Krämerbrücke

Listen for a moment. Under the chatter of shoppers and the creak of old shop doors, there is another sound, very faint. It is water. You are standing on a street of narrow, timber-framed houses, with cobblestones under your feet and shop windows on both sides. Nothing here looks like a bridge. And yet the river Gera runs right beneath you, through stone arches you cannot see from up here. Welcome to the Krämerbrücke, the merchants' bridge of Erfurt.

The name tells you almost everything. A Krämer, in old German, was a small trader, a shopkeeper who sold goods by the piece. For centuries, this lane was their marketplace. They sold spices, silk, paper, dyes and fine wares to travellers crossing the city. Today the shops sell handmade chocolate, pottery, wooden toys, jewellery and local art. The trade has changed. The habit of trading here has not.

To understand why a market grew on a bridge, picture Erfurt in the Middle Ages. The city sat on a great east-west trade road through central Germany, known as the Via Regia, or the Royal Road. Merchants with carts and pack animals had to cross the Gera at this exact point. Anyone who wanted to reach the other bank walked past these doors. For a shopkeeper, there was no better address in the city.

The first crossings here were made of wood. Wooden bridges, however, have one serious weakness in a medieval town. They burn. Records describe fire after fire destroying the structure. In the early fourteenth century, the city finally built the crossing in stone, around 1325. That stone bridge is the one beneath your feet today. So, as you walk, you are walking on masonry that is roughly seven hundred years old.

Here is the first thing most visitors miss. The houses are not simply standing beside the bridge. They are built on top of it, and some of them hang slightly over the water at the back. This makes the Krämerbrücke one of the longest bridges in Europe that is still lined with inhabited houses along its whole length. People do not only sell things here. They live here. Upstairs windows hold curtains, plants and the ordinary life of residents.

Look at the facades as you walk. The timber frames are dark beams set into pale plaster, with steep roofs above. Many of the present houses were rebuilt after a great fire in the late fifteenth century. Over time, the many tiny plots were joined together. In the Middle Ages there were far more houses here, each very narrow. Today there are about half as many. Some old divisions are still visible if you study the rooflines closely.

Now walk towards the eastern end of the bridge. Here, the lane passes under a church. This is the Ägidienkirche, the Church of Saint Giles. Its tower rises over the bridge, and the street runs through an arched passage at its base. Churches at bridge ends were common in medieval Europe. Travellers could stop to pray before or after a journey, and the church also marked the gateway to the crossing.

The second surprise is about the other end. Once, the western end of the bridge had its own church as well, dedicated to Saint Benedict. So the merchants' lane was framed by a church at each end, like two bookends. The western church was demolished in the late nineteenth century. Only the eastern church survives. When you reach the western end, try to imagine a second tower standing there.

At the eastern end, the bridge opens onto a small square called the Wenigemarkt, which means the little market. It is a good place to pause. Cafes set out tables, and you can look back at the bridge's houses from the side. In the warmer months, people sit here with ice cream and coffee, and children run across the cobbles. The square shows how the bridge and the old town flow into each other without a clear border.

If you have time, leave the lane and go down to the riverbank. This is the only way to see that you were standing on a bridge at all. From below, you see the stone arches, the water running through them, and the backs of the houses above. The view from the water is very different from the view from the street. Up there, it is a shopping lane. Down here, it is clearly a medieval river crossing.

The wealth that built this bridge came partly from a plant. Erfurt grew rich in the Middle Ages on woad, a plant used to make blue dye for cloth. Before indigo arrived from overseas, woad was one of the main sources of blue in Europe. Erfurt was a major centre of this trade. Some of the shops on the bridge still sell woad-dyed goods, so watch for that particular soft, deep blue in the windows.

The bridge is also a place of celebration. Each summer, the city holds the Krämerbrücke festival, with music, crafts and food stalls spreading across the old town. During the festival, the lane fills with costumes and crowds. On an ordinary weekday morning, however, it can feel quiet and intimate. Early light falls between the houses, shopkeepers open their doors, and the smell of coffee drifts out into the lane.

Before you leave, stand still once more in the middle of the bridge. Look up at the overhanging upper floors, the small windows, the uneven roofs. Look down at the worn cobblestones, polished by centuries of footsteps. Then listen again for the river. It is the reason this street exists. As you walk away into the old town, you are following the same path that merchants, pilgrims and travellers followed here for hundreds of years.