Double dud dessert day

Cool and cloudy conditions to the start of today’s walk, but soon turning to sunny and warm by the afternoon. The trail initially took us through Mosbach’s Altstadt and its magnificent central square for a final goodbye, then headed up the hill and into the woods. Steadily gaining elevation through a forest of beech, pine, oak, yada yada - do keep up there, at the back. This has been the consistent pattern each day.

We seem to have finally walked ourselves into some level of hike-ready fitness, our muscles and joints easing into the steady tempo, straps no longer bruising our shoulders. Though I’m getting a bit concerned about my preparations for the Cardiff half marathon in a couple of weeks. I’m confident I could walk the 13.1 mile course with a heavy backpack, taking photos along the way, less sure about my sub 2 hour running target.

After about an hour’s walking, we reached a stunning Holocaust monument, in an open clearing high up on the hill, commemorating 5,600 Jewish people who were deported during the war from the Baden area, to internment camps in Gurs, in then-collaborationist south west France. Each town or village was represented with its own Gedenkstein, or memorial stone, individually carved with various motifs, and the 139 stones were set out in a huge Star of David formation. Some escaped internment, but most were transported back to the mass murder of Auschwitz and Sobibor. 

A second, identical Gedenkstein has also been placed in each local community, to preserve the memory of the families that lived there. The whole creation is recent and stems from a Catholic-run youth arts project, more information here https://www.mahnmal-neckarzimmern.de/. 

As we strode on, there was a weird moment when Em’s backpack started emitting an urgent klaxon noise. On inspection, it turned out to be a test alarm on her phone, mass simulcast to all mobiles roaming in Germany. This was swiftly followed by an ominous series of booming siren calls that echoed through the entire valley. Not sure how we would have responded in a genuine emergency, with just British passports and spare underpants to our name.

Our next stop was Schloß Hornberg, a 12th century castle straight out of a child’s drawing, with massive ramparts and towers on each corner. The edifice has transmuted through Gothic and Renaissance periods, into the fantasy structure we see today. 

We had a thorough explore of the impressive interior, culminating in a helping of Apfelstrudel and Vanilla Eis on the cafe terrasse. The setting was spectacular, the dessert a poor imitation of the real article.

An entirely justified loop into the forest enabled us to circumvent a steep-sided corry, descending to a path running parallel to the railway line and the river. 

Now, a level bit of ground is always dangerous territory for me, as it allows Em to catch her breath and get into a rhythm where she can itemise all my defects and suggest an improvement programme to rectify each one of them. So it was some relief when the trail took a sharp left up a vertical incline, and broke the spell, as we huffed and puffed our way to the top and forgot all about my imperfectability.

We walked along the crest to St Michaelskapelle, one of the oldest churches in Germany (built 771 CE). An admirable looking goat was attempting to court the disinterested females in his yard, and took exception to being papped in the act.

From there, it was a short haul to our next overnight stop, Schloß Horneck, on the outskirts of the mediaeval village of Gundelsheim. Originally built in 1254, this castle has recently been refurbished and offers hotel accommodation, which I had booked as part of my extensive and painstaking research. Em’s snap judgment; “it looks like an asylum”, followed by, “is this Escape from Colditz”? Her application as Taunton’s cultural ambassador is not in the post.

As it turns out, the hotel is very grand and comfortable, with well appointed rooms. Quirkily, its museum and art gallery hosts the largest archive and collection of Transylvanian memorabilia, outside of Romania. Guests can help themselves freely to freshly brewed coffee in the lobby, and you can sample the wine from the castle’s own vineyards on their private terrasse.

After the usual pre prandial routine (napping and blogging), we took a recommendation for our evening meal at the Weinbau Pavilion, purveyors of classic Swabian cuisine. My perch filet with potato salad brought back boyhood memories of Geneva; Em tucked into a trio of maultaschen, a kind of super-ravioli stuffed with different meat fillings. We shared a duo of desserts, including a second attempt at Apfel Strudel, to overcome the earlier disappointment. It turns out the tough pastry and inadequate lamination is all a proud part of the regional variation on this celebrated pudding, so we were twice burned.

The old town of Gundelsheim is set along a high street and displays the usual parade of half-timbered buildings and mediaeval trade signs with which we have become so familiar on our travels in this beautiful region.

Joff x