Mirror, mirror on the wall, who is the most beautiful in the whole country? The dispute between Magdeburg and Halle over the sceptre of the more culturally attractive, more liveable and lovable, more architecturally distinctive and, and, and... city is at least (!) as old as Martin Luther's 95 theses on the portal of Wittenberg Castle Church. We will leave this perennial issue of envy and jealousy between the two largest cities in Saxony-Anhalt uncommented. Instead, we are interested in where we can best dock in Halle and explore the city's highlights by the shortest route. "How about," Gaby points to the river map, "the city harbour?" "Sounds good," I reply and step on the gas.
Remnants of days gone by in Halle an der Saale
Forest, rolling hills and meadows with spotted cattle and sheep come into view. From time to time, a Lilliputian village showers tranquilly and at river kilometre 83, the rugged rather than dizzyingly high rock formations of the Brachwitz Alps bear witness to volcanic prehistoric activity. Three quarters of an hour "behind" the fire-breathing legacy, the Halle-Trotha lock lifts us towards the city centre. While Giebichenstein Castle, the oldest princely seat on the banks of the Saale, disappears into the stern water and the city of around 240,000 inhabitants lives up to its reputation as the largest green space in Germany, Gaby browses the website of the city's tourist information centre. "That's cool," she announces, "there's a big tram museum here. You can not only look at the oldies. You can also take them on city tours. The next tour starts tomorrow at 11am."
In the epicentre of the former Hanseatic city of Halle
20 minutes later, our Tarpon is moored next to the replica of a historic coffee barge in Halle's city harbour. It's only a few minutes by bike from the jetty to the historic centre. We set off, cross the Saale and Mühlengraben rivers, take a look at the bronze city celebrities at the Göbelbrunnen fountain and then reach the market square, the epicentre of the former Hanseatic city. The architectural landmark is the late Gothic market church. With its four towers, it was intended to be a Catholic manifesto against Martin Luther's supposed heresy. The Marktschlösschen, the Red Tower, the Goldsolebrunnen, a symbol of the city's once well-filled treasury, and the monument to Frederick Handel all stand in close proximity. Speaking of Frederick Handel: the most famous Baroque composer after Johann Sebastian Bach was born on 23 February 1685 not far from the Marktkirche. We take a look at the house where he was born, fortify ourselves with coffee and cake in the in-house café and then cycle on to the State Museum of Early History.
The treasure of the Geiseltalsee
This somewhat dusty-sounding institution is one of the top ten Central European museums. The oldest exhibits look back on around 420,000 years of the earth's history, while the most recent is an alchemist's kitchen from the 16th century. The jewel in the crown of the museum's treasures, however, is the Nebra Sky Disc. On the plate-sized bronze disc, which weighs around two kilograms, a golden celestial barque appears to glide through the star-studded expanses of the cosmos. The significance of this - estimated - 3600-year-old, repeatedly reworked precious object for the existence and development of mankind at that time, whether it was a kind of map of the heavens, a holy grail or "just" something like the orb of a tribal prince, has not yet been clarified with absolute certainty. However, its journey to the museum was a real thriller. Two dubious amateur treasure hunters found it in 1999 about 20 kilometres southwest of Lake Geiseltal. The disc did not bring them luck or riches. On the contrary, their handcuffs clicked in the toilet of a luxury hotel in Basel when they tried to sell the disc. The duo ended up in front of the judge. And the archaeological sensation ended up where it belonged in terms of the museum's understanding of antiquities research: in a theft-proof exhibition case. Incidentally, UNESCO honoured the find as a World Documentary Heritage Site in 2013.
On the final spurt to Merseburg
"Now it's getting sporty," Gaby oracles, "it's still a long way to Merseburg. Will we make it today?" To cut a long story short: It's 3 p.m., we had a great meal in the student quarter of the old town last night, the city tour through Halle today in a 50-year-old tram was great, as was the visit to the tram museum, but now we're running out of time. Although we have already passed the Gimritz and Halle-Stadt locks, there are still 20 kilometres of river and three boat lifts between the 130-year-old harbour railway bridge in front of the bow of our tarpon and our destination for the day. In the first, the Böllberg lock on Rabeninsel, the bottom gate is open - thank Neptune - and we are in the upper water in no time at all. The lock keeper is also a good guy. He listens to our problem, nods and picks up the phone: "Greetings from Merseburg," he says, "my colleague there is on duty until 7 pm. You can manage that!"
