Frank Sühnel

You always think you know the area. But it's not like that after all. At least not completely. The city, the places, the streets, they are familiar because they are often visited or crossed by bike for appointments or excursions. On foot, however, it's a completely different story.

Kamenz, with its Sorbian name meaning "small town on a stone", is the starting point of the Via Sacra. At least that's where I started my pilgrimage, which took me on a fourteen-day hike to nine sacred places in Lusatia. The local monastery church with the St. Annen sacral museum is the first stop on this "Road of Shrines". It remains an exterior tour, Corona closed the doors to the interior. Even so, the 15th century building is impressive. The path leads across the market square, with its town hall that doesn't quite fit into the ensemble, to the beautiful Andreasbrunnen fountain, which I had never noticed before. Probably because, unfortunately, as is so often the case, the market squares are misused as parking lots and the fountain was blocked. The meat benches are reminiscent of Bohemian squares with their arcades.

Another church, dominating the highest point of the town, St. Mary's, a few decades older than the monastery church. Already imposing. The surrounding cemetery breathes peace and transience.

Enough of the city, our feet now want to walk. The Herrental valley, with its sad history, is being returned to nature. I can't remember ever having seen more sand lizards sunbathing or darting about than here. Let's keep quiet about the path through the suburbs with many a garden of horror, graveled, gravelled, with useless shrubs, fenced in, hemmed in.

The Kamenz city forest is beautiful again, with venerable old trees providing shade. The path - as pleasant as it is surprising. Sometimes along the edge of a field, sometimes alley-like, sometimes across green fields.
The steeple of the Nebelschütz church appears as a landmark, but is left behind. Beautifully restored historic granite signposts remind us of the old routes that have lost their significance.

A piece of ancient coarse paving near Sandgrube takes you back to this past. The first village is reached, Wendisch Baselitz. As the name suggests, it is Wendish, i.e. Sorbian. The uniqueness of this Slavic region is immediately apparent. In almost every farmstead there is a well-kept golden crucifix, as well as at many crossroads. Relief plaques with biblical scenes accompany hikers on their way through the village. The Sorbian population has never given up its Catholic faith and openly professes it. Unfortunately, the pubs and stores have given up, so it is necessary to carry all the refreshments with you. After about ten kilometers, hunger and thirst begin to set in.

In Wendisch Baselitz, the route I have chosen meets the Via Regia. However, this royal road, this pilgrimage route of all pilgrimage routes, often leads along asphalt (cycle) paths and roads. I don't think anyone there attached any importance to the beauty, the pleasantness of walking. But not only the sacred buildings and art treasures are the goal, but also the path and nature. That is important to me. Perhaps also for some people who want to make a pilgrimage along this Via Sacra.

A particular highlight is the prayer column, a baroque wayside shrine, near Dürrwicknitz, which stands in the middle of a crossroads. Beautiful, with a special effect, everything leads towards it, everything leads away from it. The towers of the St. Marienstern monastery can almost be seen ahead. I meet the first Jacob pilgrim, the shell on his rucksack identifies him as such. We greet each other, talk about the route, about where we are coming from. Where to is clear. Why am I going in the wrong direction? I explain it to him. It doesn't quite make sense to him. We wish each other a good journey. It's still a long way to Santiago.

The monastery of St. Marienstern. What a complex. Harmonious, aesthetic. But somehow not very lively. Well, Corona, everything is closed. But the church is open. It overwhelms me a little. This splendor, this pomp, this ostentation. I immediately have to think of an Austrian who exclaimed: "This baroque shit" when faced with the even more overloaded Melk Abbey. Just like an Austrian. But he's not so wrong. Critical thoughts also arise in view of this, albeit past, wealth. Nevertheless, you can be captivated by the atmosphere of the place and you can sense, even for atheists, what faith can be.

Panschwitz-Kuckau is actually a suitable place to end the stage. But I have decided to go as far as Crostwitz so that it will be a day trip. A few more kilometers, along a half-alley, through fields and bushes. Beautiful views open up again and again. The church tower can be seen from afar and is the destination this time. The parish church "St. Simon and Juda Thaddäus" is a very typical late baroque building, as is often the case. What makes it so special is the impressive artistic Stations of the Cross along the cemetery wall.

And this is where probably the most important Sorbian writer, Jurij Brězan, is buried. It is Sorbian heartland, easily recognizable by the many crucifixes and religious statues. Different from the German-populated villages, a different culture, conservative, but cosmopolitan, hospitable, amiable. Monika's pilgrims' hostel - I only know her first name - can accommodate me, even though I am not a pilgrim on the Way of St. James, but a Via Sacra pilgrim. I finish this first Via Sacra stage with a little amazement, surprised by how varied it was in terms of nature and culture, but also all the little things along the way.

To start with, this stage was one of the most unpleasant for me personally. Almost exclusively on asphalt, almost exclusively on busy roads. Even the toughest pilgrim doesn't like that. And yet it also has its charms and special features.

Luckily it's not Sunday or Monday, so I can buy fragrant cake from the bakery in Crostwitz. Breakfast is guaranteed. People from the city would be amazed at the low prices. The advantage of country life: cheap bakers. Once again to the church, which is open. For a Catholic church, it is almost unadorned. A tour of the cemetery, another look at the interesting Stations of the Cross... And as the pilgrim crosses the Satkula stream several times in the village, Yuri Brezan, the Sorbian writer who is buried here, immediately comes to mind. And his gravestone reads:... wono by było hinaše morjo hdy by njepřiwzało tež wodu rěčki Satkule. - "It would be a different sea if it didn't also take in the water of the Satkula stream." What a beautiful sentence. I really like the Sorbian's books and the stream often plays an almost mystical role in some of his works.

After just a few hundred meters, the pilgrims' path meets the road and will hardly leave it again until Bautzen. If I wanted to avoid the tinny asphalt, I would have no choice but to zigzag along muddy country lanes and cross a lot of green fields, and it would take me two days to reach Bautzen.

In Prautiz, on the edge of which you pass, there is a beautiful prayer column from 1810. Oh, you would have to know more about all the saints, then you would know who the Lord on the column is and what he is holding in his hands. The whole road is lined with crucifixes, one at every crossroads and on many farmsteads. Mostly with a golden Jesus, almost life-size. The sayings on them are exclusively in Sorbian. It is unique that so many religious testimonies and probably also confessions can be seen.

After the turn-off to Nucknitz, which I know from the Nukstock metal festival, a beautiful avenue begins. It stretches almost as far as Storcha. A funny place name, of which there are several in the area. The most beautiful is Dreikretscham. Which means three pubs. They are said to have once existed at the ford through the Schwarzwasser. I would be happy if the one that still exists served thirsty pilgrims. But it says on the sign that it is currently only open for family celebrations and the like. What a pity.

In fact, the only place to get refreshments on the whole route to Bautzen is the bakery in Storcha. Sad. Do the people who live here always sit at home in the evening? The Sorbs are known to me as a party-loving, sociable people. There must be one or two garages or barns that are used for other purposes, I can't imagine it any other way.

Again and again, the cars speeding past interfere with walking. The roads are so narrow that the weaker road users have to swerve onto the verge or even into the fields, which are often plowed right up to the edge of the road. People often drive as if it were a matter of life and death. People seem to have no more time. I am on a pilgrimage, I have all the time. And there is also a road casualty to be seen. A large, run-over hare is lying by the roadside, a buzzard and a crow are fighting over the carcass. They are reluctant to fly off as the pilgrim approaches. The recently deceased Rüdiger Nehberg would have had a field day. I, on the other hand, think there will be something to eat in Bautzen. But it's still a long way until then.

