Digital Wanderer

We live as long as we fly

☰

Germany — 5

2008-01-10

A toilet sign with the inscription «WC» and a red arrow pointing left. At the top there are two pictograms, one of which depicts a standing human figure, and the other — a squatting one. \

This is still in Koblenz. As you can see, the Germans associate the potty with deep thought. It's no wonder that they (almost the only ones in the world) have toilets with a flat shelf for examining excrement.



But then we took a three-hour boat trip on the Rhine, and even looked at the famous Lorelei rock.

There is such a wild number of castles along the banks of the Rhine that I'm too lazy to even count them. When they told us about feudal wars in school, it all felt extremely abstract. Now, if civilization doesn't fall apart, but instead comes to its senses a bit, history will be taught to schoolchildren right on board little steamboats or flyers, showing visual examples. Who knows, maybe academic performance will go up. On the other hand, absolutely nobody will need any of this, because everyone will be sitting in virtual reality playing an interesting life. I just don't believe that civilization will come to its senses to the point where everyone will be getting creative.

A medieval grey stone castle with pointed and round towers majestically rises on a tree-covered steep hill under an overcast sky. 

Here is the Lorelei rock itself. It looks completely non-scary.

A steep rocky hill, densely covered with greenery, rises above the road and muddy river under a gloomy sky. A fluttering blue flag is visible on the top of the hill.

Goethe will tell you the point of the story rather well. And for your interest — 4 translations.

God knows why so unexpectedly
Anguish squeezes my whole soul,
And a steady old song
Rings in my memory so relentlessly?..

Coolness and dusk waft;
The day has bided its time for spring;
The Rhine rolls quietly – and glows,
All in sparks, the mountain peak.

Climbed onto the steep cliffs,
And sat a maiden-beauty,
And combs her golden,
Like a sunbeam, hair.

She combs it, singing,
And her comb is golden,
And the song is so wondrous.
That there is no other in the world.

And the belated fisherman went numb,
And, having heard that song,
Forgot about the underwater rocks
And looks up there – into the heights…

It seems to me: the skiff will just sink:
For the fisherman is out of his mind,
After all, Lorelei herself lures him
With her beckoning song.

Grieving and yearning,
What are my dreams full of?
I just cannot forget
A fable of olden times.

The Rhine flows quietly,
The evening is bright without clouds,
And the sun's ray shines and burns out
On the cliffs.

Sat on the steep rock
A maiden, all bathed in it;
Combs her golden braid,
Combs with a golden comb.

Combs her golden braid
And sings to the splash of waters
A song, as if unearthly,
A wondrous song she sings.

And the sailor, with passionate yearning
Is struck and intoxicated,
Does not look at the dangerous path,
He only sees the maiden.

Soon the waves, growing fierce,
Will smash the skiff with the sailor;
And the singer Lorelei
Will be to blame for that.

I do not know what it means
That I am troubled by sorrow:
For a long time I am haunted
By a tale of olden times.

The twilight wafts coolness,
And the expanse of the Rhine is quiet.
In the evening rays redden
The peaks of distant mountains.

Above the terrible height
A girl of wondrous beauty
Burns with golden attire,
Plays with the gold of her braid.

Adorns with a golden comb
And a song she sings:
In her marvelous singing
Anxiety is hidden.

The sailor in the small boat
It captures with wild anguish;
Forgetting the underwater rocks,
He only looks up.

The sailor and the boat, I know,
Will perish among the ripples;
And everyone perishes thus
From the songs of Lorelei.

I do not know what has become of me,
My soul is full of sadness.
I just keep being haunted
By a certain old tale.

The day darkens. It grows fresh in the valley,
And the Rhine is embraced by slumber.
Only on one peak
The sunset still blazes.

There a girl, singing a song,
Sits high above the water.
The clothes on her are golden,
And the comb in her hand is golden.

