Ain't Europe Grand (Tour) with Chryss and George (Day 16)

A Town By Any Other Name Wouldn't Smell as Sweet

Day 16 we visit Cologne, but since we're docked for just over 13 hours, perhaps we should call that semi-Cologne. Yep, I have stooped to punctuation puns. No wonder the gargoyles seem about to retch. So let's show something sweeter, literally, a breakfast aboard the Vali. While Chryss and I got particularly fond of the egg benedict--and that's no typo, they served a single, which is a non-gorging perfect serving--I also discovered the blueberry pancakes weren't bad either. Especially with a little side boat of bacon, as nobody wants syrup on their bacon, at least no one I like.

And the view this morning from our cabin? Glad you asked.

Yeah, it looked threatening again, but rain held off all day. So think of it as a highly Germanic, dramatic cloud show.

Walking Tour, Cathedral Wins, Spires Up

Before we get to the 516 foot gorilla in Cologne, let's go on the day's walking tour, that first skirts the Rhine where a boat says, "I'm not afraid of you, Loreley."

Or, perhaps, it is hoping to get crashed into by another boat someday so somebody whose name sounds like butt in another language writes a famous poem about it. And then there's just beautiful buildings, mostly fake old while lots are quite modern (post 1945). The fake old part goes back to WWII again, as the allies, mostly the RAF, thought a great way to demoralize Germany would be to bomb die Scheiße out of Cologne. The first 1000 bomber squadron of the war dropped their long tons on Cologne. Many of the bombs were incendiaries, but luckily the city's grand, wide streets helped the fires from turning into massive firestorms. Not that the town didn't end up looking like this in 1945.

Let's not do war no more, ok?

But even the taverns can look lovely, once rebuilt to look the old they were, like this one right across from our mooring.

Not far was the Kölner Philharmonie, which you can, and cannot, see in this photo. For it's below plaza level, and that woman rolling her suitcase might be disturbing a recording, for all we know. Evidently she didn't read the signs saying don't walk, or even more so, roll stuff (including yourself) over these bricks.

Behind it is the Museum Ludwig, supposedly home to an amazing modern art collection. Again, one of the biggest faults to an otherwise fine cruise is you never feel you have enough shore time to dive into a place like the Ludwig. But it certainly plays off its neighbor the Cologne Cathedral quite effectively.

And before we get to Kolner Dom, look, here are two spires I can't ID, but make a cool photo!

And they turn trash into statues, even though, again, searching the nets I can't find the details I know our fine guide told us.

It's both fun to look at and a bit terrifying--all that's waste, and now it's a giant human. (Which is better than the large human who's a waste in the White House right now--pa da dum!).

We Go Goth

Words can't quite express the glory that is the Cologne Cathedral. Another one of those churches that got built over centuries, beginning in 1248 but not finished until 1880. And no, it didn't take that long, there were just a lot of stops and starts. It's even worse than trying to open a fully licensed new business in Santa Barbara!

Yep. the tip of the towers are 50 stories up. If you think the spire-tops are small, they disabuse you of that notion by putting models of them in the magnificent, tourist-jammed plaza.

Before we head in, here is its back, too, just because I love how much a Gothic cathedral looks like some defiant spiny creature--you can see why dragons might seem real to folks in the middle ages (or GoT fans, of course).

Just the doors are enough to impress, but you sort of have to have that given 20,000 people could fit inside.

And let's get our rhyming out of the way--there are doors and then there are as amazing floors.

Of course the hard part is to avoid looking up the whole time. So much interior space. So much light.

If not perhaps enough for me to take a shot of any of the stained glass I felt was worth sharing here. Not even of the controversial, but if you ask me abstractly beautiful, one that Gerhard Richter did for the south cross nave in 2007. Sorry. Instead, I do have a perfectly good focus on a deathly image, as usual.

Speaking of death, the cathedral goes all in on reliquaries, starting with the Engelbert Reliquary. While you thought Mr. Humperdinck's career was buried on The Love Boat and Fantasy Island...oh, wait, I just got a message from the Catholic home office...this Engelbert was one of those non-canonized saints who was Archbishop of Cologne back when the cathedral was a mere foundation stone. Still, what's left of him has quite a golden box to hold it.

Alas for Engelbert, his reliquary is practically Jan to the Marsha that's the Shrine of the Three Kings. which Those relics are why this site was a place to build what's now the third largest church in the world, as people have been pilgrimaging here to stand outside the box that holds some of the decaying parts of Melchior, Kaspar, and Balthazar. You need a lot of frankincense to cut that odor, or a lot of gold and jewels to hold it in. See if you can work myrrh in yourselves.

