Lindau By Night

One thinks Heidelberg by day-with its surroundings-is the last possibility of the beautiful; but when he sees Heidelberg by night, a fallen Milky way, with that glittering railway constellation pinned to the border, he requires time to consider upon the verdict.

-Mark Twain, "A Tramp Abroad"

We came to Lindau off the vast expanse of water that touched the soil of four different countries. We came as tourists have always come, in droves, beneath the blaze of Summer sun. My first impression of Lindau was favorable, if lukewarm. It seemed a nice little city, situated on a nice little bit of rock, with some delightful winding roads and such.

We made our way on cobblestone roads, and peered into brightly decorated shop windows. I grew more fond of it the longer we walked. I was altogether charmed by the way the city looked in the afternoon light, the buildings all painted colors I’d never seen back home. Even on the shores of Del Mar the bungalows dim beneath the faded brilliance of the hues seen in Lindau.

There is a main street, and several little alleyways and quaint little detours that beckon with the alluring promise of getting you lost. Don’t be fooled; getting lost in a place like Lindau is a feat of superhuman proportions.

I remember the art museum. A humble collection, it displayed the works of Emil Nolde, a German expressionist painter. I hadn’t heard of him before, but liked his paintings immensely. I do love expressionism, and I was thinking of bold strokes and outlandish colors when I stepped back into the the sunny square.

If I liked Lindau in daylight, I liked it more the lower the sun sank in the sky, and I liked it still more when it left altogether. How the lights of the city sparkled on inky waves in the harbor, how the strains of street musicians drifted- I imagined- even to the great stone lion we had paid our respects to, when the day was still here. By day Lindau was very pretty and by night she was all grown up, with a diamond lariat at her throat and diamond bobs in her ears.

After a fashion we walked back into the heart of Lindau, knowing that the pretty stores were all closed. If you don’t know the feeling of buying ice cream from a store on wheels and eating it as you walk along darkened shop windows, then I pity you. You do not know Summer. We came upon a little cafe and we went in, for one of our party was very much drawn to that elusive pixie, wifi. So we followed the bars on our phones, and entered, casting sheepish smiles at the hostess, who knew we wouldn’t be buying anything. I remember that there was a man with a little french horn who got of his bicycle to play for us. Back home I don’t think it would have been the same, but here, under the cover of a thousand stars, charmed as we were by a little German island, we stood and smiled and swayed to his song.

“I’m hungry,” Hannah said. And when she said that, we felt its truth in our own bellies. It was such a wonderful thing, to be young and hungry in a city that was like a young lady who dances in a yellow silk dress with cobwebby lace, and rouges her cheeks, and scrubs it off again. It’s only like this at night; in the daytime, no one ever remember that they are young and immortal. Those are thoughts that come with the sinking of the sun. In the day, we think only of the tiredness in our legs, the heat even in the shade of the Rathaus. There is no room for divinity.