Last updated on October 3rd, 2024
All my life I have heard my father talk about his time in the army when he was stationed in Berlin. It is a place I have always wanted to visit with him and I regularly wear his jacket commemorating his time there. I thought I would finally get my chance four years ago and then our plans fell through. This summer I finally got my chance.
Summer 2010 European tour
It will take me quite awhile to get all the photos edited and posted, but as I do I will index them here.
July 27 – Almost in the Air
Minneapolis: We seem to be off to a good start (aside from the collection of dead pens I apparently brought with me): I got everything organized and packed (as far as I can tell), finished what HAD to be done at work (from home, via my personal computer), finally found a cart to whisk us to gate G22 (it took awhile), no problem with our first class seats (Dad is flying on my frequent flier miles and it seemed too good to be true), and we have a pilot who actually has a sense of humor (I was beginning to think TSA had banned that) and who has been roaming surveying the first-time first-class fliers and all the kids as to whether they would like to fly upside down or right-side up.
Atlanta: This seemed as if it would be a quick change, but we spend over an hour on the runway waiting for a rain shower at the end of the runway to clear. I know this is true because I noticed the poorly located and very isolated rainstorm through my window. But an hour seems like a long time to wait for a storm that is so localized that it is barely cloudy where we are waiting on the runway and there are only a few drops of rain.
It could be worse. When we fly out, I count 34 planes waiting to take off after us.
And now we really are on our way.
July 28 – Salzburg, Austria
We Arrive in Munich – Sans Luggage
I’m waiting at the luggage carousel, a little woozy after the flight, when I hear what could be my last name announced. While I’m usually ecstatic to hear my name called when I’m waiting to check into a flight (can you say “upgrade”?) I’m thinking it’s probably a bad sign when they call your name at baggage claim.
Which turns out to be correct. Delta has indeed neglected to transfer our luggage in Atlanta.
In all the flying I’ve done, this is the first time my bag hasn’t arrived with or ahead of me, so I was due.
They promise it will be delivered to the hotel in the morning and provide a couple of overnight kits. . . it could be worse.
Troublesome transfers
My research indicated that there would be so many simple options to get from Munich to Salzburg that this is one of the few pieces of this trip I haven’t arranged in advance. (Along with train travel in Sweden, but that’s another story.)
When I ask at the info desk I am told that the bus to Salzburg doesn’t leave for many more hours and that the train doesn’t go there (which I should have questioned), but that there is a shuttle. The shuttle is considerably more expensive than the bus, but we also will get there four hours earlier and will save me the need to sort out a train transfer while suffering jet-lag.
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At the shuttle desk they first say no, there are no shuttles this morning then – after an animated phone call in a language I do not speak (that did seem to be German either) – tell us yes, but we must hurry and direct us to the far end of the airport to a counter where basically no one speaks more than a few words of English. I figure out that yes, there will be a shuttle to Salzburg (there is another pair waiting for it) and the driver will collect my payment. It should be here any moment. (A mantra that is repeated every time I or one of the others asks.)
After more than an hour and half of waiting I decide to run to the restroom. . . when I return a few moments later Dad is sitting by himself – the other couple is nowhere to be seen.
Apparently the agent forgot to tell the driver that he had two more passengers and the other pair (already late for a meeting and irritated) must not have said anything either (I hope the show they were working on is a flop). When I asked the agent when the next shuttle would be, he shrugs: “no shuttle.”
Once I found him, the railroad ticket agent was charming, helpful, and spoke beautiful English. He booked us on the next train to Munich, from which we would transfer to a train for Salzburg.
The train arrived on schedule 20 minutes later and we were on our way.
However, the transfer at Munich isn’t as easy as I hoped. There are two different trains listed for Salzburg, neither of which have an arrival time that precisely matches my ticket. I can’t figure out which one is ours, so we ended up traipsing back and forth (up and down the stairs since the elevator is out) as I try to figure out which track we need. Finally an exasperated agent shows me how to read the ticket and directs me to the right track.
It is a relief to know that at the end of this ride all I need to do is find a taxi!
For his part, my father admits he was kind of relieved that Delta hadn’t made the luggage transfer because it would have been really exhausting dragging it through the airport and then back and forth through the train station.
As tour leader, I am NOT off to a great start.
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Settling in
Despite the train’s relative comfort, we are both tired when we arrive in Salzburg. I can’t wait to get to the hotel!
But we have a few more challenges before we get there.
