Travelling can always be much more rewarding if it can be endowed with some sort of purpose. This is not to say, of course, that there is necessarily always some sort of grand, altruistic, or even self-fulfilling aspect in travelling --- but turning a possibly mundane outing to another mundane place into a spiritual quest to an extraordinary place at least makes you feel like you are doing something in your life, rather than living off your parents' largesse and working occasionally as you flit about the world sampling the wide range of mouth-watering kepabs this planet has to offer.
But, having previously been denied by fate entry into Amsterdam -- a place that, for my purposes and conceptions at least, continues to not exist -- I set out upon another quest, this time to a place that does not exist for the purposes and conceptions of anyone else either. If you are confused by the incoherency of the previous sentence, then you are not alone -- I am as well, so I shall do my best to elucidate the destination of my quest.
My goal was the German city of Paderborn and specifically, one of its outlying villages: Wewer. Now, when questioning a German citizen as to the theoretical existence or non-existence of Paderborn, most Germans will inform the foreign sojourner that Paderborn, in fact, does not exist. Munich exists (even if most Germans don't like Munich unless they're from there), Berlin exists (and everyone likes it even if they're not from there), Hamburg exists, as do more entertainingly named places like Mönchengladbach and Garmischpartenkirchen.
But Paderborn, as Germans seem to claim steadfastedly, does not exist. There is nothing personal nor dehumanizing in their refusal to recognize the ontological or metaphysical existence of Paderborn. In fact, it's not really about Paderborn at all, it's about the neigbouring industrial city of Bielefeld. You see, Bielefeld is reputed to be so dull, boring, and uninteresting, that its place on the map is taken to be a massive void. And thus, by logical extension, we must also conclude that its nearest neighbour, Paderborn, must also be so frightfully dull, boring, and unexciting that it surely cannot exist outside of any sort of difficult philosophical precept. And so to this void of nebulous non-existence, I bought a train ticket.
But, having previously been denied by fate entry into Amsterdam -- a place that, for my purposes and conceptions at least, continues to not exist -- I set out upon another quest, this time to a place that does not exist for the purposes and conceptions of anyone else either. If you are confused by the incoherency of the previous sentence, then you are not alone -- I am as well, so I shall do my best to elucidate the destination of my quest.
My goal was the German city of Paderborn and specifically, one of its outlying villages: Wewer. Now, when questioning a German citizen as to the theoretical existence or non-existence of Paderborn, most Germans will inform the foreign sojourner that Paderborn, in fact, does not exist. Munich exists (even if most Germans don't like Munich unless they're from there), Berlin exists (and everyone likes it even if they're not from there), Hamburg exists, as do more entertainingly named places like Mönchengladbach and Garmischpartenkirchen.
But Paderborn, as Germans seem to claim steadfastedly, does not exist. There is nothing personal nor dehumanizing in their refusal to recognize the ontological or metaphysical existence of Paderborn. In fact, it's not really about Paderborn at all, it's about the neigbouring industrial city of Bielefeld. You see, Bielefeld is reputed to be so dull, boring, and uninteresting, that its place on the map is taken to be a massive void. And thus, by logical extension, we must also conclude that its nearest neighbour, Paderborn, must also be so frightfully dull, boring, and unexciting that it surely cannot exist outside of any sort of difficult philosophical precept. And so to this void of nebulous non-existence, I bought a train ticket.
HISTORICAL INTERLUDE: Just to add slightly more to the general incoherency of everything on this page, let me leave this interesting thread of speculation on existence/non-existence issues, and transport all of us to the Ukraine of the 1940's. (Who saw this coming?)
Our historical interlude picks up in the small farming town of Adelsheim, not far from the banks of the mighty Dniepr River. There, years of Stalinist policies have contrived to turn the Ukraine, the breadbasket of Europe, into a famine zone. Worse still, purges launched in the 1930's against a wide range of potential, fantasy, or purely non-existent (see, we haven't completely left the thread!) enemies by our great Comrade Stalin have depopulated a large amount of Russia, turned neighbour against neighbour, and left everyone cowering in fear from the '10pm knock on the door from the men in the black car'. Add to this mix the greatest land battle in history between the Nazis and the Soviets, and you end up with a pretty crappy place to live.
Our protagonists of the story are the Wiebes: Paterfamilias purged in 1937 (sentenced to contribute to socialism by building a canal in Russia's frozen north before being rewarded for his efforts with a bullet in the head -- an end enjoyed by millions of Soviet citizens in those days), the family is forced to flee the chaos of WW II and make their way to Germany. Staying just ahead of the advancing Red Army, the family finally reaches the village of Wewer, in our non-existent Paderborn, at the end of the war. There, at the baron's castle, the family works with several other DP (displaced persons) families on the land. By this time, of course, the war is already over, the division of post-war Germany is being solidified, and new homes for millions of Eastern European refugees are being sought.
For ex-Soviet citizens, however, the war is not yet over. In a profound concession to Stalin, Western leaders Churchill and Truman grant Red Army units permission to comb through Germany's western sector in a search for escapees from the Soviet Union. But for the 'white lies' told by the castle's baron, the Wiebes, like so many other unfortunate ex-Soviet citizens, would have ended up on a direct army truck back to Russia and a life of 'volunteer settlement' in the farthest, coldest reaches of Siberia or Kazakhstan.
....In case none of you have figured out the rather quite obvious already, you will have realized that the Wiebes are indeed my family, and that one of the daughters, Maria, is my grandmother. (And yes, Grandma, I realize that there are probably quite a few historical inaccuracies in this report --- I should have reviewed Aunt Anna's book beforehand...)
END OF HISTORICAL INTERLUDE....
