Seeing Hitler's Germany: Tourism in the Third Reich

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Seeing Hitler’s Germany Tourism in the Third Reich

Kristin Semmens

Seeing Hitler’s Germany

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Seeing Hitler’s Germany Tourism in the Third Reich Kristin Semmens

© Kristin Semmens 2005 All rights reserved. No reproduction, copy or transmission of this publication may be made without written permission. No paragraph of this publication may be reproduced, copied or transmitted save with written permission or in accordance with the provisions of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, or under the terms of any licence permitting limited copying issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency, 90 Tottenham Court Road, London W1T 4LP. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages. The author has asserted her rights to be identified as the author of this work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. First published 2005 by PALGRAVE MACMILLAN Houndmills, Basingstoke, Hampshire RG21 6XS and 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N. Y. 10010 Companies and representatives throughout the world PALGRAVE MACMILLAN is the global academic imprint of the Palgrave Macmillan division of St. Martin’s Press, LLC and of Palgrave Macmillan Ltd. Macmillan® is a registered trademark in the United States, United Kingdom and other countries. Palgrave is a registered trademark in the European Union and other countries. ISBN-13: 978–1–4039–3914–2 ISBN-10: 1–4039–3914–4 This book is printed on paper suitable for recycling and made from fully managed and sustained forest sources. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Semmens, Kristin, 1973– Seeing Hitler’s Germany : tourism in the Third Reich / Kristin Semmens. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 1–4039–3914–4 1. Tourism–Government policy–Germany–History–20th century. 2. Tourism–Social aspects–Germany–History–20th century. 3. Germany– Politics and goverment–1933–1945. 4. Germany–Social conditions– 1933–1945. I. Title. G155.G3S46 2005 338.4′791430486–dc22

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Printed and bound in Great Britain by Antony Rowe Ltd, Chippenham and Eastbourne

For Derek Little


Contents Preface

ix

List of Figures

xii

Abbreviations

xiii

1 Introduction

1

2 The Gleichschaltung of Commercial Tourism

16

3 Nazi Tourist Culture

42

4 The Absent Swastika: ‘Normal’ Tourist Culture

72

5 ‘Shoulder to Shoulder’? Commercial Tourism and Kraft durch Freude

98

6 International Tourism

129

7 Tourism at War

154

8 Conclusion: Coming to Terms with Tourism

187

Notes

195

Bibliography

241

Index

259

vii


Preface Since violence and terror continue to dominate studies of the Third Reich, I have often been called upon to justify the topic of this book, both academically and in casual conversation. Colleagues and friends have wanted to know what leisure travel has to do with racial persecution, concentration camps and genocide. How can a practice based on the search for relaxation and pleasure shed light on some of the most horrifying events of the twentieth century? In response, I have suggested that not every book about the Third Reich can or must tell us something about the Holocaust per se. It should none the less tell us something about Hitler’s Germany. Tourism in particular illuminates how the Nazi system functioned in pursuing its overall goals. The combination of compulsion and conciliation, coercion and compromise that the regime employed within the tourist sector has wider significance for our understanding of the Third Reich. Nazi interventions here served several overlapping objectives. In the short term, revival of the tourist industry would contribute to economic recovery. In the longer term, tourism would help cement the foundations of the ‘national community’, secure international consent for Nazi foreign policy and prepare the German Volk for future wartime mobilization. Seeing Hitler’s Germany is the first comprehensive study of commercial tourism under the swastika. It demonstrates how effectively the Nazi regime controlled and coordinated all German tourism organizations. It emphasizes, on the one hand, the ‘normality’ of many everyday tourist experiences after 1933, experiences which certainly helped some Germans and many foreign visitors to overlook the regime’s brutality. It aims, on the other hand, to show how tourism also celebrated the most racist, chauvinist aspects of the ‘new Germany’, that these were integrated into a Nazified tourist culture, and that they too became a familiar part of tourism under Hitler. By investigating a cross-section of ‘normal’ tourist experiences – taking a tour, visiting a popular sightseeing attraction, reading a guidebook or sending a postcard – the book deepens our understanding of the stability and popular legitimacy of Hitler’s rule. The following chapters draw upon a wide variety of sources. These range from the documentary records of various tourism organizations in Berlin, Weimar, Bavaria and the Black Forest, to brochures, prospectuses, advertisements, guidebooks, postcards, posters, maps and ix

