Our German Vacation
July-August 2001
Ernie and Betty Seckinger
Why?
Why did we take this trip? Frankly, we needed a vacation. Too
much work and too much stress. Of course, flying across the Atlantic at night
is akin to a triple weight unnatural act, but that is the way you get there.
We also were curious about our family history and wanted to
see if we could connect with it not knowing the language.
We also went to visit our friends, the family of Kurt and Gerlinde Seckinger
of Görwihl, Baden-Wüttemburg, Germany. We have no demonstrated relationship,
but from the name, it is clear our ancestors left Säckingen some time
in the past.
The Journey
Kurt, Gerlinde, and one of their sons, Otmar, visited us in
Daphne in 1998. Since that time, we planned to return the visit. About a year ago, we decided the summer of 2001 would
be the time. Motivated by enthusiasm, I began a search for the most outstanding
ticket bargain ever. Travel agents put me off saying eleven months was about
as far ahead as their system would look; the first signs of procrastination
appeared. When the last minute finally arrived--about June 2001--I was prepared
for crisis mode. Gosh, where were the cheap flights! No matter, we finally
swallowed hard and made reservations. Gracious assistance from my parents
made the trip much more financially worry free.
I will here jump ahead and say one lesson learned is that for whatever reason,
travel agents do not have the final word on available accommodations. I found
the flight we ultimately took and supplied it to them; they could not get
to the Frankfurt hotel I chose; they could not get to the car rental agency
I used. For their service, we paid an extra $20.
Our journey began July 25th. We cleaned the house, finished packing, boxed
up the cat 
, and headed to Pensacola. Fifty miles of Chinese fire drills later we had
Eric driving us to the Pensacola airport. His help saved us a considerable
sum and provided him a feline companion for two weeks.
Our 3:30 flight to Atlanta left over an hour late due to weather in Atlanta.
Our easy relaxation time on the E concourse was rapidly diminishing but we
still had nearly two hours. 8:03 rolled around with the flight to Paris still
one and a half hours away. Although Air France was to serve dinner, we were
forced by pancreatic activity to have a snack!
Betty and I were no longer the jaded flyers as we boarded a 747 for the first
time. A sign board at the gate said the flight would last seven and one half
hours. I hoped for sleep but as I expected, some turbulence every now and
then interrupted my sleep.
We finally landed in Paris and quickly discovered we had far less time to
make our connection to Frankfurt than we originally thought. That the Charles
DeGaulle Airport strongly resembles Dallas-Fort Worth in its bizarre disorganization
made that hurried walk even less pleasant.
When we finally reached our Frankfurt hotel 5 PM (1700 as the Germans were
wont to call it) loomed. But it was hot! 29 degrees Centigrade! And
of course the only air conditioning was s skylight that opened in our garret
room. We took several walks around that neighborhood to aid in resetting
our body clocks including a visit to an exotic German market. I believe it
was called an A&P!
The next morning two our our companions in the hotel van (or Zubringerservice)
were U.S. Army National Guardsmen from Georgia heading to Bosnia. We wished
them well and swelled with pride as this U. S. Army mission sought to bring peace to a people. In the light
of more recent events, it should be remembered the U.S. Army there is in
the business of protecting Moslems.
[The link above will take you to many photos of the train. Hit
your back arrow to return]
My first lesson was that it is I - C- E not ice. The ticket seller spoke
English well enough but signs in the train station (Bahnhof) were less than
understanable to me. A nice woman who spoke very little English looked at
my ticket and pointed to the proper track. Announcements were in
English also but as in any station, poor acoustics garbled the message. I did
catch a sincere apology for the six minute delay in the arrival of our train!
Once we boarded we found comfortable seats but I found that my large hard
suitcase had to go at my feet. Surprisingly there was room. I was unaware
the train was underway until I looked up and saw the movement. For me this
was my first train ride since 1987 saw a short round trip from Fullerton
to Los Angeles. As I thought of my infrequent train rides, Betty informed
me that this was her first (real) train ride! As the countryside and German
rural and small town architecture rolled by, I knew her first ride would
be a memorable one.
All of our apprehension vanished as we pulled into the Freiburg Bahnhof and
saw Kurt and Gerlinde Seckinger looking for us.
Freiburg
Freiburg was my first entree into a non-American city. This was soon apparent
at the cathedral . Several dates were engraved into its cornerstone: MCCCXX,
MCCLXX, MCCCXVIII, and MCCXCV.
Before we saw the cathedral however, we had to ditch our copious luggage.
