Discovering Königstein
I’ll preface these photos with some thoughts on and from my stay in Königstein. This small town (Population: 2,231) is set in Saxony, Switzerland, which is actually Germany (which is all quite confusing). I was in Dresden debating where to head next when I heard about the place, though I don’t remember exactly how. I think it wasn’t any one source but rather a blip on the radar, a peripheral advertisement or conversation overheard. At any rate, I made up my mind: I was going.
As with Andorra, it was difficult to find a place to stay. I was the only one at the hostel, a small house. The walk to the town center was half an hour. The primary grocery store flooded last year and the only real food store was a small Asian market. Inside, the woman sold lovely fresh vegetables, a variety of spices, novelty candies and teas.
I arrived in the afternoon and took a small hike right away, as the sun set rather early even then (several weeks back now). The area is best known for its table-top mountains. The Saxon Bastille (one of largest hilltop fortifications in Europe!) overlooks the town and the Elbe. I chose to hike away from it, picking my way through fields and over a few fences. The plateau of a mountain I came to cast a square shadow against the setting sun. As I got up into its belly the sky was blocked out by rock. At half a dozen crevices I had to turn sideways—they weren’t shoulder width. At the top I leaned over the edge, looking down at trees that had towered over me not too long before. I felt what the French call L'appel du vide, the call of the void. A wind picked up and I lingered at the edge letting it push me slightly nearer. A different route down dropped me on the far side of the mountain. The ground in the farm fields was soft and wet. The smell of cow patties rose to my nose. Those that produce them watched me climb back through the fence disapprovingly.
The next morning I took a train some distance with the intent of exploring another town not larger than Königstein. As I stepped off the train I saw a person at the top of a mountain whirling about, dancing or doing yoga I imagined. The sun was only just coming up and the air cool and calm; the sight was a picture. This person on the mountain inspired me such that I forfeited the exploration of the town and made for a hike to the top of this new mountain. I crossed the river, Fähre (ferry) is the only means to do so locally; it cost 1€20 one way.
Exploring that day I learned that that section of the mountains was inhabited in the Middle Ages (and quite likely before). It seemed a natural choice for defensive purposes. Catapults turned round rocks (bigger than basketballs) into serious ammunition. With the times the site was modified first into living quarters for soldiers, then as monastery. On one wall someone had taken great care to carve the year in ornate numbers, the graffiti of the time I suppose—the year was 1776. Little things like that do a lot for one’ perception of time and space. I passed a couple of climbers who were nearly camouflaged against the massive rise of perpendicular rock they were scaling. Otherwise I was alone with the mountain.
That person I saw from below, it turned out, the one dancing at the top of the mountain, was two dimensional. He was a painted metal silhouette on a stick that pivoted. A sort of weathervane, simply put. It crushed my heart a little, the dashed expectation. As I went on I came to the conclusion that the two dimensional man inspired me (and no doubt countless others) to accomplish a three dimensional feat. I found some comfort in this.
Stints as that in Königstein provide me with great relief. Mostly I think I enjoy the nearness to nature. There is also a slowness and quietness about those little towns which is as calming as the chaos of the big cities is exciting (and therefore exhausting).
In the afternoon the sun was beginning to disappear (it didn’t set really, just faded into the grey of the clouds). It was a race to get out of the mountains and back to the river and fähre before it quit for the night. Lillenstein was the last table-top mountain I crossed. She was special, standing alone, set further back than any of the others. That last climb was agony and ecstasy. The sky was deep almost-navy colored by then and the woods were quite set in a swirling darkness. Steeper and more winding, that mountain was more difficult to navigate and I felt pressed for time. On that particular mountain I felt I lost and earned something.
Coming down the last stretch I was within sight of the twinkling lights on the river. I broke into a run. The man operating the boat was just cranking it up and he greeted me in too many words, laughing (good-naturedly) at my flushed cheeks and wild hair. The cold was setting in and I still had to walk back to the hostel but the night was welcoming. The town, the road, and the mountains were quiet and I went on my way quietly too, and content.