The backstory doesn’t look encouraging. A river port city, former stronghold of the Hanseatic League, whose shipbuilding and aircraft industry in World War II made it a priority target for Allied bombs. A city that hosted a Stasi (secret police) headquarters in GDR days and which suffers from depopulation today, following the exodus of 60,000 people after the Wall came down. But despite all that, Rostock is a cheerful surprise.

It’s a cobbled, eminently walkable place that still has a large part of its ancient city wall. It is connected to a seaside resort – Warnemunde – with a frequent, easy-use train connection. And its massive brick cathedral St Mary’s, which was started back in the 13th century, has two astonishing features.

After the devastation of World War II, the GDR rebuilt much of the city centre, some of it in uncompromisingly socialist style, particularly along the showpiece boulevard Lange Strasse. But along the parallel main pedestrianised shopping street, Kröpeliner Strasse, restoration was done sensitively, respecting bits of medieval brick gothic, baroque and more recent neo-Renaissance facades, particularly of the university building on Universitätsplatz.

The GDR also added a lot of statues and fountains, including what locals call the ‘porno fountain’ (official name the ‘fountain of joy’) also on Universitätsplatz, which along with Neuer Markt is the focus of city life. The fountain is an exuberant collection of figures, both human and animal, in various vigorous poses, including a wild boar doing situps. Its humans are naked, which inspired the nickname, but then so are huge numbers of naked statues all around the world, so to pick on this one seems a bit unnecessary. Particularly as it is a very popular cooling off spot for children during the summer months.

Street cafes here often play host to different nationalities. Rostock has ferry services to Denmark and Sweden, and Warnemunde also has a cruiseship port, so you’re likely to hear lots of different languages in town.

At the eastern end of Kröpeliner Strasse is Neuer Markt, still open on one side after the damage of World War II. The square is the location for the Rathaus, a strange combination of original brick gothic architecture peeping out above and behind the pompous pink baroque in front. Much of the surrounding square has been sensitively restored, traffic free apart from the trams, but the middle hosts another fountain, of morose sea gods dominated by a seagull on a high pole. This Möwenbrunnen (‘seagull fountain’) is not popular with locals, and was put here during post-reunification days, at a time when the city most needed something optimistic to look at.

The Cathedral

Back in medieval times this part of Germany was heavily forested, and its mostly sandy soil has little to offer in the way of stone. So six million bricks had to be fired to build St Mary’s, some of them decoratively glazed to create a checkered, even houndstooth, exterior.

At first sight its interior seems fairly sparse. But turn back to look above the entry, and you’ll see the massive decorative wooden organ loft, from 1750. The instrument here, still in use  comprises an astonishing 5,700 organ pipes, and hanging below it is the Duke of Mecklenburg’s glazed-in royal box, a bit like a very fancy basket hanging under a hot air balloon. This is where the Duke would sit to gaze out upon his subjects, and at times, with all that organ power going on, it must have felt like it was taking off.

The other big feature of the cathedral is tucked away behind the nave. This 15th century astronomical clock is just as special as its much more famous cousin in Prague, and what it lacks in moving showtime figurines, it makes up for in complexity, ingenuity and authenticity, because whilst Prague is now electrically powered, the clockwork here is the original, and still needs to be wound up every day.

It is also far more intimate, being mostly right at eye level. Besides telling the time, the date, and having moving apostles every hour, its intricacies detail things like the phase of the moon, the state of the harvest, and the actual timings of sunrise and sunset in Rostock, every day of the year. How it survived the war is something of a miracle.

https://www.hanse.org/en/tourist/rostock

But weeks passed and locals couldn’t just stand by and watch such a public tragedy. Influencers jumped on the ‘rescue Timmy’ bandwagon and nationwide appeals plus wealthy entrepreneurs raised the money to transport Timmy on a barge for release in the North Sea. The Mecklenburg Vorpommern government went along with the popular movement and approved the process, prioritising votes before science.

The rescue didn’t go well, particularly when a drone video of the barge showed Timmy banging itself against the walls. But the money was there, the job was done, and the release, off the shores of Denmark on May 2, seemed hopeful.

Within a couple of weeks Timmy was found dead, and the recriminations started. An agonised nation that had been divided from the beginning, needed to find someone to blame.