Searching for a locker we encountered a small locker-looking cabinet in a
corner of the train station. A merry time was had by all trying to understand
how to work this contraption. A little video screen instructed us to put a
suitcase in the locker, close the door, and place a one mark coin in the slot. Amazingly, we later recovered our baggage.
Freiburg is a beautiful place and so fitted our expectations of a European
city with cobblestone streets, walled in creeks, and sidewalk markets. I
also held a Pelikan M800 fountain pen, but could not afford it in Germany
either, and finally found a book in English to read at one of the many bookstores
in town. Each had a large English section. The highlight of Freiburg
though was meeting the rest of the Seckingers that we were to meet on this
trip, and other friends.
We met one of Kurt's sons Manuel 
(obviously from an earlier trip he took to New York. Here is one from
our trip: 
),
and friend Sonnheil Schillart 
.
It is ironic that we have yet to meet Bernhard 
whose webpage first brought us all together.
Our walk around Freiburg was a great introduction to southern Germany. Our
drive south through the Black Forest to Görwihl was a life experience.
Here I saw the landscape my ancestors traveled through as they moved from
Säckingen to Rotenberg. More on that later, but seeing the Schwarzwald
for the first time moved me.
My first impression of the Black Forest is how similar the region is to the
mountains of northeast Georgia. The most common tree was different though,
resembling the northern North American larch. They are frequently in large
stands. Under this canopy it is almost dark, therefore The Black Forest or
in German, Schwarzwald.
On approach to Görwihl, the village where our friends live, I noticed
the closer we got, the smaller the roads became. Also I saw no sprawl, something
that seems to affect even the smallest American town. the city limits sign
was precisely at the point residential development began. The village was
surrounded by fields. When we commented on the fields we were warned about
the alarm cow! We finally understood at about 6:30 the next morning when a
nearby cow mooed loudly.
How to characterize Kurt Seckinger's yard? I think the
best way to so describe it is to call it a Seckinger yard! In the front of
his house nary a blade of grass grows.
Beautiful flowers, including native wildflowers cover the yard. Intermixed
are grape vines and a vegetable or two. The backyard firmly establishes
Kurt as a Seckinger! As you move up the walk from his drive, you pass through
a butterfly garden and then stroll under a cherry tree. Then the garden appears--a
host of blooming flowers, vegetables, fruit trees, and even a tiny landscape
pond betray his love of nature. But he goes one step further--one tree holds
many pieces of wood that serve a sa bee hotel for the many species of wild
bees in the Black Forest. At a nearby nursery we saw another bee hotel .
Just beyond his backyard lay a beautiful pasture replete with cow.
Across the vale was a larger building. He pointed to it and asked if I knew
Rudolf Steiner. Well, I had heard the name but could not recount his philosophy.
Shame on me since he began his intellectual journey abstracting Goethe's
philosophy from the latter's writings. I
should have known that! Anyway, the building was a Steiner school, a place
where developmentally challenged, even autistic, children are encouraged to
find their own way. Manuel did his alternative to military service there.
Dinner that night put to rest my food worries: potato salad, macaroni, salad
with lettuce from their garden and sheep's cheese with Kurt's homemade cherry
juice. Could I ever deal with that spread!
The houses do not have air conditioning since getting cool is seldom a problem
in the Black Forest, so we left our window open that night. The song of insect
and even the distant sound of planes on approach to Zürich lulled us
into a nice sleep. Then at 6 AM the team of the nearby cow and Quasimodo
in the church bell tower got us stirring. We were to learn that
all acrossat least southern Germany and Switzerland the bells rang for almost
ten minutesat 8 PM and 6 AM. Ten minutes of church bells at 6 AM seems an
eternity!
Across Hühnerbühl from Kurt's house, we saw more evidence of the
Black Forest's agricultural past. There (and we saw many others once we knew
how to see them), the sizable house 
had a domestic part and an agricultural part. On the agricultural part a
ramp led to the tractor garage. Hay is stored inside. Later in the trip we
saw an agricultural museum with earlier examples. More on that later.
Breakfast, uh...Früstrück, the first morning with the Seckingers
was, for me a grand breakfast eater, a joy. At the center of the table was
a basket loaded to overflowing with rolls of every imaginable type--my favorites
had been rolled in sunflower or pumpkin seeds before baking (a little piece
of America at the table!). And no one even looked at the amount of butter
you used! We were to have such bread--Brot--often and I deeply miss it.
