Warning: This article contains nothing controversial, religious, political, or of social import...it is just a pointless ramble through a few random memories of days gone by...
We lived in the small town of Lampertheim, north of Mannheim. Where you could regularly see little ladies doing their daily shopping with their tuetten (shopping bags...reusable ones like grandma used to use), chimney sweeps in traditionally garb toting their sooty brushes and wires, window boxes full of colorful flowers, cobblestone streets, wrought-iron railings around trees, and hausfraus sweeping the streets in front of their houses and hanging their bedding out the windows. Everything was on a smaller scale than we were used to, it was a clean, tidy, community full of proud, industrious people who had a finger on everything that went on around them. And several times a day the bells from four huge churches would peal so loud it shook the house.
Our narrow little street, Riesengasse (Monster Alley) ran one block from the square in front of the Rathaus (City Hall) westerly to another narrow cross-street that bordered a graveyard. Our apartment was atop a cobbler's shop, up a very narrow staircase that bent hard right after about three or four steps. Made carrying big stuff up the stairs a real challenge. Anyway, go out the front door and turn right and walk a half a block to the square and the City Hall is on the left. One side of the town square abutted the main street through town. Turn right on the main street, walk another half a block and you come to a small bakery. This is where MamaCharlie began a life-long love affair with apricot streusel cake (with little gooseberries in it). We would walk to the bakery to buy the little square pieces of cake as many times in a week as we could swing it. After we moved out of Lampertheim to Benjamin Franklin Village in Kafertal, another suburb of Mannheim, about ten or twelve miles from the little bakery, we would still sometimes drive out on a Saturday to fetch her Aprikosenstreusel Kuchen. It was such a blow to learn that it was a seasonal treat, but the anticipation of its return each year and the joy when it did, was part of the fun of it.
Across the street and again half a block down from the bakery was a small gasthaus owned and operated by an ex-GI who had come to Lampertheim in the late 1950's as a young soldier and found a home and a girl he liked, and took a "European Out" (he was discharged from the Army in Germany instead of going back the States). They served up a pretty good Schnitzel dinner for a low price.
If you stayed on the main street for a few blocks you came to a department store that was a fun place to shop. We discovered James Last there and bought a couple of his albums. We also found a 45-RPM record of Van Morrison's "Brown-Eyed Girl", a song we both loved from our dating days (barely a year before) but the lyrics were changed so that the Germans wouldn't be embarassed by the couple "making love in the green grass behind the stadium"...
The main street curved off to the south just past the department store, and another half-block later sat a huge restaurant-hotel called the Deutscheshaus. Some friends took us there one time and we were introduced to really fine dining, German-style. The dinner plates were the largest I had ever seen and when the food came out from the kitchen, the plates were piled high. My first meal there was a Jaegerschnitzel ( a veal cutlet without breading, smothered in mushroom gravy) with spaetzle (little noodles) and baby carrots. It was a fabulous meal that cost a whopping 5 DM (Deutsche Mark -- the exchange rate was 3.96 DM to a dollar -- in case you are mathematically challenged, the plate cost $1.25). We went back often; the temptation being to stick with the dish you already know you love instead of trying something new. I worked my way through most of their menu but also managed to pack down plenty of Jaegerschnitzel, too.
At some point (neither of us can pinpoint it exactly), we both fell in love with Italian ice cream parlors in Germany. I don't know if the German versions were authentic; I know that what they served there was a lot different from what you get in the States labeled "Italian Ice". But those ice cream parlors in Germany serve up some of the best I've ever tasted. They had Apricot...Pistachio...Hazelnut...and several more I never got around to. We found a parlor on Highway B-38 just outside of Mannheim that we were especially fond of and would find any excuse to drop by there for a double scoop (all of 50 pfennigs...12.5 cents). It seems that every touristy place in Germany has ice cream, even it it's just a little cart with an umbrella.
One of the places we stopped for ice cream was in Viernheim, a small town near Mannheim where some of my soldiers lived. The little ice cream parlor there had a small dining room so we decided one evening to try it out. They made a great schnitzel (and it was cheap). It became another of our favorite haunts.
Another couple of places we found during that period were in the town of Worms. I know...but if you know your history, it is famous for being one of the places Martin Luther lived. And for the Diet of Worms...yeah...it sounds bad but it was a council, not a weight-loss regimen (although I am sure it would have been successful as the latter). There is a tree in the middle of town called the Luther Tree. The legend is that Luther sat under that tree and taught his followers. He once claimed that his movement would survive as long as the tree should stand. You don't see many recent pictures of it; the last time I saw it, the trunk had hollowed out and was filled with concrete; there were guy wires on it to keep it up, and it didn't have too much foliage . I guess the Lutherans are trying to keep up the image. Anyway, as soon as you cross the Rhine River over the Niebelungen Bridge, you turn right and run along the river to a restaurant that was great for two reasons. They served fantastic lasagne and at certain times of the year they made it with green noodles. It had a huge model of the Andrea Doria, an Italian luxury liner that sank in 1956 after a the Stockholm, a Swedish liner with an ice-breaker bow, punched a hole in her. The model in the restaurant was at least five or six feet long, very detailed, and at night it was all lit up from inside...sooo cooool. Another restaurant in downtown Worms served fantastic lasagne that was totally different from the one on the river. That was the place where we spent our third anniversary...scarfing our Chateau-Briand for DM 20 (divide by four...). They served it elegantly at our table and all but fed it to us. So tender and heavenly.
It has been over forty years since we left Mannheim. We went back to Germany a couple more times and managed to spend a little time hanging around the places we loved there. Thanks to Google Maps and the street-scene options, I have "walked" through some of those places recently. But things have changed; some things are just gone. But the feel of the town, the energy of a bustling transportation hub, comes through, even in pictures. And the sweet memories of newlyweds out searching for adventures in a fairytale land are still strong.