Ökumenischer Pilgerweg 2013: From Görlitz to Wurzen

In 2012, Andrea and Gert Kleinsteuber walked the Ökumenischer Pilgerweg from their home near Delitzsch all the way to Eisenach. The second part followed in 2013: they took the train to Görlitz and from there walked back towards home – through Upper Lusatia, via Bautzen, Kamenz, Großenhain and Strehla on the Elbe, all the way to Nepperwitz near Wurzen. Gert tells of ten walking days full of encounters, rain, cold and Saxon hospitality.

• Part 1 (2012): Via Regia / Ökumenischer Pilgerweg – from home to Eisenach
• Part 2 (2013): From Görlitz to Nepperwitz – the part you're reading now

You can find the original account on Gert's blog: gertkleinsteuber.blogspot.de

Travel day: by train from Delitzsch to Görlitz

Before a journey you always have pictures in your head, and you want to imagine what the place you're heading to looks like and how it will be. And since reality is usually even more beautiful, or at least different, from what you've spun up in your mind, we're now setting off for the 5th time to straighten those pictures out. And after 10 days we want to arrive back home. But first we walk to the lower station in Delitzsch. It's still dark, the house is cold and yesterday is still in my bones. Yesterday our village hosted the state harvest festival. One event took place together with the farm festival at our local potato farmer's, which already has quite a tradition. It's also become a tradition that we, as the local heritage society and the volunteer fire brigade, help with the organisation. So I had laid many metres of cable, installed sound systems and taken them all down again in the evening. That surely added up to a few kilometres again, and it had got late too.

Our backpacks

And that meant the last preparations for our trip only happened late in the evening. As always, I had spread the entire contents of the backpacks out on the floor so as not to forget anything. Then one more checking glance in the morning – everything there. The backpack seems only half full, even though we already have our dinner and provisions for the road in it. Maybe the smaller Deuter would have done, though it's 400 g heavier. Oh well, everything's packed now, and the freshly waxed hiking boots that will carry me through Saxony over the next few days are laced up. The door clicks shut in the lock, and one last look back lets our house disappear into the dark. Something is still pinching. It will take a while until I find the perfect setting for the backpack straps. We walk side by side in silence, still a little tired but joyfully looking forward to the days ahead.

It's not far to the lower station. After 20 minutes we run the last few metres to the train, which is already standing at the platform ready to leave. It's the train before ours, which we only just caught – actually pointless, since we have plenty of time to change in Leipzig and now have to wait there even longer. But at the modern, lively main station in Leipzig that should pass more quickly.

On the train to Leipzig

Andrea anxiously asks whether we're even allowed to take this train. I check my bag once more and am relieved to find the printed ticket in it. “Yes, yes, it'll be fine,” I say. “The railway won't be that strict about such a short stretch” – even though I know that my printed ticket says only the specified trains may be used. We soon reach Leipzig and get off unchecked. No, no, not like that! I mean nobody checked our tickets on the train. And so we'll never know whether our ticket was valid or not. Right, so now we've got over three quarters of an hour.

Leipzig main station

The benches on the platform are hard and slippery. In my new hiking trousers from Lidl (€9.99!!) I slide back and forth on the varnished wood. The many travellers around us are waiting for another train. And when it leaves the station, we're almost alone on the platform. That hardly changes when the ICE to Dresden pulls in. It's the first time that I, a self-confessed car junkie, will ride an ICE. Andrea is still in the toilet while I peer curiously through the windows of the bistro car. So I take both backpacks and walk a little further forward, past the first-class carriage. Andrea will spot me on the still almost empty platform. When she finally comes back, I can swap the uncomfortable platform seat for the soft seat of the ICE.

ICE Torgau

Like a child, I'm delighted by the glass compartment doors, which make hissing noises like on the starship Enterprise as they slide aside in front of us as if moved by a ghostly hand. Pfffft, it goes again behind us, and there is ….. silence. That's the first thing I notice. We pick a seat with a table and sit down opposite each other. Andrea has brought coffee and pastries, so we can have breakfast in these pleasantly quiet surroundings. The whole thing feels a bit like the inside of an aeroplane. I'm thrilled. I'm less thrilled when a school class makes itself comfortable right in our compartment. Andrea says: at home they hardly open their mouths and you have to drag every word out of them, but here among themselves no topic is too silly to chatter about loudly. Ah yes, the dear little children!

The landscape glides by

To cut a long story short – in about an hour we were at Dresden Neustadt, and at breakneck speed apart from the last stretch before Neustadt station. That's no comparison to the old days, when for two years I had to cover this route every other week, mostly standing, on an express train of the Deutsche Reichsbahn. A quarter of my precious weekend at home was spent in the clutches of the Deutsche Reichsbahn. The things you could experience there would fill books. That's surely one advantage of the train over the car: you have time to engage with the circumstances and the people around you. But now we're engaging with Neustadt station. Because of construction work we go up and down stairs and through dark, dirty passages to get to the station hall.

Dresdner Eierschecke

And we're completely surprised by what we see. As ugly as the platforms are, they've done the hall beautifully. It seems bright and friendly to me as we step into it out of the gloom of the grubby passage. Straight away I notice the two snack stands. Old pilgrim wisdom: eat when there's food, not when you're hungry. Later there might be no chance. And already two mugs of coffee and two plates of Dresdner Eierschecke are standing in front of us. Anyone who hasn't eaten Dresdner Eierschecke, or doesn't even know it – which is hard to imagine – has never lived! With the last spoonful, though, I realise – too much! My eyes were bigger than my stomach again. That always annoys me no end, because of course I'm helping my body grow in the wrong direction. I have to lose weight! With my luggage I scrimp on every gram, and I myself carry kilos of surplus weight around. But first the inner couch potato has to be defeated. And whether pilgrimage gets me any further with that, I'm now of two minds. On the first trail (800 km in 5 weeks) I lost almost 10 kg, but it was quickly back on. On the other trails the weight loss was decidedly less. Maybe the old pilgrim wisdom is to blame – eat when there's food. Or maybe there are simply too many opportunities. Before I can brood any further, it's time to join the people waiting on the platform. “Attention, please: the regional train to Görlitz is expected to…” Well, finally – that's more like the railway I know, it occurs to me without surprise. The delay was within limits, though. A diesel railcar roars into the station hall, and there's a bit of a crush before we reach our seats. As the train pulls away, it immediately becomes clear to me why hardly anyone wanted to fight me for my seat. I must be sitting right on top of the diesel engine, I said to Andrea. What a contrast to the ICE. You can barely hear yourself speak. The line to Görlitz via Bischofswerda and Bautzen isn't electrified, so they use these diesel railcars, which apparently spend a good part of their fuel on making a racket. With the thought that I'll have to walk all of that out there back again, I look out of the window and spot, alongside new things, much that's familiar. Bischofswerda and the skyline of Bautzen are well known to me.

Görlitz station

I had never been to Görlitz, though. I'd heard a lot about Görlitz. It's the easternmost town in Germany and has an almost completely preserved historic centre, which is why Hollywood likes to use the town as a film set, and many internationally known films have been shot here. I'd also heard that every year the town receives 500 thousand euros for urban restoration from a noble but unknown donor, and I find it remarkable and admirable that the benefactor wants no monument in the town and will stop the payments immediately if anyone reveals his identity. I also know about the wrangling over the beautiful Art Nouveau department store from reports in the press and on TV. The picture I have of the town comes mainly from photos or television. Of course that heightens my curiosity as I stand on the station forecourt trying to get my bearings. I look more closely and, once again, quite quickly notice: the pictures in my head differ considerably from reality.
At home I can't stand pictures hanging crooked on the walls and am forever straightening them.
So let's set off once again to straighten out the pictures in our heads.

The day in Görlitz

The wide street everyone is heading into seems to be the right one, I said to Andrea as we came out of the station. Berliner Straße – that sounds very important, too. And off we went after the group of pedestrians. I almost missed the green light because I quickly wanted to take a photo of the station. I dash across the road just in time.

Art Nouveau portal on Berliner Straße

Yes, this must be right. The street turns into a pedestrian zone – a sign that you're getting close to the town centre. Apart from a few grey leftovers waiting to be restored, the rows of buildings were already lovely to look at here. I notice a large Art Nouveau portal on the right-hand side of the street, jutting far out from the line of houses. And there's the camera in my hand again. Look, a signpost! So we're on Postplatz, with the post office clearly visible, built in the style in which probably every post office in Germany was put up at the same time around the Gründerzeit.

A sign saying “Theaterpassage” tempts us into a little detour, only to land on Marienplatz after all. “First I'll check where we are and where we need to go, and call the hostel,” I say to Andrea and head for an empty bench. While the GPS device starts up, I type the hostel's number into my phone. Unfortunately only the answering machine picks up. I dutifully recite my little speech, that we're the two pilgrims who registered here a few days ago and that this is my number to call back. Ha, found it: Langenstraße 43, that's where we need to go. And off we trudge. Actually I would have had enough time. But sadly my photo collection lacks a picture of the famous department store with the Art Nouveau façade on Marienplatz.

on the Obermarkt

We walk between the parked cars across the Obermarkt, my GPS device in front of my nose. There are no scallop shells here yet to guide you to the hostel, and I can't stand paper maps. Firstly, paper is damned heavy, and secondly, I've always had trouble folding the things back up properly. Of course I'm already looking around for photo subjects. And then a very slender church tower catches my eye. It's the tower of the Dreifaltigkeitskirche (Church of the Holy Trinity), a former Franciscan friary. Only from a distance can I get it entirely into a landscape-format photo. Boy, is it long and narrow – somehow quite different from the church towers I'm used to.

Georgsbrunnen on the Obermarkt

The Protestant city mission at Langenstraße 43

In front of it is a beautiful fountain with a town guard carrying a halberd. Until now I'd only known fountains like this from Switzerland, and I remember a very similar one in Sion. That would be a good meeting point with Uwe, because according to the GPS device our hostel wasn't far now. I know Uwe from the pilgrim forum. He's from Görlitz, has walked the öP himself and spontaneously offered to show us his town. I'd already let him know by text from Marienplatz that we'd arrived. But now off to the hostel. It presents itself in a very handsome guise. In its form the house represents Görlitz Baroque architecture, and it was the home of Karl Gottlob Anton, founder of the Upper Lusatian Society of Sciences (I looked it up). Today it houses the Protestant city mission and offers pilgrims a place to stay. There's a note hanging at the entrance. That's a good sign. And on it, it says whose bell we should ring. Completely surprised, the lady lets us in and said she wasn't expecting us until tomorrow. No, no, I booked us for today and I've already called and left a message on the answering machine. She says that only two people by the name of Kleinschmidt had booked, for tomorrow. That must be us, I reply, remarking that our name has often been mangled. Only when it comes to paying do I realise our – or rather my – mistake. We're in the wrong house. Even when I asked whether this was the Gästehaus Peregrinus, the woman said yes, yes. She probably hadn't understood me properly.

Our room

I had fallen for a mistake in my own table, the one highly praised by other users. The online table has the correct address. I had packed an earlier version as a printout. For anyone who doesn't know yet: I once sat down and gathered all the relevant information on the pilgrim hostels along the Ökumenischer Pilgerweg – address, phone numbers, contact persons, special features, facilities, costs and sights in the town – and put it together in an Excel table. The pilgrim guidebook is beautifully designed, but it's also pretty heavy. For someone who counts grams like me, a no-go. Well, and in this table, house number 43 on Langenstraße appears twice. But the right one would have been number 47. That's where the Gästehaus Peregrinus is, where we had booked. Hmm, and that one costs half as much. But 20 euros including breakfast is also very reasonable, so after an agreeing glance we decided to stay here and not clear up the mistake any further. (I did call the Peregrinus afterwards to apologise, though.) It is complicated, after all: two hostels on one street, one of them unreachable, an almost identical name with two other booked guests, and then on top of that the obvious misunderstanding of the woman who let us in.

Andrea in the hostel kitchen

Well, that's a fine start, I think. But when I see the house and the room, I reckon: we could have done a lot worse. There's even a TV in the twin room, which isn't unimportant today, because it's the federal election. We had already cast our votes by post. (A strange expression, I find. Does that mean you don't have one any more??) Otherwise on a pilgrimage we avoid any contact with the mass media, which feels very liberating and calming. But on a day like this you do want to know how the election turned out. We make ourselves at home – that is, we spread our sleeping bags out on the beds, eat something and walk to the fountain mentioned, where we had arranged by text to meet Uwe. As a town employee, Uwe had been roped into duty at the polling office and had taken a few hours off for us.

In the Dreifaltigkeitskirche

Of course we're a bit early and use the time to look at the Dreifaltigkeitskirche. I ask about a photo permit, which costs €1.50. “If you pay three euros, I'll give you a slip that lets you take photos in all the churches in town,” says the attendant at the counter. Of course that's what we do. And there we are, standing in the middle of the huge space. Rather than describing everything here in minute detail, I'll just add a link. Naturally I make use of my freshly acquired photo permit and find lots of interesting subjects. Then it's time, and we position ourselves clearly visible next to the fountain. I recognise Uwe immediately, even though I've only ever seen him in a portrait on the internet. We greet each other like old friends, and he starts telling us about his town right away. His pride in it shows in every word. I'd love to have a dictaphone running. You can't remember it all at once anyway. I'll take care not to try to retell everything here. Go to Görlitz yourself. Take a look, and you'll understand that you can make something of a medieval town centre other than a faceless, interchangeable shopping strip that differs from town to town only in the order of its temples of consumption. And even without this oversized range of shops, a town like this can feel alive.

Town hall on the Untermarkt

Uwe has an anecdote for every house, and I ask him what he does for a living. “I'm the town's fire chief,” he replies. Well, now it's clear to me why he knows so much about the town. Who else but the fire brigade should know their way around such a jumble of winding old-town houses, rebuilt and extended over centuries? And straight away he tells me his woes about how hard it is to enforce fire safety in a town like this. He leads us across the Untermarkt, tells us about the very interesting town hall clock and points out the head that peers out and opens its mouth every full minute, and the town hall steps with a Justitia standing on a column, and why this Justitia wears no blindfold, as is otherwise usual.

The whispering arch in action

He takes us to the whispering arch and lets us try out its impressive effect for ourselves. We go into one of the back courtyards, whose passageways were always sized so that carriages full of goods could fit through. Everywhere you can see that this was an important trading metropolis in the Middle Ages. That's thanks to its location on the Neisse and, of course, on the Via Regia. The design and furnishing of the houses reveal that there was a lot of money in the town, and the citizens proudly put it on display. Today, among other things, money comes into the town from an unknown source. Every year there's an old-town donation from a generous anonymous benefactor. It used to be one million Deutschmarks, and today it's five hundred thousand euros. The donor wants no monument, and only small aluminium plaques reveal that a house was restored with the help of the old-town donation. Of course the people of Görlitz hope the donor stays in the best of health for a long time yet.

Back courtyard with film prop

In one back courtyard a sign catches the eye that doesn't really fit this medieval setting at all. It's a leftover from a film set. All the scenes of the Hollywood film Around the World in 80 Days with Jackie Chan that are set in Paris were shot here. Hollywood has taken a liking to Görlitz. The backdrop is authentic and needs few changes. Görlitz has served as the backdrop for many films, which is why people also speak of Görlywood. Its sensational setting of Renaissance buildings, Baroque architecture and Gründerzeit houses makes the town look like a historical theme park in which any era can be re-enacted. To the delight of the location scouts – the people who hunt out filming locations – there's no modern architecture in the town centre to spoil the authenticity. Films such as “The Reader”, the already mentioned “Around the World in 80 Days”, “Inglourious Basterds” and the German production “Goethe” were shot here entirely or in part. Many residents earn a few euros on the side as extras. I imagine that's very exciting.

Exemplary restored houses in the Karpfengrund

Suddenly Uwe stops in front of a rather inconspicuous house and asks us what we notice about it. I stare hard at the house, trying to spot the probably incredibly interesting detail. It's built a bit asymmetrically, I say. “Look again more closely. What do you notice about the windows?” “They're all new except one.” “And??” “It hasn't been cleaned.” You only saw it at second glance. And then Uwe tells the story of Gropius (I hope I caught the name right), a miser known all over town, in the mould of Ebenezer Scrooge from Charles Dickens' Christmas Carol. He was so stingy that he even specified for his own funeral what money was to be spent on and how much. To keep an eye on it, Gropius himself watched his own funeral from that very window. Everyone who looked out of the window afterwards died a short time later, which is why nobody has done so since, and it has never been cleaned since either. A spooky story, and more were to follow later. But first we walk on through the Karpfengrund, where there are houses very much like those in the old town of our home town, to the Peterskirche, also known as the Church of St. Peter and Paul. We'll have time for that one later, I tell Uwe.

The Waidhaus

On the steep street down to the Neisse, a multi-storey grey building stands out: the Waidhaus. It's called the Waidhaus because woad, a dye, used to be stored there. But it's much older than it looks, because from the first half of the 12th century it was part of the sovereign's castle and also had a tower. But like so much in the Middle Ages, the house burned down, and after being rebuilt it was used as a school and as the aforementioned storehouse for woad. Later it was even a fire station. And now it houses the Görlitzer Fortbildungszentrum für Handwerk und Denkmalpflege e.V., a training centre for crafts and heritage conservation – how fitting.

Uwe shows us a stone bearing two waymarks, one for the Zittauer Jakobsweg towards Prague and one for the Ökumenischer Pilgerweg, which we now want to follow for 10 days. Strictly speaking we'd have to come right back here tomorrow morning to really start from the beginning of the trail. But since we're here now anyway, we can surely do without that. The stage will be one of the longest anyway, with the Königshainer Berge in between too. So we'll count today as our starting signal. And we've already walked quite a few kilometres today, after all. Now we cross the Neisse into Poland. It's really unspectacular, and you hardly notice that you're in another country. That's Europe for you. And that's a good thing. Here Uwe draws our attention to a large board explaining the various trails that cross or begin here.

Baroque “Durchhaus” with two courtyards, modelled on Leipzig

Back on the German side, sadly it's time to say goodbye to Uwe. He has to get back to the town hall for the counting of the ballots. But first he leads us, past glorious Baroque houses on Neißestraße, once more to Brüderstraße and the Georgenbrunnen, and tells us the story of the Klötzelmönch, a gruesome and sad tale of a maiden who is murdered by a monk (the said Klötzelmönch, named for the noise his wooden clogs make as he drags a woman's corpse behind him by the hair) and buried in the church. But he is recognised by a vagrant who had let himself be locked in the church to find shelter. The wicked monk was sentenced and walled up alive. To top it all off – and as if I'd guessed it – a walled-up skeleton was of course found much later in the Franciscan friary. Anyone who wants to hear the story in much more detail, more vividly and more creepily, should join one of the night-time town tours with costumed actors that are held regularly. Finally we go into the Verrätergasse (Traitors' Lane), where Uwe tells us why the clock of the Dreifaltigkeitskirche runs 7 minutes fast: once upon a time, rebels hatched a plot against the town council and wanted to overthrow it. A small group of rebels was inside the town walls and was supposed to open the gates at an agreed time for a larger armed group. And as is often the way with such plots, there's a traitor who tells the council everything. The council devises a ruse and has the church clock set 7 minutes fast. Outside the gates this clock couldn't be heard. It strikes nine, say, the group inside the town comes out of hiding to open the town gates, but is caught by the town soldiers in that very Traitors' Lane. Then at the town gate they only had to wait for the real stroke of the hour, open the gates and seize the remaining villains. All were sentenced to death, and since then the clock has struck 7 minutes earlier than the others in town.

