The drive winds through the hills, offering occasional glimpses of villages and the river Mosel. There’s a vibrancy to the trees and the fields that shifts from light celadons to deep evergreen shades. Anticipation builds within me. This is my first castle that isn’t in ruins and somewhere in the hills it sits overlooking the village that shares its name. Cochem. (Pronounced Cook-em, as far as I understand.)

We curve down another hill toward the Mosel again, and there it is. Cochem Castle. Compared to the village, it dominates the landscape with a golden mural of Saint Christopher gracing the main tower. Vineyards line the hill below, not yet growing but being prepared for the season judging by the small movements of people on the hillside.

To get to the castle and its tour, we leave our car and climb the hill, laughing along with others at how out of breath we all are. My Colorado family would be ashamed, but then, I’ve lived at sea level for a number of years now. But it doesn’t matter. Out of breath or not, I’m captivated by the path, the fortifications, the walls rising around us. There are statues of armored nights guarding the hill. I find out later, they’re actually lions. Multiple gateways with arches. Even a clock nestled in the front of one tower, its red and gold face in sharp contrast to the gray slate roof holding it. 

I could spend hours studying the details. And in a way, I did. At least on the outside. We stopped by the gift shop to purchase our tours. The English one wasn’t for another couple of hours but, to the cashier’s surprise, we bought the tickets anyway and then proceeded into the attached café just to watch people and study the world around us. 

If I had to personify Cochem Castle, it’d be as a stalwart old man who shows his age but still displays the majesty of his youth. His bones are over 1,000 years old. Much of him had to be rebuilt in the 19th century, but the reconstruction kept his original nature. Hitler removed the massive mural when he took over the castle, but then, when it was later returned to the village, the people insisted it be restored. They value the history, and it shows. 

Inside felt a bit like watching that history hodgepodged together. Each room was unique. Only a few were set up to be heated. All of them were decorated. One with mermaid chandeliers to bring good luck. Another, in contrast, with small mosaic tiles telling Biblical stories. Yet another with trophies to display the hunting prowess of the people who used to live there.

My one regret is that we couldn’t wander the castle on our own. We had to take a tour, which means we couldn’t linger and soak in the myriad of details. Castles often told stories not only in their artwork but in their very construction and Cochem’s no exception to this. For my first non-ruins castle, I was enthralled. The States have history like this in the Pueblos and such. Just as old. Just as detailed. But rarely can you experience that history as in depth just by wandering the building that’s still standing. In a way, the building speaks for itself, telling stories with its very bones. 

Blessings,

Jennifer

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