We had been lost in Bohemian Switzerland for four and a half hours before we finally found the road.
That opener makes this sound like the beginning of some kind of post-apocalyptic fairytale. And in a way pals, that’s exactly what this is. It did happen during 2020, after all. But let’s take it right back to the start and set the scene for you.
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Fancy trying the trip yourself? How to get from Saxony to Bohemian Switzerland
An Airbnb in Königstein
Our AirBnb host, Cornelia, was a jolly German lady who looked like she’d time-travelled directly from circa 1954 to greet us at the ginormous old house in Königstein. Prior to this trip I’d only ever visited North Germany before; Saxony appears decidedly more Eastern European in its aesthetic than Berlin or Hamburg. Blocky houses in browns and oranges and teals, interspersed with crumbling abandoned mills and factories, line streets whose names are displayed in spidery gothic lettering. The inside of our AirBnb looked like a time capsule to match, with a mildly damp and dusty atmosphere. But it was spacious and close to a whole lot of nature so we were happy to have found it.
Even if we developed asthma in the Airbnb, there was plenty of fresh air outside to hopefully offset the dust particles.
Cornelia sat with us at the kitchen table, proudly telling us about Saxony in her thick German accent. When she discovered that Rachel is from the US, she was overjoyed.
“Do you know square dancing!? And BARN DANCING!?”
Unfortunately Rachel did not know square dancing or barn dancing, but as a proud member of the local square dance re-enactment society, Cornelia was more than happy to fill her in. “The square dances are the best. We all wear the costumes, the beautiful dresses! And the men ask the ladies to dance, and the music is played! It really is magical! We love the American music. We love the square dance!”
Cornelia produced her square dancing videos for us to scroll though. I was intrigued at how a square dancing society sprang up in this tiny community in Eastern Germany. It’s quite niche, isn’t it? On Cornelia’s phone middle aged German men and women were dressed in 18th century costumes in a hall, dancing their square dance patterns. And this all took place beneath swathes of red, white and blue paper garlands, interspersed with the odd Confederate flag.
Amazing.
Baffling. But amazing.
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Next up was a run-down of what to do. The village of Königstein is within Saxon Switzerland National Park, which is why we’d chosen it as our base. Cornelia explained that there are footpaths all around that would lead us off into the great outdoors, but we should definitely go up to Königstein castle while we were there. (We could see the castle walls from the front windows of the house, looking over its land like the East German equivalent of Pride Rock. Very regal-looking.) Königstein is on the railway line along the River Elbe, so she explained we could get the train to one of the other villages in the National Park, like Pirna or Bad Schandau, to hike in another direction.
“And then of course- you must go to Czech Republic!! It’s not so far- take a ferry there, and there are amazing waters! A man will take you through the beautiful nature…”
(She gestured dramatically something that looked a lot like a mixture between rowing and cross-country skiing. We were pretty sure that meant there was some kind of punting involved.)
Germany ahoy! Heading on over to Berlin
“…it is sehr sehr…very romantische!! So beautiful!! And…in Czech Republic…just not so far…you can get…”
(She used her fingers to count each item you can get for dramatic effect.)
“…One soup. One meal. One…sweet! One drink. All for five or six euro!! Or even- one soup- something like two or three euro!! And this beautiful place is called- Bohemian Switzerland.”
Well. That had us. Not so much the offer of dirt-cheap soup, although it would be great to try some Czech food. But with a name like Bohemian Switzerland, you can’t go wrong. After she assured us that we didn’t even need to bother taking our passports, we decided it would be crazy not to hop over the border to another country for a day.
Czechia, here we come!! Or, went. There we went.
Arriving in Hrensko, Czech Republic
The tiny village of Hrensko is only just over the border between Germany and the Czech Republic. Presuming therefore that it wouldn’t be that different to Germany- and also knowing that the village really is tiny- we were planning on spending only the morning there before we headed home for a chilled afternoon. This was to be a chilled day, with minimal walking.
I’m gonna get Brechtian here and let you know that our plans were about to be drastically foiled. By the end of the day we would have walked almost fifteen miles. How awkward.
We hopped off the ferry and up the staircase to the village, which had a sliver of a stream running through it connecting the River Elbe to the gorges that we were heading for. Against a backdrop of chunky sandstone cliffs and pine trees, was a collection of colourful half-beamed hotels and restaurants. Some of them looked like they were almost built into the cliffs propping them up, with the beams lending a helping hand like clunky scaffolding.
