Baltic – bruecken_schlag

Schlagwort: Baltic

Sopot on a Winter Day

Sopot. I first got to know it by its German name Zoppot which sounds so much harsher and less accessible than the soft-sounding, sinuous Polish equivalent. Thinking about the place has come to evoke pictures in my mind of when it was a German spa town and people would come here to enjoy their summer retreat, or as the German old-fashioned expression goes: Sommerfrische, a word I love and that translates to summer freshness. I blame that on the beautiful books I have read that are set here and that paint pictures of a distant past that are coloured in the soft tones of patina.

I have never been to Sopot on a hot summer’s day when the pier costs an entrance fee and the beach must be overcrowded with tourists. My personal associations with the town are not ones of summer freshness. I have, however, been here in the winter. So far most of my visits were accompanied not only by great cold, but also by grey skies. I always liked it anyway because I love the Baltic in all its shades of grey. But the last walk I took through Sopot on this crisp winter day was special. And I will try and share some of my impressions with you.

I walk around the last house that seperates me from the open view ontop the sea, and as I pass the corner, my heart jumps, as it does when I see the Baltic – my favourite sea.

When I finally set foot onto the beach, I can hardly see anything because I am blinded by bright sunlight, mirrored by the snow that has covered the sand in a pocketed white blanket. Wind is making my eyes tear up, and the cold is crawling into my sleeves as I take off the glove and reach for my camera.

I make my way toward the Sopot pier, the longest wooden pier in Europe with its old fashioned ambience. It invites for strolling, dandering, sauntering. If only it wasn’t around -16 degrees today.

Looking North toward Gdynia, the water is smooth as glass and reflects every soaring seagull, every ray of sunlight. To the South, toward Gdansk, the is greyer and less calm. The thick wooden stilts the carry the pier are entirely frozen over with a dense icy coat that produces funny looking outgrowth. They look like mammoth legs.

The day is blue and white. I cannot even fathom what it could be like in the summer. The idea of green doesn’t seem to fit. This place belongs in the clear and transparent colours of winter. Even the clouds play along with it. Big and white, with silver-grey linings, they collect just above the horizon as though they wanted to cushion the bright blue skies. Looking left and right, the Baltic has frozen over, and a thick layer of snow grazes the ice. Poeple are walking on it.

It looks a little bit like the froth that waves make. In the original fairytale of the Little Mermaid, when mermaids die, they lose their soul and become froth on the sea. Such a melancholy thought. The little mermaid herself gains immortality for her undying love and joins the spirits of the air. I am sure she is around somewhere.

Walking along the beach it looks surreal how at times it is the sand covering drifts of snow, then again it is snow that overcasts the sandy beach. Different animal tracks can be seen on the untouched surfaces, mainly birds‘. The bare branches are dark and dead against the intense winter colours, but there is life all around, if only it doesn’t always show itself openly.

When dusk is setting, the light changes. The colours grow warmer, but the temperature goes colder yet again. Little flakes of ice are in my scarf just below my mouth – from breathing. The light fades, but the beauty is increasing. I find an abandonded boat on the beach. The sight of it sets free all the longing, all the craving, all the wanderlust I carry in my heart year round.

Once more, I walk down the pier. Because I can. And because as heartfelt absolutely certain as I am that I am going to come back, as much does it pain me to say good bye. Every time. I walk the pier to the very end. On the ice cover in the marina, there is slight, weird movement. I only see it at second glance: The seagulls. They have cuddled up in a huge swarm and sit on the ice in a huge crowd, warming one another. It looks beautiful, a symbol of „united we stand“, of „together we are strong“.

Then, something seems to have disturbed them in their corner as suddenly they rise as one into the air. So many individual animals, yet moving in one swift movement, together, forming one body, and setting again as a breathing living cover onto the ice, onto the sea.

If this isn’t all too symbolic of my yearning for travel, my craving for flying and still having a home to come back to, of my wish to be myself in all my individuality and still have attachments to others, I don’t know what would be.

