OOPS, missed the Wurzburg Prince Bishop Palace.

Tuesday, June 20, 2023 -Wurzberg, Germany

        We were up by 7 A.M. It was raining and cool out. Our tour, of the Wurzburg Bishop’s Palace, was scheduled for the afternoon. We met up with Clayton and Madeline, in the main dining room, and had a leisurely breakfast with them, trading stories of what we had each seen and done during the last few days. It was a slow paced and pleasant morning.

       The Vali, had motored down the Rhine overnight. We stopped briefly in Karlstadt, around 8:30 A.M. to let off passengers for their excursion to Rothenburg, on the fabled Romantic Highway. Although we did not join them on this excursion, I include my notes, from a visit to Rothenburg on a former trip through Bavaria, for the memories of our other passengers.

         The bus was travelling down the “Romantic Highway.” Created in the 1950’s, it is a route passing through a series of medieval villages and ethnic centers that runs some 350 KM from North to South in Germany.

         Whatever the name, all highways in Deutschland are the “autobahn.” That means buses are restricted to 120 KPH. Cars can go any speed they can manage. It wasn’t unusual to see some high-powered Porsche roar by us like we were standing still. Of course, you would soon see their taillights flash, because it is only a two- lane road and not everyone wants to drive that fast. We were also to encounter what the Germans call “Die Stau.” It is a twenty-mile long traffic jam that moves very slowly.

        The valleys here are green and rolling. Neatly ordered farms bespeckled the hillsides. It is a region for growing hops, corn and oats. It is also a region that produces beer and wine, which the Germans consume with great vigor. We crossed into the Tauber River Valley, headed to the medieval town of Rothenburg. 

     A huge fortress dominates the head of the valley here, with the village spread out behind it. From the fortress, we could look out over the vast Tauber River Valley and admire the countryside. A formal garden was growing next to it. As attractive as the village is, there is of course a dark side. 450 towns people, of the Jewish Faith, had been penned in a tower in 1215 and then burned to death after being accused of stealing communion wafers. It wasn’t an area that tolerated cultural or religious differences. In later city and town visits, in the entire mid European region, we were to learn that whatever the local baron, lord or King chose for a religion became the official religion of all the people of the area. Those not so inclined to participate were encouraged and assisted in vacating the town, sometimes forcibly. This practice was the major cause of  the Thirty Years War that ravaged the area. An earthquake destroyed the castle in 1356. It had been rebuilt in its current form.

We walked through the cobble stoned streets, admiring the half-timber houses so characteristic of the period. The village is a Christmas (Weinachten) center on steroids. The “Weinachsdorf” is a Christmas store with everything imaginable for sale to decorate homes, trees and persona. We admired the many glistening ornaments, woodcarvings and shiny baubles on sale. The village has an official Christmas season. People from all over the region come here to celebrate Weinachten.

       It was hot and in the 80’s (F). We found a wonderful little bakery shop in the main town square (Markplaz.) “The Markplaz Eight” served us up some warm apfel strudel, with a heated vanilla sauce and cappuccino, that were exquisite. 

       At 1:00 P.M. we all gathered in the Markplaz. Two stories above us, at the crack of one P.M., carved wooden figures started emerging from the wall above, accompanied by music. The colorful musical diorama reenacted a local legend. In it, a conquering Swedish General, in the employ of the Hapsburgs, offered the town a deal. If someone could drink four flagons of wine, the town would be spared. The locals apparently managed well enough. When I saw the size of the flagon, I thought, ‘ Hell this wouldn’t  last the first hour in a South Buffalo tavern. ‘  Four of them wouldn’t last much longer.

This raised the topic of another odd practice, after drinking water and coffee all morning. It literally governed our movements. Most rest stops in this region, as well as Austria, Switzerland and Italy, charge a fee for using the restrooms. (kidney tax)  In years past, it used to be a little dish that you tossed a coin onto. Nowadays, it is a metal stile that issues you a ticket after you pay from 50 to 70 cents. There are no exceptions, unless you find the occasional rest stop with “frei washrooms.” So, we all learned to carry one of two half-euro coins on us daily. Even at a McDonald’s, you need a code from your purchase to access the rest room. I muttered to the Aussies ruefully that we could be rich if we started this practice in an American gin mill, if they didn’t shoot you first that is.

