A border reborn

So this was Korberoth. A small hamlet dating back to the 14th century, nestled around a village pond. Four farmhouses. Set in a secluded location amid the gently rolling foothills of the Thuringian Forest, just a stone’s throw from the border to Bavaria. Fields and woods wherever you look. Around 20 people still lived here after the Second World War. And now? Now, all that remains is just a hint of foundations among the tall grass. And cherry trees with fruit that no one picks. The wind rustles through the leaves of ancient oak trees and moves the reeds around the pond. Apart from that, all is silence. Not a soul to be found anywhere. There are four wooden benches under the trees, one for each farm. Next to them a memorial plaque. ‘In memory of Korberoth, 1344 – 1984’, it says. Because Korberoth no longer exists. 

The village was razed to the ground. It was in the way, hemmed in between the increasingly fortified border of East Germany to the west and another fence that marked the so-called buffer zone in the Thuringian district of Sonneberg. “Eventually the inhabitants of Korberoth couldn’t go anywhere. Not to Bavaria, nor to Effelder, their neighbouring village in Thuringia,” says Ralf Kirchner of the Thuringian Forest Nature Park. “The last inhabitants were forcibly relocated in 1984, five years before the fall of the Berlin Wall. And the village was razed to the ground.” We nod, appalled.

We are walking through unspoilt nature. And a whole lot of history.

We are walking along the Green Belt. That is the name of the strip of land, up to 200 metres wide, that runs between the former border that divided East and West Germany and the line of the border fortifications on its eastern side. A verdant stretch that hardly anyone set foot in between 1952 and 1989. Today, it is a nature conservation area along its entire length. In the absence of people, endangered animal and plant species thrived in the exclusion zone. Almost half of the entire 1,400 kilometres of the Green Belt is in Thuringia. We are walking on its very southern section, in Frankenblick in the Sonneberg district. Neustadt bei Coburg in Bavaria is a mere three kilometres from here. In sturdy shoes and with backpacks on our shoulders, we set out along the former border. The Green Belt in Thuringia is not only a national natural monument but also an excellent walking region. The site of watchtowers, patrols and even shootings for nearly half a century, it now has well-marked walking routes through unspoilt scenery. But history is always present here.

We are walking along the Generalsblick nature park trail, a nine kilometre circular route that was inaugurated in 2024. Ralf Kirchner helped to design it. He doesn’t only lead walking tours but is also the district’s trail warden and he knows every last stone around here. Ute Müller-Gothe, the mayor of Frankenblick, has also joined us. Together we discover that the natural landscape along the Green Belt is beautiful and full of biodiversity, which Ralf, the expert, keeps pointing out to us. We walk on sandy heathland paths, past wild pears, and enjoy the bees buzzing around the bright yellow yarrow. There are sheep droppings on the ground, and we have panoramic views into the distance, past hawthorn, dogwood and sloe bushes.

We barely make any headway because there is so much to discuss

This area is called ‘Himmelreich’ (kingdom of heaven). It gets slightly less heavenly when we switch from the sandy track onto a border patrol path. These distinctive paths, made of concrete broken up by regular holes, used to run directly along the East German side of the border fence. They have lasted extremely well, and in Thuringia alone they stretch for 470 kilometres. Although they generally make great walking trails, there are a few caveats. Since their express purpose was to follow the line of the border rather than to maximise the enjoyment of walkers, we do get quite breathless on some of the uphill sections. And going downhill we can definitely hear our knees creaking. Never mind the fact that our shoes occasionally get stuck in the holes.

But the historical burden weighs more heavily. Ralf tells us how the East German border guards used to patrol along these paths. “Day and night, in the baking sun and the pouring rain, the guards had to march in pairs. They had to walk for interminable hours and they were not allowed to talk to each other.” Why not? To prevent friendships from forming that could have endangered the system.

Brutal details of everyday life on the inner-German frontier. Once again, we’ve stopped to talk. That is the great challenge of walking along the Green Belt. It can be hard to make any headway, because there is so much to tell and to discuss. The border has gone. Rather than separate, it now unites instead. We are talking about it together, want to find out about each other, because East and West are listening to one another. We ask: “What was it like for you, back then?” “It was clear that we’d never be able to get across,” says Ute. Even though they could see the other Germany lying on the plain below. The gabled houses of Neustadt. The distinctive shape of Muppberg hill. Coburg Fortress. “But that was just the way it was,” shrugs Ute. “A fact of life.”

On Generalsblick hill we spend quite some time looking west. This is a former observation point about halfway along our route. In East German times, generals from the socialist brother states used to be invited up here, not to admire the view into Bavaria but rather the western frontier, which was particularly heavily fortified at this point with three fences. Now there are picnic benches on Generalsblick. Not for the military, but for peaceful, hungry walkers such as us. Ute, the mayor, takes out rolls and Thuringian bratwurst. “So what’s the difference to Franconian bratwurst?,” I ask. Cue for a heated debate about sausage meat, fat content, marjoram and cumin. It would seem that culinary borders remain well and truly in place. And perhaps that’s how it should be.