Eisenach

13 May 2007

Today I joined the ranks of countless Protestants who have made pilgrimages to the site of Wartburg Castle where Martin Luther stayed and found refuge in 1521 for about ten months. It was one of the top ten things-that-I-must-do-while-in-Europe list, so you can imagine my excitement.

I left Prague Saturday at about 10:30am. I was greatly anticipating the feeling of security that was bound to come over me after I reached the German border. If you don’t know what I mean, then perhaps one day you will experience it. It is the feeling of leaving Tijuana and entering San Diego, the feeling of leaving the inner city of Chicago to the residential community of Palos Heights, a feeling of safety. Am I ethnically prejudice or think that different social classes are more dangerous? Not really. But there are areas of the world where one feels safer than others. Prague doesn’t give me a feeling of safety. Germany does. But before I arrived into the bosom of Deutschland, I had trouble, passport trouble.

This time I had my passport right in my hand when the Czech policeman came around (not as intimidating or scary as the former ex-Bolshevik I ran into). I gave him my passport, smiled, and expected to get it back in a matter of seconds. He looked at my picture and info and began to flip through the book. He flipped through once. Twice. Three times. Looked at me. Looked back at the passport. Meanwhile I am getting nervous. No, I’m not a terrorist, just a lowly college student trying to make his way in the world. Can we please let Eric through?

He said something in Czech. I sit dumbfounded. Fortunately, there was a German lady in my cab who understood him and said that he wanted to know why there was no Czech stamp which I should have got upon entering their country.

I just shrugged my shoulders and said “uhh…I…don’t know. I thought they stamped it.”

I am not a passport agent. The Bolshevik man took it from me three days ago and I swear he stamped it. I can’t do your job for you sir. Can you please just let me out of your country? I don’t even want to come back.

Finally he stamps my passport and leaves. I’m still of the opinion that anyone with a legitimate American passport should never be questioned. Elitist? Probably.

I arrived in Erfurt last night. Checked the town out a bit, but will blog more when I have covered it completely.

Eisenach is due west of Erfurt. It’s a small town, smaller than Erfurt. I made my way through the somewhat deserted city and to the Lutherhaus, the home of Luther from 1498 to 1501 when he was a schoolboy. There are two rooms in the house, preserved, and said to be the two rooms that Luther stayed in while a resident. Directly down the street is Georgenkirche, St. George’s Church, where Luther was a choir boy. J.S. Bach was also baptized in this church and there is a colossal statue of him in the front entrance of the building.

There was some sort of special festival or something going on in the town square right outside the church. There were dozens of booths set up, each offering flyers about things, selling little items, places to purchase food. I bought a bratwurst and some kind of potato salad dish that was very good.

After a short meal, I made my way up to Wartburg castle. I took a roundabout way to get there because I was following street signs for traffic. It took about 45 minutes to walk up the hill, a hike which really should have only taken about 15, but I had the time.

Half-way up the hill was a little place where you could rent donkeys for a couple Euro and take them the rest of the way to the castle. It looked like mostly parents were buying tickets for children and then leading the donkeys up. But you only live once, so I got a donkey and rode up the hill. His name was Moritz. Donkeys are not as magnificent as horses, but they have a certain lovable quality.

When I got to the castle, I was discouraged to discover that all tours were given in German. I followed one anyway and had a little pamphlet in English to tell me everything I needed to know. The palace and all was very exciting. It looked like one of the best preserved castles I’ve visited. The castle itself dates back to around 1067, but has been renovated and changed a little bit from what I gathered.

In Wartburg castle, they try to convince you or at least mention a lot Elisabeth of Hungary who was some lady who lived in Wartburg around the 13th century. She did some good things, the Papist church likes her, I didn’t really care. In the souvenir shop you can either buy Luther stuff or Elisabeth stuff. It all seemed like appeasement to me, or some way for the Catholics to brush off Luther and the importance that Wartburg has to the Protestants. Anyway, everyone knows that Wartburg is a Luther site, not an Elisabeth site. People have not been making Wartburg a pilgrimage site since the end of the 16th century to learn about Elisabeth of Hungary; they come to see the Lutherstube.

I thought the Lutherstube was awesome. Some of the items there are recreations, I think only his footstool is original. Nonetheless, I have been in the room where Luther translated the Bible into German, bringing about an extraordinary achievement for the Church. Once again, I am amazed at what the really impressive things are in Europe. They are not the massive Baroque cathedrals, or the famous piece by Manet, nor is it the palace of some great prince. Instead, the priceless gems of Europe are the dusty, dimly lit rooms, the decaying church buildings, the pulpits where men of God preached the Word. Lutherstube was no exception.

It was interesting to see the city of Eisenach, the place where Luther spent some formative years in his life as a child and then return to when he was being chased by the Catholics after the Imperial Diet at Worms.

I ended my visit with a brat and a beer purchased at a little vendor a ways down the hill of the castle. It was the local Eisenach Wartburg Pils. It made me feel like I should be at a table with Luther, asking questions over beer and brats on justification by faith and why the pope and a Turkish invasion are the greatest threats to Christianity. Sometimes I feel like I was born in the wrong century.