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Preface

souvenirs from across Germany. I scoured journals like Der Fremdenverkehr (Tourism) and Das Reisebüro (The Travel Agency) along with travel articles in several daily newspapers and popular national magazines. Where possible, I have tried to let the tourists’ own voices be heard by referring to published memoirs, travel accounts, photograph albums, postcard greetings and guestbook entries. Naturally, I did not accumulate this disparate material and bring it together into a coherent narrative all on my own. It is my great pleasure to acknowledge here the guidance and assistance I received from numerous individuals and institutions as I completed this book, which began its life as a PhD thesis written at the University of Cambridge. At Cambridge, my doctoral supervisor, Richard J. Evans, forced me to think about the ‘big questions’ and, more importantly, helped me to tackle them. Many friends read chapters of the thesis and offered shrewd suggestions for improvement, including Cam Grey, Bernhard Fulda, Charlotte Henze, Jessica McGraw, Jan Rüger, Werner Trapp, Dan Vyleta, Nikolaus Wachsmann and Andrew Webster. Candice Caldwell, Erin Mitchell, Riccarda Torriani, Anneke de Rudder, Ann Vernon, Liz Vlossack and Emma Winter offered their support as well. Christopher Clark and Sir Ian Kershaw, my thesis examiners, not only made the defence a surprisingly pleasant experience, but also gave concrete, insightful recommendations for turning the thesis into a book. Countless archivists and librarians helped me to research this project and I am grateful to them all, but several deserve special mention: Ulrich Ecker at the Stadtarchiv Freiburg, Heinrich Graf at the Kreisarchiv Breisgau-Hochschwarzwald, Frau Huber and Maria Stehr at the Bayerisches Hauptstaatsarchiv, Carmen Lorenz at the BundesarchivLichterfelde, Eva Rothkirch and Herr Fiebig at the Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin, David Smith at the New York Public Library, Monika Summer at the Landesarchiv Berlin, Hasso Spode at the Historisches Archiv zum Tourismus in Berlin and Martin Walter at the Kreisarchiv Rastatt. While in Germany, the Herzogin Anna Amalia Bibliothek in Weimar and the library at the University of Freiburg ordered innumerable interlibrary loans for me, which aided the research process immeasurably. Finally, I could not have completed the book without Corey Campion, my research assistant at the National Archives in Washington, DC. The thesis itself was made possible through the generous financial support of the Stiftung Weimarer Klassik, the German Historical Institute, the Deutscher Akademischer Austauschdienst (DAAD), St. John’s College and the Commonwealth Scholarships Commission. I was also honoured to receive the London German Historical Institute’s Annual Thesis Prize

Preface

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and the Fraenkel Prize in Contemporary History in 2003. I completed the book manuscript thanks to a post-doctoral research fellowship from the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada held at the University of British Columbia and the University of Victoria. Turning a thesis into a book was a less straightforward, more arduous operation than I had first naively assumed. I am indebted to many for the help I received during this process. William Mulligan and Gavriel Rosenfeld shared their tips on writing proposals. Shelley Baranowski, Christopher R. Friedrichs and Jeremy Noakes not only conveyed their enthusiasm for the project, but also gave extensive critiques and commentary on the entire manuscript. Thomas J. Saunders at the University of Victoria was incredibly obliging. He offered his thoughts on various drafts and patient encouragement right until the last minute. My sister, Jessica Larouche, proofread chapter after chapter, while Kevin Ford patiently scanned the figures. I would also like to extend my thanks to the staff at Palgrave Macmillan, including my editor, Luciana O’Flaherty, and Daniel Bunyard. To Melanie Buddle, Lisa Cohen-Wallis, Karen Fishwick, Tamara Ford, Sarah Hentschel, Jean McPherson, Meredith Parkes, Gillian Robertson and Barb Stacey, thank you for telling me it could be done. My mother, Monika Semmens, my four grandparents, Peter and Katherine Kalinger and Edmund and Adelaide Semmens, and my inlaws, the Little and Davies families, encouraged me constantly, even when it meant listening to endless talk about Nazi Germany. My father, Ted Semmens, read every word and gave his useful comments from a perspective very different from my own. Finally, I want to thank my husband, Derek Little, who helped me reach the publishing deadline as another, even more important due date loomed. For this, and for so much more, I dedicate the book to him.

