Yesterday it wasn't cold. I went hiking in the snowy upper Black Forest, with Emily, and Elliot (American), and a couple of Kiwi tourist friends of friends. We took the rickety regional train 8 km east to Kirchzarten, the bus 5 km more to the village of St. Peter, and then walked 8 km from St. Peter to the next small village, St. Märgen.
The route was high, white and full of Germans out for Sunday afternoon strolls. For the middle of a Forest, the countryside was surprisingly open, and surprisingly populated.We reached St. Märgen in time to have a look around before the community choir carol concert we'd come for began. It was a small place (fewer than two thousand residents), with a lot of big decorative bed-and-breakfasts. I passed by a community notice board, according to which there was a lot going on. Nearer the church, we came across a sobering (Second World) war memorial:
for St. Märgen's war casualties, it was unusual to be the only son in your family that was killed.The carol concert was put on by the St. Märgen choir. It was amateur, but competent, and apart from an unfortunate trio of zitherists totally enjoyable. Elliot chatted up the locals with practiced smoothness, Emily and I burst into laughing at a heavily-Alemannic-accented rendition of Feliz Navidad ("We wanna vish-you-a Merry Christmas"), and we went home with O du fröhliche ringing in our ears.
I'm heading off now to hear midnight mass in the Freiburg cathedral, and then sleeping over at Emily's. Happy Christmas, everyone!
4 comments:
What in the name of _censored due to time of year_ is 'mulled wine'.
I heard Germany was a scary place, where at Christmastime Santa comes and throws an uncooked blood pudding in through your window and you get horribly, horribly lacerated...
By the way, did you keep the bone from the roast pig knuckle you made for dinner the other night? I want to see you try and play knuckebones with it, and possibly knock yourself unconscious in the process.
Have you ridden a donkey yet?
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