Switzerland's Clone & the Rickety Cessna
Expect the Unexpected
My German friend Petra continued to drive us around the State of Saxony in her little white Opel Corsa car, which we aptly named the “Speedmobile” because of its propensity to collect speeding tickets. With the skill of a pro, Petra maneuvered the Speemobile through Dresden’s morning traffic before exiting the freeway ramp onto the A17/B172, headed southeast toward the Elbe Sandstone Mountains and the Czech border. A short 19-mile (30 km) dash down the freeway and we were at our destination: The Saxon Switzerland National Park.
The Saxon SWITZERLAND National Park? Switzerland? By my estimation, we were a stone's throw from the German-Czech border. Either my internal compass had become discombobulated, or Switzerland had expanded its international borders. It appeared that my befuddled compass was 400 miles off base, and it was in serious need of recalibration. What happened?
The confusion actually began in 1766 when two Swiss teachers, Adrian Zingg and Anton Graff, joined the staff at the Dresden Academy of Art. Their shared passion for painting landscapes led them on many hiking expeditions throughout the scenic Elbe Sandstone Mountains with their paint brushes and easels in tow.
I envision the Swiss artists leaving the Academy of Art together on a Friday afternoon and walking over to Dresden’s popular Schlösschen Brewery to drink a couple of steins of ale, eat some bratwurst, and plan their next paint-and-trek around the Elbe Sandstones. One stein of ale led them to another.
The Brewery’s adjoining dancehall sprang to life when the musicians set the stage by playing two ultra-modern partner dances, the ländler and the allemande. It was a daring action, as certain schools of thought considered “partner dancing” to be risque and inappropriate. The music could be heard throughout the entire establishment, providing pleasant background sound and entertainment for all of the other patrons as well. According to custom, Schlösschen rolled out their oak barrels of specialty ale, and more people continued to arrive for the Friday evening festivities.
Zingg and Graff were in top form!
Zingg slapped his left arm across Graff’s shoulder and inquired, “Graff, have you noticed the Elbe Sandstones look a lot like the Jura Mountains back home in Switzerland?
Slightly bleary-eyed, Graff gazed off into the distance, recalling the mountains of his youth. He held a tobacco pipe in his right hand and a stein of ale in his left. “Hmmm,” he slowly replied and nodded. “Yes, yes, they do. You’re right! The Elbes do look a lot like the Juras.”
Zingg laughed, a deep, hearty laugh. “It’s just like Switzerland is in the State of Saxony, Germany. Let’s call the Elbe Sandstone area ‘Saxon Switzerland.’”
At first, Graff nodded his head in agreement and repeated the name, “Saxon Switzerland. I like the sound of that. Saxon Switzerland it is.” But, on second thought, he had a few reservations about the new name. “Hold on! Isn’t this misleading? Travelers will get the impression they are near the German-Swiss border. We both know it takes several WEEKS by stagecoach to get to Switzerland from Saxony. . . provided the road conditions are good. ”
Zingg’s nose and cheeks were flushed, tell-tale signs he was getting soused with Schlösschen’s specialty ale. His voice reflected his exuberance, “Precisely, Graff! That’s the fun of it. From this time on into the future, people will be utterly confounded by the area being named Saxon Switzerland.” Zingg speculated, “Just imagine, Graff, by the 21st century, there COULD BE two million visitors a year to Saxon Switzerland.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice to a whisper, “Hundreds of thousands of people will be totally bamboozled because we — you and I— named the area Saxon SWITZERLAND. They will be looking at their maps, they will be checking and rechecking their compasses, and they will be trying to figure out if they took a WRONG TURN and went to Switzerland by mistake.” Zingg was enthralled with his ale-induced predictions.
Graff smoked his tobacco pipe while he contemplated the scenario Zingg described. He deduced that he and Zingg would be the only people to ever call the area Saxon Switzerland. However, it was amusing to think about how far this notion could go if it actually caught on. “Hmmm,” he nodded to acknowledge the preposterous magnitude of Zingg’s speculation, “Millions of people in the 21st century will surely be confused!”