Replica of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre

With this story and the advice to be sure to visit the Holy Sepulchre, we say goodbye to Uwe with the words “You always meet twice in life.” And so I hope we'll meet again some day, either on one of the many trails or, even better, with him as our guide in Görlitz. I already have a plan for that, too, but I don't want to spring it on him by writing about it here. All in good time.
Of course we now go to the Holy Sepulchre, as Uwe had suggested. There are many replicas of this pilgrimage site in Europe. What's unique about this one in Görlitz is that its arrangement – the Chapel of Adam and the Golgotha Chapel, the Stone of Anointing and the tomb itself – stands here under the open sky, and not, as in Jerusalem since Emperor Constantine, inside a building. The layout and history of the sepulchre are explained quite well at this link. Of course I ask for a pilgrim stamp from the Holy Sepulchre and promptly get one.

St. Peter und Paul

The Sun Organ

Afterwards we go to St. Peter und Paul. Navigating by compass direction, we pass through lanes we hadn't seen yet and that are surely spared the streams of tourists. At the end an iron staircase leads up to the Ochsenbastei. From here there's a lovely view of the Neisse and the Old Town Bridge. Describing the Peterskirche would be beyond me as well. It's done much better here. Here too we get a stamp in our credencial. Like every Gothic church, St. Peter und Paul is distinguished by its high vaulted ceilings that seem to float on slender columns. Here the painting lets you see the structure of the net-ribbed vault very nicely. A special eye-catcher, and without doubt a feast for the ears too, is the Sun Organ. It got its name from the 18 suns found on the pipe groups of the case. Rebuilt in 2004 on the historical model (the old one was completely worn out – an old manual is on display), the organ draws its fullness and variety of sound from 6,085 pipes, 89 stops, four manuals and two pedalboards. The largest pipe measures 7.82 metres. Even the Baroque stops capable of imitating birdsong have been restored. A truly imposing instrument that I'd really love to hear in action some time. But after so much culture I'm thirsty now. Very close by, on the bank of the Neisse, the terrace of Germany's easternmost restaurant, the Vierradenmühle, juts into the river like a ship's bow. Well, if that isn't a reason to find a seat there.

Germany's easternmost restaurant

We don't have to look for long, because the weather is just continuing its efforts to make itself unpopular. It's been dull all day. Well, at least it has stayed dry. And while Andrea tucks into a coffee and a piece of fruit cake, I enjoy a freshly tapped Landskron beer from Görlitz. But sitting still like this, it's actually noticeably cold, so we pay quickly and go back to the hostel. The first projections for the federal election are already running there, and once again a victory for the CDU is emerging. I would have wished the country an absolute majority, so that something finally moves and someone takes real responsibility for once, instead of everything being sat out or the blame being pushed onto the coalition partner. But enough of that, TV off. I go back into town to get a few night shots in the can. Not so easy, because the Görlitz old town is so authentic that it's also rather sparsely lit.

Still, I manage a few snapshots. My photo safari comes to an abrupt end when my battery dies and I've left the spare at the hostel. That kind of thing could make me livid. Because otherwise I always have a charged spare battery with me for far less important things. Back at the hostel, though, I don't feel like heading out again. And so we crawl into our sleeping bags early.

Tomorrow a long stage lies ahead of us, and the weather isn't supposed to be great either – no continuous rain, but dull and drizzly. The high that the German Weather Service had promised us just last week will keep us waiting a while yet.

The Day of the Hills: Görlitz – Buchholz

At last the time has come. Now it really begins. But first, a word of praise for my new sleeping bag: plenty of room for my astral body, a pleasant temperature inside, nice material and it takes up very little space in the backpack. When it comes to the morning routine, the two of us are already pros. It takes only a few words to organise everything. We’re not exactly chatterboxes in the morning anyway. Each of us has our own routine. I’m usually the first one up and wash, then I hold the toiletry bag under Andrea’s nose, and while she makes herself pretty I pack the sleeping bags and get the water bottles ready. On a walk like this on my own, I wouldn’t just miss her, I’d also miss these automatic moves.

Breakfast at the Stadtmission

The air escapes with a whistle from the handy compression sack holding my things as I roll it up. That’s a noise I wouldn’t want to inflict on my fellow pilgrims in the morning in a well-filled dormitory, the kind you know from the Spanish routes. That’s why in those cases I always do it the evening before. Here in Germany you don’t need to fear disapproving looks from sleepy pilgrim eyes. As so often, we’re on our own, and yesterday I couldn’t spot anyone in town who looked even remotely like a pilgrim or a hiker. Happily, we don’t have to worry about breakfast today. One floor below us it’s already on the table. I was sure of that, because I’d heard stirring in the house before we got up.

And what a spread it is! “Feel free to pack something for the road.” We don’t need to be told twice, and I pack two filled rolls for us. To give it away right now: I carry them all the way to the end of the stage and they serve as our dinner. I like these “matured” rolls that have had the whole day to soak up the flavour of their filling. It was like that even when I was a child, when I went to pick up my father from work and he pulled his sandwiches out of his briefcase to give them to me. They had a very special taste that’s hard to describe: a mixture of the leather of that briefcase, the greaseproof paper and the files he carried around with him. Hard to imagine? For me, though, it’s a lovely childhood memory. In fact there are tastes, flavours and smells that take me straight back to moments from my childhood.

In the rain towards Ebersbach

But back to Görlitz. A brief goodbye and a thank-you to the lady of the house, and we’re already standing in the street. Oh, damn! It’s raining. Neither of us had looked outside yet, or we just hadn’t noticed. Oh well, we’re wearing our rain jackets anyway, so we can set off straight away. Uwe had described the way out quite well the day before, and we have little trouble finding our way out of town. A shame that Görlitz sees us off with this weather. In sunshine even the dullest stretch has its beautiful sides. We, however, walk steadily uphill in the drizzle (or it only seems that way because our legs don’t really want to yet), past the hospital to the edge of town. There we finally leave the busy road to the left onto a farm track, only to meet the road again shortly afterwards. But none of that is a problem, because soon we find ourselves on a lonely cycle path whose asphalt is dripping wet. Because now it’s raining even harder.

The view promised here is cancelled today

My glasses only allow a blurry view of the surroundings. You can’t see far in this lousy weather anyway. At least the waymarking is good, so I feel no need to bother the GPS device. I’m busy enough keeping the camera reasonably dry. Because here and there, despite the lack of a view, I take a few photos as reminders and to try out the GPS. This camera records the track and I’m curious to see how that affects the battery life. For want of other distractions, that’s the kind of thing I think about while walking. As for the sense or nonsense of trudging around the countryside with a heavy pack on my back in conditions in which I wouldn’t even chase my dog out of the door – I’d rather not think about that right now. It would drive my mood even closer to zero. Yes, I admit it: I very much like being a fair-weather pilgrim. And now I’m in a bad mood and annoyed about last week’s good weather forecasts from the German Weather Service, which never came true. They claim to have calculated the rise in temperature over the next 100 years, but they can’t even reliably forecast the next five days – unbelievable! Right here, where a sign by the path promises me a lovely view of the Landeskrone (Görlitz’s local mountain) and the Jizera Mountains far off to the south-east, you can see absolutely nothing but grey clouds from which it drizzles incessantly. Why do I keep stressing that? Because right now I’m “ningelich” – whiny. But let’s look on the bright side: it could be raining blisters. The short breaks when it isn’t drizzling at least let my trouser legs dry out again.

Ebersbach, municipality of Vierkirchen

In all my grumbling I hardly notice how quickly we reach Ebersbach. No wonder, since I’m mostly looking down – as I’ve already “geningelt” (Saxon for complaining or feeling sorry for yourself) about – because of my steamed-up glasses. We leave the beautifully restored church, glowing bright yellow in the grey of the day, on its hill to our left, which isn’t meant disparagingly. The gate is simply closed. And so we walk through the rather pretty village over a small bridge, from which I also spot a few photo motifs worth taking. A short while later and not even 200 metres further on, a “Buen Camino” rings out towards us. I almost jump, but in any case I’m delighted – a fellow sufferer! He’s standing under the canopy of a former Konsum supermarket, which now can only serve – or at least still serves – as a rain shelter for wet pilgrims. It’s Andreas* from Kassel (*name and hometown changed), who also started in Görlitz today. A quick where-from and where-to, and we’re already deep in the subject and each of us feels as if we’ve known the other for ages. That’s just how it is on a path with the same goal. He also tells us about two women he met in Görlitz. We were to get to know one of them much later. He’s just having his second breakfast. We wait until he’s finished and walk on together. We’re heading for the Königshainer Berge. They may be the smallest mountain range in Germany, but they’re still no pushover.

A patch of sun in front of the Landeskrone

The path into the Königshainer Berge

But before we reach the range, we do actually make out a few rays of sunshine. Like a heavenly spotlight, the sun throws interesting patches of light onto the landscape. Quick, out with the camera before the show is over. As we walk on, I notice that Andreas* is walking a bit unevenly. He’s wearing bright blue running shoes that are obviously giving him grief. “If something’s pinching your feet, you’d better have a look right away before a blister forms,” I tell him. He agrees, and we soon find a convenient spot at a hunting stand to take off shoes and socks. “I always carry kinesio tape. It holds well and prevents blisters where things rub.” We quickly locate the problem spot. The insoles in his shoes are causing the pain, and I patch up the reddened balls of his feet by sticking my blue tape over them. I hope it isn’t too late. I also can’t resist remarking that his choice of shoes is a bit daring. Andreas* said he wanted to try the shoes out. He works in an outdoor shop himself and doesn’t seem to me to be on foot for the first time either. All the more incomprehensible to me is his choice of these shoes. With every drop from the sky the paths get muddier, and the asphalt at the start has long since given way to stony farm tracks with lots of nasty puddles. And now the climb into the Königshainer Berge begins as well.

The climb

The path is getting steeper and steeper and my breathing heavier and heavier. “Just a bit further and we’ll be on the Hochstein. There’s a mountain inn up there where we can get something to eat and drink,” are my encouraging words, sounding a little breathless. I’m not worried about Andrea. But Andreas* is finding it harder and harder. He’s coughing a lot too, and when I ask him how he’s doing, he says he’s just got over bronchitis – not exactly the best conditions for walking a pilgrimage route, and in this weather on top of that. “Just a few hundred metres more on a steep asphalt road and we should be at the inn,” I reassure him.

The Hochstein rock

The Hochsteinbaude

Ghostlike, the massive rock formation on the summit of the Hochstein emerges from the fog. At first we took it for a building. But then I saw the horizontally grooved, weathered rock. Only behind it does the Hochsteinbaude appear – open, thank goodness. Surely you get a fantastic view from the rocks, which you can climb by iron stairs. “Would get” is what I should have written here, because the climb would have been completely pointless. Soaked and now freezing as well, we enter the inn and are given a friendly welcome. We’re the only guests and can choose any table. To save the landlady some walking, we don’t sit too far from the counter. Surely I’ve earned a beer after that climb, and Andreas* orders one too. Although cough tea would certainly have been better for him. There’s a pilgrim soup on the menu especially for us, and we all agree that a vegetable soup like that is exactly the right thing now. Anything else would sit too heavily in the stomach, because we haven’t even done half of today’s route yet. Andreas* is of the opinion that after the descent from the Hochstein we’ll go back up to the same height again. I, however, am convinced he’s wrong.

Arnsdorf in sight

Luckily, I turn out to be right. On slippery wet paths we now head steeply downhill through the dripping forest. In the distance you can hear the A4 motorway, which runs through a tunnel under the Königshainer Berge. Then at last we’re out of the forest, where the drizzle collected into big drops that kept splattering onto our heads. Beyond a large cornfield, Arnsdorf comes into view. There’s a pilgrim hostel here, but for us it’s far too early in today’s walk. We’re wet now anyway, and who knows what tomorrow will be like. Our feet are still fine, so we decide, as planned, not to stay at the hostel here. For Andreas* that might have been better. His cough is getting worse and, to be honest, I’m a bit worried about the night ahead. I’ve got used to snorers (I know what Andrea will say to that now – something about glass houses!), but his cough would rob us of our sleep.

Church in Arnsdorf

in the church of Arnsdorf

Döbschütz moated castle

Before leaving Arnsdorf, though, we visit the open church, where above all the beautifully painted ceiling and the old frescoes uncovered in the apse catch the eye and are something special. The special thing in the next village, Döbschütz, is the moated castle, which, very romantically hidden in a wood at the edge of the village and surrounded by a moat, is waiting to be restored. On the embankment path along the wildly meandering Schwarzer Schöps we reach Melaune. At the entrance to the village a large asphalted area framed by wooden boards catches the eye – an ice rink. In front of it there’s a covered outdoor bowling alley, of particular interest to Andrea as an active bowler. People here seem to be very active in general. We take a short breather under the roof of a big fire station. “It’s not far to Buchholz now, maybe another five or six kilometres, and then we’ve made it,” I say, trying to keep our spirits up, as it’s starting to rain again.

The pilgrim hostel in Melaune

The endless path past the wind turbines

Melaune has a pilgrim hostel too, but we walk past it as well. The next stretch is pretty tough. After surviving a short section of very busy country road, we turn left onto a concrete farm track that leads across open country past several wind turbines. Anyone who has ever walked on the ÖP before Freyburg / Unstrut along the ridge in front of the Göhle, from wind turbine to wind turbine, knows how far apart those things stand. Someone seems to keep moving the last one further away. It’s the same here on the draughty concrete track that never seems to end. A large wooden cross by the path informs us that many years ago there were plans to build a hazardous waste dump here. Apparently the protests succeeded, because there’s nothing to be seen far and wide except fields. Only the church tower of Buchholz can already be made out. Or is it actually that of Tetta? A little later I realise: we’re only in Tetta. There’s supposed to be a shop here, so close to Buchholz. I ask a local about it before he disappears again. But he only tells me about a drinks store in Buchholz that also sells other everyday goods. That’s really enough for us, and so we set off to put the last stretch to Buchholz behind us. The waymarks lead us criss-cross through the village along two large ponds.

The pilgrim hostel in Buchholz

Now the church tower of Buchholz really can be made out, and I know we’re almost there. But the two behind me look as if they think I’m pulling their leg and taking them on an extra lap. Right opposite the church stands a smart restored house, the village’s former school. I spot a sign in the window next to the door that welcomes us and tells us how and where we can get the key to the hostel. I go for the simplest method, walking two houses further and ringing the bell. Hmm, nobody home. But upstairs a window opens, and the woman leaning out confirms that there’s nobody there who could let me into the hostel. So back to the house. I call Frau Leubner again, whom I’d already had on the line in the morning. Hmmm… answering machine…. I hang up before the beep sounds. I don’t much like talking to machines. Then I discover a second phone number, where I do reach someone. A little later a woman comes cycling straight towards us. I suppose anyone can tell what we want, and so she lets us into the house without further ado.

In the Buchholz pilgrim hostel

And the house is amazing! Everything new and modernly furnished, new clean showers, a large kitchen with a full fridge, instant soups and crates of drinks (water, lemonade, beer). There’s even red wine and sparkling wine in the cupboard. “Whatever you use – the cash box is back there.” That’s stunning, and now I don’t need to go looking for the drinks store in the village. I even discover a cake cover with the words “home-baked cake for our guests”. My worry about Andreas*’s cough is quickly dispelled too, because there are three rooms, and the two of us take one that is obviously otherwise used as an office. The furnishings, the working PC on the desk and the daybed on which we spread out our sleeping bags – it all feels to me like a room the son of the house has just cleared out for us. There are lots of bits and pieces, books and papers, which nevertheless give away that this area is used intensively by the parish. Andreas* has the room next to ours. He sits motionless on his bed and stares at the wall. He seems completely done in, and it’s only in the evening that he’s up to talking again.

In the Buchholz pilgrim hostel

Our room

Lovely old stove in the hostel

A wooden staircase leads up to a nicely converted attic, where surely another 6 pilgrims could find room on mattresses. Everything is lovingly furnished and modernly equipped, a real feel-good place. And that’s exactly what I’m doing now. I see no reason to leave the house again in this weather. After the shower there’s a little beer in the kitchen, and we eat the filled rolls we brought along from the morning, in the condition already described. Crispy is something else – but the rolls are nicely soaked through and soft. Later Andreas*, awakened from his lethargy, also comes into the kitchen to make his dinner. And what he unpacks there astonishes me. Next to the built-in electric cooker stands his camping gas stove, and he prepares noodles from some kind of freeze-dried survival ration, those dried-food pouches you know from outdoor shops. So either he’s on a research assignment for his employer, or he has completely the wrong idea about East Germany. I don’t dare ask, but I still make a flippant remark that I hope he won’t hold against me. He really is a nice guy, and we have a lively conversation with him before going to bed. But somehow I’m worried whether he’ll make it through the next day. His cough is still pretty bad. His feet did get blisters after all, and that won’t get better with the tape I give him from my supply either. And his backpack probably contains the food for the entire route through the Wild East, and weighs accordingly. Yes, and all that in those shoes – I have my thoughts about it, but I don’t want to confront him with them and unsettle him. At some point it’s time for the sleeping bag. We leave the wine and the sparkling wine in the cupboard. After this day of the hills we’re tired enough as it is.

Good night and see you tomorrow.*As a precaution, I have changed the name and hometown of our companion on this stage, as I don’t know whether he’d be happy for me to mention him here.

The Day of the Mustard: Buchholz – Bautzen

Why did I choose this title for the post? Today we’re walking to Bautzen. And anyone who likes eating proper mustard and prefers good mustard with a long tradition can hardly get past “Bautzner Senf”. I know, south of the Weißwurst equator it’s probably not very well known. But then down there they prefer sweet mustard anyway. Here in Saxony we like it hot.