And the gold of her braids twists,
And she combs them with a comb,
And a magical song flows,
So strangely strong and tender.

And, captivated by a mighty power,
The oarsman does not look at the wave,
He does not see the reefs beneath the cliff, –
He looks up there, into the height.

I know, the wave, growing fierce,
Will close over him forever,
And all this Lorelei
Did with her singing.

Translated by Lev Mey Translated by Karolina Pavlova Translated by Alexander Blok Translated by Wilhelm Levik

If Lorelei looked that sternly, I would have gotten scared and drowned too.

A young woman in a blue sweater and jeans stands on the deck of a ship, thoughtfully looking up at the overcast sky. Next to her, other passengers and green hills in the background are visible.

Little sheep grazing on the slopes of the Rhine. Romance.

A steep hillside with stone terraces overgrown with grass, bushes and scattered trees, on which a small herd of white goats is grazing.

One of the endless fortifications.

In the foreground is a tall round stone tower with battlements. Behind it, an old town with houses, a white church and other towers is visible, located at the foot of forested hills under a cloudy sky.

A fort-cathedral, I'd call it.A Gothic church with white walls and a grey roof rises on a hillside above the houses of a European town. Next to the church is a massive stone tower, and a forest-covered hill is visible in the background.

Yum-yum.

Two chains covered with dark green algae stretch through muddy green water with bright sun glare.

Either a nuclear submarine, or a bunker with green plantings. Look how they've multiplied, the mutants.

A wide river with greenish water by a grassy bank with trees and navigation signs. In the background rises a wooded hill with houses, a red building and an old castle on top under a gloomy sky.

Here's how they grow grapes. By the way, this is the most prime spot, all the famous German wines are from roughly around here. The grapes are weeded and watered by a machine that clambers up the slope, holding onto a rope stretched from the foot to the top of the bed.

Steep green hillsides covered with rows of vineyards slope down to the river. A road runs along the bank under a cloudy sky.

Glory to the Fatherland! (My great-grandmother, by the way, is a purebred German)

A flock of birds consisting of seagulls and cormorants, in flight and on the water against the background of a gently sloping grassy bank.

Our vessel didn't look quite as sleek, but it was from the same company (the kind of nonsense the brain remembers — all biorobots urgently go clear your registry)

The white passenger ship "JEVERLAND" with a flag on the stern sails along the river. Against the background of green hills there are coastal houses and a red train at their foot.

When you have to swim to get to the word of God, only then does it start to acquire value.

A snow-white castle with dark grey pointed roofs and a central tower with red elements rises in the middle of the river, against the background of densely forested hills. A red train is visible on the far bank of the river.

This is the last castle, I promise. This is actually the last picture for today.

On the slope of a densely forested hill rises a medieval stone castle with towers and a yellow flag. Under an overcast sky, its other buildings are also visible, partially hidden by foliage. 

But there will still be text. Inside the vehicle, I was shooting the breeze with an elderly German lady for a while. Since my experience of close interaction with this ethnic group was limited to this, I boldly extrapolate it to the entire nation. After all, everyone who isn't familiar with Chelpanov's logic textbook does that.

The German lady spoke English well. She didn't stumble or spend half an hour trying to remember words, like I do. She also turned out to be a goldmine of knowledge about the history of Germany, and this area in particular. Moreover, she told me that it was just a hobby, not a profession. She had been to Riga, was aware of what Latvia is and what role Germany played in its emergence. When I asked why Germans go to Riga, when the whole of Germany is one giant old town (that's how it looks to a tourist), and a much more washed and better-preserved one at that, the German lady replied that old towns differ from one another, and it's interesting to look at different ones. From which I concluded that German tourists in Latvia are fierce lovers of antiquity with deep knowledge of architecture.

However, the German lady was extremely peace-loving and politically correct, and you couldn't expect a cheerful answer from her in the spirit of: "Germans go to look at their former slaves, and currently resource parasites in the EU".

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