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Grenzlandmuseum Göhr

Saturday, 22 March 2014

This morning, I have an appointment with Herr Ritzmann from the Grenzlandmuseum in the village of Göhr, and two of my new Workaway friends decide to tag along. Although the museum doesn’t open its doors until the tourist season begins on the first of May, Herr Ritzmann is willing to show visitors around by appointment.

Dietrich-Wilhelm Ritzmann was a youngster when the partition that became known as the Iron Curtain was built. He remembers watching the labour force at work, only a few kilometres from his home near Schnega in the district of Lüchow-Dannenberg. He was fascinated by it all and, at the age of thirteen, began to take pictures of the border with his first camera – now also part of the exhibition. His collection of photographs exceeds five hundred and represents a personal documentation of historic value.

Of course Ritzmann was at the local border crossing in Bergen (about halfway between Göhr and Salzwedel) on the day the border was opened in 1989. He describes how a long line of Trabis crossed into the Federal Republic of Germany; how residents of the West had set up tables and stalls to welcome their new neighbours with drinks, fruit and cake; how people embraced and shed tears of joy … ‘It was an exciting time’, he states with a look laden with memories.

After Germany’s reunification, Dietrich-Wilhelm Ritzmann travelled along the former border with a GDR army truck and collected memorabilia for his little museum, anything that was moveable: parts of the metal-mesh fence, complete with wires and alarm lights, border posts and warning signs, radio communication units of Russian provenance, border guard uniforms for all seasons, documents, maps, a large flag nobody wanted anymore, various mines (complete and in splinters), buoys from the Baltic, and even an army truck and a patrol car.  The complete office of an NVA-Officer, including its red telephone, is a highlight. Ritzmann encourages our friend to dress up in an original officer’s uniform and try out the desk. Erich Honecker – head of state and butt of jokes (see previous blog post) – smiles cautiously from his picture frame.

Original Office of the NVA (Nationale Volks Armee)

An Original Office of the NVA (‘Nationale Volks Armee’)

Trying out a 'Trabi' of the Border Guards

Trying out a ‘Trabi’ of the Border Patrol

GDR border guards helped Ritzmann to stow his treasures. ‘Take whatever you like – take it all!’ they said. He is still friends with a number of them, and a press picture shows him raising a glass with the former enemy at the 20-year-anniversary of the day the border collapsed.

Border Guard on Duty

Border Guard on Duty

Details of Border Fortifications

Details of the Border Fortifications

Of course Dietrich-Wilhelm Ritzmann also knows the story of the wily mayor of Harpe and shows me the ‘Vodka Bend’ on a map. (Please see blog post ‘Cycling in the Borderlands’ for this intriguing tale.) 

The Vodka Bend, curving around the Village of Harpe

The ‘Vodka Bend’, curving around the Village of Harpe

A less amusing note is struck by articles reporting the number of casualties along the border, and the often gruesome deaths of men willing to risk their life to escape the socialist paradise. (You can read more about this in my blog post ‘Iron Curtain’s Silver Lining’). Lacerated by the shrapnel blasted by spring guns along the fence, they were sometimes left to die by the border guards who arrived at the scene without delay. Those who wandered into the mine fields also died alone, just like the wild boars, the stags and red deer that had the misfortune to get caught there. Only hares and foxes fit through the small holes cut at intervals into the mesh of the fence. These openings were reinforced with a collar of sheet metal and bolted tight from the outside. Hidden by the undergrowth on the western side, no one even knew they existed, except those small animals that were thus able to cross the border without setting off the alarm and losing their lives in the process.

Opening for Small Game

An opening for small game …

The Boar at the Back fell Victim to the Spring Guns

… but the boar at the back has fallen victim to the spring guns.

Nevertheless, people kept trying their luck, and a few were successful. Three workers at a factory in the vicinity of the fence observed the border guards over time, became familiar with their routines and hatched a plan. Before six o’clock one morning they escaped, in a bulldozer that took the shrapnel in their stead as it tore a hole in the fence and ripped concrete posts from the ground. The men got away unharmed.

