erected a tiny chapel near the crematorium -- but it was locked. A Protestant chapel was open; after that, I visited the Catholic, "Mortal Agony of Christ Chapel"; then the Jewish memorial; these were also open.

Just outside the walls of the camp, through one of the gates, is a Carmelite monastery:

Not far beyond is a chapel. See the grey object framed in the outer doorway? That's the holy water stoup, in front of the chapel doors. I went to the doors for a visit, but I heard music from inside -- were the sisters in prayer? I opened the door slowly to find an empty chapel. Then I noticed a divide -- the sisters were cloistered; and the music was coming from the other side. After awhile, I guessed it was one sister, practicing on the organ.

No matter; I came to find our Lord. I was confident the Blessed Sacrament would be here, and He was! I sat down. I cried. I wanted to cry a lot more. I wondered what the sister at the organ thought. But then, I decided this must happen a lot here.

I was going to include in this post an account of another visit, in Nuremberg, to the place there that Albert Speer, Hitler's architect, had designed, and was building: a vast edifice to serve the massive rallies the Nazi party orchestrated year after year. That followed my visit to Bamberg Cathedral; but I didn't want to spoil that last post with Nazi filth. So I was going to save it for this post. But at this point, there's not much more to say. It's a fascinating exhibit, housed in the remnants of one of the never-completed buildings. I took a couple of pictures there, but as it happens, there's not much to take pictures of. You know those pictures of Hitler and his minions, marching, singing, with banners flying? They happened there, in Nuremberg. Some of it is still there, but not much. It's crumbling. 

Saint Boniface, Saint Henry and Saint Cunigunde

Now that my pictures from yesterday have uploaded, I can share with you the pictures from the cathedral in Fulda, where Saint Boniface is buried. Then I'll tell you about this morning's visit to Bamberg Cathedral, and the tomb of the Emperor Henry and Empress Cunigunde.

By the way, for those who may be interested -- my travels have involved a fair amount of driving across the southern half of Germany. I began in Frankfurt (at the airport), in Hesse; then Koblenz, in the Rhineland-Palatinate. Then to Aachen and Cologne, in the North Rhine-Westphalia. From there I drove to Marburg, back in Hesse.

And when I came to Fulda, and then Bamberg, yesterday, that brought me to Bavaria. Tonight I'm in Munich, in the heart of Bavaria.

Now, I might mention here that when, in anticipation of this trip, I looked to see just where Saint Boniface's body was, when I saw Fulda, another association came to mind: the "Fulda Gap." You see, for much of my life, the area where I am now was the front line of the Cold War; the next state over, Thuringia, was part of East Germany. And back in the day, the Fulda Gap came up, from time to time, because if the Soviets and their Eastern Bloc "allies" ever launched an invasion, it was expected through the gap.

Well, thanks be to God, those days are behind us; all those armies are gone and Germany is reunited. Meanwhile, Boniface's bones are still here in Fulda for the faithful to venerate. So to Fulda I came.

Now, for those who have visited Rome, you've noticed, no doubt, that the Baroque period in church architecture coincided with a fair amount of energy, money and opportunity in Rome for church building and renovation. As a result, if you visit a lot of Roman churches, you're going to get kind of tired of Baroque.

Well, the Cathedral of Christ our Savior in Fulda is Baroque -- but with a lightness and delicacy that I've seen only in images of German and Austrian churches. And this was the first time I saw it in person.

How about this for a pulpit?

Now, this was a shrine, like Cologne, that I was straining to visit. I was pastor of Saint Boniface Church in Piqua, and one of the ideas I had was to combine with the other Saint Boniface Parish in Cincinnati, and the Saint Henry Parishes in the diocese, and have a pilgrimage to these very places. Alas, it never happened. But now I've made it on my own.

Now, this will sound funny, but when  you drive into these towns, there aren't big signs in front of the churches telling you what churches they are. Plus, there are lots of really stately, churchy buildings in a lot of these towns. Which one is the place I want? So when I walked inside, I wasn't entirely sure this was it. So I asked a fellow, "ist Heilege Boniface hier?" He nodded, "ja"! And led me to the crypt.

