Hamburg, Factory, Aachen, Factory

Do you notice a pattern here? Is it the just-when-I-thought-things-couldn’t-get any-worse,-they-did pattern? If that’s what you read into today’s chapter heading, you are right. But every cloud has a silver lining – or at least is counterbalanced by something that goes right for a change. And I shall continue to hold onto that thought. No matter what. Really.

The factory near Luebeck did a fine job (the garage door was shut with only a small gap – not enough to allow the Smart to escape or anyone else to enter) and at a reasonable price – cash of course but still reasonable. The trampess handed over all her funds to the tramp and he returned with change. Since plastic is so prevalent, funds are only kept for small treats like a coffee on the hoof or alternatively emergencies. This was clearly in the latter, and rather more expensive than a coffee, category. Still, we headed back towards the mother factory aiming to get there before dinner or at least before bedtime. As we passed the exit to Hamburg the tramp suggested that maybe we should actually spend the night there, go the next day to the Kunsthalle, and then drive on, after all the new door would not be ready for some time (did I mention the tramp offered to let me go back to London while we waited for it? A noble gesture since he intends to wait at the factory) – probably 2 weeks – and the back was secure enough to allow us to park with garage door against the wall in the harbour parking place we didn’t get into only a few days ago. It seemed a sensible suggestion so once more the trampess found herself on her knees changing the destination on the navigation system as the tramp took the next exit and reversed direction. This time all went well, there was plenty of space, we parked just as the tramp wished and awaited the next day.

It was grey and miserable – the perfect day for a museum. The museum, naturally enough, was a very long hike away (much closer to our former, free parking place, but the harbour was more scenic and on a weekday an altogether better place to be). After walking past a very modern building and across what looked like a truncated pyramid we arrived at what should have been, according to my EyeWitness guide, the main entrance to the Kunsthalle. There were people inside, the carved letters over the portal said Kunsthalle, but the door did not budge. A kindly face appeared at the window next to the door; the young man pointed to the modern, rather bureaucratic building we had just passed (no signs, no banners, no seals) and indicated we should go there. We did. It was indeed the new main entrance to the Kunsthalle. We bought tickets (reduced price for seniors on Fridays – it was not Friday - including Kaffee und Kuechen but otherwise no concessions; clearly the Austrians are not yet worried about too many sweets in the diet!). Then we were directed to the basement and told this was the way to cross over to the main building. They didn’t mention that we would be walking through major building/installation works on the way. Once there the logistics of getting to the galleries we were particularly interested in were just as tortured. And every time we needed to alter course, we had to walk through the café and pass the Kuechen! Not so pleasant for those trying to enjoy their treat, and rather crazy from out point of view (did they seriously think I would let the tramp have cake in the middle of the morning???). Furthermore, the paintings were badly hung and badly organised – jewels were hard to find and no special attention was drawn to them. The trampess often had to call an impatient tramp’s attention to something hidden and wonderful. What was the director thinking? Does he/she exit? Does he want people to enjoy the museum? More is the pity because there were many gems in the collection, including many wonderful German paintings (Lovis Corinth in particular but also the Maxes Beckmann and Liebermann other members of the underrated Berlin Secessionist school) as well as rather better know examples of French and Italian painters – this could be an outstanding museum but sadly it is not. More money should have been spent on re-organising and displaying the existing works than on building an expensive, but not beautiful, modern building (the truncated pyramid which covered the cross over between the buildings was solid, ugly and had nothing of the inspiration – or light - of the IMPei pyramids at the Louvre) to display works of questionable interest. The paintings were worth the visit, but the experience was not uplifting, sadly matching the grey, rainy day.

The long walk back to the harbour included a walk through the old part of Hamburg, including the Rathausplatz. Here the blend of old and new architecture works extraordinarily well and the tramp stopped several times to photograph particularly well-conceived modern insertions into the gothic setting. But our attempt to enter the major cathedral was frustrated by closure for a christening so we proceeded back to the harbour and a late lunch. Eager to move on before dusk, we set sail once again in the direction of the mother lode. And there we stayed for 3 more days. Happily the repair went much better than expected, and we have a fully functioning, if somewhat less than beautiful, garage door. The Smart is no longer locked in with no hope of escape and the tramps can go back on the road, fully equipped with all pistons firing, so to speak. And not just all pistons, but the battery as well. It seems all our electrical problems (have I mentioned needing to turn on the generator to make a cup of coffee? Or flush the loo? clearly superior German engineering did not intend that this should not happen) were due to the fact that the battery was not fully charged and the generator not fully connected. The combination was lethal. The tramp’s detailed recording of data had paid off – it was clear that he was not daft, something was wrong. Battery replaced, generator fully hooked up, we really are road worthy! On to Aachen!