Border guards were also (one might assume, especially) susceptible to escape attempts, and therefore they were always deployed in groups. They knew that their comrades had orders to shoot them, should they make a dash for it. In any case, those scouts that were sent to explore the land beyond the border, smuggled out through secret, hidden, tiny gates, were drawn solely from the politically rock-solid elite. They were kitted out with smart uniforms and the best equippment, and they always wore ties on their missions that involved a lot of crawling through bushes. Clearly meant to impress the decadent capitalists with their accoutrements, they were strictly forbidden to speak to the enemy. No greeting, no nod and certainly no smile … Ritzmann remembers meeting such eerily silent figures on his early rambles.

Border Scouts, in Summer and Winter Uniform

Elite Border Scouts, in Summer and Winter Uniform

'Our border is always reliably protected!'

‘Our border is always reliably protected!’

'Please do not touch the mines!'

‘Please do not touch the mines!’

Ritzmann explains the Alarm System

Ritzmann explains the Alarm System

It is a dark chapter in the history of man’s violence towards his fellow man, and added to the state-sanctioned cruelty is the hypocrisy with which it was justified: The armed fence was there to ‘protect’ the citizens of the GDR from the fascists beyond, the great enemy that was always trying to get in and corrupt the socialist paradise of happy workers and farmers. (Isn’t it strange then that all the guns and mines were on the inside?) Of course, a heavy amount of hysterical propaganda was necessary to shout this threat into existence in the minds of the populace. But this kind of brainwash, beginning in early childhood, was undermined by the media of the West. Westfernsehen and Westradio were of course strictly taboo, yet their allure was strong. In the end, they helped to reveal the government’s propaganda as the pack of lies it was. And when the farmers and workers saw, and compared to their own, the style of life, the means of production and the advance of technology in the West, they began to realize that they had been cheated. ‘It was then I knew that a big crash was about to happen …’ a farmer said after his formal visit to the other side of the fence.

Those living within a certain distance of the border in the West were allowed to apply for permission to visit family in the East several times a year. But they had to pay an admission fee, as well as exchange a set amount of their money at a rate of 1:1 per day of their stay. Of course there was nothing to spend that money on, so it was an expensive outing and not overly popular.

A large sign next to the road to Salzwedel marks the place of the former border line. A watery ditch running along the woods may or may not have been part of the former fortifications. Everything has been removed: The metal-mesh fencing (its raw material supplied by Krupp-Essen and the finished product by Sweden – thank heavens for neutral nations; they must have made a fortune from that order!), the barbed and the trip wires, the concrete paving, the mines … nothing remains but a bitter memory and a green belt of healthy, because undisturbed, nature.

After my visit at the museum, I wander into the woodland of firs and follow tracks that criss and cross between the trunks of tall conifers. The ground is mossy, strewn with small fir cones … and it is quiet, so very quiet. Despite its grim history, this land is beautiful and of Zen-like tranquillity. I like everything about it: the softly rolling landscape, the expanse of sweet-smelling woodland and the charming architectural style of its settlements. And since I am not looking for employment, the absence of industrial development seems a blessing. Could a way be found to generate job opportunities here without turning the Wendland into an ugly park of industrial estates? I hope it with all my heart.

'Erich's Revenge' - 'With Original Contents'

‘Erich’s Revenge’ – ‘With Original Contents’

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Iron Curtain’s Silver Lining

Thursday, 13 March 2014

Today, my new Workaway hosts have planned an outing to show me the area, and so we pile into a van and set out to Schnackenburg. It is the second-smallest town in Germany, numbering less than four hundred inhabitants, and located in Lüchow-Dannenberg by the Elbe River. More of those charming half-timbered houses line yet more cobbled streets, but there is no shop, no pharmacy, bank, post office or grocery store. And apart from us, there is not a soul to be seen. I am unused to such deserted settlements and wonder if it is the season, the day of the week or some unknown custom that keeps the German population from enlivening their streets. One thing is certain: It cannot be the weather, for today the sun is shining with all the force of an early spring.

