From a Distance
/When asked to think of notable European lakes, there are some obvious contenders. One may first be inclined to picture the serene blue waters of Lake Geneva or movie star-central Lake Como. Indeed the old boys: Italy, Switzerland and France all jostle for the title of “Country with the Best Still Bodies of Water,” but they face competition from increasingly popular destinations like Croatia and Slovenia. As it stands Germany hardly gets a look in.
Such is the general disregard for Germany as a countryside holiday destination that many people are unaware of the countless pristine lakes and rivers it has. I count myself among these unenlightened souls. Before I came to Munich I had thought of Germany’s highlights in simple terms: Berlin, Oktoberfest and fast cars on fast motorways. The fact that Germany boasted rolling vineyards, fairy-tale towns and oh yes, a part of that insignificant mountain range called the Alps, completely passed me by. It was only once I moved here that I discovered that Germany has so much to offer and that many highlights are within a one hour train ride from my front door.
During excursions to skiing destinations over the winter months I often passed German lakes, however, under a thick layer of snow they were indistinguishable from the whitened landscape. It is hard to gain an impression of a lake or even its relative size, when it chameleons itself into a flat field due to a top sheet of ice. The rolling countryside is beautiful no doubt, but under such conditions the lake is not a feature.
Come the spring thaw, the situation changes. As the skiing season turns over into hiking season and the snow finally melts, the lakes emerge in their blue-green glory. Google Images does not lie when it shows Germany’s lakes in jewel shades of emerald, sapphire and peridot. Those Caribbean colours really can be found in the valleys of Bavaria, as I found out last weekend.
It was the first hike of the season. A perfect confluence of warm weather, weekend and Daylight Savings Time meant that spring was here and so was Munich. With 10 minutes to go a dense crowd had already formed on Platform 34 of Munich’s main train station, all awaiting the six-carriage train heading to the Alpine Valleys. Later in the journey the train would trisect into three mere two-car locomotives, which meant hikers, bikers and bog-standard daytrippers were packed cheek by jowl in an attempt to get to their respective Bavarian countryside idyll. Woe betide anyone who came too close to departure time. They had to face opening the doors onto sardined passengers, and trying their luck by squeezing into the crush. And thus commenced my one hour journey to Tegernsee.
From my squished position the lake appeared in flashes of blue between shoulders and backpacks. After the calm green of the fields just outside Munich the lake’s colour was audacious, a sparkling, brilliant tract that was the best reward after a journey in gloom of traveller traffic.
But I had not come to see the lake, at least not from this position. My way lay above the town and the lakeside, up a walking trail to the vista point of Riederstein, which lay a sporting 1207m above sea level. Having little experience of walking in the mountains, I have no concept of what this means, but as the tiny chapel, which marked the destination came into view seemingly miles above my head, the path seemed impossible. Certainly as I began the initial leg, which was steeper than I had expected, my aspirations seemed foolish. This was not for walkers, this was for certified hikers, maybe even full-on trekkers accompanied by a Sherpa.
I chugged up the incline, stopping whenever anyone overtook me. At such points I would take photos and stop to “enjoy” the view, even if the surroundings were dense woodland.
“Ah!” I would wheeze in between puffs of my inhalers. “The wonder of nature!”
I am not sure if this pretense fooled anyone apart from my own vanity. Certainly the athletic pensioners, power-walking past with their hiking sticks, did not look convinced. Although I never caught up with the über-grannies, I did eventually trace their footsteps and followed the same path to the higher reaches. Gradually the dense pine forest thinned, the trees being confined to the steep slopes below, opening up to reveal snapshot images of Tegernsee below and the ravishing glittering blue of the lake. Now the breath-catching breaks were justified. Here was a view to be savoured.
Ever more dizzying views manifested as I walked yet further up the trail and to the first (and only) rest station at the 1060m Guesthouse at Galaun. There against the hillside a typical Bavaria chalet squatted, its beer benches and square wooden tables crammed with the same crowd from the train, who were obviously much fitter than I was. Undeterred by the heaviness of Bavarian cuisine they devoured steaming plates of Käsespätzle and giant German sausages. Unlike me these folk were used to barrelling up mountains and needed suitable fare. There was no chance of it weighing them down.
Trying to avoid the inevitable post-prandial coma that follows any Bavarian meal I eat, I avoided the restaurant and continued my walk. The last leg up to Riederstein complements the Christian chapel at its pinnacle and as such is dotted by pictoral reliefs of the Passion. In suitable pre-Easter prep, after every few metres of struggling ascent a picture reminded of Jesus’ suffering, which was probably a bit more than mine. As the story reached its climax in a disturbing 2D crucifixion scene, I reached the summit and walked out to the church perched on the ledge. I had made it and it was beautiful.
There is something quite special about birds’s-eye views, especially those reached via a combination of personal exertion and traversing through nature. The same feeling of wonder and disbelief may occur at the top of a skyscraper or from the window-seat of a plane, but the experience is somewhat diminished by the layer of glass and the relative safety and convenience of the situation. But to be on the top of a mountain, looking down at beauty, having put yourself there by the effort of your own two stocky legs, is something far more elevated.
Spread under my eyes lay the carpet of Bavaria, towns and spring-green fields intersected by roads and rivers and that sparkling blue lake. Blocking my view across the horizon were the Alps, as white and astonishing as ever. It was a feast and it was mine.
Recheck your list next time you think of the most beautiful destinations in Europe and make sure Germany is on it.
