Hiking the Black Forest’s highest mountain: The Feldberg

January 22, 2025Leave a comment

Thursday 12th September 2024

We’d kept a close eye on the forecast since arriving in Germany and today looked to be the first (and perhaps only) sunny day. Consequently we had reserved it for the main thing on our holiday to do list – a hike up Feldberg, the Black Forest’s highest mountain. We left the apartment at 8:30am and set off south in our little hire car, itching to explore the hills. Bright morning sunshine saturated the green fields that filled the valleys as we snaked through the vast landscape, lifting mist from dark, thickly forested hillsides in atmospheric veils. We navigated an unexpected road closure, passed high above the glassy surface of Lake Titisee and arrived in a small roadside car park at 10am.

The Feldbergsteig trail

We set off uphill past a modern, sharp-angled church and found ourselves in an outdoorsey resort containing a large hotel, ski centre and cable car base. Eager to escape the tourist trap, we found an information board showing our intended route, the Feldbergsteig. We hadn’t appreciated that the trail starts at an elevation of 1,287m so it felt like cheating to say we were climbing a 1,493m peak, but nevertheless we were excited for a varied, circular hike in a new mountain range.

To the Bismarck memorial

We headed northwest up a wide, gently inclining track that ran roughly parallel to the cable car line, passing several small groups who greeted us with a friendly “hallo”, and soon began soaking in the view. The surrounding yellow-green meadows melted into dark treelines formed by tall, deep green spruces, beyond which stretched endless forest spread thickly over distant, hazy blue ridges arranged in undulating layers. It was sunny, still and resoundingly quiet.

The track narrowed and took us into a verdant coppice, then continued through rugged meadows past a severe-looking concrete tower laden with satellite dishes. The first landmark we arrived at was the Bismarck memorial, a great stone pillar dedicated to the first Chancellor of the German empire. It was a wonderful viewpoint; a continuous swathe of forest covered the surrounding hills and valleys like a dark green blanket stretching all the way to the distant horizon, broken only by occasional ragged-edged, grassy clearings.

Up Feldberg

We left the memorial and headed down the side of the hill across open meadow. We went through a gate and followed a wide gravel path along the side of a ridge, which was covered in rough, yellowish grass and sloped gently downhill towards the endless forest. A strange, tinny sound tinkled across the valley and a thin curtain of fluffy cloud – which had drifted down the ridge and obscured the path ahead – cleared to reveal a small herd of Fresian cattle blocking the path. I’ve been averse to cows since getting charged by a bull a few years ago, so I gave them a wide berth and reached a gate with some relief.

We gained the summit of Feldberg via a straight path up a gentle incline, the only drama being the loud and alarming receipt (on our phones) of Germany’s annual nationwide emergency alert test at 11am. It was a grassy and oddly subtle, unremarkable peak marked by a low, flattened mound topped with a trig point and a circle of benches, marred slightly by a tall communications tower and grim looking building a short distance away. We munched a sandwich with our backs to the tower and gazed across gently rolling, forest-carpeted hills, pondering on the ethics of saying we’d climbed a mountain.

Through field and forest

My doubts about the mountainous nature of the area were allayed once we left the summit and headed down a track that passed the ugly tower. The peaks ahead of us to the west were steeper, more undulating and completely forested compared to the gentler, grassier slopes to the east, and the horizon was formed by wide, hazy triangles of more mountain-shaped mountains. We headed downhill past a lush, green meadow dotted with fir trees and cattle, their cowbells tinkling whimsically in the breeze, and reached the first alpine hut along the route – a large, tiled, welcoming-looking building. Resisting the temptation to stop and grab a drink, we continued on the path, which flattened out and arced around Feldberg’s lower reaches in a smooth curve.

We tramped across charming, rugged meadows, then entered the thickly forested hillside to the north of Feldberg. A thousand shades of green emanated from ferns, shrubs, trees, grasses, mosses and lichens, which grew in Jurassic Park-like abundance on the steep slope. Shrubby clearings allowed us to gaze across a deep valley to opposite, equally living slopes, which were drenched in warm sunlight that slipped beneath thin clouds that drifted lackadaisically over the valley tops. It was incredibly tranquil, as if the rest of the world didn’t exist.

