Finishing up lunch and looking out the window, things didn’t look so promising. Sitting on a river cruise ship tied up alongside the shore on a tributary of the Rhine, everything out there looks rather industrial. Yes, in a tidy, efficient, very German way, but still—not much to pique the interest.
And once I boarded a coach for an afternoon tour, winding along on the Autobahn, we proceeded through cities whose names meant nothing to me. Ludwigsburg, then Mannheim. A sprawling chemical plant on the left shore of the river. Then, a cartoonishly huge power plant, whose towering stacks were the picture of mechanization and might.
But then, seemingly all of a sudden, the bus entered into a tunnel of trees. It was very late autumn, but still, the fall colors hung on the trees, mostly yellow and golden, with a splash of red here and there. The road had narrowed to two lanes, and hikers and cyclists now appeared at the sides. It was a perfect autumnal scene. And very soon, it got even better.
River Serendipity
When taking a river cruise, the destinations can sometimes seem a little random. Which is the nature of the voyage—the ship makes its way upriver or downriver, and the ports come to you. From charming and small towns to world-renowned destinations such as Vienna, Budapest, and Paris.I had only vaguely heard of Heidelberg and almost skipped the afternoon trip. But that’s the beauty of this kind of journey—and travel in general. That is, you can wake up in the morning, maybe not so excited about the day ahead, and then be completely surprised and swept off your feet by a place.
And that’s exactly what happened here.
“Heidelberg is a romantic city, but it isn’t particularly old—at least by German standards,” my guide explained as we disembarked the coach. The famous university here, which is Germany’s oldest, opened its doors in 1386. This, she said, has made this small city of about 160,000 a very youthful place. “About one in four residents is a university student,” she said, pointing out a fraternity house built just around the corner from the castle.
Like most other palaces and fortresses, this one was built in many stages, periodically destroyed by fire, war, and even lightning strikes, and then reconstructed in various styles.
“Use your imagination,” said the guide. “Entering through this gate, we’re coming not by foot or coach, but on horseback.” The history is interesting, with the guide walking us through 1,000 years of the Holy Roman Empire.
But as we descend the cobblestones toward one of the most significant Renaissance structures north of the Alps, I’m distracted by something: a Tina Turner song blasting from one of the banquet halls. Outside, two young, college-aged women practiced their moves, dancing completely in synch to “Nutbush City Limits.” It isn’t clear what exactly is happening, but moments later, they disappear inside, presumably to take the stage. It would’ve been fun to witness their big moment, but there’s plenty more castle to tour.
As we emerged onto a big promenade, the city spread out at our feet.
“I think it’s obvious why anyone would want this for their fortress,” said the guide, pointing out the sweeping valley below, dominated by the Neckar River. We also took a little time to see the massive Great Heidelberg Tun, an absolutely massive wine vat once able to hold 58,000 gallons of the good stuff.
“Once you had the biggest barrel of all the princes, you had to invite them all over to see it,” the guide explained.
Local Beer and Good Company
My guide advised that I needed to take a little walk through the well-preserved old town (which didn’t experience much bombing in World War II) and experience one special beverage. One that once held a record in the Guinness World Records. I wound my way through the market squares, past old churches, and toward the archways of the city’s Old Bridge and its famous monkey.“Rub the fingers, and you’ll return to Heidelberg for certain,” the guide had told me—noting that, in her case, it was even more powerful. She fell in love with a local man and just never left.
But it’s not the Old Monkey of Heidelberg I’m looking for today—it’s a glass of strong beer. In fact, it was very strong—for a time, it was the very strongest in the world. Right in the heart of Altstadt, Vetter’s feels every bit like a typical German brew house, with dark wood and big, shiny mash tuns right in the middle of the restaurant. Joined by a friend, we ordered local sausages and crusty bread spread thick with lard and onions, as well as frosty half-liters of Hefeweizen.
