Heidelberg by Dark

A 15th century inn with a clandestine history, the legendary tavern where Patrick Leigh Fermor knocked back a few pints, a castle ruin by moonlight, and our favorite design museums

The River Neckar at dawn.

Some love affairs are short-lived but that doesn’t make them any less memorable. You just need to make every moment count. That’s what we did when we drove from St Moritz, Switzerland with the plan of overnighting in Heidelberg, Germany. We had planned to arrive mid-afternoon, have a saunter around the old town (it’s small), visit the medieval castle ruins on the hill, and then go for dinner at the historic restaurant traveler/writer/aesthete Patrick Leigh Fermor mentions in his classic autobiography, A Time of Gifts.

In reality, one delay was compounded by another and we didn’t reach Heidelberg until 7pm which, despite taking full advantage of the Autobahn’s lenient speed limits, was already hidden under cover of darkness. Not a propitious beginning and we needed to leave by 7am the next morning to catch our flight home. So then, twelve hours. Can one gain an essence of a place in so little time? Can a memory be made? Can beauty be discovered in the shadows? We planned to find out.

The delightful and heavy-with-history Hotel Hirschgasse.

We maneuvered the car up a dark lane, hoping our sat nav hadn’t steered us wrong, and suddenly, there it was in front of us — the Hotel Hirschgasse, oldest hotel in Heidelberg, since 1472! Charming doesn’t begin. Outside, vine-clad walls, antique metal lanterns, and original dormer windows. Inside, burnished wood-paneled walls, Gobelin tapestry-themed wallpaper, red lampshades, and cozy patterned furniture.

Dining room with 250-year-old tables, Hotel Hirschgasse.

In the dining room, vintage caps and gilt-trimmed military uniforms adorned the walls and the ceilings were festooned with massive antique swords, tangible reminders of an era when secret university dueling clubs were all the rage. Students would challenge each other in a show of machismo and the ensuing facial scars (the wounds oftentimes packed with horsehair to ensure they healed improperly) were considered a badge of honor — they showed you had courage and were “good husband material.”