List of Figures 3.1 Berlin – The Nazi capital (LFV Berlin, Berlin [Berlin: 1939], author’s collection) 3.2 The Memorial for the Fallen at the Feldherrnhalle in Munich (postcard, 1935, author’s collection) 3.3 Home of the Führer on the Obersalzberg (postcard, no date, author’s collection) 4.1 Black Forest peasants (LFV Baden, Badnerland – Schwarzwald [Karlsruhe: 1937], author’s collection) 4.2 The traditional costumes of Thuringia (LFV Thüringen, Dein Reiseziel – Thüringen: Das grüne Herz Deutschlands [Weimar: 1937], author’s collection) 5.1 On holiday with KdF – Deutsches Eck in Koblenz, 1937 (courtesy of the Landesarchiv Berlin, E Rep. 200-43, Nr. 89, Bl.12/RS, Foto: Fritz Bauer) 6.1 To Italy! (MER, Südwärts: Gesellschaftsreisen 1939 [Berlin: 1939], author’s collection)

xii

49 54 57 91

92

119 136

Abbreviations Amt RWU BAB BayHStA BDVB DAF GSA HAT KdF KLV LFV LVV MER NA NSDAP RDV RFF RFV RHV SA Sopade SS StaB StaB-B StaB-S

Amt Reisen, Wandern und Urlaub (Office for Travel, Hiking and Vacations) Bundesarchiv Berlin-Lichterfelde (German Federal Archives, Berlin-Lichterfelde) Bayerisches Hauptstaatsarchiv, Munich (Main State Archive of Bavaria) Bund Deutscher Verkehrsverbände und Bäder (League of German Tourism Associations and Bathing Resorts) Deutsche Arbeitsfront (German Labour Front) Goethe und Schiller Archiv, Weimar (Goethe and Schiller Archive) Historisches Archiv zum Tourismus, Berlin (Historical Archive for Tourism, Berlin) Kraft durch Freude (Strength through Joy) Kinderlandverschickung (children’s transports to the countryside) Landesfremdenverkehrsverband (State Tourism Association) Landesverkehrsverband (State Tourism Association) Mitteleuropäisches Reisebüro (Central European Travel Agency) National Archives, Washington, DC Nationalsozialistische Deutsche Arbeiterpartei (Nazi Party) Reichsbahnzentrale für den deutschen Reiseverkehr (German Railroads Information Office) Reichsausschuß für Fremdenverkehr (Reich Committee for Tourism) Reichsfremdenverkehrsverband (Reich Tourism Association) Reichsverkehrsgruppe Hilfsgewerbe des Verkehrs (Reich Group for the Auxiliary Travel Industry) Sturmabteilung (Storm Troop) Sozialdemokratische Partei Deutschlands im Exil (Social Democratic Party of Germany in Exile) Schutzstaffel (Protection Squad) Stadtarchiv Breisach (Breisach City Archive) Stadtarchiv Baden-Baden (Baden-Baden City Archive) Stadtarchiv Bad Säckingen (Bad Säckingen City Archive) xiii

xiv

Abbreviations

StaF StAF StaG StaK StaO StaS StaT-N StaW StaW-T StIB ThHStAW WGB

Stadtarchiv Freiburg (Freiburg City Archive) Staatsarchiv Freiburg (Freiburg State Archive) Stadtarchiv Gernsbach (Gernsbach City Archive) Stadtarchiv Karlsruhe (Karlsruhe City Archive) Stadtarchiv Offenburg (Offenburg City Archive) Stadtarchiv Schramberg (Schramberg City Archive) Stadtarchiv Titisee-Neustadt (Titisee-Neustadt City Archive) Stadtarchiv Weimar (Weimar City Archive) Stadtarchiv Waldshut-Tiengen (Waldshut-Tiengen City Archive) Stadtgeschichtliches Institut Bühl (Bühl Institute of City History) Thüringisches Hauptstaatsarchiv Weimar (Main State Archive of Thuringia, Weimar) Wirtschaftsgruppe Gaststätten- und Beherbergungsgewerbe (Economic Group for the Catering and Accommodation Industry)