Past river and lake

We followed the path diagonally down the hillside, crossed a marshy section via a boardwalk and found ourselves at another alpine hut. A steep climb through the forest took us up to another swathe of meadow on the east side of Feldberg’s neighbouring hill, which dropped gently down into more verdant forest. We crossed the narrow, crystal clear Sagenbach river and followed its wonderfully overgrown, mossy banks downstream, marvelling at several rocky waterfalls and – on seeing the many bridges made by fallen trunks – wondered what storm could possibly have touched this serene place.

After winding down the river via bridges, steps and rocks, the route bore us east along a straight, flat track along the side of a hill between legions of tall pines. We stopped for another sandwich at a picnic table, then followed the arc of a spur to the edge of a valley clearing, where another large hut sat below us among cattle fields and meandering tributaries. We followed the treeline down into a peaceful wood, then came to the shores of the perfectly round, cwm-like Feldsee Lake. The clear, gently rippling water was surrounded on three sides by towering, green walls that looked too steep to accommodate the dense mass of huge trees that had somehow taken root. We stood on the “beach” for a moment, watching the ducks and listening to the silence, then set off on the final section of the route.

Last leg

The path followed the east bank of the lake, then climbed steeply into the thicket of beech, sycamore, pine and spruce. We zigzagged up rocky sections until the ground levelled and we emerged from the trees quite suddenly at the cable car base. It felt slightly surreal to be back in the busy resort after the serenity of the hike, which had felt quite wild despite the clear, well-signposted trail. We headed straight back to the car and, after debating whether a trip to the city of Freiburg would be worth it at rush hour, left for home (via Lidl, of course).

To summarise, it had been a lovely, varied hike with beautiful scenery that made us feel truly immersed in the Black Forest. The trail was very easy to follow (we barely used my guidebook map) and I just wish it had been longer than 8.5 miles. We came away feeling very refreshed, happy with a good day exploring a new mountain range.

Evening

We got back at 4:30pm and spent the evening relaxing on the balcony, drinking wine/beer, watching Rings of Power on Netflix and playing with Kraut the cat. Ryan cooked a lovely dinner of homemade schnitzel with steak, salad and potatoes and I came up with a rough plan for another hike the next day, this time starting from our apartment. Three days in and we felt very at home in the Black Forest.

Black Forest, Germany: Waldkirch and Triberg

November 10, 2024November 10, 20241 Comment

Wednesday 11th September 2024

Eager to immerse ourselves in German culture, our plan for the morning was to visit the twice-weekly market in the small, nearby town of Waldkirch. The damp weather didn’t inspire us to rush out of our cosy apartment, so we took our time over a tasty breakfast of sausage, egg and toast, watched closely by Kraut the cat. When the rain subsided we set off in our little hire car through the scenic Simonswälder valley and arrived in the town at 11am. Parking was a stressful experience as the numerous little roadside car parks were full and we didn’t understand the road signs, but thankfully we found an underground place with plenty of space.

Waldkirch Market

The market spanned both sides of a cobbled street lined with pastel-painted houses and backed by misty, forested hills that rose high on either side of the town, their dark tops cloaked by an obstinate curtain of cloud. An atmospheric castle ruin loomed above red-tiled rooves at one end of the street, looking as if it had fallen out of a fairytale. The market was quite small but there was a wonderful array of crates, baskets and counters filled to the brim with local produce: colourful fruit and veg, fresh and cured meats, bread, cheese, eggs stacked in big trays, herbs and spices and a stall full of homewares and utensils all made of wood. It was utterly charming, and there was no disposable plastic to be seen.

I had a pleasant conversation in broken French with a cheesemaker and we came away with large chunks of – I think – morbier and comté, which had travelled across the nearby border with eastern France. I was almost as pleased with the conversation as I was with the cheese. We had a slightly less successful time communicating to an accommodating German butcher that we wanted to try the famous Black Forest ham and a couple of skewers (meat unknown), but got the message across with some emphatic pointing. We sat on a bench and tried the ham, which was divine – wafer thin with a very strong woodsmoke taste. Our last purchase (which also necessitated pointing) included a jar of homemade tomato sauce, fresh spinach and some bright orange chanterelle mushrooms from a greengrocer.

