fantastic Franconian Switzerland

It’s now September - while I sit at the edge of the forest looking over Kulmbach and the powerful Plassenburg standing majestically on its hill, I have already put on everything I have in my backpack, yet I'm still cold. It is becoming increasingly autumn-like from day to day. In the forests, I walk on a carpet of brown leaves; it’s quite windy and there are storms intermittently. I have been hiking alone for six days again - through the incredible landscape of Franconian Switzerland.

This 'fascinating natural landscape in the heart of Franconia' is truly worth more than just 'crossing' it: I will come back! Bizarre dolomitic rocks near or above steeply dropping river valleys like the Wiesent or Püttlach and Trubach (many former mills); caves (like the Teufelshöhle near Pottenstein or the Binghöhle near Streitberg, or the Oswaldhöhle, through which the hiking path goes!), crevices and holes, then again beautiful, wide vistas and small towns under crazy rock needles and in the shadow of old castles and palaces. This also includes pilgrimage sites with large basilicas like Gößweinstein or Vierzehnheiligen. Early in the morning, I climb, for example, the Staffelstein - a particularly high rocky mountain, and stand alone up there in the wind and early light, looking down far into the Main valley and understanding that I now have the view from Viktor von Scheffel's famous 'Song of the Franks' before me: 'To the holy Veit of Staffelstein, I have climbed up and see the lands around the Main lying at my feet: From Bamberg to the Grabfeldgau, mountains and hills embrace the wide, stream-glittered meadow - I wish I could grow wings!' A monument for this 'romantic poet' stands in Gößweinstein. And while I hum 'I wish I could grow wings,' a falcon launches itself from the neighboring rock, rising without flapping its wings and seemingly floating effortlessly - oh, if I could just spread my arms and jump!... Later, throngs of day-trippers come up and populate the beer garden by the small church dedicated to the holy Adelgundis. Today, a tavern is operated in the former hermit's cell of the 'holy Veit of Staffelstein,' which is obviously well visited at least on weekends. How beautiful it is that I was here so early, able to experience the solitary, windy, special nature of the place where the Celts once settled, and now hear the cheerful buzzing of many people before I continue on after a longer pause.

Overall, it remains this way: apart from a few places, I am mostly traveling alone. On Sunday morning, I stand on the ruins of Niesten in all the morning beauty - as it is said in Eichendorff's tale 'Taugenichts': 'The morning, that is my joy, then I climb in silent hour to the highest mountain in the distance: Greetings to you, Germany, from the bottom of my heart! Where my eyes wander all around, there is beauty in a wide wreath: Look up and learn to comprehend it, wake up, greet the morning's radiance! The earliest hour in the morning is greater than joy and pain; throw from you grief and worries, give the day a joyful heart!' - I look at the houses below me, still in shadow, and wonder why no one else stands up here in the morning sun to carry away 'a joyful heart'?! So much beauty, so much tranquility in the woods, so many mysterious plays of light and shadow, that feeling when a doe looks at you attentively with those oversized eyes and ears, her fawn behind her, also scrutinizing you innocently, until she eventually decides to regard you as dangerous and jumps away... all this and so much more! And so often it seems to me that I am the only one who perceives it, who lets themselves be gifted by it, who walks the paths gratefully... However, I also have the joy of inspiring and delighting people throughout this journey: A woman invites me for coffee and, as I sincerely thank her, she says it's not I who should thank, but her: she wishes for surprising visits for breakfast and a good conversation more often! Or yesterday, a woman unexpectedly calls out to me from a bench as I pass by: 'Are you sleeping outside?' 'Yes, indeed,' I say, stopping, somewhat astonished. 'My husband just said: a real witch is coming. I then remarked: bet she even sleeps outside?!' she explains laughing... However, I must always see that I can move on as well, that the conversations don’t stretch too long; many feel encouraged in their own feelings to interrupt the 'normal life' and want to do something like, well, just take a backpack and 'simply' go hiking for an indefinite time, for example, to experience how little one actually needs and how incredibly wonderful, for instance, a hot shower can be when it’s not available at all times but you happen to come across a small camping spot and see that there’s also a shower with the toilets: 1.€ for 5 minutes of hot water. Spontaneously, I shower and wash my hair, socks, and underwear: 5 minutes are quite adequate; I put the carefully set aside second Euro back in my pocket and continue, clean and satisfied, to look for a sleeping place...