In this era of modern shipping, the original port of Wismar, once a big player in the medieval Hanseatic League’s trading empire, is too tiny to be useful.  But its shape, and the layout of the old town around it, has become key to its tourism industry, having earned Wismar UNESCO World Heritage recognition, back in 2002.

These days the old port is used primarily for recreation, whilst the new harbour right next door sits on the threshold of an extensive hinterland of wood-processing industries, as well as hosting occasional cruise ships, too.

Harbours aside, Wismar doesn’t seem to have changed a great deal since Hanseatic times, particularly at the Wassertor, a gothic gateway connecting the waterside with the town, built in 1450. Back then, Wismar was a place of breweries – some 160 of them – and its Hansa traders were also the holders of the brewing rights.

Some of its best preserved houses line Frische Grube, a port-connected canal which was far from fresh back in the day, as everyone emptied their chamber pots here. On its bank stands the giant brick gothic St Nicholas church from 1381, with a stark and unadorned interior and even a brick floor, too.  It is massive, the second highest brick church in the world after St Mary’s of Lübeck, and surrounded by a network of streets named after the trades that existed there: metalworker street, old boot street, midwife street, etc.

These days these streets and the old houses lining them are pretty quiet. Wismar hasn’t moved on as much as its Hanseatic neighbours, Rostock or Lübeck, but it does have an impressive cobbled market square, which at one hectare is the largest in northern Germany, and mercifully hasn’t become a giant car park.

The Swedish connection

It has several distinctive buildings, but a visitor’s eye cannot but help be drawn to the twin facades of the red brick Alter Schwede (now a restaurant) which dates from 1380, and its decorative art nouveau neighbour. The Alter Schwede, aka ‘old Swede’, features a striking stepped gable façade, and inside it is hung with photographs of the Swedish royal family, both ancient and modern. This is a clue to the other important, post Hansa, stage of Wismar’s history.

The Thirty Years War of the early 17^th century dragged Sweden into a Central European conflict in defence of the Protestant religion. Swedish armies, under the direction of the King Gustavus Adolphus, marched deep into German lands (although ‘Germany’ itself wasn’t to come into existence for another 250 years) but eventually retreated to the Baltic coast.

At the end of the conflict in 1648, under the Peace of Westphalia, Sweden gained time-limited ownership of much of this coastal area, including the towns of Wismar and Stralsund. This coastal strip remained Swedish for a further 150 years, until Sweden essentially sold Wismar in 1803 after their option to extend control expired.

At this point they made a balanced, and well managed exit, without any need for war. Typical Swedes.

Following the collapse of East Germany’s German Democratic Republic 30 years ago, a number of towns and cities emerged as hitherto undiscovered. Because of their remoter location they were largely undamaged by wartime bombing and their architectural splendour survived the worst of the GDR town planning.

Among such towns are Görlitz, profiled elsewhere on this site, and Schwerin, 20 miles south of Wismar and inland from the Baltic coast.

Once the historic seat of the Dukes of Mecklenburg, Schwerin, with a population just under 100,000, had always played second fiddle to its larger industrial neighbour Rostock, particularly during the days of the GDR. Rostock, as a state-supported shipbuilding city, was much more in keeping with the image the country wanted to present.

However once the reunification of Germany was completed and the Land of Mecklenburg-Vorpommern was re-established, the decision was made to restore Schwerin to its rightful place as the state capital. As an endorsement of that decision, the island-based castle and its associated buildings were made a UNESCO World Heritage site in 2024.

Neuschwanstein of the north

The jewel in the architecture of the city, Schwerin castle became the seat of the parliament of Mecklenburg-Vorpommern. In the 19^th century the water-surrounded building had been the ducal residence but in 1918, the duchy ceased to exist and the castle became the property of the state.

A castle has stood on the Schwerin island since the latter years of the first millennium. The town was an important location in the medieval quest to extend eastwards along the Baltic coast. Accordingly, those earlier buildings on the island were more militaristic, but in more peaceful and prosperous recent history the emphasis changed.

