In a long career in travel, both before the re-unification of Germany, I never saw the Berlin Wall, nor even the Iron Curtain. They would always be there anyway, wouldn’t they? I could always go and see them next year.

Then, suddenly, in 1989, everything changed, and it looked like my chance had gone.

In 1991, after some years of building up my portfolio of itineraries, I decided that it was time to look into offering a walking holiday package in the east. So, one day that summer I was driving north from Bamberg, even though evening was setting in. Suddenly, with no warning at all, the single carriageway opened out into a huge area of tarmac, with high poles reaching to the sky.

Most of the traffic totally ignored this place, but a number of cars, mostly not German, had stopped and a few people were wandering around. It was several minutes before I realised that this must have been a border crossing point. Some equally puzzled Italians asked me if I knew what the place was; they had come to the same conclusion.

On the grass verges were large warning signs “Do not enter ‑ Landmines”, helpfully only in German.

By now I was looking for somewhere to spend the night, so turned round to stay in the Bundesrepublik. Having found a pleasant Gasthof in a small north Franconian village, I found myself sharing a table with a father and son from Aschaffenburg. They had spent the day cycling back and forth across the former border, and recommended that before continuing to the Harz I should visit a small town called Ummerstadt. As the evening wore on, the father started to wonder about how the recent changes would affect this area in particular. “Both sides of the border, these communities were on the very edge of the world. Suddenly they are right in the heart of it.”

Although my map showed no roads leading to Ummerstadt, it was at least signposted. There was a sudden deterioration in the road surface as I crossed the former border and entered the town. There was no traffic. I continued into the centre, into a large open market place surrounded by attractive, well-kept half-timbered buildings. Apart from my car, there was just one motor vehicle there, a Trabant. The shops looked like a film set for the 1930s. It was a place where time had stood still.

Eventually I continued on to the Harz, albeit with little help from any road signs. Since then I’ve often wondered what Ummerstadt is like today, now that that sleepy little place has moved from the edge, to the heart, of the world.

Walking Holidays on the Harz Witches Trail.

Autumn is advancing all across Europe, and we’re all settling back into our normal existences. Most of the summery stuff we were wearing a couple of weeks ago has gone back into the box.

But even sitting at your desk and shuffling spreadsheets, as you undoubtedly are, there is a way of getting a taste of what you could be doing in Germany this season, thanks to that wonderful invention, the webcam. While many of them are basically hugely dull traffic-watchers, there are also some that will give you a good foretaste of what a place can be like.

Have a look, for example, at this set of cams in the Mosel Valley, a whole collection of them ranged up and down some of the most scenic bits of the river, where the vineyards are looking ripe for harvest. These cams are pretty state of the art, and allow a certain amount of spying, too. So if you’re a serial adulterer in Bernkastel, or Traben-Trarbach, you need to be aware that Big Brother (or Sister) could be following your movements.

Up in the Harz Mountains there’s no snow yet, so they are still using the toboggan run, the metal Rodelbahn. Elsewhere, the big summer attractions are falling quiet, with the rollercoasters of Europa Park looking a bit forlorn. And the North Sea camp sites are looking pretty empty. However you might catch a few swimmers in outdoor pools of some of the hot water spas, such as this one down in Bad Endorf in Chiemgau, the bottom right hand corner of Bavaria. A bit of a chill in the air isn’t enough to keep wellness-loving Germans away.

Meanwhile up in the mountains behind, the skiing areas are in transition. There’ll be people pisteing around on this grass in a few weeks’ time. If you want to see whether the snow has arrived in the Bavarian lowlands, too, then this is the place to do it.

Of course there’s some images that don’t change, whatever the season. There’ll always be trains in the yard, ships on the Elbe, and trucks on the road. That’s Germany.

The climbers amongst you will know of the Brocken Spectre, but few will know where it originates. The Brocken is the highest peak in the Harz Mountains, effectively the only mountain range in northern Germany (although it also has a foot in the east). At 1,141 metres this round-shouldered beast is hardly an alpine peak, but it does have winter skiing, and it also has a wonderful old steam railway that runs scheduled services, winter and summer, up and down the mountain and across from one side to the other. Around the mountain’s base are pretty towns such as Osterode, Wernigerode and Goslar, which have a fairytale feel to them, particularly in the snow.

But the top of the mountain is a different matter. Bare, barren, windswept and once the site of a Soviet listening post (this was East Germany not so long ago), it is mist-shrouded and cloud-wrapped for a staggering 300 days in the year, and it is this which has given rise to so many of its legends. There’s a long tradition of witches up here, perpetuated by Goethe who described the Brocken as a centre of witchcraft revelry in his Faust. One of his scenes is of Walpurgisnacht, (Walpurgis Night, 30^th April) when witches meet on Brocken to hold revels with their gods, and there are still bonfires lit on the mountain to this day.

The Brocken is mist-shrouded and cloud-wrapped for a staggering 300 days in the year

Up here, it is easy to think you’ve seen a shape in the mist, and often you will have, but it will have been your own, and it’s called a Brocken Spectre. This natural phenomenon occurs when a climber or hiker is back-lit, usually by a low sun, and his shadow is projected onto the mist in front of him, distorted and often with a rainbow halo. This result looks like a ghost from the sixties, for it is surrounded by rainbow colours and has very flared trousers.

In moments of tiredness it is easy to assume the apparition is something other than it is, particularly because the spectre can appear to move of its own accord, depending on air currents within the mist or fog. You can imagine how such occurrences could be misconstrued by a weary and superstitious imagination.

Of course the phenomenon is not just limited to the Brocken, but the mountain is usually a fair bet, either during winter time or at the beginning or end of the day. Don’t come here expecting to see much of the surrounding landscape, however, as the poet Heine found out when he climbed the Brocken. Popular tradition has it that he wrote the following in the visitors’ book on the summit: “Viele Steine, müde Beine, Aussicht keine, Heinrich Heine”. Lots of stones, tired legs, no view. But no mention of any spectres.

Getting There: International airports are at Hanover, Berlin, Leipzig and Erfurt. International rail connections are via Cologne from Brussels (Thalys), which connect with the Eurostar from London. See our Travel page for airlines, rail and tour operators.

Staying There: The Harz sits on the border of several regions. Our recommended hotels are here for Niedersachsen, here for Berlin, here for Saxony-Anhalt and here for Thuringia.

Harz National Park Website