With more attention to navigation systems (GPS coordinates and address), destinations, and multiple maps, the tramps set off. It has to be said that the trampess was now in a state of total trepidation since the tramp expects serious navigation from her – just when she thought the navi systems had taken over! As we approached Aachen, the tramp decided that the stellplatz he had chosen was perhaps not so ideal but we could happily park in the car park of the Real supermarket we just spotted (end of trauma for trampess – at least for awhile). Other trucks were doing the same so it seemed safe enough. The tramp wisely unloaded the Smart so as not to be wedged in and unable to release her. After a major visit to the Real to stock up on provisions, the tramps had lunch and then drove into Aachen (one of those multi-fold Falk plans on the trampess’s lap to ensure our perfect arrival – it has to be said that the voice was rather better at guiding us in but the trampess tried to keep up and generally was not surprised when we reached our destination). We headed straight to the cathedral built for Charlemagne (or Karl der Grosse if you are German, as the locals obviously are) where his throne stands (you will, of course, remember that he was crowned emperor in 800 at which time Aachen became the capital of the Holy Roman Empire) and his remains lie in a golden coffer behind the altar (a simple stone cube, faced in sheet gold in 1020 thanks to the magnanimity of Heinrich II). The old Karl was a man of the world and lived to a great old age (I won’t mention the 3 wives – he outlived the first two - or the several mistresses). As a great traveller, he had seen much and had his own ideas of how to build a church. His model was the Byzantine octagon, and the size was modest, the decoration simple. Not a showy emperor (where have we gone wrong??). The cathedral has since been expanded to include a high gothic nave with stained glass windows, a tower and a dome over the original church. The octagonal area with two levels of arches remains the principal seating for the congregation, but the decoration is now dark but glittering mosaics modelled on San Vitale in Ravenna. It is, dear reader, quite stunning. A small, simple jewel. Of course, with the luck the tramps have been having, you would not be remotely surprised to find that the best parts (the Ambo, the shrine with K der G’s remains and the Schatzkammer with the Lotharkreuz and sarcophagus of Proserpina – thought to be the original sarcophagus of KdG until his canonisation when the remains were transferred to the gold shrine) were closed except by guided tours the last one of which had only just departed (it being a half day). We were encouraged to return.

Of course, we did but as the first tour was at 11 and the Couven museum opened at 10, that took priority: a small but rather interesting museum perfectly illustrating the life of an upper middleclass merchant of the 18th century. An apothecary was on the ground floor and contained instruments, weights and measures, and jars. The rest of the building was the home – full of the interests and status symbols of the day: much porcelain imported from China, some fine examples of the first German porcelain by the man who discovered the process (and later, if I am not mistaken, founded the Meissen factory), stunning tiles not just from Holland but from the Middle East and southern Europe as well; numerous paintings of varying degrees of quality and one room of Biedermeier furniture. My very favourite thing of all was a magnificent pagoda chandelier, delicate, colourful and quite unlike anything I had every seen. A small thing, but totally appropriate for a house of the haute bourgeoisie, it was warm inside! (given the cold and rainy day outside, this was a more than a small blessing). From there it was a short walk to the first tour of the cathedral, which meant it was in German (one a day at 2:30, is in English). Trust the trampess’s luck – again - (normally quite good but clearly the tramps are not on a lucky streak) this particular guide spoke the fastest and most complex German she has ever heard; it reminded her of the time she heard Henry Kissinger give an after dinner speech to a small group following a conference on economics and world politics. He had been told, he said, to speak for about 20 minutes on the state of the world and how he saw the next 25 years unfolding (would anyone else be asked to do so much in so little time?). He paused, and then said, “For those of you who know might native tongue, that is about 2 sentences.” It turned out to be more. The tramp, of course, had no difficulty with our German guide, but the trampess had to rely on her eyes, her college memory, and her previous day’s reading. Notwithstanding the impediments, the tour was more than worth it. And KdG’s throne, like his church, was simple – but convincingly royal.

Rushing on to the Schatzkammer on her own (the tramp is rather less interested in chalices and reliquaries), leaving the him to go to a bookstore he had discovered and which did a particularly good number in maps, the trampess was left to explore the treasury. To their credit, the holy fathers of the cathedral were modest in their attributions: many of the relics were “said to be”; these numbered: the hunting horn made from an elephant’s tusk of KdG, his sabre, a piece of Christ’s belt (!), a piece of the rope used in His flagellation (!!), and the bones of many saints. There were also more believable relics and treasures: Margaret of York’s crown, a rather important Cornish chest, and, of course, the promised Lothar cross and Proserpina’s sarcophagus. All beautifully, simply but dramatically displayed (Hamburg take note).

After lunch in a reasonable Thai restaurant (not the Blue Elephant but tolerable – and with an unusually sullen Thai waitress – the trampess had thought this an oxymoron but was sadly proved wrong), the tramps proceeded to the Rathaus which was originally connected to the cathedral and all part of the original Pfalz. The top floor comprised a huge mediaeval hall with paintings and frescoes of KdG’s many triumphs. Downstairs was rather more grand, in the ornate sense of the word, and included two huge, full length portraits of Napoleon and Josephine (not exactly heroes in Germany so one has to ask . . .). After a brief walk around town (a longer one had been taken that morning before anything was open), the tramps went back to the WLW and prepared for take off – the tramp’s goal was Cologne.