A nice place for a break is the so-called Millennium Monument. It depicts the Slavic apostles Cyril and Methodius, who brought the Christian faith to the Slavic lands. And it is thanks to them that we had to struggle with the Cyrillic letters in Russian lessons at school.

The two of them are a bit skinny as they look out over the country. Were they that thin or was the bronze just too expensive? Who knows. A few stone atonement crosses complete the ensemble.

The road now stretches slowly towards Bautzen. Pilgrims from St. Jacob's are coming towards me, they have four weeks and want to see how far they can get. But they have already had enough of the asphalt slog.

I struggle through Salzenforst and Schmola, the highway roars and stinks. But I can already see the towers of Bautzen. A ray of hope. The Spree valley is getting pretty again, then the ascent through the old alleyways into the town. As I'm on a pilgrimage on the Via Sacra, I naturally visit the church with the kink. Nobody really knows why the cathedral is built around a corner. Perhaps they made a mistake with the orientation to the east and corrected it during construction. Others say they followed a rock underground. The second special feature: it is a simultaneous church, the first in Germany and one of the largest. Protestants and Catholics could meet at the fence that divides the church.

I take my small pilgrim's luggage to the accommodation. There is a wide choice, but what they all have in common is that they are not cheap. Despite my feet being tired of asphalt and cobblestones, I stroll through the beautiful, historic town. As a Pulsnitzer by choice, I naturally take a look at the Rietschel gable. A group of tourists is crowded in front of the mustard store and I think of the wonderfully weird song by Foyer des Arts, "Tun sie Senf drauf" (Put mustard on it) and laugh. I'm asked what there is to laugh about. Oh, nothing. And so ends the second stage of the Via Sacra.

Today we're heading for the mountains. Well, hills. But still. The destination is Cunewalde-Weigsdorf, with a large spike that leads over the Czorneboh. After the previous tarmac slog, I eagerly pack my pilgrim's rucksack. A glance at the map shows that there are two refreshment stops along the way. But these are troubled times, Corona, that's all you need to say. So, true to the old saying "better to have than to have", it's better to pay a visit to the supermarket - the route out of Bautzen offers almost the whole range. The route drags a little and if you were to wake up early in these faceless suburbs, unknowingly transferred into them: yes, where am I? I have no idea. Because they all look so similar. Like annual rings, in this case century rings: Historic city center (high recognition value), Gründerzeit ring and villa belt (limited recognition value), new development areas and the brand new construction areas with terraced houses (no recognition value).

But then the meadows begin, it is May and in many places it is in full bloom. Gorse, camomile, cornflowers, bluebells, poppies and clover. In between, of course, agricultural deserts without flower strips, plowed right up to the road, yes, where do we live? Yes, we also live where people settled well over a thousand years ago, as can be seen from the ring wall on Schmoritz hill, which is at least 1400 years old. What I wouldn't give to be able to travel through time and see this land through many millennia. What did the forests look like, what did the people look like? That would be very exciting.

It's not far from the former Wallberg to the Rote Schenke, and the pilgrim strides out happily with this view. The special offer is advertised as "Black Forest gateau". They've already got me there. Beer lovers go weak at the knees for Black Forest. Because:

Without cake, pie and pastries
life has no purpose.

But unfortunately, unfortunately, it doesn't live up to expectations. But well, it was up, there was something and that's worth a lot.

Now begins the most beautiful section of today's pilgrimage, the ridge path up to the Czorneboh. The devil has had hard work here, as many places are associated with him. The "devil's foot" is particularly beautiful, he must have stamped on it in a terrible rage, the imprint is so deep. The pub must have been closed.

This is followed by the "devil's washbasin". It's very small compared to the footprint, but who would expect the devil to have a high level of hygiene, not me anyway. And apart from that, the ranger and the pilgrim wash themselves from the toothbrush cup and are as clean as a bathed citizen. Shortly after the Czorneboh, the "devil's window", where he always looked out. Did he say hello in a friendly way?

A beautiful path with jagged rocks that are a joy to climb. Once at the top of the mountain, on the Black God, as it could be translated into German, you have to climb the tower to get a view. So first the work, i.e. the stairs and the panoramic view, then the pleasure, in this case a freshly tapped Landskron, possibly two. And a bockwurst from the kiosk. I listen to the conversation between the two stall attendants and they say there are still a good ten bockwursts in the pot. And then they close up store, despite the mountain visitors continuing to stream in. Closing time, 4 pm. Well, maybe ten Bockwüstes are their dinner and there's really nothing else left. Then it would be understandable.

Today's destination, Weigsdorf-Köblitz, is more or less on the way back. There's a very simple reason why I'm taking this route. I haven't found a place to stay overnight in Cunewalde itself. The only one is in Weigsdorf, a hotel. The path there often runs along the edge of the forest, with the forest on the right and a meadow full of daisies and bluebells on the left. The view can wander, even over to the Bieleboh, the White God, as the mountain opposite is called. This has always fascinated me, Bieleboh and Czorneboh, the white and the black, the opposing principles, heaven and hell, angels and devils. In the form of two mountains, wonderful.

The path leads through the village of Schönberg. And that's where the first pretty half-timbered houses can be found. The Sorbian settlement area is now behind me - the mountain ridge forms the border, now I'm in the Umgebindland. Why did people build such awkward houses? Certainly not just because it's beautiful. You don't have to know everything. After a long pilgrimage, the thirst for knowledge is no longer so intense, but rather the profane thirst, which can be quenched in the hotel's pub. Tomorrow, a more interesting highlight of the Via Sacra - the Cunewald church and the White God - are on the agenda, the destination is Löbau.

Today we're heading up the Bieleboh. But first it's time for Cunewalde, Via Sacra Station. After a sumptuous breakfast, I put on my backpack and set off. Twenty-five years ago, I could have taken the train from Weigsdorf to Cunewalde. As early as 1865, the inhabitants of the village were already pleading with the Saxon government to build a railroad. It took until 1890 for the first train to arrive in Cunewalde. A good hundred years later, it was already over again, supposedly nobody needed the railroad line any more. I remember riding there in the days of my youth. Now the old railroad embankment is a cycle and footpath. It is not only the village with the largest village church in Germany, it also seems to be one of the longest. A good nine kilometers from village sign to village sign. But it only takes half an hour to reach the small half-timbered houses.

Along the way there is a hanging bathtub garden, planted old floating zinc tubs, original. Then the little houses. And I admit, I am surprised. In a positive way. Expecting a kitschy, boring garden gnome idyll, I find a lovingly and expertly crafted miniature park that is a pleasure to look at. It was built by people who no longer needed the railroad because they no longer had a job.

A really pretty dwarf land. And it sparks the imagination, you think of Gulliver's Travels and what it would be like if people lived in the houses everywhere and now the giant comes along in the form of a pilgrim. The tiny beer mugs in the creche, thimbles... And the thought occurs to me that it would be the solution to our environmental and climate problems if people were all so small that they could fit into these houses. Much less consumption of energy, resources and materials. But every stray house cat becomes a deadly danger. Better not.

It's not far now to the largest village church in Germany. A remarkable ancient oak tree stands in front of the church building; it could tell the story of the church, it has always been there. The exterior of the sacred building is rather unadorned, but the interior is very pretty. The chancel has really beautiful paintings, the pulpit protrudes into the church, almost floating. A huge room with three galleries. The organ is suitably majestic. There would be room for more than half the current population of Cunewalde. But I am alone, not a soul else. I enjoy the silence. The noises of everyday life, even if they can still be heard, are gone. A meditative atmosphere is created, as in many a sacred building, whether Christian, Buddhist or Jewish, even for me, a non-believer. And then there's that special smell that clings to the old churches. I really have to tear myself away to continue walking.

