Tag: Weinheim an der Bergstraße
What Would We Be without Our Verein?
Germans love to organise themselves in clubs, called “Verein”. This particular one is dedicated to uphold the traditions of Weinheim. The somewhat long and cumbersome name stems from the fact that it is an amalgamation of two clubs, none of which wanted to give up their traditional name.
……………………………………….
Go Home!
We were standing on the ramparts of the ruins of Castle Lindenfels in the Odenwald when somebody needed point out to us where we really belonged. The sunbeam pointed directly to the Wachenburg, about 20km in the distance.
Home
When I was looking for a photo for Debbie’s challenge today, I knew I wanted to show a photo of the neighbourhood I grew up in. I found this one, the houses of the old part of town where I used to play, the old town wall that bordered our garden, the Schlosspark with the pond behind, and the medieval tower which watched over it all. And then I noticed that I hadn’t taken this photo myself. The photographer was our grandson. Heritage in more ways than one.
Are We Having Fun Yet?
I don’t care that much for the water park in our town itself (from my earliest experiences working there as kitchen drudge to being forced on the bigger slides because the grandchildren weren’t allowed on their own yet due to age) but it makes for a colourful feature in the suburbs.
In winter it looks very different, yet still colourful:
And finally a shot at the end of the day:
Kaleidoscope architecture for Life in Colour in December.
Diana Falling apart
This statue of the goddess of the hunt in the local park is in dire need of some tender loving care. All editing was done with Photoscape.
One-to-Three Photo Challenge in December
.
.
.
.
.
.
I’m a Fan of the Blue Hat
This tower, called “Blauer Hut” (blue hat) because we think it used to have a slate roof, was part of the town wall encircling Weinheim.
Today the Cat Would Get out by Itself
A really old door. I remember when it wasn’t broken (which makes me old in turn, I guess). And I remember the story that my father had to climb down from window to the floor inside to rescue my grandma’s cat. Because the door was thick and strong and already rusted then and nobody had a key.
This is the whole tower where this is door can be found:
And yes, that is the back garden of my parents’ house.
The tower has been restored last year. I don’t like the smooth surface now but it was possibly the only way to keep it safe. Anyway, the gorgeous view of the other side remains the same:
pictures imperfect blog 