1 Introduction

On 23 June 1933, Adolf Hitler signed a law creating a new organization in Germany, the Reich Committee for Tourism. It came at a time of violent repression and political upheaval. In the preceding months, the concentration camp at Dachau had been established and a secret police force, the Gestapo, had been formed. Books by Jewish and other socalled ‘degenerate’ authors had been burned, a sterilization law had been passed and the trade unions no longer existed. The civil service and judiciary were being purged of ‘non-Aryans’, while left-wing political parties were viciously suppressed. Only two days earlier, during the ‘Week of Blood’ in the Berlin suburb of Köpenick, 3,000 Social Democrats had been arrested, and tortured or murdered. In the midst of these atrocities, the Reich Tourism Committee law was passed. It marked the first step in the Nazis’ thorough Gleichschaltung (coordination) of German commercial tourism. Already adept at wielding intimidation and brutality as weapons in the battle to achieve its goals, the regime now added pleasure travel to its arsenal. Tourism remains a relatively unexplored topic for historians of Nazi Germany. In many ways, this neglect is understandable. Tourism is overshadowed by persecution, terror and genocide, the defining hallmarks of the Nazi regime. In the context of a murderous dictatorship, tourism might indeed seem a ‘soft topic’, one that threatens to ignore more fundamental historical problems.1 Yet this assessment is misguided. As many historians have come to acknowledge, what once appeared inconsequential or even trivial can actually reveal a great deal about the past. Moreover, if historians have considered tourism to be a soft topic, the Nazi regime certainly did not. It saw tourism as an important branch of the German economy, which demanded support and regulation by the state. Tourism also offered a means to advance the regime’s 1

2


political agenda. Domestically, it would assist the creation and unification of a racially purified, unswervingly loyal and deeply patriotic ‘national community’ (Volksgemeinschaft). Internationally, it would calm fears about the Nazis’ intentions on the world stage. Most importantly, tourist practices under the swastika would serve as ‘rituals of reassurance’, helping to convince both German citizens and visitors from abroad of the continued normality of everyday life in the Third Reich.2 This book marks the first broad foray into the world of commercial tourism under Hitler. It considers tourism primarily, though not exclusively, as an activity carried out while on vacation or during one’s leisure time. Tourism involves some sort of voluntary passage across distinct boundaries, which requires moving from one’s usual place of residence. Tourism thus encompasses the web of relationships and experiences created when people travel for recreational purposes, the goods and services they consume and the industry designed to meet their needs.3 On one level, Seeing Hitler’s Germany provides a reconstruction of that web, thereby enriching what is to date a relatively meagre historiography. On another, it employs tourism as a prism through which to view and shed new light on larger issues in Third Reich history. These include the regime’s politicization of cultural practices, its impact on daily life, the nature of its authority and legitimacy, and the role of popular demand. An examination of tourism also exposes the significance of mass consumption and consumer culture in the Third Reich.

The turn to tourism Unlike economists, ecologists, anthropologists, sociologists, semioticians and geographers, historians have only recently turned to tourism. Despite their attention to the ‘golden age’ of travel in the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, they have been reluctant to welcome tourism, its supposedly eviscerated modern-day counterpart, into the ‘charmed circle of acceptable themes in European history’.4 In part, the enduring image of modern tourists themselves – noses buried in their guidebooks, rushing from sight to sight en masse, never veering from the beaten track in search of superficial pleasures and ‘pseudoevents’ – has prevented historians, with some notable exceptions, from taking tourism seriously.5 If the field of tourism history as a whole remains patchy, German tourism histories are even more fragmented. There are many good regional tourism studies, as well as works on the travel agency and German travel writing, but the lack of carefully

Introduction

3

researched, genuinely academic syntheses is keenly felt.6 More problematic than the number of works on offer is the limited nature of their interpretive frameworks. Too often they provide an analysis that is isolated from wider themes in tourism history and, more significantly, from larger historical themes. As interest in the topic grows, however, this situation has begun to change. Historians of German tourism have now begun to explore the broader implications of their subject. This has been especially true within the context of the twentieth century, where an analysis of leisure travel has been used to provide new perspectives on its most significant developments, such as the growth of nationalism and mass political mobilization.7 The touristic turn in Third Reich historiography was clearly hindered by the enduring dissonance between holidays and horror, vacations and violence, tourism and terror. However, several longer-term research trajectories within the field itself have led in a similar direction, towards an embrace of tourism as a serious historical topic. The emergence of history ‘from below’, of the everyday lives of ordinary men and women, proved instrumental here.8 Much Alltagsgeschichte of the 1970s and early 1980s tended to concentrate on those aspects of life under Hitler that literally occurred every day: school, work and family life. More recent literature has broadened the spectrum of the ‘emotional linchpins of fascist everyday life’ beyond the workplace and the family home.9 While the tourist experience is sometimes conceived in opposition to this realm of the everyday, however widely defined, in reality, it was shaped by the same societal structures, mentalities and identities that influenced daily life. Travellers clearly do not leave their interpretive frameworks behind when they embark on a journey: they pack them up and carry them along.10 Viewed from this perspective, tourism fits well within an everyday approach to the Nazi past. It was one component of ‘normal’ life under Hitler, but also a means whereby a sense of normality was sustained, which in turn guaranteed enduring public support for the regime. When related to the broader patterns of personal and social experience, tourism thus offers fresh insight into the nexus linking everyday life and the popular legitimacy of the Nazi dictatorship. On the one hand, the Nazis pledged to restore stability and normality. On the other, they promised the spectacular and the extraordinary. Historical interest in these ‘attractions of fascism’ – what made fascism fascinating – continues to grow.11 A variety of platforms for the ornamentation, decoration, celebration and staging of Nazi ideas have been explored: mass rallies, festivals, the cinema, radio, the Olympic