Beautiful Umgebinde houses again, this time in their original size. Some with new plastic windows. Understandable, you don't have to paint them, but unattractive. We head up to the mountain ridge via meadow paths, cornflowers and grasses are in bloom and pollen allergy sufferers will be sneezing. The drought of recent years has had its effect. The spruce monocultures are dead, everything brown. This makes it all the more incomprehensible that new plantations of precisely these spruce trees have already sprung up. Unfortunately, humanity's ability to learn does not seem to be far off.

The Bielebohkamm is not that exciting in terms of rock formations. The last ice age cleared it up. What's left are the rumble stones, a small pile of wobbling rocks. In terms of beer, things don't look so good either, the Baude only serves a horrible reactor beer. And there's some kind of loss-making party going on, the Schlagerbums are blaring from the loudspeakers. Quickly up to the tower, from where there are wonderful views of the Lusatian mountains. My anticipation grows, as I will be making a pilgrimage through this mountainous region for many days to come.

With every kilometer away from the summit, there are fewer excursionists, Mrs. Fischer becomes quieter and falls silent until the pilgrim is alone again in the wide open spaces. Always along the ridge until it disappears into the landscape. The path meanders around the hills to Kleindrehsa, where it passes through the park of the former small castle. Two oak trees kiss, stand next to each other and have ridges like lips that touch, which looks beautiful. Orientation requires a little attention in this section, as the signposts are often no longer there.

The "begging stone" can be found along the path, where tramps are said to have had their rendezvous in the past. There are none here today, as there are no more tramps. And there is another little gem along the path, the Bubenik, a basalt outcrop reminiscent of the volcanic times in Lusatia. Löwenköpfchen is the name of one of the rock formations, with a lot of imagination and perhaps under a full moon... The plant growth typical of such habitats is wonderfully pretty. Especially the pasqueflower is in full bloom.

Next stop: Löbau, the stage destination. I'm already feeling really hungry and thirsty, but it's dragging on again. Another hour and a half, most of it through Oelsa and Altlöbau. Once again, you can study the beautiful design of the front gardens, academic-military lawns, a dwarf can also be found here and there. Then I reach the city center. I don't have to search around for long, the first open door is, as so often, that of the kebab man. He has the products of the local brewery, bravo and a Dürüm to go with it, and the world looks quite bearable again. The pilgrimage route splits tomorrow. Upwards, directly towards Görlitz, or downwards, towards Herrnhut and Zittau. I'll sleep on it.

It is a somewhat shorter stage. Not because you shouldn't rush yourself on a pilgrimage - you definitely shouldn't. Rather, it is once again due to the tourist infrastructure, or rather the lack of it. The place that could be a nice destination cannot offer any place to sleep. And the village that offers a place to sleep has no catering facilities. Well. So you either walk a good three kilometers from your room to the pub and back. Or back up the mountain, the Rotstein. The tired hiker could also sleep there. But then the distance would be too short and the next day too long. Or you have to take something with you. Drinks are available at the guesthouse. Breakfast too. So the die is cast, a TV evening with Bemme, which I don't usually have. I could just go on a pilgrimage into the day. But the risk of having to drink goose wine and eat clover in the Lusatian wilderness and sleep in the leaves is just too high, it makes me uncomfortable. And then there are all the animals that want to eat you, wolves, bears, lynxes, sabre-toothed tigers and all the rest, oh no.

So the pilgrimage day begins with a walk around the partially pretty town of Löbau and a visit to the local grocery store. The old market square with its town hall and some beautiful houses is pleasing. Unfortunately without any greenery. The tourist information office is naturally closed. The Nikolai Church is worth a visit. Not so much on the inside, overly euphoric modern renovations have done a great job. But the portal with its saints is extraordinary. Perhaps the most interesting part of Löbau, apart from the brewery, is the Schminke House. However, as this gem lies completely opposite to my route, I want to save it. Because if everything goes as planned, I'll be back here in ten days' time. The sacred route comes full circle in Löbau. And I've decided to walk around the top, clockwise, so to speak. Maybe that's how my inner clock works. Around the top. So today's destination is Sohland am Rotstein.

I have bought food for the walk and the hermitage. It's amazing how many butcher's shops are called Wolf. Nomen est omen, it always works. Past the König Albert Bad, which has long since ceased to be a spa and has been renovated several times. A beautiful building. After crossing the Löbauer Wasser, it's all uphill. Through the cute avenue of lime trees of the Friedenshain to the somewhat martial Victory Monument and further and further up. The Honigbrunnen fountain is on the way. What a poetic name. This is said to have been one of the few springs on the Löbauer Berg. But there is only overpriced industrial beer.

Now begins a very beautiful path around the northern cone, the Schafberg. Near-natural deciduous forests, wild stones. Like the money cellar. Unfortunately, I wait in vain for it to open up and offer me its riches. Instead, I discover another wonderful treasure a little further along the path. At the Oskar Rolle Bank viewpoint, which is fantastic in itself with its view of the Lusatian Mountains, there are a lot of pasqueflowers and the very rare spiked grass lily. And other beauties too. Yes, the pilgrim Bierbarbar really likes the flowers and plants. The Löbauer Berg and others are very reminiscent of the beloved Bohemian Mountains. This is due to their volcanic origin. And perhaps also because Lusatia belonged to Bohemia until 1635. Could be. Very special plants grow on the basalts and phonolites and they don't care about any national borders or territories. They simply grow if the environment is right.

Many years ago, the citizens built a very unusual tower on the mountain. It is unparalleled and cannot be found, because it is unique. And like the tower, the view is excellent. Only the concrete Telestengel on the Schafberg is disturbing. Couldn't it have been made of cast iron? Then the people of Löbau would be even more famous instead of this nuisance.

Once the hiker has left the charming mountain massif, not much happens at first. Through two villages, along fields and roads, you put one foot in front of the other and whistle to yourself. Things get exciting again at the Rotstein. It is just as volcanic, overgrown with beautiful forest and many rare plants. It's probably the oldest nature reserve in Saxony, dating back to 1912. Strange that, like the baths or the tower, it's not named after a king. But the mighty were and are not so fond of nature, except when it comes to hunting. That hasn't changed to this day. There is also a tower. It's not suitable for everyone. Anyone with even a slight fear of heights will not feel comfortable. However, those who overcome this fear and climb this metal pole frame will experience a wonderful panoramic view from here. If you are still a little shaky after the ascent and descent, this could possibly be secretly interpreted as alcoholism if you order a beer in the mountain's own pub. So it's better to build up your courage beforehand...

We now descend through the fairytale forest to the village. Past the Devil's Stone. The village is long. I meet a young lady who asks if I need anything. Because there was nothing here, she could help out. That's very nice. She tells me about an initiative that revives the old bakery once a month and that ordered food can be picked up there, like a small village store. They also want to revive the store as a café and give the residents of Sohland a place where they can meet and chat. Unfortunately, what seems almost symptomatic to me is that it is clearly not from here. In my experience from other places, the locals rarely think of such things. I keep my fingers crossed for her and her few companions that her plan succeeds. A few hundred meters to the accommodation. The friendly landlady shows me where to find the barley drinks and I relax on the sofa to round off a mostly beautiful day.

