Theo is Obsessed with Castles in Wertheim

 As we travel around Germany, we get used to visiting towns half new and half old. During World War II, many German towns were bombed and nearly destroyed by the Allies, which meant the Germans needed to rebuild. We get used to leaving modern Germany and moving through a kind of time tunnel back to an earlier time, the way things used to be. We get tiny glimpses of life before the bombing.

Wertheim is not like that, and that's what makes Theo insistent that we stop and visit. It is a small, cozy German town that was never bombed by the Allies during World War II. Dan tells Theo the remarkable story--towards the end of the war, the Americans were stationed outside the city with their guns. They threatened to bomb the town if the people didn't surrender. The Germans had orders never to surrender.

But that day the head German was not in town and one brave soldier decided enough was enough. The war was practically over. He raised the white surrender flag and saved the town.

Theo hears that story and insists we pay the town a visit. Not to see the town itself, but to see the castle. 

"Sure," we agree. "We can see the castle."

But I have other things on my agenda. I'm always fascinated by places where you can glimpse the past. See the way people used to live. See their houses. The streets. And inevitable see the quirky things that make the town so special.

The streets are cobblestone. The houses are the original half-timbered architecture. There is a central plaza where everyone sits outside to enjoy a coffee, a danish or a pretzel. 

We save the castle for last for obvious reasons. As soon as we see it, Theo will insist on going back to the hotel. To relax. To snack. I know this kid by now. We're smarter than the average cat. 

Or so we think!

As we traverse the town, every other meow out of Theo's mouth is he wants to see the castle. Well, the ruins of a castle. You can step back into medieval times and forget that you are in modern times. For Theo, I think it's because he saw something on castles on the History Channel. Besides watching shows about birds and squirrels, quirky historical events are what Theo loves best. 

No cat could do more sniffing. He wanders freely on the grass, sniffs every rock and boulder he can find, jumps up on the stone gate. He's basically having a grand old time. I wonder what piece of history he's tapping into as he sniffs. Knights in shining armor? Damsels in distress? King and queens?

Well, I want to know and ask Theo directly.  "What did you think?

Did you like Wertheim? Aren't you glad you came?"

"I liked the castle."

"That's it?"

Wertheim is an incredibly beautiful place. From the height of the castle, we look down to the valley below. 

Priceless. (At least I think so.)

 

Theo and the Regensburg Sausage Kitchen

 Theo agrees to go to Regensburg--another quaint historic city on the Danube River--because it hosts a Sausage Kitchen that still serves sausage and sauerkraut, the oldest continuously operating public restaurant in the world (1135AD.) That information is kind of mind blowing. I want to taste the sausage myself. I love sauerkraut. So I sympathize with Theo. As usual the kid is hungry. As usual we'll have to listen to his plaintive meows as we tour around this famous city. 

"First we see the city. Then we'll eat."

Theo frowns and shakes his head.

"Sorry, buddy. But this isn't a gourmet eating tour. You'll get your sausages, I promise."

Skeptical. Unhappy. And, of course, hungry. I try to distract him.

"Look."

We've just spotted one of the city's key attractions--a stone bridge built in the 12th century (the oldest bridge in Germany) which for years was the only bridge across the Danube. Can you imagine? If anyone wanted to cross the Danube, they needed a boat for years!

Luckily, Regensburg was not bombed by the Allies during WWII so we can see the gorgeous Renaissance and Gothic style buildings that define the town. Regensburg is one of the biggest medieval cities north of the Alps. Its history spans 2,000 years, beginning as a military camp in 179AD by the Romans and later growing into a bustling hub due to its location on the Danube. The city is very livable. We pass an open air market and have to literally pick Theo up as we walk on by:

The Protestant Reformation literally began in Regensburg. Martin Luther (and others) led a movement against the Catholic Church, upset over the selling of indulgences, etc. resulting in the formation of various Protestant sects. Nevertheless, the Regensburg Cathedral (the Cathedral of St. Peter) lies in the heart of the city. Two towering spires extend 105 meters into the air. Stained glass windows from the 13th and 14th centuries let the light in. The interior is glorious:

Walking through a cathedral, gawking at the art work, statues and the sheer magnificence of the place wears Theo down. Maybe it's my imagination, but I can hear his little tummy growl. 

Off to the sausage kitchen. The place is packed. There is eating inside (waiting list) and out. We stand in line and put in our order--sausage and sauerkraut on a delicious roll. We pay and then walk over to a window in the kitchen and wait for our food. Theo doesn't quite understand why there is a delay.

We find a table that overlooks the Danube. The day is sunny with a slight breeze. Dan puts the sausage sandwiches on a table. By this time we're drooling. But then the unthinkable happens. 

In a blink of an eye Theo jumps up on the table, grabs a sausage out of the roll, leaps down again with the sausage securely in his mouth and begins running towards the river. We are more than astounded. 

Dan runs after him but loses sight of the gangster cat. Where did he go? 

"I give up," Dan says.

"He'll come back." I don't know why I'm so calm, but I figure he's looking for a quiet place to eat. 