Accordingly, when the current castle was built in the mid 19^th century by a group of architects including Gottfried Semper (who was responsible for building the Semper Oper in Dresden) they created one of the finest Renaissance buildings in northern Germany. It has been dubbed the Neuschwanstein of the north. In scale and in beauty it is the equal of any Loire Valley chateau, having also been partly modelled on Chambord.

The museum section of the castle can be visited daily all year round (closed Mondays) and there are also guided tours of the parliament section, on request. Alternatively you can wander through the castle gardens, one of the finest gardens to mix baroque with classical English design.

Undoubtedly the best way to appreciate views of the castle is on a trip boat on the Schweriner See, the third largest lake in Germany. These trips run from March until October and start from the pier by the castle, and besides castle views, they reveal a boathouse-dwelling culture that is unique to Mecklenburg.

Schwerin itself is a town of two halves. Close to the castle island, it is a historic and administrative centre, with state government ministries in a variety of imposing baroque and neoclassical buildings.  It has a more modern, shopping and eating quarter nearby, and a lot of its population (still not quite as numerous as in GDR days) are retirees from elsewhere in Germany, attracted by lakeside living in new luxury waterside apartments, and Schwerin’s peace and quiet.

On the night of the 30^th April, the annual Walpurgisnacht – witches’ night – is celebrated in several locations around the Harz foothills, and even up on its highest peak, the 1,411 metre Brocken.

Given that it overlooks the former west Germany, the Brocken’s location in the former east was exploited by the GDR as a listening post to eavesdrop on the decadent Wessis below. Accordingly for many years it was a no-go area for civilians, but it also has a legendary backstory which has long kept ordinary mortals away. Because it was up here that the witches would come together for their annual party.

Back in the Middle Ages, being outed as a witch meant being blamed for every kind of disease and natural disaster. It regularly ended with an innocent person being burned at the stake.

These days, witches have been re-cast in a cuddlier mode. We know that disease, famine and natural disasters have other causes. So today’s Walpurgisnacht is an excuse for a massive costume party, a bit like a Venetian masquerade, but with more broomsticks and crooked noses.

The town of Wernigerode in the Harz foothills is witchery HQ. A half timbered place whose cobbled main square is dominated by a 15^th century town hall crowned by roof conicals like witches’ hats. I particularly liked the pedestrian crossings: a horned red devil for stop, and a green flying witch for go. This is also the home of the vintage Harz Narrow Gauge Railway, whose steam-hauled trains get right to the top of the Brocken, a spectacular 90 minute climb through forests.

There are other destinations in the foothills of the Harz which also cash in on all this witchery. Thale, deeper into the former east, has a modern fantasia of a witches’ village, recently built around an original Hexentanzplatz, literally ‘witches’ dancing place’. This is primarily a family attraction, with witch tour guides and upside down houses. The Walpurgisnacht party up here attracts 7,000 guests on the night of the 30^th April.

Back across the border into the former west, Goslar too hosts Walpurgisnacht. But this town is richer, wonkier and more culturally diverse than Wernigerode, favoured by several Holy Roman Emperors, who stayed here.

Goslar’s state of preservation, combined with its shopping, eating and mountain hiking options, means that it doesn’t feel the need to jump on the broomstick-bandwagon. It is a UNESCO World Heritage site three times over, for its architecture, for its ancient water system and its thousand year old mines. Here, the annual Walpurgisnacht is just a passing fancy.

The Grand Hotel Heiligendamm, first built in 1793, quickly became a spa retreat for the aristocracy of central Europe. But it has been a struggle to keep in going in modern times.

The Latin inscription on the pediment above the Tuscan-style columns of the Kurhaus reads Heic Te Laetitia Invitat Post Balnea Sanum. Which loosely translates as ‘joy awaits you as you emerge from your bath’.

A sentiment that is not so original, perhaps, given how many hotels today have spas, but then this is the Grand Hotel Heiligendamm, first established in 1793, which makes it Germany’s oldest and smartest seaside hotel.

The property was first established here, on the Baltic coast a dozen miles west of Rostock, at the instigation of the Duke of Schwerin. Besides the Kurhaus with its classicist facade, it comprises seven historic white mansions, surrounded by beechwoods on either side and with sweeping lawns down to a pier and a sandy beach.

