One weekend in June, we met our friends from Switzerland for a weekend of historical churches, good food and drink in Cologne. We had a good time in spite of the hot, humid and overcast weather, visited the biggest Cathedral in Europe next to St. Peter's in Rome, and several smaller, older churches from before 800AD. There were museums galore, but we could only visit a couple.
The Rhein (Rhine) river flows through Cologne, and the train ride along the Rhein is very romantic. Castle ruins overlook terraced vineyards, while boats float by the little towns that hug the shore.
The city got its name not because the French were looking for something to tack onto “Eau de”, but from its history as an outpost of the Roman empire, a "colonia," thus the French name Cologne. It was declared a city of the Roman empire in 50 AD, having been settled first by Germanic tribes in 38 BC. Its beginnings as a Colonia are connected with the fascinating intra-dynasty politics of the Roman imperial family.
The woman responsible for its designation as a proper Roman colony was local girl Agrippina the Younger, mother of Nero and wife and niece of Emperor Claudius (ruled 41-54). If you have ever seen or read "I, Claudius," then you know what a knotty situation beset the Roman Imperial family in the first decades AD. Ambitious and cunning, Agrippina Junior was the daughter of Agrippina the elder and Germanicus, son of Emp. Tiberius. She was sister to Caligula, also known as the Nut Case. After she was called back from a Caligula-imposed exile, she married her uncle Claudius after he succeeded Caligula. Always scheming to put a better emperor on the throne, she eventually poisoned her husband. In her turn she was exiled and murdered by her son, Emperor Nero.
So Cologne has a rich Roman history, and a museum to go with it, which we visited. One of the most spectacular pieces of the collection is the Dionysus floor mosaic which is the size of a very large Oriental carpet. The mosaic was found in 1941 during the digging of an air-raid shelter and in 1974 the museum was built around it.
Roman life in Cologne had all the comforts of the time. After their retirement from the army some former soldiers established themselves as public leaders and became regular middle-class residents. They even built elaborate 2-story-high grave monuments for themselves and their families. Lamps (some with erotic designs), makeup kits, surgeon's tools, grave markers, wall paintings, beautiful glassware, many beautiful pieces of jewelry and a reconstructed wooden wagon display what a rich, comfortable life the Roman citizens led. The museum also maintains artifacts from prehistoric and post-Roman times. Below is an example of the achievements of Roman glass craftsmanship.
After the Roman period, Cologne became a wealthy city as a result of its participation in the Hanseatic League. Its status grew and it became a medieval pilgrimage destination. In order to enhance its status and secure more power for Friedrich Barbarossa, the Holy Roman Emperor of the time, the archbishop in 1164 secured (read: stole from Milan) the relics of the Three Kings (the magi of the Bible account) and housed them in the Cathedral in Cologne. These legendary kings were thought to exemplify the best of kingly power on earth and so lent legitimacy to whomever possessed their relics. The upshot is, that these relics are still the centerpiece of the Cathedral, housed in a large gold box in a place of honor behind the altar. Precious stones adorn its edges. Once a year, on January 6, the reliquary is opened and pushed out from behind the altar for display to the faithful. The bones and skulls, which were embellished with gold and jewels, still draw a crowd.
The Cathedral itself is no slouch when it comes to splendor and economy of size. The builders got maximum impact with maximum space. In the 12th century they achieved the feat of minimizing the stone structural mass of the walls and maximizing the space for glorious windows. The view from the back to the front of the church is awesome. The ceiling keeps its incredible height (four times its width) all the way, and at far end is a small, brilliant golden glow, which is the reliquary of the Three Kings.
This gothic marvel draws the crowds, but the older Romanesque churches are beautiful too. We visited St. Gereon's Church, named after a Roman officer who was martyred around 350 a.d. This church started out as a 4th(!) century chapel on a Roman graveyard, and the Roman masonry can still be seen in the lower 50 feet. Later, the Kings of Germanic tribes, including the Franks while the Merovingians were in power, used it as a burial site. Between 1151 and 1227, the decagon dome, which is unique north of the Alps, was added. A couple of us agreed on having had strange sensations while inside this church. Kathy felt her heart beating a little more quickly and put it down to the lunch she had just eaten, but Sereena confirmed that she, too, felt "something." To Kathy, it seemed as if the decagon dome imposed its weight in a metaphysical way.
