Just a single dim light burns outside what is probably the most famous harbour pub in history. It is not far to the jetties or the ships. Above the entrance hangs a sign bearing the name of the establishment: ‘Gasthaus zum Walfisch’. The narrow passageway leading into the pub is panelled in a way that is reminiscent of the ‘railing of an old ship’. Hanging on the wall is a huge painting, ‘thoroughly yellowed’ by the tobacco smoke of hundreds of sailors. Depicted in the oil painting is a sailing ship rounding Cape Horn in a terrible storm.
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Upon entering the bar, guests are transported to another world. Maritime decorations dangle from the ceiling, beside the doors, and everywhere else. A ‘barbaric arsenal of ancient clubs and spears’, lances, shells, harpoons. In the centre of the bar stand glass cases, ‘filled with dusty rarities gathered from the farthest corners of the world’. The floorboards creak. Sailors sit at the tables by candlelight or lean against the bar, above which a whale’s jawbone is nailed. And, of course: the beer flows freely, the glasses brimming with rum. The ‘Spouter-Inn’ in New Bedford, Massachusetts, run by Peter Coffin, has shaped our idea of a proper harbour pub like hardly any other establishment on the shores of the seven seas. Except that this rough-and-ready bar, brimming with salt-encrusted characters, doesn’t actually exist.
Herman Melville conjured up the dimly lit tavern in his immortal novel *Moby-Dick*. In Chapter 3, even before he sets off on his great sea voyage aboard the ‘Pequod’, the protagonist Ishmael ends up in this ominous pub – and is forced to spend his first night in one of the adjoining guest rooms with Queequeg, the harpooner covered in tattoos from head to toe.
So much for the story. And it has set a precedent – a sort of blueprint for countless pubs and pints situated by the water’s edge elsewhere in the world. For a long time, it almost seemed to have become a design imperative: as soon as a pub is near the sea, its décor follows the same pattern. Maritime paraphernalia fills the pubs, with shark teeth, anchors, plastic lobsters and every conceivable nautical trinket adorning the walls. You can find such harbour pubs pretty much everywhere between Hamburg and Hawaii. And on the German coast, too.
Why harbour pints still captivate us today
No sooner has a guest made their way to the bar than they are surrounded by nautical curiosities. Miniature lighthouses adorn the tables, three-masted ships the windowsills, and lifebuoys the stairs leading to the loo. As soon as you tilt your head back for your first aquavit, you spot the obligatory fishing net filled with starfish. The décor hangs elegantly from the ceiling, often adorned with buoys, flotsam and other bits and bobs.
It’s the cliché of the good old harbour pub come to life. Complete with a Freddy Quinn autograph card, a ship’s anchor in the front garden and a pirate’s sabre hanging above the cigarette machine. It makes you wonder: what effect does this sort of maritime décor have on you? Which deep-seated synapses are triggered when, over a beer, we suddenly find ourselves gazing at fish traps and stuffed deep-sea monsters?
There’s no doubt about it: the staged maritime atmosphere evokes a certain way of life. It’s as if the symbols of seafaring were speaking to us: ‘Hop on the next boat, lad, the wide world beckons beyond the horizon’ – here’s to the ships! Here’s to freedom!
Why the old seaside pubs are disappearing
Sailors, in particular, long enjoyed the pleasure of being able to head to a suitable pub after mooring, to spin a few tall tales over a few rounds. Between Kiel and Marstal, Büsum and Boltenhagen: A typical harbour pub was usually not far away – the walk from the boat to a beer was generally short enough to be able to stagger back again with confidence. Unfortunately, however, our quaint little pubs are slowly disappearing – and have now become a rarity in their own right.
In this age of interior design, cucumber smoothies and vegan food temples, the harbour pub – with its scent of rollmops and rum – certainly doesn’t have it easy. Instead, trendy beach bars and ultra-stylish beach cafés have taken root along the coast. Sunset lounges with panoramic windows, cocktail bars with chrome-plated patio heaters in the outdoor area. Guests no longer sit at the bar; they lounge in deckchairs. Instead of Hans Albers coming from the jukebox, there are remixes from the studio. And instead of clear schnapps, people are sipping rhubarb spritzers. A round of drinks for the whole pub and regulars’ tables with a ‘Herrengedeck’ are a thing of the smoke-filled past.