A Mystical Place – Kap Arkona on Rügen

Oktober 8, 2013 / bruecken_schlag / 4 Kommentare

Kap Arkona. An intriguing name for an intriguing place.

It is a rather grey and rainy day as we get in our rental car and drive to Putgarten, where we have to pay the whopping 4€ for parking and then start walking. We walk through the small village of Putgarten with its clean tidy houses and cobble stone streets.

Andrew stops for recording songs every now and again. He will later use them for sampled pieces of electronic music. It makes me more aware of the soundscape that surrounds us. The little shuttle’s motoric roar on the pavement. The clip clop of horse shoes as a carriage passes us by. Wind, always wind swishing across the wide open landscape and the already barren fields. The light houses that we have seen light up from our bedroom window in Lohme at night and the sighting tower are visible early on over the width of the countryside.

We turn left at the fork in the end of the path toward the light houses first. The smaller one is made from red brick (my heart beats faster…) and designed by Karl Friedrich Schinkel, an architect responsible for most of the Prussian neo-classical architecture in Berlin’s city centre. It is almost 200 years old. Its taller brother is 100 years old and the one that we have seen light up. They look like Laurel and Hardy.

The lighthouses are quite iconic, but funnily enough, what gets to me more is the view of the tiny building across from them, just by the entrance to one of the two military bunkers. It is simpler and less considerable, yet the white and red colours against the grey sky glow and glisten in my eyes.

The two bunkers were mainly used by the military of the socialist German Democratic Republic, although one was built for the Nazi Wehrmacht. They house exhibitions today. Military history is not unusual up here, I have been to bunkers on the neighbouring island of Usedom, too. Andrew seems fascinated. I have never given it too much thought. Maybe because it makes me slightly uncomfortable.

We keep following the path that leads us to a small tree-lined alley. To the side there is a small stamped out trail in the grass. I suggest we go down there, through the bushes wet with raindrops. Just a few steps into the thicket and we get to the top of the massive cliff, to the overgrown ledge barely secured by a wooden bannister. The views of the Baltic from here may be the most spectacular we have had all weekend. The sun is breaking carefully through the thick grey clouds, the sea is howling under us, golden marram grass and even the bright orange fruits of the sea buckthorn are contrasting the reserved dark colours of sea and sky.

Andrew is recording sounds again, but all of a sudden he points behind me and tells me quietly to look – there is a deer, staring curiously at us, quite close and not really as shy as it should be. I carefully try to take out my camera and photograph it, but as it goes, the second I press the button, it decides to hide away into the thicket and I only catch its rear. As much as it has felt like we were the only two people in the world up here, I am enjoying the fact that we had a quick moment of company of an inhabitant of this magical and slightly mysterious place.

In one of the small souvenir shops, I go to look at the jewellery. The rings are tied to adder stones, or as they are called in German: Hühnergötter, chicken gods, – small rocks that have natural holes in them. They are found on Rügen often, and according to ancient Slavic pagan beliefs, they protect from the Kikimora, a poltergeist from Slavic mythology who killed or harmed poultry and eggs. Today most people use them for decor, but they still remind of the Slavic history of the region – because the earliest settlements in what today is Northeastern Germany were not Germanic, but Slavic. I pick a ring with an amber stone. The saleswoman unties it from its adder stone and I start wearing it right away. It has intricate silver ornaments holding the tear-shaped amber. A mystical, a nostalgic piece of jewellery. It will give me bittersweet memories of this weekend and of this place that I love so much whenever I wear it.

Romantic Humility – Rügen’s Chalk Cliffs

Oktober 1, 2013 / bruecken_schlag / 4 Kommentare

There is a view of the Baltic Sea from the bedroom window. I wake up early and witness the sky growing slowly lighter and lighter. Only last night after our arrival, we took a walk down to the beach and sat in the fading light of the sunset, listening to the eternal sounds of waves crushing upon the rocks. Not violently or angrily though. The sound was just steady, calm, inviting even – inviting thoughts, feelings and musings to surface from the innermost depths of our beings.