Schnackenburg's Main Street

Schnackenburg’s Main Street

Once mysteriously called Snaakenborg, ‘City of Snakes’ in the Lower Saxon idiom, Schnackenburg found itself fenced in on three sides when Germany was divided by the Allied Powers. It was cornered by the Iron Curtain, so to speak, but its little harbour acquired a new importance as the last inland port of the West, with its customs facilities right on the border.

Borderlands

Borderlands

Incidentally, it seems that along this stretch of the river the exact location of the border between West and East Germany was disputed: the Federal Republic of Germany (West) saw it as running along the opposite riverbank, while the German Democratic Republic (East) placed it firmly at the centre of the waterway and secured the territory with twenty-four patrol boats.

GDR Border Patrol Boat

GDR Border Patrol Boat

Schnackenburg's now empty Harbour

Schnackenburg’s now empty Harbour

Previously, there were sometimes as many as twenty vessels berthed here, and people came from far and wide to gaze through binoculars at the communist border and its watchtowers. In those days, the commercial infrastructure of Schnackenburg was still intact, but since the reunification of Germany economic decline has sapped its life blood. Now that it is no longer a place for transferring cargo from one country to another, its little port is only used occasionally by sporty pleasure boats.

Grenzlandmuseum Schnackenburg

Grenzlandmuseum Schnackenburg

Schnackenburg’s Museum of the Border is still closed because it is not the tourist season yet. But outside its locked doors we can study panels that show its location on a map that traces the former border, as well as a long list naming those who died in their attempt to cross the fiercely guarded line. This border, to quote Wikipedia’s concise description, was “a physical manifestation of Winston Churchill’s metaphorical Iron Curtain that separated the Soviet and Western blocs during the Cold War. It marked the boundary between two ideological systems – democracy and single-party communism. Built by East Germany in phases from 1952 to the late 1980s, the fortifications were constructed to stop the large-scale emigration of East German citizens to the West, about 1,000 of whom are said to have died trying to cross it during its 45-year existence.”

"Our Remembrance includes all those who died or were injured as victims of the Inner German Border and the Berlin Wall."

“Our Remembrance includes all those who died or were injured as victims of the Inner-German Border and the Berlin Wall.”

In April 1956, lance-corporal Harry Moll of the billeted People’s Police dies of exhaustion after successfully swimming across the Elbe. – In August 1962, 15-year-old Gerd Knönenkamp is shot in his attempt to escape. – October 1963, in trying to cross the border, Bernhard Simon steps on a mine. His left leg is torn off and he dies while his brother drags him to western territory. – In June 1967, teacher Bärbel Elli Richter and her husband cross the Elbe with diving equipment, but she gets tangled in a fisher’s net near Schnackenburg and drowns. – In September of the same year, the townsfolk of Schnackenburg hear cries for help in the night. Four days later, the body of Manfred Hube is found, drowned. – A month later, Karl-Heinz Bösel drowns opposite Schnackenburg during his escape attempt. – In January 1969, Bernhard Wolfgang Zill crosses the Elbe successfully. He reaches the western riverbank but dies of hypothermia on his way to Schnackenburg. – A year later, in December, two schoolboys risk their lives in an escape attempt across the river: Rainer Bahlhorn (15) drowns in the icy water, while his friend Reinhard Bergunde (14) makes it to the other side and drags himself to the road, where he is saved … The list goes on.

It is still not certain how many victims the Iron Curtain claimed in Germany alone, for such incidents were kept secret by the GDR. (It was certainly not good for the image that one’s citizens would rather risk a grim death than go on living in the glorious Republic of Workers and Farmers.) The number of known cases in Germany increased from 197 in 1989 – the year the border was opened – to 916 by 1997, but more recent estimates put the real figure closer to 1,100 deaths.

