The Lichtenstein Castle has been destroyed and rebuilt several times since it’s origin in 1100. It’s final incarnation, completed in 1862, was damaged in World War II with repairs finally completed in 2002.
If you are ever in Baden-Württemberg, the public may visit the castle via public tours.
Now imagine a gigantic precipitous rock, which rises straight up from the depths. On top of it, a white tower defies altitude, overlooking the Echaz river way, way below. Impassible as a silent guardian, it peers down to the lowlands. Its ragged rocks and steep walls plunge in such an unconceivable angle that we watched the towering structure on the escarpment with disbelief. Is this for real? Wrapped in complete isolation, 817 meters above sea level, the Lichtenstein Castle really seems… unreal.
As we finally walked back to the entrance court, past crenelated towers, parapets, ivy-grown walls, punctuated by occasional antlers, I felt like strolling through 19th century romantic literature, with a local Swabian touch. It was all there. Every pitched roof and roof gable perspired romanticism. To celebrate the sheer beauty of human imagination, we kissed at the entrance gate, right below the coat of arms of the dukes of Urach.
Castles have always held a hypnotic power over me. Not so long ago, Mei nurtured my obsession and tracked down one of the most naturally light-colored stone castles in the world: the Lichtenstein Castle in Baden-Württemberg, Germany’s Swabian Jura. Leaving the Hohenzollern Castle behind us, we drove for 40 […]