Photo of the Week: Rottinger

This is typical of the small German towns along the Romantic Road in Bavaria. Rottinger doesn't even warrant a mention in most guidebooks, and there's not a whole lot to do other than wander around, but if you have a car, it's fun to stop and see a little bit of what "real" German life is like, as opposed to the touristy areas right next to the train stations.

Photo of the Week - Castle Guard in Prague

This photo was taken at the Castle Quarter in Prague. I'm actually curious how close I would have had to get before I either got a reaction out of this guy or was kindly escorted away by his comrades (or colleagues, since we're talking post-communist era here).

Though my ushanka with its Soviet emblem clearly labeled me as a tourist, I couldn't resist buying it. The shopkeeper swore that the emblem wouldn't offend anyone, but I removed it shortly after this photo was taken and only replaced it when I got back to the States.

Incidentally, about a third of Prague's population sports similar fur hats in the winter, and my touristy trinket actually helped me fit in - until I opened my mouth and butchered the language.

The two vents in the photo (one under the guard's feet and the other just behind it in the shack) are heaters to keep the guys warm.

Hundredth Post - My Five Favorites

After 99 previous posts, I have a few I particularly like, so I'll just list them here.

I'm not sure if I like them for the merit of the writing, the subject matter or from remembering the experience, but they stick out to me as my favorites. Click on the bold text for the original article.

Paris Throws a Party
This was my first blog post, and I originally wrote it as an assignment for my column and review writing class in college. I had a habit of procrastinating, and that assignment was no different. I wrote it an hour before it was due in The State Hornet newsroom while the fire alarm was going off over my head and my editor was interviewing me for a copy editing position (no joke). It worked out, since I got an A on the assignment, I got the copy editing job and the school didn't burn down.

Bruges: Belgium's Jewel
In the movie In Bruges, the characters hate this canal city that was the financial capital of Europe in the past. I happen to love it, and I plan on returning. It's tied with Rothenburg ob der Tauber for my favorite small town in the world.

Prague at Dawn
I really enjoyed Prague. It had a special appeal as it was my first trip to a former Communist Bloc country. Wandering around the city by myself an hour before dawn and watching it wake up was a unique experience, and one I hope to replicate the next time I'm in Paris.

A visit to Normandy
Having minored in European history in college, and having been interested in World War II before that, Normandy always held a special fascination with me. Growing up, I never thought I would get the chance to visit the battlefield.

The Mad King's Fairy Tale Castle
Schloss Neuschwanstein is the epitome of a fairy tale castle, and it should be at the top of the list for anyone visiting Germany. Disney based a castle on it, and it has graced thousands of postcards, TV shows and movies. The views from the top of the Alps and the nearby lowlands are fantastic, and a walk across the wood-planked bridge nearby isn't for those with a fear of heights.

Photo of the Week: Home of the Sun King

This is the home King Louis XIV had built - Versailles. Not far from Paris, I stopped here on the way to Normandy with my family. We had our luggage with us, but didn't think it would be a problem, since there is luggage storage at the palace.

Rolling a suitcase, however, across all those cobblestones not only takes forever and jars your whole arm with each stone after a while, but it is also incredibly loud.

Despite that, the palace was worth it. As were the gardens (which I don't have pictures of, unfortunately).

Keysersberg: Simple Living in the Alsatian Vineyards

Keysersberg barely rates a paragraph in most guide books, but it really is worth a visit.

It's not unlike a host of similar towns in Alsace, and that in itself is the draw for me. Located just a short distance from Colmar on the eastern edge of France, Keysersberg is a quick drive to a place that is largely away from the tourist crowds - at least when I was there in December.

Surrounded by vineyards, Keysersberg is dominated by a ruined castle on a hill. The buildings themselves looked medieval, and I like to think someone transported from 400 years ago would recognize the town.

The first thing I saw when I approached the canal was a rainbow. After taking a few pictures, I walked through the old streets with my family, crossed stone bridges and headed toward the castle, which was flying the Tricolor, giving me the hope that I could climb its tower.

The hill on which the castle stood was blocked by a wall, and I hoped it was possible to reach the ruin. I stepped into a shop and, in my halting French, asked if it was possible to get up to the building. The problem with knowing just enough of a language to ask directions is that it's impossible to understand the response, but after quite a bit of pointing, I got the message.

Two paths actually led up to the castle, and we followed the nearest one as it wound through a copse of trees and past vineyards before finally ending at the castle walls.