4


Games, exhibitions, advertising and the KdF holidays.12 All were important elements in the Nazis’ oft-touted aestheticization of politics. As this book reveals, commercial tourism too became an apposite vehicle for this process. Increased curiosity about Nazi consumer culture generally has sparked further investigations of leisure travel.13 Although tensions between guns and butter were never entirely diffused, the Nazi regime managed the problem of consumption in such a way as to ensure its own stability. The purchase of pleasure was an important part of the solution. Tourism provided a safe form of consumption that did not compromise the rearmament campaign, because its primary commodities were places, sights and experiences. Moreover, tourism contributed to the feeling that material conditions had improved since 1933; after the outbreak of war, it compensated for the increasing scarcity of many other consumer goods.14 To date, the Strength through Joy (Kraft durch Freude, or KdF) holidays, the state-sponsored excursions intended primarily for the nation’s workers, have dominated accounts of tourism in the Third Reich.15 Yet at its height, KdF tourism accounted for only 10.2 per cent of the total number of overnight stays by Germans in Germany and an even lower fraction of overnight stays altogether.16 Despite the fact that commercial tourism outweighed KdF travel in terms of both statistical and economic significance, little attention has been paid to its organizational structure or its cultural contours. The KdF holidays are still essential to understanding tourism in the Nazi period. For this reason, even a study devoted primarily to commercial leisure travel such as this cannot ignore them. However, by placing them within a wider touristic context, one often overlooked till now, we gain a new perspective on them. This book owes much to two recent studies examining various aspects of German commercial tourism between the 1900s and the 1950s: Rudy Koshar’s German Travel Cultures and Christine Keitz’s Reisen als Leitbild.17 In part because of their chosen focus, and because the Third Reich represents but a single chapter in their stories, these works offer only brief references to the Nazis’ far-going coordination of the tourism industry. Both tend to de-emphasize the radical transformation in the meaning the state ascribed to leisure travel after 1933. Such conclusions are in keeping with their larger arguments about touristic continuity in the first half of the twentieth century. They stress long-term trends and downplay how the Nazi regime fostered these same continuities in order to instrumentalize them. While politics ‘left its footprint’ on tourism, Koshar maintains, it was often ‘indistinct’.18 In

Introduction

5

contrast, this book offers some different conclusions about the shape, depth and clarity of the jackboot’s imprint upon German tourism. To reach them, we must first recount the beginnings of modern tourism in Germany.

Tourism in Germany: a brief history Human beings have always been travellers, whether as nomads, pilgrims, explorers, crusaders, soldiers or tradesmen. In Germany, travel for medicinal or therapeutic purposes also has a long history. Visits to spas and seaside resorts, where one ‘took the waters’ to cure specific illnesses, were a well-established tradition by the end of the eighteenth century. At the same time, the Grand Tour, an essential precursor to modern pleasure travel, was reaching its apogee. On tour, young European, mostly male aristocrats, trod a well-worn path through Italy, Greece, Switzerland and the Rhineland for up to three years. Ostensibly in pursuit of knowledge and the expansion of intellectual horizons, these early Tour-ists were motivated in large part by social convention. Over the course of time, though, pleasure and entertainment joined education and cultural improvement as incentives for travel. The German Bildungsreise (educational trip) of the nineteenth century shared the destinations and objectives of the elitist Grand Tour, but its participants now included members of the middle classes, which marked a significant development in the history of leisure travel. The process of democratization had begun, but it would take a transportation revolution to hasten its pace. The advent of rail travel marked the true beginnings of modern tourism in Europe. The first German rail connection between Nuremberg and Fürth opened in 1835. A rapid expansion of the network followed until, on the eve of the First World War, no German town lay further than one hour’s walk from the nearest train station. This new mode of transportation guaranteed the participation of wider segments of society. It also launched a specifically German form of holiday travel in the form of sojourns to Sommerfrischen (summer vacation resorts). Located amidst the mountains and woods of Bavaria, the Harz and Thuringia, the Sommerfrischen provided relaxation for bourgeois families eager to escape the cities and take pleasure in the nation’s natural beauty. The aristocratic classes still predominated amongst visitors to spas and seaside resorts, but thanks to the railway, the middle classes were now able to frequent less exclusive, less expensive and more easily accessible vacation destinations. Moreover, with the train, travel had not only

