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Discovering and exploring ... Oppenheim Posted
August 8, 2004
By JULIE MAJOR OPPENHEIM, Germany – Sometimes guidebooks have enough information to get you where you’re going. And sometimes, it’s better to leave the guidebook on the coffee table, pick a direction and just go. As a stranger said to us as he pointed us somewhere south of Mainz, Germany, “You usually find the best things when you’re willing to get lost.”
Actually, it was on a whim that we decided upon visiting Oppenheim. Originally we were headed toward Gutenberg University and a set of Roman aqueducts that our guidebook promised was near the university, but that no one we talked with had even heard of. We knew at that moment we were in trouble. We began walking in the general direction of where we were told we could find a bus station– but there was no station in sight. A voice from behind us saved our day. “Do you need some help?” He was 20-something, wearing mirrored sunglasses on his face and a cute German girl on his arm. He said he couldn’t remember how to get to the university, but that the train station was just across the street and, while he’d never been to Oppenheim, he was pretty sure it would be worth the Euros spent on the train ticket. “Oh yeah,” he added, “You won’t need a map. Just walk around. You’ll find whatever it is you’re looking for.”
We tried to explain we didn’t have any idea what we were looking for, but he waved the explanation away. He just grinned and headed down the sidewalk. “It’s more fun finding your way when you’re lost to begin with.” We were off to Oppenheim. The university would have to wait another day. When a man in mirrored glasses speaks to you in nonsensical riddles that actually make sense, you have to follow them to see where they lead you. Thanks to the efficient German trains, my accidental tourists and I caught a prompt 12:46 p.m. train to Oppenheim, about 15 km south of Mainz on the Rhine River. Our guidebook had promised spectacular views of the Rhine Valley, along with wineries and walking tours of vineyards. We couldn’t resist; by that point, most of what we’d seen of Germany came to us from the window of a fast-moving train. It was time to get off at the next stop and explore a little. We exited the train depot and walked through deserted streets, up a steep cobblestone path toward an old clock tower. Just beyond it, steps led up the hill and into the woods like a crooked finger coaxing us to come near. So we started to climb.
At the top, we found that promised view of the Rhine Valley, near a small beer garden that served us ice cream and cold Binding Lager and gentle hilltop breeze. It was time to decide: go back down the hill or on down the street, around the bend. Around the bend won out. Before long we could see the sharply rising steeples of a cathedral. We ambled over to look inside St. Catherine’s Church, one of the oldest and most spectacular Gothic buildings along the Rhine. Construction on the church was begun in 1220 and was finished nearly 200 years later in 1439. Most of the church’s stained glass windows date back to the 14 th Century. Nearly 20,000 of Oppenheim’s citizens who died between 1400 and 1750 are buried in St. Michael’s Chapel on the church’s grounds, along with soldiers of the Thirty Years’ War, in what’s called the Beinhaus. The church is undergoing restoration, so scaffolding blocks many of the spectacular windows, including the Reformation Window, donated in 1889 on the first extensive renovation of the church– 200 years after its partial destruction in 1689. But the workers were on their lunch break, and they made conciliatory gestures when we asked to go inside. The windows nearly glowed from the afternoon sunlight. “Let’s see what’s down these steps,” someone called out, and all of us started walking again, down a different street and toward a new direction. For as little action as there was in the rest of the city we’d seen, there seemed to be a flurry of it on this street. It was a relative flurry, anyway: Three workers were working pulleys of sand and hoses of water and buckets of rock. Something was going on just under the street, from holes built nearly diagonally down, to where we couldn’t quite tell.
Turns out that the window at St. Catherine’s partially destroyed in 1689 had something to do with the holes under the street. The village was attacked that year, and the marauders burned most of the city to the ground. Surviving villagers resolved never to be caught so vulnerable again, so they built an elaborate system of tunnels underneath the city streets. The tunnels allowed villagers to move from one building to another unseen, and to take refuge safely in case of an attack. Today there’s an intensive effort underway to excavate and map the labyrinths and tours are available of the rediscovered sections. It was the anti-tourist’s dream– a deserted little German town, secret underground labyrinths and vineyards on nearly every hillside. We needed a winery. The helpful young woman at the information center pointed us up the hill to the wine cellar of Franz Josef Lohmuller. She didn’t know if he’d be home, but we decided to take a chance. It’s a good thing we did. Lohmuller was home, tinkering in his garage. He was surrounded by bottles of wine in various stages of packing. Some were already in their cases, some were sitting scattered about on a long wooden workbench. He looked only moderately surprised to see six American women asking about his wine. “Would you like a taste?” he volunteered. “Come in, I’ll give you a tour of my cellar.” Down the narrow steps the temperature dropped at least 15 degrees. We were surrounded by giant casks of fermenting wine. Lohmuller took a broom to a stone high at the end of his cellar, sweeping off cobwebs and dirt. The date chiseled into it was 1876.
“The cellar has been here since then,” he said, “but the house above it wasn’t built until 1972.” That’s when he took over the vineyards, selling his own label of sweet and dry red and white wines. He broke out small tasting glasses and opened several bottles for us to sample. We left his winery with four cases and several individual bottles, and he stood at the door of his garage, beaming broadly. Before we left, he pulled me aside with a separate bag. “Here you go, Chief,” he said. “It’s a bottle for you all to enjoy on the ride home.” Inside were six small tasting glasses and an uncorked bottle of red wine. Wherever the guy with the mirrored sunglasses may be now, I’ll never know. But whenever I raise a glass of German wine, I’ll think of his advice. We found what we were looking for when we just got lost. For more information about the underground labyrinths of Oppenheim, read Priya Chalam's article.
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