High points

I spent this past Friday and Saturday at an academic workgroup meeting: a slightly less formal version of a conference, plus an organizational meeting. And although I find writing grant applications where I create an autobiographical narrative artificially culminating in a particular academic experience rather irritating, I have to say that a weekend of discussing medieval religious women in a castle more or less fulfills the wildest dreams of my 17-year-old self about Being A Medievalist. (Parenthetical realization: I appear to have spent almost a decade of my life so far training to Be A Medievalist. I might feel mildly panicky about this, if I weren't still on a high from spending a weekend discussing medieval religious women. In a castle.)

Looking back from above the village

 Schloß Dhaun is not a location chosen for convenience; it's 6 km from the nearest train station, and not reachable by bus. Not wanting to pay for a taxi, I decided to take my bike, having daily experience of 6 km as an easy distance. In making this calculation, however, I failed to take into account one thing, and that something that I knew about castles by the age of 7. Castles are built on high places. I dismounted from my bike at a fork (just below the point photographed) and asked a woman which way I should take. "The steeper road," she laughed, "sorry. Just keep on up the mountain. When you're through the woods, turn right." I dismounted my bike for the steep push, but rode it with pleasure through the solitary woods, the only sounds those of scattered birds, of a few distant foresters. When I emerged from the woods, a wooden sign, faded but still legible, marked the way to the castle. As I rode on, I passed through two more villages (though without seeing a living soul) and found the way marked by increasingly poetic street names: "The row of beeches"; "On windy ridge"; and, my favorite, on a deserted hill between the second village and the third: "By the star-watcher."

The great thing about having a castle as my destination--one of the great things--is that I could be in no doubt as to when I'd found the place I was heading for.

My room with a view

Dhaun was first mentioned in 1215, and has been remarkably well-restored. In its center is an early modern residence which has been converted for the use of, e.g., academic workgroups. As I discovered on an evening ramble around the imposingly large castle complex, the resemblances to Zenda don't end there, as a curving passage leads down from a fortified rampart first into what looks like a storage or guard chamber, and then only into an increasingly low and narrow passage, where the darkness was impenetrable, and all that could be heard was the dripping of water. Since I didn't have a king to rescue, but did have a sociable group of medievalists to rejoin, I didn't find out where the passage led. I did, however, spend some time marveling at the stars, astonishingly clear and dazzlingly numerous. The time listening to presentations and participating in lively talkback sessions was edifying and enjoyable, and the rain even held off (mostly) for the ride back to the train station on Saturday.

Kirn, near the train station