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Thus it is especially frustrating to find that the train station is being renovated (it should be wonderful when they are done), making it one big construction site. We follow the signs on a long trek through the station – walking on plywood – to the elevators, only to find the elevators are closed. My father doesn’t get around that well and, even without luggage, we still have heavy-enough carry-on bags to manage. (Perhaps I have over-estimated my abilities and this whole trip is going to be as difficult as my mother predicted.) At this point though, there is nothing left to do but forge ahead, or rather, retrace our steps back to where we first got off the train and wind our way through the steps and construction ramps to the temporary entrance. Of course, I am still harboring the fantasy that a cab awaiting me the moment we exit the station.
At least the signage for the cab stand is accurate and it is only a block or so away.
We choose a cab at random. The driver is chatty and friendly, maybe too friendly. I know about how much it should cost to get to the hotel and don’t ask how much it will cost – frankly at this point, I don’t really care. The driver gives us a tour of the city, providing cultural, geographic, and historic information while pointing out key sights (Mozart’s house is over there, the “old” city there, the “new” city here). He’s actually informative and helps clarify the things I’ve read. He also squeezes in a sales pitch about the tours he provides and the charity work he does.
My father clearly likes him at the same time he can’t stop muttering about taking the long way to the hotel (I can see the backtracking is due to one-way streets and suspect he actually has taken a reasonable route). Like my dad, even as I’m convince that I’m going to get ripped off, I can’t help but like the guy. I mean, how could anyone not like a guy who has you shout “open sesame!” at the approach to a barricaded street? We love the way the balustrade slips below the surface of the street as if by magic. (The city recently installed barricades in order to enforce restricted vehicle access in pedestrian areas and we will discover that the ability to trigger the disappearance of the barricades is still a bit of a kick for folks.)
At the hotel he basically said his fare goes to charity and to pay what we thought the trip was worth. I tip generously.
I have booked rooms at the Schwarzes Rossl, which serves as a hotel on a seasonal basis – the rest of the year it is used for student housing. I’m not sure what to expect (it was really inexpensive compared to anything else I could find in Salzburg and I found it by surfing the web), so am relieved to find myself in a simple but respectable building in a pleasant neighborhood. The rooms are very basic, but clean and with interesting views.
(Right beyond my window and then looking farther afield.)
A quick run through the neighboring blocks in search of sunglasses and a watch (both forgotten at home) and shampoo and conditioner (packed in my luggage and not included in the rather oddly provisioned kit provided by Delta), shows we are just off a small commercial area with shops that are both fun (cheap funky watches and baubles) and practical (convenience grocery store with at least 30 kinds of hair care products). There are clothing stores, restaurants, a pharmacy, and a bakery. Old Town is visible across the bridge at the end of the pedestrian plaza. It looks like a good spot to be staying.
There is a little restaurant just down from the hotel. Well, actually the hotel is surrounded by restaurants on both sides and across the street, but there is something appealing about this spot and a positive recommendation from the front desk staff means our first dinner here is at the Zum fidelen Affen (which translates to something like the Happy Monkey).
And a happy place it is! It is a beautiful evening to eat outside (despite a micro rain shower), the staff is efficient and friendly, and the food is delicious.
Welcome back to Europe, dad!
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July 29 – Salzburg, Austria, and Berchtesgaden, Germany
Waiting for a Bus in Mirabell Gardens
View through the bus window on the way to Berchtesgaden
Lunch in Berchtesgaden
I can see why my friends Shari and Dave loved it here. Berchtesgaden is a picture postcard lovely city with intricate buildings that step up the hillsides below dramatic mountains. It is really lovely.
I am, however, really glad I decided not to stay here. . . . There is nowhere one can go without climbing up or down a hill and, without a car, it would have been impossible for dad to negotiate. It is the sort of place one goes to spend time hiking in the mountains. Salzburg was a much better choice.
Today it is also cold and damp, with the feel of rain, so we don’t wander too far from where our tour will begin.
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With no idea where to go for lunch, we sort of randomly pick a spot. The café has a cool and breezy covered patio with a good view of a major construction project along the river that runs through town.
The food is ok, but really basic.
Halfway through lunch it begins to pour.
After lunch we wait until the rain subsides a bit (did I mention it was absolutely pouring?) and make a dash down the block to a bakery.
We should have just gone here in the first place, as it is well-stocked with delicious things to eat.
It would have been a perfect place to wait out the rain.