The church in Buchholz

The night was restful and quiet. I don’t think I snored either. At any rate my throat doesn’t feel dry. So Andrea had a quiet night too. After the usual morning ritual we have breakfast in the kitchen. I still have a few rubbery baguette rolls in my backpack, and with butter and liver sausage, dunked in coffee, they taste quite good and my jaw doesn’t have so much work to do. At eight o’clock sharp Frau Leubner arrives and goes with us into the little church opposite to give us a pilgrim blessing. She presses a hymn book into our hands. “That’s going to be difficult,” I say frankly. Of course Frau Leubner knows that it isn’t only Christians on this path. And so she makes it easy for us this morning. She has picked out a hymn whose tune even we know. It’s the melody Cat Stevens used for his worldwide hit Morning has broken. While Andreas* sings along, knowing the words quite well, we at least hum quietly along and are very moved by the atmosphere.

Frau Leubner sends us off into the day with the following words:

Be near me today
A new day has begun. My thanks for sleep and rest,
and be near me today in all I do and try.
I know not what will come, of plenty or of need.
Be the good shepherd, Lord, through beauty and through hardship.
Your word shall be my touchstone for what is true and weighty,
the measure for the great and small, for what is wrong and right.
Help me, where I am able, to dare the whole deed fully,
and when weakness seizes me, to say yes to that as well.
You gave me strength to live this day as well.
At evening let me gladly give it back to you.

Lovely, isn’t it? Why can I still write this down? I took the little slip of paper Frau Leubner slipped us carefully home with me. In the church she also shows us a charming photo exhibition by a woman who observed and photographed a pair of squirrels from her balcony over the course of a year. She had put up a nesting box, which the animals moved into. That gave her unique insights into the nursery of these tree dwellers. She filled two rooms with very beautiful photos and exhibits. But then it’s time to say goodbye to the lovely hostel and to Frau Leubner, who of course wishes us a good journey. Right at the edge of the village, after a short climb, we also say goodbye to Andreas*, who wants to walk a bit more slowly today and perhaps not quite as far. So that he keeps the chance of finishing his walk, that’s surely a good decision. In the long run you can’t adapt your walking rhythm to someone else’s. Everyone has to find their own. And for Andreas* today it was simply a bit slower than ours. How far he got on the way, or whether he’s still walking, we don’t know, as we haven’t been in touch with him yet, although I’ve already emailed him. Still, I tell him the saying I always use in such cases, which isn’t meant as a threat: “You always meet twice in life.” Sometimes it takes more courage to stop at the right moment than to keep struggling on and perhaps ruin your health in the process. I wish Andreas* that courage and the wisdom to make the right decision.

The town hall of Weißenberg

So now we’re on our own again. On the narrow path called the Totenweg – the Way of the Dead – we quickly lose sight of our companion behind us. The weather today is no better than yesterday, so we’re constantly putting our hoods up and taking them down again. The next place is Weißenberg, a small town with a somewhat oversized town hall. Because of the rain I only take one photo here, and then we’re busy finding the right route. For the first time on the ÖP I have the feeling of being on the wrong track. After the steep, slippery descent from the market square we walk in a wide arc around the town centre, so that I feel we’re going back the way we came. But one look at the GPS track on my Garmin teaches me otherwise. The general direction – west – is right.

Don’t miss the turn-off!

We leave town on an old railway embankment and don’t even notice where exactly we’ve left it. Big signs pointing to a mill trail almost hide the waymark of the ÖP. But I immediately remember the description in the pilgrim guide, which says that if you find yourself on the viaduct, you’ve already gone too far. And so, before said viaduct, we climb down from the embankment onto a wide farm track. It leads us straight to the entrance to the Gröditzer Skala. This is a kind of river canyon in which the Löbauer Wasser has cut about 15 metres deep into the surrounding land. The river, about 10 metres wide, winds its way through the valley, and many paths follow it along its banks.

Gröditzer Skala – bridge over the Löbauer Wasser

After the steep descent, the first challenge is crossing the river on a rather adventurous-looking bridge. It consists of a single tree trunk that has been flattened a little on top with a chainsaw. Along its sides there’s a railing made of crooked, unworked branches. Altogether, at least from a distance, it looks a bit “lawede” – rickety – as we Saxons say. Only on closer inspection do I realise that the builder certainly knew what he was doing and clearly understands his craft. The railing turns out to be sturdier than expected, so we can hold on to it. That’s necessary too, because the trunk is very slippery from the rain, the weathering and the leaves lying on it. Which path you then take downstream doesn’t really matter, as they all run along the river. You should, however, beware of climbing up out of the canyon to the right too early, as the A4 motorway runs very close by – you can still clearly hear it even down here.

In the Gröditzer Skala

We choose a path that runs right along the bank of the Löbauer Wasser. That way we keep having lovely scenes in front of us which, even in this nasty weather, offer a contrast between the lush green still found here in the middle of autumn and the winding river. Soon we come to a large clearing. The valley opens up and we see Gröditz Castle peeking out over the treetops up at the edge of the forest. “We have to go up there!” I call to Andrea, who is a little ahead because I was busy with the camera yet again. “But the shells point down here,” says Andrea. So we do as the fathers and mothers of the route intended. We stay down below. The valley narrows again, and on the right even steep rock faces appear.

Gröditz Castle

Then we’re finally out and see the first houses of Gröditz. But we still aren’t spared the climb up to the castle. Panting, I even have to stop once to get my breath back. Nope, my fitness isn’t at its best yet. Once at the top we walk to the castle. There’s a pilgrim hostel here too. In front of it we discover a white wooden canopy with a few benches and a table underneath. A nice place for second breakfast, I think, and the backpack is already off. Somehow I’m not quite happy with the settings of the shoulder straps yet. For some time now I’ve been feeling a stabbing pain under my right ribs, which I also had on the way through Mecklenburg.

Umgebindehaus in Gröditz (typical of Upper Lusatia)

Whether it’s the backpack, I’ll test at home by doing a longer hike with my old Deuter. Of course, it could also be that I’ve simply got too fat. In any case, the belly is a nuisance. Because the hip belt doesn’t really know where to go – usually after a few hundred metres it slides down under my belly and is too loose there. So I carry the whole load on my shoulders, which isn’t ideal. Even if it’s only 8 to 9 kilos, over time that takes its toll on the body. But eating is important too, so the body gets energy. So I take another big bite, have another swig from the water bottle, and off we go again.

The path to Wurschen

The path on to Wurschen offers nothing special. First we walk along a concrete farm road and then for a while on the country road before turning onto a farm track again. In Wurschen it’s easy to get lost. First there’s the entrance to the private castle park, which is somewhat hidden behind a driveway, and then a zigzag route, first right onto the road and then straight away left, first onto a side street, which then turns into a farm track and leads out of the village.

Park and moated castle in Wurschen

The path passes the moated castle on its right. In a wide arc we walk through the huge, well-kept castle park, where signs keep telling you that the grounds are private property and the lawns must not be walked on. After the zigzag course I mentioned, the path climbs a little. Once at the top, you’re standing about a kilometre beyond Wurschen under a big tree with a bench beneath it. Another welcome opportunity to take off the backpack for a few minutes. After that the stabbing pain is gone again for a few kilometres. Just a few photos back towards Wurschen and ahead towards Drehsa, and we’re off again.

View towards Drehsa

Looking towards Drehsa, a tall tower rising out of the village catches the eye. It’s a water tower belonging to Drehsa Castle. The tower stands by the beautifully restored, palace-like manor house, with the remains of the estate farm behind it, not yet restored. In GDR times the estate housed a children’s home. The von Salza zu Lichtenau family bought the estate and the castle and are currently restoring the whole complex at great expense. You can climb the tower, but today we lack a reason to. Because the weather is still spoiling the view. Beyond Drehsa there’s another very beautiful section along an ancient farm track that leads through a small wood on a hilltop.

Shelter hut beyond Drehsa

In the middle of the wood, already on the way down, someone has built a shelter hut where you could even spend the night if need be. We wait here for the shower to end and put our feet up. When we later step out of the wood, we see the towers of Bautzen for the first time. Still quite a way off, and from the map I know the route isn’t the most direct. Before Waditz we meet the railway line on which we were still travelling to Görlitz on Sunday. We walk alongside it for quite a stretch without a single train coming. Walking via Kubschütz, Baschütz and Jenkwitz, you often think you’re walking away from Bautzen.

Rest in Kubschütz

In Kubschütz a nicely designed bench invites you to take a rest, which I don’t pass up. Now just one last push. When we meet the B6 near Auritz, we’re quite glad we didn’t have to walk along it any earlier. So the little detours so close to the city were quite useful after all. Walking into Bautzen, we follow the busy main road the whole way, a real ordeal when you’ve been out in nature all day. We plan to go to the St. Petri parish house and spend the night in the pilgrim room there. We collect the key from the bakery, which is a little further into town beyond the parish house. To get to the parish house, you have to go through the archway at Töpferstraße 23 and on into the back courtyard.

Pilgrim flat in the St. Petri parish house, Bautzen

Here you can’t miss the big white/yellow building. Only after we’ve climbed the stairs to the 2nd floor do we notice that there’s also a lift. I’d have used it without any qualms after today’s walk. In case anyone after us wants to lose their qualms too: the entrance to the lift is on the left side of the building. The key we got at the bakery fits the glass entrance hall. In the pilgrim room there are 6 bunk beds. If you book ahead, they’re probably made up with bed linen too. Because one bed had been prepared like that. We, however, use our new cosy sleeping bags. A toilet, a shower and a small kitchen are also part of the pilgrim flat. We’re just settling in when there’s a knock at the door. In comes Christoph from Berlin. His accent, however, gives away that he was originally at home somewhere else. But I don’t want to pester him with any more questions.

The old waterworks on the bank of the Spree

Schlossstraße and its pubs

We hardly get beyond the usual where-from and where-to, partly because we soon leave the house to take a walk around town. The last time I was in Bautzen was in 1976, and I hardly recognise it. One lovingly restored house follows another. And for the life of me I can’t remember Bautzen having so many towers. We cross the market square to the Wasserkunst, the old waterworks, where you have a lovely view into the Spree valley, then walk on through the Mühltor to the Ortenburg, and from there along Schlossstraße back into the town centre. Sadly, St. Peter’s Cathedral is locked. We would have liked to see it. Several restaurants have immortalised mustard in their name. At the others there’s at least one dish in which mustard plays a leading role. That’s what you expect from Bautzen. The blue-and-white mustard buckets standing in the street here aren’t there because someone is expecting a delivery, but as advertising for a mustard shop. A lot here revolves around the hot yellow paste. What actually is mustard – a spice, a seasoning paste? In any case, for me mustard should go up your nose a bit when you eat it on its own. In our kitchen it’s indispensable.

The first Bautzen mustard restaurant, with St. Peter’s Cathedral behind it

Of the many varieties that “Bautzner” now offers, medium-hot is my favourite. And so we look for a restaurant with mustard dishes on the menu. We don’t have to look for long. Right on the market square there’s the Surprise, a mishmash of café, pizzeria, beer pub, bar and restaurant. We’re sure to find something here. And what we found was a pan of sliced meat in a honey / mustard sauce – amazing!! But once again our eyes were bigger than our stomachs. And so I have quite a job clearing my plate. Still: “He lifts the glass and slurps the rest, for leaving things he likes the least,” to quote Wilhelm Busch in “Hans Huckebein der Unglücksrabe”. No doubt I carry too much around my ribs because I always clear my plate so nicely. Outside it has grown dark in the meantime, and when we leave the restaurant it is, of course, raining again.

The Reichsturm in the evening

Nevertheless, I quickly take a few night shots of the town. Back in the pilgrim flat, Christoph soon returns from his own walk around town – he too ate at the “Surprise”. A pity we didn’t run into each other. So it remains a brief encounter. Because the next day he vanishes at a hell of a pace. His planned stage lengths don’t match our ideas either. Hoping for better weather, we go to bed early.

Tomorrow, for the first time, we’ll depart from our plans. Because we won’t walk as planned all the way to Panschwitz-Kuckau, where long ago I spent two years in the apprentices’ hostel. Instead we’ll end the stage 3 kilometres earlier in Crostwitz, at Monika Gerdes’s pilgrim oasis. That’s a tip from Uwe, which we’re happy to take. And it was to prove absolutely right, and we spent an evening we won’t forget in a hurry.

(*) Name changed

The Day of Encounters: Bautzen – Crostwitz

A ray of hope in the morning: gaps in the clouds

The first thing I do this morning is go to the window. Another day of rain would be hard to bear. But then hope begins to stir. Between patches of fog, a bit of blue flashes in the sky here and there. That gives us hope, and after these two days you're grateful for even the tiniest bit of sunshine. Everything is packed in no time and we say goodbye to Christoph. We can skip our usual improvised breakfast today. After all, in a fairly large town like Bautzen there ought to be a bakery where we can get breakfast. We have plenty of time today, because we're cutting the stage a little short. As I wrote in the previous post, Uwe from Görlitz advised us to stay at Monika Gerdes's Pilgeroase (pilgrim oasis) in Crostwitz rather than walking the 3 kilometres further to Panschwitz-Kuckau as planned.

Morning in Bautzen

So we drop off our key at the bakery. But it's impossible to have a coffee and something to eat here. If two more customers came into the shop besides us, it would be full. Then our backpacks would have to go outside. So we look for somewhere else. On Reichstraße we spot a bakery where we first need to get our bearings, because everything here is self-service. There's just one employee left at the till, who only comes forward once you've gathered something on your tray and stepped into the checkout area. All that's missing is a drive-through for cars, like at the "box diner", as a friend recently described the restaurant with the big "M", much to my amusement. I'd really prefer to leave and look for a lovely old bakery where the flour still sticks to the shop assistant's fingers and you can tell she's been busy in the bakehouse since at least 4 o'clock. But convenience wins, and as everyone knows, pilgrims are lazy walkers. That may sound paradoxical. But every step off the route is to be avoided. You never know what's still to come. And so we just stay here, win the battle with the coffee machine and find something to eat as well.

Lovely morning view into the Spree valley

Outside, bright patches appear on the street. In places it's drying in the sun. Yesss, the sun is showing itself for once, even if it would turn out to be only a short interlude. But this gives us the chance to see what we visited yesterday in dreary weather in a different light. So we walk across the market square once more to the Wasserkunst and around the old town in front of the old town fortifications above the Spree, before taking a steep staircase down to the river behind the castle. We walk over the Spree bridge, under the B96 and under the A4 motorway and out of town.

The town is already far behind us

Soon we see the town with its many towers lying behind us as a grey silhouette. The nearby motorway and the many vehicles on the country road are a bit annoying and disturb the morning idyll. But we're even greeted from a small car coming the other way. As it turned out in the evening, that was Monika Gerdes greeting her guests for the evening. She already knew we were coming, because I had booked us in. The village of Salzenforst, which we now walk through and at whose entrance there's a large recycling plant, turns out to be a pretty residential village for the well-off who can afford a big house on an even bigger plot outside Bautzen – all very nice and very inventive.

Taking a break in the Oberuhna bus shelter

Here and there people are tinkering away, and it seemed as if a competition had been declared over whose lawn and whose front garden was nicer. What I see is a model of petty-bourgeois primness. We now walk along a lonely farm track to Oberuhna. But we're not so alone after all, because two young men come towards us who are unmistakably on pilgrimage. I should have kept my pointless quip that they're walking in the wrong direction to myself. It's neither original nor witty, and I'm annoyed with myself the moment it's out. But once something's out of your gob…? Although they've surely heard this line several times already, the first of the two reacts calmly.

Turn-off after Oberuhna

The second one shuffles along quite a way behind him. They're from Erfurt and simply chose this direction. Since there are two of them, the loneliness you experience when you're walking a pilgrim route in the wrong direction is surely not quite so bad either. Everyone you meet on the way or in the hostels has vanished by the next day at the latest, and so it is this time too. We say goodbye, and they send their best wishes to Monika, at whose hostel they had stayed the previous night. We had told them where we were heading, and so I promise to pass on their greetings. In the next village, Oberuhna, we take a break in a bus shelter (– no, it's still not raining!) and watch the bustle on an old three-sided farmstead whose gate is wide open.

The path after Oberuhna

Soon after Oberuhna we turn left off the country road onto a field track – a shortcut, as it turns out. So sometimes you do take a shortcut on a pilgrim route. Our experience so far says otherwise, though. Usually you accept detours for the sake of a route that runs far away from roaring traffic, or through beautiful countryside, or past places of devotion or churches. We can already see one such place of devotion from afar: the Millennium Monument. Let me quote from the website viaregia-sachsen.de:

The Millennium Monument

"The monument symbolises the spread of the Christian message. It depicts Cyril and Methodius, who did missionary work in the Great Moravian Empire from 863 to 885. As a sign of their joyful proclamation and the spread of the faith in Lusatia, crosses 'grow' out of the ground across the site. The site invites you to linger and was created for devotions, festivals and church services."

As we get closer, we see a car parked next to the monument, and on a bench sits a rather portly man in work clothes, obviously taking a break. At first I think he's someone hired to look after the monument. But as it turns out in conversation, he's a mushroom picker who has set up his "headquarters" here to tip his full baskets into buckets waiting in his estate car. Though the haul isn't all that big yet today.

Lovely avenue

Because when I curiously ask how he's done, he shows me only a few orange birch boletes and one porcino. But he doesn't seem to take it all that seriously either – a pleasure picker, so to speak. The usual conversation takes its course: where from, where to, and where from originally – meaning where we live. When we say Delitzsch, the man suddenly stands up, shakes my hand and says, welcome, fellow countryman. He spent his childhood in Delitzsch on Karl-Liebknecht-Straße (today Bismarckstraße again). And so suddenly we have a lot to talk about. Because he checks his knowledge against ours of everything that has changed in Delitzsch over time. He already knows a lot, which shows me he still takes a great interest in his former hometown.

Signpost on the Via Regia

Meanwhile I take a few more photos of the monument. From the information boards I also learn why such a large site was laid out right here, away from large settlements and away from major roads. It's the Via Regia, as a trade route bringing peoples together, that made this spot seem the right place to erect this monument here in 2000. For centuries this route has stood for peaceful trade. And today it's pilgrims and hikers who carry their faith and their history out into the world and who pass by here to pause in devotion or just to rest. An ancient restored signpost bears witness to the long history of this route.

Weeping willows in Dreikretscham

We say goodbye to the mushroom picker from Delitzsch and walk on through a lovely avenue towards Dreikretscham. Here I notice a long, impressive row of weeping willows planted along the Hoyerswerdaer Schwarzwasser. You really don't see that often. What's unfortunately also rare here are open inns. The one in Dreikretscham looks very inviting but also very closed. Well, once pilgrim numbers on the Via Regia reach levels that make it worthwhile not to open only in the evening, that will surely change. So we have to keep living off our iron rations, that is, out of the backpack. But it stays closed for now, because first we keep going as far as Storcha.

Inside the parish church in Storcha

In Storcha stands the neo-Gothic parish church of the Sacred Heart, visible from far and wide. The church was built in 1870 on the initiative of the Sorbian Catholic Cyril and Methodius Society. We already met Cyril and Methodius immortalised as statues at the Millennium Monument. The parish church is open, and so we step into the quiet of this house of God, very large for such a small village. For us it's still like entering another world. You become very quiet and very small, suddenly move more slowly and only whisper.