It quickly became patronized by German aristocracy, by literati such as Proust and Rilke, and even by Russia’s Tsar Nicholas I. At its peak in the mid 19^th century it was a meeting place for Europe’s rich and famous, who came to bathe in the Baltic and to gamble at the first horse-racing course in Germany.  But then came two World Wars, the dismal curtain of communism, closure and decay.

Today it is back, and determined to roll back the years.

In truth, the Grand hasn’t had an easy ride even since it re-opened, post-reunification. In two short decades it was transformed from a crumbling ruin to a luxury Kempinski-steered property chosen by Angela Merkel to host 2007’s G8 summit. But despite all the associated publicity, complete with that iconic image of the world leaders in one giant tailor-made strandkorb (basketwork beach chair), it was bankrupt by 2012.

In truth, there were always going to be problems with trying to re-establish an elite beach resort on the Baltic in the era of easy air travel to the Med. Especially with no airport nearby.

Back in the day, the glitterati used to arrive at the Grand on a dedicated steam railway, built specifically to chuff them right to the front door. Today, the Molli, although charming, is more of a curiosity than a method of travel.

Then there’s the issue of retaining quality staff in a relatively remote location. Particularly because Mecklenburg-Vorpommern is the poorest of the German states, where old anti-capitalist attitudes still prevail. Moreover the beach at Heiligendamm is not much to write home about.

When it went bust in 2012, the hotel’s Perlenkette (pearl necklace) of villas had to be sold, and have since been reconstituted as luxury apartments. The remaining core buildings were bought by Paul Morzynski, a tax accountant from Hanover, who is working to re-establish the hotel by concentrating on the spa, the sanctity of the enclave and the quality of the food.

With these things in mind, he has added a spacious outdoor pool and seasonal staff accommodation. Interiors have been refreshed with silk fabrics, marble and brocade. All of it, of course, in the best possible taste.

Arriving here on a weekday night is like stepping back 50 years, to the days when it was still called Karl-Marx-Stadt. The wide streets are walled by looming brutalist blocks, and they seem practically devoid of life.  There’s a metaphorical chill in the air.

But it wasn’t always thus. This crucible of Germany’s industrial revolution kicked off in the 19^th century with textiles and then machine-making, and moved on to producing the likes of trains and cars, the bread and butter of modern Germany. But then came World War II, which destroyed 80 percent of a thriving industrial city.

Virtually the only showpiece of that most prosperous pre-war era which is still used for its original purpose is the magnificent Bauhaus-influenced public swimming pool, unchanged since the glory period of the 1930s. And then there’s Villa Esche, the art deco mansion of a stocking manufacturer from the beginning of the 20^th century.

After the War, the GDR did a hasty rebuild and tried to make Chemnitz a socialist showpiece and a powerhouse of mechanical engineering. They re-named it Karl-Marx-Stadt and installed the giant head of Marx himself on a wide boulevard intended for grand parades. The 40 tonne bust is still there, despite the fact that the man himself never set foot in the city. And when the Berlin Wall came down, three quarters of the population voted to go back to the original name, ‘Chemnitz’.

A lot of them also left at the first opportunity, largely because all that government-run industry was based on outdated technology, and accordingly went belly up as the Wall came down. At that point there was a mass exodus of 80,000 mostly well educated citizens, and the 260,000 who remained felt overlooked and unloved. Unsurprisingly, the right wing AfD Alternative for Germany is strong here.

Capital of Culture

In an attempt to bring the city in from the cold it was designated as one of two European Capitals of Culture in 2025. Special exhibitions, installations and events brought in a lot of interested visitors, and have restored some of the citizens’ self respect. The heart of downtown around the Old and New Town Halls embodies something of the pre-war era, albeit as a reconstruction, surrounded by a bit of a dogs dinner of modernist styles. But beyond that Chemnitz remains indisputably a physically unappealing place, thrown together in too much of a hurry after World War II by a regime that cared little for flair and individualism.

Today one thing that Chemnitz does have, in spades, is museums, converted from former industrial complexes. For example the Industrial Museum in a magnificently restored former foundry where it shows a copious cross-section of two centuries of manufacturing output.

There are galleries, too, particularly the Gunzenhauser, in a former bank, which is particularly good at researching and exhibiting artists from this part of Germany, and from other destinations in central and eastern Europe.