We didn’t talk much. Now in the early morning haze of an in-between phase at the verge of sleep and wake, the misty morning appearing outside the window and Kap Arkona shining through dimly in the distance, this feeling of peace is still with me. And at the same time I am excited for the adventures of the day.

We want to walk from Lohme, the small village in Rügen’s Jasmund National Park, along the coast to the famous chalk cliff called Königsstuhl, King’s Chair. Anyone who likes art history and knows about romanticist painting may have heard of Caspar David Friedrich, a German painter from the nearby mainland town Greifswald (a place I truly love). The chalk cliffs in this area were among his most appreciated motives.

He painted them in beautiful romantic fashion, expressing the depth of human feeling, longing and the almost desperate will to live all facets of life, be they good or bad. At least this is what I see in his paintings – and I will be reminded of this romantic emotional overload walking in the beautiful coastal nature of the island of Rügen today.

We start out by the beach, but soon we are not sure how to follow the path, because there isn’t really one. Because of that, we make our way up through the forest to the upper part of the hiking trail. It is somewhat exhausting to ascend from the beach, but walking on the soft forest ground is less hard on the feet than walking on the pebbled beach was.

The forest is thick and green in its last bit of summer gear. Rays of sunshine fall through the tree crowns onto the mossy cover on the ground, like spot lights trying to point to something exciting. But there is just silence and, far beneath us, the growling of the sea.

Every now and then the forest will thin out toward the steep edge of the cliff, and beautiful views will open up in front of us. Andrew thinks that the Baltic seems like a finite sea, not as endless as others. He says he finds himself aware of the fact that there is land on the other side and half expects to see it somewhere in the distance. I remember that I felt the same way at the Black Sea, and that this was one of the reasons that I liked the Bulgarian coast – because it reminded me a bit of the Baltic.

In this moment, I don’t think past the horizon, though. I know that everything comes to an end, even the largest ocean, even the longest hour. But this moment is eternal to me.

At the Königsstuhl, we just take a quick glance at the impressive cliff with its peculiar shape.

Then we descend to the beach over 412 steps. Downward this might be okay, even though signs warn us everywhere that it will be a good work-out. Being an asthmatic, I am glad I don’t have to do it back up. We now walk all the way back to Lohme down at the beach.

This photo is courtesy of Andrew – that is me wandering off in the distance.

The sounds of pebbles under our feet. The occasional scream of a seagull, maybe. The wind. The waves. The colours of the pebbles are white, grey, black and occasionally red. The sea is blue and grey. So is the sky. The cliffs are bright white. Occasionally there is a fallen tree, dead. Sometimes a bit of green emerges. I feel thrown back to the very basics of my being. Unobtrusive colours and sounds that make up for lack of excitement in intensity. Everything feels huge. Loud and vast and wide.

My stone

There is one tree trunk packed with stones and pebbles that people must have left there as though it were a tombstone on a Jewish cemetery. Andrew picks up a medium sized rock, I choose a smaller pebble, and we place them in the midst of the collection. It looks like a beautiful work of art. I feel great at the thought that we have left our tiny man made sign in this place.

Andrew’s stone

Once again, I think of Caspar David Friedrich. His pictures show humans in the face of the vastness of the world, they teach us humility. I was right in anticipating the feeling of his art to come into my heart. I felt small and humble in the face of nature’s greatness today. For a great intro to the most famous painting of the chalk cliffs, check this youtube video.