Satisfied with our miscellaneous ingredients for an unplanned meal, we wandered around the town, resisting the pull of cosy little cafés and bakeries crammed with pastries and pretzels. The regional theme of clean, cobbled streets and neat, colourful houses was as present in Waldkirch as everywhere else we’d been the day before. The town was small and it didn’t take us long to feel as if we’d completed it, so we returned to the car and formed a plan to drive east to Triberg, which we’d read about in various “Black Forest must-do” articles.

The drive took us northeast up the long Elz Valley to Oberprechtal, where we’d walked the previous day, then south along a high, scenic, serpentine road which carved a narrow line through endless dark forest. It rained heavily the entire way, but thankfully I’d become quite accustomed to the Black Forest’s hairpin bends and lofty glimpses of great, green valleys. Nevertheless, I was relieved when we dropped into the town and arrived safely in a multistorey car park – the 50-minute journey had seemed a lot longer.

Triberg

We munched ham and cheese sandwiches in the car, then headed out into the pouring rain. A walkway that followed the rushing Gutach river upstream led us to the centre of the small town, which sat in a kind of bowl surrounded by rising, impenetrable-looking forest. Unlike Waldkirch, which was set in the flattish belly of a valley, the colourful buildings of Triberg followed the contours of the slanting streets and rose into the trees in steep layers, giving a sense of self-contained, nestled cosiness.

House of 1000 Clocks

After a brief look down the high street, we crossed a main road and took respite from the rain in the House of 1000 Clocks, a charming shop with a huge wooden cuckoo clock built into the front. Its name is self-explanatory and it was unlike any shop I’ve ever seen: its cladded walls were covered in hundreds of intricate wooden cuckoo clocks, all unique and all incredibly detailed. They featured tiled rooves with chimneys and bell towers, balconies, shuttered windows, carved trees, animals and scenes of farmers, lumberjacks, craftspeople and beer-drinkers, all in traditional German dresses and lederhosen, complete with carts, mill wheels, log stacks and endless other little intricacies.

The shop also sold beautifully carved clocks featuring leaves, stags, hares and birds, and glass and metal clocks showing their mechanical workings, but I was most taken with the little cabins. They ranged from about 150€ to 3,000€ and I sorely wanted one of the cheaper, simpler ones, but we couldn’t have transported it home. We bought a cuckoo clock fridge magnet from the souvenir section in lieu of the real thing, and a little bottle of kirschwasser – a colourless local brandy – to try, then headed back out into the rain in time to see the cuckoo emerge from the huge shopfront clock at 2pm.

Waterfalls and Nature Trail

Triberg Falls comes up in a Google search as one of the Black Forest’s top attractions. We walked a short distance uphill from the clock shop, paid 15€ at the kiosk and picked the “nature trail” walking route. A red squirrel appeared just off the path and I ran back to the kiosk for peanuts, which Ryan had failed to mention when I was busy butchering the German language in my attempt to buy tickets. I was thrilled when the dainty little squirrel tentatively took a nut from just a couple of feet away: I’m very fond of red squirrels and always keep a close eye out for just a glimpse of one in Scotland, usually to no avail.

The tarmac path followed the rushing Gutach River upstream through lush forest. Tall pines formed a high canopy above layers of dark firs and leafy birches, and an array of bright green plants carpeted the ground leading steeply down to the water. Moss-covered boulders protruded from the river’s surface, allowing more greenery to take hold in their multitudinous crevices, and as we climbed higher the river took an increasingly tumultuous path down great rocky steps. After five wet minutes we reached the largest waterfall, a dramatic cascade that plunged down a huge, kinked “staircase”, and we took a moment at the viewing platform to gaze up and down the deep cleft carved by the furious water. In the downpour, it felt as though we were in a rainforest.

We crossed the river further up and followed the nature trail deep into the trees, away from the noisy banks. The way was clearly marked by a rough, rocky path, and – although the falls were beautiful – I was glad to be away from the manicured neatness of smooth tarmac and endless handrails, where the small handful of other tourists congregated in wet little groups. We snaked through the forest in a big loop, crossing back over the river further up and passing a couple of tiny huts where our tickets were checked – presumably to stop people sneaking in via the numerous hiking trails around the forest.