For someone interested in Germany in general, and in its recent history, Chemnitz is worth a visit.  It is certainly a journey of discovery. And a big blast from the past.

The names refer to the sheaves of wheat (Strausse) or the brooms (Besen) which are hung outside to indicate the establishment is open. And that’s important, because these places only operate seasonally, depending on whether the winemaker has the time, or the personnel.

This one was at Griestal, south of Freiburg down in the Rhine corridor, on the western flank of the Black Forest (griestal-strausse.de). Finding it, hidden as it was amongst head high sweetcorn fields, wasn’t easy.

Griestal looks like a converted barn, with a lot of tables outside under a large retractable roof. On a summer evening it felt like a celebration, a festive gathering of families and locals. Many of the tables were fashioned out of old cable drums, and were shared between groups, so there was plenty of communication, especially once the first glasses of wine had been consumed.

On the winelist were Muller Thurgau and Weisser Burgunder at £3 for a large glass. Both made very pleasant drinking. And on the menu was inexpensive local food such as Brägele (£4.75), a local equivalent of Swiss rosti, and a plate of Käsespätzle (£11.20), small macaroni-like pasta smothered in cheese and topped with caramelised onions. It was not haute cuisine, but certainly good fodder for working in the fields.

All in all, a highly recommended experience.

The sleepy village of Trendelburg sits around the skirts of a castle-topped outcrop, amid a sumptuous flowing landscape of forests and fields in the region of Hesse, north of Kassel. These days the castle itself, Burg Trendelburg, is a hotel which plays a significant role in the Fairytale Road, as it is from one of its five towers that Rapunzel was meant to have let down her hair for her handsome prince to climb.

Not far away, through the wild boar and deer rich forests of the Reinhardswald, is Sababurg, which also plays a role on the Road, this time as Sleeping Beauty’s Castle, although here the whole place is currently sleeping, pending refurbishment as a hotel. Its grounds remain popular for walking.

There’s a lot more good walking between the two, in the Urwald section of the giant Reinhardswald forest, a place where you can really suspend your disbelief whilst wandering through a cathedral of beech trees and giant anthropomorphically-shaped oaks, some of which are thought to be between 700 and 1,000 years old.

As for Burg Trendelburg itself, it is a lovely place to stay for anyone with a smidgen of imagination or romanticism.

The thousand-year-old fortification surrounds a courtyard of chestnut trees which is entered across a drawbridge. Its entrance hall has tapestries and metal knights, from where a creaking dark oak staircase leads up to bedrooms with ‘himmelbett’ (heaven bed) four posters and modern bathrooms hidden ingeniously away through pretend cupboards. By virtue of its position each of the bedrooms has a commanding view, especially the tower bedroom where Rapunzel supposedly hung out.

It’s moderately priced, and particularly popular with overseas visitors.

A place to celebrate

Of course there’s no evidence of the truth of any of the Rapunzel malarkey – it’s a fairy story – but one of the early editions of Grimm’s fairytales had an illustration of a tower castle, and the tourism people were looking for a suitable lookalike when contemplating the creation of the Fairytale Road, over 50 years ago. Hey presto: Trendelburg becomes Rapunzel’s castle. Great marketing.

It certainly capitalizes on it. A large downstairs restaurant – far too big for a 22 bedroom property – has embossed leather armchairs, fleur de lys carpets and swords on the walls, plus an expansive outdoor terrace with commanding views. It’s an obvious choice for celebrations.

So the place that was once known for hiding maidens away in towers, is now a very popular wedding venue.

The official reasons were mixed: signal failure was mentioned, as were summer thunderstorms, as was a shortage of staff during the holiday period.

Afterwards I had a look at the national statistics, and was surprised to find that long distance train punctuality is down at 73 percent (compared to a UK performance rating of 79 percent). UK trains better than German ones! That’s a novelty.

Deutsche Bahn says that around 75 per cent of those delays are because the trains are transiting through at least one construction site, due to their massive programme of investment and renovation.

Whatever the reason, it’s all a bit hit and miss. On my way back on this particular journey, all was so on time – nay early – that the ICE from Frankfurt airport to Brussels had to loiter for 15 minutes in the freight yards of Cologne. Schade!