I was fortunate that I had booked a hotel in Bergen and so I had no rush to get there from Wietzendorf. The arrangement was that I would get the key from the “key boy”, using the code that I had been given. It was Good Friday and so I knew that I would not be able to get any dinner that night, nor breakfast the following morning, and so I had stocked up with some bread and cheese at the supermarket at Wietzendorf. Knowing that, I made a fair fist of the wonderful breakfast prepared for me at the hotel, before setting off on a path that would / should eventually connect with the Via Romea. My host had said that the wildflowers were lovely on this path and I would enjoy it. He was right, though the daffodils had yet to come into full flower. It was a dirt, tree lined road, and easy walking.
This was quite an exciting day as the path actually rose a few feet! There were some undulations on the way that I would have missed had I blinked. They could not be called hills, not even banks, but sort of wrinkles on the fabric of the land.
The early morning mist or haze gave an ethereal look to the landscape, and people would emerge – running or cycling through the mist before disappearing again. As the morning wore on the sun made a weak appearance and by the time I got to Bergen it was shining quite strongly, though it didn’t have any measurable warming affect.
The hotel manager had kindly left me a list of three restaurants that would be open for dinner along with the key, and after dropping my pack in my room I went out to explore for what was left of the afternoon. Of course, being a public holiday meant that nothing was open, but I did find the very crowded Eiscafé open for a coffee and Apfelkuchen. On the way there I passed a memorial to Anne Frank. Bergen is very close to the Belsen Concentration camp and in fact it was known as the Bergen Belsen Concentration Camp, and I had forgotten that snippet of information, as I had that it was at that camp that Anne Frank had died. I might add that I did not divert to the camp.
The next day for the journey to Celle began with heavy drizzle / rain and the full rain gear had to come out. It turned out to be a bit of a disastrous day in fact. I missed the way, and then headed on an unintended 6 kilometre detour having to resort to retracing my steps back to where I went wrong (lack of signs) to pick up the path again. Eventually making my way to Slüze, in rain and, at times, sleet! It was the coldest I had been, and knowing that I was going to be pushing it to get to Celle at a reasonable hour I put my thumb out! I was so cold that I didn’t care if I got a ride – I just needed to dry out and more importantly thaw out.
Matias stopped and gave me a ride to his house, where he made me a hot drink, before taking me to the outskirts of Celle. I was so glad of his help. His daughter was able to chat quite well in English and Matias was obviously proud of her skill. He was a fluent English speaker as his work takes him to South Africa on a regular basis.
Celle is a lovely town, with its many very old half timbered buildings, and a great place to have a rest day – even if it was a public holiday. One of the customs is that every day a trumpeter climbs the tower and plays a chorale in four directions. I made several unsuccessful attempts to hear this. However I was rewarded on Easter Sunday when I attended the morning church service. On the way the bells rang out and the clamour from them was almost deafening (no wonder that the trumpeter wasn’t there at that time – he wouldn’t have been heard!). However as the sound from the bells eased the music in the church started – organ and trumpet, and my day was made! Not only was this glorious music played before the service, but they played again during the service, and at the end. Interestingly everyone sat and listened to the postlude – no talking, and no-one getting up ready to leave!
I have seen J S Bach in a new light. Bach was famous for his use of improvisation for chorales. The tradition continues. At the two services I have attended the organist gives an introduction which bears almost no resemblance to the hymn that will follow. They are quite intricate improvisations loosely based on the melody of the hymn, but would be no help to people trying to pick out the melody to follow. On Easter Sunday I was sitting near the back and was struck by the fact that no one sang. I looked around and could see no one near me singing. I guessed that they weren’t all like me in that they could speak the language as I saw there lips moving for other things, they obviously just didn’t like to sing! I even managed a chorus that had one word in it (hallelujah), so if I can do it, they certainly could have!!!
The country lane in the mist with the wildflowers on the side.
This was quite an exciting day as the path actually rose a few feet! There were some undulations on the way that I would have missed had I blinked. They could not be called hills, not even banks, but sort of wrinkles on the fabric of the land.
A wrinkle on the landscape, and below a wave – almost a hill.
Looking back at the village of Dageforde. A really handy bus shelter allowed me to have a good rest on the way.
The early morning mist or haze gave an ethereal look to the landscape, and people would emerge – running or cycling through the mist before disappearing again. As the morning wore on the sun made a weak appearance and by the time I got to Bergen it was shining quite strongly, though it didn’t have any measurable warming affect.
The mist lifted and the sun came out – as did the bees. They were very busy on these crocus.
The hotel manager had kindly left me a list of three restaurants that would be open for dinner along with the key, and after dropping my pack in my room I went out to explore for what was left of the afternoon. Of course, being a public holiday meant that nothing was open, but I did find the very crowded Eiscafé open for a coffee and Apfelkuchen. On the way there I passed a memorial to Anne Frank. Bergen is very close to the Belsen Concentration camp and in fact it was known as the Bergen Belsen Concentration Camp, and I had forgotten that snippet of information, as I had that it was at that camp that Anne Frank had died. I might add that I did not divert to the camp.
This bed, in the shape of a dove, is planted with the Anne Frank rose.
My hotel in Bergen
Matias stopped and gave me a ride to his house, where he made me a hot drink, before taking me to the outskirts of Celle. I was so glad of his help. His daughter was able to chat quite well in English and Matias was obviously proud of her skill. He was a fluent English speaker as his work takes him to South Africa on a regular basis.
Celle is a lovely town, with its many very old half timbered buildings, and a great place to have a rest day – even if it was a public holiday. One of the customs is that every day a trumpeter climbs the tower and plays a chorale in four directions. I made several unsuccessful attempts to hear this. However I was rewarded on Easter Sunday when I attended the morning church service. On the way the bells rang out and the clamour from them was almost deafening (no wonder that the trumpeter wasn’t there at that time – he wouldn’t have been heard!). However as the sound from the bells eased the music in the church started – organ and trumpet, and my day was made! Not only was this glorious music played before the service, but they played again during the service, and at the end. Interestingly everyone sat and listened to the postlude – no talking, and no-one getting up ready to leave!
The half-timbered houses of Celle.
These fellows paraded around the garden of the Schloss at Celle.
Stadtkirche St. Marien, Celle. Their bells are VERY loud. The tower is what the trumpeter climbs daily.
One of the things that has been noticeable is how people prepare for Easter. Out the front of many houses bare shrubs are decorated with eggs, inside the houses there are floral arrangements (often twigs) decorated with eggs, and pot plants were even put into “egg” pots. It is also the time when little pots of daffodils decorate tables, window sills / ledges etc. – inside and out.
A florist stall in Celle.
There is also great emphasis placed on the Easter fire. This is when, on Easter Saturday, the prunings form the last months are piled into a heap and burnt. People stand around the fire, and apparently drink lots of beer. Matias told me that people wouldn't be very happy with the weather on Easter Saturday as not much beer would be sold!
An Easter Fire ready prepared. At this place, just outside the village of Wardböhmen, there were a group of young men playing with there toys – a drone, and a four wheeled bike which they were taking it in turns to hoon around in the mud!
...& the great stories keep coming. Nice pics. 😀
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