Alas, it was closed! While he went to see if he had a pamphlet in English (he didn't), I peaked past the tarp over the entrance; I could see lots of scaffolding. So I didn't bother trying to wheedle my way in. Even so, I still offered my prayers at Saint Boniface's tomb -- even if I didn't get right there!

I did get to the Blessed Sacrament chapel:

I just think that's so lovely! And I noticed this on the side wall. This is something I can't recall seeing depicted in art:

I may be wrong, but I'm betting that's the marriage of Mary and Joseph! Isn't that lovely?

Now here's another curious image. It shows the (then) two Saint Martins together! Alas, my glorious patron is omitted: Saint Martin de Porres; however, had he been invited, he'd have been too humble to show up!

Well, you get the idea. If you go here, you can read more about the church. I had hoped to see some images of the life of Boniface; perhaps they are in the crypt, which was closed. Also, once again, the "choir" area, behind the high altar, was also closed.

As I left, I passed through this curious gate.

It's called the "Paulustor," and I'm guessing that's the Apostle on top. I could find nothing about it on Wikipedia; if you know anything, feel free to mention it in the comments.

Then, a few steps further, I saw a monument off to the side, and went over to see it:

Here's another view:

It struck me that there's something very sad here.

From here I drove to Bamberg, and in my last post, I told you about my crazy evening last night. Now let me tell you about my Sunday morning.

It turns out the hotel couldn't have been better situated; the cathedral was just a staircase away. So after a leisurely breakfast, I hiked up the staircase to the cathedral. I arrived as the prior Mass was ending, and then prayed my morning office here:

That's Henry on the right, and Cunigunde on the left.

I didn't get many good photos, mainly because I didn't have much time before Holy Mass, or after as it turned out.

Here's Wikipedia's article, with some good pictures, as usual.

But there was one moving sight I so wanted to get a picture of -- but I saw it as I was leaving, and the next holy Mass had begun. So I'll just have to describe it.

It said -- in German: "Saint Bonifacius, pray for the German diaspora."

That means all the many Germans who have, over the centuries, gone far and wide through the world.

That means us in America.

With that touching thought, I leave you to enjoy the rest of your Lord's Day.

German Pilgrimage

My pilgrimage has begun well. There's too much to tell, even three days' worth.

When I arrived at my hotel in Aachen, I was too tired to post anything. Last night was a comedy of errors as far as the Internet goes. Today brought many more...adventures, but none really (well, one) involving the Internet. Ready? Let's go.

First let me explain what this trip means to me.

This is the land where so many of my ancestors came from. The Foxes seem to have come from the upper Rhine, although another location in Germany is attested. My grandmother, Mayme Henschemeyer, and her parents also came from Germany, but I'm not sure just where.

More than that, so many of Cincinnati's people, their culture and history, is German -- so that adds another layer. All of us in Cincinnati know about how the Germans who first came, and saw the Ohio, and the hills on either side, said it reminded them of the Rhine. Driving around Germany the past three days, I can see it; the rolling hills and farmland and meadows could be the hills of Ohio or Kentucky.

When I see the people of Germany, I can tell: lots and lots of Americans came from here. (Even at the time of our revolution, there was a sizeable German population in the colonies -- including my ancestors.) When I sat down tonight in Bamberg (where I'm staying) for a very well deserved dinner, I asked the waitress for a "sehr Bambergische bier"* and meal. She said OK and brought me Schlenkerla Rauschbier and grilled pork shoulder with cabbage and a potato dumpling. Now, I'd never seen a potato dumpling before, and this looked like a matzo ball that never found it's way into the soup; and the cabbage was pureed -- a surprise! Still, when I tasted the pork with the gravy, I told the couple sharing the large table with me, "it tastes like home!" In many ways, this feels like home.

There's a second reason I wanted to come here. The times in which we live and the long shadows of history that still touch us, are all bound up with so much that happened here. I don't just mean the events of the 20th century, although those would be enough: three world wars (one cold), with each war's horrors being so much a product of the resolution of the war before.

