Rostock and the Woods

Thursday, August 25, 2016  Neugraben, Germany

On Wednesday we went by train to Rostock, the main Baltic Sea port of East Germany, a country from 1945-90.  Today, we walked around the woods near Neugraben, this Hamburg suburb in which we have a few more days.  Years ago, even months ago, I did not think I would see such sights as I saw these past two days.

Since West and East Germany merged in 1990 to become Germany, Rostock's population has declined from about 260 000 to about 200 000, due to its port becoming less busy; but there is still a port, and tourism seems to be a new and growing industry.  The beautiful sandy beach several kilometres long, about  20 km north of the city, boasted many bathers, and many walked along the road of shops of many types, to the breakwater, rock-supported fingers that stretch into the sea for a kilometre to keep the waves down on shore.



Pleasure boats,  yachts, ferries, and the biggest cruise ship I ever saw were floating, colorful sights on the warm, sunny day we visited.

The train station is modern and clean.  The old city, whose university began in 1419, among Europe's oldest, is a maze of glamorous streets, some with names that reflect East Germany, the socialist country that was here:  Rosa Luxemburg, Bebel, Gotha.  There also remain statues that show the distant or recent past:  a rowboat holding three people, a statue of a little girl holding flowers.

The railway from Hamburg to Rostock went through smaller places, the biggest of which was Schwerin.  I noticed many empty buildings along the tracks, especially close to the train stations, but people getting on and off at the many stops call this or that place home.  History is longer than the post-1945 era that dominated my youth:  Danes, Swedes, and later the Renaissaince-era Hanseatic League ruled Rostock.  This city, this country, can hold much history, and much life now.

Life near here includes the forest less than a kilometre from where I type this, in a Hamburg suburb after a relaxing day walking in the woods.  One might imagine what humans have done over the centuries in those woods, but here I mostly note what they do there now, and what the woods do regardless of humans.

People live in these woods, along roads no bigger than wagon trails in the Canadian Cariboo, where I live.  There are street signs, direction signs toward train stations, a museum, and other streets, and a burial mound more than 3 000 years old.  People have lived here for a long time.

How long has the heather been here?  Fields up to a kilometre long and half that wide are full of millions of small, light purple flowers topping plants up to 50 centimetres tall.  Trees such as I do not see in Canada, this heather that is older than I care to guess, this shady forest in today's hot sun, made me peaceful, patient, and happy.  All this will outlive me, but I was privileged to see it, to try to see myself as part of nature.

Trees, heather, and Rostock people consume something to survive, as did we, after our forest walk today:  1.20 Euro hot dogs from the kiosk in Kaufland, the main grocery store in this suburb.  A hot dog, and a couple unpronounceable but delightful pastries on one of my last days in Germany sweetened my growing memories of here.  I eat in German better than I read what I eat in German.