Säckingen
In my paternal family history the only fact I knew was that they were Salzburgers [Link to the Salzburger Society]. Something about Catholics and Protestants and
a long time ago. Slowly my knowledge increased until finally I met
Kurt Seckinger of Görwihl, Germany. Through him I learned our name comes
from the Rhine resort town of Bad Säckingen. When a package containing
a print of the town with its picturesque wooden bridge arrived, I learned
he lived only 20 km or so from the town. It was at that point in our long
distance friendship that I knew I would one day visit him and there.
(A winter scene from Bad Säckingen. Photo from the web.)
That dream came true on July 29, 2001.
Here Kurt and I stand before the Trumpeter of Säckingen .
Interestingly, he and Gerlinde were married in the building beyond. Seeing
the Rhine from this town swelled a deep sense of place within me.
The day was not without its lighter moments though. sitting
in an Eiscafe (ice cream shoppe)
We walked across the bridge to Switzerland
,
saw surfing on the Rhine
,
and took a picture of Bad Säckingen.
Indeed I was a bit taken aback to learn that the name Säckingen does
originate from a sack, but you will note it is a leather drawstring sack--a
noble thing! 
As I think of Bad Säckingen as the Trumpeter of Säckingen plays
on my computer, my mind wanders to all the pain and suffering the
world and my ancestors have seen since they left that town sometime before
1711. Trials of a host of groups deemed different by whoever was in authority
make the travail of my Seckinger line seem trivial.
As is the hope of so many in the world today--including most Germans and
most Americans--the time to exercise policy on the backs of the powerless
is over. Let it be, Let it be.
Grindelwald
On the first Monday of our trip, Kurt and Gerlinde drove us to Grindelwald,
Switzerland. Crossing the border at Laufenberg was old hat to us since the
day before we had walked to Switzerland! As the Renault sped on into Switzerland
I was overcome by geography when I realized we were on the perimeter of
Bern,the Swiss capital. My more classically oriented mind went more to Carl
Jung than modern political issues in one of the few countries not joining
Europe with a single currency next year.
Below Bern we finally saw the Alps. Hazy conditions had so far hid them from
us. They were monstrous! Slopes that for me seemed straight up loomed ahead.
After I bought Kurt a bit of gas for 50 Swiss francs, we rushed on since
Kurt was excited for us to ride a cable car up to the high Alpine meadows.
He said the cable car at First was the longest in Europe. Well, it was long--and
high--enough for me. To get back on the ground was fine 
.
At the end of the cable car ride, we found ourselves near
2200 meters but more importantly at a restaurant! The backdrop for our lunch
was beyond impressive. The red and blue dots on the picture are not blemishes
but parasailers!
Our subsequent walk to the snow was amazing. 
After I adapted to some heavy huffing and puffing, the Alpine flowers
,the birds 
, and the scenery
put all those literary references to the Alps in clear context.
Nearing their home, I saw the twin towers of the church at Bad Säckingen
and felt strangely at home.
One last note about our Alpine adventure. For 30 years I have heard ridicule
heaped on Helen, Georgia for its pseudo-Alpine decor and tourist development.
Perhaps I was not completely immune from that myself. Well, for those of
you that do not already know, the real thing out-Helens Helen! Souvenir and
post card shops lined the streets of Grindelwald, Switzerland moreso than
Helen. Instead of the Flatlanders and Leafseers that crowd Helen, the bizarrely
stereotypical-picture-taking Japanese tourists crowded Grindelwald.
Rötenberg
On Thursday, July 31, we headed north through the Black Forest for Rötenberg,
the home of my last German ancestor. At Furtwaggen we departed with Otmar
and Patricia as they prepared to continue their schooling. My anticipation
of seeing Rötenberg and the church there was so great, I was unprepared
for the flood of historical information Kurt shared. So much of my confusion
about the historicity of my ancestors' movements became clear in an instant.
Blame it on Napoleon became the explanation. As the world knows, Baden and
Wüttemberg merged more than 50 years ago. As Kurt showed me the old
border I felt a bump in the road just like the one you would here anticipate
crossing a county line. It would seem that Baden was Catholic and Wüttemberg
Protestant. Further, before 1806 (the Napoleon angle) that bump in the road
was the border between Protestant Germany and Catholic Austria. To me, this
led to any hypothesis that my Seckinger line had left Baden--Säckingen--at
the time of the Peace of Augsburg, 1555. Another Seckinger genealogical researcher
however disagrees noting he has found Seckingers in the area as early as
1429. By whatever means and whenever arrived, Mathais Seckinger and his family,
including his brother Andrew, decided to leave Rötenberg and join the
Salzburgers in Ebenezer, Georgia in 1749. To stand in Rötenberg in 2001
looking directly at the record of his baptism was for me an incredible genealogical experience and a closing of a loop of travel bringing me here after 252 years.