6


become safer, more reliable and cheaper, it had also become an end in itself. Modern tourism was born and a new malaise soon diagnosed: travel fever.19 An entire industry evolved to facilitate and promote leisure travel, and to standardize and regulate it. Tourism societies, established for the first time in Germany during the nineteenth century, were critical to the evolution of a touristic infrastructure. The tourist guidebook and the travel agency merit special attention in this narrative as well. An English firm, Murray, is generally credited with having published the first modern travel handbook in 1836, which determined what ‘ought to be seen’ while on holiday in Europe. Two years later, Karl Baedeker issued his first guide to the Rhineland. Soon Baedeker became a German synonym for guidebook.20 England led the way again in opening the first modern travel agency and organizing the first package tours. Established in 1841, Cook’s Tours introduced all-inclusive group excursions abroad in 1855. Germany’s first commercial travel agencies did not open their doors for another decade, but once in business, their clientele continued to grow.21 By the turn of the century, tourism had become an important branch of many local economies. Tourist literature also firmly established the country’s ‘main points of interest’ – all 148 of them according to a 1913 Baedeker guide – for both domestic and international tourists.22 These visitors toured Germany’s monuments, art galleries and museums; they sought out natural sites like the Rhine and the Harz mountains; they recovered at the best-known thermal baths. While tourism remained largely a middle- and upperclass phenomenon, it had none the less become an inescapable practice of modern life. The Great War interrupted this narrative of progress. When it broke out, visitors departed their holiday resorts en masse. Rationing, wartime inflation and travel restrictions had a catastrophic effect on German tourism as a whole. However, individual places, like some spa towns in Bavaria, were less afflicted. In fact, many benefited from the growing number of sick and wounded soldiers seeking a cure while on leave.23 For these destinations it was not the war years but the Weimar years that were later remembered as the real time of crisis.

Tourism in crisis: the Weimar years When the Great War finally ended, Germany was in turmoil. Suffering from staggering losses on the battlefield, and the effects of food shortages and the influenza pandemic at home, the country now faced an

Introduction

7

uncertain future. Kaiser Wilhelm II had abdicated and the Weimar Republic had been proclaimed. Paramilitary organizations controlled the streets; violent clashes between Communists and right-wing nationalists were common. Yet, an American soldier and self-proclaimed vagabond touring the ‘Hungry Empire’ observed that ‘Baedeker himself never aspired to see his land so crowded with tourists and sightseers as it was in the spring of 1919’.24 Taking advantage of their own relatively strong currencies, demobilized soldiers and commercial tourists alike flocked to the country. They discovered that hotel rooms, train passes, theatre tickets and restaurant meals were astoundingly cheap. ‘For the first time I had something of the sensation of being a millionaire,’ the same American soldier recalled.25 The German urban centres, small towns and vacation resorts upon which these foreign visitors descended had vastly different ‘touristic biographies’ and offered up various attractions.26 Berlin had erected its first municipal tourism society during the war. Attempts to revive it went hand-in-hand with efforts to obscure the capital’s imperial past. Statues of the deposed Kaiser, once included on the tourist itinerary, were removed and street names were changed. Berlin’s cabarets, gay clubs and illicit nightlife titillated some tourists, but others thought the revolution-scarred metropolis was both ‘sinister’ and ‘immoral’. In contrast, political upheaval in Munich did little to dampen visitors’ delight. Foreigners admired the city as much for its ‘aggressively good-natured’ citizens as for its beer. The town of Weimar, once venerated as the home of Goethe and Schiller, now played upon its connection to the Republic that bore its name.27 Weimar flaunted how much had changed since 1918, but the war had done nothing, one American visitor happily noted, to obliterate the ‘romance, charm and picturesqueness’ of the Black Forest. Like the alpine fairyland of upper Bavaria, it was still enchanting.28 Soon after hostilities ceased, spa guests returned to opulent resorts like Baden-Baden, which had welcomed them since Roman times; other towns greeted tourists for the first time. By 1922, several German cities recorded visitor numbers that matched or even surpassed those of the last pre-war years. But all was not well in the German tourism industry. By 1923, with inflationary conditions encouraging even more travel from abroad, complaints increased about this ‘plague of foreigners’, who were deeply resented for being able to afford what Germans themselves could not. Foreign tourists faced expressions of open hostility from locals and also had to pay surcharges on hotel rooms, ranging from 20 to 200 per cent, and ridiculously high visa fees.29 Guests from abroad were not the only

