Sometimes in life, things can pleasantly surprise you; the one you were warned about turns out to be thoroughly captivating, with a warm, soft side. This is the case with the Rhine, which amongst the world’s great rivers, has possibly got the worst reputation.

The Nile is steeped in history, the Amazon in natural wonder, the Danube in art and literature, but the Rhine is generally seen as being lined with billowing smokestacks and grim factories.

Indications to the contrary become available whilst flying over. The state of North-Rhine Westphalia is a conglomeration of reasonably large cities, and it is the industrial heartland of Germany, but there are unexpected patches of greenery everywhere. On closer inspection, the craft winding their way down the river are a varied bunch. For every hulking industrial barge, laden with shipping containers, there is a ferry or a rich man’s plaything.

With the sun blaring, indeed, it seems as though everyone wants a piece of the river. With the temperature hitting 35 or 36, dusty banks have been turned into impromptu beaches, whilst the suspicious brownish tinge of the water is overlooked in favour of its refreshing coolness.

Aboard the ferry, on the three hour trip against the current from Cologne to Bonn, the enclosed middle deck is deserted. Everyone has charged onto the boat, raced up the stairs, perhaps trampling a few old women on the way, in a bid to revel in the blazing heat.

The upper deck is crammed with chairs, and worked over by a permanently harassed barman with a skin tone that can only be described as throbbing purple. He fends off a stream of flustered, parched demands for drinks and ice cream in English, French, Spanish, Italian and occasionally German. A true hero.

Sauntering through the outskirts of Cologne, the reputation of this section of the Rhine is somewhat disguised. Sure, there are still the barges chuntering up and down, but it’s more idyllic than industrial. Children paddle in the water, dogs splash riotously, whilst the banks are lined either with trees or charming old buildings that clearly survived the blanket bombing during the war.

The destination, Bonn, is a curious oddity. As a German friend succinctly puts it, “This was the capital city for nearly fifty years. That would be like making Launceston the capital of Australia.”

It’s a city that no-one has ever taken altogether seriously, barring a few of its inhabitants. Even during the Cold War, during which it became a major political heavyweight, the likes of Reagan, Thatcher and Gorbachev could be forgiven for scratching their heads and asking: “Well, where is it exactly?”

For the record, Bonn is only the 10th biggest city in the state and the 19th biggest in the country. Its status as temporary capital during the tense political and ideological split between East and West was largely due to the loyal machinations of one man. Konrad Adenauer, the first West German Chancellor after the end of World War II, was just pretty much the only person to enthusiastically cheerlead for Bonn, a short drive from his home in Cologne. Despite Frankfurt having nearly all the facilities needed already, and the move costing millions, Adenauer won out and all the state apparatus was put into a town where it didn’t really fit.

These days, most of it is in Berlin (although there was a somewhat ironic outcry over the cost of moving everything there when this was decided in 1991), and Bonn is left to trade a little on its past glories.

Other than being a fairly random choice for a capital, the city’s history is linked largely to one man: Ludwig van Beethoven. Saying you’re not a great fan of the lauded composer here is a bit like walking into a Dublin bar and loudly proclaiming that you think the work of U2 is a bit torpid and lifeless.

Sure enough, a statue of him dominates the Münsterplatz, the city’s focal centre, and he looks out upon a rather scenic city. On a perfect summer’s day, it looks heavenly, cobbled streets weave around café terraces, whilst fine old buildings add an air of grandeur to market places. This is a rich city, and you can feel it.

Beethoven himself, of course, was no pauper. There’s no rags-to-riches back story for him, and this is perhaps what makes a trip to the house of his birth a bit of a disappointment. Beethovenhaus is a monument to the man and what he achieved, and the reverential tone is perhaps taken a little bit too far. No attempt is really made to illuminate and add a little sparkle to what is effectively a collection of old pictures and instruments that Ludwig may have used at some point.

A lot of chin-stroking is going on, as people trickle through the old house, creaking up the stairs. On their faces is a look of too-thorough concentration; one that gives away that inside they’re thinking: “I know I should be impressed by this, but it’s just not happening.”

The endpoint of this rather uninspired trip through the life of a great man is the beginning; the room where the master composer was supposedly born. It’s a tiny top floor space with wooden floorboards, and a commemorative bust in the middle. Such is the need to preserve an empty room that no-one is allowed in it. Stare in awe, there’s a good tourist.

