Trip 38 — Usedom Walk

Day 5: Zinnowitz to Balm
Friday, 17 November 2023

Today: 33303 steps/25.22 km/15.67 mi/4h 39m Total: 156260 steps/120.47 km/74.86 mi/22h 39m

The rain stopped just before I left the Parkhotel, heading east. The street dwindled into a lane behind the holiday homes and then dissipated into a forest track. Eventually I merged onto the paved walkway and bike path that I had taken westbound two days ago: the narrow spit between the sea and the Achterwasser.

A trail through the wetlands took me through a kind of family camp and then along the railway line. I reached the southern end of Koserow. All over Usedom I'd seen signs and advertisements for Karls Erlebnis-Dorf, Karl's Experience Village. Well, here I was right in front of it, so I couldn't resist popping in.

It was a kitschy market with pungent soaps, "I love Ostsee" (the German name of the Baltic Sea) souvenirs, holiday trinkets, and everything else that my mother puts into the category of "I like to look at it but I don't want it in my house." There were entire aisles devoted to red juice. An animatronic horse lauded an ointment originally made to ease the pain in horses: If it's good for them, it must be great for humans!

There were fancy jarred foods and a pay-per-kilo buffet. Inside was a track for children to ride trucks while their guardians played on their phones, pretending to watch — American lawyers would love it. Outside were a small roller coaster and, operating in the high season, a sausage stand. I'm sure there were whole sections I missed.

This part of Koserow also included a couple of supermarkets and a "Drinkland." Next to one market was the Tommy Fisch trailer. The receptionist at the Parkhotel had questioned why I hadn't booked a rate that included breakfast, and I must have known that I was going to find Tommy's. Forget the little fish-on-a-roll snacks they sold in Świnoujście: The autumn special here was a fried-fish sandwich on a giant roll with beets, feta, and onion. I had to evaluate several strategies for getting it into my mouth.

The main reason I paused in Koserow was to get a better look at the church, which I'd seen only in the dark. Near the entrance was a tiny sign saying it was open from 10 a.m. to noon in the off-season. It was 11:56. I rushed to the door and tried it.

It opened. Someone was playing the organ upstairs. He (I think; I caught a glimpse of the back of his head) didn't seem to notice me. I took a few steps in. The altar area was sparsely furnished, but the 500-year-old wooden altar, with Mary, John, Jesus, and others, was in remarkably good condition. There were no musty choir stalls as I imagined Wilhelm Meinhold's sexton rummaging around to find the story of the Amber Witch. Perhaps they were moved upstairs when the organ was installed in 1897, but I didn't want to bother the organist.

I dropped a euro in the donation box and it landed with such a thud that it might have been mistaken for a percussion accompaniment to the organ. There was a guestbook; I wrote that I had read "Die Bernsteinhexe" (German for "The Amber Witch") and was glad to have seen the church and heard the organ, but my hands were so cold and the ink wasn't flowing well, so my message was barely legible.

Once outside, I noticed that those morning opening hours were under the condition of "by prior arrangement."

I followed the road, the main route through the island. I was impressed by the paved pedestrian and bike path that ran roughly parallel to it entirely. Sometimes the path crossed to the other side; sometimes it diverged into quieter parts, but there was always a way to keep going. This should be standard everywhere. Imagine taking Route 9 up from New York City or Route 6 through Connecticut, from town to town. Will there ever be a way to walk them safely the whole distance?

At Ückeritz — the people in "The Amber Witch" were always walking between Koserow and Ückeritz — a sign pointed to a restaurant, and I figured I'd better take a break and have a proper meal while I could. German House — with tradition! the sign said. I had a house specialty of Schöddelsülz, jellied sour suckling-pig cubes and egg — I'm a sucker for anything that says "old family recipe" on the menu, but there was much to like.

For a while the road roughly followed the train line, past rural stations such as Neu Pudagla, which was in a forest clearing and barely in sight of any buildings. At Schmollensee station I turned south to reach Pudagla proper. Here I found the 1574 castle where Mary Schweidler was locked up and tortured before being marched to the pyre up on the Streckelsberg. The castle wasn't receiving visitors, but to my surprise, its cafe was open. I was running later than I wanted but I couldn't resist having a hot chocolate in the building where the reckoning had taken place. I'm just glad they've updated their basement toilets.

I had a little over an hour before reaching the golf resort in Balm, where I'd be spending the night. Today I had the best chance of getting in before dark, but I still blew it: The church and the fish sandwich and the hot chocolate and, well, I had to listen to the horse at Karl's sing about his cream — they all added up. And then the rain started again. Fortunately I'd brilliantly forgotten to hang my poncho to dry last night, so it was easily extracted and unscrunched from its loose position in my bag.

The rain didn't last long (it really does depend on what I do or don't do with the poncho), and the sun hung low behind the clouds, almost backlighting the fields. It's getting to the point in the trip where the long walks give me blisters, and there seems to be a hole in the bottom of my left shoe, so there's a perpetual squish on that side with the wet roads and paths. I limped up to the reception desk at the Hotel Balmer See at last light. It was 4:40 p.m., but it felt five hours later.

The golf resort had many buildings. The receptionist showed me a map and indicated that my building was next door, so of course I ended up walking most of the premises before finding it. A bag with pool towels and slippers stood in the bathroom, hinting that my body might do well with a swim. Unlike my room, the warm pool was easy to find.

The hotel operates an Italian restaurant a couple hundred meters back down the road. After struggling with German for a few days, I was startled to be greeted with "Buona sera." The place was almost full at 8:30; most places on Usedom have closed not much later, at least in November, and I've been the last patron even when arriving before eight.

It was a cozy restaurant with surprisingly low prices (spaghetti ai frutti di mare for €12.50), and it was comforting to be eating with so many people. In Germany, at least on Usedom, people sometimes say a quick goodbye to other tables when they leave a restaurant, as though they've all been to a party together. It's a nice habit.

Go on to day 6