Storcha parish church

Whether it's awe at the purpose of the building or consideration for the faithful who seek closeness to God here and surely find it too, we both become different in these surroundings. So even without any spiritual access to faith, a sacred building has its effect on us as well – a very beautiful and good one, I think. But we've only covered 12 kilometres so far today, and we want to make the most of the exceptionally good weather to keep enjoying the walk. It's 12 o'clock, and as we walk out of the village the bells of the parish church ring as if to see us off and spur us on. But it's not very far today any more, and so we take the time for another short rest in a bus shelter just before Prautitz. At the edge of Prautitz we can already see the church tower of the parish church of St. Simon and Jude in Crostwitz. I know Crostwitz from the time when I spent two years in the apprentice hostel in neighbouring Panschwitz-Kuckau. Back then Crostwitz had an open-air pool (sadly no longer), and in summer we happily took on the 3-kilometre march to get to it. It made the weekends when we didn't go home a little more bearable.

Signpost to the Pilgeroase in Crostwitz

Just before the village the route turns left off the road, which I find a bit puzzling, because this way you don't pass straight through the village and by the church. A field track takes you past Crostwitz to the south, which is actually a real shame. Because you miss not only the very pretty village and the impressive parish church but also Monika Gerdes's Pilgeroase. Luckily there's a small wooden sign that lures pilgrims off the route. On it you read "Coffee, tea, cake, biscuits, fruit". Even if it hadn't been our destination anyway, we'd have turned off here regardless. Because a sign like that makes you curious, above all about the people who look after pilgrims here so touchingly and organise something that's really out of the ordinary. We cross a pasture towards the village.

Andrea in Monika's Pilgeroase

Past the church and the parish hall, guided by hostel signs, we quickly find the house we're looking for. The garden gate stands wide open, with a sign reading "Pilgeroase". Under a wooden roof there are benches and a table with two thermos flasks, tin boxes, cups, plates and a cake dome. Truly – an oasis. No sign of the woman behind it anywhere. Instead there's a sign on the patio door saying you should just push it open to refill your water bottles, stock up on drinks or use the toilet. Unfortunately the young men we had met had, contrary to Monika's instructions, locked the door from the inside before leaving the hostel, so we have to wait for Monika. We make ourselves comfortable, help ourselves to the coffee and cake, read the pilgrim book and I wander around the house a bit.

Hostel in Crostwitz

That's when I see a large note by the front entrance. A whole list of contacts is written there "in the unlikely event" that the hostel is ever locked. Directly across the road is a watchmaker, who steps out of his door with his magnifying glasses on after I ring his bell. "Monika's place is locked and on the sign…" I say. The watchmaker peers over the rim of his glasses, looks me up and down and says, "You don't look like a pilgrim, though." I don't know whether he means my girth or the fact that I'm standing in front of him in beach sandals. "I've already changed my shoes," I say, believing he means the latter. He readily hands me the key, with the instruction to drop it in his letterbox tomorrow before we set off. "Of course," I say, and trudge back to the hostel to open the patio door from the inside. Andrea goes upstairs, while I take a beer from the crate standing ready to enjoy "knocking-off time" with my feet up.

Our lovely companion from today (not the cat but Betina!)

Suddenly a slim, tall woman in a red jacket with a big blue backpack is standing in front of me. Her open, friendly face is positively beaming. "Finally a pilgrim!" she exclaims. "I couldn't have stood being alone much longer," she says. Betina (yes, with one t) from near Darmstadt didn't turn up entirely out of the blue. Monika had already told me about her on the phone when I booked us in. And said that the pilgrim who'd already booked would surely be glad not to be alone any more. "There are even two of us," I said, and a nice conversation quickly got going. I think we liked each other from the start.

In the hostel in Crostwitz

Andrea comes down with the remark: "I think I've just used the homeowner's kitchen and bathroom." But it clearly says "behind the glass door". There's only one glass door up there. We have a whole flat at our disposal – incredible! So much trust, so much helpfulness, so much love – we're overwhelmed and very curious about this woman. Meanwhile a little cat entertains us; it has made itself comfortable in Betina's backpack and now refuses under any circumstances to leave it. Betina wants to stay here tonight too. Anything else would have surprised me, given how pleased she was about our company. She disappears with Andrea to stow her things in the hostel. To celebrate the day I have another beer. Later Andrea and I take a walk through the village.

Inside the parish church in Crostwitz

We visit the parish church and try to stock up on food for the next day at the little grocery store. Why do I write "try"? As soon as I take the teeny-tiny shopping trolley out of the row, I feel transported back to long-gone times. The range of goods and the way it's displayed remind me very strongly of a grocery store in GDR times. Five bags of sugar side by side, next to them jars of mustard also lined up neatly, behind them empty shelf space. And so it continues along every aisle. The main thing is that there's something everywhere. Later it's Betina who also finds the shop worth a photo, which greatly surprises the owner.

Nostalgic grocery store – sadly closing soon

The explanation follows hot on its heels: the owner wants to give up because of his age and doesn't want to needlessly hoard goods he then can't get rid of. There's nobody who wants to take over the store. No wonder: people who work outside the village shop by car on the way, and the few old folk who depend on the local shop don't bring in enough turnover to cover the costs. Solidarity shopping doesn't help either, as Monika tells us later, visibly surprised by this news, which is new to her. We pick up a bottle of red wine for the evening and head back to the hostel. Then Monika arrives, and when she remarks that she's already seen us today, I immediately remember the driver who waved to us so kindly just outside Bautzen. Monika casts her spell on us at once. Like a whirlwind she draws all the attention to herself in a very likeable way and, so to speak, signs us up for her operation. We follow her very willingly into her kitchen. She invites us to dinner on condition that we help her prepare it. What we don't know yet: we're not preparing our own meal but the meal for the next pilgrims. Because 11 pilgrims have announced themselves for tomorrow, people with disabilities and their carers. And that requires not only some preparation for the food but also some logistical restructuring in the house. Normally there's plenty of space on the ground floor. But last year it was badly damaged by a flood, so the hostel had to retreat to the upper floor.

We leave our mark in the pilgrim book

Where on earth does this woman get all this energy? She has a very demanding job as an editor at the MDR radio studio in Bautzen. There she is responsible for the Sorbian programming. When she's on the early shift, her night is often over before four o'clock. In between, she briefly disappears to her PC to review and approve a piece. Somehow she seems to manage to juggle it all effortlessly and still gives me the impression of being very calm and composed. We sit in the kitchen chopping vegetables for the soup. "This isn't for you, it's for tomorrow. For you we're making potatoes and quark," she says, and I almost regret it a little. Betina can't hold back an "Ohhh, what a shame" either. Not that I have anything against potatoes with quark, but the simmering soup fills the kitchen with an aroma that makes my mouth water. Meanwhile there's plenty of time for a natter while my pocketknife cuts up carrots and kohlrabi. The topics are varied, from the pilgrim route to the history of the house to personal experiences and outlooks. Everything catches her interest. Before we sit down at the table in Monika's kitchen-diner, though, there are mattresses and tables and chairs to lug around. Somehow we have to come up with 11 sleeping places. For that, mattresses have to be carried up from the ground floor, and a second table and more chairs brought into the kitchen. Many hands make light work. And so we're soon sitting at the table eating our dinner.
Over pleasant conversation we round off this eventful day. And now the title of this post explains itself too: The Day of Encounters. Today we met a few people who have left a lasting impression on us. It's encounters like these from which friendships can grow. Just as we've already experienced on all our pilgrim routes.

The Day of Rain: Crostwitz – Kamenz

The title really says it all. Yesterday's improvement in the weather is unfortunately short-lived. Our first glance after getting up still lulls us into a false sense of security. But the moment we set our first foot on the street, it starts to rain. And it doesn't stop all day.

Breakfast at Monika's

We've arranged to have breakfast with Monika at seven. She has to go to work, and of course we don't want to disrupt her day too much. When we come downstairs she's already setting the table and getting everything ready for the Pilgeroase, filling the thermos flasks with coffee and tea. She's also already hauled a few mattresses around again. There are now mattresses lying in an empty room on the ground floor as well. "What if pilgrims turn up and everything's already full with the 11 people who've booked? I can't just leave them standing outside the door…" I think that says everything about Monika's attitude and commitment. Now we sit at the lavishly laid breakfast table and try to express our gratitude to Monika, which surely only partly succeeds. The news is on the radio, followed by music. That the news is broadcast in Sorbian I already knew. But that there's also modern pop music produced in Sorbian is new to me. To our ears it sounds a little foreign. The melody of the language has something entirely its own and, although they're all Slavic languages, it sounds neither Polish nor Czech. As teenagers in the apprentice hostel we once had to learn a Sorbian song in a sort of choir. It was a tongue-twister for us and surely sounded odd. That's also the only thing I still remember. The lyrics are long gone. Still, you inevitably come into contact with Sorbian culture when you live here for that long. At her workplace, Monika makes sure that the language and culture aren't crushed by German. It would be a great pity to lose them. And everything else possible is done to keep Sorbian culture alive too. There are Sorbian schools where Sorbian is the language of instruction. There are German schools where Sorbian is taught as a foreign language. Traditions are kept up by clubs and village communities. I already experienced this many years ago, when we were still citizens of the GDR. This is just one of the topics we talk about at the breakfast table.

Leaving Crostwitz

There would actually be so much more to tell and so much more to learn. But at some point it's time for Monika to get to work and for us to grab our backpacks and make room for the next pilgrims in Crostwitz. Monika becomes quite solemn and says the pilgrim blessing for us before we say goodbye, full of gratitude. We'd actually thought Betina would join us. But she's dawdling a bit, and everything suggests she'd rather walk alone today. Later I had the impression that she was afraid of being in our way. When she then kept asking the next day whether she could really walk with us, I said: "If you ask one more time, we really will leave you on your own, so that's enough of that. We'll let you know if you get on our nerves," I said with a grin. Today, though, we leave the house quite a while before her. Betina wants to visit a branch of her company on the way and meet the people she otherwise only knows from the phone. Well, they'll be surprised. To be on the safe side we've swapped phone numbers and addresses. So I take our key back to the watchmaker and off we trudge again. And… it's raining. I can still very dimly remember the field track between Crostwitz and Panschwitz-Kuckau. It's called Trebenja, and in many places it resembles the sunken lanes of Galicia. Just before Panschwitz the pilgrim route turns off to the left. It's a detour, but it leads along a stretch of the original Via Regia into the park of St. Marienstern Abbey. Since I know this and don't feel like any detours in this weather, we carry straight on and save ourselves almost a kilometre. At the village entrance, though, I have to take the time for a photo. Andrea snaps me leaning against the village sign just as I did back in 1976. That photo must still be somewhere…? Ahh, there it is:

Panschwitz-Kuckau village entrance, then

And now

We now walk downhill along the high abbey walls to the entrance gate of the abbey courtyard. Even back then the abbey estate was farmed here, and just as farmers in other villages worked on the LPG (the agricultural cooperative), the farmhands here went to work on the abbey estate. Since then the abbey complex has gained a lot of colour and, unlike before, looks very inviting with its light façades trimmed in red.

St. Marienstern Abbey

We follow the path to the abbey church and step into the large nave, which is already half full. The Cistercian abbey of St. Marienstern has run a home for people with intellectual disabilities for decades. I can remember the sisters very well, taking the less severe cases for walks in the village or in the abbey park. Otherwise you hardly ever caught sight of the Cistercian nuns. For us as teenagers, the abbey walls were something very mysterious and strange. And we were very curious about what lay behind them. But you got little insight into the life of the strict order. Only sometimes did we see the Mother Superior driving to Kamenz in her Wartburg Tourist to pick up a young girl, probably a novice, from the station. Now we sit right at the back of the church and listen to the words of the priest, who is celebrating Mass for the residents of the home. Back then, 36 years ago, it would never have occurred to me to go to Mass, even though it was held here regularly. Saxony is actually Protestant, but the Sorbs of Upper Lusatia are Catholic. Back then I couldn't do much with it, and the church and faith, whatever the religion or denomination, were alien and a little eerie to me. Like that of many East Germans, my upbringing was shaped by atheism. But I've kept my curiosity. And although I still don't have much time for the Church as an institution, Christianity interests me because of the humanist values it has stood for since overcoming the turmoil and missteps of the Middle Ages (by which I mean the Inquisition or the Crusades). But there are many things I can't identify with, which has to do with my upbringing and my scientific and very secular world view.

Before Mass

That doesn't stop me, however, from looking over the garden fence (or here, over the abbey wall) to break down pent-up prejudices and incomprehension. So here I sit in a place where, many years ago, I'd never have pictured myself in the future, listening to a Catholic priest. And what he says, he says in a way the residents of the home understand. You can see in their faces how much joy there is in the room. And we witness a small choir of young people with intellectual disabilities strike up a few songs full of joy and fervour. And half the church sings along. Then the priest begins his sermon. We think we've misheard and look at each other in some surprise. Because his topic is "The journey is the destination". We relate every word to ourselves. But we're sure that he couldn't have noticed us, far away in the back rows. It's not the first time that something like this, so hard to explain, has happened to us on a pilgrim route, and it's one of those things my very rational brain can't explain. So I let it happen and am glad about it. We're less glad, though, when we leave the church again. Under the archway of the abbey courtyard we take off our backpacks once more to pull on the rain covers we had forgotten in the morning. Luckily the backpacks are fairly waterproof even without protection, so the contents haven't come to any harm yet. It's a shame that in this weather I no longer felt like taking a longer walk around this village I know so well. A few photos in front of the former Konsum inn, which now calls itself "Karstens Bierstube" and "Restaurant", and where we spent many an evening at stained tablecloths with Klosterbräu or Bautzen beer and Kamenz sausages with Bautzen mustard, are a must, though.

The Konsum inn, then

Today Karstens Bierstube

And of the Klosterwasser, a little river that separates the districts of Panschwitz and Kuckau, and of the street we walked up and down so often to get to the pub. That makes it sound as if I was a drinker back then. Beer really was cheap in GDR times, and in the pubs it was even cheaper than in the shop. But the meagre apprentice wage (64 GDR marks!) didn't allow you to get drunk regularly at all. On top of that, 32 marks had to be deducted for the hostel and food. A return train ticket home cost 16.10 marks, and the bus fare to Kamenz for vocational school 3.60 marks a week. There wasn't much left over if your parents hadn't chipped in. – My God, the things you remember when you write like this.

The Klosterwasser and Bloch's inn, now closed

All the misdeeds come back to mind too. Like this one (but don't tell anyone!!): It was the first Sunday of Advent and we were all alone in the hostel. And Advent simply calls for a Christmas tree in your room. But where from? And above all, just buying one would have been boring. So a bet was dreamed up. A collection was taken in the hostel and almost 20 marks came together. And then a willing victim was quickly found who was crazy enough to go along with the nonsense. Whoever managed to run stark naked (it was -7 degrees!!) through the village to Juri's (that's the pub in question) and steal a small Christmas tree from in front of his inn would get the 20 marks. You won't believe it, but it actually worked.

The main street through Panschwitz

I think a little old lady wrapped in her Sorbian costume, like the ones we often saw walking to or from church, would have fainted on the spot had she seen the naked youth running through the wintry village clothed in a Christmas tree. And we did rather wish for that. But in those days Panschwitz rolled up its pavements after 7 p.m., and today the village gives me the impression that this is still the case. So: the bet was won, we were out of pocket but had our Christmas tree, and I think the little theft is long since time-barred. A small tree like that cost about 3 marks back then. So at most they could have nailed us for causing a public nuisance or for gross mischief. The ABV (the local beat policeman) was a permanent guest at the hostel anyway. Whenever some nonsense happened in the village, the apprentices were always investigated first. Often it wasn't us at all, for example when all of the pub's empties ended up in the Klosterwasser. Naturally this led to tensions between the village youth and us apprentices, which were settled in many a scuffle. I'm not sure, but it's possible that our current Minister-President was there too back then. He's my age and still lives in Panschwitz today. I'm talking myself into trouble here, I notice. And you could fill pages with these experiences. But this is about pilgrimage, and so we walk past the sports ground (where I scored many a goal) and out of the "grave of my youth", as we called it back then. Over the years a lot of things take on a rosy glow, and luckily only the positive remains in your thoughts.

Shelter in a bus stop

The paths are now getting muddier and muddier, and more and more often we have to dodge big puddles. On top of that comes a sharp, very cold wind. In Nebelschütz we sit for a while in the bus shelter, which we've literally had to fight our way to. Meanwhile bubbles form on the asphalt from the big drops pelting down on us. Over second breakfast we make a decision. We're soaked, we're freezing, and there's no way we're going on to Reichenau today, our actual destination for the day. We'll look for a hostel or guesthouse in Kamenz and call it a day. And so we say to hell with the rain, put our heads down and keep walking.

We've reached Kamenz

Only at the edge of Kamenz do we lift them again, to call Betina and tell her our decision. She agrees immediately, and we promise to get in touch again once we've found something. The steep steps up to the old town really take it out of you. Close to St. Mary's Church we find the town's parish office, believing we'll get accommodation there. But we were thoroughly mistaken, because here they just refer us to the tourist information. When I then moan a bit more about the weather, we learn that the only hostel is up on the Hutberg. We should definitely take the back room, because there's a problem with the chimney draught. And it's also a bit damp there. That's enough. That's all we needed today: a damp, musty hostel and then the climb up the Hutberg on top. In my spreadsheet I find the Pension Wendländer as well. It's just around the corner.

At the Pension Wendländer

We say thank you, get our stamp and try our luck at the guesthouse on Pulsnitzer Straße. We're in luck and Frau Wendländer opens the door. She immediately points out that everything has got more expensive and that she couldn't keep to the published €18.50 and has raised the price to €20. We get a nice double room and find the price perfectly reasonable and very pilgrim-friendly, especially as breakfast is included. Most important today are the heating, to get our gear dry, and a hot shower. We call Betina straight away, after making sure she can get a bed too. A little later she's standing at the door as well. Only in the evening does the rain ease off, and we venture outside again.

Kamenz market square

Kamenz isn't very big and, apart from St. Mary's Church, the market square with its handsome town hall, the Lessing Museum and St. Anne's Church, which also houses a museum, doesn't have as much to offer as, say, Bautzen or Görlitz. We don't really feel like museums, and so we're soon done with our tour of the town. On top of that, St. Mary's Church is unfortunately locked. "Are you hungry?" I ask, hoping to hear at least one yes. Because I am, and above all I fancy a real Kamenz sausage. During my apprenticeship that was one of our staple foods. It was quick, cheap and tasted really good – different from the usual Bockwurst. Back then there was a kind of snack bar on the market square where you ordered first, got a number, and then a bright red, fat face looked out of a hatch and bellowed the number into the room. If you were quick and nobody snatched the sausage from under your nose, you were out of the smoky room again in no time. Nobody was talking about smoking bans in pubs back then. This sausage only exists around Kamenz, and the copies you sometimes find at big discount supermarkets have nothing to do with the original.