It was a lovely, circular route and we were thankful for the rain as we had the tranquil forest all to ourselves. We saw an escaped hawk with its jess still attached sat on a branch, fixated menacingly on something in the undergrowth, lots of red squirrels, jays, chaffinches, blackbirds, robins, mushrooms and – needless to say – an awful lot of trees. It took about an hour to get round, including dawdling and squirrel-feeding, and we topped it off with a few minutes playing on the giant swings overlooking the town, which we found just outside the exit. We were dripping wet and completely carefree.

Black Forest Museum

Once we’d exploited the swings, we crossed the road and dripped our way into the Black Forest Museum. We entered for free with our waterfall tickets and wandered through to a large, tin-rooved hall scattered with glass cabinets displaying traditional clothing from the region, an assortment of bizarre, heavily bejewelled headpieces, miscellaneous trinkets and generic old paintings. All the information signs were in German, which in a way was a relief (especially for Ryan) as I didn’t feel obliged to read anything.

Although innocuous-looking from the outside, the museum turned out to be a small labyrinth. We went through a doorway into a wide, wood-panelled hallway, which led to a couple of little rooms decorated in a traditional style. There was a charming, low-ceilinged child’s bedroom, tucked away up some beautifully carved stairs, and a workshop containing a vast array of hand tools and woodwork projects.

An arrow pointed us to the next section, which contained an awful lot of clocks and an information board in English – the only one we found in the whole museum, and for good reason:

Why English people can’t have nice things (read for a giggle)

We emerged in the museum café, which was lined with several mannequins dressed up in traditional costumes ranging from fancy suits with obscure hats to witch and devil-masked festival outfits, made even more fascinating by the absence of an English explanation. This led to another hall containing a huge model of the area and a tight corridor dressed as a mine shaft, featuring an incredible variety of glittering rocks displayed in the walls. We emerged from the passage and climbed an elaborately carved staircase back into the tin-rooved hall, impressed by the diverse content and curious layout of the museum; although we couldn’t read anything, the rich visual exhibits gave us good feel for the cultural, woodcraft, agricultural and mining history of the area.

Black Forest cake

I was desperate to try some authentic Black Forest cake, so we left the museum and walked a short, wet distance to the guesthouse-café we’d spotted on our way out from the waterfalls. We climbed some stone steps, entered through a small doorway, communicated to a waiter that we’d like some coffee and were pointed through to the rear of the building. We were instantly charmed: a stone-flagged floor led us past a long, wooden bar and an open-plan dining area separated roughly into sections by rustic, whitewashed walls, adorned with forest paintings, assorted taxidermy and mounted antlers. An upper mezzanine gave a feeling of spaciousness, which was balanced by the timeless cosiness that emanated from the wooden furniture, cladded, lantern-hung ceiling and eclectic mix of rustic décor.

We sat in a corner of a large room at the back of the building, which was wood-cladded from floor to ceiling like a forest lodge from a fairytale. It was lined by small, square faux windows and miscellaneous art, and our table was decorated with a red-check runner and white doilies. Ryan had German beer while I had coffee and – at last – Black Forest cake. It was unlike any I’d had in England: incredibly light and fluffy, mildly chocolatey, and layered with light, sweet cream and sweet, sour, kirsch-infused cherry filling. I’m not a huge cakey person, and Black Forest cake has never been a favourite, but this experience has converted me.

Evening

At 5pm we left the café with no little reluctance and returned to the car. On our way out of Triberg I realised anxiously that I’d forgotten to pick up my much-loved, much-used filter water bottle, so I pulled over so Ryan could run in and grab it – thankfully it was still there. We stopped at Furtwangen Lidl on the way back to Simonswald, marvelled once again at the vast selection of meat and cheese and the cheap alcohol (I picked up a local bottle of wine for 3€ and Ryan grabbed a few 44c beers), and rather enjoyed the atmospheric drive through relentless rain and dark, misty valleys.

