Germany's Autobahns have an almost mythical reputation in the world of motoring. Forget for a moment that 65 percent of them are under local or conditional speed restrictions, ranging from the sleep-inducing 80 km/h to the we're-almost-there 120 km/h. Also forget for a moment that this flawless network of 7444 miles is at times more like an overtaxed bumper-to-bumper headache - North European winter and summer holidays when Scandinavians and the Dutch head to the Alps and the Med and choke the system down to an unbearable crawl, readily come to mind.
Still, for the most part, the picturesque - and billboard-free - ribbon of undulating asphalt that crisscross this country of 82.5 million is a purpose-built statement of efficiency, engineering, and know-how that is as admired and revered by auto enthusiasts as it is unreplicable by governments far and wide. Indeed, the autobahns are as much a part of the unfailingly reliable transport infrastructure of this country as Die Bahn and Lufthansa are in their respective disciplines of train and air travel.
Which makes them perfect for blitzing from point A to point B. But if you're interested in seeing the country, they're pretty much a useless - and oftentimes stressful - blur. Which is why most rightly steer clear of them and instead make for the B-roads, which is exactly what I was about to do: make for the B-roads of the former East Germany, where fifteen years after reunification, the divide between the two halves is palpable.
Sure, the autobahns in the former communist east have been upgraded and facilities and infrastructure have been revamped. But lured by a free-market economy that is Europe's largest and the world's third biggest, throngs, even in cosmopolitan locales like Leipzig and Dresden, have left eastern Germany for jobs and opportunities in the more prosperous west, turning entire areas into veritable ghost towns - the omnipresent air of hopelessness the only thing that's now left behind.
Preserved Harz
Except in the Harz Mountains, a verdant region of pines, craggily outcroppings and deep valleys, which sat astride the former East-West border virtually untouched by development. Today, it's embroidery of quaint towns, mountain hideaways, and national parks, highlighted by incomparable Romanesque architecture throughout. Think of it as medieval time warp, littered with roe and red deer, wild boar, wild cat, foxes, black storks, and dippers, which wander the serrated gorges of these buttes - occasionally dipping into the myriad of streams and naturally formed dams which are host to dozens of species of fish, including sea trout, which grow to 20 pounds or more.
And while European naturalists, anglers, and outdoorsman have known about this region for years, it's only now that travelers as a whole are discovering its beauty and allure - along with its charming villages, like Quedlinburg, Goslar, and Blankenburg, all of which are well-preserved architectural marvels, designated as such by UNESCO. I was headed to the eastern side of the mountains, to Thale by way of Blankenburg, to witness the annual and truly out-of-the-ordinary witches' festival of sorcery - where thousands of people gather each May to dance and sweep away winter with their brooms.
The roads through the Harz are among Germany's most alluring and are littered with picturesque sleepy parishes, all a stone's throw from the main north-south artery, the A7. Braunlage, population 5000, is among them. A health or Kurorte resort which dates back to the 14th century, it sees skiers in the winter and hikers in the summer tackling the slopes of two nearby mountains and is most famous for boasting that it hosts Northern Germany longest gondola lift, at 4468-feet.
Braunlage is anchored by a quaint main street that during my visit was bedecked in everything Wiccan, including hobgoblins, sorceresses, hags and other paraphernalia of witchcraft. It undoubtedly presaged things to come. Pressing onward through forests of pine to Blankenburg quickly reveals stark glimpses of the Cold War. Unsightly prefab Soviet-era buildings compete for attention with beautiful low-lying baroque church steeples on a colorful backdrop of patchwork fields, as I head into town.
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