No Ifs, Tongues, or Butts

The Colognese (that can't be what the city's peoples are called, can it?)* are a saucy sort, even with a cathedral that would make a pope proud in the heart of their city. For on their City Hall one of the towers features a wooden face of a man who sticks his tongue out at the town every time the bells toll the hour.

*Turns out here's what they call themselves, as their own website insists: "Kölner are people who live here, Kölsche are those who where born here and in whose veins the pulse of this city can be felt."

My guess is it was a real Kölsche who decided to put up the sculpture across the plaza from the platzjabbeck above. That would be German sculptor Ewald Mataré, who in 1956 created Kallendresser. Sure, there's a history of people pooping from upper stories back in the day. But perhaps his work is an "artistic" way to tell town hall to lap some tuchas.

Heck, they even celebrate Mardi Gras here, if a statue for Mardi Gras is a hint. Or maybe it's just something to trick tourists to take photos of.

I do wish I remember the name of our great tour guide, a fine story-teller, good herder of cats. Here he is in front of some of the parts of the cathedral that have been replaced by newer parts--supposedly over 80 stonemasons, glaziers, roofers and other specialists are constantly at work on the maintenance and restoration of the building. So in addition to letting us see some of the work up-close, these massive stones double as something else in our tenuous 21st century--great barriers to keep some amped up asshole from making his mark on the world by barreling into the pedestrian-packed dom plaza with a vehicle. In this case, god does protect.

Krazy for Kölsch

Cologne has got its own beer, Kölsch. Kölsch is warm fermented with top-fermenting yeast, then conditioned at cold temperatures like a lager--as Wikipedia puts it. (You come up with a graceful paraphrase of that line.) So it's a bit of an ale, and a bit of a lager, and brilliantly bright, fresh, clean, clear and with a good hopiness if you're not looking for a West Coast IPA (we have done so much to make our tastebuds hope for a hop-bludgeoning, haven't we?) You can bet we made sure we drank some, and at different places. So after our shipboard lunch (photos of all that food is coming, don't worry), Chryss and I hightailed it out from the boat to check out one of the spots our fine local tour guide recommended, Sion.

A version of this brauhaus has been around almost as long as the cathedral, which just goes to figure. Even better, Kölsch has got a whole sort of drinking traditions built around it, like the order of the mass. There's a special 7 oz or so glass called a stangen, so you drink it cold and very fresh. You often order a few at once, and if you don't and your glass goes empty--which doesn't take much at such a size--the new one shows up without you saying a thing. So that's even more religious--that's a miracle of beery faith. To get the beers to stop, you need to put a coaster over the top of your glass. The waiter keeps your consumption score right on the paper tablecloth or another coaster. At Sion it's 1,90 Euros per.

We enjoyed Sion so much we ran back out after dinner, too, as our ship didn't sail until 10:30 pm. We dragged along Steven and Carol, as we knew we'd soon no longer see our fun friends. But that didn't stop us from one more night of German fun. (Not an oxymoron.) This time we tried Peters Brauhaus, which charmingly on its translated website suggests: "Pleasure independent of your wallet, 'Klaaf' with friends." We klaafed away. (I tried looking that up and it seems to translate as yap-yap?)

Watching the circular tray they call a crown fly through the bar like a UFO of pleasure--I could have spent a lot more time in Cologne's bars.

Across the Rhine

OK, I've blown all the straight chronology here, but given this post is going up months after the day took place, it's fortunate I can remember any of it, let alone in precise running order. After Sion Chryss and I walked some of the beer off, running into yet another St. George, who unlike this George, clearly knew how to lay off the Kölsch.

It's fun to check out the Rhine from over the Rhine, so we did that, too, hoping to get more saintly svelte. One thing I definitely got was more scenic shots than anyone needs to view, but here's one toward Hohenzollernbrucke and the cathedral.

And then the reverse shot, toward Severinbrucke. Both taken from Deutzer Brucke. Now you know the word for bridge in German, minus an umlaut.

That also meant we got to walk over where the Vali was docked, to get this great view of the shuffleboard and putt putt we never shuffled or putted on. Too much else to do!

All Aboard the Ship

I promised you lunch photos, so here you go, with something shrimpy-salady on bready in the back and the twirled for you spaghetti alla puttanesca up front, for all you fans of A Series of Unfortunate Events.

And soon we wouldn't be on a cruise so wouldn't have dessert at every meal. In the meantime--lemon meringue pie!

We also has a sadder moment, the Captain's Farewell Cocktail Party, since the next evening would be our final one on the Vali and I assume they figure everyone's too busy packing for their returns home to get a pre-dinner buzz on. (Amateurs!) Here's the head crew in their finest while we enjoyed sparkling.