Baltic Love – Rügen in Light and Shadow

September 25, 2013 / bruecken_schlag / 5 Kommentare

My love for the Baltic Sea is endless. My eyes grow wide and dreamy when I talk about it, and I have an infinite supply of tales to tell about different cities, especially the hanseatic ones, along the shores of this most beautiful of seas. When Andrew and I made for two days on Germany’s biggest island Rügen, I was excited like a four-year-old at Christmas. I will soon tell you about our hikes from the little village of Lohme, where we stayed, along the coast with its famous chalk cliffs. But today all I want to share with you is my passion for the Baltic Sea in pictures.

My sister once said she prefered the North Sea, and when I asked her why, she said: „Because I like the Elbe River better than the Alster.“ To someone from Hamburg that makes immediate sense. The Elbe and the North Sea are less domesticated, more untamed, wilder. The Alster and the Baltic are calm and reliable – some may say boring. I cannot for the life of me agree with the last point. I have seen the Baltic shimmer in all different shades of blue and green and grey, I have seen it crushing towering waves onto the sand and lie still like a mirror. It has never once bored me.

One of the things I love is that the Baltic can change colour from grey to blue and back in a matter of minutes. Also I am convinced that the sky is of a more intense blue than elsewhere (if it is blue that is, and not overcast). I feel like the Mediterranean is always blue. Granted, a beautiful blue. But the colour range of the Baltic just seems richer, and sometimes a grey sea is just what I need. Grey and angry.

Images like this make me feel free. Where might that boat be going? Is it maybe without aim and just leasurely, idly swimming by? How symbolic of life is a boat on a sea – trying to fight through the storms it might encounter and trying to hold on to the peaceful sunny days?

The Baltic Sea is also so different from the Mediterranean or the Black Sea with their heat and palms and sandy beaches. Granted, you can have wonderful beach vacations by the Baltic, but generally the climate is of course rougher, harsher. I may like the Baltic better when there’s a strong wind and I’m wearing hiking boots and a rain jacket than when I’m wearing a bikini. The climate also grants that you have the most wonderful of combinations – forests right by the sea. When I walk that line between the rich green leafy thicket and the wide openness of the sea, I don’t need a Mediterranean beach.

I am also fascinated by the swans at the Baltic. Seagulls, yes, but swans? When we went to Rügen now, I was almost surprised that they were there. I had only ever before in the Baltic seen them in Poland. But there were loads of them, and watching them dive into the tiny waves for food or sliding by majestically on the water was beautiful. In this picture, I especially like the two to the right. They look like a long married couple.

When the sun sets at the Baltic, and the sky is exploding in colours that you don’t get to see even in the most beautiful sunsets in the city, light fades, and the sounds of the waves and the wind become more dominant than what is visible to the eye, I get calm and relaxed and I can forget my busy life for a little while. There is peace.

Do you have a favourite sea? Have you been to Germany’s biggest island Rügen? Would you like to go?

Rügenbrücke, Stralsund / Rügen, Germany

September 15, 2013 / bruecken_schlag / Kommentare deaktiviert

The biggest island in Germany isn’t necessarily the most famous one. It is called Rügen and is in the Baltic Sea. And it is connected to the mainland city Stralsund by a stunning bridge, the Rügenbrücke.

When I was at college in the area, you could reach the island only by a tiny bridge, the Rügendamm, that always had horrible traffic jams on it. My sister once took ten hours to get off of the island in the car. Since 2007 the modern Rügenbrücke offers the much more comfortable way to cross the strait between the mainland and the island, the Strelasund.

When we went to Rügen this weekend, I took a picture on the way there in beautiful early autumn weather. The aesthetics of the modern bridge stand strongly against the bright sky with it’s Baltic blue colour, and I can’t wait to be by the beach of the sea I might love most of all of them.

On the way back, Andrew took another picture of the same bridge in much more dramatic weather conditions. The steel towers almost disappear into the foggy clouds, and rain is starting to drum on the windshield. I can hardly believe that it is the same place – but in two different directions. It puts a whole new perspective on the idea of, well, perspective itself.