After last night, I remember why I've cut television out of my life for years. The landlady can't have that much beer to drink the program. It's easy to understand why so many people are so desperate and can't think of much else to do in their free time other than watch TV. Well, let's keep quiet...
I'm really looking forward to today's stage because I have to admit that I've never been to this area before. The Königshain mountains and their surroundings. I've wanted to go there for ages. Now it's happened, my pilgrimage takes me right through and over the mountains. The start of the stage is again a bit tough and asphalted. The only place with shops is Reichenbach OL, so I have to stock up there for the day. Well, unfortunately there is no past tense for nouns or place names. Otherwise Reichenbach would have to be put in the past tense.

Rich, that was once. A little of the old glory can be discovered in the church. It is open and even the vicar happens to drop by. A scholarly explanation is sometimes worth so much! The church's furnishings, which are very rich by Protestant standards, can be traced back to the patronage of the noble von Gersdorff family. They held sway over large parts of Lusatia for centuries. The interior is early baroque, but still quite beautiful and impressive, as it is not so overloaded and pompous.
On the outside, the massive building still shows that it was a fortified church. I think this St. John's Church could easily be on the Via Sacra list.

The path, unfortunately often asphalted, leads over flat land, through sleepy villages. At the entrance to the forest stands the "Wundererle", a truly extraordinary tree, at least for people who are interested in it. Legend has it that a man wrongly condemned to death planted a black alder upside down at the site of the murder as his last wish. If it sprouted, he would be innocent. Strictly speaking, he was breaking the commandment not to tempt God. But the alder sprouted. But that was of no use to him, because the executioner did not wait until the leaves appeared and dead is dead. The ghost of the real murderer is said to still be around. But only at night and I was there in the morning.

The path climbs through forests plagued by drought and bark beetles to the first rocks of the Königshainer Berge. The Teufelsstein is a pretty massif and the silhouette could actually be the profile of the Teufelsantlitz. The series of nice rocks continues on the summit of the Hochstein. A slightly more stable tower than on the Rotstein, but also not for people with a pronounced fear of heights, normally allows a panoramic view. But not today, because the clouds are resting on the treetops. The restaurant is closed due to coronavirus, but the kiosk is open, which is good news. The question is, are these the normal prices or do they already have a crown surcharge? Certainly the latter. Or is it? At least you won't be tempted to stay longer than necessary to quench your thirst.

We continue through an area that has been shaped by man. Deep holes have appeared where rocks once stood. The stones have gone and are not coming back. Nevertheless, nature is in the process of reclaiming everything. And if something is not done soon, the open-air museum of the many quarries, which was once created with a great deal of effort and commitment, will meet this fate. But it is all very impressive. In the middle of it all is the Totenstein. People were probably a little afraid to tear it down and turn it into gravel. Superstition has its good side.

The most amazing stone is the Schoorstein. It looks like a group of giant mushrooms, just like in a fairy tale. I can't tear myself away from this spot. You could even go boofing under the stone hats. (Author's note: Overnight stays under rock overhangs are common in the Elbe Sandstone Mountains) Abandoned quarries all around. Fortunately, the Schoorstein has been spared.

The last section of the trail leads to Nieder Rengersdorf. I am glad that I have a good map and sometimes even have to use the GPS, probably more out of convenience than to have to search, as the paths are very poorly signposted and marked. The route leads across fields and through the upper village to Nieder Rengersdorf. The highway runs right through the village. The locals must have been very happy when it was opened. Finally, the soporific silence is over and the air no longer smells of agriculture.

I had never heard of the place before, but the little electronic helper, also known as the pocket stasi, indicated that I could rest my weary head there. And fill my empty stomach. In the truest sense of the word. After the meal, I almost wanted to use the services of the former business in the house - a pharmacy. Huge portions, mountains of meat. But as the saying goes, it's better to upset your stomach than give the landlord a present. You can't do without a herb afterwards. It's our own fault. Given the menu, there could have been a sign on the door: "Vegetarians please stay outside". A beautiful and long stage with many new impressions has come to an end. Good night.

Today's destination is one of the prettiest towns I know: Görlitz. On the way there, the map shows me lots of castles. Perhaps this is because Silesia belonged to Prussia for a few centuries, until the end of the Second World War, and it was probably almost obligatory for Prussian nobles and the nouveau riche to own a castle in Silesia. And because the Hirschberg Valley was already full of these ostentatious buildings, the lords also went to the Schöpstal.
The castle in Nieder Rengersdorf is now the municipal administration, the two in Ober Rengersdorf are privately owned and don't look particularly good from the outside.

The most beautiful section of today's pilgrimage stage is the stretch through the valley of the Weißer Schöps to Kunnersdorf. Thick old trees, beautiful meadows full of bluebells, meadow widow flowers and daisies delight the eye. Two horsewomen force the pedestrian into the bushes. And then get tangled up in the branches, as the path is narrow. So I am sufficiently rewarded.

Kunnersdorf has a court brewery and you realize that we are entering the Landskron realm. Not the worst brewery. The beer feels good in the heat. Of course, Kunnersdorf also has two castles. Both have been renovated and are owned by private individuals and companies. History, in this case the most recent, also plays a role at the next waypoint: the Kapellenberg. Twice armies faced each other there, twice it did not come to battle, the people of Kunnersdorf were lucky. The first time was in 1813, when Napoleonic troops occupied the mountain and the allies on the other side fought against the French. Then in 1945, the area was declared a combat zone and the villagers had to dig extensive trenches. However, no military action took place in the area. The trenches can still be seen today and are a reminder of this madness, as is a memorial. The hill offers beautiful views of the Landeskrone, Zittau Mountains and the Jizera Mountains at the far end.

The next town is Ebersbach. A moated castle for a change. The municipal administration is inside. A moat all around can't hurt if the citizens are angry again... The next castle would be in the neighboring village, Girbisgdorf, but I turn southeast towards Görlitz. There the pilgrim is back on the Via Regia. Which also means road and asphalt. What were they thinking? Pilgrimage should also be fun, a bit of enjoyment, not just asceticism with sore feet on hard surfaces.
At the edge of the path, bushes that are completely bare and completely covered in webbing. The caterpillars of a species of moth have done a great job, it looks downright spooky. It gets really unpleasant the further we go towards Görlitz. Along an expressway, then into a kind of industrial estate. Heavy rain has set in. Nature desperately needs it. Not so much for pedestrians. A small turn to the left and I would quickly reach the streetcar. But I told myself, no, everything will be walked. Come what may. The hospital is coming. Quickly past, you really don't want to go there.

Immediately afterwards, the pilgrim sees the place that, together with St. Peter's Church, makes Görlitz a Via Sacra station. The Holy Sepulchre and the Chapel of the Holy Cross. In this weather, these interesting buildings have lost their charm. In the wet, it's more about getting to the accommodation quickly and getting dry. Apart from absolute luxury, Görlitz offers a wide range of accommodation. I move into a very simple guesthouse, appropriate for pilgrims. Another walk through the city, which is one of the most beautiful I know, at least as far as our Central European culture is concerned. The impressive St. Peter's Church, the Kaisertrutz, the picturesque market squares and so on. If I hadn't already been here many times, I would have stayed a few days longer. I don't have to go to the Landskron brewery anymore, the bar closes at 6 pm. Why? [...]

In the evening I meet a friend from Görlitz. It's good to have a proper chat when there's hardly any opportunity to talk to other people all day. You hardly meet any other hikers or pilgrims on the trails, except at tourist highlights. Tomorrow I'm going to Hagenwerder. Because I couldn't book accommodation there in advance, as everything was occupied or closed or too expensive due to the pandemic, I stay two nights in Görlitz. It's also nice to walk without luggage.