In fact, the decline of pubs is a very serious matter. The NDR reports: “More and more pubs in Schleswig-Holstein are closing down.” According to the Office for Statistics, around 38 per cent of traditional pubs closed down in the ten years leading up to 2023 alone. The main reasons cited are high energy and staff costs, the after-effects of the Covid-19 pandemic, excessive bureaucracy and changing leisure habits, with alcohol consumption on the decline. Many club pubs, pubs and traditional neighbourhood pubs have closed and continue to do so. Rural areas are particularly affected. And that includes the coastal regions as well.
Will we soon no longer be able to raise a glass to a shark’s bite? Will we never again be able to sit beneath a pufferfish turned into a lamp, whilst the waitress serves fried herring, beer and schnapps? Well, the truth is, these days you have to search for quite a while if you want to find a proper old harbour pub.
Wischhafen: A unique spot right on the River Elbe
In Wischhafen on the River Elbe, housed in a red-brick building, such a gem can still be found. The jetty is just a few steps away; a stylised anchor adorns the doorway, surrounded by the curving name: ‘Fährhaus Wischhafen’.
Then, in the little passageway leading to the bar, the sea seems to wash right up at you. On the left, a framed schooner; on the right, a sailor painted on the rafters; above it, an old street sign: ‘Auf der Reeperbahn at half past twelve at night’. Anyone opening the wooden door to the dining room had better be prepared. A Polynesian outrigger canoe sails beneath the ceiling, as if it were racing to cross paths with all the other curios: hanging above the guests’ heads is a smorgasbord of well-travelled trophies: diving helmets, navigation lanterns, sawfish, ship’s bells, portholes, telescopes, nautical charts, tortoise shells, paraffin lamps. And right in the middle, stuffed crocodiles.
Even before the first beer has been served, your eyes take in more and more exhibits. You’re surrounded by seafaring, fishing and tales of oceanic heroism. Here, the gaping maw of a monkfish looms; there, an old engine telegraph stands enthroned, whilst a bare-breasted figurehead stares at the guest from the bar. Next to it, on a sign, the flippant slogan: “In the event of a nuclear attack – keep calm, pay your bill, run.”
On a wooden plank above the corner table stands a full-scale model of the four-masted barque ‘Pamir’, whilst next to it stands the regulars’ table, upholstered in leather and featuring a built-in compass. The theme continues in this vein: ships in bottles, fishing cutters, modelled shrunken heads and oil paintings depicting sailing barges of every size – at the ‘Fährhaus’, the sea has left its cultural and historical mark wherever the eye falls.
Marc and Nicole Grünberg are the fifth generation to run the pub, which includes guest rooms and a large hall where captains and sailors used to dance. Since 1844 – and possibly much longer – the harbour pub has stood on the Süderelbe in Wischhafen, where barges and fruit boats once moored, where shipyards once thrived, and where the ferry to Glückstadt still departs. “These days, we have a mixed crowd,” says Nicole Grünberg. “Locals, tourists, cyclists and, of course, the sailors who moor right outside the door.” The cuisine is German, with a focus on fish, ranging from lobster cream soup to pan-fried cod fillet with mustard sauce. Marc Grünberg, chef, owner and skipper all rolled into one, also runs the small snack bar on the ferry to Glückstadt.
The Grünbergs can’t say exactly how many nautical souvenirs are scattered around the pub. “Too many to count.” Most of the items belong to his father and Marc Grünberg himself, collected over the last six decades. “In the old days, second-hand dealers used to come round and sell us bits and bobs,” he says. “We’ve also brought a lot back from our travels.” He points to the wall with the captain’s caps. “Professional sailors left these here when they were our guests.” This includes the blue cap from the USS “Iowa”, a former battleship of the US Navy. Its captain has also sat here before. After the last Helbing, he simply pressed the cap into Grünberg’s hand.
Everywhere, sailing ships float through the rooms, frigates stand in display cabinets, and half-models of old America’s Cup yachts hang on the walls. The ‘Fährhaus’ is undoubtedly one of the last of its kind: a splendid example of a harbour pub.