Friendly shop assistant on Klosterstraße

It's just before closing time. We don't feel like a big meal in a restaurant. And so we simply pop into the butcher's at Klosterstraße 5. Mindful of the time, I cautiously ask whether we could still get three hot Kamenz sausages. "Well then I'll just 'ave to warm some up for ya. Go sit yerselves down over there a while. I'll bring 'em over," she says in the finest Saxon. Betina keeps grinning at our dialect and tries to imitate it. But it must be a very difficult dialect, because she has a hard time talking Saxon. We drank it in with our mother's milk, and we can hardly suppress the dialect – and why should we? Then the sausages are ready. I order beer to go with them, and it's almost like old times. The shop assistant is in no hurry to knock off for the day, and we stay sitting for a while to chat. It turns into a fun evening. Then we take pity on the kind shop assistant and say goodbye, heading out into the town lying in the dusk – with no rain from above.

The Day of the Mushrooms: Kamenz – Königsbrück – Stenz

Without having seen the weather forecast, I notice this morning that something is different. It’s not just that it’s dry outside – the wind has turned. And that is a decidedly good sign.

Breakfast in Kamenz

But before we set off today, we first sit down at the lavishly laid breakfast table. Frau Wendländer has really gone to a lot of trouble, and we’re in no particular hurry to leave. Today we’re walking together, and Betina doesn’t dare ask again whether she may join us. So we say goodbye to Frau Wendländer and walk through Kamenz, flooded with morning sun. We pop into the butcher’s once more and find the friendly shop assistant already back behind the counter. The route is well signposted in Kamenz, and we decide not to go over the Hutberg but to pass it on the right, which isn’t a detour but doesn’t put our stamina to the test first thing in the morning.

The mist rises from the forest

Against the light, the moisture of the last few days rises from the forest, leaving an intriguing play of shadows. Some of the deciduous trees are already starting to turn, which of course looks much more beautiful in sunshine than in rain. For a while we walk along a paved side road before plunging into the forest on a gravel track. It’s a completely different thing when you don’t have to worry about whether you’ll ever get your clothes dry again. And of course it’s much more fun to walk into the day without that burden.

Panorama beyond Kamenz

In the forest before Schwosdorf

And so we walk, deep in conversation or sometimes in silence, but always in the best of spirits and relaxed, through the lush green forest towards Schwosdorf. At first Schwosdorf appears as a rather sprawling village with farmhouses standing very far apart. There’s a pilgrim hostel here, as the guidebook tells us. The association PRO Wal- und Wüsteberg e.V. runs this hostel, in front of which we are now standing, and in its garden we watch a man working on a dry-stone wall under the instructions of a young woman standing in front of him. He doesn’t say much – or rather, nothing at all. She, on the other hand, says all the more.

Schwosdorf hostel

There’s no escaping her. In no time she invites us in, and I just manage to say that we don’t want to stay the night. She surely would have worked that out herself, this early in the day. A coffee wouldn’t be bad, says Betina. And before we know it we’re standing in the hostel office, watching the lady of the house get her coffee machine going. All we can do is look around the little office, where you can also buy a few things. We can’t get a word in anyway. We are given, in great profusion of words, all the information about the house and the circumstances of how it became what it is.

Invited for coffee

The association was founded at one point because a so-called investor wanted to open a quarry nearby, on the Walberg and the Wüsteberg. The residents joined forces in protest and succeeded. The hills are still there, but the association had lost its content and purpose. So they decided to turn the house into a pilgrim hostel. And they’ve been building here ever since. Whether it will ever be finished – I have my doubts. But the commitment is unbroken and there’s plenty of it. The coffee is soon ready, and there’s some cake on the table too. The monologue, however, still hasn’t ended. The dry-stone waller hasn’t said anything so far – how could he? My ears are ringing, and I’m looking for a way to say goodbye politely and flee. My thoughts keep circling around what it would have been like if we had stayed the night here. Don’t get me wrong, the woman was really very nice and had the best of intentions, just with a few too many words. Andrea keeps grinning at me too. She’s probably thinking the same thing. Betina, meanwhile, “looks after” the dry-stone waller, who has gone back to his work. Later I learn what the conversation was about. When she remarked on his silence and said he had good support there, he only replied: “Yes, but she just talks.” The good man had resigned himself to his fate. Incidentally, he didn’t belong to the woman, as I had first assumed, but was a sort of village maintenance worker.

The old post road to Reichenau

Much later we finally find the courage to interrupt the torrent of words and say goodbye, which at first makes little impression on our hostess. Only once we have our rucksacks on again do we manage to say thank you and move on. “Well, she certainly wasn’t lost for words,” I say after a few minutes. My two companions comment on it with a smile but without a word. They surely don’t want to make the buzzing in my ears any worse. Before I give the wrong impression here: I’m writing all this with a smile on my lips and a wink. I really don’t want to put anyone off, and I by no means intend this description to be mean. It was simply a rather funny encounter with a woman along the way who can’t keep her enthusiasm in check.

Finally in Reichenau

Now we head back into the forest on a wide sandy track. It’s the old post road, and we’re walking on the original route of the Via Regia. It’s quite a few kilometres to Reichenau, along which we enjoy the peace of the forest, interrupted only by a few mushroom pickers. Even from the path you can see lots of mushrooms, some of which I classify as edible. But we have no use for mushrooms today. We have the wrong destination for that. Because we want to go to the Armenhaus (poorhouse) in Stenz, a district of Königsbrück. Whether we’ll be able to cook mushrooms there, we don’t know. And so we’d rather leave the mushrooms in the forest.

Reichenau hostel

Long before Reichenau I feel a call of nature that brooks no lengthy delay. Knowing there’s a hostel in Reichenau, I clench my buttocks a little and take smaller steps, hoping not to have to dive into the bushes. With beads of sweat on my forehead, I make it to Reichenau. On the hostel there’s a note with addresses and phone numbers, and I’m glad that one address is right across the street and that someone opens when I ring. “We don’t want to stay here. But would it be possible for me to use the hostel toilet?” I ask, somewhat strained. “Of course,” says the woman, and comes and presses the key to the hostel into my hand. Man, what a relief!

In front of the hostel in Reichenau

Everything happens for a reason, you might think, when you hear what followed. Just because I needed the loo, we not only got to see the very lovely hostel, we were also pointed towards another path, which, as it turns out, would be one of the most beautiful stretches of our whole tour. “If you continue along the path to the left here and don’t follow the signs, after about 600 metres you’ll come to a wooden sign pointing right into the ‘Tiefetal’,” the kind lady told us. “The path runs right along the Pulsnitz through a romantic valley.”

The Pulsnitz in the Tiefetal

We learn that originally the plan was to route the pilgrim path through the valley, but the nature conservation authority prohibited it because of the damage pilgrims were expected to cause. “Well, of course, 100 pilgrims come through every day, trampling the landscape, tearing everything up and leaving their rubbish behind,” I say sarcastically. The people of Reichenau, however, send every pilgrim they see through the valley. And how right they are, we discover shortly afterwards, after 600 metres. After a small bridge over the River Pulsnitz, we plunge into an enchanted forest. Like a primeval forest, everything here grows as it pleases, and whatever no longer grows and lies on the ground is left as it is. Right through the middle, in wild curves, often dammed by boulders or fallen trees, flows the Pulsnitz with its clear water. And why I call this stretch “the Day of the Mushrooms” you can see in the following photos.

Honestly, I want this path never to end. And we walk much more slowly than usual. But the first houses of Königsbrück announce that we have reached today’s destination.

Market square in Königsbrück

We’re actually quite glad to be there, as a hollow feeling is spreading in our stomachs. And so we search the market square of Königsbrück in vain for somewhere to eat. But we don’t want to search for long either. So we decide to go into the kebab shop, which at this hour seems to be the only place around here to get something to eat. And it’s better than we first feared. We even take a few garlic breads with us for the evening. On the way to Stenz we pass the Marienkirche and go inside.

Marienkirche in Königsbrück

Organ music comes towards us, and we tiptoe into the nave. Up in the gallery we spot a young man holding a practice session on the organ. Now and then a few wrong notes creep into his playing. Only when he notices us does he start a new piece, which he then plays through without a single mistake. When you enter a sacred building like this, you change your behaviour anyway, as I’ve already written. The impression such a space makes when it is filled to the very last corner with organ music is indescribable. One goosebump-inducing shiver chases the next. Moved, we listen to the music, thank the organist when it ends and leave the church. My curiosity about the much-praised Armenhaus makes me walk a little faster. The guidebook says, more or less: those used to the simple life will feel at home here. Those used to luxury will discover here how little you need to feel at home. And I’m curious about this “little”. Then I already see it: a teeny-tiny half-timbered house right on the road. The door is locked with an ancient padlock. Behind a small sliding window lies the pilgrim stamp for passing pilgrims, and in the window hangs a note with the addresses of the contact persons. I set off straight away to find Werner Lindner’s house, while Andrea and Betina make themselves comfortable in the sun on the bench in front of the Armenhaus. I find him quickly. An older man in work clothes comes towards me and welcomes me to Stenz somewhat solemnly.

The Armenhaus in Stenz

He wears this solemn expression again when we’re all sitting together at the rustic table in the house and he makes clear to us the difference between the other hostels along the way and this house. “In the other hostels you are guests. Here, for today, this is your house.” Betina keeps slipping into the formal “Sie”, which Werner firmly corrects. Things really are quite different here. There’s no electricity and so no electric light. There’s no running water. There’s no shower or washbasin. But there is an outhouse behind the house, a brick stove with an oven, and straw-padded bedsteads up in the attic.

Our sleeping quarters in the attic

We follow Werner up to the attic and see a box bed and a double bed, padded with straw and covered with huge feather duvets. “We change the bed linen every 14 days. If that doesn’t suit you, use your sleeping bag.” That’s plain speaking, and I reckon we’re not that fussy. Under a stool stands the “midnight vase” (chamber pot). I have to smile at the sight and wonder how tall Betina is going to fold herself into the little box bed tonight. The marital bed is of course reserved for the two of us. Back downstairs in the “living room”, Werner lights the stove for us and says that it probably won’t be him but Sigmar who comes to bring us the water.

Werner lights the fire

The water comes in a big milk churn, and you have to do everything with it: the washing-up, the coffee and your evening and morning wash. Werner also instructs us on how to handle the stove and naked flames – not unimportant when it comes to fire safety. And then he leaves us on our own. We still have one small problem, though. We need something to drink for the evening and our provisions for the next day. So the women make the house cosy while I walk back into the centre of Königsbrück to find a supermarket. Which is, of course, at exactly the other end of town. And so I almost get a cramp in my arm. Because I’m afraid the bottles will tear the plastic bag, I clamp it under my arm. It would have been a real shame about the bottles of red wine.

Evening in the “living room”

When I get back, Andrea and Betina are already sitting in the sun again. Apart from not letting the fire go out and heating water for coffee, there isn’t much to do anyway. In the evening Sigmar arrives with the water churn and a bottle of wine and tells us the fascinating story of the Armenhaus Stenz. The two friends Werner and Sigmar, I think, played a major part in saving this little gem from demolition. We are very impressed by the story and by the commitment of the two men. And we could have listened to Sigmar for a long time. But he soon says goodbye, mentioning that he’ll come back tomorrow morning and bring us breakfast. We’re of course very glad to hear that. He wishes us a good night, and now we’re curious whether it really will be.

What more do you need?

We drink the rest of our wine and the bottle Sigmar brought by the light of burning wax candles. The mood is good, and we spend a cosy evening by the crackling stove. Only the trip to the outhouse takes some getting used to. I know such a facility from days long gone. My grandparents had a loo like that in their yard, and during my military service we also had to use a latrine like that in the field camp. What I find funny is the little basket of magazine pages torn into rectangular pieces. That’s glossy paper! It wipes really, really badly! At some point – I didn’t look at the clock – it’s time to go upstairs. Betina crawls under the thick feather duvet in her box and we slip into ours. The straw base is pleasantly firm, and the thick feather duvet seems almost to crush you. But it gets nice and warm without becoming unpleasant and sweaty. The only problem: my side slopes slightly towards the middle, and I keep rolling over to where Andrea is holding her ground. And now I have an idea why it wasn’t only the lack of television that made people have more children in the old days….

The Day of the Cold: Stenz – Schönfeld

I think I haven’t slept as well as I did that night in a long time. True, I did keep rolling over towards Andrea because of the slightly sloping base, and I also had to visit the little room in the night, which isn’t much fun in the dark, as the beams up here are very low and I had left my torch downstairs in my rucksack. Otherwise, though, it was a very pleasant night in the Armenhaus.

Our midnight vase

For one or two nights it’s a refreshing experience to be without electricity, without running water and without comfort. But to live like this all the time? It shows you what our ancestors had to put up with. Then again, they didn’t know any different. Andrea and Betina also slept exceptionally well, they assure me. In my case there was a bit of a draught now and then. In the morning I see why. Right next to my backside, a bright light shines in from under the eaves. In the eaves’ cladding there’s a round hole gaping in the wood that I hadn’t seen in the dark the evening before. To stop the draught I would have had to put a brick in front of the hole. But since I hadn’t seen it, I had very fresh air. The change in the weather brought clear air and sunshine, but also morning cold. It takes a bit of willpower to wash when there’s no warm running water from the tap. There’s still enough water for our morning wash, and there are two large metal tubs, one meant for washing yourself and the other for the dishes. In the old days the water came from the village well, we learned. Yesterday it came from Sigmar in the milk churn.

Sigmar brings us breakfast

And Sigmar is standing on the doorstep at 7:30, with two big baskets holding our breakfast. Besides fresh rolls he has brought eggs laid practically this minute, cold cuts, jam, butter and coffee in thermos flasks. Tomatoes and cucumbers from his garden lie on the table. And to top it all off, he unwraps three pieces of Dresdner Eierschecke. “Who’s going to eat all this?” I ask as we sit down at the table. “Make yourselves something for the road, and you can take the cake with you for the way too,” Sigmar replies. We tuck in heartily and sit comfortably in the living room, which is still very pleasantly warm from the residual heat of the old stove. Along the way Sigmar tells us more about the house and the local heritage society that maintains it. It’s not just pilgrims who stay here. School classes also get lively local history lessons here. Clubs use the house, or individuals who’ve been thrown out at home can rent it for a while.

Betina doing the washing-up

As the evening before, we would gladly have listened to him longer. But as quickly as Sigmar appeared, he was gone again. Oh well, maybe the next guests have already booked. The pilgrim book shows, at any rate, that the house is well visited. We tidy up the house a bit, write a few words of thanks in the pilgrim book and stamp our credentials with the stamp for house guests. The one in the window is only for passing pilgrims, Werner told us when he let us in yesterday. Then we grab our things and are just about to set off when I see a larger group of walkers on the main road. Since they’re heading in the same direction and are equipped much like us, they’re immediately classified as pilgrims, which also turns out to be correct. One of the differences from us, though, is that they don’t stay in pilgrim hostels but prefer guesthouses and hotels booked in advance from home. As a pilgrim I consider that, well, let’s say suboptimal – or rather, I feel that it means missing out on a part of the experience, good and bad, that for me is indispensable.

Andrea immortalises us in the pilgrim book

We’ve just spent a night that will stay in my memory forever. Guesthouses or hotels are anonymous, interchangeable and lack the charm of a pilgrim hostel. As I learned talking to one of the six pilgrims, they walk the same route as we do, but still many more kilometres, because the guesthouses they’ve booked are often far away from the route. That can easily add up to 10 extra kilometres a day. Whether that is outweighed by the greater convenience and comfort of the guesthouses, I dare to doubt. An 80-year-old woman who bravely carries her rucksack, and whose pace everyone respects, later told us that she would rather have gone to the hostels with us. Well, everyone has different expectations of a pilgrim route, and so you have to accept the group’s decision too. We have a lively conversation with our new companions, but find that we have far more to tell. The people listen to us with interest and ask lots of questions. Then they suddenly stopped, remarking that this would be a very suitable spot for a morning prayer. Man, I thought, they’ve caught me on the wrong foot again. We hadn’t got that far in our conversations yet. Because we hadn’t yet come out about my and Andrea’s motivation for walking this route. And simply walking on would have looked silly. Besides, I want to be considerate of Betina, who certainly has religious motives for this route. And already someone is holding a little hymn book under my nose, and I’m looking into questioning faces because I haven’t brought one. How could I – I don’t even know it. Then everyone starts singing loudly and with great fervour. Only two remain silent, Andrea and I, which at that moment is very embarrassing for me. A little sheepishly, I look into the small book. To make matters worse, Andrea’s mobile rings right in the middle of the ceremony – the hostel warden in Schönfeld calling back. She wants to tell us that we can come but will need to bring some patience, as she has a castle tour in the afternoon. A little enviously, I watch Andrea escape the situation by stepping aside to take the call. The hymn book is still dangling in front of my nose, as if urging me: come on, sing already! Just see sense and understand, I tell myself, wishing the ground would swallow me up. Why doesn’t my phone ring? It does so at the most inconvenient moments otherwise.

Morning sun in the forest

After the “Amen” I’m released, and I hear myself saying that we’ll go on ahead and will surely see each other again, as the group was making moves to extend their break a little. “We’re on the same route, after all,” I say. What the people thought of the two of us, I really didn’t want to brood over. Nor what Betina thought of us…. Well, she knows our outlook, and she’s off the hook. She sang along. But I, not for the first time, feel a little out of place, even though no one has ever confronted me like that and thrown my outlook on life back in my face. Nowhere had we met with rejection so far when, as always, we openly said what we thought. That thought lifts me up again. And when Betina then says that it was quite good that we walked on, I knew she didn’t hold it against us either. Perhaps – or surely – I think about it far too much.

The Esther Heiße bench

We now walk towards the large forest between Königsbrück and Tauscha, where, as Sigmar told us, it was particularly hard to rediscover the route. Often the only way to get your bearings was by the crowns of the trees, which, with the path beneath them, form a gap to the sky. It was Esther Heiße who, at a young age (she was only 23), earned great merit for rediscovering, mapping and waymarking the Ökumenischer Pilgerweg. And in her honour the members of the Königsbrück heritage society donated a stone bench with an inscription in this forest. On a pretext, they lured her into the forest on her birthday to present her with the birthday gift, full of gratitude. Vandals had been messing about with the shelter hut – that was the decoy story. Outraged, she cycled to the supposed scene of the crime, only to find her friends there waiting to congratulate her. All this we also learned from Sigmar. So now we stand in front of the bench and think of the woman who has done so much for this route. And that is surely what the people of Königsbrück had in mind.

Listen! Wild boar!