But to that I could add, from the 19th century, national consciousness and Marxism; before that, the glittering age of Baroque art and music; and before that, the Protestant Reformation and all the historic-making ripples that sent round the world to this day. And before that, the glories of Christendom, the soaring ambitions realized in faith, scholarship and architecture.

Of course, all this -- good and bad -- is not solely German; but Germany has been at the center of it.

And so, yesterday, when I made my way from Aachen to  Cologne, and found my way to the cathedral of Cologne...

By the way, I had no trouble finding it. Even miles away, I could see the spires of the great cathedral, towering over the city. As I drove into the city, all I had to do was to drive toward those coal-black peaks.

But I was about to say.  As I found my way to the cathedral; I parked, and walked up into the city, around some modern buildings -- and there it was!

I hurried, although I didn't have to. I scrambled up the stairs, and rushed to the doors.

The lady who was giving out Rosaries? That's her on the right.

A woman passing out literature detained me; I was polite; she was asking me if I knew Jesus, and I said yes. I gave her a few coins for Rosary materials, and then, I nodded toward it -- this wonder before us both, as if to say, how can you stop me? I have to go!

A close-up of the image of Mary with our Lord at the front of the cathedral.

And then I stepped inside. And I looked up. And I almost cried.

Yes, because it's beautiful -- "beautiful" -- what a poor word! All words are shamefaced before such wonders. Some are natural marvels, crafted by the hand of God himself. But others are crafted by the hand of man, summoning up all that is in him to give expression to the glory that God has revealed to man. That is what this cathedral is: a wonder built by men who saw a vision of God, and tried desperately to give expression to that vision, somehow.

And so what moved me also was to behold this beauty, this accomplishment, this composition, this "word" -- it was spoken; this symphony exists, and it is still playing. And because it is the work of Christendom, it's not just "theirs," it's ours. And in that moment, it was mine.

Also, I was moved because...it's still here. So much was destroyed in the second world war -- this cathedral took fourteen hits from allied bombing, and it needed repair. A poignant reminder of the effects of the war is found in the windows:

I'm not sure if you can see it in this picture -- that's Saint Christopher in the foreground -- but high up, you might be able to see a line in the windows: below are images, above are windows with only geometric patterns. While I don't know which, many of the windows were destroyed in the war, and their replacements are not their equal.

No, dear reader, I didn't forget about the famous relics that are housed here -- the bones of the Magi. Alas, I have no good photograph of that, as they are kept in the apse of the church, and this was off limits -- even to me!

But here are some lovely images from the cathedral.

This picture is amazing -- I've never seen anything like it. You'll have to blow this up to see what I'm going to describe. Do you see the rays coming in the window, over the shoulder of the Archangel Gabriel, kneeling before our Lady? In the center of the rays, can you see the dove, and more rays from the dove? When I saw this, I saw what you see now: something odd there, right in front of Mary's face. But looking closer, they are words. And they are written backward -- i.e., they begin from Mary, and go away from her, indicating they are her words: "Ecce ancillae Domini" -- "behold, the handmaid of the Lord.

That's when I saw the image of the Father, outside the window. Then I noticed the words on the book, open beside our Lady: from Isaiah 7:14: Behold, a virgin shall conceive and bear a child. It all clicked. Do you see what the artist is showing us? Gabriel interrupted Mary in prayer and contemplation; he speaks God's message; Mary gives her fiat -- and her very words convey, if you will, the indwelling of the Holy Spirit that effects the Incarnation. Beautiful!

Well, I would love to tarry at Cologne, but I must travel backwards in time to my first day, and then I'll describe today's adventures.

From Frankfurt Airport, I made my way first to Koblenz. Why here? My original plan was to make my first stop Aachen -- the place where Charlemagne was crowned, and where his bones remain to this day. But I discovered Koblenz had a cool monument which I decided to go see: the Deutsches Eck. This is the site of a famous monument to German unification, first erected in 1897 to honor Kaiser Wilhelm I (not the execrable Wilhelm number 2), who became the first emperor of a united Germany. It was wrecked during World War II, but when Germany was divided by the Cold War, the monument was restored.

