Review: Würzburg Night Watchman Tour
This article was originally published in German. The English version is an automatic translation and may contain errors. The German original is authoritative.
Dressed in a black robe, armed with a halberd and horn, he walks through the dark alleys of the old town. A retinue of people shuffles after him, the luminous figure of the night. It forms a striking contrast to Würzburg's nightlife. "Historical refinement, coarse Franconian humour and Würzburg dialect", his website promises, "a genuine original of the city." The night watchman – who doesn't know him?
We meet at 8 p.m. at the Vierröhrenbrunnen. We are surrounded by the evening bustle of Würzburg-Downtown: trams thunder past, cyclists swerve around pedestrians, the Kupsch chases away its last customers. Finally, descending from the cathedral, comes a figure from the past. Quasimodo? Vincent Raven? Bonaventura's night watch? No, it is the night watchman in his leisurely gait. We pay 6 euros, he blows through his horn, he rattles off some Franconian dialect, the street cabaret begins. We go on a fairy-tale journey, closing time arrives, we become proficient in Franconian, we learn the plural of "Hund" ("Hünd"). Everyone laughs, rehearsed jokes, calm and authority. The moon rises.
We are a group of tourists, 35 years and upwards. We come from Cologne, Bremen and Bonn. We sleep at the Till Eulenspiegel and see the world through Silvaner-tinted glasses. We stand a metre in front of the night watchman and take an unforgettable photo. His red eyes grin in the light of the flash.
Up Wolfhartsgasse, past the Penny, a supermarket in a dream journey through the past. We hear stories about Willy Popp, Joseph Lindwurm and Ernst Bumm (legends of the city). It is about the construction of the fortress, the construction of the residence or both at once. House façades, head tilted back, rays of the past, the moon shines brightly. The wit of the magic, the magic of the wit, he conjures it up, we eat out of his hand. It reminds one of Two and a Half Men. Everyone laughs, everyone.
The procession continues, up the street, into Sterngasse. We see the site of an old bakers' guild. Everything still stands, except the bakers' guild. Before our eyes the bakers bake. They breathe flour in snow-white robes. The building now houses flats, offices and speculative properties. Fraternity students brush past our group. Bottle raised, a greeting to the night watchman, horsepower drives past.
Along Subway, softest bread, then turn right, St. Kilian reigns. Cardinal Faulhaber, Marcus Söder, Tilman Riemenschneider, Julius Echter. He had the beer tax abolished, Bavarian Purity Law, blue-and-white Bavaria, star of the south. Thanks to him the wheat beer!
And finally it is 9 p.m. The bells ring out, Würzburg's churches sing. The night watchman's horn is blown in farewell. He sings us a serenade, receives a tip and we buy his night watchman handbook. We part ways, the night watchman disappears. We retire to Julius' Spital.
Cian Hartung