As for dinner, I had to keep with the regional specialties, so here's rettichsalat--yep, radishes on pumpernickel. What could be wrong with that? I love the surprising sharp a radish hides.

Chryss went for a classic on the specials of the day menu, a crab cake with zippy scallion remoulade (plus some unidentified red, probably roasted pepper).

For mains I stuck with the regional menu, although I'm not quite sure how herb crusted ahi is particularly native to Cologne. Maybe it's the boiled potato and the very steaky presentation.

Chryss stuck with the evening's other specials, a risotto con zucchine, burrata e tartufo al limone, which, if anything just too much flavor.

And then here's a photo of Roger's dessert--after having the real thing in Vienna, I couldn't bring myself to try anything that might be a tragic falling off from Platonic ideals, but sachertorte has a pretty high floor, no matter.

Instead I opted to order from the "Classics: Always Available" side of the menu that adventurous-me barely even scanned otherwise. But being pretty full, with dinner and captain's toast and Kölsch before with yet more Kölsch in my future, I ordered fromagerie, figuring the whole table could nibble. And a fine collection of cheese, fruits, dried fruits and nuts it was--perfect for sharing.

After all that, and the second run to Peters, was Cologne all alight and gorgeous and glowing as we sailed on? You decide from these two, I admit, blurry wonders, but by then perhaps I was a third one, too.

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The Lure of the Rhine

What makes writing these even harder for me is untangling all the ephemeral pop references I've had to all these European places that for me had previously merely existed in film, book, or song. So this day the morning is devoted to "scenic sailing" (that's how our Viking Daily newsletter puts it), and it sure is, because once you enter this stretch of the Rhine from the Main, you can't swing a mace without hitting a castle.

What's more, there are spots like Loreley, a dangerous rocky curve in the river. Since ship captains of course can't be blamed for their lack of sailing prowess through a treacherous river bend, they dreamed up the story of a woman to pin their disasters upon. Sirens always causing problems, you know. That's a statue of her to kick this blog post off. Heine (and you bet your bottom--hehe--dollar that name gives the 13-year-old inside of me the giggles) wrote a famous poem about it. Liszt set it to music. It ends in translation like this:

I think that the waves will devour
The boatman and boat in the end
And this by her song's sheer power
Fair Loreley has done.

Dudes. Take some responsibility. Or turn it into a cheesy 1980s video--do you remember (or even knew to recall?) The Explorers, a one-off album when Phil Manzanera and Andy Mackay of Roxy Music went and found Bryan Ferry-lite James Wraith to be their leader? They did a song named "Lorelei," and end up on the Rhine eventually in said. All of that from just one rock.

Rooked on a Feeling

Before we go on a real estate tour to end all real estate tours--"Sure, it's a bit of a fixer upper as it hasn't had a roof since the Thirty Years War, but look at those views!"--we have to toast to all the vineyards the Rhine slices through.

Take Rüdesheim, for one example, one part of the Rheingau. I still think Viking misses an opportunity, not doing a wine tasting on the ship as you cruise past the vineyards. Oh, that monument at the top of the hill is Niederwalddenkmal, which commemorates the unification of Germany. No, the first time (1871).

Here's the town of Bingen--you might know of their Hildegard, if you're into mystics. (That's what Catholics call witches that they like.)

Mid-river nearby you'll find the Mouse Tower (not to be confused with the later Maus Castle), one of the numerous spots where you'd pay a toll if you traveled the Rhine in the old days. Think of it as a tariff, and yes, the consumer pays those.

Compared to the other castles along the way, it sort of looks like a putt-putt course obstacle washed down river in a flood, no? Don't laugh, they'll make you pay. If you'd prefer a more noble edifice, here's what's now called Burg Rheinstein.

Like a bunch of the castles now, it's a hotel and restaurant, since warfare on your neighbors has been greatly discouraged for the past few centuries. At one point (1823) it sold for a mere $50 or so. My guess is it's worth more today, but talk about a fixer upper (some elements were first built in the 1200s).

Please understand, this is an abbreviated and not necessarily south-to-north tour, btw. There's only so much masonry anyone can be expected to look at on a blog, I get it. Meanwhile, here's Ehrenfels.

This one is still a ruin, so open your Castle 'n' Cafe (CnC) here. (OK, it's probably not for sale.) But how lovely to have a view amidst the vineyards. Also note, this wasn't the best weather on our trip, as you might tell by the threatening clouds.