I f you have read My Mission statement, you know why I love bridges. To me they are the most universal symbol of connection, of bringing people together and overcoming anything that may seperate us. I want to present to you pictures of bridges that I really love in places that I really love on my blog every Sunday. If you have a picture of a bridge that you would like to share with my readers as a guest post, feel free to contact me!

I Left My Heart In Greifswald

Juni 4, 2013 / bruecken_schlag / 5 Kommentare

There are places I remember all my life, though some have changed
Some forever not for better, some have gone and some remained
All these places have their moments with lovers and friends I still can recall
Some are dead and some are living – in my life I’ve loved them all.

The Beatles have left us with much wisdom to cherish in their lyrics, and I particularly love this song – especially in the Johnny Cash version. I recently got to visit one of the very places that I’ve loved in my life, and that I am sure will remain.

I spent three years as an undergraduate in Greifswald, a small seaside town by the Baltic in Germany’s far North Eastern corner and one of my beloved Hanseatic Cities. It was the first place I lived in on my own after moving out of my parents‘ house, the first place I truly chose for myself and that was not presented to me as a „home“, but that I made my home all by myself. My time there was full of life and opportunity and dreams. When I moved away, I cried bitter tears, and whenever I’ve returned, it has felt like coming home. This time around, my last visit had been two and a half years ago. All the more excited I was at the prospect of taking a day trip to this place I hold so dear to my heart.

This is the view from the Draw Bridge onto the river Ryck’s mouth into the Baltic.

Andrew and I catch an early train from Berlin’s main station that takes us through the misty landscapes of Brandenburg into the state of Mecklenburg-Vorpommern. The rape fields in rich yellow blossom under the wide grey sky, and passing by all the stations with names that are familiar to me – it makes me so nostalgic. Is it really ten years ago that I first set foot here? As the train passes into Greifswald, my heart starts beating faster. We get off at the main station, and I feel it right away: I am home once more.

From the train tracks we walk through the old bus station directly to the rampart that is encircling the city center where the city walls used to be, and walk along it towards the waters of the river Ryck. The museum port is mostly unchanged from when I was last here. I love the old sailing ships and the boats they have made into swimming pubs, and I love the small and slightly sleeply port with the more modern motor and sailing boats.

This picture was taken during my first visit of Greifswald in 2003.

We walk along the water. How many times I have made this walk I cannot count. The river Ryck is flowing calmly and quietly beside us, and there’s lots of men and boys fishing – no women or girls, I notice. I’d love to try fishing sometime. One man walks through the high wet grass at the embankment with four humongous fish on his hook. To our right, the cherry trees are in blossom. Many families are out and about on their bikes. Greifswald is a young city due to its high student population, but I didn’t use to notice that there were so many young families. Maybe that is just because that phase of my life was so far away when I studied here.

Finally we make it to Wieck where the beautiful Draw Bridge makes my heart wide. It must be one of my favorite bridges. We cross it and buy Fischbrötchen at a road side stand – smoked salmon in a bread roll, and it tastes like heaven. Then we walk all the way up to the very front of the pier. Greifswald is set by the Bodden, a kind of lagoon, and not right by the wide open sea – but it is still the Baltic that we have a beautiful view of, and Andrew has never seen it so far. I wonder what that does to him. I get very excited about seeing places for the first time that I have heard much about. I want to ask him, but then it seems so much more natural to just keep quiet and look at the eternity that is the grey and mighty pulsating of Baltic Sea waves.

We take a different route back into town, past the housing complex where I used to live, past the university library through the rose garden and past the theatre, across the big street crossing into town, the university cafeteria to our right, and memories keep flashing in front of my eyes. We enter the pedestrian zone, new shops have opened, it is so much more posh than it used to be. As the narrow street opens up onto the wide market square, I slow down a bit, but we keep walking, and only stop in the middle of the square. Instantaneously, tears are running down my cheeks, and I am glad I have Andrew to hold on to. It is only now that I notice how much I miss this place.

This is also an old picture, taken from the cathedral tower. We didn’t go up there this time around, but on a clear day it’s absolutely worth it!