By the River Elbe

By the River Elbe

The wide, peaceful flood plain with its glittering river gives no indication of the cruelty and the terror it was once part of. In this ideal habitat for water fowl, chattering congregations of ducks, wild geese and common cranes are celebrating the arrival of spring and preparing for another season of procreation. Their excited sounds accompany our walk, and we see them grazing in the meadows or circling in the sun-filled air. Trails of webbed footprints create delicate patterns on the river’s sandy banks. Rarer birds like sea-eagles and black storks are also drawn to the wetlands around Schnackenburg, now that they are nature reserves and wildlife sanctuaries.

Below the town, a little motor-powered ferry takes cars, cyclists and pedestrians across the river and connects the end of the road in Schnackenburg with a similar road on the other side.

The Ferry

The Ferry

Our crossing takes only a few minutes. The long spell of dry weather has reduced the water to an unusually low level, but dykes indicate the height to which the floodwaters of this great river will rise at times. I try to detect the direction of the Elbe’s flow, but in this wide plain it moves in a manner too sluggish to be perceptible. Heike points west-northwest. “It flows towards Hamburg, over there.”

Low Water Level

Low Water Level

Arrived on the other side, we enjoy a snack in the sunshine, sitting on the terrace of a little café that looks like – and probably is – a family enterprise run from the home. Cyclists interrupt their celebratory spring outings and arrive in twos and threes, hungry for generous helpings of delicious German cake. Now we wander along the crest of a dyke and enjoy the glorious day, the bare, watery landscape secretly preparing to cloak itself in green leaves, and the liveliness of the birds.

I had already noticed that, in the eastern part of Germany, the Elbe seems to be everywhere. I had crossed it on my way into Wittenberg, walked along its dykes in Woerlitz, and then traversed it in Dessau and again near Magdeburg on the road to my new destination in the Wendland, where it is once again a determining feature.

Museum Burg Lenzen

Hotel and Museum in the Fortress of Lenzen

We drive onwards into ‘the East’ and stop at the old fortress of Lenzen. A museum dealing with local history is now housed inside the magnificent old tower, and a large section of its exhibition concerns, unsurprisingly, the Elbe: that long, important waterway connecting the mountains of the Czech Republic with the German lowlands, with the major ports of Hamburg and Cuxhaven, and ultimately with the North Sea.

It is here that I learn about das Grüne Band – the Green Belt: It is the new name given to that particular strip of land which, as the former heavily-guarded border of the Eastern bloc, was out of bounds to everyone for forty years. Everyone, that is, except the border guards and their dogs. This barrier ran as a death strip of roughly 12,500 kilometres from the White Sea on the northern-most rim of the continent to the Black Sea in its south-east. Nevertheless, this terrible fence, watched over by guard towers and rigged with wires that would trigger instant blasts of expanding bullets, proved a blessing in its horrific disguise to the biosphere that thrived in the absence of human interference. It is true that large animals such as stags, red deer and wild boar occasionally triggered the automatic shooting system and bled to death in the glaring spotlight of the border guards that were summoned instantly by the alarm system – but plants, insects, amphibians, reptiles, birds and small mammals thrived during those decades in an eerily protected zone.

20_Erinnerungstafel

The Iron Curtain becomes the Green Belt

Now a society called BUND – Friends of the Earth Germany has taken on the task of protecting this unexpected silver lining of the Iron Curtain. As the metal fence and all its attendant paraphernalia were removed, a green belt varying between 50 and 200 metres in width remained. Linking nearly all the diverse natural habitats of the European Continent in a long, unbroken chain, it is home to many rare plants and animals. One can hike along trails or follow the Four Countries Bicycle Path to experience “the beauty of this landscape, as well as relicts of the grim history of this borderland”. – What an unexpected discovery: The former death strip has become a line of life!