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The kindness of strangers
We are in Berchtesgaden today because the one thing my dad is a big World War II history buff and has always wanted to go to Berchtesgaden to see Hitler’s Eagles Nest. I have booked us on a half-day tour that will take us up the mountain to the Eagle’s Nest with a stop along the way to tour a portion of the extensive tunnel system the Nazis built into the mountain.
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The temperature right now, in this valley, is probably in the low 60s and is likely to drop as we ascend the mountain. Past experience in various caves and the Maginot Line indicate the temperature inside the tunnel system will be about 50 degrees and damp. We are already wet from our dash through the rain – did I mention it was pouring? And, of course, Delta had not yet delivered our luggage by the time we had to leave Salzburg, meaning that we are still wearing the clothes we had on when we left Minneapolis. . . while neither of us are wearing shorts and tank tops, we aren’t exactly dressed for this outing.
I can tell the folks running Eagle’s Nest Historical Tours think we are morons (although they must see a lot of those, since the tour information specifically references “warm clothes” in several places) so I reiterate a number of times that we are victims of lost luggage. (Although I don’t admit that it never occurred to me to add an umbrella to my shopping list when I was out buying replacement items yesterday afternoon.) I even run back through the rain to the train station in search of sweatshirts and umbrellas, to no avail.
One of the women working for the tour company kindly loans us her very large umbrella. Still, I fear it is going to be a very miserable afternoon.
And then she returns with a bundle in her arms – a large heavy sweatshirt for me and a beautiful warm jacket for my father. She claims they have been lying in the back of her car for weeks, waiting to be delivered to the German equivalent of Goodwill. Her only request is that we do NOT return them at the end of the day.
I am so grateful for kind and generous people.
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On the Mountain
July 30
Salzburg and the Austrian Lake Country
Salzburg at Night
July 31 – Salzburg
Getreidegasse
Getting to Hohensalzburg Fortress
Taking in the view
August 1 – By Train to Berlin
August 2 – Berlin Germany
The Reichstag
Potsdammer Platz
August 3, 2010 – Wittenberg, Germany
August 4 – Berlin
August 5 – Potsdam and Berlin
August 6 – Spandau and Berlin
August 7 – Berlin
August 8 – Travel to Finland
August 9 – Kronoby, Finland
August 10 – Kokkola, Kronoby, and the surrounding area
We start the day in the Swedish heart of old Karleby (Kokkola), visiting a church, enjoying lunch by a beautiful lake, and taking a look at my counsin’s lake cottage.
Old Karleby
Lakeshore Dining
My cousins have a lake cottage
Swedes and Finns are all very found of getting out of the city (or small town, as the case may be) during the short summer season. Iit seems everyone has a summer house or stuga hidden in the woods or overlooking the water. My cousins are no exception.
In Finland, my cousin’s summer house consists of a series of small outbuildings for sleeping, cooking, and such. While they have big plans to re-do the site to have a more modern cottage, I find it utterly charming.
View out the windows of the cottage where meals are served.
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The main cottage (since replaced).
Inside my cousin’s summer house. (Looks like there’s room for visitors!)
The perfect placet to begin the day over breakfast and end it over dinner and drinks!
There were separate cottages for sleeping, cooking, a sauna, and more.
Even where you can see the neighbors, there’s plenty of privacy.
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August 11 – Traveling through Finland by rail and sea
A glimpse of the Finnish countryside
It is sad to have to say good-bye already. In this short time I’ve grown very fond of these new-found cousins and would have very much liked to have stayed longer. But we have train reservations for this morning, ferry reservations in Helsinki this afternoon, and cousins to see in Sweden after that.
It is time to move on.
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At least today we can see the Finnish countryside as we roll along.
We pass through a few towns, but mostly we glide past a flat landscape of trees and lakes interspersed with a few farms. However, trees and lakes are very hard to photograph while clipping along at a good speed, so you will have to take my word for it.
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Waiting to board the ship in Helsinki
I don’t think a day can get any more beautiful than this – warm sun, a cool breeze, and a grand old city that hugs the waterfront.
Sailboats play in the harbor. . . I wish I were out there with them.