8


ones to experience discriminatory treatment in the Weimar Republic. Bäder-Antisemitismus – a kind of ‘vacation anti-Semitism’ – marred the holidays of some Jewish Germans as it had before the Great War. In several seaside resorts, Jews were refused service. They saw anti-Semitic postcards for sale in souvenir shops and heard orchestras play antiSemitic songs. More rarely, they became the targets of violent attacks.30 Like foreigners, however, Jewish guests were absolutely central to the recovery of the German tourism industry. Most hotel owners and other tourism operators therefore stressed that all visitors were welcome, regardless of nationality or ethnicity. Yet nothing could make up for the drastic reduction in domestic tourism as a whole that occurred after the war. When skyrocketing inflation hit in 1923, it decimated the ranks of Germany’s affluent travellers; it also reduced incomes for tourism societies and associations, since membership fees could no longer be paid. The ‘miseries of German tourism’ thus became a common refrain in the early years of the Weimar Republic.31 The stabilization of the economy in the late 1920s brought some relief. By 1929, some destinations were recording increases of more than 150 per cent in comparison to the pre-war years.32 These figures were buoyed in large part by increased domestic tourism. A variety of socialist organizations and trade union associations had begun to offer inexpensive trips to working-class participants. Tourist clubs, such as the Friends of Nature, arranged similarly low-priced hiking tours and excursions.33 Commercial travel agencies too lowered their rates on group and package tours to attract new customers. While still predominantly an activity for the wealthy middle classes, tourism now encompassed more Germans from ever-wider segments of society than before. However, even in this period of relative stability, the tourism industry continued to speak of a crisis. More and more hotels went out of business. Independent travel agencies bemoaned the increasing competition from agencies run by department stores, newspaper publishers and banks. As the tertiary sector expanded, the number of ‘wild’ (i.e. ‘unqualified’) travel agencies also became a cause for grave concern.34 After the economic crash of 1929, the crisis deepened. Between 1928 and 1933, domestic tourist travel decreased by 40 per cent and the number of international visitors was also substantially reduced. While 66.9 per cent of the beds available for tourists were filled in 1928, only 35.2 per cent were occupied in 1932.35 Travel agencies lowered the prices of their all-inclusive holidays even further. None the less, like many other businesses dependent upon tourism, many were forced to

Introduction

9

close their doors. The political demonstrations and sporadic violence of the time also adversely affected the tourist trade, particularly in those destinations most frequented by foreigners. Hoteliers in the wellknown spa towns of the Black Forest and Upper Bavaria complained that marches by NSDAP members, the rowdy behaviour of Nazi stormtroopers and anti-Semitic agitation were driving guests away.36 Nazi propaganda later linked Germany’s tourism crisis to the dire economic situation. However, it also laid the blame on non-economic factors emblematic of the ‘Systemzeit’ (system time), which it claimed had exacerbated conditions and hindered the industry’s recovery. These included the lack of an effective, centralized governmental authority on the one hand and, on the other, a surfeit of local, regional, state and national tourism organizations, which both overlapped and competed for jurisdiction. As a result, the Nazis maintained, tourism in the Weimar Republic was marred by constant internal conflict. There had been no unified cooperation towards a common goal. ‘In the interim Reich’, the Nazi Minister for Transportation suggested in 1936, ‘German tourism offered an image of hopeless inner conflict and splintering’, of an industry riven by ‘nerve-wracking … disagreements’. Therefore, he continued, those within the industry had greeted the National Socialist takeover of tourism with enthusiasm.37 A brief history of Germany’s most important tourism organizations highlights the problems to which the Nazis offered a solution in 1933. Civic beautification societies, the forerunners of future tourism societies, first emerged in the mid-nineteenth century. These groups campaigned for specific improvements to their cities and towns, such as paved streets and electric lights. They recognized that the resulting enhancement of appearance, comfort and security could be used to attract future visitors. Towards the end of the century, societies like the Weimar Society for the Promotion of Tourism (1893) were founded. These were explicitly geared to the promotion of tourism at a local level. By 1900, there were approximately 200 of these tourism and beautification societies (Verkehrs- und Verschönerungsvereine) in the country.38 A number of state tourism associations were also formed: Baden established one in 1906, Württemberg-Hohenzollern followed in 1908 and the Thuringia Tourism Association appeared in 1911. These represented the interests of the local and regional tourism societies and worked to promote the entire state as a tourist destination. The sheer number of different societies, associations and groups meant to manage and promote German tourism in the Weimar Republic was remarkable. Even at the local level, a number of bodies