The corner stone reads MCXXVIII
A portal into the original church where Mathais Seckinger was baptised in
1717
The ceiling of that original church
In front of the church was a sobering memorial. This memorial touched us
with the humanity--or lack thereof--of World War II.
From this small community 100 people were killed or were missing in action.
To approach these numbers on the U.S. side, one has to look at Bedford, Virginia
(another of my ancestral towns, Callaway) that suffered the heaviest proportional loss of any community during the European invasion. It was a reminder for us that when war comes,all are victims.
Or friend Kurt is from Schramberg, barely 10 miles away. His ancestors there,
including his ailing mother (since passed on), were Catholic. While it is
clear people left Säckingen and became known as Seckinger, when and
why remains shrouded in history--written in German.
Konstanz
August 1 found us heading a few km down to Waldshut (Forest
Hat) to catch a local train
Riding the train sitting across from each other carrying on a conversation
and getting local informational tidbits was fun. Coming into Konstanz, the
change from country to grand European city was evident. At the bahnhof we
quickly found a bus stop and headed to Minau Island--a Bellingrath Gardens
kind of place but 150 years old with a count in residence.
We had mittlegassen at an outdoor restaurant adjacent to the building where
John Huss was burned at the stake in 1415. Our waiter there was so rude,
it reminded me of how the church had reneged on the promise of safe passage
for Huss.
The Bodensee, often translated into English as the Lake of Constance,
has apple green clear water. I look down the long axis of this inland sea
and cannot see the other end. We later drove along that other end--in Austria.
That this is a small world was again demonstrated when we learned that young
man sitting across from us was from Columbus, Texas and was in Germany teaching
music. He was amazed that I knew of the architecturally significant courthouse
there--within which his father had worked.
Our last night in Görwihl
For our last evening in Görwihl, Kurt invited the neighbors, Joachim
and Rosemary, over. I think there were surprised to learn that most Americans
have a respect for General Rommel and little for Field Marshall Montgomery.
We had a very fine animated evening. I found I was able to follow there conversation
as they spoke German. I would jump in every now and then in English with
a modicum of French. We all had a great time. It was not this night, but
on another night Otmar and Patricia made us a Black Forest Cake that we all
ate with relish giving us a far more positive memory of the food than we ever
expected.
Bavaria (or more properly the state of Bayern)
A true adventure began for us on August 3. We headed off in a rental car
to Bavaria. The stories you have heard about the wonderful autobahns in Germany
were not from this region, at least not for the west to east direction. We
worked our way through traffic of substantial to go-slow mostly on 2-lane
roads with only some stretches of autobahn.
As soon as we arrived at our destination a hail storm hit. Fortunately our
rental car was not damaged even though some of the hail seemed as large as
eiskugel, er... ice cubes.
The next day we early found ourselves on the train to München (Munich).
The countryside was rife with green pastures--I saw 2 fawns. Our ticket for
anywhere in Bayern (the Happy Weekend Ticket), including the Munich underground,
was 40 DM. I cannot hope to adequately present this day unless I fully lift
that portion of my trip journal.
14:40 The contrasts of today are manifold. Wecken (awake) in a
nice hotel & drive to the Zug (train) for a ride through green pastures
to a world-renown city then to a town infamous throughout the universe. Now
in Bahnhof with musik. Turkish guys enjoy life in this snack bar. 16:58 On
board heading south in 2 more minutes. An attempt at shopping in Munich caused
discovery that shoppes close @ 1600 by law. I tried to look at pens, ink,
& paper in Karlstadt department store but was too rushed...
Betty took a photo of the memorial (at Dachau) that says in several languages
"Never Again." If only that were so! Where were we all during Pol Pot's regime
in Cambodia? The overrunning of UN-declared safe zones in Bosnia? Rwanda?
How is it that we define "Never Again?" Surely not for the Jews alone? Of
course they deserve peace and tranquility as do all peoples. Perhaps in the
current conflict, they forget that.
Scenes from Dachau
Two things struck me today. (1) Dachau, the concentration camp. The phrase
is too worn and near hackneyed status but it--Dachau--reflects man's inhumanity
to man. Even though the gas chamber built in the crematorium building was
never used for that purpose, when I walked through it I felt the force, the
chi, of all those dead, whether in that room shot, hanged, or elsewhere gassed,
or worked to death solely because they were who they were. At places like
this, we are all Jews. And, most importantly, we need to prepare to acknowledge
that fact when prejudice rears its Hell-born head.
