Most travelers speed past Regensburg on the train between Munich and Prague. They see the twin spires of the cathedral from the window and register nothing more than another Bavarian church on another Bavarian skyline. The city has learned not to expect much from these encounters. It has been overlooked since 1806, when Napoleon dissolved the Holy Roman Empire and the imperial diet packed its bags for the last time. Before that, Regensburg had hosted the empire's permanent parliament for 143 years. Before that, it was a Roman legionary fortress. Before that, the Celts were already here. The place is patient.
The old town sits on a sharp bend of the Danube where the river turns south. The Romans chose this spot in 179 AD and called it Castra Regina, the camp on the river. You can still see their handiwork if you know where to look. The Porta Praetoria, the north gate of the Roman fortress, is wedged between two modern buildings near the riverbank. Most visitors walk right past it. The gate is made of massive sandstone blocks with the original arched passage still open. It is one of the best-preserved Roman gates north of the Alps, and it stands there like a stone shrug at the modern city built around it.
The medieval city that grew over the Roman bones is what earned Regensburg its UNESCO listing in 2006. The old town has nearly fifteen hundred listed buildings, and the remarkable thing is not the number but the continuity. This is not a museum piece. People live here. They hang laundry from windows that have hung laundry for eight centuries. They argue in dialect that has not changed much since the merchants who built the Stone Bridge.
That bridge is the spine of the old town. The Steinerne Brücke was built between 1135 and 1146, and it was the only crossing of the Danube between Ulm and Vienna for centuries. It connected the trade routes from northern Europe to Venice. The bridge is 310 meters long and made of sixteen arches. The stone came from quarries upriver, and the legend says the builders made a pact with the devil to finish it. The devil demanded the soul of the first creature to cross. The builders sent a dog or a cat or a rooster, depending on which publican you ask. The bridge is still standing. The dog is not.
On the south end of the bridge, the Wurstkuchl has occupied the same spot since the bridge opened. This is the oldest continuously operating sausage kitchen in the world, and it serves exactly one thing: Regensburg sausages, which are thin and finger-length, grilled over charcoal and served on a pewter plate with sauerkraut and sweet mustard. The recipe has not changed. The seating is communal and tight. The menu is painted on the wall in Bavarian dialect. The sausages cost a few euros. The experience of eating them within sight of the bridge that medieval merchants crossed on their way to Venice is free.
The cathedral dominates the skyline. Dom St. Peter was begun in 1273 and took nearly six hundred years to finish. The west front is Gothic at its most theatrical, with hundreds of carved figures and a rose window that catches the afternoon light. Inside, the stained glass is the real prize. The windows are original 14th-century work, and the colors have not faded. The south portal has a famous Judensau, a medieval anti-Semitic carving that the church has debated removing for decades. It is still there. The cathedral does not hide its history.
The old town hall, the Altes Rathaus, is another building that wears its past openly. From 1663 to 1806, the Reichstag, the permanent imperial diet of the Holy Roman Empire, met in its chambers. This was the longest continuously sitting parliament in European history. The delegates from over three hundred German territories argued about religion, taxes, and succession in rooms that are still furnished as they were in the 18th century. The guided tour takes you through the assembly hall and the torture chamber in the basement, which the city used to extract confessions before the imperial court. The juxtaposition is deliberate.
Saint Emmeram's Abbey, on the eastern edge of the old town, became the Thurn und Taxis Palace after Napoleon secularized the church in 1803. The princely family built their fortune on the imperial postal monopoly and turned the monastery into one of the largest private palaces in Europe. Parts are open to the public. The stable museum has royal carriages. The treasury has mail coaches. The paradox of a palace built on postage stamps is not lost on the guides.
Outside the city, King Ludwig I of Bavaria built the Walhalla between 1830 and 1842. It sits on a bluff above the Danube, ten kilometers east of Regensburg, and it looks like the Parthenon sailed up the Rhine and parked itself in Bavaria. Inside are marble busts of famous Germans, from Goethe to Einstein, arranged in a neoclassical hall that feels more like a temple than a museum. The view from the steps looks down the Danube valley. The wind is constant. The self-importance is almost funny, but the view is serious.
The Danube itself is Regensburg's other highway. In summer, river cruise ships line the quay and discharge passengers who walk the old town in two hours and declare it charming. The better way to see the river is to take the local ferry downstream to Weltenburg Abbey, home of the oldest monastic brewery in the world, founded in 1050. The beer is dark and strong. The abbey church is Baroque and overwhelming. The boat ride through the Danube Gorge takes an hour each way and costs less than a taxi across Munich.
Regensburg is not without its problems. The old town can feel overrun on summer weekends when the cruise ships synchronize their arrivals. The restaurants on the main square cater to this crowd with generic Bavarian menus that could be photocopied from Salzburg. The beer gardens are genuine, but the ones closest to the cathedral charge tourist prices. The smaller breweries and taverns on the side streets are where locals actually drink. Kneitinger, on the Adlerstraße, has been brewing on the same site since the 16th century. The beer hall is loud and wood-paneled and the staff do not smile at tourists. This is a recommendation.
The city is compact. You can walk from the Roman gate to the cathedral to the bridge to the palace in under an hour. The pleasure is in stopping. The side streets off the main axis are where the city lives. The bakeries sell Dampfnudeln, steamed sweet dumplings with vanilla sauce, on Saturday mornings. The butchers make their own Leberkäse. The toy shop near the cathedral has sold wooden animals since before the First World War.
Regensburg is ninety minutes by train from Munich and an hour from Nuremberg. The airport at Munich is the best option for international flights. The old town is pedestrian-only in most places. You do not need a bus ticket. You need comfortable shoes and patience for cobblestones.
Skip the souvenir shops on the main square selling lederhosen made in Asia. Skip the horse-drawn carriage rides. Skip the restaurant with the English menu and the accordion player. Eat at the Wurstkuchl or the Kneitinger or any place where the menu is handwritten and the only language spoken is Bavarian. The city has survived Romans, Goths, Huns, Napoleon, and American bombers. It will survive a few more tourist seasons. But it rewards the visitor who stays long enough to notice that the laundry on the eighth-century window ledge is still wet.
By Finn O'Sullivan
Irish storyteller and folklorist. Finn hunts for the narratives that do not make guidebooks—the pub legends, the family feuds, the neighborhood heroes. He believes every street corner has a story if you know who to ask.