Zugspitze, Berchtesgaden provide Alpine thrills ... and darkness

Growing up in the American Midwest, you tended to be either a Mountain Family or a Beach Family.  Most parents had only 10 days of vacation time a year, so doing both was rare.  Some of my classmates went skiing.  We went to Florida.

I was 20 before I set foot on my first proper mountain. (I'm not counting the low, but technically mountainous, Ozarks or Appalachians. I'm talking about peaks that rise above a tree line.)  50 years later, I haven't moved my tally for the big stuff much over five.  To me, mountains are the most alien of all Earth's landscapes, and more than a bit frightening in their awe-inspiring size.  Thus our holiday's two mountain adventures probably ranked disproportionately high on my excitement scale.

Alpine veterans might say that the €52 cost of ascending the Zugspitze to walk around a 1960's-era
concrete block complex with limited services isn't worth the money.  I doubt I'd do it a second time, but with my limited experience there was a thrill for every euro.

The Zugspitze is Germany's highest peak. Right on the border with Austria, you can ascend from either country and there was once a little border control between the buildings at the top.  We went up the German side, starting from a complex you'll find after about 20 minutes of picturesque woodland driving beyond Garmish Partenkirchen. You have two choices for ascent: cable car all the way, or cog railway up to the edge of the local glacier, then a shorter hop in a different cable car.  We opted for the direct route. Having never been in a cable car I was balancing excitement with terror, the latter managed by my faith in German engineering.  Other than the stomach-churning swaying induced by the towers that hold up the cables at intervals, it's a remarkably smooth ride.  If I hadn't been holding my breath already as we rose, I would have forgotten to breathe as the scene spread out beneath us.  The car park, pine forests, lakes, foothills, Garmish-Partenkirchen all quickly growing smaller.  It was actually a lot like taking off in an airplane, but with bigger windows and almost no noise.  Stepping out at the top was nerve-inducing as the car swung in its dock, gap between car and platform showing a sheer drop.  But that was nothing to the first few minutes on the outdoor viewing platforms, nothing but a railing separating you from 9,717 feet of air between you and the valley floor.

It only took a few minutes to get my bearings, however, and then it was off to explore.  Both Germany and Austria have viewing platforms and buildings up here, linked by a bridge that once held passport control.  The German side is a bit bigger, but it's worth exploring it all because the views change from every angle.  Here, the Alpine valley stretches like a model train board dotted with sapphire lakes and doll-like villages.  There, the line of the Alps stretches in jagged teeth to the horizon.  From one angle, you're right up against other mountains, looking down into a desolate scree of granite and ice.  You can look down at a glacier, depressingly shrunk in these days of global warming.

In several spots you can watch the various cable cars come up and down.  The best entertainment, however, is watching people climb up to the actual summit on the German side.  It's supposed to be a fairly easy scramble for any experienced climber, and there are safety lines along the way as they climb down from the starting point, then up a ladder-like set of footholds before rounding the final outcrop and ending up below a giant golden cross.  I was perfectly content to live vicariously through those going the extra metres.

Germany's highest beer garden is here. We had a typical lunch of sausage, sauerkraut and beer while watching the clouds slip over the neighbouring peaks.  One minute we'd be basking in sun, the next freezing and enveloped in mist.  The indoor tables would probably have been wiser, but as a first time visitor I thought al fresco dining was part of the whole experience.

History, rather than height, brought us to Berchtesgaden. This isn't a single peak but a mountainous national park tucked in to the southeast corner of Germany, named after the resort town that serves as its gateway.  (Berchtesgaden town is only about half an hour from Salzburg, so many visitors stay in Austria rather than coming down from Munich.) We noticed quickly, and had it confirmed by a tour guide, that visitors tend to fall into one of two groups.  Americans and a handful of history buffs come for the WW2 tour.  Everyone else is here for the great outdoors.

And thus it was that we joined more Americans than we've seen in one place since our last Chicago holiday to clamber aboard a bus and dig into the holiday habits of the Third Reich.  We signed on for the four-hour Eagle's Nest Historical Tour.  Your €53 gets you bus transportation, all admission fees and ... most critically ... tremendously informed guides who are bona fide specialists on the time period.  (One of them, quite literally, "wrote the book" on the area.)

Outside the Eagle's Nest

The Eagle's Nest itself is a traditional chalet built at the top of one of the highest peaks in the park,
accessible from below by a luxurious lift.  It was Hitler's 50th birthday present from his party's inner circle and is one of the few buildings from the era to stand intact. Someone made the call that the taint of Nazi history would be washed away by the footfall of tourists coming here for tea, cake and views.  Most of the rest of the architecture around here didn't fare so well.  Much of this tour is imagining what once stood there.

That doesn't take away from the impact or the education.  The Eagle's Nest might be the headline attraction, but historically it was insignificant compared to the party roots and physical facilities that once dug through this mountain.

As a young man, Hitler had retreated to this area and holed up in a humble hut to finish Mein Kampf. The PR geniuses latched onto this, and extended their spin by exploiting scenes of Hitler in the local German perfection of charming chalets, attractive natives in traditional dress and majestic landscapes.  Clearly, the boss didn't mind as he spent up to a third of his time down here.  All of his other cronies followed, building their own country retreats nearby.  The mountainside became a second capital, where plenty of work was getting done along with the Bavarian leisure.

As time went on, the real story got darker ... and so did what happened on the mountain above Berchtesgaden.  First, they put up a security cordon and kept the real people out.  (Ironic, since one of the big buildings up here was a resort hotel originally built with the intent of giving every German a free Alpine holiday on the party.  That promise never delivered.) Administrators and soldiers moved in.  With them came barracks, offices and miles of underground bunkers.  If everything went wrong, this is where they were all supposed to hole up, Bond-villain like, to continue pushing their evil plan. It never came to that.  Most of the bad guys were caught in Berlin, leaving fairly junior types to defend (or run) as the allied troops came marching through.

Inside the tunnels

The tour includes the Documentation Centre, a museum that goes into what happened here and ... more importantly ... tries to come to grips with why.  We could have spent more time here, but even with four hours of detail there wasn't enough.  Below the centre you can explore part of the remaining network of tunnels.  Now bare and gutted of any fittings, they still impress with their size and durability.  I found myself wondering if we won the war just that little bit faster because so many resources were diverted to this mad lair. And, of course, there's the Eagle's Nest itself, from which you can contemplate the irony of one of the world's greatest evils taking root and flourishing in a landscape of gingerbread houses and Christmas card scenes.

Even without the history, the time was well-spent taking in the views.  This is a spectacularly beautiful part of the world, and a soul soothing one if you don't think about what's gone on here.  Ironically, the super-luxury Kempinski spa hotel now occupies the site of Goering's house.  Can hot rock massages and jacuzzis erase the pain of the past?  I understand why so many people skip the history in favour of Alpine hikes and boat trips on the lake below.  We're programmed to think that evil and violence come from ugly places. like bomb-fractured war zones or violent ghettos.  Not from Disney landscapes populated by extras from a fairy tale film.  It is profoundly disturbing to confront this truth.  But I'm glad we did it, and more people should.