Category Archives: Diary

A walk in the woods: Wendisch-Rietz, Brandenburg

The history of this village at the bottom end of the Scharmützelsee lake about an hour from Berlin is all there in the name. The Wends were West Slavs, who settled in the land between the Elbe and the Oder rivers over a thousand years ago. Divided into a number of different tribes, they were the majority population of the area that now makes up most of the state of Brandenburg until the arrival of German colonists between the 12th and the 14th centuries. By the 18th Century most of the Wends had been assimilated into the German population, except for the Sorbs, who continue to live as Germany’s only indigenous minority in the Spreewald region, not far from Wendisch-Rietz.

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A winter’s day in Beeskow, Brandenburg

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It is a holiday in Beeskow, a small town on the river Spree about an hour and a half drive from Berlin. Not long after Christmas and the town feels like it is indulging in a collective hangover; there is barely a soul to be seen, and as we walk through the cobbled streets of the Altstadt the only people we come across are a group of men, a little worse for wear on beer and schnapps, who are making their way to a smoky bar down on the embankment. But before we come across them – filled as they are with alcohol-fuelled bonhomie – we have walked through the picturesque market square, complete with town hall and the odd half-timbered house. Even the buildings that date back to the German Democratic Republic and beyond have been built to fit with the ensemble, and it is easy to imagine it cheerful and bustling on an early summer market day, the outdoor seating of the cafes and restaurants spreading out across the cobblestones.

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Surfing in the shadow of the Alps, Munich

Waiting for the winter in Berlin

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I sort of suspected this would happen… writing this piece yesterday I had a feeling that the weather gods mentioned in the last paragraph might make me look foolish, and as I ran through icy rain this morning it became clear that they were not even going to wait for the piece to go online. It is supposed to snow later on as well… I guess the wait is over.

Something strange has been happening with our weather. Whilst North America freezes, and Great Britain is bashed by storms, northern Germany has been mild to the point of springtime, and along the Berlin Wall Trail not far from our apartment the first cherry blossoms have been sighted, almost four months too early. On the web people joke that we will pay for it sooner rather than later, that the Berlin winter will once more take us in its icy grip, but for the moment we are talking more about the weather than even the British, debating what we should be wearing when on a normal January day in this city there would only be one answer; as much as possible.

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From the Dolomites

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By Annika Ruohonen

For the past few days I’ve been exploring a remote mountain village called Sappada in Northern Italy. The valley is secluded amongst gorgeous, steep, snow-topped mountains Monte Sierra, The trio of Monte Terza and Monte Ferro. At the bottom of the valley there is the beautiful Fiume Piave, a mountain river that runs all the way down to Mediterranean. We have been following it on our trips back and forth to Venice. At some parts there are fantastic rapids and waterfalls, and sometimes there is just a peaceful little stream in the middle of a huge valley with limestone pebbles.

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Across the water to the Farne Islands

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At Seahouses we found a pay and display parking space amongst the bucket-and-spade shops and award winning fish and chip restaurants, and made our way through the ice cream slurping crowds towards the collection of ticket shacks down by the harbour. We wanted to go to the Farne Islands – that scattered collection a couple of miles off the Northumberland coast – but other than that we had no preference for which of the companies competing for our custom would take us across the water, so we picked based on size of queue and the picture of the boat on the side of the ticket shack.

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Hey ho, let’s go

Three hours drive and only six miles from home

Watching the Berlin Marathon

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It is a tradition that every year when the Berlin Marathon comes around we head down to Unter den Linden to cheer on the finishers as they head into the last kilometre. Our spot is usually by the Russian Embassy, just after the point where the runners turn the corner and catch a glimpse of the Brandenburg Gate for the first time. Once the elite runners and the best of the rest have come through – those more concerned with placing and time than anything else – it is a joy to watch the realisation on the runners’ faces as they see the famous old gate and know that a remarkable achievement is within their grasp.

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On the southern shore of the Müritz

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On Saturday morning I walk out of the house and follow the paved path alongside the harbour to where it opens out into the lake. Behind me the resort village is quiet… houses empty or the occupants sleeping. The cleaning crew move amongst the houses on a cart that is so silent it can only be electric, and their voices carry clearly over to where I stand, a conversation full of Friday night gossip and small town exploits. I look out onto the lake – the Müritz – the largest such body of water to be completely contained within the German borders. Lake Constance is bigger, but the Germans must share it with the Swiss and the Austrians, and anyway right now it does not matter whether the Müritz is the biggest, or the second biggest, because there is a mist swirling all around us and visibility is down to about thirty metres. The electric cart moves off and is soon swallowed, but the voices continue to carry across the empty resort plaza to the water’s edge.

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