We wolf down our sandwiches, and sure enough, I spot him, licking his chops, walking confidently across the stone floor towards our table.

I can hear his excuses running through my head. "I had to do it." or "I was starving." 

"Theo."

"I did what I had to do," he says before he proceeds to lie down at our feet and close his eyes.

"Let it be," Dan says. And I do.

Finally, we head off in search of Port Praetorian, a Roman style gate built from massive blocks of stone--the oldest gate in Germany--dating back to 2AD. It is well preserved and much bigger than I imagine it will be. For a moment I imagine walking through the gate and ending up back in time, able to glimpse the way life was centuries ago. 

No, that doesn't happen. We remain firmly rooted in 2025, but as we're leaving this city, I ask Dan and Theo--what was the highlight. For me it was the cathedral. Dan picks Port Praetorian. For Theo, it was the sausage kitchen. I'm not surprised. 

Theo-The Museum Menace

 We're in Doylestown, PA and it's a long day. Despite the major protestations of Theo, we decide to go to the Michener Art Museum. We explain that Michener, a well-known novelist and short story writer (famous for writing epic stories of foreign lands) purchased local art in the Doylestown area and then built a museum to house it. Ah, the lives of the rich and famous.

But Michener didn't start out as a rich dude. He was a foundling who was adopted and raised as a Quaker. He then made his own fortune. The stuff of novels.

Theo has a ho hum attitude. How much fun can a museum possibly be? I have to agree. I've been to museums that were not impressive. 

Why I like the Michener Museum:

There is a lovely courtyard filled with statues where you can eat your lunch.

Inside the museum, I spy paintings that make you long for the good old days--fill you with nostalgia.

In one of their many rooms, there's a lovely mural, framed like a window with a view, that tricks you into thinking you are looking at a real view. 

Theo stares and doesn't stare. He looks but does he see? Finally, as we're walking through a deserted part of the collection, we let him down to stretch his cat legs. This is our big mistake. One minute he's looking bored, but harmless; the next, he jumps up onto a display. But not any display. A giant cat perches there. Bigger than life-size.

Now Theo is interested. Unfortunately, he's in a museum where there's a firm look but don't touch policy. 

"Theo. Get down from there."

He doesn't.

"Theo. Don't touch that statue."

He is only sniffing.

"Theo, if you knock down that statue . . ." The threat hangs in the air. 

Finally he jumps down and looks at me as if I'm the crazy one. 

"You are exhausting," I tell him.

He wanders away from me and ends up, exhausted himself, on a bench. I join him. There is a lovely face of a sunflower. I can't resist the urge to pose. Yes, this is my exhausted face. 

Dan poses next to a most unusual door.

All in all, the museum is pretty cool.  My opinion, not Theo's.

Theo and the Sputtering Volcano

 I am not an expert on volcanoes. I don't know why they erupt sometimes and not at other times. I don't know how to tell if an erupting volcano is dangerous or just a sight to behold.

In the United States, there are only a few active volcanoes--Kilauea in Hawaii, Mount Rainier and Mount St. Helens in Washington state, Mount Hood in Oregon, Redoubt Volcano in Alaska, and then there's Yellowstone National Park.

Volcanoes that sputter and spit lava and steam are not easy to spot in the United States. The last volcano that erupted in the US was Kilauea in September 2024. The last dangerous eruption in the US occurred when Mount St. Helens erupted in 1980 and killed 60 people.

Maybe that is why volcanoes are so fascinating. There is that element of danger which warns you not to get too close. 

We are cruising to Siracusa in Sicily when we pass Stromboli, an active volcano in Sicily that erupts quite often. It is near sunset. A 3/4 moon hangs in the sky. 

We see the first fiery sparks every 10 minutes or so, and that gives me plenty of time to run and get Theo. He is napping, of course, but I shake him awake and explain the situation.

"Theo, this is a sight to see. I want you to come out with me. You'll probably never get to see a volcano erupting again."

Theo yawns.

"I'm serious. I wouldn't be so dismissive. Trust me on this."

When Theo is thinking or considering an idea, he usually gets up and stretches. He arches his back. He pretends not to be listening.

I wait. "Well?"

It would be nice if Theo says something like "No, mom, I'd rather not" or even "Just forget it."

But he doesn't. He relaxes and closes his eyes. 

"Theo."

Volcanos are not his thing. Obviously.

I'm back outside on the deck. The sparks from the volcano get bigger and bigger.

Then two lava sparks appear, and the lava begins to flow. You can see it begin to wind its way down the mountain. We're assured there is no danger. It is far enough away from civilization to hurt anyone. 

An erupting volcano is a mesmerizing event. You have a hard time pulling away. We blithely walk around on the earth, seldom thinking about what lies underneath. Until we have an earthquake. Or until a volcano erupts. 

Later, I show Theo the video I took. His attitude is completely different. He wants to see all three videos. He actually looks excited to watch the sparks and sputters. 

I don't want to say "I told you so" but the words pop out of my mouth. I feel bad.

"Well, tomorrow," I tell him, "We'll be climbing up Mt. Etna. Dad can put you in his backpack. Maybe you'll even be able to see some lava up close and personal."