The Night the Castle Turned Red

The air had a bite to it and the streets were loud with people enjoying themselves. It was a cool September evening and the last illumination of the season was due to light up the sky above Heidelberg. I walked past the stalls, watched the happy faces, and found myself thinking about the summer, when I had seen the same spectacle for the first time.

That had been the second Saturday of July, out with two friends for the fireworks at the castle and the Old Bridge. The whole city, or so it seemed, had come down to the banks of the Neckar with picnic blankets.

A July night, and a hill

We could not find a place on the bridge or anywhere along the water, so we climbed to the Philosophenweg to watch from the hills instead. I arrived at the top out of breath, panting, and thoroughly teased by my sporty, encouraging friends — but the view justified every step.

This time I was not in the mood for climbing. I had already found a good spot on the riverbank during an earlier visit, and I was determined to claim it again.

The riverbank, an hour early

I reached the centre well ahead of schedule and was surprised to find people already settled on the bridge and along the banks. A man selling water and soft drinks was working the crowd, which reminded me of India for a moment. The numbers swelled as the light went. Some people planted tripods in the best positions; others opened wine and food and turned the wait into a picnic with family and friends.

Why the castle burns

Heidelberg's history is one of wars and disasters, and the castle was destroyed by the French in 1693. The city does not spend much time mourning it. Three times a year the ruins are illuminated to mark the anniversary of that destruction, and each illumination ends with fireworks.

The fireworks themselves owe more to a wedding than a war: they go back to the marriage of King Friedrich V to Elizabeth Stuart of England. A celebration that started in the 17th century is now a summer routine, which is a very Heidelberg way of dealing with history.

Ten fifteen

I lost track of time, as usual, and suddenly had to hurry towards my chosen spot. The crowd had filled every gap. I found a small space just as the show was signalled to begin, and then the whole area went dark.

The first spark brought a roar from the crowd. The castle appeared to be on fire, drenched in red Bengal light — a detail I had not expected and loved. After about five minutes, fireworks burst over the Old Bridge and the crowd fell quiet, then cheered again.

Image: Heidelberg Marketing

The best seats were on the water

The people on the boats had the finest view, unobstructed and close to the action, while the rest of us craned past trees and the heads in front. When it ended and the crowd began to drain away, I stayed where I was to enjoy the cool air. I sat on a bench and watched the lit boats ferry people back across the river.

Walking back

Sitting there, I thought about the July evening on the Philosophenweg, when I had run into other friends and colleagues among the crowd. Tonight I was on my own; both of my friends were back in France. I sighed, got up and started towards the bus stop, not wanting to miss the last connection.

On the way I passed the candy stall. A klein cotton candy, I decided, would not be a bad way to end the evening.