Medieval Thanksgiving

Dear Old Bolds, Friends, and Family,

Shhh…Don’t tell anyone, but Charley and I have taken a little break from our grueling travel schedule to enjoy the medieval splendor of Rothenburg ob der Tauber. This adorable town, which is overrun in the summer, and even now hosts busloads of Japanese and American tourists and military, personifies elegance. The Rothenburgers, long canny businesspeople, have achieved something I’ve found nearly nowhere else on earth – a perfect balance of authentic ancient charm mixed with modern renovation and amenities on a widespread scale. Choosing a hotel inside the city walls in advance was nearly impossible – every single one had outstanding reviews.

We simply drove through a narrow stone portico, got lost on winding one-way streets, barely made it through a gap between two buildings in on our Ford Focus, and asked a gentleman walking his dog on the street for a recommendation. Voila! The recipe for finding the perfect hotel – at least in winter.

Yesterday, under clear blue skies, we explored the town, its gates, cafes loaded with sugary confections, and shops bursting with hand-made ornaments, nutcrackers, pyramids, and assorted toys and gifts that bring forth the most joyful Christmas fantasies, no matter your age. The whole town was busy setting up Tannenbaums outside the shops and preparing for the Christmas market in the central square which is crowned by an exquisitely painted fountain/well, encased in glass.

Last night we walked the tranquil streets and found a traditional Frankish restaurant where we enjoyed local wine and dishes, and then walked back to our hotel under gently falling snowflakes (those 500 year old cobblestones can get a bit slippery when covered by the white stuff though!).

We’re here because, frankly, we’ve had a lot of pilot cancellations in our schedule. Physical and mental deterioration seem to be taking a terrible toll, and have caused 5 of our planned interviews to drop us on short notice.

On the positive side, we found the farm near Constance where Egon Mayer was born, met his nephew, and delighted in going through a box of family photos. We also got a lead on where we think we might find his flight records. (In order to avoid being jinxed, I shall remain silent until that lead pans out – fingers crossed!)

Then we had a chatty visit with a JG54 pilot’s wife, but unfortunately, he wasn’t able to very much himself. The day after, in the stunning setting of Lindau on Lake Constance, ringed by the snow-covered Swiss and Austrian mountains to the south, we spent the entire day with a pilot who flew the FW-190 as a Jabo (German for fighter-bomber).

In Munich, I finally was able to talk to a bon vivant fighter pilot who flew against Allied bombers, and who shot some down.  It was helpful to get some details from the “other” point of view. But the surprise came when he told us his entire group (he was in the 1st Staffel of the 1st Group of the 1st Squadron (JG1)) was sent to jet training in January 1945. My eyebrows shot up. ME 262 I asked? No, the single-engine HE 162, known today as the Volksjaeger.

Thanks to a Saturday lecture at the Chino museum featuring our Joerg and an HE 162 pilot who lives in Central California, I at least knew what the machine was, and how it performed, and so avoided any embarrassing, silly questions.

And so on it goes, with more veterans to come.

I hope you all enjoy your Thanksgiving, as we will do here (only minus the turkey!)