Great Britain is the motherland of rowing. With the start of the first eight-man race between the universities of Oxford and Cambridge, the sport of rowing became socially acceptable among the competitive Brits and the regattas became a glamorous meeting place for high society. Seven years later, the water activity spilled across the English Channel to Hamburg. In 1874, the Nelson Rowing Club was founded in Halle. This paved the way for a sport that not only brought the rowing associations in Saxony-Anhalt 18 Olympic gold medals and 24 world championship titles, but also, in the spirit of Friedrich Schiller's "Früh übt sich" ("Practice early"), allowed them to drum up new blood. And so a good dozen talented youngsters are cavorting around a few beats behind the upper gate of the Böllberg lock. We stop, the coach in the motorboat delegates the kids towards the shore, we give a friendly greeting and accelerate. "Ahoy", he wishes us ... and have fun on the Saale.
We only have this to a limited extent in the Planena lock. We are still well on time, but somehow the remote-controlled equipment doesn't want to do what we want it to do. A phone call to the lock keeper in Merseburg solves the problem. "Great," Gaby points to the river on the way out, "the water is super clear. You can see right to the bottom." Of course, that wasn't always the case. In the 1960s, Ulbricht's propagated superiority of socialism over the class enemy fuelled a chemical industry that led to apocalyptic environmental disasters in the following years (not only) in Bitterfeld, Leuna and Schkopau. Malicious tongues even claim that all you had to do was dip an exposed analogue film into the Saale and it would have developed by itself as if by magic.
The mother of all Central German cities
The bells of Merseburg Cathedral wake us up at 8 o'clock sharp the next morning. The sky is cloudless. The onboard thermometer shows 17° C. We have breakfast and make our way up the steps of the small cathedral provostry into the medieval heart of the city. Proudly and confidently, the - as it likes to call itself - mother of all Central German cities rolls out the red carpet for us to its magnificent Gothic cathedral, its Renaissance castle, the parks and the historic parliament building.
After a proper inspection of the architectural gems, we sit on the terrace of the "Eisheimisch" café and fill our calorie stores with cherry crumble and Swedish apple tart. "How about a trip to the Geiseltalsee?" asks Gaby. We nod, hoist our bikes off the bike - we're pros at this by now - and pedal along the Alte Heerstraße towards Nebra. After 14 kilometres flanked by meadows and fields, the view sweeps over the vineyards (!) of the largest lake in central Germany.
For 300 years, shovels and later excavators mined the gigantic lignite deposits in the Geiseltal. And transformed the region into a desolate moonscape. With the fall of communism came the end of coal. A good 65 million cubic metres of overburden were moved in the course of the renaturation, 700 hectares of the unsavoury open-cast mining remains were landscaped, 100 kilometres of railway tracks were dismantled and the terrain was finally flooded with Saale water for eight (!) years. The result is the Geiseltalsee, 18.4 square kilometres "large", with playas, boat hire companies, surf schools, two marinas and the "Goldener Steiger" ostrich restaurant.
"Take a seat," Rolf Reifert welcomes us and points to one of the free wooden tables. We sit down, study the winemaker's wine list, order Riesling, onion tart and cheese platter. "Cheers," I raise my glass. "What are we drinking to?" asks Gaby. "To our Saale cruise?" "Of course!" "And," she grins, "to Till." She says, rummages in her daypack and pulls out - no, no, dear readers, I'm not pulling your leg - a black and yellow painted Eulenspiegel incense smoker. "Purchased in Bernburg. As a souvenir for my neighbours. Because they always look after my cat so nicely." Oh, Gaby - it flashes through my mind - does good Till deserve this?