33_Storchennest

A Stork’s Nest in Lenzen

Our way back to ‘the West’ takes us onwards to Dömitz and the only bridge across the river for many miles. But before crossing over, we walk around the old fortifications, built in the sixteenth century, and look down into the waterless moat where reeds are poking through the black sludge. The large redbrick buildings of the bastion are cracked and sagging.

In the little town, the local building style of timber frame and brickwork, tastefully decorated with carved lintels and doors, makes for a charming atmosphere in the small settlement, enhanced by a sense of being lost to the world. Dömitz, located on the east side of the river, is struggling to find its place in the open market economy. They have the bridge, and a fortress in need of large cash injections, but little else it seems. Yet entrepreneurial spirit is quietly budding in the spring sunshine. By the side of the parking lot two children, boy and girl, are playing unsupervised, just as we once did. They have been busy rummaging through a pile of building rubble and have extracted cheap-looking, thin glass tiles from the socialist era. These little rectangles of glass, cleaned and polished, are now set out in a neat row on the ground to capture the fancy of passers-by. With eager voices and trusting faces the children approach us, showing us samples of their merchandise in outstretched hands while outlining their business plan. Heike enters into negotiations and buys five of these historic souvenirs for 50 cents. The children are very pleased and return to their enterprise with renewed vigour, while we cross the bridge back into ‘the West’, each wrapped up in our own thoughts.


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Sauntering through Salzwedel

Wednesday, 19 March 2014

What will I discover on my day trip to Salzwedel? It is not a place I have ever heard of, this small town at the north-western edge of Sachsen-Anhalt. Yet, like so many other little and little-known places in this region, it turns out to be full of interesting links to history.

Its name already tells a story. Since antiquity, valuable wares were transported over long distances at great cost and high risk to the merchants, for numerous tolls had to be paid and bands of brigands to be fought off. And so it was that only the most precious goods made such an enterprise worthwhile: silk and spices, for example, amber, silver and salt … In any Northern German place name, the ending ‘-wedel’ is synonymous with ‘ford’ (as in Dartford, Castleford, Stratford and Oxford) and points to locations where a river was fordable. In this case, it is the Jeetze River that was traversed by one of the old salters’ roads, along which the precious commodity of salt  Salz  travelled. It is the place where salt crossed the river: Salzwedel.

Here, a fortress watched over this trade route which extended from the salt mines in Halle to the great cities of the North-West, and undoubtedly levied a toll for the protection it offered. Albrecht the Bear of the House of Askania made this fortress, Burg Salzwedel, his temporary home in the twelfth century. He is regarded as the founder of the town, though an earlier settlement in this location is known to date back to the year 800. The fortress of ‘Soltwidele’ is mentioned in surviving documents as early as 1112, and Salzwedel as a town for the first time in 1233. Thirty years later, it is already a member of the Hanse, that powerful union of German tradesmen. (The Hanseatic League was an early insurance scheme founded to protect the guild by spreading the risks of trade while sharing the profits. It also represented and defended the members’ interests abroad and soon became not only a commercial, but also a political influence of the first order, as well as an important cultural factor.)

New Town, founded 1247

Houses of the ‘New Town’ that was founded in 1247

Medieval Alleys

Medieval alleys, beautifully restored …

Gone are the horse-drawn carriages

… but where are the ox-carts and horse-drawn carriages?

But not all was well, as is usually the case when many souls are living together: Salzwedel’s protective ring wall enclosed a divided town. Old Town and New Town (‘new’ meaning it was founded as late as 1247) indulged in a love-hate relationship at close quarters for nearly five hundred years, their rivalry making two town halls and two mayors necessary, as well as separate churches, schools and town gates. A part of the ring wall and two of the old gates remain, but the division was overcome.

Old Town Gate

Steintor, Old Town Gate

However, it was not until 1713 that these segregated communities became one; not by choice, but by royal decree. Friedrich Wilhelm I of Prussia ordered – which means forced – the two halves to unite to what became known as Hansestadt Salzwedel.