A meteorological challenge is better, though, than your neighbors taking you out because you were charging exorbitant tolls. That's what happened to Reichenstein Castle (don't look at the file name, please--see, I really don't know which castle is which!), which was originally one of the Rhine's oldest but is almost entirely rebuilt through the 19th century. Again, you can stay there--check out their website. Rooms are cheaper than I would have guessed (starting at 99 Euros), plus gotta love that photo of Kruger Rockt! (Is the term tonguencheken in German? And if it is, are they?)

As for towns nearby, there's not one named Hal David, but there is a Bacharach, sitting placidly beneath acres of vines and the ruins of Werner Chapel (to the left in the photo).

And if I pulled back a little on he old telephoto lens you get to see Stahleck Castle above town, too. Like anything first constructed in 1135, it's been through some ups and destructions, but is in good enough shape now to be a youth hostel. Rumor has it that its water-filled moat (one of the few, actually, in Germany) is meant to keep the youth in at nights.

Mid-river and on the other bank--don't blink, you'll miss a castle or four--you get to see Pfalzgrafenstein and Nollig Castle. The Pfalz (I have no idea if anyone else calls it that, but the name's too long to keep typing) has never been conquered or destroyed, which is fitting for something that looks like a mid-river battleship. Smart placement there, toll-takers! Nollig, meanwhile, is a ruin. But that just means a better photo.

To make sure no one snuck past, The Pfalz had a land partner castle to help out (plus a heavy chain), Gutenfels Castle, too. Hit 'em high, hit 'em low was the method at Kaub.

Sometimes the castles just sort of peek at you, like Furstenberg. Yes Diane von's husband's family once owned it. So it's a very fashionable ruin.

To give you a castle break, here's the picturesque town of Oberwesel, founded by Celts way back when. I also wanted to make it clear, especially the closer we sailed to Amsterdam, we were rarely the only boat on the river. Plenty of large barge action, plus lots of other cruise ships of all sorts.

And here is Rheinfels Fortress, just past Loreley and above St. Goar (the patron saint of Eli Roth?). Long history, fell into ruin, now a site for hospitality. You know the tale by now. They kindly left some of it a ruin for greater sublimity. As Flaubert sagely put it in his Dictionary of Accepted Ideas: "Ruins. Induce reverie. Make a landscape poetic." I guess we can forgive him, in 1871, to have not included "wedding photos."

Let's take a quick break to celebrate German engineering. Obviously, getting folks to church is not always an easy sell. Getting them to a tavern, generally much easier. Consecrated wine and dry wafer or lager and a pretzel--c'mon. So look closely at Zur Klosterschenke.

How can you get to the church here? The only entrance is through the tavern. Attendance problems solved. Although I might have put the buildings in the other order to be sure.

A couple more castles have more than a couple myths as to what happened there. Burg Liebenstein and Burg Sterrenberg. All the variations add up to fighting brothers, sometimes over a woman they both loved, sometimes over a blind sister they both ripped off. Women, they don't do so well in the Rhine valley. One story features a return from the Crusades and a near fight to the death; the other features corruption and bitterness. But the result is two spectacular nearby castles! Tourist win!!

And one last castle-esque moment. It became clear to the Germans during WW II that the Allies were hoping to avoid bombing castles, unless, of course, they were in the midst of some other populated area where raining incendiaries from the skies made supreme tactical sense. Knowing that, what do you do if you're Germany?

That's one glamorous train tunnel practically shouting, "Don't bomb me!"

Does That Castle Make Me Look Fat?

Lunch break! Another of the dished just for you pastas, another salad with enough non-greens to make it a serious meal. And look, my little receiver for tour time is there too.

Why travel with a companion? Because we like other people, of course. (It has nothing to do with getting to order two desserts and sharing.)

That'll Leave a Mark

Hope you enjoyed your break from castles, as now we get to actually go inside one, Castle Marksburg. The Vali docks and we bus up to the castle which is a good 300 feet above the Rhine itself (imagine a castle at the top of Lady Liberty's torch, if the torch were a hillside, that is). On a clear day you can see forever. On this day you can see

well, it's still romantic, in that foggy way. (Romance is easier without the details, admit it.) Marksburg is one of the few castles to be kept standing, if ever-changing, since its original construction in 1231. Not that it was always filled with knights or noblemen--it did time as a home for invalids (as uneven stone walking surfaces are great for invalids)

and as a prison, among other less hoity-toity lives. Since 1900, though, it's been owned by the Deutsche Burgenvereinigung (or, as we might say in English, a language that doesn't hope to say everything in a single word, the German Castles Association), who have taken loving care of it and even have their headquarters here. As you would, because parapets and framed views, even on a foggy day.

The shutter seems to suggest a warning, to me.

