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Shivering stream
The strip of woodland in southwest Germany, which nurtures the Rhine and originates the Danube, was once so dense that it was called the Black Forest. “Black Forest? Isn’t that a cake?”
Tasting the cherry torte at its birthplace was of course on our agenda when we set out for Black Forest, but one of its ingredients held out a special promise. At a little café adjoining the end-of-line railway station at Seebrugg we order kirschwasser, literally translated cherry water. The waiter seems surprised. The liquor distilled from cherries is usually drunk after a meal. Well, we could use some to help digest the duck we ate on the way at Freiburg.
Freiburg im Breisgau, an important town in the Black Forest region, was surprisingly sunny. A wedding ceremony on the cobbled square before the town hall; shoppers exploring the small town with big brands; and the tower of the legendary church presiding over it all. After a brief stroll and quick lunch we ran into a train that would take us southwest to Schluchsee, the largest lake in the region. The reservoir lies about 930 metres above sea level.
We cross numerous streams shivering under icicles hanging from the branches and roots of crooked trees. The strip of woodland in southwest Germany, which nurtures the Rhine and originates the Danube, was once so
Frozen lake
A forlorn Titisee. Snow has not entirely dampened the weekend. People walk along the narrow pathway around the lake. dense and dark that it was called Schwarzwald, or Black Forest. It is all white now. A thick blanket of snow has invaded the conifers. The timbered roofs of solitary houses, barns, the neat stacks of firewood, cars, everything under occupation.
The might of white increases as the train gains elevation. From Freiburg to until the end of line at Seebrugg, we would climb about 650 metres in a little over an hour. We split from the Freiburg-Donaueschingen line at Titisee. From here the line is called Dreiseenbahn, or Three Lakes Railways, because it goes along Titisee, Windgfallweiher and Schluchsee in its 19-kilometre journey.
We come across a forlorn Titisee. An elderly couple walks along the narrow pathway along the glacial lake. Snow has not entirely dampened the weekend. People in snow boots and ski gear are getting off the train. This woodland is a hiker’s paradise. It’s also home to the ski resorts of Feldberg and Todtnau. I resign myself to a windowside view of European winter. The thought of getting off the double-decker sends a chill down my spine.
Feldberg-Bärental, the highest station in Germany. In sunnier times, this would be a sure stopover on
Might of white
The timbered roofs of solitary houses, barns, the neat stacks of firewood, cars, everything under the rule of cold white. the way to the balded Feldberg, the highest peak in the Black Forest, or the less-crowded Bernau, a collection of hamlets and farms south of Feldberg. The resort town is easily accessible from Freiburg on a bus. From Feldberg-Bärental, you have to trek all the way.
After the tiny Windgfallweiher, Schluchsee appears abruptly. Wild ducks swim in the yet-to-be-frozen parts of the lake. There are three railway stations along the lake. A few more people get down at Aha. They would either trek around the lake or explore shorter trails. Delma suggests we circle the lake the next day. So we sit through the next station, Schluchsee, and get down at the final halt, Seebrugg.
Apart from the railway station with a desolate waiting room and the café filled mostly by regulars, Seebrugg has a youth hostel and a scuba diving training centre run by PADI. The lake is a water sports destination in the summer.
On every table in the café, a candle is placed along with a pine cone and a bunch of twigs. Delma orders Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte (official name of the cake which has become the global ambassador of Black Forest) and I ask
Melting flowers
Pines and firs present an enchanting lack of pattern. Bushes wear snowflakes as if they were jasmine flowers. for a shot each of kirschwasser, which burns through our throats. A perfect accompaniment to the winter. The torte tastes nothing like its adaptations elsewhere. It smells and tastes like kirschwasser. It’s rustic despite the generous topping of cream and shavings of dark chocolate. It’s at home.
We ask for directions to the youth hostel. The hostess, in a black dress and bandana, comes out and points to a building a few metres away. We check in and get out for an evening stroll that turned out to be our only trek in the Black Forest.
Many hike and bicycle trails crisscross the area. We follow signs to a point 5 kilometres away. After a couple of signboards, the trail is lost under snow but we wade through ankle-deep snow on what looked like a narrow path. A panoramic view of Schluchsee, fighting the frost that is gradually pervading it from the shores.
The path is a steep climb and we find it difficult to walk on areas where snow has melted into a thin film. Layers of autumn leaves and pine cones are buried under snow. The invading white of the snow and the resisting green
Black Forest is white
For some months at least. and black of the pines make a picture postcard. But I don’t shoot. My fingers go numb the moment I take my hands out of gloves. Some trips are to be experienced, not documented.
We cross a larger road where you could drive in the summer. Higher up, the narrow path opens into a clearing in the pine forest. It seems to be a dead-end despite a signpost assuring us of continuity. We can’t get beyond a few feet from the clearing. There’s no trace of a trail. And snow treacherously hides the cavities of the earth.
Pines and firs present an enchanting lack of pattern. Bushes wear snowflakes as if they were jasmine flowers. But for the signpost it feels like we are lost in the heart of the forest, breathing in the smell of moss on the rocks and the amber oozing from the barks.
Back in the café, we order beer and Schnitzel Wiener Art, a variation of the popular Viennese dish. The meat is pounded thin with a hammer, breaded and deep fried, like they do with veal in Austria. But in Germany it has to be pork. The customary shot of schnaps follow. Any alcoholic beverage distilled from fruits is called schnaps. Apples and peers make obstwasser, plums zwetschgenwasser and cherries kirschwasser.
The night has gone subzero. The timber cottage on the way to the hostel looms like a page in Grimms’ fairy tales. Doors and windows bolted, chimney smoking, this must be the house where Snow White cooked for the seven dwarfs. No, it is the house of candies where the witch tried to fatten Hansel and Gretel. Schnaps is working on my sleepiness.
No one came to eat us. We woke up to a pale morning. Snowfall. Big cotton balls on a vertical parade, setting up a screen in front of the firs, the mysterious cottage and the abandoned train coaches already worthy of a museum. It’s a beautiful sight from this side of the window. The woman in charge of the hostel is already out, clearing snow from the doorsteps with a shovel. We drop the trek around Schluchsee’s 18 kilometre shoreline, preferring to enjoy a lengthy German breakfast watching the snowfall.
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