The disappointments stop there, though, as the rest of the city is a thorough pleasure. A short stroll through the suitably grand university buildings leads to Poppelsdorfer Allee, which is almost a boulevard in reverse. Two little laneways flank a narrow stretch of parkland, which is filled with the sort of trees that loom over you with almost staggering importance. It’s here that a few of Bonn’s eccentricities come to light. One man has a little roadside stall, and is selling raspberries. That’s all he’s got, and he must only have about ten servings of them to sell, but it’s one small step on the road to entrepreneurial greatness, I guess. Another woman has just hauled her bookcase into the park, and is trying to sell dusty old paperbacks to passers-by. Still, such blind optimism can be encouraging at times.

At the end is the Poppelsdorf Palace, one of those buildings that despite being a little worn around the edges, just looks happy, like a pensioner leaving work for the last time and realising he now has the opportunity to do anything he likes. It’s painted in a cheerful canary yellow with a jaunty blue trim, and a wispy-bearded man is sat outside, whiling away the day by doodling what he sees before him onto a large canvas.

The palace is home to the city’s Botanical Gardens, which are an absolute delight. Outside is for lazing in the sun, bathing in the vivid greenery, whereas inside is the place to head for a horticultural round-the-world trip. Sweating in the greenhouses, we have cacti from the American desert, gum trees from Australia and, most impressively, the biggest lilypads in the world from the Amazon. They look like rafts that belong in a children’s water park.

Nature morphs into culture on the feted museum mile, just south of the city centre. It’s packed with goodies, with art, film zoology, and technology all covered within a short stroll. You can smell the remnants of a government trying to make its capital suitably important by splashing money at it, and the highlight is right at the top. Named with typical Germany snappiness and dreamy wordplay, the Haus der Geschichte der Bundesrepublik Deutschland takes visitors through the vast changes that have gone on in Germany since 1945. You walk through the body of a plane used during the Berlin airlift, you take your seat in a mock-up of the Federal German parliament, you watch the Wall coming down. It’s all very well done, making you part of the history rather than just dictating it to you.

That history does hang over the city, though, and the battle these days is for relevance. Bonn effectively ceased to be a major player when East and West Germany became one again, and has had to forge an identity since. It’s not quite there yet, but that’s part of the charm. Largely overlooked by tourists, it becomes a treasure to amble around even in the hottest day of the peak season; the location without the big city stress and the attractions without the crowds. Like the Rhine that weaves through it, Bonn is one of those pleasant surprises that are all too rare these days, and long may it remain so.

FAST FACTS
Getting There
Cologne-Bonn airport is half an hour on the train from Bonn. However, it is primarily used as a hub for European low-cost carriers, so the flight is likely to go a roundabout route, such as via Kuala Lumpur and Amsterdam with KLM. The other alternative is to fly into Frankfurt and take a two hour train ride to Bonn

Visas: Not needed.

Getting Around: Bonn’s city centre is relatively compact, and pedestrian-friendly. However, to visit attractions out of the centre, such as the spa town of Bad Godesburg or the Augustusburg Palace in Bruhl, you can use public transport. Both the bus and train networks are excellent. The KD ferry (+49 221 208 8318, www.k-d.com) down from Cologne takes three hours (albeit less than two getting back with the current in your favour). A return trip costs EUR13.70.

Currency: The euro. EUR1 = $USD1.28, CAD$1.45

Staying/ Eating There: Accommodation is as luxurious and expensive as you make it. Expect to pay roughly the equivalent of what you would in any major Australian city. You can book a variety of places on the internet at www.bonn-region.de. For smaller, cheaper guesthouses, having a stroll round on arrival is the best method, providing you have an hour or so to spare.
Bonn is renowned for being a foodie’s heaven, and if you apply the golden rule of seeing whether the locals are eating there in the city centre, then you’re unlikely to be disappointed.


When To Go: The crowds in peak season here are not too bad, so the usual advice of aiming for spring or early autumn to avoid the crush doesn’t apply too much. April to late September are the most pleasant, but six weeks either side will usually have perfectly passable conditions.

By David Whitley
Word count 1,743