she was distressed to learn, undergarments in the
1600s were even more uncomfortable and ill fitting than outer
garments. After an unsatisfying breakfast of stale bread and sour
wine which only succeeded in half filling the hole of hunger in her
stomach and left her ready to murder for an egg and bacon biscuit,
Ella left the convent with Greta and Sister Beatrix. Ella knew that
if it were up to Greta, Ella would stay hidden in the convent
forever, but Ella insisted on seeing the town. In reality, the trip
was more than anything else to convince herself that she really
was when she
was.
After ten minutes, she was convinced.
In spades.
The convent sat on the Nekker River less
than a mile from the famous Heidelberg Castle. Surrounded trees and
rough hewn boulders, Ella wondered if the convent had been placed
there by design to hide it. In any event, as soon as they left the
narrow lane that led from the nunnery, there was little doubt that
she had landed in 1620 Heidelberg.
A sea of dirty, ragged peasants streamed
along the main thoroughfare that led toward the town’s center and
marketing hub. When she caught her first glimpse of the castle high
above the town, the view took her breath away. No longer the
majestic ruin she had seen every day in 2012, this castle was
complete, undamaged and imposing.
She could not stop staring up at it as she
walked.
“You are gawking, Ella,” Greta said.
“I can’t get over everything,” Ella said.
“Is the pedestrian bridge a toll bridge? Has the gateway not been
built yet?”
“It is best if you do not speak, I think,
yes?”
Ella tore her eyes from the towering castle
walls to see the curious glances she was getting from people around
her.
Guess I’m not fitting in
too well in 1620 Heidelberg , she thought.
She dropped her eyes to the road in front of her but was soon
staring all about her again. There was so much to see, so much to
take in. It was impossible not to look. She tried not to gape in
astonishment. In some ways, the bustling streets of medieval
Heidelberg reminded her of a movie set. She half expected some
irritated director to jump out from behind a bush and redirect all
the extras to the canteen until a few more telephone wires could be
removed in order to get the period piece just right. Except there
were no telephone wires to remove. Or anything else that might
indicate that she was anywhere but in the early seventeenth
century.
She looked at Greta, forging purposefully
ahead toward the town market, her back straight and determined, the
rows of scowling peasants trudging along on either side of her.
I’m really here. I’m really fucking
here.
There was little similarity
to the Altstadt familiar to her. The street was rank with the stench of
garbage and raw sewage. As in 2012, the market sat behind the
Church of the Holy Spirit. Ella couldn’t get over how filth and
fresh produce were so close to each other and nobody seemed to
care. She tried to remember when exactly bacteria were
discovered. No wonder these people didn’t
live to forty! She walked closely behind
Greta, who nearly trotted in her blatant urgency to silently yet
quickly accomplish the convent’s shopping.
The narrow cobblestone walkway, so crowded
now with animals and people, was lined in 2012 with a mile of
quaint shops and homes with Baroque and Renaissance facades. It was
a bustling street of tourists and shopping, bratwurst and pretzel
stands, panhandlers, musicians and artful street cafés. As she
hurried after Greta, Ella couldn’t help but notice a particularly
slovenly fishmonger’s table set up precisely where she was sure she
had enjoyed a leisurely latté not two weeks earlier. The fishmonger
looked up and made a sign as if warding off evil spirits. Ella
resolved to try harder not to stare.
Just ahead, she could see the street opened
into the cobblestone courtyard around the Church of the Holy
Spirit. Jammed up against the church was row after row of produce
and fish
1600s were even more uncomfortable and ill fitting than outer
garments. After an unsatisfying breakfast of stale bread and sour
wine which only succeeded in half filling the hole of hunger in her
stomach and left her ready to murder for an egg and bacon biscuit,
Ella left the convent with Greta and Sister Beatrix. Ella knew that
if it were up to Greta, Ella would stay hidden in the convent
forever, but Ella insisted on seeing the town. In reality, the trip
was more than anything else to convince herself that she really
was when she
was.
After ten minutes, she was convinced.
In spades.
The convent sat on the Nekker River less
than a mile from the famous Heidelberg Castle. Surrounded trees and
rough hewn boulders, Ella wondered if the convent had been placed
there by design to hide it. In any event, as soon as they left the
narrow lane that led from the nunnery, there was little doubt that
she had landed in 1620 Heidelberg.
A sea of dirty, ragged peasants streamed
along the main thoroughfare that led toward the town’s center and
marketing hub. When she caught her first glimpse of the castle high
above the town, the view took her breath away. No longer the
majestic ruin she had seen every day in 2012, this castle was
complete, undamaged and imposing.
She could not stop staring up at it as she
walked.
“You are gawking, Ella,” Greta said.
“I can’t get over everything,” Ella said.
“Is the pedestrian bridge a toll bridge? Has the gateway not been
built yet?”
“It is best if you do not speak, I think,
yes?”
Ella tore her eyes from the towering castle
walls to see the curious glances she was getting from people around
her.
Guess I’m not fitting in
too well in 1620 Heidelberg , she thought.
She dropped her eyes to the road in front of her but was soon
staring all about her again. There was so much to see, so much to
take in. It was impossible not to look. She tried not to gape in
astonishment. In some ways, the bustling streets of medieval
Heidelberg reminded her of a movie set. She half expected some
irritated director to jump out from behind a bush and redirect all
the extras to the canteen until a few more telephone wires could be
removed in order to get the period piece just right. Except there
were no telephone wires to remove. Or anything else that might
indicate that she was anywhere but in the early seventeenth
century.
She looked at Greta, forging purposefully
ahead toward the town market, her back straight and determined, the
rows of scowling peasants trudging along on either side of her.
I’m really here. I’m really fucking
here.
There was little similarity
to the Altstadt familiar to her. The street was rank with the stench of
garbage and raw sewage. As in 2012, the market sat behind the
Church of the Holy Spirit. Ella couldn’t get over how filth and
fresh produce were so close to each other and nobody seemed to
care. She tried to remember when exactly bacteria were
discovered. No wonder these people didn’t
live to forty! She walked closely behind
Greta, who nearly trotted in her blatant urgency to silently yet
quickly accomplish the convent’s shopping.
The narrow cobblestone walkway, so crowded
now with animals and people, was lined in 2012 with a mile of
quaint shops and homes with Baroque and Renaissance facades. It was
a bustling street of tourists and shopping, bratwurst and pretzel
stands, panhandlers, musicians and artful street cafés. As she
hurried after Greta, Ella couldn’t help but notice a particularly
slovenly fishmonger’s table set up precisely where she was sure she
had enjoyed a leisurely latté not two weeks earlier. The fishmonger
looked up and made a sign as if warding off evil spirits. Ella
resolved to try harder not to stare.
Just ahead, she could see the street opened
into the cobblestone courtyard around the Church of the Holy
Spirit. Jammed up against the church was row after row of produce
and fish
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