Wismar, Germany and My Dad

Wismar and Bad Doberan, Germany
Latitude 54° 5' 0" N
September 12, 2011

One of the great gifts my father gave me was a life-long love of trains. As a child, when my Dad was still working for the Delaware and Hudson Railroad, I’d go to work with him, often to a station thirty or forty miles outside of Plattsburgh.

In those days there was still daily train travel from remote parts of Northern New York. Trains would carry freight, and passengers, from Willsboro, Saranac Lake and Lyon Mountain and then connect to trains in Plattsburgh which would move people and things north to Montreal or south to New York City.

I loved spending the day with my Dad. I’d help him inventory cars in the train yard, hang out in the office or play among the containers of freight.

Sometime in the afternoon, if a train were heading to Plattsburgh, he’d put me in the able hands of the conductor or engineer, and I’d ride back home in the engine or caboose or as a passenger. My mother would be waiting for me at the station in Plattsburgh and my day of train adventure would be over. I wasn’t much older than ten, but the memories have lasted a lifetime, and whenever the opportunity presents itself, I always opt for train travel over other forms of transportation.

And so it was that I separated myself from the more-than-pleasant group I’d spent the better part of the day with to spend an hour and a half chugging my way on a 120 year old narrow-gauge steam railway between the Northeast German towns of Bad Doberan and Kühlungsborn. The carriages were more than 100 years old and had been lovingly restored.

It was no epic journey, but it passed flat, spacious farmland full of corn, sugar beets and late summer flowers. Acres and acres of hops, wheat brown, swayed in the soft wind. We were in beer country and this was a staple crop. Several times it stopped in small seaside communities, resorts full of 19th Century homes—mansions really—where German elite summered on the Baltic Sea.

It was late afternoon and ten minutes after arriving in Kühlungsborn I had to turn around. This was the last train of the day and I had no option but to return to Bad Doberman. The journey—an homage to my father—was way too short.

Once there, though, I had a bit of time to roam around the town—the oldest of the German Baltic seaside resorts. This had been East Germany, the Democratic Republic of Germany, the GDR, and for 45 years had been under the tight grip of the Soviet Union, but 20 years after reunification, life seemed quite good. Homes were large and well cared for. Gardens were full of fresh vegetables and flowers, Audis and BMW’s in driveways.

In Wismar, where we’d started the day, we spent a good chunk of time exploring this UNESCO protected medieval village. At one point, we felt time-warped to post-WW II Germany. On the night of April 15, 1945, two of the three exquisite 15th Century churches had been heavily bombed. One, Saint Mary’s Church, was ultimately torn down, “for safety and political reasons” in 1960. In other words, I guess, the GDR would not fund a church restoration project. The other church, Saint George, until 1990, simply lay destroyed and abandoned. Only after German reunification and UNESCO moneys flooded in did restoration begin. How eerie to see post-war rebuilding occurring 66 years after the war ended.

By the time I’d finished all my exploring, it was early evening. The “Norwegian Sun” would not leave until 10:00 p.m. so that gave me a bit of time to explore the beach town of Warnemunde where the “Sun” had landed. It reminded me of an Epcot Center version of Santa’s Workshop—a town made up of cutesy German chalets selling cuckoo clocks, leiderhosen and postcards. It wasn’t a place to linger, although I understand the beach is a major draw.

The day had been full of surprises. I’d fully expected to see a landscape of harsh and gritty concrete and industrial GDR architecture. Instead, villages were full of cobbled streets and pretty red-bricked 13th and 14th Century buildings–square gabled and interspersed with Gothic turrets, orange portals and vaulted arches. The area had been heavily destroyed during World War II, then pummeled by socialist architectural ideals so it was a delight to enjoy this postcard-perfect chunk of Northern Germany.

It had been a day of unexpected treats—WW II restoration, a fun ride on a late 19th Century train and the stunning Medieval village of Wismar. What a great introduction to the Baltic capitals. I’m ready for more.