The painters of the past were probably the Instagrammers of today. Artists once roamed Saxon Switzerland, capturing the extraordinary sights nature had to offer. I followed a stretch of the so-called Malerweg. From the Basteibrücke, via Festung Königsstein and Pfaffenstein, to the Kuhstall with its famous Himmelsleiter. Not armed with a brush and paper, but with a smartphone and notebook in my bag.
The early bird catches the worm
I've never liked that saying. I'm simply not an early riser, and I struggle to put up with the sound of my alarm in the morning. Nevertheless, I'm jolted awake at 5:00. I'm not feeling motivated at this hour. Or chatty. I grumpily squeeze out a "Good morning." That's it. Otherwise, I stay quiet on the way to the Bastei.
By the time we reach the parking lot in front of the Basteibrücke, dawn is slowly breaking. The sky has already turned a deep purple. A few photographers have set up at Ferdinandaussicht, waiting for their shot. Otherwise, it's quiet. Unusually so. Normally, this place is teeming with visitors.
And then it begins. It looks unreal as the first rays of sunlight make their way over the horizon. The rock spires look as if they're glowing. The sunlight matches the colorful leaves on the trees. Wisps of mist hang below us.
A few birds strike up their morning song. And I just stand there. In awe. My jaw nearly drops. Maybe getting up early is worth it sometimes after all, I think. This time it definitely was. I wouldn't have wanted to miss this moment.
A journey into the past
The day is young and we still have a lot planned. It's only half past eight as we set off for Festung Königstein. The old fortress, once considered impregnable, is just a few minutes by train from the spa town of Rathen below the Bastei.
We pass through a stone archway and suddenly find ourselves in the middle of a dark ramp leading upward. A ribbed vault stretches high above me. It's gloomy. The air is cool. We're the only tourists here in the early morning. All at once, I feel transported back to the Middle Ages.
A movement makes me jump. Something flutters into a dark corner. A bat?! It's almost creepy in here. But the supposed bat turns out to be a harmless pigeon. Welcome to Festung Königstein.
The complex is enormous. As big as 13 soccer fields. Its walls stretch across the entire table mountain, following its contours. It's pretty impressive. For the second time that day, something leaves me in awe. Though perhaps this time it's also because I get excited about castles and palaces so easily. I love the journey into the past that inevitably unfolds in your mind in places like this.
Super narrow rock crevices
My imagination keeps running at Pfaffenstein. There are no thick castle walls here, but the paths lead through narrow rock crevices. In places they're so tight that I have to turn sideways to squeeze through. Elsewhere, ladders lead upward through the narrow clefts. It feels like an adventure. I feel as though I'm in a maze. I can't help wondering whether anyone has ever gotten stuck here.
We follow the winding network of paths to a wide open area. It's a mix of a plateau and rock pillars jutting out in front of it. Some of them stand on their own. There are steep drops all around. I prefer to keep a little distance from the edge. The view is no less impressive from here.
The imposing Barbarine rises before me. It's a rock spire that looks almost delicate. Almost fragile. It rises so tall and slender toward the sky. It almost seems as though this pillar was put in place by hand. It's hard to imagine that it has endured for centuries and millennia.
But the Barbarine isn't the only peculiar sculpture in the landscape. Somehow, every rock has its own character. People in the past must have been inspired by their unusual shapes when naming them, too. The rocks in the area have names like "Hafersack," "Toter Zwerg," "Glatter Turm," "Luftballon," "Junggeselle," "Einsamer Ritter," "Einsiedler," "Förster" and so on.
Why is the Kuhstall called the Kuhstall?
And then there's the so-called Kuhstall. But that's a little farther away, deeper inside Saxon Switzerland National Park. The Kuhstall doesn't really look like a cowshed at all. It's more of a huge rock arch. At 11 meters high, it's actually the second largest in the Elbe Sandstone Mountains.
A man offers to take photos of us. He says he's been here several times before. We ask if he knows why the Kuhstall is called the Kuhstall. Later, I find a message in my Instagram inbox from the man we met at the rock arch. A photo of an information board explains that the name probably dates back to the Thirty Years' War, when cattle were hidden up there.
Also of interest: Hike to the famous Kuhstall
The path continues beyond the Kuhstall. There, the so-called Himmelsleiter leads upward. At first glance, it doesn't exactly look like a stairway to paradise. Instead, towering walls cast their shadows over the iron steps. We don't see daylight again until we emerge into the open at the top.
But then I understand the name "Himmelsleiter"—the stairway to heaven. From up here, it really feels as though you're looking down at the landscape from the sky. We step out of the darkness and find ourselves in the heart of the national park. From here, the view stretches across Pfaffenstein. We can see the Schrammsteine and all the way over to the Czech side. What a view!
Too much to see, too little time!
Now I'm sitting at home, trying to process everything I've experienced. We only had two days, and there was so much to see. Far too much to see. Since then, I've also received what feels like 1000 tips for other things I could have seen. I guess I'll just have to come back.
Even so, I have so, so many impressions to take in until then. It's fascinating that a place like this is in Germany. The rock towers actually look more Asian. It's yet more proof that you don't have to travel far to discover interesting landscapes. Often, all it takes is leaving the comfort of home and heading a few steps out into nature.
What particularly worthwhile places are right on your doorstep?