If we’re in Germany, the first thing that ought to be sought out is good bread. Germans are famous for it, the range is enormous with every grain imaginable. The breads are dense and heavy, no French baguette fluff here, but they’re oh so tasty.
Our search takes us into the village, through the pretty gardens in red and purple flower and full of fat fuzzy bumbles, up the hill, past the ancient palace dating back to 1080. We’re on a mission though, and a bit palaced out after yesterday. Still though, it’s a pretty view from the top of the hill overlooking the gardens and the village beyond.
The bakery is found and I dust off my German and impress Chris by ordering the type of bread I want, two different types of Danish, asking for the loaf to be sliced and telling him how much to pay. Turns out I’m useful after all.
The rest of the village is quite pretty, winding down the hill, back to the gardens.
Freeways beckon us north, stopping only for lunch and to buy Chris’s bodyweight in German sausages, we drive for most of the afternoon. The drive is flanked by acres of corn, grain and potato crops. Further north, these are replaced with apple and cherry orchards and strawberry fields. We’re clearly in Germany’s food bowl.
We end the day just outside of Hamburg, in a spot by the river. A late coffee ends the day, high on a levy, apple orchards on one side, moored yachts on the other. The day ends in a glorious sunset .
The danish prove excellent, light as a feather, marzipan and apple, each with a hint of drizzled lemon icing. Yum.