On we go through the seemingly endless forest. Twigs cracking in the undergrowth suggest wild boar. Betina stands still for minutes on end, hoping to spot some. But nothing. The forest thins out and we walk towards Tauscha. In the village we’re welcomed by a bench decorated with scallop shell symbols and an information board. On this board we learn that here in Tauscha there’s something very special on the pilgrim route: a wooden figure depicting St James. But the little church is locked. At the entrance to the cemetery, however, there’s a notice posted. As is otherwise usual at hostels, there’s a phone number here.

The St James of Tauscha

We call, and a little later a woman comes whizzing up on her bicycle to unlock the church. Inside, a well-kept, beautifully restored space, but no sign of St James anywhere. He stands behind a locked glass door. After a break-in at the church in 1972, security was stepped up here. Back then, two valuable statues, a crucifix made of Meissen porcelain and a few candlesticks were stolen. St James was left behind. He apparently seemed to the thieves to be in too poor a condition, because his arms had already broken off. That at least saved this little gem for the little church. The crucifix was replaced by a copy and stands on the altar. The church now has a burglar alarm and is unfortunately always locked. For passing pilgrims, however, this key service has been set up, which we are using right now. We thank the kind woman, who told us the story of the church and its St James, and then take a short rest by the village pond. We have glorious weather today and a sky that especially delights the photographer in me. White cauliflower clouds hang in a steel-blue firmament.

Cauliflower clouds

The forest is over for now, and we walk along a farm track with a clear view across the surrounding fields. A sky without clouds is boring for a photographer. I’m not bored today. But we can clearly feel the cold east wind, which keeps freshening and has us taking our jackets off and putting them back on again and again. With a jacket you sweat because of the intense sunshine, and without one the wind blows through your fleece, so that you shiver on your sweat-soaked skin. Well, at least the wind is coming from behind and practically blows us along the path. After the gravel track comes a quiet paved road, on which we now walk to Thiendorf.

A rest in Thiendorf

We use the bus stop at the edge of the village for a short rest. It can’t be far now to Schönfeld. Even against the wind, the motorway can be heard shortly after Thiendorf. Through a small tunnel we pass under the A14 and a little later catch up with the six pilgrims we met earlier. They had overtaken us in Tauscha while we were visiting the church. We’re greeted warmly. It looks as if they haven’t held the morning’s faux pas against us. When I tell them about the wooden St James in the church in Tauscha, I’m handed a business card: “You must have photographed him, surely?” Of course, I say, and promise to send the photos, which I have since done. Before the village of Schönfeld we meet the B98, alongside which we walk into the village.

Schloss Schönfeld

Already at the village entrance you can see Schloss Schönfeld. That’s where today’s hostel is housed. The huge castle complex, which we enter a little later, has largely been restored already. Some parts, however, are still slumbering like Sleeping Beauty. We put our rucksacks down on a set of benches and wait to be let into the hostel. There’s still some time until then. Andrea and Betina go back into the village to look for somewhere to eat and shop. But they come back a short time later empty-handed. The children they asked weren’t really sure either and babbled something about an ice-cream parlour, which is a long way away, though. What does far mean anyway? It’s relative. I use the time to have a look around the extensive castle park.

Betina on the Eierschecke

And so we resolve to continue our search in the village once we’ve moved into the hostel. The two women sit down on the benches again, and Betina falls asleep again in no time, lying somewhat contorted on the bench. Once she can move her stiff neck again, she makes another attempt at the marquee set up behind the castle, where it looks as if a party is going to start later today. But she’s turned away with the words “This is a private event.” We would have been happy with a Bockwurst. I still have the three Kamenz sausages from Königsbrück in my rucksack. Maybe we can heat them up later in the hostel.

In the Schloss Schönfeld hostel

We can’t. Because the hostel turns out to be very spartanly furnished. The Armenhaus was almost better equipped. At least it was warm and much cosier. Here there are big radiators under the new windows. But they stay cold after I open the valves. Several notes call on you to set the radiator valves back to frost protection after using the hostel, which turns out to be rather pointless, since the heating stays cold anyway. All in all, this hostel gives a rather loveless impression. Instead of a personal introduction from the rather unenthusiastic-looking lady who had unlocked it for us, there are notes with rules of conduct hanging everywhere.

Where we “resided”

Two bare rooms offer space on mattresses for at least 6 pilgrims. In the corner stands an old kitchen cupboard and a table with several chairs. At least there’s a kettle. Around the corner a little dungeon: the toilet. In the tiny room the washing facility, an equally tiny washbasin. That’s all. I had somehow expected something different from a castle. Well, that’s life sometimes. You expect little and get a lot (like at the Armenhaus), and the next day you think you’re arriving at a fairy-tale castle and find cold and primitive accommodation. Yes, that’s the right word. Accommodation is what I’d call this, no more and no less. We have a roof over our heads, can lay down our weary bodies and wash, make coffee and use a toilet. Hmm, what more do you need? I’m asking too much again. And a saying comes back to mind that I actually like to live by: “The tourist demands. The pilgrim gives thanks.” And so, despite the circumstances, I’m grateful for this accommodation. For coffee we still have Sigmar’s Eierschecke, which Betina carried here in her big rucksack. And in no time coffee and cake are on the table. There you go. Already it’s getting cosy. It gets even cosier when we let Betina’s hairdryer run for a while (yes, she’s brought a hairdryer!). At least it brings a bit of warmth into the room.

Evening sun in Schönfeld

It’s getting colder and colder here, and we decide to go into the village once more. In the last rays of the day’s sun we sit in front of a sort of shopping centre, eyed suspiciously by the neighbours directly opposite. Betina has, without further ado, arranged the beer-garden tables and benches standing in front of the butcher’s so that the sun shines in our faces. Being Saturday, the shops have all closed already. So we wait for the village pub we just passed to open. And I wonder how I’d look out of my house if strangers in somewhat grubby hiking clothes were loitering by the road right opposite. But they don’t have to put up with the sight for much longer. Because the sun is gone and the pub is about to open. So we put everything back the way it was (we’re tidy pilgrims!) and head to the inn.

Dinner in Schönfeld

We step into the dining room and immediately fear being thrown out again. A private function is obviously going on here. But we’re invited in, unfussily and loudly. The table by the stove is just right for us. And before we know it we’re right in the middle of the class reunion, which is what the party turns out to be. Betina sits at the front and takes on the job of photographing the merry bunch with the several cameras handed to her. They’re already getting on a bit (I mean the former pupils, not Betina!), and every time another classmate arrives there’s a big hullabaloo. The food is great – good home cooking, just what you’d expect in a village pub. I’d actually like to stay a while longer by the warm stove, because the thought of going back to the cold accommodation isn’t very appealing.

The castle in the evening

But we set off anyway, say goodbye to the other guests and walk back to the castle. The party behind the building is still in full swing. Someone is singing German Schlager live. I had already overheard the rehearsals in the afternoon, and it sounded dreadful. We retreat into our cold hostel and sit for a long time in front of the tiny display of my mobile. I have some funny stuff from YouTube on it: Uwe Steimle, Elsterglanz, Kurt Krömer, Rainald Grebe and H.P. Kerkeling. Andrea already knows it all. But Betina laughed her head off. I conjure three bottles of beer out of my rucksack, and despite the cold it turns into a fun evening.

The Day of Kindness: Schönfeld – Großenhain – Skassa

Ready to set off

Last night, once again, buying the new, warmer sleeping bags paid off. It is bitterly cold inside the thick walls of the castle. At breakfast, which turns out a bit leaner again today for lack of supplies, Betina's hairdryer is back in constant use. There are the rolls from yesterday and instant coffee. I make myself a hot lemon, which suits the temperatures in the room better. Outside, at least, it seems to be getting warmer and warmer as the sun rises into an almost cloudless sky. Before we leave I take a few more pictures of the castle, which shows itself in a better light this morning. And off we go, rucksacks on our backs, through Schönfeld.

The organic lawnmower

At the edge of the village we are glad to leave the B98 again and turn left onto a smaller paved road. Here we also come across the "ice cream parlour" the children described to us the day before. It is hard to recognise as such. An organic lawnmower in a meadow by the wayside is also worth a photo to me. If you look more closely, there is hoarfrost on the meadows wherever the sun hasn't reached yet. But the sun keeps climbing higher into the sky, and you can already feel the warmth on your back. Long shadow plays on the path, though, give away that it is still very early in the day.

Shadow plays

Kronospan

On the right a large industrial area is impossible to miss. It is the Kronospan plant in Lampertswalde. Luckily the wind is in our favour and we don't get the fumes. Instead we smell more and more of a huge cowshed quietly reeking away on the edge of Quersa. In Quersa Betina suddenly crosses the road, and I see her talking to an old woman standing by a car in front of a large farmstead. Am I seeing right? Yes, Betina is waving us over. "I just asked the woman whether there's anywhere in the village to get a coffee." (Our instant coffee this morning evidently didn't quite do the trick.) "And she's invited us in," Betina reports.

Kind-hearted Helga

Helga, as the old woman is called, asks us into her house too without a second thought. We leave the rucksacks outside in the yard. And before we know it we are sitting in the little kitchen. "You'll have to excuse the state of the place. We had a party yesterday and I haven't tidied up yet," she says, quite unnecessarily apologising for the mess in her domain. And straight away she starts making coffee for us. "I've still got layered salad from yesterday in the fridge, and fried chicken legs." And in no time two big bowls are standing on the table next to our coffee cups. We can hardly stop her, because she is already rummaging cake out of the cupboard too and putting it on the table right under our noses.

Good things come unexpectedly

With a big spoon she then heaps a hefty dollop of the very tasty layered salad onto our plates. We have to put the brakes on Helga's kindness, because more and more things keep finding their way onto the kitchen table. Along the way she tells us about her family, about the terrible illnesses she has had to endure recently, and why she asked us in. "I don't invite just anybody into my house," she stresses. "You need to have a bit of a knack for judging people," she goes on. Well, at any rate we don't seem to make the worst impression on those around us, I think. Helga seems happy that someone is taking the time to listen to her, although she keeps stressing that her children are there at once whenever she needs help.

Helga with Betina

Her son, who lives in the house with her, comes into the room and looks a little surprised. So it's true: she really doesn't let just anyone into her kitchen. He is back from hunting. Without success, it seems, because after a brief hello he disappears into the next room. Only his dog, a wire-haired dachshund, stays. He is soaking wet, and Andrea rubs him down a bit with his blanket. He lets it happen and seems to enjoy it. Helga has warmed up talking, and her goodness and kindness are overwhelming. We hardly dare get up and say goodbye. But we have to move on. So we thank our kind hostess politely, take a few more photos, some of which we have resolved to send to Helga, and leave the house. Helga waves after us, and we hope she will be around for her family and for passing pilgrims for a good long while yet. So if anyone comes through Quersa, just ask for Helga Händler and give her our warm regards. That would be nice.

Approaching Großenhain

Quersa turns out to be a long, straggling farming village with many beautifully restored three-sided farmsteads like the one Helga lives in. Shortly before the end of the village the route turns off right from the B98 again, and we walk as far as a level crossing. Then you have to pay attention, because right after the level crossing you must leave the road to the left and take a farm track that runs right alongside the railway embankment towards Großenhain. From here we can already see the tall tower of the Marienkirche of this old garrison town. For a few kilometres we walk across open fields beside the railway line. The wind has free rein here. And just like the day before, it is rather cool. The merry jacket-swapping game starts up again. Shortly before Großenhain we reach Folbern and turn right there onto the old B98. Since the new bypass was finished and the B98 rerouted, it has become quite quiet here. Besides, today is Sunday, and at this time, just before noon, there isn't much traffic anyway. Because it is Sunday and there is no chance of getting anything to eat at our destination, Skassa, we use the first opportunity to replenish our food supplies. First directive of pilgrimage: seize the chance!

Lunch at the petrol station

And the first chance is a petrol station. The selection, however, is rather limited. Two filled baguettes are still lingering in the display, and the saleswomen don't give the impression of taking much pleasure in their job. At least they run no risk of being associated with the title of this post. Reluctantly they prepare another two baguettes for us. Had I known of anywhere else to shop, I would have walked out again. As it is, we probably account for the day's takings here, have a coffee or a Coke, and leave the petrol station with a few extra kilos on our backs. In them there are now a few bottles of beer and red wine, a few rolls and the four baguettes. And a few BiFi sausages weigh on our backs as well, on top of everything that's in the rucksack anyway.

Großenhain old town

As we walk into town, I point out the many newly roofed houses. Two years ago Großenhain was hit by a terrible tornado. In a swath 2 kilometres wide from here all the way to Mühlberg on the Elbe, hardly a house and hardly a tree was spared. And so today you see lots of new roofs here, and the marks on the crowns of the big trees, which look rather oddly plucked. We now walk along the Große Röder towards the town centre. As you enter the old town you can already see the massive building of the Marienkirche, and you realise why it is also called the little sister of Dresden's Frauenkirche.

Marienkirche, Großenhain

From this side it really does look like a round building with a large tower on top, so it is very similar to its big sister in Dresden. No wonder, since the builder of the Marienkirche, Johann George Schmidt, also worked on Dresden's Frauenkirche. Only when you walk around it do you see the T-shaped nave. It is the only church in Saxony with this unusual shape, which makes it something special. Of course we want to go in, and we spend quite a while looking for the right entrance. Only after going halfway round do we discover the open door. We step inside, and the interior, too, is reminiscent of the Frauenkirche. Galleries sweep in curves like the tiers of a theatre over several levels to the left and right of the altar, which you approach from the main portal. High up is the organ, and below it, high above the floor, the pulpit. The pews run through the space in the same curves as the galleries. It all looks very lively and yet sublime. Betina sits in a pew for minutes on end, looking up. My neck starts to ache too, because I've been tilting my head upwards for quite a while. I think that's what the builders intended. What is striking is that large parts of the galleries are glazed. These are so-called prayer boxes. Wealthy citizens' families could purchase them, and the money went towards financing the construction. Some of the furniture in these rooms has survived.

Pulpit altar of the Marienkirche

The church has had an eventful history. Not much is known about the earlier churches that stood here. Construction of the present Marienkirche was completed in 1748. At that point, though, the church was given only the barest furnishings. Only seven years later did it receive its impressive pulpit altar, and it was not until 1802, after two years of construction, that the tower was consecrated. The organ dates from 1902 and was overhauled in 2001. In 1972 the church was restored with the means and possibilities available at the time. And in 2004, after another overhaul, it acquired its present appearance. We now stroll to the market square, where the imposing neo-Renaissance town hall of 1876 stands, with the Diana Fountain on the east side of the square. I only know Großenhain from driving through, and of course I never come past here then. So I'm glad to have a bit more time for the town for once.

Großenhain town hall

This Sunday there are only a few people out on the streets. Just a few bikers have parked their motorcycles and are taking a break on the terrace of an ice cream parlour. We follow their example and sit down in the sun. The wind is cool, though, so you need a jacket. So, unpacking again… Betina prefers something savoury and orders a toastie. I order a Radeberger. Only Andrea gets her ice cream sundae. It's a kind of running gag of ours that began during our hikes in the Alps. Whenever they had "walked nicely", the children always got an ice cream. Andrea quickly adopted this and jumped on the bandwagon. So whenever an ice cream parlour turns up nearby along the way, I don't have to wait long before Andrea says: "Woor? Ich bin heute schön geloofen." ("Well? I walked nicely today.") Who could say no to that?

Outside the ice cream parlour on the market square

I'm not really an ice cream person, hence the beer. Later the six pilgrims we already know join us too; we had seen them coming in the distance before Großenhain. Meanwhile, the coalition of those who would rather join us has grown among them. Now quite openly, individual members of the group become rebellious and announce, as we get up to move on, that they would rather walk with us. But group discipline wins out and we carry on alone. In a wide arc through the old town we walk to the very pretty town park and then through smart housing estates on the edge of town. A kilometres-long cycle path paved with concrete blocks takes us straight to Skassa.

Countryside before Skassa

The Kleinraschützer Heide heathland stretches out to the right of this path, and we meet lots of day-trippers who have chosen this recreation area on the doorstep of Großenhain for a hike or a bike ride. After the bridge over the Große Röder we enter the village of Skassa. In front of the fire station a man is busy with a sign: "Skassa Wine Festival 3 October". Pity, we'll be gone by then. Straight across, on the wall of the parish garden, I see a signpost to the pilgrim hostel. It is located here in the parsonage. At the entrance to the property hangs a big banner reading "Principality of Platanien", and next to it a little bell dangles from a wobbly contraption made of sticks. I'm tempted to pull the rope and ring it, but think better of it. I'd rather ring the doorbell of the house. The door is opened by a little girl, who immediately vanishes again, somewhat startled. For minutes… nothing. Then at last the lady of the house appears.

Skassa parsonage

We had booked ahead and were supposed to be here before 3:30 pm, as she wants to drive to Riesa with her three children in the afternoon for the children's service. So she has little time for us, which doesn't matter much, as we quickly find our way around. The most important thing today is a shower. We hadn't had a chance to enjoy one for two days. Maybe that's why the girl ran off? We move into two rooms and also find a small common room. Downstairs, behind the parish room, there is a very well-equipped kitchen, where at last we can prepare (meaning heat up) our Kamenz sausages, which I bought in Königsbrück. But there's still time before dinner. I wash my socks and a shirt. And while Andrea and Betina shower and do their laundry too, I go to the nearby church, which luckily is open. I'm quite surprised by the beautiful furnishings, and also by the very good condition of the interior. I can even climb up to the gallery. And when I discover that the slatted door to the tower isn't locked either, I climb it via the wooden stairs, which look rotten. I carefully try to step on the boards only close to the beams. Given the worrying state of the floorboards, I'm afraid of falling through.

Inside the church in Skassa

I take a few pictures of the interesting tower clock mechanism before carefully climbing back down. Then I lock all the doors again and switch off the light. I have to hurry, because the church is only open until 6 pm. The women would surely never think of looking for me up the church tower if I got locked in. But I'm back in time for dinner. Betina is on the phone in the kitchen when I come clattering in. I don't really want to disturb her. But before I can withdraw, she leaves the room. So I have the chance to prepare dinner. As always, it isn't lavish when we can't find a chance to go out to eat, so to speak. Unfortunately there is no such chance in Skassa.

On the menu: Kamenzer and Krostitzer

And so today it's once again just hot Kamenz sausages with Bautzen mustard and Ur-Krostitzer beer, which, to my delight, Betina loves. The beer is brewed very close to where we live; it's my home beer, so to speak, even though I've shunned it for some time — been unfaithful, so to speak. It no longer tasted quite right to me, and I was a bit miffed too. Because in GDR times the beer from Krostitz was sold almost exclusively "under the counter". You needed so-called "connections" if you ever wanted larger quantities. This took on grotesque forms, culminating in a "Beer War of Delitzsch". People from Bitterfeld, whose own beer was simply undrinkable and who had "connections" in Delitzsch, came with car trailers and collected the beer by the crate at the back entrance of the supermarket. Naturally this annoyed the thirsty people of Delitzsch, who noticed and only got "their" beer in rationed amounts. Some reached for knives and slashed the tyres of the Bitterfeld trailers. A brawl ensued. It seems crazy and unimaginable today when you look into a drinks shop. That variety was surely what caused my unfaithfulness in matters of beer. (Just an aside for general amusement.)

