I’ll admit it. I’ve strayed. I used to be a big city girl. But then just recently, I drove an hour out of big city Stuttgart to small town Blaubeuren. Just 10 minutes into my exploration of this remarkably well-preserved town — with its half-timber buildings from the 15th and 16th century — I hear it, the enthusiastic urging: “You’re in Blaubeuren, and you haven’t yet been to the Blue Pool?”
Stuck somewhere between a fairytale and a fantasy, the Blue Pool is essentially the most famous karst (an irregular limestone area characterised by sinks, ravines and underground streams) spring in the Swabian Jura. The dark blue colour — a result of light and reflection — looks photo-shopped. Travellers linger around the waters to understand rock formations. A deep silence is the soundtrack to any walk here. Almost as if people on this trail are surrendering to the water, rocks and trees.
It takes effort to pull myself away from nature. The water-powered drop-hammer mill (which illustrates how iron was forged) with all its quaintness, and the Benedictine Monastery, whose spire is reflected in the waters here, seem to suggest that although beauty can come abundantly from the creation of man, a feeling of the sublime is most likely born from an experience of nature.
It becomes apparent why the striking Gothic-style monastery was erected in a spot such as this. Clearly, it is a conducive place to follow the motto of pray-work-read, a code the monks studiously lived by. The wall frescoes in the monastic dining hall — with nature and various hunting techniques as their themes — offer an illustrative insight into the times in which they were created. The refectory, choir, cloister and bathhouse fascinate historians, just as the dripstone formations in the Blue Cave enchant divers.
Another institution you don’t have to be even remotely a specialist to enjoy is the Museum of Prehistory. The Venus, discovered at the nearby Hohle Fels cave (that has been the source of a number of significant archaeological finds) is what people beat through the thickets to see. This figurine from 40,000 years ago is arguably the most distinct representation of the human body of the era.
In keeping with the spirit of a place that exists introspectively, the walk around the old town has a living-museum quality. The guide indicates the homes that belonged to a community of tanners, easily recognisable because of the balconies on which animal hides were dried. But this is more than a swan-song to times past, for near at hand is a tannery that still produces fine leather.
At the distillery Roessle, a husband-wife team leads us through the assortment of liqueurs they produce. As we sniff and sample the distillates, it’s evident that an essential ingredient — that turns the fruits and berries harvested by hand from the Swabian Alps into these divine potions — is patience.
And if I had to raise a toast at my last supper here, it would be to this ability to live idiosyncratically and against the clock. Stop a man on a street corner and ask him about the year 1726 — when the linen left for bleaching in the meadow was inspected from a watchtower to ensure it didn’t get stolen — and chances are he’ll tell you.
For here, tucked away between caves and a canopy of green, people still have time for you, pilgrimages (albeit on Segways) are still made to a master-class of pre-historic art, and nature reigns supreme.