A gaggle of stalls sat on the road opposite the ferry landing, selling the kinds of things that often seem to be sold at border crossings and markets held in car parks. Knock-off designer bags and t-shirts, DVDs, gigantic bags of snacks. One of them sold nothing but row upon row of large garden gnomes.
It wasn’t quite what we’d expected, but we appreciated it all the same.
After a browse in the tourist information centre and a chat with a very friendly Czech man in a check shirt, we decided to just follow the stream and see where it led us. Conveniently, there’s only one road in Hrensko and that road follows the stream, so it was a no-brainer really.
We made our way past more market stalls selling faux-leather studded bags, boxes of DVDs and more suspicious-looking garden gnomes. There was something intriguing about Hrensko which I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Something that didn’t quite fit.
After a minute, it hit me.
“Rachel. Have you noticed that everyone here is…Vietnamese?”
Not the other visitors who were examining disturbingly cheap D&G purses with curiosity. But the stallholders, who were the only locals we could spy, were in actual fact- Vietnamese. Some of the stalls were selling stacks of conical hats- the type that are normally worn in the rice paddies of Vietnam– despite the fact I’m pretty sure there aren’t any paddy fields in the Czech Republic.
In a big city like Prague or Berlin I wouldn’t have batted an eyelid. But a large Vietnamese population is the last thing I was expecting from a hamlet in the middle of a national park in the Czech Republic.
The answer to why there was such a large Vietnamese population in Hrensko: Is right inside this article!
Edmund Gorge, aka Fairyland
Eventually the road curved uphill, away from the stream, and a footpath continued in the road’s place. This footpath was what would lead us to the magical land of Bohemian Switzerland and the Edmund and Wild Gorges. What a time to be alive!!
It was starting to rain gently but the wind was scudding the clouds along nicely overhead. Every now and then cracks of sunshine burst through and the sky was transformed back to its bright blue. The shade of the gorge walls on either side of the stream keeps the air here fairly damp and cooler than you’d expect. Which also means that there are plants and flowers able to grow here which can normally only survive at much higher altitudes.
We kept on the path for about half an hour, stopping every now and then to marvel at the beautiful scenery around us. I felt like we were in a less tropical version of Fern Gully. Tiny mushrooms protruded from tree trunks covered in thick moss, and water cascaded smoothly around moss-covered boulders in the stream. The beams of sunlight cracking over the outline of the sandstone cliffs above us highlighted the first golden leaves of Autumn, floating softly down to be carried off to the Elbe by water.
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At the end of the path was quite a collection of people in the vague outline of a queue, piled on to a wooden platform and snaking backwards along the pathway. At this point, you either join the queue and wait, or turn around and head back. Normally we would have thrown ourselves into the queue no questions asked, but bear in mind that this was late August 2020. And we all know what that means.
The thought of standing in the middle of that was less than ideal, but after assessing our options we decided to stick with it; we’d come this far, after all.
Punting down the Edmund Gorge
It was a surprisingly long wait for our turn to clamber down on to the boat that would take us further upstream, along with about 20 other passengers. Edmund Gorge is the first of the two gorges which are completely impassable on foot, and is considered to be the prettier of the two. I’ll vouch for that pals; this place is pretty.
Part of the reason we’d chosen to come to Saxon Switzerland was because of the lack of people- we knew it would be a lot quieter than visiting somewhere like Bavaria, simply because fewer people had heard of it. The same went for Bohemian Switzerland. If us two adventurous lasses had never heard of it before, chances are that neither would a lot of people. And whilst there were plenty of other visitors to the gorges that day, we were the only native English speakers for miles around. So as the boatman began to punt us up river, he started his commentary as well. First in Czech, and then in Czech-accented German.
My German is improving every day, but hearing the language spoken in such a strong accent definitely brings a whole new challenge to the table. I probably understood about 15% of it and Rachel did significantly better as she’s pretty much fluent these days.
The funny thing about the Edmund Gorge is that it’s been a tourist attraction for 125 years now. Feeling that punting up and down the river in such a beautiful place wasn’t quite enough, stone carvings and sculptures were added for passengers to spy on their journeys, and at one point we stopped so the boatman could tug on a rope and release a waterfall into the river for photographs. I’m going to go out on a limb and say the place is so beautiful that none of that malarkey is really necessary, but that’s just how things have rolled around here for donkeys years.
Once we reached the other end and hopped off the boat, we had a decision to make. We could either continue walking up the path to the next jetty, get a boat along the Wild Gorge and then walk back to Hrensko from the end. Or we could find a way to loop back earlier, cutting out the second boat trip but getting back to Hrensko in time to eat some dirt cheap soup before we got the ferry back to Germany.