Once inside, I immediately headed for the tower, expecting a closed and locked door, but was happily surprised to find it open. It's the kind of thing that would probably never happen in the United States, and I climbed to the top for a great view of Keysersberg and the surrounding lands.


Keysersberg probably won't ever be a tourist attraction like Rothenburg, Germany, simply because there isn't much to do once you're done wandering the handful of streets and seeing the castle, but it's definitely worth a trip if you're looking for small-town charm. I still find it hard to believe that people live in these sorts of places, since they're what you see in fairy tale books when you're growing up, but for the inhabitants of Keysersberg and the many villages like it, it's just life.

Photo of the Week: Fortress

This is part of a French fortress on the island of Saint Martin, in the French Antilles (Sint Maarten in the Dutch Antilles). The island is divided between French and Dutch sides, and really wasn't what I was expecting. Though it's in the Caribbean, it feels more desert than tropical, but it's still worth a visit, and the guavaberry liqueur - and all its associated beverages - is awesome.

This photo is about as close as I got to the fort since time was limited (a drawback of going on cruises), but I could just imagine how imposing it must have looked to a Royal Navy or pirate vessel when the Caribbean, with its crops of tobacco and sugar, was one of the economic trade centers of the world and was the scene of intense battles at times.

Photo of the Week: Austrian Movie Appearance

This is the back side of the house used in the movie "The Sound of Music." The front side was a different building entirely, but both are relatively close together in Salzburg, Austria, where "The Sound of Music" tours abound. The lake in the foreground is manmade.

If you enlarge the photo by clicking on it, you can just see the walls of Schloss Hohensalzburg (Salzburg's castle) above and to the left of the house.

Lake Tahoe's Emerald Bay and Vikingsholm

My fascination with international travel sometimes blinds me to the superb natural beauty just a short drive from my own house. I dream of hiking in the Swiss Alps and revisiting Austria’s Lake District, but I often forget that some of the world’s best places are so close. Last week, I decided it was time to go to Lake Tahoe, and visit the part I feel is the most beautiful, Emerald Bay.

While Tahoe has a host of lodgings, from the cheap to the quaint to the luxurious, this trip was all about camping. My family and I stayed at the D.L. Bliss campground, which is just a short drive from Emerald Bay, and walking distance to the lake in general.

We arrived to the news that bears were frequenting the campground, and I was ecstatic. I’ve only seen one bear in the wild, and I wanted to get a good shot with my new camera. Eating lunch at the Old Tahoe Café in Homewood a bit later, we saw pictures on the wall of when a bear had stopped by in April, sneaked in the back door just after the lunch rush and made himself at home. We drove back to camp to set up, and I kept my eyes open for one.

Reluctantly leaving the possibility of seeing a bear, we went to Emerald Bay. Standing at the overlook above Vikingsholm, I gazed out across the long, narrow inlet with Fanette Island rising prominently out of the deep blue water. Sailboats, a paddle-wheeler and a bevy of kayaks and powerboats cruised and darted throughout it, and the tree-covered mountains rose above the shores.

As darkness fell, we drove to the next overlook, a short jaunt down Highway 89. Having gotten our fill of Emerald Bay for the day, we headed to Southshore to eat at a brewpub and saw the sunset from the nearby beach.

Back at camp, sitting around the fire an hour later, I had my camera ready to get a great shot of the bear I was hoping would be attracted by the dogs’ food. I grew tired, and decided the bear would have to wait for another day. I stepped out onto the campground’s road and looked up to see the Milky Way.

Staring at the stars is one of my favorite pastimes when camping, and though I’m no astronomer, I like locating the major constellations while I wait to see a falling star or a satellite passing by. After two falling stars and one satellite, my neck was aching from staring up, and I was really, really tired.

The next morning, we all rented kayaks and paddled around Meeks Bay, then went back to Emerald Bay to do something I have always wanted to, but haven’t in the 25 years I’ve lived so close.

On the shore of Emerald Bay at the shortest distance to Fanette Island sits a structure that looks like it was transplanted from the colder regions of Europe, and that was exactly the idea when Lora J. Knight had the house built in 1929.

Knight was a wealthy woman who seems to have been as obsessed with travel as I am. She had traveled to many foreign countries, including those in Scandinavia. Emerald Bay reminded her of the fjords in those countries, and she was determined to recreate the architecture and style of the buildings there and live in the result in California. To make sure she and her nephew, the architect, got it right, they traveled back to Scandinavia and took photographs of a multitude of buildings.