Glückstadt: A historic pub with harbour views
Across the way in Glückstadt, there is another pub where everything has a strong seaside and saltwater feel to it. Right by the inland harbour, where the yachts are moored, stands an old white house. A massive anchor adorns the façade, whilst a huge porthole marks the entrance to the pub. The pub is called ‘Zur Alten Oper’; within its walls, people have been gathering, eating, drinking and celebrating since 1657.
Part of the building was once used as a ballroom and theatre, and later as a clubhouse for the town’s upper classes. Since the 19th century, however, it has welcomed captains, fishermen and seafarers, which is why this historic pub describes itself as ‘one of the oldest harbour pubs in northern Germany’. For over 40 years, the Menssens ran the pub and turned it into a cult venue in Glückstadt. This was done with a distinct love of the sea: from their travels, the Menssens brought back countless maritime treasures, which now hang all over the pub.
A collection of sailing ships adorns the rooms, from the three-masted ship in the bottle to the elegant classic above the ballroom door. Not far away: lifebuoys, ship’s bells and sailors’ accordions. Alongside these are harpoons, draped next to the whaling gear of old whalers. Above the bar hang ship’s propellers and massive blocks from large sailing ships. In the dining room next door, amidst seafarers’ boots and rum casks, one can marvel at huge whale bones, tied together with thick ropes. All are still originals from the Menssens.
Four years ago, however, the Lindemann family took over the pub, carefully restored the old establishment – and preserved its rustic interior with a delicate touch. Owner Anke Lindemann is now the heart and soul of the “Alte Oper” and stands behind the bar herself until the last guest leaves. On top of that, there’s excellent cuisine, featuring both German and Italian dishes.
After sailing trips and regattas on the Elbe, sailors regularly drop in, as do the locals from Glückstadt and guests from all over the world. And at Neptun: the sea isn’t just served up on their plates here. A ship’s wheel hangs by the staircase leading down to the toilets; upstairs, a pipe-smoking Hans Albers gazes down into the dining areas, whilst a two-metre-long tuna glides through the bar area above the bar stools. Even the red engine telegraph still works. It stands at the bottom of the stairs; Anke Lindemann rings it every time someone buys a round for the whole bar.
Seafaring as a narrative, wind and waves as tireless storytellers. The pull of the sea silently captivates the guests as they sit chatting away over their beers. Fortunately, the ‘Alte Oper’ on the Elbe has also remained what it has been for over 300 years: a genuine old harbour pub.
Where you can still find proper harbour pubs along the coast
However, there don’t seem to be all that many such establishments left. The general decline of pubs is gradually sweeping away these seaside haunts along our coasts. Here and there, though, real treasure troves still open up as you step through the doors into the drinking rooms.
The “Treffpunkt Kaiserhafen” at the Old Banana Pier is one such blissful spot, known as “the last pub before New York”. In this sailors’ pub in Bremerhaven, diving suits adorn the main room, alongside echo sounders, radio sets, navigation lights and radar equipment. Several engine telegraphs are mounted on the bar, from which the beer flows.
In Cuxhaven, situated on the quays where professional sailors moor, ‘Die kleine Kneipe’ is regarded as one of the oldest seafarers’ haunts on the North Sea. Meanwhile, in Stralsund on the Baltic Sea, the pub ‘Zur Fähre’ is still going strong. According to the owner, this is not only the oldest pub in the town, but also one of the oldest harbour pubs in Europe. The pub was first mentioned in a document in 1332, at that time still known as ‘Taberna opud passagium’.
And, thanks to Poseidon, a brisk breeze still blows through these pubs to this day. Pretty little boats on the shelves, ceramic sea dogs behind the curtains. Submarine photos hang on the walls, trawlers ploughing through metre-high waves. Meanwhile, at the bar, it’s the usual scene: melted candles dripping onto old rum bottles, fishing nets, buoys. After the last shot, you just have to be careful not to sweep any of the beauties off their feet in the harbour pubs. The sailing ships that cruise through the late nights under full sail.
Are the old harbour pubs simply places that are disappearing, or is a piece of coastal culture vanishing along with them? Please feel free to share your thoughts in the comments.