Now, this is as good a moment to explain that I'm now driving in Europe. I don't do this often; and I've never driven, of course, in Germany. May I remind you, dear reader, that in addition to having "two way" streets that are narrower than our one-way streets in the United States, virtually nothing on the signs makes any sense to me (more on that later)? And, because car rentals are terribly expensive here, I'm driving an econobox and I fit into it...badly (although I figured out how to adjust seat -- but not until much later). And, all but the high-end rentals were standard-shift transmission. Now, I know how to drive a stick, but it's been (*cough!*-eleven-*cough*) years since I drove one. Starting out, I was a bit...rusty.

Oh, and I did I mention that everything isn't in the same spot on a German Opel as it is on cars I'm familiar with?

Oh, and did I mention I was driving on the autobahn? Where they don't have a "fast lane," they have a freaking really fast lane?

And did I mention that I had no directions?

So you get the picture. But years ago, I learned how to find the center of town, and that usually does the trick. It did this time. And, thankfully, this is a famous enough monument to merit mention on signs -- and that much I could figure out. So I found my way through the town, and found a free -- that is, available -- parking space in what seemed the right area, and stepped out, and approached a couple with halting German: "Bitte...wo ist...Deutches Eck?" The man smiled and nodded over my shoulder; I turned around, and gasped, and we all laughed. It was several hundred yards away, but unmistakeable. Here it is much closer:

 Well, this doesn't give you much sense how big it is. Maybe this will:

 That's the Kaiser's horse above me. And here's a shot I took from that area below (there were stairs going up to where the statue is, but predictably, they were closed):

That's the Rhine as it flows northward to the sea. Get a load of that shadow, however!

Well, that was a lovely visit, but it was about 3, and I wanted to get to the cathedral in Aachen before it closed, if possible, so I could inquire about offering Holy Mass there the next day. Thankfully, Aachen wasn't terribly far.

Now, I imagine some of my readers have driven in the ancient cities of Europe, so you can laugh at this next part. But for those of you who, like me, haven't done this...well, I have some middling idea of what "rats in a maze" psychology might be like. Round and round the streets go, not in grid patterns. And they were plenty wide for people, and probably horses, but cars? Going both ways?

(By the way, have you considered why Europe's cities are like this, but ours, with few exceptions, are not? My theory: because Europe's cities were built as fortresses; ours weren't. Yes, I can hear you say, "but what about Fort Worth and Fort Wayne?" Yes, but how long was Fort Worth an actual fort? These cities were fortresses for a really long time.)

Well, somehow I found my way to the center of the city; and, thankfully, they're really proud of their cathedrals, so the word "Dom" shows up on signs, which I figured out in Cologne. But there's no such thing as free parking at these "downtown churches"!

Anyway, here's a view from the parking deck:

If it looks like a crazy-quilt, you're right. You can read about it here (and find better pictures).

Well, thanks to the help of my guardian angels (they are exhausted, by the way -- at least, they should be), I found someone who found someone who found the sacristan, and he said I could offer Mass at 8:30 the next morning. I didn't tarry to visit the cathedral then, because I figured I'd have time to do that the next day.

It was a bit of a trick getting out of town -- round and round -- but at one point, I saw a sign for "Vaals." And then I remembered what I'd read about that town: it's right near the border with the Netherlands and Belgium, and there's a spot where all three countries meet. It was about 5 pm, and it was only a few miles away, so why not? So -- no map, no German, certainly no Dutch or Flemish -- off I go!

Sure enough, the Netherlands were just a few miles down the road. Thankfully, no border crossing anymore; it's like driving from Indiana to Ohio (or even Hyde Park to Delhi!). With my guardian angels' help, I found the spot:

And here's my shot, looking down from above. I think I was in Germany when I took this shot:

A little after this, I chatted with a couple from the Netherlands, and he claimed someone figured out the marker was in the wrong spot by about 60 meters, but no one could be bothered to put it right. Well, heck! I wasn't going to go home and have to admit I missed Belgium by a few yards, so I hiked over in the general direction...and sure enough: where the signs were in Dutch at the mini-amusement park I'd come through to the spot, on the other side were signs in French, which is what they speak in this part of Belgium.