The foundation was laid in 1928, but did not get any further until 1929, when a construction crew numbering from as little as 25 at times to as many as 200 at others finished the house and the small 16’X16’ tea house on Fanette Island which can still be visited by boat today. She called her new home Vikingsholm.

The hike down to Vikingsholm follows a winding path that isn’t quite a road. I was there on a Saturday, and it was very crowded, with parking at a premium. After finally finding a spot, I followed the path down the mountain. Evergreens rose on both sides, and the wildlife scampered across the ground and flitted from tree to tree.

As I passed a family carrying lunch down to the shore, I noticed everyone was speaking French. It turned out that they were from Paris and were there on vacation. It was a great reminder that Lake Tahoe remains one of California’s premier attractions.

When I reached the base of the mountain, I walked a short distance along a winding path through the trees to come to the stone and wood Vikingsholm. Though I had seen the front side from the overlook several times over the years, I never knew that the home was so big, set up in castle fashion with an interior courtyard, servants quarters and a garage housing a 1936 Dodge.

It cost a paltry $5 to get in and take the tour, and it was well worth it. The guides explained the sights and furniture, some of which is original and some of which was reproduced during the 1920s to mimic Scandinavian designs.

One thing I was truly amazed at was the scope of Knight’s generosity. She was fantastically wealthy, but apparently didn’t let it get to her head at all. Though it was the height of the Great Depression, Knight kept a full household staff – in duplicate so they could have days off. She gave her workers paid holidays and even financed their downtime in the Tahoe Tavern in Tahoe City (which has since burned down). She set up some of her servants’ children with college funds and allowed their families to visit them at her home. She even willed them all $1,000 for each year of service that they received when she died in 1945.

The generosity evident at Vikingsholm isn’t just limited to Knight. The second long-term owner was a man named Harvey West. He agreed to donate half of the appraised value of the site to the state if the state would pay the other half. The state readily agreed, and took ownership in 1953 for a bargain.

As I walked through the carved wood door with its iron strap hinges so reminiscent of fairy tales, I appreciated what an effort went into building the house. The materials all came from nearby, and it turned out that my great-grandfather worked at the mill where much of the wood came from at the time the house was built. I ran my fingers along a portion of the wall and found myself wondering if I could be touching the same piece of wood as one of my ancestors whom I never had the fortune of meeting.

The décor inside was authentic to Scandinavian designs, and it was a perfect way to get a sense of what Scandinavia is really like since going there doesn’t exactly fit into my current budget and plans.

Once I was done touring the inside, I stepped into the courtyard and shook my head in wonder at the sod roofs on some of the buildings. They replicate a Scandinavian style, and used to sprout wildflowers, though they no longer do, at least until they are restored. Above the roofs rose the ever-present mountain views Tahoe is fortunate to have. Rocky peaks reached skyward a couple thousand feet above me, and I could imagine I was actually in one of the fjords Lora Knight was reminded of when she envisioned Vikingsholm.

When it was time to go home, I couldn’t believe that it took me 25 years and so many trips to Lake Tahoe that I’ve honestly lost count before I visited Vikingsholm. Not only are the stories of Lora Knight and Harvey West inspiring, but the serenity of the natural surroundings is second to none. And, speaking of nature, I never did see that bear, though I did get to see a great sunset when I wandered from the camp in search of one of the beasts.

The Hounds of Cheverny

France's Loire Valley is home to some of the most magnificent buildings in the world. One of the most interesting is the Château de Cheverny. Originally a fortified castle, the present building shows no signs of military architecture. As France became more stabilized after the 30 Years War, nobles tended to focus more on opulence than security.

The current château was built in the style of Louis XIII, and features symmetrical architecture, with lavishly decorated rooms, the obligatory suits of armor, and, of course, 70-odd hunting dogs which battle for a meal every day.

La soupe des chiens - the feeding of the dogs - is one of the more entertaining sights I have seen. As the time for the feeding drew near, I joined the huddle of tourists at the dog pen, enclosed by sturdy iron bars and a gate at the base of a ramp to a secondary enclosure.