The real pilgrims, the serious ones, are sure to get up with the sun. I, on the other hand, sleep, at least on this day, until the already high sun tickles my nose. Today we are heading into a partly strange area. Renaturalized open-cast mining areas. Because I'm allowed to decide a little on my own how to lay out the route, there are a few interesting points on the agenda. I could also take the Zittau Way of St. James, which leads from Görlitz to Prague, to Zittau in two days. But the route shares the entire route with the Oder Neisse cycle path. So it's asphalt all the way, with crazy racing electric cyclists and normal bikers on top of that. And inline skaters. And who knows what else. That's where it gets annoying. I walk differently.

The route through Görlitz is not so unpleasant. At least the one through the old town. And then the pedestrian can turn off into the Neiße valley and stroll through cool, shady nature. And there is a brewery along the way. What used to be sung so beautifully? "Where there used to be a church, there's now a brewery." A sacred place of beer, so to speak. Unfortunately not part of the Via Sacra. But maybe there will be a beer trail through Lusatia one day? In the Czech Republic, a visit to a pub is seen as something like a church service. The bar is the altar, the landlord the shepherd tending his blue sheep, the beer the path to transcendence. So I will pay homage to Gambrinus, the god of beer, in the Landskron brewery. Such a beautiful start to the day.

The rest of the route through the town is not bad either, especially as a good part of it runs through a lovely valley, the Feldmühlengraben. Stately trees shade the path. Back on the road, I don't look longingly after the streetcar that takes me to the foot of the Landeskrone. The ascent is already in sight and the rain has stopped. The higher the hiker or pilgrim gets, the more beautiful the forest becomes. Once at the top, the tower offers an almost panoramic view, with Görlitz lying at your feet and the Zittau mountains in the other direction. The pub at the top is closed, "Closed today" can be deciphered. So be it. The path zigzags down again, a dead straight concrete path to the next village. Frequented by a few cyclists and dog walkers.

In Pfaffendorf, the most wonderful witches' boletes grow in a meadow, as if painted, and it makes my heart bleed to have to leave them standing. That would have been a meal! Onwards. Beautiful views of the striking Landeskrone again and again. Then a wonderful surprise. I almost don't want to write it down, because fame has not usually done such places any good. A large patch of Turk's cap lilies! They are very rare on their own, and then in such large numbers. I am thrilled. I've never even seen such a rich collection in the Bohemian Mountains. The village of Jauernick-Buschbach, a religious center in the region, nestles beautifully against the mountain of the same name. The pub is called Berggasthof. However: "Closed today". The unhealthy life is made really difficult.

Behind the village exit, a bench with a view invites you to take a break. Rubber boots planted with pansies hint at a certain humor. After that, it becomes a little difficult to find your way. There are virtually no signposts, no markings at all. This is probably due to the fact that the whole landscape is still quite new. Until 1997, this was a huge open-cast lignite mine. Then came the renaturation. Of course, not too much can grow in just over twenty years, and there is no real tourist trail structure. Nevertheless, it is worth manoeuvring through the area because a 26-metre high tower has been standing on the Neuberzdorfer Höhe since 2008. Very well hidden, it is difficult to see and only reveals itself when you are almost in front of it.

The view is overwhelming! You can see as far as the Giant Mountains. No matter what comes next, this stage has already been worth it. And there's not much more to come. On gravel roads down to Lake Berzdorf. The whole area looks strange, unfinished, barren and desolate. A huge parking lot doesn't make it any prettier. A few people are sunbathing on the lake's beach and I can hear a few Czech and Polish voices. The path along the lake is more for cyclists, as a walker you are a little out of place. The same goes for the "Gut am See" restaurant, the dress code is not quite right. And it can happen that I confuse the ties of the suit uniform wearers, Lord of the Rings and star drivers with the napkin.  Well, there's still the station pub. I've almost reached it.

Before that, a huge open-cast mining excavator reminds us of the recent past. Huge and impressive, the technology with which man has devastated and continues to devastate entire regions. There is of course a sign at the station pub: "Closed today". Okay, it's not my day in that respect. And so it turns out to be not so bad that I haven't found (cheap) accommodation here and have to return to Görlitz. I'm sure there's a kebab man somewhere with a spit on the fire. The train is not long in coming.

The stage begins where yesterday's stage ended - in Hagenwerder, of course. The train from Görlitz takes me there. In the town of Görlitz, too, many restaurants were closed, but fortunately there were also a few that were open. The route to Poland, to Zgorzelec, which would have been very attractive to me, was blocked due to the coronavirus. Now to Marienthal. And to say it straight away, it's not really worth getting off the train before Ostritz, the home of the St. Marienthal monastery. Unless you like asphalt, concrete and ruins or agricultural deserts. If you want to know what is generally meant by a dead place, Hagenwerder is the place to go. The gray, dull windows, behind which there has been no life for a long time, look at you like sad eyes. The way out of the city is lined with overgrown garage complexes and industrial ruins. Fans of "lost places", which are all the rage to visit and photograph, would get their money's worth. It's high spring, everything is green, many flowers are in bloom. I can't even imagine what it will look like here at the end of November. In a few years, everything will be overgrown and the archaeologists of the future will have their fun in a few centuries. On the other side of the Neisse, on the Polish side, there is a hidden gem: Joachimstein Abbey. It is said to have been the most beautiful castle in Upper Lusatia. I would have liked to see what state it is in now. But as I said, the border is closed...

I make a pilgrimage along the Oder-Neisse cycle path. It's certainly a very pleasant story by bike. On foot, it's a bit like running a modern gauntlet, although the gauntlets have been replaced by bicycles. Retirees pedaling at high speed, not always giving the impression that they are in control of their bikes, overloaded touring cyclists, the path is very busy. The bell rings all the time and I have to move aside. There are a conspicuous number of sand lizards, they have discovered these unromantic ruins for themselves, which is at least a positive sign.

I finally leave the cycle path in Leuba. Before that, I pass the Kellbrunnen, a beautifully framed spring. The description says that there used to be a beer garden on the north side for people passing through. I look for it in vain... Everything in the village is closed or there is nothing that is open at all. The nice-looking snack bar on the cycle path was also closed. Now the path leads along endless fields, free of shade. First straight west, then dead straight south. Wheat, rape, rape, wheat, corn - until far beyond the horizon. A few flowers, field quail wheat, cornflowers every now and then on the narrow field edges. Even a few mushrooms. These are some of the most dreadful paths for me: concrete and endlessly straight ahead. It drags on, there seems to be no progress, it's almost like the mock giant that Jim Button and Lucas the Engine Driver meet in the desert and which seems further and further away the closer it gets. So three kilometers become half a lifetime. The thoughts then follow suit. Your own life runs like a movie in front of you. Perhaps that is the underlying meaning of the pilgrimage? In the absence of all distractions along the way, you are forced to deal with yourself, a navel-gazing out of nowhere, so to speak. Maybe so. Interesting thoughts and memories do come up, as do questions.

At some point, however, it's done, the wandering thoughts take flight and the scenic highlight of the day approaches. The Knorrberg, a fairly large basalt outcrop. Exposed by stone quarrying, now long abandoned. Impressive pillars, but everything is already quite overgrown. The effort of climbing the hill is rewarded by a beautiful view to the south. Then I'm on the home stretch of the stage. It's still quite nice, a shady forest, scrubland. There's even an orchid. Very, very rare. And field larkspur, also rare.

