Posts under Tag: castles
Coming to Terms with the German Wine Thing (and the Viewless Rooms Thing)

I decided to skip the most famous town on the Romantic Road, Rothenburg ob der Tauber. Last time I was there, dragging the boy scouts through Europe, I ended up in a shouting match with a giant tour bus. Well, the bus mostly just shouted, “BEEP!” It was one of those double-high jobbers where the passengers sit way up, leaning […]

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The Hunt for the Evil Brewmeister

After many oddly wine-centered meals in Germany, I am sure I’ll be for a beer in my future tonight. That’s because I am staying at Burg Veldenstein, the castle on the hill above Neuhaus am Pegnitz, a village of smart little red-rooved houses each painted a different pastel shade—robin’s egg, peach, canary, mint, pink. The lynchpin of the local economy […]

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A Tall Frosty Mug of Real German…Wine?

The Rhine is one of Germany’s wine-producing regions. So was the Mosel, two nights ago. So will be Franconia, two days hence. Sometimes it seems every Teutonic nook and cranny has been declared “one of Germany’s best wine-producing regions.” That is all fine and well as far as it goes, but it means waiters are always trying to foist off […]

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The Bane of the Solo Traveler

I just checked into a hotel installed in the medieval gatehouse of mighty Burg Reichenstein, overlooking the valley of the Rhine River from on high. I was handed a room key, lugged my luggage upstairs, and opened the door to my third parking-lot view in a row. Chalk it up to the old “single rooms suck” law, which is aimed […]

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Jane Eyre, Forbidden Love, and the British Dukedom in Sicily

The old inland SS 120 used to be the only road from Sicily’s east coast to Palermo until the Autostrada from Messina was built along the island’s north shore. It wraps around the north side of Mt. Etna, passing the bushy grapevines that thrive in the volcanic soils and a number of small towns whose crumbling castles and thriving little […]

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Three Kinds of Martyrdom

The year was 1545. It was late in November, and the German preacher, frozen to the bone, had barely made it over the last mountain pass on his journey south. He stopped at a crossroads, and before him he saw a pretty Tyrolean city called Trent nestled in the valley at his feet. He stood there for a few moments, […]

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