The dogs knew what was happening. A few of the more eager ones ran laps in front of the assembled tourists, while others didn't seem to want to get their hopes up just yet. When a man in a blue lab coat carrying a whip came out, followed by two others who started to hose off the ground of the otherwise-empty enclosure, the dogs went nuts. They barked, bayed and howled as they jumped and pushed against each other to get close to the gate.

After hosing the ground clean, the two men opened an old wood door and began shoveling out the feast the dogs were about to consume. A layer of meat was covered by shovels full of standard dog food. The pile looked like someone had dumped a trough out and left all the food.

"Release the hounds!" the labcoated trainer called. (OK, so I don't know what the exact French words were, but that's what I imagined he said).

One of the assistants opened the gate, and a flood of canines charged through the opening, the only thing between them and the food being a few yards of wet ground.

Then they stopped when the trainer flicked his wrist. Every single one of them stood a foot or so back from the food. They whined and jostled for position, awaiting the trainer's command. Some even tried to climb on the backs of those in front. Once the trainer determined there had been sufficient anticipation, he gave a sharp command and stepped out of the way.

As one, the hounds leaped, charged, dove and scrambled for the feast. Some dug in only to be jumped on and pushed aside by others. Wagging tails waved in the air as the food was devoured faster than any of us watching probably imagined it could be.

It was over in a couple of minutes. A few scattered pieces of food lay at the far reaches of the pen before the dogs sniffed them out and ate them. Several of the hounds were cut and bloodied from the fray.

I started to walk away, then turned around and watched them a while longer. I wondered what the point was. Yes, the dogs were well-trained, and that was impressive, but other than it being a spectacle for tourists, I couldn't imagine a practical purpose for keeping them all from the food. Then again, I don't hunt, and I imagine keeping your dogs from tearing your food to ribbons is probably a concern.

The whole spectacle fit in perfectly with the surroundings. Standing on immaculately tended lawns looking at a building that served a nobleman as a palace, it makes sense that there should be an army of hunting dogs on the grounds. After all, the nobility of all European nations loved to hunt, and la soupe des chiens is an interesting way to bring the past to life.

The Mad King's Fairy Tale Castle

It’s the perfect castle in the perfect setting. Perched high in the German Alps, Neuschwanstein Castle is the epitome of the fairy tale palace with its beautiful white limestone facades accentuated by numerous turrets and spires. Windows are carved out of every wall and help attest to the fact that it was built as a home, not a fortress.

Standing at the base of the path, I watched a bus loaded with tourists pass me and was glad I had chosen to take the 30-minute hike from the parking lot to the castle. Aside from nearby Hohenschwangau Castle, there isn’t too much else to do. Nor is anything else necessary.

Neuschwanstein Castle towers over the village of Hohenschwangau, which is just a short bus ride or drive from Fussen, where the nearest train station is located. The mountains are dotted with evergreen trees and conceal numerous lakes graced with swans, the royal symbol. King Ludwig II, who ordered the castle built in the late 1860s, was a nature lover, and the views along the hike are spectacular.

I watched the shadows of clouds float lazily over a landscape dotted with villages that, aside from the modern roads, might have looked the same for centuries. The lakes were a rich blue, and all the vegetation was a lush green. When I rounded the last corner and got my first glimpse of the castle up close, I just stopped and stared.

It rose out of the rocky foundation and seemed to flirt with the sky. I knew right then why Disney chose to build the castle in Dinseyland in its likeness. My tour wasn’t for 20 minutes, so I walked around the base of the palace and climbed to its upper courtyard.

From the walls, I took in the same scenery I had seen on the hike up, but I saw it now as Ludwig II would have. For a moment, I let myself pretend it was my realm, and I was overseeing it from my seat of power.

I looked across a gorge at the Marienbrucke bridge spanning a small stream and waterfall. It was crowded with tourists from all over the world, and I realized I was making it into a few hundred photographs. I wanted to walk over and join them, but it was time for my tour.

I found the line I was supposed to be in and waited for the rest of my group to show up. The group in front of me was German. Though guided tours are only offered in German and English, many other options are availably by audio guide, and I heard a plethora of languages, including French, Italian, English, German, Japanese and Spanish.

When enough of us were there, our guide led us through the doors and into the first rooms, which belonged to the king’s servants. With their oak-paneled walls and carved furniture, even they lived well.

The tour seemed to jump around a little bit due to the fact that King Ludwig II died under mysterious circumstances before the castle’s completion, and the building was never finished. He supposedly drowned in a lake with his doctor, but both were excellent swimmers, and Ludwig had many enemies in his government who thought he was squandering resources on his retreat.

