Jostling through crowds of Germans and tourists in the Rhine River village of Bacharach, I climb to the sundeck of the ferry and grab a chair. With the last passenger barely aboard, the gangplank is dragged in and the river pulls us away. I’m captivated by the Rhine.
There's a rhythm to the mighty river that merges with its environment: black slate cut from plains above, terraced vineyards zigzagging up hills, husks of ruined castles, and stoic spires of stone churches slicing vertically through townscapes. Passengers’ parkas flap in the cool wind as the rugged hillscape gradually reveals castles both ruined and restored. The ridges of the gorge rise above us, unblemished by any modern building, thanks to a strict code that holds the tide of contemporary Germany back, out of sight from this romantic river escape.
Tortured green vineyards climb steep hillsides, and turreted towns grab friendly bits of shoreline. Trains streak like arrows along both shores. Bright green and red buoys battle the current, keeping the cautious parade of barges and sightseeing boats off the many reefs.
The sheer bulk of history that has poured through this river valley rouses any romantic soul. It was here that the ancient Romans decided to call it an empire and draw the line that defined their vast holdings – separating barbarians to the north from the civilized world. It was here that Prussian General von Blücher used an innovative pontoon bridge to cross the Rhine and flank Napoleon’s .