At this point, the shadows were lengthening (not as long as this post will be -- hoo boy!), so I thought I'd better get back. Did I mention I had no directions to my hotel, just the name, and the address? And a street "grid" only the Riddler could love? And, now, I'm in a whole different country -- and I'm not sure which one? Or how to get back?

Well, round and round I went, through Belgium, then the Netherlands, then Belgium again, before I found the road I'd taken from Germany. Then I found my way to the south -- was it south? -- side of Aachen. More rabbit-warrens pretending to be city streets. How I did it I have no idea (yes I do: I prayed to Saint Anthony), but I found my way to "Adenauer Allee" (that's Konrad Adenauer, a great man), and there's my hotel at the intersection of -- get this! -- "Karl Marx Allee"!

So next day, I am back at Aachen Cathedral. The sacristan -- Norbert -- is waiting, and shows me to a small chapel, hidden away. He provided me a Latin missal, and I was set. After Mass, my plan was to get some breakfast, and then come back to visit the cathedral.

When I came back, they were just finishing up from a public Mass, and I began getting some pictures. Did you notice in the picture above how the cathedral looks like several buildings crammed together? In the middle is an octagonal building, more or less the earliest. Here's the inside of the rotunda:

If it seems very Byzantine in style, you're correct. Remember, this long predates the Gothic period; this was built for the new Roman Emperor, as Charlemagne styled himself. When he crowned himself, in this city, in AD 800, Irene reigned as Empress in Constantinople.

About this time, Norbert sees me -- he's behind the altar, getting things together after Mass, and he signals me. When I walk over, he says a few words to another fellow, who opens the gate that leads to the "choir" area behind the altar, which otherwise was off limits. Some other visitors see this; but my new friend shakes his head -- just me.

My new friend -- Johann -- takes me back where I get this photo:

But that's after a lot of "ohmygosh's" as I just stare. Looking over, Johann is grinning. That's when I gesture toward this (the photo isn't mine, which wasn't very good):

"Is that...?"

Johann nodded. "Charlemagne." Ohmygosh.

Behind me I'd noticed another gold casket:

This contains four precious relics: swaddling clothes used by the Blessed Mother, as well as her mantle; the Lord's loincloth, and the cloth that held the head of John the Baptist. The relics are displayed every few years, last in 2007.

This cathedral served as the imperial cathedral for centuries, witnessing the crowning of many kings and emperors. Emperor Otto I is buried here, for example.

After gawking for awhile, I realized Norbert and Johann had other things to do, so I turned to find my way out. Norbert has other ideas. He walks up into the huge pulpit; am I supposed to follow? No, stay there, he gestures. Then he unfolds the panels of the pulpit -- depicting the four evangelists -- to reveal this:

This ambo was a gift of Emperor Saint Henry II, about whom I hope to say more in my next post.

After this, Johann led me out of the choir, and to the back, and up some staires. He had one more treasure to show me:

That is the Throne of Charlemagne, commissioned by the emperor himself. It was used for coronations until the 16th century. Johann pointed out to me some graffiti scratched into one side; but he spoke almost no English, so I didn't know what he was telling me.

I'm guessing he was telling me what you can read at the link I gave you: that the marble used for this throne was used before. One theory is that the stone was taken from the Church of the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem -- i.e., the site of our Lord's crucifixion. Or, they may have been the steps of Pilate's palace. Scratched into the side are lines that form a board for an ancient game that Roman soldiers would have known, but was played for many centuries after as well.

Sorry, I'm telling this story like a Quentin Tarantino movie; but to clarify, after having Mass in Aachen on Friday, I visited Cologne Cathedral, and then drove to Marburg -- where I had my no-Internet follies (the two women at the desk somehow got the notion that the problem must be my computer, or the password -- even though I never used the password, as I never got that far).

That brings me to this morning. After breakfast at the hotel near Marburg (at which the Internet finally made an appearance, enabling me to upload, from my iPad, all the pictures I've shown you so far), I drove into the city of Marburg. What will we find there?