Then, all of a sudden, the view of the monastery opens up. The pilgrim looks across the vineyard, which is actually planted with vines, to the imposing complex. I like to stand there for a while, the sun illuminates the ensemble in the most advantageous way. I am lucky enough to spend the night in the actual monastery. In one of the cells that are no longer needed, so to speak, as only a few nuns still live in the convent. Unfortunately, the rooms are not very nicely furnished, but it is still a really special atmosphere. Somehow the air is also different, you automatically move more quietly, more thoughtfully. A wonderful experience. It's also great that the monastery tavern welcomes visitors. Otherwise it would be difficult if there was only liquid bread. Unfortunately, the monastery beer is no longer brewed here, but in Eibau, but it's nice that there is some available for guests. This brings a very mixed stage to a conciliatory conclusion.

The Neisse rushed softly, the bell called the nuns to lauds and I slept wonderfully. Breakfast in the convent is a little spartan. The nuns rush and shuffle around as a matter of course, depending on their age. The convent church, although baroque on the outside like the convent, offers a pleasant contrast to this omnipresent absolutist architectural style with its Nazarene-style interior, which is often quite creamy and overblown, especially in the churches. You can like it, but you don't have to.

Today we are going to Zittau. The first point of interest, at least for mineralogists and lovers of gems, is the Karfunkelstein cave just behind the monastery in the Neiße valley. A romantic name for a quartz vein in the surrounding Rumburg granite, which contained quartz and some of the mostly red precious and semi-precious stones. The deposit attracted collectors for centuries. Today there is said to be hardly anything left to find. I leave the valley, as the sheer number of cyclists is driving me to the brink of despair. (If I like to cycle a lot, the pedestrians drive me crazy). I take the path through the beautiful monastery forest. Unfortunately, it no longer belongs to the monastery, they had to sell it to avoid bankruptcy, but the new owners have not been able to do so much damage in the short time they have owned the forest. A very vital mixed forest, the nuns have always treated it with care. Let's hope it stays that way, even though it no longer looks that way in some places.

A monument commemorates a village that was wiped out, Siegfriedsdorf, which fell victim to the Hussites' religious mania for power on May 11, 1427. Is religion really such that people have to bash each other's heads in because of it, or is it the people themselves? It seems to make it easier to dismiss your neighbor in the name of a god.

In the forest I found a lot of wonderful wild strawberries, a flavor and vitamin bomb. Crossing the Wolfsgraben, I reached the Neiße valley again and came out at the Saupantsche. What a great name. I couldn't find an explanation, so the imagination can picture a merry band of pigs who used to meet there to bathe in the mud and hold their council meetings. Then Hirschfelde appears. The text here could be the same as that for the last stage, Hagenwerder. A collection of industrial ruins, dilapidated houses and abandoned gardens. The population has halved since reunification. And everything is overshadowed by the huge dirt-spewing power station in Turow. It's understandable if you no longer want to live here. Although there are a few really beautiful, sometimes well-kept, Umgebinde houses here and a handful of half-timbered houses with arcades that I haven't seen anywhere else.

In the still active coal regions further northwest, the phase-out of coal-fired power generation is imminent. Absolutely the right step. But high-level politicians should take another close look at this region to avoid scenarios similar to this half-dead region. Billions of euros alone are not enough, it is more important to apply a little brainpower. But this is usually lacking. The infrastructure in this sad place seems to be limited to a well-run pharmacy. What will the average age be here? There is only one larger business left, the fit works. I leave the scene of nothingness and head further south. Past the only pub, the sports casino. Closed at the moment, of course. Between Hirschfelde and Drausendorf, dilapidated buildings and a few memorial plaques are reminders of the outpost of a Nazi concentration camp that once stood here. Sad and shameful history.

An original stream crossing: a few large stones in the riverbed. Hundreds of meters beforehand, a sign had been posted recommending a detour via the main road, probably a danger to life and limb. Pretty and harmless, you can even manage it with crutches. The really most beautiful part of the route is closed off and pilgrims are diverted via the cycle path along the main road. But only if you follow the prohibition signs. I ignore the signs and the ban. We would still have the GDR if we had always followed what the prohibition signs said. There is even a construction fence to prevent hikers from walking through this wonderful centuries-old oak avenue. We do live in a rather strange country. I think the technical term used to regulate everything here is "traffic safety obligation" - it couldn't be more German.

Just a few hundred meters to my left, as I see it, is the huge, two-hundred-meter-deep hole of the Polish open-cast lignite mine. Nasty. But in a few decades, Germans and Poles will be swimming there. The Poles don't know it yet, but it will happen. The rest of the way into Zittau is hardly worth mentioning, you just walk along it. First along the industrial estate, then through the town. Like everywhere else. Only the section through Weinaupark with its old trees is beautiful. The historic city center is definitely worth a visit, you can see the city's former importance, its past wealth. There are even restaurants open. Not long ago, I could have stayed at a friend's place, but he's given up. It was too remote, too provincial for him. I want to believe him and enjoy the evening anyway after a mixed pilgrimage stage ...

Zittau is Via Sacra Station. The Lenten cloths, the famous ones. These cloths were hung up in the pre-Easter fasting period. Above all, fasting meant abstaining from meat. Instead, there was particularly strong beer. And since fish was allowed, clever monks declared everything that had anything to do with water, i.e. ducks, geese, beavers, certainly also wild boar that went swimming, etc., to be fish and it was permitted. That's how fasting goes smoothly. It is a little surprising that the cloths that were supposed to hide the Blessed Sacrament from view, i.e. as the description of the sacred textiles says "Eucharistic abstinence", are themselves a feast for the eyes, perhaps more beautiful than the covered altar. As I said, people usually knew how to make fasting pleasant. Only the zealots chastened themselves. But that's another story. And as it happens, one man's owl is another man's nightingale and in 1945 Soviet soldiers used the large cloth as a sealing material for the banya. Today it is a museum and tourist attraction [...]. Man...

I was really looking forward to this stage, as it leads into an area I love enormously, the Zittau Mountains. Wild sandstones, volcanic weirdness. But it's a long way to get there if you start in the center of Zittau. Let's cover it with a shroud of silence. An avenue of giant poplars and Napoleon's lime tree are worthy of note. I wonder if the little general had a natural impulse to look behind the tree.

The forest begins to become beautiful, the first rocks pile up. The paths wind their way up, over hill and dale and steps, the first views like the "Bohemian Tower" are inviting. Erosion has carved bizarre shapes out of the crumbly stone, which have many similarities. For example, the brooding hen or the turtle on the Töpferberg and many more. Wonderfully pretty. It's also nice that the snack bar is open. Luckily it's not Lent, so you can enjoy a normal beer and bockwurst, which you don't have to disguise as a Maultäschle. Kleine Felsengasse, Große Felsengasse, the crazy Scharfenstein, the many different rock formations, great, it's one big sensory rush, a hiking and pilgrimage delight. Again and again, the most beautiful views towards Oybin, towards Lausche, towards Bohemia. The path leads to another highlight, the chalice stones. In ancient times, someone buried two giants up to their necks, who knows what kind of trouble there was. And today they are still defenseless and have to put up with climbers clambering over them.

Through the Rosenfelsen we head towards Oybin. The kiosk at the parking lot sells Bohemian beer, albeit at non-Czech prices. This is always the miracle of money multiplication. How the price of beer quadruples over the few kilometers from the Ceska Kamenice brewery to Dresden. Well. It still tastes good. The Oybín Monastery is also a Via Sacra stop. Pilgrims should take time to see not only the ruins of the monastery and the remains of the castle, but the whole rock. It is incredible how sublime such a church, stripped of its roof and all ornamentation, can appear. Here, nature and culture or religion somehow enter into a harmonious relationship. I have to be careful not to get lost, it's still a short distance to my destination. Through Hausgrund, along Poetenweg, Thomasweg and Gerölleweg, I reach Jonsdorf. The narrow-gauge railroad is just leaving for Zittau, hissing, smoking and roaring. Very nice.