Another interesting church in St. Pantaleon's basilica. It was originally built in 866, but was enlarged in 984 by Theophanu, who was the Greek wife of the Holy Roman Emperor, Otto II. The church was part of a monastery, and the upper floors of the west end (see photos of balcony and ceiling) were the Emperor's residence for his visits to the monastery.
Eau de Quoi?
We visited the source of the famous Eau de Cologne, the 4711 house on Glockengasse. Have you ever heard the number 4711 in connection with "cologne"? I hadn't until I got to Germany. Napoleon, in his passion for making everything orderly in the French fashion, had his soldiers number all the houses in Cologne, and this particular house, which was the factory for "Kölnisch Wasser," received this number. Inside the shop on the ground floor was a fountain continuously dispensing the fragrant product. I promptly ran my fingers under the stream. Suddenly I smelled like my grandmother's bathroom! A broad variety of products were for sale, including soap and other types of perfume made by the same manufacturer. We went a little nuts sampling the wares, and I, remembering the unpleasant consequences of a combination of a woodsy summer camp, my first perfume behind the ears and black flies, doused my hands in the first fountain we came to after leaving the store.
And now for the food portion of our program...
We sampled just one other of the many museums: the chocolate museum. Chocolate lovers would have hated it. No need to visit us to get the real scoop, it was terrible! ;-> The whole museum was about chocolate growing and processing and history. With the admission ticket came a piece of Lindt milk chocolate. After describing the growing, harvesting (still done by hand!), and processing of chocolate beans, the exhibits related how the Spanish learned about chocolate from the Aztecs. Then in order to ensure a chocolate supply for European generations to come, those enterprising Spanish soldiers killed or enslaved the Indians and made them work on chocolate plantations*. Was chocolate, not gold, the driving force for colonization of the New World? The things they don't teach you in school!
Naturally there was a Lindt production line in operation and free samples at the end. There was also a café where they sold several kinds of chocolate drinks, and several kinds of chocolate cake. We sat on the riverside terrace and indulged. I suffered through their own "house" chocolate cake, called the Three Kings Torte. On offer were also a four-layer chocolate cake, and a simple single-layer chocolate cake. No one else ordered any cake, so I don't know how they would have tasted. The Three Kings Torte had three layers separated by dark chocolate ganache, and covered with a generous dusting of cocoa powder. The lighter umm, chocolate color of the powder made a good contrast with the darker ganache. And together the textures complemented each other perfectly, as the creamy ganache melted in your mouth and the grainy powder and the cake contrasted with the creamy stuff. None of it was too sweet, and the cake had not one hint of the disagreeable metallic flavor one finds in some chocolate cake.
Of course there was a gift shop! But the only one who braved it was Sereena, who graciously bought us each a sample of milk-chocolate made with sea-salt. At first it tastes like regular milk chocolate, but as it melts on your tongue the salt subtly comes through: just enough to let you know it's there. It's nowhere near as salty as chocolate-covered pretzels. I could see where it would be doubly addictive. To the right is the chocolate fountain where at the end of the tour a staff member handed out waffle cookies that had been dipped in the basin.
I know, it's somewhat cruel, telling you all about this good chocolate, but you'll just have to come here and experience it for yourselves!
In other recent chocolate experiences, Richard's brother Paul is somewhat of a chocoholic. We introduced him to the Lindt dark chocolate bars made with chili, and he wanted more! Brittany (18), on the other hand found it disgusting, "and it's dark chocolate, " she said and wrinkled her nose. Her palette will mature, I'm sure. 'Til then, there's more for us.
