The Yorkie Has Landed

...on the Eagle's Nest.

Today, my lovelies, Yorkie and family made a foray with Mr Yorkie's office to The Eagle's Nest in Bertesgaden, Germany.

Now before you go flinging things at me and thinking, Snooty little skank, bragging like, Oh, TODAY I nipped up to the EAGLE'S NEST because *I* live in GERMANY and see amazing things all the TIIIIIIIIME...

Ask yourself if you even know what it is. Because I sure as heck didn't. But apparently it's a HUGE tourist draw and on hubby's list of Things to See and Do in Germany. Well, now he can tick that box on his Bucket List.

Anywho, the Eagle's Nest was a retreat for Adolf Hitler during WWII. He entertained diplomats here and (I suppose) recharged his batteries when the stress and strain of genocide proved to be a bit heavy for his wrinkled psyche. But here's the kicker: he only visited it 14 times, if that many. Apparently he had a list of phobias as long as your arm and didn't like heights (it's built on top of a mountain), elevators (you have to take a massive one to get to the top), or even strangers.

But I digress. To get to the place where the buses take you up, you have to drive through a series of windy roads which are so terrifying you'll be wondering if your will is updated. Then you have to buy an outrageously priced ticket to board a bus which then takes you straight up for a journey that makes the first one look like a slow amble through a forest made of chocolate. The bus plunges straight at the edge of the road (with a 1,000 metre drop-off) before jerking sharply to the right to navigate the hills. Then it careens straight toward a sheer rock face before yanking itself to the left so hard you see stars. This happens over and over again, so many times that you begin to wonder if the driver is maybe doing some of this on purpose just to shake you up a little and really give you your money's worth.

I made this journey, along with about 15 of my fellow ex-pats, holding my 7-month old daughter on my lap, white knuckled and clutching onto her with one arm and the lady on my left with the other. Actually, there was a lot of mutual clutching, and Bea had the nerve to sit there and look bored whilst the rest of us shrieked with holy dread, convinced we were going to be delivered to God on a bright red bus with the words, "RELAX...YOU'RE ON VACATION!" printed on the side.

Anyway, we were deposited at the top of the lower part of the mountain and waited a long time for the English-speaking tour to start. Some of us grabbed sodas to steady our nerves, others grabbed ludicrously overpriced mini-pizzas, and Bea got a clean nappy plus a bit of a feed.

So, to begin the tour, you are faced with this:


This is how you enter the mountain. Yep. You're going into a mountain. But before you do that, you have to walk down this:



A long dank hallway made of carved blocks of marble. Why isn't it polished, like all the other marble in the world? Because the designers wanted it to look like a castle.

Yep.

Anyway, you are shuffled into a large circular room sans windows and into an elevator apparently made of brass. This was the elevator that Hitler used to reach this retreat, and he was so afraid of being trapped in one that he had one built right next to it, to rescue him in case the first one failed. So that's two elevator shafts having been built straight up and down a mountain to appease the over the top fears of a megalomaniac.

That's when the tour guide informs you that the back-up generator for the entire place is the engine from a WWII submarine. You heard me. If everything failed whilst you were sealed in that brass lift and you jerked to a juddering stop as the lights failed completely, you could rest assured that all will be well once a 70-year-old engine from an U Boat coughed to life. You could wait with utmost serenity, along with the 30 strangers who shared the lift with you, for the lights to flicker feebly once more and you could shortly be on your merry.

Makes you feel warm and cozy all over, doesn't it?

But enough of that! The doors open at last, and you think, Ah, finally, I'm out of the lift, I'll finally be able to see something. Nope. The first two rooms you enter are the former dining and reception rooms of The Eagle's Nest which are now a bustling public restaurant. So they have none of the original furniture or even re-creations in there...and as you dodge dirndl-clad waitresses and patrons seated behind massive plates of wurst and spaetzle, you consider that maybe you're missing something here.

Our tour guide had a large book full of black and white photos of The Nest in its heyday, and that's about the best part of the tour. The Sun Porch was covered in Tyvek, and outside is a large area where one can enjoy a beer and a brief walk up a hill where stands a large gold cross, marking nothing except its place. There's a hut with souvenirs, but the view is quite impressive--you can actually see Salzburg Castle way off in the distance. And a hotel. And a lot of other stuff.

But here's the kicker: the name, The Eagle's Nest, has nothing to do with the place itself. It was called that by a visiting French Diplomat, and the German name is Kehlsteinhaus. And here's the other thing: this whole shebang was built as a present for Hitler's 50th birthday.

Oh, and the best part, the bunkers built underground (no, not where he and Eva committed suicide...that was in Berlin) you can't get to. At least, we couldn't, not today.



That's the Eagle's Nest...the parts you can see, anyway. And all the stuff in the place--the pictures, the furniture, the tables, even the fireplaces--were carted off shortly after the war by anyone stout enough to make it up there. In fact, the tour guide herself told us she had one of the fireplaces in her family home. Fancy that as a conversation starter: "Say, why don't we sit down here with a nice glass of wine in front of our Nazi fireplace?? It's historical, you know...!"

So...why did we go to such lengths and cost to see a place built in honour of a man who is universally despised and who only visited the place 14 times?

I'm still not sure. But the bier at the bottom of the hill was good, as was the food and company.

We've been to other stuff in Germany of historical significance, and it was well worth the trip and the dosh. But this? They could've done better. However, it was fabulous to get together with our community...and that was the whole point. We were quite together, actually (and clinging to each other once more as we hurtled back down the hill) to the safety of our cars.

There was a document museum at the car park, but frankly, I felt like I'd spent enough time listening to and thinking about a man whom I hope is burning slowly in hell. And I wasn't the least interested in reading how Hitler had taken a liking to Berchtesgaden so much that he kicked out all the farmers and and other people so he and his thug Nazis could move in and take what they pleased.

I know it's impossible to see historical things here in Germany without The Nazis coming up, but on this occasion, I'd had enough and was ready for a nice ride home.

Fun times!