Brocken

 6/8/2020 – Wernigerode –We sleep in Hotel Gotisches Haus in the centre of the bustling town. A castle dating back to the 12th century towers above the town. Similar to Quedlinburg with old, narrow streets with half-timbered houses.  The area has three narrow-gauge railways from GDR-times. The Brockenbahn brings you to the Brocken, with 1142 m the highest peak in northern Germany. Wherever you walk, Goethe walked before you. In Faust, Goethe calls the Brocken the Blocksberg. It plays an important role in pre-Christian heathen tradition. A lot of places in the area make reference to witches and to the Walpurgisnight, the one night during which exiled witches were allowed to come back to earth. I decide to cycle up the Brocken, from Schierke it is 24 kilometres and 600 altimeters. There is sun but the air is humid and clouds sail in from the West. The area, which was a military area controlled by the GDR until 1990 is misty most of the year, has 176 days of snow and is exposed to the elements as there is nothing around it to protect it. A good rolling asphalt meanders upwards through pine trees, wild flowers and deforested, barren pieces. I get to the top, which is above the tree line, without too much effort, only in the last 500 metres I have to shift to my lowest gear. On the top I meet with Karin, who has walked from Schierke. Many tourists around and horse-drawn carriages drive to and fro. With regular intervals the Brockenbahn steam trains whistle loudly. We have fries with Bockwurst, on the benches outside the Pommesbude people sit far from each other. These are corona times. We imagine how the East spied on the West here in GDR-times. I cycle down, an enjoyable fast downhill ride, half of it under a torrential rain and lightning. Happy to be back at the car I check where Karin is. She left with a bunch of tourists to walk back down, and I can follow her hike on my phone. The blue dot moves slowly on Google Maps and I think she must be soaked. This is confirmed when I pick her up when she is back in Schierke. In my car I read about Heinrich Heine and his book: die Harzreise! German poets have good legs.