And a worthy goal it was, too. But sadly, one which was not achieved, owing to a not so brief encounter with another vehicle after the first intersection from our ever so convenient parking place. As was now SOP the trampess was armed with multiple maps (exiting Aachen, big picture motorway maps, and multiple maps for entering Cologne – her only fear, since the bus parking place we had found in Cologne before moving on to Aachen can only be entered from one direction – approaching from the other direction requires a u-turn that the WLW simply cannot make – and besides u-turns are out of favour at the moment for reasons that do not require stating). The departure was dead simple: exit car park, proceed to intersection (a few hundred metres down the road), turn left and immediately move into the right lane for entering the motorway 200 metres down the road. After that, a clear way to Cologne via motorway and then anxiety for the trampess as to whether she and the voice would agree on the approach post motorway. (I believe I left out any mention of our visit to St. Augustin – wonderful in all respects – and Cologne, before Aachen – visit wonderful, navigation disastrous; no doubt the anxieties of trying to keep up with a very large WLW heading down increasing narrower streets – think of a lobster trap – or a small but speedy Smart while trying to reach off road sites was more than slightly stressful and as such pushed the memory into deep, distant, please-don’t remind-me,-just-memorise-every-street-in-central-Cologne,-know-where-you-are-at-all-times-and-save-your-marriage mode).

The tramp, it must said at the outset, is an outstandingly good driver (after all he did have to drive a 40 tonne articulated lorry in reverse around a corner and then proceed 200 metres, still in reverse, along the road without losing control of the rear 20 tonnes as one small part of getting his HGV licence in Germany), so you must assume, and particularly since such a large vehicle as the WLW cannot speedily turn left, that the tramp looked in all directions once he had a left turn green light before turning into the intersection and moving into the right lane (which is almost inevitable even if going straight since the WLW cannot possible move straight away into the left lane even if she wanted to – she is trim but simply too large, a traditionally built WLW you might say). So the sudden crunch caused by an encounter with a small VW Polo on his right flank slightly behind the front of our beloved WLW (who by this time could be excused for feeling a bit battered) was, to say the least, startling. She was not in any of the tramp’s mirrors or tv cameras (there are 6) and whether she was trying to overtake us on the right or simply sneaking through the left hand turn light herself before it turned red, may never be known.

What is known is that her front bumper and our front wheel cover were interlocked in such a way that for either vehicle to move forward would cause considerably more damage to both. Normally, one would exit the vehicle, exchange insurance details and move on. A bit difficult in the tramp’s case since the only door was blocked by her car, (it should be clear from this that any collisions should only take place on the left side, anything else is just too complicated). Jumping out of the window was perhaps possible, though very awkward and even then probably only with a rope, but re-entering would not be. Plus there was the complication of how to move on without further damage. iPhones and cameras came out. The trampess hung suspended out the front side window and photographed the entwined bumper. She was then instructed by the tramp to photograph the view from the driver’s side (another out of the window effort) back to the intersection to show that the angle of entry from the intersection made his intentions (we won’t even mention the perfect signalling) transparent to anyone who cared to look. Police were summoned but did not appear for over an hour. Meanwhile the intersection was well and truly blocked – at least for large vehicles; cars drove along the central island to pass on the main road and on the side road cars and some very skilled trucks could pass on the right entry slip road that we were not completely blocking (the skill of truck drivers is not to be underestimated and to say that an inch is as good as a mile when applied to a very long vehicle significantly understates what such a manoeuvre requires – as well as a large intake of breath on the trampess’s part). With neither party willing to admit guilt, and with the problem of the interlocking, neither of us moved.

An off-duty policeman was the first on the scene. Not of the same polite nature (perhaps owing the great inconvenience being caused to other drivers, him included) he merely screamed at us all to pull up and off to the side of the road to clear the intersection. The tramp politely asked if he would mind photographing the vehicles from the front (something which you, dear reader, understand was impossible for us, trapped as we were inside the WLW) and then we would happily try to disengage. Not a chance. He drove off as quickly as possible muttering as he went. Various discussions continued between the tramp and the other driver, all suitably polite (the politeness of Germans is vastly underrated: had this been in Italy, I can assure you, as I have witnessed such things in the past, jackets would be off and fists in the air). Conversation with a bus driver trapped behind us on the other hand was less so. When the local, on-duty policeman eventually arrived, he took photos from the front (of his own volition), guided the vehicles out of their locked position, and politely (by now, you would expect no less) fined both drivers 35 euros for blocking the intersection which both (of course) accepted with good grace. As it transpires the damage was not as great as it might have been, but nonetheless required immediate attention. Another day, another factory. Let’s just say that the next factory was in a rather obscure location and the way out was no longer onto the motorway as expected. The trampess’s worst nightmare (well, let us be frank, what she had expected to be her worst nightmare, the worst having already happened) was realised, and the entry into Cologne was completely different from the agreed route. God, having been off duty for awhile, finally came back into the picture on the trampess’s side, granted her His blessing by making the route to the bus parking place relatively straight forward, not without some, ah, discussion, but without difficult and certainly without a u-turn.