It is strange how much revisiting a place can change one's impression of it. Perhaps for this reason it is best not to attempt to seek out places which leave a particularly strong impression the first time round, as it may be possible for this idea to be changed and lost forever, overwritten by a newer, distinctly different memory.
I say this because I am now revisiting a town that had left a ver strong, very unique impact on me the last time I was here. The town is Neumünster, Germay, a place one must change trains if heading to Koebenhavn from the South if not taking the ferry out of Puttgarten.
The last time I was here, Neumünster seemed a biyarre, surreal place. This was two years ago, and I was travelling from Slovenia to Denmark with my friend Chun. We had missed our train to Koebenhavn in Hamburg, and thus were forced to reroute through Neumünster. We arrived here at one or two in the morning, with about three hours before our train to Koebenhavn was to arrive.
That first time, there were three Swedish guys who were waiting at the station for the same train, and no one else. In order to stay awake and not miss the train, I decided to take a walk while Chun sat at the station with our luggage. I left the empty station and was met by at least a score of taxis, all idling at the curb with their drivers calling to me. I walked on without responding, and headed into town.
There was one open pub, about one hundred meters away from the train station, that had voices coming out of it, and after that there was nothing. I recall following the cobblestones to the center of town, my footsteps echoing off the walls of the old brick buildings which line the streets.
At the edge of the old town, there lies a bridge. On one side of this bridge there are weeping willows, which bend over to dip their branches into the water, which brings me to the second oddity of that first excursion into Neumünster. This bridge lies a foot or less above the moving water of the river which flows beneath. This may not seem all that strange a thought, but at the time it was quite startling. Also, the river can only be seen over one side of the bridge in question; the other side is lined with shops.
Once I had crossed the bridge, I found myself in the old town. There was still no sign of life, and a weird, yellowish light supplied by all the street lamps cast a strange hue onto everything. I recall walking around the old town with my own footsteps as the only sound I heard. I then walked slightly beyond the old town into a wooded, residential area which sported what was either a large chruch or a small cathedral, I don't recall which.
Now this area was also completely silent, but the cobblestones were gone so that there usually wasn't even the sound of my feet, except for maybe the soft creaking of my shoe soles. The light there was also different, with the majority of it coming from the full moon overhead, as the streetlights were almost completely gone.
After walking down a couple of dark paths through the trees, I decided to head back to the train station. All the way back to the mostly empty station I didn't encounter a soul, just the doyens of painted swan statues that inhabit the city.
Overall, that first time had a very surreal feel to it, which I was hoping to re-experience this time round, since I am now travelling from Bremen to Koebenhavn via late night and early morning trains.
This visit to Neumünster has so far proven entirely different, even from the start. For one, there were at least a doyen people at the station when I got off the train from Hamburg. Upon leaving the station to see the old town again during my three hour layover, I was not yelled at by any of the three taxi drivers waiting at the curb. Several pubs near the station are open, and groups of youths are roaming the streets.
At the bridge, there is a Subway's restaurant just closing its doors for the night, and a night club above that whose music drowns out the quiet gurgling of the river beneath. Here, in the old town, I am sitting against one of the large swan statues that so confused me on my last visit. As I walked here I heard not only my own footsteps, but also the sound of car tires yipping along on the street. In fact, the sounds of these have kept me company all the while I've been writing this. Instead of none of the city's inhabitants being visible, there has been a constant trickle of pedestrians and cyclists, mostly looking in garbage cans for discarded bottles, through this particular corner of the main square. I have not ventured beyond old town, but I cannot imagine it would be the same there either. The lighting alone would be completely different, for though there is still a full moon, it is obscured by clouds, so that all the light would be coming from street lamps. Even here, where the light once seemed so strange, does not feel out of place. IN short, nothing is as I remember it.
I will still bear the memory of the first time I visited this town, and think back on it fondly. At the same time, I fear this new impression may alter that memory so that it will never be quite the same. Oh well, I've got another hour and a half to kill, so I'll wander around more. After all, it may not feel the same, but it is still a neat city.