I'm looking for simple accommodation and have to go through the whole village. Unfortunately, the guesthouse no longer has a restaurant. After this challenging stage, I don't feel like walking forever to a restaurant. There are four of them in Jonsdorf. One doesn't suit me because of the beer on offer, but two remain relatively close by. After reading the menu, especially the column on the right with the numbers, I decide to leave the first one. I then go to the next one, death-defyingly, come what may. I get the receipt. An industrial beer, the price of which forces me to savor each sip painstakingly one by one. A trout that was far from being confirmed, so small, but big on the profit margin. One waitress places absolutely no value on tips. The other, from neighboring Bohemia, saves the staff's honor. I am a little frustrated. I think we are in one of the most remote and structurally weakest regions in Germany, but prices are like in Munich.

I talk to guests from the used federal states, who feel the same way and are surprised to see that the local prices are even higher. What almost makes me angry is that in the courtyard, in the private parking lots, there are only SUVs with unit prices in the six figures. It seems a little outrageous to me. Well, you don't get money from spending it or from other people spending it. And as long as there are people who fall for the scam, success proves them right. There is no real alternative, at least here. Not even a store. That's something I've noticed several times during the eleven stages so far. The price-performance ratio is not right. My grumbling almost gets on my own nerves, but it has to be said. Fortunately, there is still a full fridge in the guesthouse. I go to rest thinking about the beautiful rocks.

The pilgrim hiker always has to make a decision. This is particularly difficult on this stage, as there are simply too many rocks, mountains and views to choose from. If it were only a matter of walking as quickly as possible to the next stage destination, Grussschinne, as it is known in the local dialect, you would be there in less than two hours. But it should be a beautiful pilgrimage stage through these fantastic rocks, the domes of nature and over the Lausche, the highest mountain in Lusatia. As we all know, the art lies in leaving things out, but in such a way that nobody notices, nothing is missing and it is still wonderful. So we set the stakes: Carolafels, Schwarzes Loch, Jonsdorfer Orgeln, Rabenstein, Nonnenfels and Lausche. I no longer think about the things that have to be left out, the unvisited. Alea iacta est. Let's go. I leave the pleasant guesthouse in the creaking, groaning Umgebindehaus after a hearty breakfast. A while through the village, which is often quite pretty to look at with its crouching half-timbered and Umgebinde houses. Up to the Carola rock, through the Bärwand, the steep, beautiful path leads uphill.

Bears haven't been roaring here for a long time. I imagine the theater if such a master Petz appeared here again. The district councillors, hunters, appointed officials etc. would be on top form. What a theater in the rock theater. All other problems would be forgotten, finally a real proving ground again. Mr. Paddington wouldn't stand a chance. Oh well. Once we reach the top, the headache subsides and our eyes open. You get your first great view of this huge rocky outcrop. And to the Lausche, which at 793 meters is the queen. Truly wonderful, fascinating. Body and mind breathe freely, almost floating. We continue to the Black Hole. A former millstone quarry. In ant-like work, people have succeeded in creating a deep hole from a protruding rock. You can see the traces of hominid raking everywhere. And from almost every vantage point you can see the cloud of dirt from the Turow lignite-fired power station in Poland, the hole there is even bigger. Fortunately, we are the "crown of creation", so no one will hold us accountable for the devastation we cause, even if we have to. If there was something about us, we would be persecuted like wild boars in a cornfield for the enormous damage we cause. Lucky for us. Such thoughts come to mind on pilgrimages, amazing.

The special features follow one another. The Jonsdorf organs. I only know of two places in the whole region where such fritted sandstone can be found. Here and at Duty kamen, the hollow stone near Cvikov, Bohemian Zwickau. It is amazing that the sandstone behaves in the same conditions as basalt and crystallizes into such columns. Now along the Czech border. This arouses even more anticipation. Because the crossing into the neighboring country is open again. But more about that later at the appropriate point. I turn right again at the magical Rabensteine to reach the fantastic Nonnenfelsen rocks. Climbers with helmets and harnesses hang in bunches on the ferrata, the via ferrata, so I decide not to walk part of it. Sure, it would be a bit reckless without a safety harness - people always look at you a bit funny. I'd rather have a beer in the idyllically situated pub. Enjoy the view.

From Nonnenstein, the pilgrim descends to Waltersdorf on a kind of fast hiking trail that would pass for a highway in many parts of the world. Here, too, the decision has to be made: the steep border path or the easy ascent? Oh, easy today and I join the climbers. Always keep to the right because of those coming down. Well, I've exaggerated a bit, it goes with the masses, it's pleasant. At the top of the summit, the tower is being built. Two things are already clear. Firstly: the view from the tower, if it's not designed too low (I've learned: nothing can be ruled out), will be magnificent. A view of my entire kingdom, as my partner says. My hiking kingdom, which lies at my feet from the Lausche: Jizera Mountains, Giant Mountains, Bohemian Central Mountains, Bohemian Paradise, Königshain Mountains and the whole of Lusatia anyway. Great. Secondly, the tower being built violates any claim to aesthetics. An angular steel monster. But there's no accounting for taste. Others will certainly feel differently. It's not finished yet, so the view is still limited, but it's still beautiful. Up here, the nations mingle, not at all corona-compliant. The familiar Czech language mingles with the Saxon sounds.

The rest of the way becomes lonely again, you hardly meet anyone as soon as the parking lot is out of sight. The paths meander down unexcitingly, always falling and pleasant. The forest still looks pretty good, probably due to the rather high massif of dew, which keeps the clouds at bay and encourages a few droplets to fall from time to time. The pub in Herrenwalde is closed, it doesn't matter, I have other plans. I quickly settle into the guesthouse in Großschönau and don't look for a place to stop. Incidentally, this is the cheapest accommodation of the whole pilgrimage.

The landlord gives me positive news for my plans: there is a bike store with rental bikes on site. And a phone call reveals that yes, there is a simple bike for hire. I want to go to Bohemia today. The border is open again after months. I don't comment on all these health policy maneuvers, there's nothing I can do anyway. I walk for ten minutes, get my bike and fly along the Mandava, six kilometers to the Kocour brewery in Varnsdorf. I didn't want to walk after the long pilgrimage stage, that would be another twelve kilometers. Wonderful, ten beers and a good brawn. Oh, the good stuff. All at the usual prices, i.e. half a liter between 1.10 and 1.60 euros. Let me explain: I work as a hiking guide, mostly in the Czech Republic, and the months of absence from Bohemia were hard to bear. Now that's over. A brief entry into a little paradise. Not everyone can understand my enthusiasm, but I couldn't care less. Satisfied and slower, I cycle back to Grussschinne after enjoying myself to the full. No zealous police to check my condition, good. Tomorrow I'm off to Herrenhut. I'm curious about the next Via Sacra station.

A longer stage is on the agenda today. It is a good 20 kilometers to Herrnhut. A simple, yet respectable breakfast in the equally simple but pleasant accommodation. The landlord and I complain to each other a little about our corona suffering, both equally and yet differently affected by the pandemic. He is not allowed to accommodate tourists, I am not allowed to guide them. You shouldn't think about it, it just causes trouble. Fortunately, I have been given the wonderful task of walking the Via Sacra. Unfortunately, the pilgrimage is coming to an end, it's the penultimate section of the route. I will enjoy it very much. And if the news that is leaking out is true, then tourism will soon be possible again, albeit not without restrictions. The borders are already open again. So I can go out with my guests. That's great! But today is today and the tour starts with a short bike ride. I have to return the bike I borrowed. Everything has remained intact, there are no complaints, wonderful.