From the market square and past the town hall – the large red building you can see in the picture – we make our way to the cathedral. My beloved red brick stone, but white washed inside, with beautiful painted ornaments in the cupolas, simplistic and without too much pomp. I think about how everything about Greifswald speaks to me. It is unostentatious and simple and honest, it gives me space to think with its width and the fresh breeze that is blowing through the streets.

I take Andrew to see the university and the buildings where I used to have my classes, and I have stories lined up about all these places. They are laden thickly with the force of memory. I keep thinking – and saying – how different it all looks – but while in other places it sometimes irritates and confuses me what time does to a place, in Greifswald all the change cannot take away from the bond I feel with the place. I am sure one day is really enough to *see* it, but of course one day can’t tell the story of the town, the story of three years of lived life here. As we board the train back to Berlin, my heart is cram-full with memories and feelings. But the beautiful thing about a place that has become home is that you can take it with you when you leave it. And Greifswald is most definitely in my heart forever.

Hanseatic Beauty – Pearls Along the Baltic

Mai 28, 2013 / bruecken_schlag / 8 Kommentare

On my blog I have repeatedly referred to the „hanseatic beauty“ of certain places. I have also frequently linked back my passion for this specific beauty with my home town of Hamburg and the stamp it has left forever on my soul. Now I don’t know how much anyone who is not acquainted with Northern Europe might be acquainted with what I mean by hanseatic, but I think everyone should be, because really, if a city is a Hanse city, in my book it is pretty much down as a must see travel destination.

Lübeck, Germany – the city called the Queen of the Hanseatic League

The Hanseatic League, or Hanse, was a trade union in the Middle Ages that linked together different port cities mainly in the Baltic, but also in the North Sea. Between the cities that were part of it, there were beneficial trade regulations and diplomatic privileges. They formed a network of support all over Northern Europe. In some ways, through their mutual history, they still feel obliged and connected to one another today. There used to be very many of them. In Germany, seven cities carry the name Hansestadt, Hanse city, until today: Hamburg, Bremen, Lübeck, Rostock, Stralsund, Greifswald and Wismar. In other countries, well known cities that used to be part of the Hanse are Gdańsk, Toruń and Szczecin in Poland, Riga in Latvia, Tallinn in Estonia, Stockholm in Sweden, Antwerp in Belgium and Groningen in the Netherlands.

What all these cities share is that they have been places of trade, mainly sea trade, for centuries. That means one thing above all: They are all connected to the water. Every Hanse city is located either directly by the sea or at least by a river, and in every one of them water plays a great role when you look at the city’s general build-up.

View to Tallinn’s dowtown over the Tallinn Bay in the Gulf of Finland

Where there is water, there are certain other things. Like bridges!! Hamburg, they say, has more bridges than Venice. That might be due to the fact that Hamburg is just a lot bigger than Venice, but it only makes sense that Hanse cities should have a lot of bridges given that their key feature is being built close to water. I have written about some of them in this post on Riga and this post on Greifswald.

My second favourite symbol after the bridge may be the ship, signifying travel, movement, and freedom, and yes, of course there are lots of ships in Hanse cities. I love the port atmosphere of Hamburg’s huge and bustling port, the second biggest in Europe after Rotterdam, with its cranes and its overall industrial charm, just as much as I love the cosy and cute museum port in Greifswald with its old sailing boats and wooden masts. Size doesn’t matter in this one, as long as the sound of seagulls is to be heard.

View of the cranes in the port in Hamburg, Germany – from the ferris wheel at Hamburg’s funfair Hamburger Dom

Next to the water, there is usually another specific feature of a Hanse city – the granaries. Where there was trade, there had to be places where to store the goods. In Hamburg there is a whole district called Speicherstadt – granary city. Now, what could possibly be so interesting about a couple of old storage buildings? The architecture!! The typical hanseatic granary is built from red brick stone. It is my favourite material, above all because it looks different and equally beautiful in any weather. In sunshine it will glow fiery, and in grey and misty rain it will keep its earthy, honest feel.