From the Deck of the Silja Serenade
Waiting to leave Helsinki
We really have seen nothing of Helsinki on this trip (no time), which makes me a little sad because I have found memories of the city from my college trip here. From that time, I recall a compact old city with elegant, formal buildings that looked down to the harbor. I remember the war museum guard who told us that he always knew when a Russian came to visit by the way they smelled – there was only one kind of soap available in Russia, so everyone carried the scent of that soap. I remember Kai, perched on his Dad’s shoulders, guiding us through the city after his Dad (repeatedly) found himself lost. I remember the heated towel racks in our hotel room, the first I had ever seen.
Now, from the deck of the Silja (now part of Tallink) Serenade I can see that the old city does indeed seem to slide downhill toward the harbor.
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I had forgotten about the Lutheran “cathedral” that dominates the core of the old city, but of course we would have visited it when I was here before. How could I have forgotten?
Of course, it isn’t the only elegant old building here.
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Leaving the harbor
Like Stockholm, Helsinki is surrounded by islands, some wild, some inhabited, all enticing on such a lovely day.
I wish I was on a sailboat.
Nearing Sunset – 9:20 pm
August 12 – Crossing to Sweden
Morning fog in the Stockholm Archipelago
On of the real treats of the sea journey between Helsinki and Stockholm is traveling through Stockholm’s archipelago.
I set my alarm for an early hour, but wake up before it goes off. There is nothing but fog outside the window.
The fog lifts and falls, lifts and falls, and lifts again, the light continually changing as we weave through the islands. When it lifts, there are rocky islands, some with cheerful houses hanging over the water.
As we near Stockholm, the sky clears and the scenery becomes increasingly urban.
More train stations
There is no time to tour Stockholm (another elegant old city of interesting architecture, museums, and wonderful shops), but I appreciate the fact that the transfer to the train station is smooth and fast.
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This is our tightest connection on the trip and it had me a little nervous, so I am grateful to have plenty of time to sit on the platform, take in the limited scenery I can, and wait for our train to arrive.
The train itself is clean enough inside, but filthy outside, the scenery almost obscured by dirt and grit. (Thus no scenery pictures from the train.)
We have one transfer, which goes smoothly. (Always a concern when dealing with luggage and my father’s limited ability to manage long walks and stairs. By now I have become very good at locating elevators and being aggressive enough to get us on them in a timely fashion.)
Then it is on to Falkenberg and our cousins.
As we arrive, cousin Kerstin appears on the platform as if by magic, an angel arriving at our carriage door so quickly that handing the luggage down to her is seamless.
There is no time for hugs until the train begins to pull away, but already it feels good to be here again.
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August 13 – Touring rural Sweden
August 14 – Family time in Sweden
Are you looking for a summer cottage in Sweden?
Like my cousins in Finland, my Swedish cousins also have summer homes (having a summer cottage is a very Scandinavian thing, even more prevalent than Minnesota’s ubiquitous lake cabins).
However, unlike Finland and Minnesota, where my Swedish cousins live, summer homes tend to be grouped tightly together in neat little inland neighborhoods. (Rather similar to what I saw from the train in Germany, but the Swedish cottages are bigger and in more rural places.) The area where my cousins have their cottages looks like a residential suburb in miniature, where everything is neat, orderly, and just a bit scaled-down from a “regular” house.
Although the houses are close together, it is very quiet here, the sounds of the nearby ocean always in the air.
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My father’s cousin has developed much of this area and is currently preparing another area for development, improving drainage and laying out access roads in an area that is currently an open meadow.
While not in sight of the water, the ocean is only a short hike through the woods.
If you are looking for a summer cottage in Sweden, you may want to check it out!
Today these lots have all been sold and I can’t tell you how much I wish I had bought one when I visited in 2010. It would have been even better if my dad had bought one after he visited in 1959!
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Långasand Beach (Long Sand Beach)
In a Family Garden
We are to spend today with a different set of cousins and have lingered too long at the beach. When we pull up in front of the stuga, Ann is on her cell phone trying to locate us: time to get going!
We start with coffee with a few of my cousins. Margit has set a lovely table in the sunroom of their house. It is a good place to sit and catch up on the last 10 years.
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We take a few minutes to tour Margit’s beautiful flower gardens and photograph the flowers (and each other) before heading out for the day.
I need to come back more often.
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Rolfstorp Church
Timmerkullen: Where my grandfather was raised
Timmerkullen is the farm where my grandfather was raised, the farm that was sold about the time he immigrated to America.
I think the house and many of the sheds date back to that time and before.
I wonder how different the scene before me is from what my grandfather would have known.
Grimeton Radio Station
August 15 –
Trip Details