Why, the church where Saint Elizabeth of Hungary was buried. I'd love to tell her wonderful story, but this post is too long as it is. Go look it up! I was surprised, just now, to see two facts I hadn't known about: first, that her aunt was Saint Hedwig; and two, she died at 24. But what I had known about her was that she was devoted to caring for the poor; after her husband, the "Landgrave" of Thuringia, died, charity became her whole life; and when she died, all she had left of her possessions was a worn out blue dress, in which she was buried.

So here is Elizabethkirke in Marburg, as I approached it:

And here is Elizabeth herself:

As I looked around the church, I wondered what all Catholics ask: where is the Blessed Sacrament? And as I took note of more and more odd things, a terrible realization came over me: this is no longer a Catholic church!. Sure enough: there was no Blessed Sacrament; and the prayer books bore the word, Evangelische.

The pamphlet I'd picked up at the door explained that when the Protestant movement began to spread, the reigning prince, Philip of Hesse, was a supporter of Luther, and so this became a Protestant church, which it remains to this day.

One of the things Philip detested was the way the faithful flocked to the church to venerate the bones of Saint Elizabeth, who was buried here. So her remains were taken away; some of them are kept in Vienna.

This is place where her grave had been:

And this is the reliquary that once held the Saint's remains. Notice -- the pious prince kept this (it's still in the church):

Notice, behind this altar: a rood screen:

Notice anything odd? Look at the niches in the screen, what do you see? Not statues of saints. According to the literature the church provided, there were statues, but they were destroyed, all but two -- of Peter and Paul -- which were displayed on a side wall.

Now look again: the niches aren't empty. Instead of the statues, what do you see? No, I don't know what they are, either; but they appear to be shapeless hunks of stone. Progress, eh?

But I don't want to leave you on that sad note. Thankfully, much beauty had been preserved. I showed you the lovely image of Saint Elizabeth. Here is a nice image of our Lord, on one of the pillars:

And here is a very lovely image of our Lady, holding our infant Lord (with Saints Elizabeth and Catherine on either side) right in the center of the church, to one side:

Apparently, even iconoclasts' hearts can be melted.

So that was this morning. My journey took me southeast from Marburg, across farmland that could have been southern Ohio, to Fulda, where Saint Boniface, Apostle to the Germans, is buried. I took some pictures, but my iPad has died, so I can't upload those pictures at the moment! I hope I can tell you about that visit tomorrow; it was amazing.

From Fulda, I continued south to Bamberg, where I am now. I'm feeling pretty good at the moment, but when I checked in, before the dinner I described at the outset, I was pretty worked up. I had exactly one nerve left, and woe betide anyone who got on it! Let me tell that story and bring this post -- at last! -- to a close.

Remember what I said about streets like rabbit warrens? That's Bamberg, only moreso. Now, I managed to get to the cathedral without too many problems, and I managed to get down into the town, and after asking folks, I found the street where my hotel was. That is, I found the general vicinity; I parked, and walked two short blocks and there it was.

But is this a hotel? It looked like a restaurant and a bar; in fact, there were a number of people out in front, drinking beer. Seeing my furrowed brow, a fellow out front paused from his beer, and confirmed this was the place and pointed to the right door.

So I went to the counter and explained I had a reservation. Puzzled look in response. I'd seen that before on this trip -- so I showed the lady my reservation on my iPad. She smiled and pointed to the dates: I'd reserved Sunday night, not Saturday. D'oh! But she smiled and fixed it, no problem.

Now, a parking space so close to the hotel is pretty good, based on my experiences so far, so I was content to leave my car where it was. But the lady at the counter advised me I couldn't do that. To my surprise, the hotel -- which is wedged in pretty tight quarters -- has "underground" parking! Get outta here! But here's my problem: I haven't got a single clue how to get my car, only two short blocks away, from there to here.

Coming out of the hotel, I waved at the fellow who'd helped me on the way in; and I told him my problem.