But then the garden, resplendent in early spring, what with all the wet weather, was a lovely walled-in respite, especially these roses.

Inside, you might want to hang out in the kitchen, as long as you weren't a hunk of meat that would be served that night, and given the hearth's size, no hunk was too small.

And while the chapel charmed in the tiny way it offered itself to a god after all the other cathedrals on our vacation....

And the generally dark interior had the occasional blast of light, plus an offering of soothing music....

Those weren't the only instruments on display--there were instruments of torture, too. Got to keep the people honest. Even worse, after they stretched you on the rack, you wouldn't fit on the short beds on display.

Of course, why torture folks when you can just give them vertigo having them stare at the castle's prospects.

I'd really not want to have any of this local schnapps and look up. And, of course, we got one of these (and still haven't tried it) as we needed the ghost bottle. You know us by now.

We didn't et to try on any of the costumes though. Boo. Or, I guess, more boo-hoo.

There's No Blenz Like Koblenz

OK, that subhead doesn't even make sense, but after re-boarding the boat it was a quick sail to our stop for the evening, Koblenz. We docked at 3:30 pm and would sail at 3:30 am (not that we took advantage of Koblenz late night/early morning life, particularly as there didn't seem to be any--this was a Monday). We assume that people party hard at some point, though, based on the sewer covers that seemed to be a celebration of upchucking.

Not to mention, we were afraid of trolls.

Seriously, it's a very attractive spot on the Rhine where it meets the Moselle, another wine region we got to wave to from a polite distance. But here's the Moselle itself.

And then across the Rhine, which you could cross via funicular (that, alas, stopped too early to be worth taking over and back), is Ehrenbreitstein Fortress, that they've turned into a museum complex, so go Koblenz-ites. (That does not roll off the tongue.)

I wish I knew exactly what kind of duck (I mean, this has to be a duck, no?) these two are. Very striking markings. OK, correction after original post. But you're not going to believe me--that's an Egyptian goose. True, we didn't sail the Nile. But according to Wikipedia (and more importantly, my wife): "Because of their popularity chiefly as an ornamental bird, escapees are common and feral populations have become established in Western Europe." And who wants to doubt The Encyclopedia of Historic and Endangered Livestock and Poultry Breeds, source of this info nugget? Who wants to read it to find out? Exactly. Still, cool birds, if escapees. No way we'd let them into our country.

And here's a fine way to bring consumer culture and nature together--turn shopping bags into planters!

Meanwhile, every German town has some wonderful architectural details, so here are a mere two.

Belly Up to the Board on Board

This evening's supper is a special one, a Taste of Germany that's kind of a floating Oktoberfest in May. The crew even dress up in lederhosen and dirndls, and there's shots of schnapps like castles on the Rhine, everywhere and threatening ruin. The dinner tables came pre-draped with pretzels

and cheeses and charcuterie and breads and who needed any more dinner after that? Oh, they were prepping us for the next day in Cologne, too, serving up Kölsch beer you will hear much more about tomorrow. But the secret is you drink it in 7 oz glasses fast, so it stays delightfully cold. And therefore it's easy to drink many. Next up was plate o' meats.

What else could you call it? I found myself fond of that crisp schnitzel. Of course sauerkraut and potatoes were not optional. I forget what they brought Chryss, and was clearly too busy gorging myself to get a photo. I think it was the one night she was a bit bummed up about the vegetarian options. (Not that bread and cheese weren't an ok start--not sure what a vegan might do.) Finally, there was plate o' dessert.

Those little poppy-seed dusted missile things seemed both very authentic and something I really didn't want, too doughy-pasty for me. But it brought back memories of the worst parts of Slovak food growing up, so let's hear it for memories. And let's not taste it for memories, ok? Instead, let's look at the display food, just in case you didn't get enough of something at your table. I love you a salami and a speck. Promise.

Crew and King

After dinner we were regaled by more visiting classical music in the lounge, specifically members of Cologne's Academy of Music and Dance and WDR Symphony Orchestra. That sounds grander than it was--four players--but they set up their selections and played them well. Did I take a photo? No. So instead, here's a blurry shot of Jazz Bite, who got going after the special performance.

And might as well post the mugshot wall of the Vali crew, who all did their job admirably, even in, as far as I know, none of them had the rank of admiral.

Note, this evening's photos might have moved to blurry land because of schnapps and Kölsch. Chryss and I did get off the ship one last time to see what the Deutsches Eck (or German Corner) would look like all lit up at night. After all, there's a magic about spots where rivers join. And that's why they dropped a massive equestrian Emperor Wilhelm I there to stare down the Rhine. I figured he might as well be in black and white, the way all emperors should be.

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