Back in our cosy apartment, I cobbled together a dinner with the ingredients we’d picked up from Waldkirch market and some random bits from Lidl. We had chanterelle mushroom and tomato stew with chunks of frozen sausage, paprika peppers and spinach, accompanied by the meat skewer (which turned out to be pork), bread, Black Forest ham, cheese and sauerkraut. It was delicious, if a little haphazard, and we washed it down with shots of kirshwasser – which turned out to be unequivocally vile.

We spent the rest of the evening planning a hike up Feldberg, the Black Forest’s highest mountain, with the “help” of Kraut, and reflecting on our time in Germany so far. It had been another lovely day full of local culture, nature and history despite, or perhaps because of, the rain, as – in the absence of crowds, which I’d read often swarmed on Triberg – we barely felt like tourists.

Black Forest, Germany: Simonswald to Gengenbach

October 6, 2024October 6, 20242 Comments

Tuesday 10th September 2024

I felt as if I’d woken up in a dream. I lay under a pine-clad ceiling in a large room furnished plainly with a double and single bed, a floral-painted wardrobe and a comfy-looking armchair in a corner by three net-curtained windows, which revealed a steep, forested bank rising high above the back of the house in the misty morning light. After a hectic time planning this very-last-minute trip, it finally sank in that we’d made it past the travel hurdles I’d needlessly fussed about and were now deep in Germany’s Black Forest.

Journey

The first hurdle was getting to Stansted airport after a 4am start – not the easiest trip from the New Forest, but thankfully both National Express coaches were on time. The second was the flight, which was delayed by almost two hours and necessitated an anxious call to Europcar to check they’d wait for us. The third was collecting the car, which was more straightforward that I’d expected thanks to the lovely lady who received us, showed us round our shiny blue Toyota Aygo and – to my surprise – didn’t try to push us into purchasing deposit protection insurance. The fourth, and most intimidating, was driving an unfamiliar vehicle on the wrong side of the road (notably the autobahn in rush hour), without deposit protection insurance, for the first time in nearly five years, in the knowledge that the tiniest of knocks or scratches would cost us £800. The fifth and sixth were squeezing in a Lidl shop so we could eat and negotiating our late arrival with our host, as our accommodation was an hour and a half from Baden-Baden airport near a small town called Simonswald.

Accommodation

I got up and delighted on fully realising our location, which had not been revealed on our 9pm arrival in the dark. Our spacious apartment was on the first floor of a large, traditional Black Forest house on a small farm at the end of a dead-end road that climbed into a high-sided, dark-forested valley. The farm was timeless and fairytale-like, with its own watermill, wooden workshop and tiny chapel, and – as well as cosy wooden charm and a large living room-diner-kitchen, bedroom and bathroom – the apartment came with two bonuses that I hadn’t appreciated from my hasty peruse on AirBnB: an enclosed balcony looking up the valley, on which sat a large white and grey cat.

Kraut

I opened the balcony door and the cat promptly entered – the host hadn’t mentioned it and I assumed, by the way it padded around and settled immediately on the L-shaped sofa, that we were the ones imposing on its private space. I made coffee and, on opening the fridge door, had to extract both milk and the cat. There was a jar of sauerkraut leftover from last night’s dinner (chicken schnitzel with potato salad and sausage kale, cooked by Ryan while I recovered from the drive) which inspired the cat’s temporary name – Kraut.

Belated trip planning

Ryan soon emerged and cooked a delicious breakfast of egg, tomato, rich German sausage (which may have been beef) and thin, seeded bread from a pre-cut loaf, which made lovely, crispy toast. Having done precisely zero holiday planning beyond a resolution to climb Feldberg, the region’s highest mountain, we scoured the numerous leaflets (all in German) and settled on a day exploring mainly by car, given the grey sky and forecast rain.

We had a quick poke around the farm workshop, mill and chapel, then drove into the pretty, rural town of Simonswald to visit the little information centre. We didn’t learn much as everything was in German, but I took photos of some maps and we decided to head on to Elzach, a slightly bigger town in the next valley.

“Fixed” a battered map found in the apartment … What can’t electrical tape do?