Half-timbered Houses

Half-timbered Houses

This interesting fact is not apparent to the visitor. Instead, one notices the rows of beautifully restored half-timbered houses, with their delicate colours and variations in the pattern of beams, brickwork and doorways.

Redbrick Patterns

Redbrick Patterns

Timber Frame Patterns

Timber-Frame Patterns

Almost life-sized figures, headed by the date 1600, are carved with artistic energy into the woodwork, while carefully lettered verses run along the main beams of house fronts and remind readers of the temporary nature of life, or beseech the Lord for protection from fire.

Carved Beams

Carved Beams

Some buildings even go back to the 1500s. One is in effect walking through medieval alleys here, but without the filth and stench. All is clean and neat and attractive, and strangely bare of people on this Wednesday afternoon. The population of Salzwedel is clearly not in the habit of strolling or loitering.

'Anno Domini 1566 An Kroger'

‘Anno Domini 1566 An Kroger’

An immaculate stretch of new cobblestones is laid out in a quiet lane, still without the filling. The chunky, square pieces of granite fan out in delicate curves with organic regularity, like a pattern found in nature.

German Roadworks

Traditional Cobblestone Roadworks

In a peaceful square of the former Old Town, partly lined by ancient lime trees, the Marienkirche points its spire at the sky. Its slightly crooked tower is the emblem of Salzwedel. Local legend tells of Jan Kahl, a giant, who lived beyond the forest and was angered when the tower was completed (about 1496) and reached beyond eighty metres in height. He was used to being the tallest landmark around and meant to teach those tiny, impertinent humans a lesson by hurling an erratic boulder. It missed the tower, but the turbulence of air and the tremor of earth as it crashed to the ground caused the spire to quake and lose its former perfect uprightness … Unsurprisingly, though, experts remain convinced that the tower’s crookedness stems from deficient trusses.

Seen from this angle, the spire leans towards the viewer

Seen from this angle, the spire bends slightly towards the viewer

Today, the Marienkirche is a historic monument, a national treasure and a fine example of the Redbrick Gothic style that dominates the North-German Plain, since there has always been a dearth of natural building stones in this area.

Marienkirche

Marienkirche

From around 1200 it was constantly altered and rebuilt for three centuries, finally emerging in 1550 as the gothic basilica with five naves we see today, and remaining essentially unaltered in its architectural substance. A wonderful tripartite altarpiece by an unknown master was put up in 1510. It is the largest in the Altmark and shows scenes from the life and death of Christ in thirty-one panels, intricately carved from wood.

Scenes from the Life of Christ, His Death and Resurrection

The Altarpiece

A Renaissance baptismal font in bronze by Hans von Köln was added in 1522. It was designed so that the water could be heated to a pleasant degree, and infants would not shrink back and cry at the very moment of being received into the holy faith.

Baptismal Font

Baptismal Font

1541 is presumed to be the year the congregation adopted the new Lutheran evangelical faith. Before the Reformation did away with such fripperies, the church had accommodated twenty-eight side altars and services often went on simultaneously in different parts of the huge interior. Large numbers of priests were employed to hold masses in rotation, masses donated by individuals, by families or fraternities; and sometimes processions took place while the townsfolk met and worshipped. This lively usage of a great church I should have liked to witness, as a glimpse of the life of past times … The building, though magnificent, seems incomplete without attenders.

In the mid-seventeen hundreds, the prolific and highly-regarded organ builder Joachim Wagner installed a baroque organ. It was to be his last  he died before it was finished. One of his pupils completed the instrument, but it did not survive into our times. Only the original, baroque organ prospect remains and now fronts a more contemporary instrument.

The Organ

Joachim Wagner’s Organ Prospect

The Marienkirche survived both World Wars without damage, but had to sacrifice its bells to the armaments industry. Never before had I realized that bullets or cannons were sometimes cast from church bells, in a perverse reversal of swords being converted to ploughshares … I also learn that in the Second World War, the melting down of the nation’s church bells slyly served the purpose of silencing the powerful voice of Christian religion with its inopportune commandment ‘thou shalt not kill’ – under the pretext of urgently needed metal reserves. But the speed with which those bells were later replaced shows how important their ringing remained to the people. Here, too, the full set of six bells has long since been restored. More food for thought can be found in the fact that the youngest of these bells is named Shalom – the Hebrew word for peace.

