Gottenheim and Breisach

Elias, in bed reading, wanted to know why he had to go to bed, whereas Stefan and I get to stay up late and drink Ovaltine. I told him it was because we’re grown ups and we have all the power. Seeking justice, he asked, “so will I get to stay up until 9:30 and drink Ovaltine when I’m grown up?” You got it, kid.

Now that his head has hit the pillow, we’re finally enjoying some quiet. From the moment Elias and I stepped out the door this morning, until now, he’s been chattering non-stop. Setting the bar high for most of his verbal communication today, he started by finding out how “Puff the Magic Dragon” would sound if he used his fingers to hold his tongue outside of his mouth while he sang. Then he lowered the bar.

After Stefan went to work in Freiburg, Elias and I walked from Waltershofen to Gottenheim—about 5km along the ridge of the Tuniberg, following paved bike routes that meandered past vineyards and fields of corn and overgrown asparagus. Upon entering Gottenheim, we discovered a park with a zip line. Elias could have stayed all day, but instead we headed down to the Bahnhof and caught a train to Breisach.

Breisach is on the east side of the Rhine River; on the other side is France. The town is an odd mix of the very very old (some bits and pieces go back to the 12^th century), 1950s post-war modernism, and industrial storage tanks. About 85% of the town was destroyed in World War II.

High atop the town is the St. Stephansmünster, built between the 12^th and 15^th centuries, and restored after the war. Near the Münster, we found a small stone memorial and a chilling plaque: “To the memory of the Breisacher Jews, who on 22 October 1940, together with all Badisch, Pfälzisch, and Saarländisch Jews, were deported to the concentration camp Gurs in the French Pyrenees. We cannot alter the past, but the future lies in our hands” (2004). The Breisach synagogue, built in 1804, was burned down in November 1938, shortly after Kristallnacht; another memorial (which we didn’t go see) stands on that site. There's apparently still an active Jewish community in Breisach that serves the town and the surrounding communities.

After lunch, Elias and I played a round of mini-golf at the dumpy mini-golf course across the street from the RV park on the Rhine, then went for a walk around Breisach’s Eckartsberg. Eckartsberg is a terraced vineyard; its walls include parts of the original city walls dating from the 14^th century, and on top are some remains of old city fortifications with the European flag flying in the breeze to symbolize unity.

The walk along the Eckartsberg is designated “Lyrik am Weg,” a walking tour that includes plaques with poems. We observed two genres of poems: those of the “O Rhein, your wines are so great” variety, and those of the “O Rhein, you separator of formerly fighting nations now at peace” variety. Among the former was this tidbit from Goethe: “Trunken müssen wir alle sein! / Jugend is Trunkenheit ohne Wein...” (“We must all be drunk! / Youth is drunkenness without wine...”). There's more to the poem, but I was greatful to Goethe for those first two lines. Perhaps 8-year-olds jibber-jabbered in his time as well.

Among the latter variety were poems such as this by Lina Ritter (1888-1981): “Warum trennt uns e Rhi? / Ass mir zeige chenne, wie / me Brucke bäut.” The poem is in Alemannisch, the dialect spoken in this region, so the sign translated it into Hochdeutsch: “Warum trennt uns der Rhein? / Damit wir zeigen können, / wie man Brücken baut” (“Why does the Rhine separate us? So that we can show how one builds bridges”).

The Eckartsberg walk took us close to the freeway over the Rhine, and Elias decided we should walk to France. Alas, the site of his first steps on French soil did not show the country in its best light.

Stefan met up with us in Breisach after work. After more wandering and dinner, we drove home—stopping off at the very fun zip line in Gottenheim, the highlight of Elias’s day.