He was probably the cheekiest prankster of all time. Erich Kästner and Georg Hauptmann created a literary monument to him. Deutsche Post honoured him with a special stamp and the Federal Ministry of Finance in Berlin, which is not exactly known as a joker, even gave him a commemorative coin. We are talking about Till Eulenspiegel. But did the prankster actually live? Or did he not exist at all? Was he just a figment of our imagination? Was he a kind of moralising pointer finger that poked fun at the abuses of the time? For the town of Bernburg in Saxony-Anhalt, the question is academic. It swears by Emperor Otto the Great and its 1,000-year-old foundation charter, which states that around 700 years ago, the Schlawiner was a tower guard in the service of the lord of the castle. But instead of fulfilling his duties, Eulenspiegel raised the alarm blindly, sicced his employer on supposed robbers, laughed his head off and unabashedly emptied the princely table. The scene of the crime, the keep of the Renaissance castle perched high on a sandstone cliff above the Saale, has been known as the Eulenspiegelt Tower ever since. And today it is probably the most effective PR ambassador for the town of 32,000 inhabitants.
Cast off in Bernburg: a tribute to nature
Saturday 10am. We arrived in Bernburg yesterday, took a look at the historic centre, enjoyed black beer goulash with apple red cabbage and butter spaetzle in an almost 400-year-old brewery and are now climbing up the castle keep. At the top, in Eulenspiegel's former parlour, the eye wanders over the Saale, 40 metres below. On the left bank, a former paper factory is a reminder of the heyday of industrialisation. On the right bank, where the traditional Barlay Circus is currently pitching its tents, Boris Funda launched a boat hire business in 2017. Demand increased, as did the demand for the boats, and the enterprising water sports entrepreneur now has eight floating holiday homes from Les Canalous and Locaboat for hire in addition to rowing and paddle boats.
"Your boat," he points to a brand new Tarpon 37 DP, "is ready to go. We take care of the formalities, move into our cabins, bunker our provisions in the galley and leave Eulenspiegel and her castle in the Achterwasser. The first few kilometres are a tribute to nature. With a coffee in one hand and the steering wheel in the other, we meander through a floodplain forest characterised by elms and ash trees. Grey herons do the honours on the banks, anglers greet us from time to time and birds of prey demonstrate their acrobatic hunting skills.
Shore leave with legends
After 13 kilometres of river, the railway bridge of the former Bebitz-Alsleben steam locomotive line comes into view and with it the Alsleben lock. After a call to the lock control centre in Bernburg, the person on duty lifts us four metres higher into the upper water at the click of a mouse. "How about a bike tour?" asks Gaby on the way out. "Good idea," I reply and point to the small Fischer shipyard on the right bank of the Saale. "There seem to be free berths there". We enquire, the overnight stay including sanitary facilities costs 15 euros. Gaby puts the tarpon on the line, we lift the bikes off the boat and make our way to Plötzkau Castle. The Saale cycle path follows the historic shipping town of Alsleben with its Hanseatic-looking brick houses and after just under 10 kilometres we reach the rustic aristocratic residence. However, the count's lords were not very happy with the property back then. Legend has it that one of the counts stole a miraculous horn from the magical dwarves in the nearby Auenwald forest. The dwarves were boiling with rage and wished death and the devil on the thief. Which probably worked...
In the land of castles and palaces
Saxony-Anhalt is proud of its castles and palaces. According to Wikipedia, there are around 1,000 aristocratic residences. So it's no surprise that 20 kilometres downstream from Alsleben lock, Wettin Castle opens the next chapter in the history of Saxony-Anhalt's manor houses. We reach the fortified gem the next day in the early afternoon. Gaby at the helm of the Tarpon heads for the Wettin boat service jetty. "Welcome," Armin Brade greets us, takes the lines and invites us into his office for a coffee. There we learn a lot about the ancestral seat of the Wettin landgraves, the upcoming castle festival in the park next to the ferry and about himself: "Under Honecker," he says, "I travelled all over the world as a fully qualified seaman on GDR bulk carriers. At the end of September 1990, we were in the harbour of Buenos Aires on the MS Brandenburg. The Unification Treaty came into force on 3 October. We picked up the hammer and sickle and flew the black, red and gold flag. "And what happened next? When were you back in Germany?" I ask. Armin laughs. "When we arrived in Rostock at the beginning of 1991, the regional authorities of the workers' and peasants' state were history. I no longer lived in the GDR district of Halle, but in the federal state of Saxony-Anhalt. And the Rostock pastor Joachim Gauck was already travelling as a special representative in matters relating to Stasi legacies."
