Home    Contact us     Join the club!

From The Dubois County Daily Herald
December 28, 1950

HARK THE HERALD

Triberg Im Schwarzwald
by A. T. Rumbach

After breathing the invigorating air of the pine-clad Schwarzwald hills all morning, our first thought upon arrival at Triberg was about food. Triberg being a resort town, there are plenty places to eat, hotels, restaurants, taverns, gift and novelty shops abound.

So it was mostly a question of whom we want to favor with our patronage.   We were not long in deciding, for just a block ahead of us was the large sign;   Parkhotel Wehrle, with the coast-of-arms emblazoned upon the shield, plus the number 1707.   Whether that is the street number of the hotel or the year of its origin, we were unable to learn, but well-kept as it is, it showed signs of great antiquity.   We chose this place for sentimental reasons, reminding us as it did of Wehrle’s “Chicken-in-the-Rough” restaurant back home in Jasper, Indiana.

The menu of the day, also adorned with the Wehrle coat-of-arms and name in full, plus the following appetizing choices of food, listed, partly in German, partly in French and some English:   Kerbel-Suppe, Omelette mit Gefluegelleber, Roast Beef English styles, pommes frites, Wirsinggemuese, Schokoloden-Crème.   The price D.M. 5.00 or about $1.25.   The dinner or abendessen menu was more elaborate but the price about the same:   Ochenschwanz – Suppe; Steinbutt, gekocht, Petersilien-butter; Salzkartoffeln; Eierhoernchen mit schinken gratiniert, oder kalte – bratten, schinken und wurst; Reiche salatplatte, schokoladen crème oder verschieden kaese.

Hearing the people at the table next to us speaking English (of the American variety) we identified ourselves as fellow Americans.   There were a family of father, mother, son, daughter and maid, hailed from New York and residents in Triberg over a year.   They love the Schwarzwald but the little boy yearned for home where he would be able to play baseball and football.

The city of Triberg is built on the lower slope of a three-peaked hill (from which it derives its name) similar to French Lick and West Baden, only much larger.

The Dorfbach, a mountain stream which dashes rapidly through the center of the town, has its origin high above, cascading down from the top of the mountain in a series of beautiful waterfalls, said to be the highest and largest in Germany.   The rest of our party admired the falls from below, while I started to climb the mountainside by way of the path alongside the falls with a bridge over the stream at strategic places.   Climbing from one leap of the water to the next one above was a fascinating experience, and I kept on going higher and higher until I reached the top where the stream flows serenely in the “back” on the plateau above it starts its descent in easy stages down the cliffs.

Fred was still resting peacefully on a stone bench at the foot of the falls, thinking, no doubt, if his darn-fool brother wants to break his neck there’s nothing he could do about it.   Klara, perhaps feeling some responsibility as hostess, finally induced Herr Wassmer to make the climb with her, but I met them half-way down, none the worse for the experience except that I was a little damp from the spray of the cascades.

I found, in climbing, that there are hotels hidden all along the mountainside, one with a beautiful, large swimming pool, tennis courts, etc.   The well-known pilgrimage spot, the Chapel of Our Lady of Triberg, is also well up towards the top of one of the three peaks.

We then visited a museum specializing in clocks of all periods of time, and the costumes of the peasantry and nobility over a series of centuries.   In one of the largest souvenir stores there was also a display of every variety of cuckoo clocks made by the Schwarzwalders, and also a great variety of other novelties whittled from blocks of wood of various sizes.   They are very interesting and ingenious.

After a lunch of assorted cheeses, fruits and excellent “pastetten” (pastries) with choice of beer, wine, or schoholade, we started for Reute as the tall pines cast lengthening shadows across the “tal” and the sun suddenly plunged below the horizon as we descended from “the high road to the low road.”