Called the Frankonian Rome for its seven hill, each crowned with a church, we made our way into town via a short bus ride—a first for the dogs who handled it pretty well—hoping that the holiday crowd would have dissipated somewhat, but the the city was full and lots was going on for a fair-weather weekend.
There is an absolute embarrassment of sites to see in the Old Town, so we had to limit ourselves to a nice stroll in the Alt Stadt and ended up at old brewery, treated to another live band, this time a klezmer group with clarinets and accordion. A quick tour, even a whistle-stop one of the main attractions along the canals, also with comparisons to another Italian jewel with Klein Venedig, do not do it justice. We did manage however to pay some homage to the Altes Rathaus, designed in the mid-eighteenth century to mark the boundary between the hilly part of the town and the collection of islands in the Regnitz that coincides with the limits of the bishopric and secular district of the town, legend holding that the ecclesiastics were to stingy to afford the citizenry land for a town hall, so an artificial island was improvised, Venice-style.
