穿越时空德国黑森林之旅.docVIP

穿越时空德国黑森林之旅 　　It was a blue-sky day in Germany’s Black Forest. A dusting of snow covered distant peaks， but we drove with the top down along winding roads beneath a dense 1）canopy of trees. Little lakes， vineyards and thatchroofed farmhouses sat in 2）clearings. The sun was just setting， and amber light filtered through the 3）foliage. 　　Then， as suddenly as if someone had flipped a switch， the forest turned pitch-black， silent and 4）eerie. I was about to suggest putting the top up when we spotted the lights of a village ahead. According to our map， it was Wolfach―or maybe Schiltach， or perhaps we’d even come as far as Gengenbach. Hard to tell， since the guidebook was 100 years old. 　　Early in the summer of 1914， my great-great aunt Rose and great-great uncle Henryk， who lived in London， picked up the latest guidebook to motoring in Germany. They packed the family into a brand-new Rolls Royce Silver Ghost and set off for a three-week trip through the Black Forest―a mountainous， thickly forested area that covers about 2，300 square miles in southwestern Germany. Their adventure was cut short by the outbreak of World War I. 　　I recently inherited the 5）ornate cuckoo clock they bought as a souvenir and their copy of The Motor Routes of Germany. The clothbound book， full of watercolor illustrations and road maps， is 6）copiously 7）annotated in a small， elegant script―almost certainly my great-great aunt’s. 　　“Listen to this，” said my husband， David， examining her notes with me： “ ‘The roads are generally good and well marked with signposts…but we must keep a sharp lookout for the slow brewers drays and ox-wagons loaded with pine logs.’ ” 　　“We should go there，” he said. 　　And so we did. We wanted to see if there was anything left of the Black Forest so enthusiastically described in the old guidebook， 100 years and two world wars later. Aunt Rose’s first entry reads： “An 8）undulating road passing through some villages typical of the happy 9）Grand-Duchy of Baden brings us to