Having already stood in one congested queue, we decided we’d rather avoid a round two and take things at a more leisurely pace back in Hrensko. A map ahead of us showed that we could cross a little bridge over the river, and just keep on that path. Eventually it seemed to circle back to the village. Simple.
Detour to the village of Mezná
The thing that you can’t tell from most basic maps, is when there’s a mountain involved. And when you’re going to have to climb the said mountain. We realised as we were huffing and puffing about halfway up the steep footpath that that is indeed what we were doing. Mountaineering. Maybe mountaineering is a strong word, but it was definitely a very steep incline that seemed like it would never end.
After what felt like an eternity we wound our way further up and away from the cover of the trees. The sky had been drained of its colour by the time we passed some abandoned-looking cottages and made our way towards a restaurant. A few hikers sat outside sipping beer and cheap soup, taking in the view from the top. In front of the restaurant was the creepiest looking kids’ playground I’ve ever seen. Large wooden carvings of animals and fairytale creatures adorned each piece of playground equipment, capped off with a sinister-looking troll, arms folded, squatting nearby in a top hat.
The hikers eyed us with mild curiosity. We clearly weren’t from round there.
There were a few other buildings around, and a halfhearted crossroads which seemed to have given up on itself. On a sunny day the village of Mezná probably looks like a very pretty place indeed, but at that moment in time it didn’t have the most welcoming of atmospheres, that’s for sure. We studied a map at the side of the road and I deduced that we must surely follow the ‘straight ahead’ path!
But the problem with me is that although in The Moment I tend to be filled with conviction about my map-reading skills, this conviction pays off approximately 65% of the time. And this particular time was not in the 65% portion. Alas.
So off we set. Walking the dusty road like the little donkey plodding onwards. Past a few more large brick houses with zero signs of life. And into the pine trees.
Thank goodness Rachel is a good pal who doesn’t bear grudges against poor map-readers, that’s all I’m saying.
The old man and the boy
For a good forty five minutes, all was well. We passed one or two walkers every now and then, and although the sky was still miserable as sin, it wasn’t cold at all. It was like Baby Bear’s porridge in that forest. Not too hot and not too cold. We still had water in our bottles, and although we were all out of snacks and phone signal, we knew we were heading in the right direction.
Until all of a sudden, we weren’t so sure any more.
It just felt like way too long to have been walking. I for one had completely lost my bearings and the trees were thick enough for me to suddenly feel slightly on the claustrophobic side. I got my phone out again to see a blue dot hovering over a grid of nothingness.
Where actually were we?
At a higgledy-piggledy crossroads in the path, we followed the route which seemed the most travelled and stuck with it for a good while. Until it turned into a pile of mud, leaves and more thickly-packed trees. A steep ridge to one side of us meant couldn’t even tell if we were up high or down low any more. Knowing that an old man and his grandson weren’t far behind us, we decided to ask for help.
The trouble is, we didn’t speak any Czech, and they didn’t speak any English. Having decided to come to the Czech Republic on a whim, we hadn’t even researched how to say a basic ‘hello;’ something I normally would have put a bit of effort into at least. How embarrassing.
Having said that, under normal circumstances the art of mime goes a long way into getting your point across in an emergency. (One time an Italian man mimed a cow’s horns with his hands, mooed enthusiastically and then pretended to drink from an invisible glass and I instantly understood he was trying to say the word ‘milk.’ So. Make of that what you will.)
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Rachel and I proceeded to point to Hrensko on the old man’s map, saying “Hrensko?!?” in more and more questioning tones, whilst pointing in various directions and then shrugging our shoulders in an exaggerated fashion. “Hrensko- there?? Or Hrensko- there?”
The old man smiled the blank smile of someone who hasn’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about, shaking his head gently at everything we said. The boy held a bookmark up for us to look at, which had a tiny map on it. Everything was green except for the blue squiggle of the Gorges and the River Elbe. A few dots pointed out Hrensko and the surrounding villages, with no footpaths or roads connecting them. It wasn’t the most helpful of maps, but I really appreciated the boy’s efforts to assist.
The old man and the boy turned and went back the way they came, leaving us staring bemusedly after them.
Meeting with the Germans
After a couple of hours I was starting to feel like Alice in Wonderland and began to keep a watchful eye for mushrooms in case we needed them to survive. Not that I had any idea which ones are edible. It’s also at about this point that I decided to stop drinking water, partly in case we had to get all Bear Grylls and ration it, and partly because we were clearly very far away from any kind of public loo and I hate doing au naturel wees. I’m just no good at it, ok?