Elzach

We parked near a residential area and noted how well-kept and big the houses were, how pothole-free the roads, and how there wasn’t a single bit of litter anywhere. The town centre was very pretty: old-fashioned street lamps and planters full of red geraniums lined cobbled pavements, and colourful buildings were punctuated by balconies, dormer windows and shutters. We found the information centre near a big pink-washed church and a primary school, where children played football despite the rain and didn’t wear uniforms. The man working there was very friendly and explained to us, in very good English, that there were dozens of signposted hiking trails in the area and that we should take two free leaflets – one a regional hiking map and the other containing descriptions of the corresponding routes – to navigate. We left wondering why England can’t implement such effective systems for tourists.

Local history hiking trail

We picked a short 5km loop – “heimatkundlicher wanderweg” – that started in a village 10 minutes up the valley, Oberprechtal, and encompassed 18 information boards (all of which I translated with an app) detailing the nature, culture and geography of the area. We climbed above the village and followed a clear path into the forest, which at first consisted of leafy ashes, hazels and brambles, then tall, dense pines with linear trunks that stretched straight upwards, emphasising the steepness – about 30 degrees – of the valley sides. We passed a sloping bank of moss-covered rocks and came to a small, wendy-house-like cabin looking upwards to a grassy, forest-lined meadow. It was very Hansel and Gretel and we couldn’t resist.

We sat in the porch and enjoyed ham and cheese sandwiches, sheltered from the torrential downpour that came in suddenly and swept over the meadow. When it seemed like the worst of the rain had passed, we continued through moss-covered, bracken-strewn pine forest for another kilometre, which was now dappled with soft sunlight that illuminated mosses, leaves and fronds in countless shades of green. We snaked down a steep switchback and emerged at the crest of a small ridge that looked up the Elz valley. Its lower reaches were carpeted by astonishingly green fields which rose into thick, dark forest on both sides, and a tiny road lined by spaced-out, red-rooved buildings wound up the belly of the valley towards hazy blue hills at its head. It was fairytale-like:

Once we’d absorbed the view, we headed down the side of the ridge through a tranquil young beech wood and came out on the road at the tiny, pretty village of Vor dem Wittenbach. Some construction workers had fenced off the bridge we were supposed to cross, so we found a diversion and returned to Oberprechtal on a footpath that followed a shallow stream past cattle fields and a pen of enormous turkeys. It was a lovely little loop and a good “taster” hike that left us thoroughly charmed with the quaintness and serene, timeless beauty of the Black Forest.

Toboggan run

We got back to the car at 3pm and decided that there was plenty of time for more activities, so Ryan – being the large child that he is – suggested a “summer toboggan run”, a one-person rollercoaster where the rider controls the brake, in the nearby town of Gutach. The 20-minute drive took double that due to a missed turn and a winding road that climbed high into thick forest and snaked down into the next valley. I’m sure it was very scenic, but I was too busy navigating the hairpin bends to appreciate the glimpses of distant pine-covered ridges through the trees.

We paid 4€ each at a little wooden kiosk, timed our turn so that we wouldn’t get stuck behind any children, and followed the instructions of the operator as well as we could – fünfundzwanzig meter, which I took to mean stay 25m behind Ryan. The carts were low and exposed, like glorified dinner trays with a windscreen, open sides and a handbrake on a raised metal track. I chugged joltily up the steep side of the valley at a snail’s pace with a bolt jabbing into my back at every track joint. It levelled out at the top and I had a brief moment to gaze over the valley. The red rooves of Gutach huddled between fields that climbed into dark-forested ridges, now drenched in soft afternoon sun. Then the fun bit began.

The cart swooped into a series of twists and turns and I hurtled down with a huge grin on my face. The track joints were loud and very noticeable and the sides of each berm were protected by a low wire net, which I’m sure would have done little in the event of disembarkment, but the dubious safety features certainly added to the excitement and even inspired me to feather the brake on some of the tighter corners. The descent lasted a couple of minutes and by the time I clambered out of the cart, my grin felt permanent. We agreed that it was well worth 4€.

Gengenbach

As we were already some way north of Simonswald, we thought we may as well make our way further north to see the town of Gengenbach, which I’d come across during my brief time spent researching the Black Forest. The 40-minute drive followed a wide valley through several sprawling, pretty towns and we arrived at a car park just outside the town centre at 5pm.