Near the church, I find the house where the noble family von Westphalen welcomed the birth of daughter Jenny in 1814. Her father was the well-connected district administrator of Salzwedel, but she became more widely known as the wife of Karl Marx. At the age of seventeen, Jenny declined a suitable offer of marriage and later became secretly engaged to Marx, who, four years her junior and the son of a provincial lawyer, was not a good match for a baron’s daughter. Their engagement, reluctantly accepted by her family, was to last for seven years (while Marx matured in pursuing his studies abroad) and they were finally married in June 1843, after a decent period of mourning her father’s death. In Jenny, Karl Marx had found a supportive partner in his struggle for a new world order. Despite her pampered childhood and privileged upbringing, she followed him into penury and a restless and self-sacrificing life, faithful to the end.

Jenny Marx's House

Jenny Marx’s Birthplace

To his grief, she predeceased him: “The letters of condolence I have received (…) are all animated with a spirit of truthfulness and profound feeling in honour of Möhmchen, as is seldom the case in such conventional statements. I explain this with the fact that everything about her was natural and truthful, unselfconscious, never artificial; therefore also her impression on others lively, full of light. Even Frau Hess writes: ‘In her, Nature has destroyed her own masterpiece, for in my whole life I have never met with such a brilliant and loving woman.’”

Their youngest daughter, Eleanor Marx, observed, “It is no exaggeration to say that, without Jenny von Westphalen, Karl Marx could never have been what he was. They were perfectly matched and completed each other (…) And I believe that a tie as strong as their commitment to the cause of the working class bound them – their inexhaustible, indestructible humour.”

Friedrich Engels, long-term friend and comrade, also mourned her loss: “What such a woman, with a keen, critical mind, with such political tact, with such energy and passion of character, with such commitment to her comrades, has accomplished in our movement over almost forty years – that has not penetrated into the public awareness; it is not written in the annals of the contemporary press. It had to be witnessed personally. (…) We shall often enough have reason to miss her bold and clever advice – bold without boastfulness, clever without ever being dishonourable.”

Jenny Marx remains, of all the sons and daughters of Salzwedel, undoubtedly the most impressive  yet I had never even heard of her! But there is still more to learn, this time about a local delicacy:

Salzwedel produces a kind of cake that resembles a slice of tree trunk when cut and is therefore called Baumkuchen, ‘tree cake’. Salzwedeler Baumkuchen has been served at banquets of the European nobility for about a hundred and fifty years to date. It is sold in bakeries specializing in its manufacture, for it requires a large spit-like revolving cylinder on which the batter is brushed and baked in those thin, even layers that give the effect of year rings when cut.

Baumkuchen Bakery

Baumkuchen Bakery

Usually, this ‘trunk’ is made up of fifteen to twenty layers of batter and can be three to four feet in length. It tastes blandly sweet, with a hint of vanilla, and is also sold in various cut shapes, glazed with fondant, covered in white or dark chocolate, or as an uncut trunk, sprinkled with decorative sugar flowers for special events.

Imbued with new impressions and the sweet flavour of bakery products, I leave Salzwedel behind. The road towards Bergen soon passes a large sign commemorating its intersection with the line along which Germany, and Europe, had been divided by the Iron Curtain until November 10, 1989, at midnight.

The former Border

The former Border

Salzwedel, in close proximity to this heavily guarded border, served as base for the helicopter squadron of the GDR’s border control force. Yet its location also exposed it to radio waves and TV news from the West, and it easily received those rays of information that poked holes in the dense veil of a dictatorial government’s … ahem … miscommunication.

What an interesting day this has been!