        We took a small back road, headed south. The “Castle Road” passed through a bucolic farmland of neatly ordered fields. We were headed towards Augsburg, passing through rustic villages like Dinkklesburg. Augsburg had first been founded by the Romans in 15 B.C. and named Augustus. It was then linked, directly to Rome, by the Via Claudia. The entire area is rich in underground salt deposits. This “white gold” was to fuel much of the Bavarian and early Austrian economies.

       Near there, we passed through a geographical oddity at Reisbayern. Millions of years ago, a huge asteroid had struck the area, forming a bowl-shaped depression some 20 km across.  Nordlingen village now sits in the center of the depression. That must have been some meteorite. As a parenthetical, we saw entire acres of solar energy hookups and many units attached to the roofs of homes in the valley. They are extremely eco-conscious when it comes to energy.

          The Vali tied up[ in Wurzburg by Noon. It was sunny and in the mid-eighties out. The day promised to be a hot one. At 1:30 P.M. we climbed up to the top deck and then made our way across two other ships berthed there, exiting down the gangway of the ship nearest to shore. The buses loaded us up and we were on our way to the fabled Prince Bishop’s palace of Wurzberg. Famed architect Balthazar Neuman, had created this magnificent complex of buildings in the 1720 era, when the area and its Biishop Prince was at its wealthiest.

          High on a lofty hill and off in the distance, we could see the huge specter of the Marienberg Fortress, built in 1, 200. The Palace itself is a rather large affair. The central causeway led us to the entranceway. Behind a fountain and floral gardens, stands this gray, stone edifice that rivals the majesty of many foreign palaces. A central two story keep is flanked by a wing on either side. There were already several tourist and school groups gathered outside of the front entrance portal. It would be a scrum walking through this place.

         Inside of the entrance lobby, we walked up the “grand staircase," to the second level. The entire area is covered by a free-standing domed ceiling, with an enormous painted mural stretching across its length and breadth. The guide dutifully tried to explain about the artwork portrayed. Four god like figures, representing the four continents (Australia not discovered yet) were pointing inward towards Wurzburg, the center of their universe. Italian Master Giovanni Tiepolo had created this masterpiece for the resident Prince Bishop. You would need several books and a very long time, to interpret all of the mythology represented by Tiepolo above us. It is similar in experience to looking up while traversing the Sistine Chapel, in Rome. You do well, just to admire the artistry on display. Trying to understand all of the symbolism will make you dizzy. The statues, carved into and atop  the surrounding walls also bespoke of an active artistic imagination. It is an impressive display. This dome and its artwork, are the only pieces of the original palace that survived bombing, by allied bombers in W.W.II. But, that is a story for a later time.

         The surrounding rooms, the “White Room,” the “White Hall,” and corridors between them, are a wonder of gilt-crested statuary that rivals Versailles. Ornate mirrors, wall-sized tapestries and colorful frescoes tickle the eyes. To each room and its contents, there are legends and stories galore. I would think you would have to visit this palace on several occasions, to get a fuller understanding of what is on display here.

       The Imperial wedding room is cluttered with portraits of royalty from the last few hundred years. The relationship of families, kingships and countries is a tangled affair that would confuse even a competent historian. The gilt here is everywhere, calling attention to the importance and wealth of all those displayed. This ornate and impressive complex had all but been destroyed during W.W. II. It was a U.S. “Monument Man,” named John Stilson, who first came upon the ruins late in 1945. Recognizing their historic and artistic value, he spearheaded the recovery of artifacts and the government restoration of the palace. In his honor, there is a separate room dedicated to and describing his efforts.

     It was 91 degrees out (F) and sweltering, even inside of the lofty chambers of the palace. We reassembled our group and walked down the entrance walkway to our bus, much appreciating the air conditioned bubble that it represented. The motor coach ferried us back to welcome coolness of the Vali. We settled in with a martini, and watched some news on CNN. Then, we cleaned up and met up with the Broyles and Pinazza’s for dinner in the main dining room at 7:00 P.M. The very good German Cabernet accompanied a repast of black potato soup, a King Dorado fish course and a cheesecake dessert. We were all a little done in from the day’s heat. Mary and I repaired to our cabin, to read and enjoy the magnificent atmospheric explosions, of an electrical storm, that erupted above us and all up and down the Rhine Valley. The elemental brilliance of the storm reduced all that we had seen and done to a mere footnote in time.

                                                                               -30-

                                                                    (1,756 words)

                                                              Joseph Xavier Martin