In the common room

After dinner we retreat upstairs to the common room. Soft light shines through a white cloth hung loosely beneath the ceiling. I've managed to get a fan heater going, which whirrs away loudly in the corner of the room. Gradually, as it warms up, it's getting cosy in here too. We lounge in the comfortable armchairs, have another drink and go over the day. The highlight today was of course Helga, who invited us into her kitchen without further ado and impressed us so much with her kindness. By contrast, the two saleswomen at the petrol station, who are actually paid to be friendly but showed none of it. And that's why I call this day the Day of Kindness. A smile, a gesture or a friendly word — and the ice is broken. We have often met with this kindness, a smile or a nice gesture along the way. Others, though, stand in their own way, look grumpy, suspicious and uncomprehending. You can actually feel sorry for them.

The Day of Farewell: Skassa – Strehla

This night was far too short. Even so, I'm awake before my alarm. In the half-light I search desperately for my sleeping bag liner. Somehow I'm not quite with it today. Last night probably went on a bit long after all. I also woke up regularly — every time the fan heater switched itself on automatically every half hour. In the end I do manage to gather all my things and stow them in my rucksack. It is much lighter today than yesterday.

The path beyond Skassa

It's Monday, and our destination, Strehla, is a small town where there will certainly be somewhere to shop. Andrea isn't really getting going either. After a coffee, though, the world already looks better. We say goodbye to our hostess, who has surely been up for a while, as she has to take the children to school. The weather decides to spoil us with sunshine again today. And so we warm up over the first few kilometres, which follow a narrow, almost overgrown farm track. In the mornings I always need at least half an hour anyway before my legs do what they're supposed to. But it's no comparison with the first stages, when they didn't quite know what to do all day long.

On the horizon, the Wacker Chemie plant in Nünchritz

Wacker Chemie in Nünchritz is shrouded in thick clouds of smoke on the horizon. I've driven past the plant many times. But I've never seen that much smoke there. The plant lies right on the Elbe before Riesa, and it has been greatly expanded in recent years. Our six valiant fellow walkers had gone that way yesterday. It doesn't look very idyllic, though. We swing right, leaving Nünchritz to our left, and walk via Weißig to Roda. There, at the Dorfkrug inn, the Linke family serves a pilgrim meal from 11 am. Unfortunately we are far too early.

Sunflower field beyond Roda

The stretch after Roda is one to savour. Because after that there won't be a chance for a long time. We hike past large sunflower fields that are already ready for harvest and therefore make a rather sad sight. The patch of woodland that follows will be the last one today. And so everyone disappears behind the bushes one more time. We can already hear the busy B98, which we kept running into over the last two days. Now we have to walk alongside it on a cycle path for quite a stretch, as far as Zeithain. But first we come to Glaubitz. In the middle of the village, opposite the pond, we see a small shop that is open.

Snack bar in Glaubitz

What have we learned? First directive of pilgrimage: seize the opportunity! And in we go. It's almost a little supermarket with a snack bar attached. The snack bar is still closed, though. We ask for a coffee, and the nice owner opens her snack bar for us. We take a few pastries from the shop, and so we sit alone in the dining room and take a break. The women chatter away animatedly. It's about cats somehow, I just about gather, while I struggle to keep my eyes open. As I already wrote: somehow I'm not quite with it today. Tired, that's what I am. There's only one cure for that: keep walking.

Enforced break before Zeithain

So we pay and set off on one of the ugliest and most nerve-racking sections of our walk. All the way on the paved cycle path, we head along the B98 towards Zeithain. Some people in the cars look over at us with odd pity or incomprehension as they whoosh past. We'd rather walk somewhere else too, I'd like to shout to them. Just before the town, the roaring traffic leaves us, heading for Riesa. At a railway barrier we wait to be let into town. Zeithain is a fairly attractive, large place. But what follows is an imposition. Here the only thing to do is grit your teeth and get through it. Because now there isn't even a cycle path we could use. It is a side road, admittedly. But there are loads of vehicles on it. Many of them big tipper trucks hauling masses of building material out of the Zeithain gravel pit, which we hurry past on this road.

Loosening-up exercises

I catch myself walking faster and faster to escape this madness as quickly as possible. So our little group stretches out a bit. A good while after me Betina comes trudging along, and much later Andrea, while I wait for the women at the turn-off to Gohlis. Betina stays lying on the other side of the road with her legs stretched up in the air. She's doing loosening-up exercises. Maybe I really did walk that stretch too fast. Andrea doesn't look happy either when she catches up. Once we're together again, though, I promise that things will get better now. "In Gohlis we'll reach the Elbe and then we'll carry on along the Elbe Cycle Route. That's bound to be nicer," I say confidently. First, though, it's more asphalt all the way to Gohlis.

Panorama on the Elbe near Gohlis

There's a lot of building going on in Gohlis. The sewer system is being renewed. But you can see lots of building work on the properties too. In June this year the Elbe was once again an unwelcome guest here. After the flood of the century in 2002, whose high-water marks you can see on many house walls, the floodwater rose this year to almost the same level again. You can tell that some people in the village gave up afterwards and moved away. We leave the main road and are now on the Elbe Cycle Route.

Everyone wants to be in the picture

To our left the river glitters in the sun, and on the lush Elbe meadows stand a few ponies, which push their way into the picture when we photograph them. Seeing it like this, you can hardly imagine how it's possible for this river to rise so far. There are quite a few metres of height between the water's surface and the path. In front of some properties the owners have built their own flood walls with sheet piling. But this year, too, these couldn't prevent the ground floors of the houses from being flooded. In many houses you can see that the lower floor still isn't lived in and the windows are left open for ventilation. The plaster has been knocked off and will only be renewed once the walls have dried out again.

A long break by the Elbe

We look to the other side and see the idyll of the river flowing past. In a sheltered spot under a tree we take a rest, lie down in the grass, eat something and doze off. The sun beats down on our faces, and by evening there's sunburn on the tip of my nose. This peace is glorious after the noisy road. We enjoy the time and don't say much, so as not to disturb the quiet. Our hiking boots lie in the grass and our socks can air out. I don't know how long we lay there. And if I hadn't urged us to get going, we'd have stayed until evening. Getting up, I can't suppress a groan. The ground was pretty hard after all, and you can feel your legs now after that forced march.

On the Elbe dyke

We stroll slowly along the Elbe dyke. Strehla, our destination, is already in sight, and so is the ferry we want to take across the river. We cross a very wide meadow with a whole armada of lighting masts standing on it, apparently pointlessly. Because underneath there's nothing but grass. I decide to ask the ferryman what it's all about. We wait patiently at the landing stage until something stirs on the other bank and the small motor ferry quickly approaches. Just as fast as it came over, we then reach the opposite bank. I hardly have time to snap a few photos.

Passenger ferry in Strehla

Quickly I ask the ferryman about the light masts. At first he pulls my leg and says it's a golf course. "Yeah, right!" I say. "No, seriously!" I urge him to be honest. "It's a fairground," he says then. Wow, those must be big festivals they hold here. I'll have to keep an eye out for that. As we climb off the boat and walk up the steep cobbled street, Betina suddenly says that her journey is probably ending today. We stop in shock and ask what's wrong. Betina has problems with her ankle and would rather stop before it gets any worse. She had once told us the story about her ankle, and we can understand her decision, sad as it is. Silently I reproach myself, wondering whether I did walk too fast today after all, when the route was so dreary.

Strehla town hall

Slowly and somewhat downcast we walk up into town. On the market square I stop and notice the two women disappearing into a shop. They follow with full bags, and we look for the address of our accommodation. It ought to be near the church, whose tower stands right in front of us, impossible to miss. We head that way, across the churchyard past the church, and find ourselves in front of the parsonage. Inside everything is dark. We ring and nobody answers. As always, a note with contact details hangs in the window. First the pastor answers the phone, but he says he isn't in Strehla. We're to report to a woman straight across the road. So off I go. But without success. She neither responds to my insistent ringing, nor can I see her in the garden behind the house, where I also look on the pastor's advice.

The pilgrim hostel in Strehla

We reach the hostel to the left of the parsonage through an open iron gate. It stands, so to speak, directly behind the parsonage. It's a smart two-storey building and makes a good impression on us. But what good is that if we can't get in? Every 15 minutes I try the bell across the road again — without success. Then I walk quite a way looking for the youth hostel, which offers an alternative here in Strehla. But when it seems too far to me, I turn back and call the pastor once more. He kindly explains that the woman really ought to be there, but gives me another phone number in Strehla. I call it and explain the situation. "No problem!" I hear, and "I'll be right there." I go back to the front of the parsonage to wait for our rescuer. Then a woman comes up to me and asks whether I rang her bell. The neighbours had told her someone had been there who almost tore the bell off. "Well, I didn't ring that badly, and the bell's still there," I say jokingly. As if on cue, at that very moment the woman I've just phoned comes round the corner too. I have to explain myself all over again and apologise for my impatience.

The dormitory

We are then let in and find a lovely, large, bright dormitory with 6 beds upstairs. Upstairs there's also a big kitchen, and downstairs the toilets and showers. There's even a washing machine and a dryer. I'd say this hostel comes highly recommended. While the women make themselves pretty, I take my camera and go back into town. Every time I've driven through Strehla, two towers have caught my eye. And I've always wanted to know what they belonged to and to take a look. Now I know. They belong to Schloss Strehla, a former castle complex that is the oldest in Saxony after the Albrechtsburg in Meißen.

Schloss Strehla

A Slavic fortification is said to have stood here as early as before the year 900. It only became a palace later, around 1550. The complex is a hotchpotch of different eras, from late Gothic to Renaissance. Expropriated in 1945, it was used as a children's home in GDR times. During that period many outbuildings were demolished. Today the palace is privately owned again and has been partly restored. Parts of the outer bailey are used as residential buildings. A lot here still needs restoring, admittedly. But it's well worth a visit in any case. So, having added a few more photos to my memory card, I head back to the hostel.

The two palace towers

To mark the occasion, we decide to cook something today. Andrea says to Betina: "So you get to enjoy his cooking before we say goodbye." We don't really feel much like celebrating, though. Andrea and I set off to find the supermarket. After a few detours we find it, and after some thinking and searching between the shelves I decide to cook pasta. I'd already scored points with the ladies with that on the Camino Francés, even if they were all well over sixty back then. Fully laden, we lug our bags back and I start the preparations straight away.

Of course there are also a few bottles of Krostitzer and red wine. With the pasta there's salad, and Betina has given me a little piece of smoked fish too. The meal is positively celebrated. I'm not entirely happy with the pasta sauce (I'd forgotten the garlic), but we all got full. Today we're celebrating our farewell to Betina, and despite the rather sad occasion we still have lots of fun. "When your foot is all better, we'll walk the rest together," I say, and I don't mean it as a joke.

The Day with a View: Strehla – Börln

Somehow getting up is no fun today. While we pack our rucksacks and wash up, Betina is already making breakfast. We eat our bread rolls fairly quietly. “But we’ll stay in touch, and you’ll come and visit us some time,” Betina says, breaking the silence. “Of course,” I say briefly. And anyone who knows me knows that I mean it. We’re still in touch today with many of the people we met on our walks. Only recently we had a visit from Thomas from Bavaria, whom we got to know on the Camino Francés in Spain in 2011. Or Martin from Switzerland, with whom I skype regularly. And then there are all the emails that keep going back and forth, from Iva in the Czech Republic, Jürgen from Ulm or Andrea from Dortmund. We really have found good friends on our pilgrim paths. And now it’s Betina we sadly have to say goodbye to today.“I’m not much good at goodbyes,” she says as we stand downstairs outside the hostel. “Me neither,” I say, trying to hide my damp eyes. The farewell gets to Andrea too. I can tell. We hug and turn round several more times as we walk away. Then we’re gone and on our own. Betina is being picked up by her husband in the car and is spending the rest of the day in Strehla.

Landscape at the Liebschützberg

We leave the town in silence. It’s quite cold again this morning. In the gardens we can see that there have already been night frosts. A light veil of mist still lies over the fields. But the sun will make sure it doesn’t stay that way for long. Our first goal today is the Liebschützberg, a hill north of Oschatz that can be seen from far and wide. The ridge is 198 metres high and, like the nearby Collmberg, a landmark easily recognised from a distance. In 2003, if some building materials companies from southern Germany had had their way, its geology would have been the hill’s undoing. The plan was to quarry granodiorite, a type of granite, over an area of 44 hectares. The quarry area lies 100 per cent within a landscape protection area, and opposition quickly arose. A citizens’ initiative together with the Saxon nature conservation association tried to save the landscape from the diggers. Probably with success, since now, in 2013, there’s still no sign of a quarry.

Wind chime and view towards Oschatz

The ground rises gently, and far to the south we can see the two distinctive towers of Sankt Aegidien in Oschatz in the haze. With every step the view now becomes more and more impressive. To the north-east we look out over the Elbe lowlands as far as Mühlberg, where you can see the cooling tower and the chimney of the sugar factory smoking. To the north-west the large forest of the Dahlener Heide adjoins. And in the foreground the village of Laas nestles against the ridge. To the south-west, behind the village of Liebschütz, the 320-metre Collmberg with its big transmitter mast and the Albertturm emerges ever more clearly from the haze.

On the Liebschützberg

The Collm is the highest elevation on the eastern edge of the Leipzig Lowland Bay. We’re now just short of the summit of the Liebschützberg, and the panorama is fantastic. In a fenced-off area stands the old post mill, which is currently covered in scaffolding and being restored. Also up here, for some time now, there has been a wooden frame with a bell that is rung for open-air church services. The Liebschützberg is used in many ways. Besides events and leisure activities, though, for most of the year it is a place of peace and relaxation. And the presence of a few cranes proves to us that it can be lonely and quiet up here. The shy migratory birds stand at a great distance on the slope, watching us. If we come closer, they take off, fly a little way and so restore the old safety distance. But sometimes things are different. For every year the hill attracts thousands of people from the surrounding communities, who hold big events here such as the Easter bonfire, the Liebschützberg festival, the international kite festival and also the open-air services already mentioned.

Downhill heading west

You can read all this up here on large information boards, and I tried to remember some of it. Why don’t I actually have a photo of them? We don’t stay up here very long, as the wind is really whistling. From now on it’s steadily downhill again all the way to Lampertswalde. Right at the entrance to the village we walk along a thick, high wall and come across a wooden scallop shell at the gate. Well, we’ll have a look inside then! Behind the wall lies a real little paradise. The eye-catcher is a very old and very thick plane tree. It stands in a palace park with a pond and an island, just the way you’d imagine it.

Palace park, Lampertswalde

Cables are strung between the trees with umbrellas hanging from them. What’s that supposed to be, I wonder, and at first assume it’s some kind of art installation. But no, they’re lampshades. All over the park the colourful shades hang, with sockets and light bulbs underneath – what a nice idea. Two workers are tidying up and raking leaves. We greet them in a friendly way and see the outdoor seating of a little café, where someone is also already busy. “Are you open yet?” I ask. “Well, then we’ll just open,” says the owner. The two workers immediately make use of the café for a break too.

Palace park, Lampertswalde

We sit in the sun, watch the swans on the palace pond and have coffee and cake brought to us. What could be nicer? All right, I had a Bockwurst. Now I try to book us in at Börln, but realise that the phone number is either wrong or incomplete. So we call Betina in Strehla, since she has a pilgrim guidebook with her. She’s in town and of course doesn’t have it on her. But later she calls back and gives us the right number. (That reminds me, I still have to change it in my table too. By the way, a digit is missing.) The actual Lampertswalde palace no longer exists. It stood on the large island in the pond, so it was a moated castle. Only a few outbuildings are left.

Palace park, Lampertswalde

The whole place looks very well kept. But it hasn’t been that way for long. After the owners were expropriated by the Nazis, the grounds fell visibly into decay. After the war the palace was demolished in 1947. The park ran wild, the moat was filled with building rubble and the palace pond had no more water. After the Wende, the people of the village took the park in hand, and as early as 1994 the grounds had been restored to their present layout. It really is impressive what’s possible when a village sticks together. The park and the Burgcafé have become a magnet for the surrounding area, for tourists, hikers and of course for pilgrims too. After we’ve refreshed ourselves, we walk through the park once more and then leave the village via the Axelallee.

The path before Dahlen

Lampertswalde is a village that stretches out a very long way. And it’s only two and a half kilometres further west that we really leave it. The next intermediate goal is the small town of Dahlen. You can see the church tower from a long way off. The path there is quite idyllic and leads over gently undulating ground past a large pond to the eastern edge of town. Almost all the time the Collmberg, which we’ve now passed, can be seen to the south. In the surrounding fields there’s a lot of deer, which shyly take flight when we approach. We enter the town of Dahlen via a narrow, sloping path down from the Burgberg.

Landscape before Dahlen

Dahlen really isn’t big. And so we very quickly find ourselves on the market square, where we sit down on a bench right next to the “Sackhupper”. According to a legend, Dahlen also became known as the “Sackhupperstadt”, the sack-race town. What’s probably true is that in the last century a carter organised a children’s festival every year and came up with sack racing as a new bit of fun. This funny monument is dedicated to that story. But back then the jute sacks surely didn’t have “LPG Dahlen” written on them. We look around and discover a small bakery.

Sack-race monument in Dahlen

It’s about time for a little something to eat and a coffee anyway. I never drink as much coffee at home as we do here. But what else are you supposed to do when you’re not actually walking? So into the shop we go. A few rolls wouldn’t be bad for the evening and for breakfast, and for now two coffees and two pieces of fruit cake. There’s plum cake, my favourite. And somehow the nice shop assistant must have seen from looking at us that we’d rather drink our coffee sitting down. And straight away she puts two chairs and a tiny table next to the counter. There really isn’t much room, and we have to squeeze into the corner a bit so the customers can still get in.

In the bakery

But we’re sitting, and we’re very grateful to the woman for it. On our way out of town we pass an organic shop. There we stock up on drinks. And once again my rucksack has a weight that makes me groan slightly when I put it on. The next stretch then runs for a long way along an asphalt road towards Bortewitz. Only after about 2 kilometres does a farm track branch off to the left, lined with lots of fruit trees. We walk over a carpet of slowly rotting pears. The wasps swarm among them and are having a feast. I don’t know whether people are too lazy or whether it’s forbidden to pick the fruit? In any case, I always used to go fruit picking with my father, and we’d take it to the cider press, where later there’d be juice or fruit wine. Today everything rots on the roads and paths. That annoys me a bit, but I can’t change it either. People seem to prefer eating fruit from New Zealand.