So yes, out of a quest to see where my grandmother hid during the end of the war, and where she was protected from marauding Red Army troops after the war, I set out on Deutsche Bahn, with Turkish newspaper in hand, to a place that apparently does not exist.
My arrival at Paderborn Hauptbahnhof upon my sacred quest was not met with great fanfare, much to my shock and amazement. Stepping out, I was met by a rather dullish city, of medium size, somewhat industrial, somewhat unhistorical, somewhat rather bland, somewhat not ugly (not enought to be interesting anyway), and somewhat nebulous --- so nebulous in fact, that I was unable to pass judgment as to its reputed non-existence.
I have always been of the opinion that for any quest to take on quest-like status, one must walk several kilometres before reaching the final target, the better to feel a sense of accomplisment (getting lost along the way certainly adds to the sense of accomplishment also). Arriving at your hallowed destination in the form of motorized transport is about exciting as discovering the Colosseum with 10,000 other ice-cream eating foreign tourists after taking a two minute taxi ride from the nearby metro stop. While the site might be awe-inspiring, the mode of discovering certainly is not.
So, with Paderborn's finest ale in my bag, I set off in the direction of Wewer Castle. I would like to add something here about how spiritual the walk turned out, that it was conducted while negotiating treacherous mountain passes and whatnot, but it was most certainly not. Given a reputed non-existence due to its dullness, boringness, and general non-excitment inducingness (to coin a new word), I was not shocked to discover that the outskirts of Paderborn had been badly deformed by the blight of big boxstores: Big boxstores with huge yellow façades, with big, huge discounts on huge yellow things for your home, followed by other big boxstores selling equally unknown but equally large items with which to adequately decorate your home.
Resisting the urge to purchase some large patio chair sets, I continued on through the fields towards the village of Wewer, negotiating my way across the 'mighty and raging' Alme River (I have been amazed at what constitutes a river in Germany: The smallest, driest brook always warrents some sort of name-plaque to inform the tresspasser that, yes, indeed, this is a river --- as if a failure to announce the fact might lead everyone to realize that a trickling ditch of water is indeed not a river...) My eventual arrival revealed no castle, but only row upon row of immaculately, annoyingly and anally-kept front gardens. ....But to spare everyone some sort of Kafkaesque tale about how I never actually reached the castle, I shall cut to the point and inform you, tired readers, that I indeed did.... more or less...
Alas, the picture below is the closest I could approach, after being dutifully and bureaucratically informed by the groundskeeper in fairly plain terms that I was permitted to advance as far as the signpost, but no further...
So, in contrast to trying to reach Amsterdam, I succeeded in reaching the hallowed Schloss Wewer. I brav
ed a day long jaunt through several dimensions of non-existence, drank local Paderborner beer, and lived to tell about it....
A successful day, in other words....
So yes, out of a quest to see where my grandmother hid during the end of the war, and where she was protected from marauding Red Army troops after the war, I set out on Deutsche Bahn, with Turkish newspaper in hand, to a place that apparently does not exist.
My arrival at Paderborn Hauptbahnhof upon my sacred quest was not met with great fanfare, much to my shock and amazement. Stepping out, I was met by a rather dullish city, of medium size, somewhat industrial, somewhat unhistorical, somewhat rather bland, somewhat not ugly (not enought to be interesting anyway), and somewhat nebulous --- so nebulous in fact, that I was unable to pass judgment as to its reputed non-existence.
I have always been of the opinion that for any quest to take on quest-like status, one must walk several kilometres before reaching the final target, the better to feel a sense of accomplisment (getting lost along the way certainly adds to the sense of accomplishment also). Arriving at your hallowed destination in the form of motorized transport is about exciting as discovering the Colosseum with 10,000 other ice-cream eating foreign tourists after taking a two minute taxi ride from the nearby metro stop. While the site might be awe-inspiring, the mode of discovering certainly is not.
So, with Paderborn's finest ale in my bag, I set off in the direction of Wewer Castle. I would like to add something here about how spiritual the walk turned out, that it was conducted while negotiating treacherous mountain passes and whatnot, but it was most certainly not. Given a reputed non-existence due to its dullness, boringness, and general non-excitment inducingness (to coin a new word), I was not shocked to discover that the outskirts of Paderborn had been badly deformed by the blight of big boxstores: Big boxstores with huge yellow façades, with big, huge discounts on huge yellow things for your home, followed by other big boxstores selling equally unknown but equally large items with which to adequately decorate your home.
Resisting the urge to purchase some large patio chair sets, I continued on through the fields towards the village of Wewer, negotiating my way across the 'mighty and raging' Alme River (I have been amazed at what constitutes a river in Germany: The smallest, driest brook always warrents some sort of name-plaque to inform the tresspasser that, yes, indeed, this is a river --- as if a failure to announce the fact might lead everyone to realize that a trickling ditch of water is indeed not a river...) My eventual arrival revealed no castle, but only row upon row of immaculately, annoyingly and anally-kept front gardens. ....But to spare everyone some sort of Kafkaesque tale about how I never actually reached the castle, I shall cut to the point and inform you, tired readers, that I indeed did.... more or less...
Alas, the picture below is the closest I could approach, after being dutifully and bureaucratically informed by the groundskeeper in fairly plain terms that I was permitted to advance as far as the signpost, but no further...
So, in contrast to trying to reach Amsterdam, I succeeded in reaching the hallowed Schloss Wewer. I brav
ed a day long jaunt through several dimensions of non-existence, drank local Paderborner beer, and lived to tell about it....A successful day, in other words....
2 comments:
Hey,
the Bielefeld-Complot is becoming famous throughout the whole world. But I need to note that this idea isn't only mine. See therefor http://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bielefeldverschw%C3%B6rung
From the existing Leipzig,
Johanna
Bad Link! So just search for "Bielefelsverschwörung" at google...
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