We entered the town through a gateway with a raised portcullis beneath a high, square tower – the Kinzigtor – which was painted white and decorated with a splay-winged German eagle and three coats of arms. It felt as if we’d stepped into a fairytale. Colourful buildings with painted shutters and hanging lanterns lined the wide, cobbled street, which converged with two other streets at the central market square. I’d never seen a place like it – there were so many focal points, and nothing was uniform but everything was perfect.

Nicest looking kebab shop I’ve ever seen…

A huge, pink, grand-looking town hall rose impressively on one side, its 22 symmetrical windows and 11 ground-floor arches each adorned with pink flowers. Three large buildings stood opposite the hall, painted white and cream with exposed timbers in hatched patterns. They had high-apexed, sloping tile rooves and flower boxes at each window. Along each cobbled street – the whole town was cobbled, and not a stone was missing – stretched more of these buildings, some painted pastel colours and some timber-framed, all with charmingly irregular rooves. The red spires of cream towers dominated the skyline at the end of each perfect row, and a stone fountain topped with red, pink and white geraniums and a statue of a knight trickled in the middle of the marketplace. Apart from the few cars, it was convincingly medieval. It didn’t seem real – I half-expected the walls to topple over and reveal it all to be a two-dimensional film set. It is, without doubt, the most attractive town I’ve ever seen.

We walked past the fountain along Victor-Kretz-Strasse and took the first right turn, not wanting to miss any of the real-life fairytale. We passed a couple of blue-shuttered buildings and a little car park fringed by tall, leafy trees, then came to a grand, cream building with dozens of uniform, pink-framed windows and a perfect front lawn dotted with round topiary bushes – the Black Forest Business School – that stood in front of an intricate sandstone tower, which belonged to the adjacent St Marien church. This was on the edge of the small town, which was backed by vineyard-covered hillsides, so we returned to the high street and headed towards Obertorturm, the north tower.

We passed shops selling clothes, shoes, books and souvenirs, all with little canopies stretching over the pavement, and bustling cafes that spilled out onto the street. There were plants everywhere, filling stone troughs lining the paths, in pots outside restaurants and cafes, and flowerboxes decorated the windows of most buildings. We turned left along a narrow alley just before the tower, poked around an old stone well with a wooden pump that looked like it worked, and wove through narrow, cobbled alleys lined by timber-framed houses back to the main street.

Charmed by the quaintness of every nook and cranny, we took the next turn and found ourselves down another surreal alley. Large lanterns protruded from the beams of houses and climbing greenery covered many of the walls, seeming to emanate from the cobbles. Grapevines crept above wooden front doors and the residents seemed to compete over who could encroach on the street with the greatest abundance of potted shrubs and geranium-lined windows. I wondered why any architect or town planner would ever deviate from such aesthetic perfection – if only every town looked like this.

We emerged on Haupstrasse, the other main street off the central marketplace, popped into a little supermarket for a drink, then were lured into a lovely, old-fashioned bakery. The tiny old lady smiled patiently through my attempts to communicate which bread I wanted and asked (via gestures) whether we wanted it sliced. Resisting the delicious-looking cakes and pastries, we left with a loaf of sliced walnut bread, which we later found to be divine. We returned to the car via the marketplace and the Kinzigtor, utterly enchanted by Gengenbach.

Evening

The hour-long drive back to Simonswald was thankfully uneventful, and took us through more pretty towns and fields nestled in wide valleys between great, sloping banks of rich forest. We arrived just before 7pm and settled in with a glass of wine (a German beer for Ryan) on the balcony, gazing up the green, wooded valley and listening to the sound of nothing but the birds and the stream. Kraut arrived, bit and scratched me when I was slow to give her some ham, and made herself comfortable on the sofa. Ryan cooked what turned out to be a thick pea and ham stew from a large Lidl can, which we had with cheese and walnut bread. We researched the area with the help of various leaflets (in German) and YouTube, which we could access on the TV, and decided – in light of the wet forecast – to go to the weekly market at Waldkirch the following morning. It was a lovely end to a successful first day. We went to bed besotted with the Black Forest.