Regensburg (Part 2)

We crossed over Regensburg’s Old Stone Bridge. It was built between 1135 and 1146 and for 800 years was the only solid crossing over the Danube. At midpoint we looked down on some lovely little islands afloat in the Danube. On one I could see a man sitting at the edge of the water smoking a cigarette (everyone seems to smoke in Europe!), quietly contemplating the swans as they glided by. On another a small pony grazed at the foot of a willow tree. Heaven knows how he got on the island. The Old Stone Bridge was quite evocative. The knights of the 2^nd and 3^rd Crusades used it to cross the Danube on their way to the Holy Land. If I closed my eyes, I was sure I could hear the clip-clopping of their war horses’ hooves and the jingle-jangle of armour and stirrups as they streamed across the bridge, banners fluttering.

At the foot of the old Stone Bridge, stands the Salt Warehouse. Regensburg had a very active salt trade, apparently. Inside the Warehouse, the rooms are large, majestic, and the weathered oak boards and beams glow in the beautiful natural light that streams in from the several windows.  Though the Salt Warehouse was built in the 1600’s and has not been used as such for at least a couple hundred years, I can still smell salt as I walk through. Or perhaps that is just my overactive imagination as all these ancient buildings start to work their witchery on me.

A Roman wall remains in Regensburg which dates from AD 179. I ran my hand over it, marveling that this was once part of a wall that surrounded the city so very, very long ago. Again, bumping up against the living history. However, this musing was somewhat ruined for me as there was a very un-authentic Roman soldier, in full gladiator dress, lecturing a group of school kids at the wall. Even the school kids looked like they thought he was a pretty lame roman soldier. Ah well.

We wandered up one cobbled street and down another. In one narrow street where we had to stand to one side to let a group of school children get by, we noticed a plaque on a wall – in memory of Oskar Schindler (he of Schindler’s List film). He lived in the house there, on the alley, from 1945 – 1950.

Here is where we engaged in a proper German beer garden experience. It was asparagus season while we were in Europe and virtually every restaurant had a separate menu listing asparagus delicacies. Everything from asparagus soup to asparagus chip cookies (well, maybe not the latter). White asparagus was the specialty. The beer garden was not to be outdone. We ordered Bratwurst and white asparagus with potatoes. I was expecting a large, obscene-looking hunk of bratwurst with a few asparagus spears lost amongst the potatoes. Instead . . . . we were served a small plate with four small (like regular breakfast sausage small) bratwurst on it. Then a very LARGE platter with six, foot-long asparagus spears on it, a few small potatoes alongside a large gravy boat of melted butter. The asparagus simply melted in your mouth – it was quite the experience. We also had some of their home-crafted beer. I am not normally a beer drinker but I could have that every hot day in existence. It was golden and delicious.

As we sat and enjoyed the (largest on the trip) meal, the serving staff scurried about in heavy medieval German costume, looking overheated and flushed (it was a warm day). Several groups of monks and nuns hurried by us, off to noon mass at the church. Their long robes and smocks, tucked up into hands to aid the hurrying pace, were not costumes. I loved the charm of it.

It was also in Regensburg where I started taking photos of doors – and would continue to do so throughout the rest of our trip. Such wonderful, strange, artistic, historic, or quaint doors.