Walking through rooms with finery I had only thought existed in Versailles, I marveled at the beautiful paintings and depictions of medieval legends and heroes. Every inch of the interior dripped with elegance.

The throne room was particularly breathtaking. Though there was no throne, the platform for it was flanked by tall candelabras and capped off by a dome on which was a painting of Christ and His canonized kings.

As we walked, our guide related some of Ludwig’s and the castle’s history. The two are equally intertwined with the composer Richard Wagner, a close friend of the king. It was in a letter to Wagner that Ludwig first wrote his concept for Neuschwanstein.

After seeing the rest of the interior, the tour was over and I found myself back in the courtyard. I gazed over a parapet down to Hohenschwangau Castle, which should be seen in conjunction with Neuschwanstein on the combined admission ticket for €17. It’s a sight in its own right, but is outdone by Neuschwanstein.

Aching to see the castle from another angle, I took the short hike over to the Marienbrucke. And stopped. I don’t have a huge fear of heights, but the thought of walking out onto a bridge built more than a hundred years earlier and paved with wood planks made me hesitate. After all, I could see the castle just fine from the solid hill.

But I had to walk out there. It’s where the best photo of the castle’s side is. So I stepped onto the planks and rolled my eyes as they flexed with my movements and those of the rest of the tourists. I stared down at the waterfall farther below me than I cared to think about, and eventually let my eyes rise to see the castle again.

It was so easy to imagine the castle as the setting for any number of fairy tales. That it was real and I was standing, gazing at it took a while to set in. It simply awed me. To me, it will always be the most beautiful building in the world.

---This was first published here in a slightly different form.

The Tower on the Rhine

I had to climb it. I’d built forts as a kid, so when I saw a real one, I had to explore it. Never mind that I’d done that for much of the past week. The Rhine River is full of towers and castles as it winds through Germany, and I wanted to see as many as I could.

I stared up at the tower, which loomed above a small park, its masonry strong, but showing its age. In the shadow of the centuries-old building, children slid down a slide and played on a swing set. The small town spread out below the hill.

The oaken door was invitingly open, and I stepped through, to the chagrin of my family, who didn’t seem to care as much as I did to climb another tower. Aware of their reluctance, I paid the entrance fee (50 cents per person) and started climbing.

The tower’s many levels were a museum of medieval weaponry and artifacts. Sets of black armor hung along a wall, pikes and halberds standing between them. Swords, daggers and crossbows were displayed in glass cases in the center of the square rooms. I think there were some butter churns and pottery and junk too, but who has time to look at that when there’s a battleaxe in the next case?

My parents and sister were softening up to this attraction not listed in any of our guidebooks, and were actually slowing me down (because they wanted to see the butter churns and pots).

On the top floor, I passed a small alcove where the curator sat, reading a magazine. He came out to talk to us, overjoyed to practice his excellent English. He asked us the usual questions – where we were from, how long we were in Germany, etc. We made some small talk, then he asked us to wait and scurried off.

When he returned, he held an old leather-bound book in his hands. He set it down on an ancient-looking table and opened it.

“I found this a few years ago when I was cleaning,” he said. It was the original guestbook from when the tower was opened in the 1920s.

“You see,” he continued, “they go all the way. There are many Americans in here.” He flipped through page after page, and there were, indeed, many Brits, Americans, Germans, French and Italians, among other nationalities.

“Then we had a problem,” he announced, turning to an entry dated 1940. It was the last entry until 2002, when they started again in earnest. It was as if the intervening years had never happened. There were new entries from Brits, Americans, Germans, French and Italians. I smiled and signed my name and the date of my visit.

The final level of the tower was its roof. I stood between two of the ramparts and took in the view. The cloudless sky was a brilliant blue, contrasting with the stark green banks of the river, which were dotted with buildings and farms, crops growing on the gentle slopes.

It was easy to see how the tower could be used to exert power. Sitting on a spit of land jutting into the river, there was no way a boat could pass without its lord’s permission. Like many of the towers along the river, this one probably served as a customs checkpoint on what was the main economic thoroughfare of the time.

It was lunchtime, so we left the tower, saying goodbye to the friendly curator, and found a restaurant.

I would love to tell people where the tower is. The only problem with that is that I have no idea. All I do know is that it is somewhere on the Rhine between Bacharach and Bingen.