Our first night there, we visited a local eating establishment where we were assured we could get some typical local dishes and beer. The beer made in Köln is called Kölsch. Kölsch happens to be the name of the local dialect. So the saying goes, Kölsch is the only language you can drink. The beer came in 0.20 l glasses instead of the usual half-liter quantities, but it kept coming, borne by cocky, briskly efficient waiters who presumed to know what you wanted before you even asked for it. At one long-established restaurant-brewery, one of us asked for a glass of wine, and was told, "You don't want that. I don't know if it's good or not. This is a brewery, not a winery." By the way, the beer was good. Light and without too much hops to make it bitter. It was served cool and went down well in the humid weather.
Saturday night was about the food. We started with an "Aperol," Swiss for a pre-dinner drink (white wine) at a swanky, hip bar near the Cathedral: The Ice Bar. The surface of the bar was covered with a puffy white batting that turned out to be ice! We sipped a Riesling, and a buttery Chardonnay, and Richard ordered a Perfect Martini that was generous with the olives. Other specialty drinks, and there were many original concoctions, were displayed on small computer screens mounted on the walls. Slick. Snacks consisted of an upscale mixture of wasabi-covered peanuts, plain peanuts, and other spicy Japanese crackers, including the red ones that look like miniature chilis. Surprise, the prices of the drinks were upscale, too.
For dinner that night, we searched in the Latin Quarter for a vegetarian restaurant mentioned in the guide book. At the same address we found instead a Basque restaurant! Basque food, who'd have thought? What is Basque food? Well, it's strongly similar to Spanish food and embellished with extra X's. Pintxos, for example: Tapas. The waiter had greeted us with "Hola!" as we sat down on benches in the courtyard, and asked in Spanish what he could bring us to drink. Prompted by the Spanish greeting, I pulled some half-remembered Spanish-by-osmosis out of the mists of college experiences and asked for "uno litro agua minerale, Per Favore-- uh, Por Favor." (Pretty pleased with myself, there). Stefan asked for a wine recommendation, was recommended a hearty red from the Iberian peninsula, followed by recommendations for jamón Ibérico ( air-cured ham from acorn-fed pigs, deeper-colored, stronger and nuttier than Serrano and Parma) and a cheese sampler to accompany this hearty Spanish red. The wine was velvety and looked it too, without being sweet and without unpleasant tannins. It came with flat bottom tumblers for glasses. Stefan said you could tell it had been aged in oak barrels. The cheese and ham came on separate wooden disks with a basket of bread. Tasty little green olives were strewn over the ham. (These weren't your bland grocery store green olives stuffed with pimento!) This was totally finger food, man. Forget the German compunctions of knife and fork, we were eating Mediterranean-style. By then, 9 pm, we were eating at a Mediterranean hour, too. The cheeses were on the hard side, but crumbly and pleasantly tangy with a contrasting creamy/buttery background.
The orders around the table consisted of: Gambas con ajillo (shrimp with garlic sauce); Brocheta de verdura (grilled vegetables on skewers); Gazpacho (gazpacho); and Txipirones a lo Pelayo (Calamari marinated in garlic, olive oil and parsley with poached julienned vegetables and salad). All were pronounced very tasty. The dishes were either sturdy ceramic shallow dishes or translucent orange plates. Almost forgot about dessert! We had room for Créma Catalana, a sort of crème brûlée, which was creamy and cool. The thin layer of burnt sugar on top made my mouth water while reminding me of the best part of roasting marshmallows.
Basque digestifs followed. "Pacharán°", a sloe-based, anise-flavored reddish liqueur and a clear fire-water called "Orujo," similar to grappa, provided after-dinner refreshment. Then, through an apparent miscommunication, we topped it all off with a glass of Port each. Miscommunication can sometimes be successful.
On our last afternoon, we stopped for some well-deserved ice cream at a cafe in front of the cathedral. Group photo below.
And that's the news from Cologne, where the water smells, the chocolate flows, the beer is a language, and the good eats are Basque.
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*Caution: this statement contains wild misstatement of the facts and speculation about motives of the Conquistadors.
° Of Pacharan, Wikipedia says,"The liqueur is made by soaking sloe berries, collected from the blackthorn, in an anise-flavored spirit (anisette) with a small number of coffee beans and a vanilla pod for several months. It results in a light reddish-brown sweet liquid, around 25-30% alcohol by volume. It is served cold or on ice as a digestif."
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