Waterfront with granaries in Gdansk, Poland

Granary City – Speicherstadt – in Hamburg, with the brick stone granaries on the right

Not only the granaries feature red brick stone in Hanse cities. Most landmarks in any of the cities are made from this material. There is a style called Brick Gothic that is predominant along the Baltic Sea. This is of course because in this area, there were no natural stone ressources, but clay from which the bricks are burnt. Although this is not directly related to their hanseatic character, I love this style of architecture and it feels like home to me. Find a few iconic examples here:

Monastery ruins, Eldena / Greifswald, Germany

Monastery ruins of Eldena in Greifswald, Germany

House of Black Heads in Riga, Latvia

Holstentor in Lübeck, Germany – Lübeck was called the Queen of the Hanse in the Middle Ages and the richest and most important city in the league

By these elements – water, ports, and red brick stone architecture – I would recognize a Hanse city at any given moment. But what also factors in my love for these places is the mentality of the people. We are talking about places here that have been connected to the world via trade for ages, and that have therefore acquired an international feel for an equally long time. The Hamburg coat of arms has a city gate on it – the Gate to the World, they say. The Bremen coat of arms holds the Key to this very Gate to the World. Hanseats take pride in being open, curious, and worldly. They are direct, engaging, honourable people who make their word count. Sometimes they come across as a little blunt or harsh, but the warmth they display given a little time is heartfelt and true. They will usually greet you with a handshake – but when they hug you roughly, you will know that they mean it. I know where I am at with Hanseats.

In my honest opinion, all of these cities that I have mentioned here are horribly underrated as travel destinations. Most of them are close to one or even several beautiful beaches that grant you delicious summer fun when you come at the right time of year and that won’t be as overcrowded as Mediterranean beaches. The cities all have a long and proud history and a rich cultural life, of course each in relation to its size. The people are generally friendly and curious for the world, used to visitors and open to whatever travellers have to contribute to city life. Personally, I may at times have trouble with German patriotism, and what I say now may go against all I have said about pride so far – but I am truly proud of being a Hanseat.

Have you been to any of these places? Do you think they make good travel destinations?

Zugbrücke / Draw Bridge in Greifswald, Germany

Mai 26, 2013 / bruecken_schlag / Kommentare deaktiviert

This is a bridge that makes me nostalgic.

This is the old draw bridge in Greifswald in Pomerania in the North Eastern corner of Germany.

The time I spent in Greifswald as an undergrad student is a constant source of comforting memories to me. With Tübingen, where I went for my MA, I never formed an attachment quite as strong. Greifswald is a small, but very pretty town right by the Baltic Sea, not far from Poland, on the main land between the two islands Rügen and Usedom. Its quiet charms and cheerful beauty caught me from day one, and I spent three happy, carefree years there that I treasure until today.

When back in those days I needed to clear my head and get away from it all, I would mount my bike and make the 15 minute ride out to the district of Wieck, where the river Ryck flows into the Bay of Greifswald which then opens up into the Baltic. The old wooden bridge is a landmark of this part of town. When you stand on it and you look towards the Bay, you can see the colour of the water changing – the river is smooth and glassy, and then there’s a fine line after which the water is rough and grey. It is an abrupt change of colour, not a gradual one. It is promising the difference between the domesticated security of the river and the wilderness of the sea. When standing on this bridge, I feel in the transitional room between these two modes of life. Maybe this place is why Greifswald has always been home to me.

If you have read My Mission statement, you know why I love bridges. To me they are the most universal symbol of connection, of bringing people together and overcoming anything that may seperate us. I want to present to you pictures of bridges that I really love in places that I really love on my blog every Sunday. If you have a picture of a bridge that you would like to share with my readers as a guest post, feel free to contact me!

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