DAY 8

This day was even less eventful. Long stretches with relatively little sightseeing are the price I have to pay for my determination to reach Denmark. Over 200 kilometers of driving, I stopped in just one town — Friedrichstadt — where I had a look at its main square, inevitably called the Markt, then had an apple strudel and took care of one very important task: buying a souvenir for an obligatory gift.

As I was approaching my accommodation for the night, the navigation system played a nasty trick on me. When I turned left as instructed, it suddenly began shouting desperately, “Make a U-turn! Make a U-turn!” I was surprised, but did as I was told. It then instructed me to take Forest Street, which led me deep into the woods. I eventually found my way out of the forest and returned to my original route. For a while, the navigator kept insisting that I turn back, but eventually it calmed down, and we continued our journey in harmony.

I should mention that, strictly speaking, I’m not traveling alone. I have a traveling companion: my car. We communicate with each other. Or rather, it communicates with me. It reminds me not to forget my phone when I get out, asks me to stay in the middle of my lane, and this morning rather pointedly asked whether I’d like it to find the nearest gas station. When I ignored the suggestion, it sternly announced, “You need to refuel!” A couple of times while I was driving, it even snapped, “Take your foot off the accelerator!” It keeps an eye on me. And today, when an oncoming car suddenly turned right in front of me, my car braked so sharply that I was jolted forward. So, all in all, it’s my partner, rescuer and driving instructor rolled into one. At least when I exceed the speed limit moderately, it responds only with a quiet chime. It could have given me a lecture instead.

DAY 9

Last night there was another mix-up with my reservations, once again at a place where I had canceled one booking and made another. This time, however, the one that suffered wasn’t me but the apartment’s owner. Booking.com hadn’t informed her about the cancellation. Payment was supposed to be made on arrival, and after I showed her the cancellation confirmation I’d received from Booking.com, she was left without payment and without a guest for her second apartment.

Five minutes after setting off that morning, I already crossed the border into Denmark. The aim was to visit Ribe, the oldest town in the country, which I’d missed during an earlier trip around Denmark. I love filling in gaps like that.

Contrary to my expectations, Ribe turned out to be a tiny town, very charming at that, with more old houses than anywhere else in Denmark and countless shops selling gifts, jewelry and all sorts of trinkets along its main street. I also happened to arrive on flea-market day, and I could easily have spent hours browsing everything that was for sale. Unfortunately, parking was limited to just half an hour. Or perhaps fortunately, because I might not have been able to resist buying some antique ceramics or porcelain, and I have nowhere to put any more of it. I did, however, buy an old wall clock with Roman numerals, something I’d been looking for for a long time. Admittedly, I’d been hoping to find a ceramic one, while this one was metal — but never mind. Unfortunately, the clock stopped working soon afterward.

The coffee I had in Denmark turned out to be rather acidic and, surprisingly, Brazilian in origin. I hadn’t realized that it wasn’t only Ethiopian and Tanzanian coffee that could have such a pronounced acidity.

After returning to Germany, I stopped in Flensburg. I had imagined it as a small border town, but it turned out to be a fairly substantial city with plenty of beautiful buildings, a harbor, and an elegant central pedestrian street appropriately called Große Straße (“Great Street”).

On Flensburg’s Museum Hill stand two enormous and beautiful buildings. The first one houses a museum devoted to the history and culture of the Schleswig region, while the second is an art museum featuring works by local artists. The latter occupies a former school with a richly decorated Art Nouveau interior, but I arrived too late — I missed it by just five minutes.

St. Nicholas Church, with its tall and elegant spire, has an interior described as transitional between Baroque and Rococo, which I would have liked to see, but unfortunately it was undergoing renovation. All in all, I explored Flensburg quite thoroughly, both on foot and by car. The only place I missed was the supposed to be picturesque Oluf-Samson-Gang, a narrow street lined with small half-timbered houses, once known as the city’s historic red-light district.

After leaving Flensburg, I made a short detour to Glücksburg Castle, a late 16th-century Renaissance castle built by a Danish duke (Denmark ruled these lands from 1384 to 1864). The snow-white castle stands in the middle of a fairly large lake. It reminded me of Červená Lhota Castle in the Czech Republic, which also stands on the water, although Glücksburg is much larger.

As it turned out, I had to spend another night in a “container.” No problem — it was clean and quiet.

DAY 10

In the morning, I drove to Gottorf Castle. The castle is large but not particularly impressive from the outside. It now houses an archaeological museum with some interesting exhibits, but I was planning to visit the Maritime Museum in Kiel, and two museums in one day would have been too much. (Once, in Amsterdam, I somehow managed to visit the Rijksmuseum and the Van Gogh Museum almost back-to-back, but that’s really not the best way to do it.)