The Swiss artists burst out laughing, raised their beer steins, and clanked them together in a toast, “To Saxon Switzerland and all its future visitors — may their compasses keep them on track.”
The name DID stick, and two million people visit Saxon Switzerland National Park annually. Surely, I’m not the first nor the last to have a moment of geographic disorientation when I encountered the park’s rather misleading name.
Arriving at The Saxon Switzerland National Park, Petra and I had our choice of 163 hiking trails that spanned 250 miles (400 km) throughout the Elbe Sandstone Mountains. It was a tough decision, but our plan to eat lunch in the famous Berg Bastei Hotel dining room overlooking the Elbe River narrowed the option down to the premier attraction in the entire park: the Bastei Bridge. A short fifteen-minute hike, and we would be there.
Several of the secondary paths that intersected the main pathway to the Bastei Bridge were narrow and crossed deep gorges, flanked on both sides by towering monolithic sandstone pillars. I was seized with an overwhelming temptation to capture a photo of every unusual rock formation — which ultimately was EVERY rock formation.
Fortunately, I conquered my fear of heights over 30 years ago when, in a moment of sheer insanity, a friend and I decided to skydive in the desert near Palm Springs, California. I have often heard people say they would NEVER jump out of a perfectly good airplane!
As I recall, I felt much SAFER jumping out of that rickety old Cessna plane than I did about the prospect of staying in it! Given my choice between the parachute or that bucket of bolts Cessna, the chute won my vote of confidence!
Out the door I went, spread eagle formation, falling like a dead-weight at 120 mph toward the desert below, hoping and praying that chord and flimsy piece of fabric really would function the way they were supposed to.
Keep in mind I was plummeting toward the ground at 120 mph! If I drove my car that fast, I’d land myself in a jail cell! The air was so cold up there in the blue yonder that it was like jumping into a Northern Canadian lake during the spring thaw. It took my breath away - or perhaps that was overwhelming fear? The voracious wind caught my cheeks, blew them up with air, and made them flap like flags on a blustery day. The wind pulled my lips back until every tooth in my mouth was exposed, and my cheeks continued their incessant FLAPPING. My nose started running somewhere along the way, but I wasn’t aware of it until a long trail of snot caught up with me after I landed.
Yes, the parachute did open. No, I have never gone skydiving again.
That experience tamed my fear of heights.
Since I left my fear of heights in the desert near Palm Springs, California, I could comfortably walk the elevated connecting pathways and stop at the overhanging scenic lookouts surrounding the Bastei Bridge.
The original wooden Bastei Bridge was built in 1824. It connected the rock formations to create a walkway that was 76.5 meters long (250 feet) and had seven supportive archways. The bridge was built specifically for tourists to enjoy the beauty of the Elbe Sandstones and the surrounding area. The bridge attracted so many tourists that the wooden structure was replaced in 1851 by the more durable sandstone bridge that is still in use today. The Bastei Bridge is open 24 hours a day, 365 days a year to the public, and it offers panoramic views of the entire surrounding area.
With its unsurpassed beauty, unique rock formations, and hiking trails for every fitness level, the Saxon Switzerland National Park is one of Germany’s most popular tourist destinations. It also, coincidently, does not have a high profile outside of its immediate area.
What could top our morning at the Bastei Bridge better than a fabulous lunch at the elegant Berg Bastei Hotel dining room overlooking the Elbe River?
When Petra and I started the day in her white Opel Corsa “speedmobile,” I didn’t expect to visit a clone of Switzerland on the German/Czech border. Nor did I expect to climb to scenic vistas and follow up with a superb meal with a panoramic view of the Elbe River. I must have been caught off guard that day because I usually expect the unexpected.
Beautiful pictures, Lois. Seems like a fun adventure.
Looks like you're having quite a time of it! Keep on trucking!