Time ticked on and we tried more and more different routes, turning back sooner or later from every single one. At roughly fifteen minute intervals I got my phone out to check that I still didn’t have signal. Which I still didn’t.
Down one trail, we spied movement. People!
Two couples were peering over a map. One pair was on foot, the other were cycling. But they had a map. They must know what was going on. Our spirits were instantly lifted and we headed straight for them in a half-walk-half-jog style. In case they vanished before we reached them.
“Wir sind verloren!!!” we half-laughed-half-despaired to them.
“Us too!” they laughed back. Oh dear.
The cyclists informed us of the trail they’d be taking, wished us luck, and cycled forth. The four of us were left- two Germans, an American and an English lass. But for some reason with four of us instead of two, I felt way more confident about our chances. Even if we had to use smoke signals to attract a passing helicopter’s attention, we would surely be ok in the end.
We were not about to die in Bohemian Switzerland. Not today, and not any day.
Lost in Bohemian Switzerland
Together the four of us trekked down every possible pathway we could find. And then all the way back up each one again. The first took us up and up and up until we realised that we were now walking along the ridge of a small mountain with the sides plummeting steeply down on either side of us. Maybe there was a footpath at the end of the ridge which would take us down, but also maybe there wasn’t.
The most frustrating thing of all was that often we heard a car or lorry zooming along a road in the not very distant distance. We may have no longer had a clue where Hrensko was, but the road was within earshot. There were just too many obstacles in the way to be able to directly reach it.
We tramped our way back through thick carpets of brown leaves, brambles thwacking us is the knees every now and again when one of us forgot to hold them back for the next weary walker. Back downwards, then further down, then even further down. And then we were in a little dip in the land surrounded by ridges so steep that it would be impossible to scale any of them. We had no choice but to turn back around.
After discussing our options, we decided to try and find the last place we remembered seeing a sign. It was a lengthy walk back, up and down and all around, towards that higgledy-piggledy crossroads, until at long last we saw it. The last time we passed that sign was also, I realised, the last time we’d seen any trail markers on the trees.
The four of us stood in front of it and began to examine it closely for any clue as to where we had gone wrong. And there it was. In the top right hand corner, stuck on, was a massive fluorescent yellow arrow. Pointing in the exact opposite direction to the one from where we’d just came.
Our eyes followed the arrow’s point to a sloping trail down the side of a gradual hill. We could see at least ten hikers already making their way down this trail, confidently striding onwards on what they knew to be the exact correct path.
I’m pretty sure this is the only time in my life that I’ve ever been grateful to hear the sound of traffic, but grateful I most certainly was my friends!
It still took us some time before we reached Hrensko, but once we were out of the sandstone boulders and pine trees and onto the road, there was no stopping us.
Victory! Salvation! Cheap soup!
A triumphant return
As we rounded a corner and saw a sign welcoming us to Hrensko I was downright overjoyed. Two shaven-headed men in aprons sat next to a pile of logs at the back of a restaurant, watching us tumble down the road while they puffed on their cigarettes.
“Greetings, citizens of Hrensko!! We are alive!! We have returned!!”
…is what I would like to have said. Instead we just went with a cheery wave and a photo to remember the joyous moment. What a time to be alive.
After deciding against a cheap soup in favour of something considerably more substantial (goulash with dumplings), we made our way back towards the jetty. Feeling that it’d be a good idea to find a souvenir of this strange day in the Czech Republic, we stopped in at a shop near the garden gnome stall.
Mostly it sold cigarettes and alcohol, but I managed to find a box of spa wafers to try once we got back to the Airbnb. Spa wafers are massive thin wafers normally with a flavoured filling, traditionally eaten- who’d’ve thought it- in Czech spas. Granted, these particular spa wafers were from a box in a roadside cigarette shop, but I was happy with them all the same. I paid the Vietnamese lady sitting behind her plastic screen, taking note of the pile of vampire porn DVDs on display on the counter.
What an intriguing place. What an intriguing time. 2020 truly has been full of surprises.
Check out this post for all the logistical stuff about how to get from Saxony to Bohemian Switzerland, and all the practical information you will ever need.
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Fantastic story! Just got to Hrensko, and found this when I tried to find out about the vietnamese diaspora here.
Ah that’s brilliant, thanks for reading!
(I’m glad I’m not the only one who’s curious about that)
Have a great time in Hrensko!
The maps in the Sächsische Schweiz and Bohemian Switzerland are surprisingly poor, and it’s depressingly easy to get lost in the forest. (Last year, I had to climb down an ascent-only rock scramble – in the dark!) I highly recommend taking a compass – especially for those scary, five-way junctions.