No problem! (He spoke a fair amount of English.) He proceeded to explain to me how, if I go up there -- ignore the "do not enter" signs! -- across there, down, and at the first crossing, turn right, and you'll be right here!

Great, I said, thinking -- OK, if I go now, I should be able to keep all that in my head...

Only he wanted to know what brought me to Bamberg. I explained, a pilgrimage, to visit the graves of Henry and Cunegunde.

Oh, he said, that's great. Then he encouraged me to visit the museum next door. Then he proceeded to tell me of his interest in matters anthropological and mythical (while I'm rehearsing in my head how I'm supposed to get my car back here); then he tells me how terrible Henry really was (did I mention I was dressed as a priest?), and actually bought sainthood...

Then he tells me how Cunegunde was really a kind of new version of an ancient fertility goddess ("with many breasts!"), and so and so on...

Meanwhile, I am thinking, in no particular order:

> I was grateful to you a moment ago because you were friendly and helpful; but now you're piling one astonishing insult to my faith on top of another, and under any other circumstances...
> Mainly, I'm in a  state of shock, because I'm thinking, no, I'm just tired; this conversation cannot actually be happening, can it?
> Does he not know I'm a Catholic priest? I am wearing my collar, am I not? (I resist the temptation to reach and make sure.)
> Am I still smiling? Should I be? Should I frown? I don't want to be rude.
> Meanwhile, the detailed explanation of getting from there to here is decaying in my mind -- and there's absolutely no way I'm asking again...

Well, somehow I broke away. And I think you can guess what happened next.

The directions didn't work; or perhaps I didn't follow them closely. I have to tell you, after making the attempt several times ("round and round I go, up and down I go"), I really don't know what to say. I could swear the cathedral -- which is up on the hill above us -- moved several times just to mess with my head.

So I drove up, and around, only to end up where I was -- but not where I wanted to be. Each time, I tried a larger circle. And yet...back to the same spot. So, of course, that means I have to try something different, right? What do we call doing the same thing over and over, expecting a different result?

So I did--I turned down a new "street." Well, this really was an alley; and to make it even better, after a couple of turns, it proved to be a dead end alley.

Now, I imagine the locals turn around in these situations; but I lack that experience. So I had one choice: backing out.

Did I mention this car has a sensor, and if you get too close to something, it beeps? Guess what happened? A lot?

OK -- after several joggers came through, and after a gaggle of tourists cleared out, I backed back to the, er, "main" alley.

Round and round. Up and down. I tried a new approach. All I wanted to do, at this point, was get off this *!@# hill. Down a new street; this looks promising, there are arrows! I barreled ahead...only to find I was at the entrance of a footbridge. Another dead end. (Actually, my third; but the second wasn't too bad.)

At this point, you may think I was tempted to curse and swear. But not really.

In fact, my primary temptation at this point was to abandon my car.

Well, I didn't. And once again, my guardian angels got me off the hill. I went down, crossed the river, went around...briefly up a narrow ramp the wrong way (at least I think I was going the wrong way--who knows?), I got around, at last, more or less where I wanted to be.

And then, a true moment of grace. An epiphany.

Suddenly, a thought came to me. If you're not careful, you're gonna mess this up...again. For heaven's sake, stop and ask before it's too late.

So I did. I saw a fellow, and said, "Bitte, wo ist Dominikaner Strasse?"

Unfortunately, he didn't give me a short answer. And it was all in German. More with gestures than words, I asked -- "this way?" "that?" Basically, his answer had to have been, "not so simple." His wife  (who had some English) came out; same result.

Finally, she says -- with broken English and gestures -- that her husband will show me. He'll get in his car, I'll get in mine, and follow him. Oh hallelujah!

THIS WORKS!

My mistake, it turned out, was to think that was a pedestrian path between those buildings. Silly American! My new friend just plowed down it, the families out for a stroll helpfully clearing the way; and about two blocks further, there it was!

That led to my car being parked (a good hour after checking in); dinner with new friends, this Dostoyevski-length post...and now it's time for bed.

___
* Apologies for all butchering of the German language; but you have to try, and if you humbly grin a lot, it seems to go a long way with folks.