A quotation on one of the museum panels today was from Heinrich Heine, 1820:
Das war ein Vorspiel nur; dort wo man Bücher verbrennt,
verbrennt man auch am Ende Menschen.
It is but a prelude; where books are burnt, humans will be burnt in the end.
Several times in Manau we visited a bakery and an exotic grocery store (another
A&P, one of 2 in that town) and had in-room dinners on the patio. From
that vantage we could hear two different church bells!
Not one to stay away from a bookstore, I finally succumbed and purchased
a German edition of Spengler's Decline of the West to stand beside my English
set. The salesperson said Spengler was difficult for her to read in German!
After a few days there we headed toward Zürich for our Wednesday departure.
I had earlier procured a room in a hotel where Goethe slept. On our drive
there we drove along the Austrian shore of the Bodensee. Austria currency
is quite different--gas was 18 and a fraction per liter.
In Bülach, Switzerland we toured the lovely town and brought some chocolate
for the folks in my office. The chocolatier spoke no English and had to recruit
friends off the street to translate. I was amazed that even a small arts
supply store had a full fountain pen counter.
Settled in our fourth floor room, we found the two windows provided good
cross ventilation for the non-air conditioned room on that hot night. But
as we prepared for bed, I began to wonder what effect the clock tower
one block away and line of sight out our window might have. My suspense was
short-lived. Not only did it ring out a tune each hour and then the hour
number twice in different frequencies, it rang every 15 minutes! Simply outrageous
at that decibel level. We survived and made it to breakfast in the Goethe
Room. It was lavishly (for me) decorated with wall painting of 18th century
aristocratic life. They I noticed something that had been growing in my subconscious--there
is no background music in most places we ate! For me the quiet was nearly
tomb-like. Quiet for me is wonderful in its place but there I felt some distraction was needed from the neighboring table's eating and talk.
After running a gauntlet of autobahn construction and Air France agents who
reminded us that the reputation of the French is earned, we were checked into
the Zürich airport. I think it was when I sent Eric an email from the
airport that I realized Daphne time must be about 3 AM! I date my jetleg
from that realization! After taking off through the roughest air I remember,
we were soon over France viewing manor house complexes. Upon our landing in
Paris, we at least got a glimpse of the distant Eiffel Tower. With the Air
France ground crew, that French thing kicked in again and we were buffeted
from pillar to post. Finally the only nice Air France gate agent
got us seats in the upper cabin of the 747.
This flight, like all journeys inside a metal tube that has the audacity to
leave the ground, was not that comfortable for me, but the seats in business
class made it far superior to others of late. Most interesting for me was
the route. We left the coast of France near Calais and flew north of London
across the Midlands. Although high in altitude I could still get a glimpse
of the small fields and fence rows. Liverpool passed and Ireland appeared.
With great interest I looked down upon the city of a great-great-great grandfather--Belfast.
As I looked though, a profound sadness overcame me as I thought of the legacy
and continuing violence there. It is so wrong-headed that I find myself forced
to renounce my Orange heritage. Peace brings peace; violence violence.
The GPS channel on our personal video screens soon showed us to be nearing
the southern tip of Greenland. Thick clouds prevented any view of the grand
island. Near this point either the scale of the map changed or the plane encountered the jet stream because our forward progress seemed to considerably slow.
To come were the glacial lakes of Labrador, Quebec, the St. Lawrence River,
the Hudson Valley, and finally the chicken houses of Gainesville, Georgia.
In Atlanta, my first pleasant experience was feeling the plane get safely
on the ground. But the second was splendid. After our Air France experience,
the U.S. Customs and agricultural inspection staffs were the nicest people
we had seen in over a week. And when I told them that, they said not many
people said that!
Our trip done we fell to our thought of it. So much so soon, so new so old.
For me our trip to Europe helped me see my country in a new light. These are
my observation of that difference:
- People in the U.S. and the Germany we visited are quite similar--we
are friends.
- We use far too much energy and recycle far too little
- The French deserve their reputation
- Home looks great
- We miss our friends already.
Any number of typos and odd HTML-caused spacing errors corrected June 22, 2002. More on July 20, 2002. Is it me or HTML? October 16, 2005 (It's me!)
Links updated and moved to Windstream from ZebraNet 8 June 2008
Created and edited on Netscape Composer, September
2001.
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