Börln parsonage

Since, despite the now complete phone number, we haven’t reached anyone at the Börln parsonage, we’re wondering where else we might spend the night when we see big straw bales by the wayside. “Only in the most extreme emergency!” I think when Andrea makes the suggestion. Then we enter the village. From driving through, I remember that there are a lot of paddocks, stables and a hotel here. We’re just walking past the latter and see that it’s closed. The rest of the village also makes a “closed” impression. Almost half the farmsteads are empty. Strange, really. In Lampertswalde we see a flourishing village with smart houses and committed residents. And here, not far away at all, everything is going downhill. The gym still seems to be a popular meeting place. Boards everywhere advertise table tennis in the hall. Oh, and the ice-cream parlour is doing well, which we’ll check out later. Andrea has “walked nicely” again today, but first it’s a matter of getting rid of the rucksacks. Thanks to the good signposting, the parsonage is quickly found. Here too there’s a note in the window with contact people. The second number works. A woman’s voice answers and tells us she’s still in Dahlen and will be with us in 20 minutes. We sit down in the parsonage garden under a sort of arbour and watch a man working on the natural stone wall of the property. He has the key to the garage but not to the house. But then a car pulls up and we’re let in.

The church in Börln

The woman shows us the communal room and the (well, let’s call it) kitchen next to it, in which the toilets and the shower are also separated off by partition walls. The room is used by the parish. There’s a big table with lots of chairs in the middle, and the first thing we ask ourselves is where we can sleep. Then I spot some mattresses lying folded up on top of the cupboard. And everything is sorted. The woman says goodbye, mentioning that there might be an event here this evening. So, so as not to get in the way, we leave everything in our rucksacks for now, put them in the corner and head off to the ice-cream parlour.

Andrea has “walked nicely”

Because Andrea has “walked nicely”. We’re really amazed at the choice and the crowds. In the outdoor seating area several tables are already taken, and even as we join them, more and more people keep coming. It’s mainly soft-serve ice cream. In various versions you can also take it home in larger quantities. Seems to be doing well, I say. And the ice cream really is good, I have to admit, even though I’m not a keen ice-cream eater. After the ice-cream parlour we walk around the village a bit more. The church is locked, the manor house has seen better days too, and again and again we see abandoned farms. The village is as good as dead unless a miracle happens. The woman who let us in wasn’t exactly bubbling over with optimism about the place either.

By the pond

In the end we sit by a large pond whose water glitters in the setting sun, behind us — of course — an abandoned house. So we finish our walk and return to the parsonage. At least from the outside, it looks solid. I take the mattresses down from the cupboard and Andrea sweeps the floor again before I lay them down. We’re not particularly fussy. But Andrea seems to be the first person in a long time to have held a broom in here. Since we’ll be lying so close to the floor, it’s better that way. On the piano, which someone has daubed with white paint (who on earth comes up with something like that? Andrea asks), there’s a stereo. I manage to get it working and so fill the room with a little music for supper.

Off to the nest

We won’t be staying up late tonight. Betina sends us a text saying she’s almost home. She managed to get hold of a crate of Ur-Krostitzer at a drinks shop, she writes. I have to smile and think of the beer war of Delitzsch. Andrea is already dozing, and after finishing my beer I lie down on the mattress too. The radio sings us to sleep and burbles away all night long. Tomorrow is our last day.

The Last Day: Börln – Wurzen – Nepperwitz

Well now? Why is today already our last day? Surely we’re still at least two days from home? Here’s the explanation: it’s down to our dawdling. We had a fairly fixed schedule. And it said we’d be home on 2 October. But we shortened the stage to Panschwitz-Kuckau and stayed in Crostwitz. Because of the weather, we finished the stage in Kamenz much earlier than actually planned. So we fell a day behind, which can’t be made up over 200 kilometres. Seen that way, though, everything worked out. Because otherwise we’d never have met our nice travelling companion. But back to the day:

At the baker’s in Börln

I slept quite well on the mattresses. Since we had a free choice and nobody else came after us, I put two mattresses on top of each other for us. That was pretty comfortable. Today, on the last day, we don’t have to worry about breakfast. There’s a baker’s in Börln, and as we saw yesterday on our walk round, it should be open again today. So we quickly pack up our things. I heave the mattresses back onto the cupboard and we’re already locking the door of the parsonage behind us. The bakery really is open, but doesn’t give me the impression that it will be for much longer. The state of the shop fittings is disastrous, and the sales room could do with a fresh coat of paint too. I don’t even want to know what it looks like in the back. While we sit sipping our coffee, I have time to take a closer look around. And those are the things you just notice. Only one customer comes into the shop the whole time we’re having breakfast there. When we walk through the village, it’s as if it has died out. Anything else would have surprised me.

Morning in the park at Börln

We walk through the park, where the sun paints colourful dots on the ground. Shortly before Heyda we turn left onto a lovely avenue of lime trees. Here again there are loads of mushrooms, which you can see from the edge of the woods. A sign tells us that there’s a quarry here and also a viewpoint from which you can look safely into the hole. We don’t find the viewpoint. But narrow trodden paths lead through the undergrowth, and we follow them. And there we are, standing by a large lake whose steep rocky banks give away that this is a quarry.

Quarry in Dornreichenbach

It doesn’t look as if porphyry is still being quarried here. Because the access roads are already quite overgrown. But everywhere there are signs referring to the “Dornreichenbacher Quarzporphyrwerk GmbH”. We walk on and come to Dornreichenbach. It’s a rather handsome village with a palace, its accompanying park, an open-air stage and an animal enclosure. That’s pretty lavish for such a small village with just under 500 inhabitants, and once again proof that it can be done when committed citizens join forces. Beyond Dornreichenbach comes another very nice path across open fields.

Signpost beyond Dornreichenbach

The rows of trees standing close together on the right and left of the path show that it is very old. On some of these trees hang laminated slips of paper with Bible verses. Someone here takes very good care of this section of the path. In fact I can say that the whole route so far has been very well signposted. Once you’ve got used to the system and think like the person who put up the signs, you don’t need maps. It looks as though there are two different generations of signposting: a fairly old one from 2003 and a newer one. The old signposting consists mostly of scallop symbols dabbed on a blue background with stencils. The small square waymarks are painted on posts, trees or other things that can’t be removed quickly. But over the years they have also often become overgrown or obstructed. The more modern signs look more professional, that is, properly printed, and are likewise attached as stickers to suitable objects.

What’s that?

I haven’t noticed any vandalism or obviously missing waymarks. The route is known to the locals; it is respected and valued, and people understand the meaning and purpose of such a path. Many places have used the existence of this path to good promotional effect for their own ends. You can see that in the display cases in the villages, in benches put up especially for pilgrims or in their websites (where they have one). The hostels are recording a steady increase in overnight stays, not least because of the very good infrastructure of the Ökumenischer Pilgerweg. Of course there are also things that could be improved. As on the pilgrim path through Mecklenburg and the section of the Via Regia that we walked in 2012, there are quite big differences between the pilgrim lodgings. You notice that private offerings are provided with a great deal of commitment and love, whereas the enthusiasm about the stream of pilgrims in some parsonages sometimes leaves something to be desired. That may be due to the pastors being overstretched, but also to a lack of interest on the part of the parish concerned. At least you can say that on this route the organisers have succeeded in arranging enough pilgrim-friendly accommodation. By pilgrim-friendly I mean, in this context, inexpensive and practical facilities and the offer of conversation or of inner reflection (if wanted). So much for a first summing-up. We are on the last stage, after all.

Post mill, Kühnitzsch

In the meantime, of course, we’ve walked on. To the right, a little off the “Alte Dorfstraße”, as this section of the path is called, we see a beautifully restored post mill. The mill in Kühnitzsch is a technical monument and is looked after by the Heimat- und Schulverein Kühnitzsch/Körlitz e.V. It was built in 1812 and is fully functional. What’s special about this mill is that it is turned into the wind by a Lanz Bulldog tractor hitched to the tailpole. This type of windmill is very common here in central and northern Saxony. Every year at Whitsun the Mill Day takes place here. All the mills are open then, and you can go from mill to mill by bike or by car. Often it’s not just the mill that’s shown; other events such as exhibitions, fairs or dances take place as well.

In Körlitz

But we leave the mill to our right and come to Körlitz. In the village the path divides, and you can take the original route along the asphalt road between the villages or the variant along a farm track to Roitzsch. Both routes are well signposted. The nicer one along the farm track, however, is a kilometre longer. All this is written on a sign beneath the waymarks in Körlitz. We choose the nicer of the two, but are a bit disappointed when we still have to walk a third of the way on an asphalt road after all. When we turn right onto a farm track behind a solar park, we can already see the distinctive towers of the town of Wurzen.

Wurzen in sight

Those are, above all, the towers of the Cathedral of St. Marien, the Wenceslaikirche and the “Keksbude” – the biscuit shack – as the “Wurzener Dauerbackwaren GmbH” is still popularly called. Along the way there are large apple orchards and strawberry fields. While the latter have of course long since been harvested, the apple trees are laden to bursting. The path seems to lead past Wurzen to the left, but suddenly makes a right turn, and so, passing a small lake, we get back to the original route in the district of Roitzsch. Now it’s only a few hundred metres to the town centre of Wurzen, the town of biscuits and Ringelnatz. We’ll get to the biscuits. Joachim Ringelnatz is Wurzen’s greatest son. He was born here, and his birthplace in the Crostigall is a popular place to visit. The Crostigall is a district of Wurzen that is regarded as the origin of the town’s development. The town of Wurzen commemorates Ringelnatz with a fountain set up on the market square in 1983 for his 100th birthday, with the Ringelnatz collection in the museum and with a signposted Ringelnatz trail. All over town you can see the well-known face of the famous writer, humorist, cabaret artist and painter.

Welcome greeting on the Jakobsplatz, Wurzen

What we now see on the Jakobsplatz is a special greeting from the town to the pilgrims on the Via Regia. Right in the middle of the square, a scallop shell is set as a mosaic into the small cobblestones, and two stones point in the direction we’ve come from, “Görlitz 195 km”, and towards the goal of the route, “Santiago de Compostela 2918 km”. The last figure is debatable, though. Because beyond Erfurt last year we saw a sign according to which it was still over 3,000 kilometres. But then there are at least as many roads to Santiago as to Rome. We use our stop on the Jakobsplatz to eat a bratwurst, and while I queue at the sausage stand, Andrea chats with two women who were able to identify us as pilgrims and now have a few questions. When my sausages are finally ready, Andrea is sitting alone on the bench again.

Pilgrim hostel “zur Kräuterfee” in the Jakobsgasse

I sit down with her and once again have time to look around, and I discover more references to the pilgrim route. We’re sitting on the “Jakobsplatz”, there’s a “Jakobs Eck”, and a “Jakobsgasse” branches off here. “We’ll take that one!” I say, and we stroll down the narrow street past the “Kräuterfee”. There it is on the shop door: pilgrim hostel. A pity, it would surely have been interesting. Betina had once said something about wanting to stay here. Sadly, nothing came of it. But we carry on to the market. I hadn’t been to Wurzen for a long time and remember the market only as grey/black. Here and there the paint is already peeling again, but otherwise the market square shines in fresh colours.

Market with the Ringelnatz fountain

Everywhere you see Renaissance and Baroque buildings which, alongside younger residential and commercial buildings with rich Art Nouveau façades, create a flair of their own. By the way, Andrea thinks the Ringelnatz fountain at the lower end of the market is hideous. And yet it took a full 10 years from the first concept to completion. But I think Joachim would have liked it, because the fountain matches his slightly offbeat humour. A few steps up and we’re standing in front of the Domcafé. The sun is shining and we sit outside to have a coffee once again. It’s wonderful to sit on a town’s market square and watch the people.

Market in Wurzen

It’s midday and there’s a pleasant air of relaxation. On this side of the market, already on the way to the Domplatz, the pavement is a sort of balcony that you climb up to by steps, the so-called Liegenbank. Behind wrought-iron railings the restaurants and cafés set out their tables, and from here you have a fine view over the market and some of the adjoining lanes. From the Wenceslaikirche, which stands before us on the Sperlingsberg, the clock strikes 12. We still have loads of time. Because it’s not far now to Nepperwitz, our end point for today. So we stroll along the Domstraße, past the town museum, to the palace.

Schloss Wurzen

Schloss Wurzen is considered the oldest palace in the German-speaking world. A similar complex is said to have stood on the same site as early as the 10th century. The presence of a moat around the massive building and the remains of a former drawbridge mark the architectural transition from a medieval fortress to a residential palace. I know the palace quite well, because in GDR times the district office of the Volkspolizei moved in here, and I, working in the police technical service, was among other things responsible for this office. It was always a big challenge when, for example, cables had to be laid here. We wanted to do as little damage as possible to these old walls, because we did have a sense of awe towards them. But it wasn’t always possible to avoid getting a bit rougher. I still remember that for a 2-centimetre cable we once had to chisel a half-metre opening through the wall, because a big boulder happened to be built into the metre-thick wall at exactly that spot. A few years after the Wende the police moved into a modern building, the palace was renovated and a hotel moved in.

Cathedral of St. Marien

Opposite the palace is the Cathedral of St Marien. I’ve never seen it without scaffolding. And so this time, too, there’s scaffolding in the palace courtyard. All the doors on this side are locked. We go back to the Domplatz to look for an open door to the cathedral. At that door we’re asked for our understanding that the interior of the cathedral is monitored by video because there have been repeated thefts. Man, what kind of people are out there? In 1114 the cathedral was consecrated as a pillar basilica by Bishop Herwig of Meißen. The Romanesque cathedral is one of the oldest and most interesting sacred buildings in Saxony and the oldest surviving building in Wurzen. The cathedral’s history is fascinating. In the mid-15th century it burned down completely and was rebuilt at the beginning of the 16th century.

Expressive Crucifixion group in the cathedral

After the Thirty Years’ War and the Reformation, the towers were given their Baroque caps. At the beginning of the 19th century it was rebuilt in the Neo-Gothic style, and in the 1930s the cathedral acquired its present appearance. In addition, the entrance was moved into the tower, and Prof. Wrba from Dresden created the expressive Crucifixion group and the pulpit. After we’ve left the cathedral again, I look for waymarks. I find one on the Domplatz, right in front of the entrance to the palace. It’s a bit misleading, because you might think it points towards the palace courtyard. No, the path leads to the left past the palace, down a few steps from the Schlossberg onto the Muldengasse. It doesn’t look like a lane at all here, though, more like a street built for show.

The “Keksbude”

The thick lime trees were at any rate once grand enough for the entrance to the “Keksbude”. We pass the big gate to the factory site and see the two mill towers in all their massiveness. They’re the first thing you notice, no matter which direction you approach the town from. Fine biscuits have been made here since 1847. In GDR times “Wurzener” was the most important producer of these goods. After the Wende the De Beukelaer group took over the business. But “Wurzener” is still sold as a brand. The historic factory buildings have been elaborately restored, and the mill towers in particular are regarded as the town’s landmark, visible from far and wide. The path now actually runs in the opposite direction. Because the bridge over the Mulde lies to the north of us. But we walk quite a way south along an avenue of lime trees in order to then take the bridge over a canal. We now walk along this canal, the roughly 20-metre-wide canal on our left and the Mulde dyke on our right. The Mulde flows about 150 metres beyond it.

Bird of prey on the Mulde dyke

In the distance we can already see the church tower of Nepperwitz. By the canal an angler is just packing up his gear, and a quick glance across tells me that a “Petri Heil” would have been wasted. The angler just gives a short greeting, and the way he looks, I don’t dare ask about his catch. After about 2 kilometres we turn left onto a dyke on which a cobbled road leads to the Mulde. Here and there you can still see the damage the last flood did to this road too. The narrow bridge over which we reach Grubnitz survived the flood, which is almost a miracle if, like me, you’ve seen with your own eyes the masses of water that were rushing through here. Under a row of chestnut trees standing beside the Mulde between the dykes, there’s still all sorts of flotsam. And in among it an elderly man is busy. “It’s for the animals,” he says. And I see what he’s up to. He’s rummaging in the grass with a stick, looking for chestnuts. His basket is almost full. He wants to take the chestnuts to the zoo. We often did that as children too. But what child today manages to tear themselves away from their computer or mobile? Recently I read a saying: When I was little, my social network was called “outside”. That really says it all. Though you can’t blame the children themselves. Because if they’re not online, they’re not “in”, and they get bullied. But I’m digressing again, so close to the finish. From Grubnitz, which like Nepperwitz was also hit by the last flood in June 2013, we follow a small asphalt road to the entrance of the last village of this year’s walk.

Nepperwitz

For us, sadly, the Ökumenischer Pilgerweg ends here in Nepperwitz today. But before we let our son pick us up in the car, we take a look around the hostel. It has been restored after the flood and is open. That is, it’s locked at the moment, and since we don’t want to sleep here, we don’t want to alert the people responsible in the village just because we want to have a look inside. Then we sit down by the bus shelter and wait for our son. That’s how unspectacularly this pilgrimage comes to an end. I’d gladly have walked all the way home, even if the route wouldn’t then have followed the course of the Via Regia. But we have appointments tomorrow. Striving towards a goal on a pilgrim path, which you then find in Santiago, is something we’ve already experienced twice. The goal naturally plays a big part in your thoughts while you’re walking. What it would be like in Nepperwitz – sorry, but I never thought about that. So the saying “the journey is the destination” is much more meaningful here, on a section of a pilgrim path, than the geographical destination. Once again, on this route too, we experienced a great deal, got to know many new people, felt a lot of trust and affection, saw many towns and villages and walked through the beautiful landscapes of Saxony. More routes will surely follow. But each one remains something special. I’ve tried to write down my and our experiences in a way that is as clear and entertaining as possible. Even if I originally did it only so that my memories wouldn’t fade too quickly, I’m well aware of the outside impact of such a public blog. Over two thousand visits speak for themselves, and I’m very pleased about the lively interest. But if you’ve now read all this and still don’t feel like setting out on one of the many pilgrim paths, then I can’t help you any more. I’d be glad about anyone who does feel inspired by my lines, though. If you have questions, I’m happy to answer them, gladly also personally by email. And if you then come back and maybe leave a comment here and write about how it went for you, that would be my reward for all the work. Until then, I remain, with a

Buen Camino!

More Accounts by Andrea and Gert Kleinsteuber

• Via Regia / Ökumenischer Pilgerweg (2012, Part 1)
• Camino Primitivo
• Pilgerweg Mecklenburgische Seenplatte

The Route in Camino Ninja

The Ökumenischer Pilgerweg from Görlitz to Vacha is the German section of the Via Regia. You’ll find all the stages, the map and the pilgrim hostels in Camino Ninja under Via Regia Germany.