Ridiculously pretty church on the lake shore

This bloke looks familiar. He obviously liked it too.

Marigold Says…

I have decided I haven’t been writing enough for this blog that has my name on it, so this post is all from ME. G will get a rest, just as long as he checks it over first as I tend to write at the same pace I talk, very fast, and was looking out of the window on the day they did grammar at school so there’s the odd mistake. He refuses to change anything else as reading my nonsense always makes him laugh. Which he assures me is a good thing. 

Marvellous day travelling through into the Bavarian Alps into, but only just, Austria. Lots of cows with big bells on and outside the hotel are a gaggle of goats or is it herd. Anyway got lost due to bossy boots sat nav sending us up a track into a farm, where the farmer looked nasty with a pitchfork in his hand. We waved and scarpered quick, laughing when we felt safe. Back to maps, G says, which will be fine just as long as I don’t have to read them. Maps and me don’t get on. 

Drove through forests and meadows, heading for the mountains, all morning. Absolutely beautiful and what a perfect place to live. Germany is a land of such variety, but everywhere we passed today looked prosperous and cared-for. Saw two wild boar, fields full of pheasants and a bison. G said it was not a bison, just a massive bullock, but I know what I saw. He’s just talking bullocks.

All day on back roads, but much better than taking the direct route. Where we ended up today is a town called Berchtesgaden, close to where Adolph Hitler had his summer palace, known as the Eagles’ Nest. This has been the only place we have booked to stay for the whole trip as I wanted to go here for G’s landmark birthday. Yes, he really is 100 tomorrow.

Anyway, stopped at a gorgeous town which a guidebook says we would never forget. I have forgotten the name already. Had a coffee and an Appel something or other. Then I needed a wee. Went inside, a vicious woman said something in German pointing to the bar. There were loads of people with little hoops going upstairs, I thought for an exercise class. Found out ages later the hoops you had to collect with a key on to get into the bogs and out. How ridiculous. Felt very traumatised. Lots of people in lederhosen, suppose because it was weekend. Like to see them getting out of that lot for a wee in a rush.

Hotel very old fashioned with a glorious view of the Alps. Houses all have flowers on them.

A Russian woman staying in the room next door came for a chat. Perfect English. She is a guide in St Petersberg. Really nice. Name is Monika.

Should be going to Eagles Nest tomorrow but will have to check on weather. We have to pre book a bus up. My best friend Moniker is on the case as she is so professional in these matters.

After consulting G, who knows everything, the lovely town we stopped at for drink was called Rosenheim. A wonderful brewer’s dray, festooned with flowers and pulled by four huge Shire horses was touring the town. I posed for a picture next to he horses, a bit nervous actually in case one kicked me. Turned out to be much, much worse as one of them did an enormous dump right next to me. G wanted a photo of my expression, but was laughing too much to get camera out.

Today, we went up to Eagles Nest which was scary. The road leading to the Eagle’s Nest was blasted out of solid rock and completed in only 13 months.

It’s a steep, winding road and very narrow so only allowed to go up by bus. Lots of places for accidents and the driver, Karl, kept turning round! Not been this high since the Rockies. Views were ridiculously fab.How on earth they ever built the place or why but then of course they were trying to please someone who was mad.

When we arrive at the top of the mountain, we still aren’t there. A stone-lined tunnel leads up another 124 metres -I looked this up, not paced it out – straight into the side of the mountain. The Fuhrer was driven through the tunnel, but we have to walk!

At the end of the tunnel a fantastically elegant (brass-lined and mirrored, like something you would see in a New York hotel) lift, with a right old misery of an attendant, takes us up on a 45 second (timed by G) another 124 meters into the building itself.

Martin Borman was behind the plan to build this perched tea shop and he had an important deadline: Hitler’s 50th birthday on April 20, 1939. Funded by the Nazi Party, More than 3,000 men worked day and night, winter and summer, for 13 months to complete the project. The road was blasted out of the mountainside, passing through five tunnels to get to the entrance. The house sits on the summit, 1834 metres, over 6,000 feet for those who prefer it, including me. I always ask G how far something like 300 metres is and he has to say something like, ‘as far as from here to the bus stop, or perhaps a bit more, say to that red car.’ Then I get it. Like with maps, distances are not my strong point. G assures me I have lots of good points. 

At the summit, visibility was perfect and could see forever, in every direction. There’s an even higher point, up a very steep bank, and I sent G puffing his way up there to take pics while I ordered coffee. Judging by his red face when he finally got back, this had been one of my wiser decisions, especially when I saw postcards on sale with the exact same view on that G had just climbed a mini Alp to photograph.

The idea was to have lunch as well, but everything came with dumplings even cheese dumplings. The thought of going down the mountain road after eating cheesy dumplings without a sick bag made us both feel ill. Latched onto a tour in Italian and got the gist as they use their hands a lot. The only word I understood was Hitler and Mussolini. Knew he would get in on the act. ‘Our’ guide, said, (I think), ‘There is Salzburg, over there’ and everyone oohed and aahed, but they must have better eyesight than me.

Anyway we opted for assorted ice cream and cheese cake which hadn’t travelled up the mountain very well. Lots of Americans arrived and of course everybody was rushing around.

After lunch, we wandered around some more. There’s a fab fireplace in what is now a dining room, fireplace presented by Mussolini, yes, him again, and there are lots of pieces chipped off the marble, said to have been done by American soldiers after he war as souvenirs.