I was advised to make a stop at the church. I would have done that anyway on the Via Sacra pilgrimage tour. The former cantor is often there, likes to show the church and also gives samples of his excellent organ playing. The ex-cantor is also in the church, the music is coming through the windows and doors, melodious. Unfortunately, he has locked the door behind him. He probably wants to be undisturbed. I move down to the Mandau. It becomes clear that Grussschinne has the greatest treasure trove of pretty half-timbered houses. There are some really great ensembles of these buildings to admire.

The path leads up to the Hutberg, past green, mossy rocks. A fantastic view of the village and from the Lausche to the high forest opens up. The path leads across flowering meadows and through a young avenue of lime trees into the forest to two remarkable stones. The White Stone made of quartzite and the Black Stone made of phonolite. The robber chief Karasek is said to have buried some of his treasures here. I poke around in the leaves but find nothing but a few empty bottles and some garbage. Not even returnable bottles... I walk around the Forstenberg, always with beautiful views of the Jeschken and the Jizera Mountains. Suddenly a ski jump. Not so tiny. Jens Weißflog spontaneously comes to mind. Was he here? Those were the most boring TV broadcasts for me: Ski jumping. Respect, of course, for skiing down that crazy steep hill and then jumping. It would never occur to me. But everyone has their own pleasures. There's also a Kneipp pool, a woman is doing her lonely barefoot laps in the water.

I'd prefer a pub now, it's very warm and I'm getting thirsty. There are no facilities along the way. In Spitzkunnersdorf, what a funny name, there are two pubs. One is too far away, the other (only) offers lunch, but somehow not today. The butcher's shop is open and has delicious products for non-vegetarians. The store is a bit like it used to be, time seems to have slowed down a little, if not stopped. Wonderful. Like a child in a toy store. I choose something nice and sit down in the sun.

The next milestone is the Spitzberg near Oderwitz. A mostly pleasant path across fields, meadows and through the forest. There is a hole in a spruce tree and a young great spotted woodpecker peers out curiously. We greet each other politely. The Spitzstein, I see it so often and have never been up there. And it's worth it, the panoramic view is phenomenal, really great, I'm thrilled. I'm not at all impressed by the bill at the Baude. They serve Fürstenberg beer, which is from the Black Forest and reminds me of the time I spent there many, many years ago. It wasn't that expensive back then... It's the price record on this pilgrimage. So I leave it at one and because it's still getting hotter, I make a short detour to the petrol station in Oderwitz. There's also something for people without an engine, well cooled. In the context of engines, it's worth noting that Oderwitz is a town of mills, with three windmills and two water mills still standing. Yes, the parish priest's children, the miller's cattle... In the past, the millers were usually the wealthiest people in the village after the lords. There is no sign of that any more. It has become an expensive hobby to maintain the mills.

The "final spurt" of the stage leads up and down the hill past the Ruppersdorf moated castle up to Herrnhut. This place also reminds me of my time in the Black Forest. I lived in Königsfeld, which was just as much a fixture of the Moravian Church as Herrnhut. The Moravian Brethren, known abroad as the Moravian Church, are based in many parts of the world. We also met at Lake Tanganyika in Africa, where I even stayed in their guest house. And the stars are omnipresent, who doesn't know them? Even if almost nobody knows where they come from. Accommodation in the community was only available in the community's guest house; simple and expensive. It is astonishing in such an important place that there are almost no places to stop for refreshments. And since it was the beginning of the week, the only restaurant was closed. Well, the Herrnhuter are more inclined towards pietism, so that the physical well-being seems to be of secondary importance. You're usually better off with the Catholics... I take a look at the brothers' facilities from the outside, everything is locked. And then, as is so often the case in smaller towns, the kebab man saves the hungry from premature death. A long, beautiful stage full of memories. Tomorrow to Löbau, where the circle closes.

The friendly staff at the guest house highly recommended visiting the Hutberg with the cemetery and the Altan. It would be very attractive and the view from the tower outstanding. I'm happy to do so, but it can't be done on the way because the Altan is locked. The receptionist has the key and is happy to give it to me. And wants it back, of course. So I set off on my way. And really, only from the tower called the Altan does the visitor have a clear view, because it is higher than the trees and bushes around it. I enjoy it, although it is quite cloudy and the view is modest.

Herrnhut blends picturesquely into the landscape. And you can see that the place did not grow naturally as it happened and was necessary, but was planned and purposefully laid out by the Moravian Church. I return the key to reception. I tell them what I have done over the last few days and they are very impressed and enthusiastic about this pilgrimage. "All the best for the last stage," I am told and off we go.  Once again, the path leads over the Hutberg and through fields to Berthelsdorf, which I only cross.

Behind the village, the fields are beautifully interspersed with red poppies and blue cornflowers. To the delight of the eyes and the soul. Certainly to the annoyance of the farmer. The forest welcomes me. Deep green. I allow myself a short detour to the Hirschberg. A small basalt breakthrough. And beautifully flowered with viper's bugloss and chickweed. The view already takes in the Löbauer Berg. Berthelsdorf is the next settlement. A pasture fence across the path blocks the way there. In the meadow, huge light brown shaggy cattle with horns almost a meter long. They look cuddly, but it is not advisable to get too close. Even just a friendly wave of the horns would have serious consequences. It's amazing that these creatures only get so big and fat from grass and greenery. Well, elephants can do that too. But you rarely see them here.

Now the less beautiful part of the not-so-long stage begins. From Berthelsdorf to the turn-off to Löbauer Berg, it's all asphalt and road, with almost two kilometers on a busy dirt road at the end. It has just been resurfaced. Officially, even the hiking trail runs along here. And it is dangerous to cross. The pilgrim only has the chance to escape from the embankment on which the road runs down into the field in the traffic. The verge is too narrow to walk on. It's unbelievable! So this last stage is like a concentrate of the entire pilgrimage on the Via Sacra. Sections that are best forgotten quickly, like this one or the often dull stretches through the suburbs and industrial estates. And then the exact opposite, wonderful narrow paths and climbs, lovely to rugged, pure nature and beauty. And the often wonderful sacred architectural gems, as well as folk architecture or the next destination, the cast-iron Löbauer Tower.

After luckily surviving the road, I return to the diverse, lush green nature of Löbauer Berg with its countless flowering foxgloves. I climb the tower and once again have an overview, so to speak. Almost the entire pilgrimage circuit lies spread out before me, looking west towards Kamenz, where the pilgrimage began, then Bautzen, continuing clockwise to the Königshain Mountains, the Landeskrone, the Zittau Mountains, the mountains of Lusatia. The whole circle is complete and I am pleasantly overwhelmed. I have walked, looked, felt, touched and tasted all of this.  Around 280 kilometers. How many beers? It doesn't matter. I treat myself to another one at the Turmbaude, with the very special feeling of having completed this tour.

The rest of the route is the most wonderful freestyle, down to Löbau, through the rustic deciduous forest, through the lime tree avenue to the market and to St. Nikolai's Church. How many days ago I stood here, after just the first four stages of the Via Sacra. It was unimaginable back then that you would arrive here again so soon and have completed the route. I could easily start again, taking note of and incorporating everything I had overlooked or not noticed. But almost normal everyday life is calling again and I am now certain that I can start with my hiking groups. And I'm also looking forward to my own bed, which I spent a lot of time and effort making. That's something too. Off to the station. The train takes me almost home again. I am full of gratitude and joy for this wonderful time of pilgrimage, which filled the coronavirus vacuum so wonderfully and showed me so many new things. I would love to go again.