The night from Saturday to Sunday I spent 'under the protection of the holy Joseph,' in a small church. I had asked residents whether the church remained open at night and if I could sleep there, yes - and if I needed anything else? In the morning, an elderly gentleman brings me a breakfast tray in the church - what a lovely Sunday morning surprise!! Next year, when he retires, he says he wants to 'go hiking too.' - I cannot recount all encounters, but they are among the great gifts of being on the road, not only for me but also often and strongly for the respective counterpart.

Of course, there are also disappointments such as the pilgrimage church on the Gügel being closed. It is built so on rocks that you reach the actual upper church through a chapel at the bottom via a spiral staircase and a tunnel carved into the rock - at least that’s what a plaque in front describes. I would have liked to not only read that, but also see it! But still, it is a very special place and an impressive building! Or in Pottenstein, I would have liked to visit the over 1000-year-old castle where even the holy Elizabeth of Thuringia (who had the rose miracle) found refuge in 1228, and there is a museum about Franconian Switzerland. 'Wednesdays after 11 a.m.' - at the tourist office I ask if this posted time is correct. 'Today, it's not open up there at all,' is the answer. I'm confused; isn't today Wednesday?! 'Yes, but September 1,' says the lady unruffled, 'only in July and August is it also open on Wednesdays.' 'In return,' I find a silversmith and goldsmith in Gößweinstein, who has a real museum of fossils and finds from the Franconian Jura in his large shop and knows so much to tell that I cannot take it all in; for a long time, I admire the ancient treasures - for example, a fossilized tree trunk over 7 m long, covered with ammonites, or fossilized dinosaur bones and shark teeth... Yesterday I actually found a large ammonite myself, but didn't take it with me in my backpack due to weight reasons; I only took a photo and then told two little boys (who were camping on a meadow with their parents on bikes) where I left this treasure, perhaps they would find the fossilization still there...

But initially, Georg was still with me; we visited the (cool!) outdoor pool in Neumarkt, mainly for the hot showers. Afterward, it rained the rest of the day with breaks, so we spent a lot of time under various shelters, although we still got wet wandering along nice forest and meadow paths without encountering any hunter's high seats this time. It was already dusk when we sought refuge under the large roof of a carpentry in a small hamlet. I would simply lay down there at night, but Georg calls the number standing at the gate to ask for permission. The nearby master lets us into the break room, where we are warm and cozy and can even make tea. With the nighttime rain, we wouldn’t have seen the full moon outside anyway...

Together we hike to Gräfenberg, so to speak the 'gateway' to Franconian Switzerland and also the end of the railway line (from there, Georg will first travel to Nuremberg the next morning). We leave our backpacks in a shelter high above the town and descend from the large, tower-like fallen memorial over the 'Friedensstufen' (Peace Steps) many steps down into the old town, which you enter through a painted town gate. At the 'old tollhouse,' it states, 'since the Middle Ages until about 1935, a toll collection point (local tax on all animals and vehicles passing through the city)' - so basically a historical toll station... Otherwise, there are many old houses, also inns, but nothing where we could eat on our last evening together. When we ask someone about it, the answer is: 'Oh, it is really bad on Monday in Gräfenberg!' In the end, only a dark 'brewery lounge' with furniture from at least the early seventies remains, where 'the regulars' meet, and there is nothing but beer and schnapps, not even tea and nothing to eat. Thus, we drink a beer and ascend back up 'our' mountain in the drizzle - the sky has rain clouds that are not only red in the west. Until that evening (and I have been alone since) we had walked so many further kilometers through forest and meadows on beautiful, lonely paths. Occasionally we lost the trail and then tried to cross through the woods without a path; we were 'squealed' by discordant jaybirds, as Georg called it. We stood on the bridge over the A9 on the penultimate evening, having not found a sleeping place before dusk, and marveled once again in disbelief at the unending stream of vehicles - since later we found refuge beneath the roof of the tennis club in Kleinbellhofen, we heard the continuous roar of the highway all night, along with the occasional thunderous takeoff or landing from or to Nuremberg, otherwise, it was quiet. At night, it thundered so much that we got wet from the rain blowing in through the strong wind and had to pull our beds further under the roof. The night before, we slept under an open roof of the forestry administration above Engelthal, a small place full of ancient houses, a gigantic monastery wall, which is still partly preserved or was rebuilt after nothing from the monastery itself survived. Above the town at the edge of the woods stands a representative brick building, built in 1899 as a sanatorium for lung diseases, now used as a psychiatric specialist clinic. Right next to it, the signposted hiking path disappears into a forest meadow, which is fenced off with an electric fence, as the area is grazed by cows. We are already considering climbing over the fence since there’s no indication of a 'detour for hikers,' but then we choose another forest path and so find our sleeping spot... The 'full moon' is already waning, but from the sleeping bag we see, emerging from beneath the roof, right spruce trees, left beech trees as black shadowy silhouettes, in between the full moon just surrounded by clouds, glowing with delicate rainbow shimmer. A bat occasionally flits through this image; apart from the rustling of the trees, nothing can be heard.