I knew that Kiel wasn’t considered a particularly interesting city, but I had once read that its Maritime Museum had some kind of very ancient boat, and I was curious to see it. After arriving in Kiel, I had a long walk from the parking lot to the museum, only to discover neither the boat nor, for that matter, anything else particularly interesting. Before that, however, I stopped at St. Nicholas Church. Incidentally, I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many churches dedicated to this saint as I have in this part of Germany. For some reason, he seems to be especially popular here.

After Kiel, I drove through three small towns on the shores of a “composite” lake system, formed when ten lakes of various sizes were connected by canals in the 1920s. The first of these towns, Plön, was clearly once a fishing village: the houses stand right along the waterfront, with boats and docks everywhere. Its main landmark is a former water tower that has been converted into a residential building.

The second, Malente, is a pleasant resort town with hotels, a waterfront promenade and a park. The third, Eutin, is considerably larger than the other two and even has a castle of its own. The name Eutin derives from Utin, a reminder that a Slavic tribe once lived here long ago. And everywhere there is water — an incredible amount of water.

The day, which hadn’t started out particularly productively, ended with a visit to one of Germany’s most fascinating cities — Lübeck, once the leading center of the Hanseatic League. I had visited it back in 1993, but since I was passing so close by, I couldn’t resist the chance to see it again. Lübeck’s historic center (the Old Town, Altstadt), which is entirely included on the UNESCO World Heritage List, is vast and magnificent. Because of the seven tall spires of its six principal churches, Lübeck is known as the “City of Seven Towers.” It is said to have more tall church spires than any other city in the world. Lübeck’s three main churches — St. James’s, famous for its altar, St. Mary’s, with its two 125-meter spires (both dating from the 14th century), and the 13th-century cathedral — are all worth visiting, but this time I limited myself to walking around the city.

Approaching the Old Town from the northwest, from the direction of Holstein and Denmark, you enter through the massive Holsten, or Holstein Gate (Holstentor), once part of the city’s fortifications, most of which have been lost over the years. The gate has become the symbol of Lübeck. (It also gave me an opportunity to put Gemini to the test. I asked whether I was correct in thinking that the Holsten Gate faced north. “No,” it replied. “It faces southwest.” Doubtful, I checked Wikipedia, which said that it faces northwest. That seemed much more logical. So I asked Gemini again. “Yes,” it said, “Wikipedia is correct.” A very clear example of just how much you can trust AI. (As a Russian proverb says: Trust, but verify.) Not far ftrom the Holsten Gate there is another surviving part of Lübeck’s old fortifications – the Castle Gate (Burgtor). Both date from the 15th century.

The Holsten Gate is actually a building in itself, resembling a small four-story castle with two towers. Today, it houses a museum. Out of the gate, I headed into the Old Town, admiring the magnificent buildings along the way. It seemed to me that not only I, but also the many tourists filling the streets, were in high spirits, uplifted by being surrounded by so much beauty.

Actually, I wasn’t just wandering aimlessly — I had a specific destination in mind: the 13th-century Hospital of the Holy Spirit (Heiligen-Geist-Hospital), which continued to serve as a hospital until 1970. Today it is a museum, while one part of the complex still houses a small care home. But what drew me there wasn’t so much the desire to see the beautiful former hospital as the fact that one of its buildings houses the Kartoffelkeller, “Potato Cellar” — a famous and unusual German restaurant where practically every dish, including desserts, is made from potatoes or contains potatoes in some form.

I had very fond memories of the restaurant and had dreamed of returning there all these years. From what I remembered, it was somewhere along the main axis of the Old Town, formed by several streets that run into one another. But I walked all the way through the Old Town to its far end, and there was still no sign of the hospital. Eventually, I had to turn to the navigation system. On the way to my destination, I passed the wonderful 13th-century Town Hall — the oldest town hall in Germany that is still in use. Be sure to walk underneath the Town Hall to the square behind it, where you can see a beautiful snow-white extension.

When I finally reached my destination (at Koberg 11) and could already smell the delicious aromas coming from inside, I was in for a bitter disappointment. A huge, old-school, rather arrogant waiter informed me that they weren’t accepting any more guests that evening. When I tried to explain that I was just alone and that I’d been dreaming of coming back for many years, he dismissed me contemptuously, as if I were some poor beggar. I was deeply disappointed, both by his attitude and by the fact that I’d missed my chance. Strangely, the disappointment felt greater than, say, when I wasn’t able to see the famous triptych in Ghent. To carry a dream with you for 33 years, only to have it slip away when the goal is finally so close… Ans as far as that triptych is concerned, I did eventually get to see it a few years later.