Also in the building is a wood-panelled room known as Eva Braun’s tea room with a huge window that slides down to open. Eva often entertained her own friends and family here as, unlike Hitler, she spent quite a bit of time up here. Bet her family said, ‘This is a bit posh, innit? Done alright for herself has our Eva.’

We set off for the lift again and the miserable attendant shouted the German equivalent of ‘Come on you lot, get a move on. Do you think I’ve got all day to wait?’

When we arrived where the buses come to go down we were told to line up against the wall. An American lad said ‘are they going to shoot us’. Most of us had a giggle at that. Naughty American.

Next morning, bright and early, at the lake.

Surrounded by rocky cliffs on both sides, the lake is a vivid emerald green and silence is the order of the day. Only the electric powered tourist boats and rowing boats, are allowed and everything adds up to absolute tranquillity.

At 5 miles long, it’s not a tiddler, but as it’s barely three quarters of a mile wide it reminded both of us at first sight of a Norwegian fiord. A couple of differences became obvious after glancing at the information when we eventually boarded our boat: it’s 2000 feet above sea level and up to 650 feet deep. The deepest, the cleanest and by some way, apparently, the coldest lake in Germany.

The state of Bavaria has owned the lake since 1834 and the rules are typically draconian: no fishing, camping, private boating or windsurfing allowed, but we saw a couple of (naked) men swimming – photos not deemed appropriate- and nobody rushed up to arrest them. Just as well as if they were tough enough to swim in water that nearly gave my trailing fingers frostbite, best to leave them alone.

It seems Hitler liked it here, enjoying the peace and quiet, and there’s ample evidence of Eva Braun exercising on the lake shore. Easy to see why as the cool, green water and sheer rock cliffs make for an idyllic spot. Eva Anna Paula Braun was Adolf’s girlfriend for many years, but only Mrs Hitler for a couple of days. Not much of a honeymoon either. Anyway, judging by the photos of her doing yoga on the lake shore, it’s easy to see why he fancied her.

Lake Knigssee has another trick up its sleeve: the rocks climb straight up from the water’s edge throughout its whole length, so walking around is out of the question. Getting to the other end means boarding a boat.

We paid and discovered the next available sailing was not for well over an hour. Relatively undaunted we sat next to the jetty and ordered a coffee. Only one as it cost five euros for a small cup! I know this place is popular, but five euros is madness. We decided to share a cup; usual arrangement, three quarters for me and the rest for G.

A very fat German couple overflowed the seats opposite. They ordered drinks and as soon as the waiter had gone they dashed off as their boat had arrived. When the waiter bought their drinks we told him what had happened and he ran off, pushing his way through the crowds, into the boat and we could hear him shouting.

A few minutes later he came back, left the drinks, 2 small coffees, 2 glasses of water and a large beer, on the table and said, ‘you can have these, if you want. They’re paid for.’ Result!

Unfortunately, there was no cake, but it seems it pays to tell tales.

Sad day today as my new best friend Moniker is leaving for Munich.

We had a good chat last night in the pool. She has been to England and her favourite place was Kew Gardens. I said ‘have you got a large garden?’

She said ‘we have no garden, like most people we live in a small apartment and share the facilities with four other families’. Poor Moniker. Her favourite tv programme is Columbo dubbed into Russian. She makes her own sauerkraut and black bread. She wanted to send me the recipe for her ox brain stew but I changed the subject quickly.

G is convinced she works for the KGB as he thinks she asks intrusive questions. Like what I said. ‘Well she asked why I put milk in tea’. That obviously proves it. When she left we sort of hugged and she gave me her card and I now find her name is Marina, even though I have been calling her Moniker for days. Easy mistake!

When the boat arrived we got good seats at the back. G always pulls a face when I say the back or the front of boats instead of whatever they’re supposed to be called, but it was the back bit, whatever that is. We tried to spread out and look big to stop anyone else crushing in next to us, but the only other couple near us, well the man really, turned out to be the German version of Elvis and people kept coming up to have their picture taken with him. He was really nice and had a long chat with G, in English. I asked G after what they’d talked about and he just said ‘football’ so I still don’t know who he is or why he’s so famous. I suspect G was sulking as nobody wanted to take a photo of him. 

Views from the boat were splendid. Reminded us of New Zealand. The boat driver stopped halfway and played a trumpet, which echoed around. It was wonderfully silly and we both tried not to laugh. He then came round with a hat for money. We only had a 20 euro note so pretended to look at the fish. Most of the others on the boat set off to climb mountains when we got to the other side, but we hung around for a bit, had a brief paddle in the icy water and generally messed about being silly until the next boat turned up to take us back. No sign of Elvis, must have gone for a yodel up the mountain.

Weather is very hot and it has been a Sound of Music experience with huge meadows, cows with bells, houses full to the beams with flowers, everything lovely. Can understand why so many people rave about the Bavarian Alps. We do too now. There should be a ‘points system’ to decide who is lucky enough to live here. Don’t suppose we’d qualify though.

Eva Braun at the lake

I can understand why Hitler liked her.

Halfway up to the Eagles Nest. That’s the lake far below.

As we aren’t the Fuhrer, who got a car to ride in, we have to walk this bit

That’s the very glam lift.

G’s photo from the summit. Marigold is somewhere under a parasol

That’s the lake again, from the Eagle’s Nest

The Mussolini fireplace

The famous man we called Elvis. Still have no idea who he was.

G wondering why nobody wanted a selfie with him.

Oh good, they have my size in stock

View from our hotel. Not too bad, eh?

This was lovely.

Best avoid standing too close to Shire horses

Exercise rings, as I thought. Ah well.