13th August. Escape To Colditz.

By the age of the concrete stretching to infinity at Leipzig-Althanburg airport it looked distinctly like a relic from Goering's Luftwaffe days, why else would there be an airport in the middle of nowhere? More in the middle of nowhere than any previous Ryanair destination and also the smallest terminal building of all time.

We'd gone but a few miles on the connecting night bus when I espied a sign that said Colditz 50k, who says the British are obsessed with WWII?

"Let's go to Colditz tomorrow" I said. 

Isabelle was all for 'Doing Leipzig' and time was indeed short as I had elected to just come for the  day.

After a mornings argument at Althanburg Railway station about where exactly Colditz was, it also transpired that no one in the former GDR speaks a word of the Queen's.

It's ok, Isabelle now has train tickets to Colditz? Due to timetabling issues we end up sitting for an hour on the platform at a spot known as Grossbouton, a perfect example of the post industrial wasteland now common in former East Germany.

"We must be the first tourists they've ever had at Grossbouton" I remark.

I'm still not really sure Colditz is the real Colditz or not until we finally get to the castle itself and there is a sign sponsored by Smirnoff detailing escape attempts and 'Home runs'.

Naturally the tendency has been for anything to do with WWII to be brushed under the carpet, which incidentally was what the owner of the castle wanted "What's 5 years in the history of Colditz which goes back 1000 years?"

Quite. 

Despite that there is a knowledgeable local woman who has all the stories of escaping to hand, although she herself would never fit down any of the 30 tunnels, too many Rostbratwursts. 

Basically no one from Britain is really interested in the other 995 years, I want to see where they sawed through the floor joists under the floor of the chapel etc etc...

Colditz is highly recommended by the Daily Arse.