Come for the Castles, Stay for the Cellars

by Kristen Macur Brousil (Netherlands)

I didn't expect to find Germany

“Where’s that castle map of yours?” my boyfriend asked. “Why?” “I want to see which castles you want to visit.” I was surprised he remembered. As an incorrigible history nerd, I was fascinated by castles. To the Dutchman with other passions who lived thirty minutes from Muiderslot Castle in Holland, they were less exotic and intriguing. I didn’t think he’d be interested in the trip. I pulled up the Google Map I’d created. “This cluster of six—they’re all within two hours of each other.” “Can we do it in a weekend?” My eyebrows rose. “It’s a 4-hour drive away. We’d have to drive down, see three, sleep, see three more, and drive back.” “I’m in if you’re in.” He had me. Three weeks later, we headed out, ready for what I was calling the “whirlwind castle weekend.” Thirty hours, hundreds of kilometers, one ferry ride, 3 mountain/valley hikes, countless new sights, and five castles later, we were certainly whirled and winded. “According to the GPS, we can park for free in town,” Laurens said, rubbing his forehead as he concentrated on the road. “We’ll drop the car and walk to the castle.” As we caught sight of Reichsburg Cochem, I realized I would always be awed by the dramatic scene of a castle on a bluff. The towers and walls rose out of the steep hill, reigning over the river Mosel, the lush green vineyards along the river’s banks, and the little town below. As we rounded a bend and the town was briefly blocked from view, the lone hilltop castle was straight out of a fairytale. But at that moment, the hike to get there was the opposite of my idea of happily ever after. After we parked, we walked leisurely into town along the river, enjoying the cool breeze off the water, until we had to wind our way into the town center. Cochem was so incredibly German that it felt almost like a parody. The little town was packed full of houses with Bavarian-style architecture, rows of monochromatic houses with brilliantly painted wooden shutters and planters, and an occasional mountain chalet-type home. The town square was barely large enough for its statue and a few restaurant patios, surrounded by the light-walled, dark-roofed buildings looming over. As we walked through the narrow cobblestone streets, what struck us was the sheer number of wine shops. Dozens of little storefronts and doors to cellars, with sandwich-board signs advertising the various local grape varieties represented inside. “We can come back after the castle,” I said, to motivate us. It barely worked. After the fully-packed weekend and under the warm summer sun, the hill seemed to grow with each step we took. The uneven cobblestones made it easier to turn an ankle, and before long I thoroughly understood the medieval brilliance of building a castle on what felt like a mountain. We reached the top, but we were so worn out—physically and mentally—that we simply admired the (admittedly breathtaking) view over the valley. On our return, we stopped in the first wine cellar we came to, after a field of green grape trees. “Which wines would you like to try?” the middle-aged woman asked politely. We looked at each other, unsure. She pulled four bottles out of a wine fridge and set four small wineglasses. “This is a nice range, from sweet to dry. This on the right, this came from the field next door. Try some, then choose which you want.” We were stunned, but who were we to turn down free wine?? We sipped, enjoying the Riesling’s cool temperature and the smooth texture. Somehow, it felt fresh. We chose three bottles, paid surprisingly little, then headed out. We stopped in another cellar, where the old German man pulled the bottles out of holes in the cool stone walls. Two inexpensive bottles, then on to the next. Two wine shops, 3 tastings, and 50 euros later, we had a dozen bottles and our spirits back. As we returned to the car, I looked back with a smile. Not at the awe-inspiring castle—the reason we came—but at the charming town…the reason I knew we would return.