During the day, as mentioned, wonderful forest paths along the eaves or again steep ascents and descents from one peak to the next through the valley and through towns full of houses like in an open-air museum, much of it, however, also decays. At Hallershof stand mighty, thick oaks; we wander several times through sandy pine forests; in some fields, lucerne still blooms with such a strong, sweet scent that I almost become dizzy when we rest for a longer time directly at such a bee-swarming field on a bench. After Hersbruck (here they say 'Herschbrugg'), we arrive on Sunday morning and are unexpectedly gifted by the concert of the 'tower trumpeters' from the town hall tower, which takes place every Sunday for a quarter of an hour until ten o'clock. On another morning, after we stand disappointing in front of the bakery that has been closed since February, we are invited to breakfast - in the stately former smithy, lovingly renovated over ten years. Not only bread and coffee, but also good conversations - the gift of hospitality on the road...

In the woods, we still find dolines, holes (like the 'Devil's Hole' which Georg fits into with his backpack), the craziest moss-covered rocks, toppled trees, and of course mountains with funny names like Little and Big Hansgörgel or Glatzenberg. Suddenly, there is surprisingly much going on: steep walls into the valley with great views, nearby a parking lot; we sit with our picnic on a bench and are no longer accustomed to seeing so many cyclists and walkers. Throughout the entire time on the Franconian route, we encountered only one other couple, who, coming from Thuringia, wants to walk to Harburg, thus the entire 520 kilometers of the Franconian path. This week I then also met a solo hiker and two women with a dog, who all three carried larger backpacks and looked like 'long-distance hikers,' but in both cases they quickly walked past and visibly did not want to stop and chat, what a pity. The imposing fortress Rothenberg was unfortunately not accessible; we could only see the incredibly high massive walls; the entire actual castle area, according to the information panel 'renovated with tax money and made accessible to citizens,' is fenced off with a high fence, locks, and video surveillance, and this on a Saturday afternoon. As we climbed up the rock mountain, we understand what is being referred to when a plaque explains that there was once a 'Council Canal': from the latrines in the castle, everything fell through crevices and gaps in the limestone and collected in a dung pit in the valley. Only the commander of the castle could take something from it for his fields free of charge; the local farmers had to pay for this privilege. With a garrison of 800 men + families, that must have amounted to quite a bit...

In the spring of Lillach, there is still some water, just enough to refreshing cover my feet; however, the famous tufa steps are dry and partly overgrown, thus not quite so impressive. It has been raining again, but the springs and fountains at the foot of the Alb are mostly still dry; to compensate for the rain-poor summer, it needs to rain much more. I was pointed out to the good drinking water of the Muschelquelle near Steitberg - this is beautifully framed in an old fountain house, but unfortunately currently no drop of water comes out of it.

Yesterday evening, I still wrote at that said place with a view of Kulmbach and the Plassenburg, but then had to stop because my fingers got too cold. While some deer jumped from the meadow next to me into the forest and I finally saw that it was a buck - and no fox - that makes the hotter 'barking' sounds I often hear, I set up my bed to get warm again. Soon I will need my warmer sleeping bag...