10


competed for jurisdiction. In the Black Forest town of Titisee, for example, the Spa Society, Spa Authority and the Society of Interested Parties in Titisee all sought some influence over tourism issues. Relationships between these organizations were often truly fraught. Freiburg’s Municipal Tourism Office and its Tourism Society carried on ‘like enemies’ according to the local press.39 It was also not uncommon for a single town to belong to three, four or even more of the numerous geographically defined, yet frequently overlapping, regional tourism associations.40 As the Nazis later correctly claimed, some of the most persistent and potentially detrimental rivalries occurred at the very top. The nationalization of tourism interests had begun in 1892 with the first meeting of the General Association of German Bathing Resorts, which aimed to represent the interests of spa towns and health resorts throughout Germany. In 1902, the League of German Tourism Societies (later the League of German Tourism Associations) was established in Leipzig. In 1920, the German Reichsbahn set up its own German Railroads Information Office (RDV), which focused on promoting Germany abroad. The League regularly clashed with the RDV, and after 1921, with the newly formed Working Group of German Tourism Associations. To complicate matters further, a number of other groups vied with the League to represent the interests of tourism at the national level, including a Reich Committee for Tourism Advertising Abroad, a Reich Working Group for German Tourism Promotion and by 1929, a Central Committee for Tourism located within the Ministry of Transportation. Germany’s national travel agency organizations also overlapped and competed.41 It is difficult to trace the origins, activities and influence of these various tourism groups. They changed names, shared members and even belonged to one another. The story is confusing and complicated because the pre-1933 situation was confusing and complicated. In 1933, however, the Nazis offered an alternative: the simplification of German tourism via the process of Gleichschaltung. It is hardly surprising that many tourism professionals welcomed their efforts. There was a concrete desire to replace the fragmented, messy system of tourism organization with a centralized network working together to improve the industry. But it was not only the simplification of the industry that tourism professionals desired. Many also supported the very modern idea that the state, rather than private enterprise, should play the leading role in developing the tourist economy, an idea that travel professionals in other countries shared. The state had a ‘moral duty’ to get

Introduction

11

involved, they believed, since touristic cooperation would be achieved only when commanded from above.42 Clearly, not all German tourism officials agreed. Some resented instances when the ‘public hand’ of government interfered in the ‘private economic life’ of German tourism.43 In general, however, much affinity existed between the goals of tourism professionals in the Weimar Republic and those of the Nazi regime itself once in power: both sought an end to internal conflict, duplicate organizations and ineffective, legally powerless national leadership.

The Nazi meaning of tourism Tourism has always been susceptible to political instrumentalization, even though it is an activity based on the search for relaxation, pleasure and entertainment. Tourism has been used, for example, to cultivate nationalist sentiment amongst Germans in the Habsburg Empire, to uphold the legitimacy of Ferdinand Marcos’s ‘New Society’ in the Philippines and to highlight Palestinian suffering in Israeli-occupied Hebron.44 In interwar Europe, fascist and communist regimes alike viewed tourism as a means to advance their respective ideological agendas. The national organization of leisure became a priority and the problem of pleasure was taken very seriously indeed. In Nazi Germany, pleasure travel soon joined the list of things allegedly revolutionized by National Socialism. But why exactly was tourism important to the Nazis? What political role was it expected to play? There is little concrete evidence to support the assertion, made after 1933, that the Nazis frequently emphasized the ‘high political meaning’ of tourism before their assumption of power.45 However, claims that Nazi propaganda was oblivious to tourism before 1933 are equally misleading.46 During the Weimar years, Nazi newspapers regularly included advertisements for guesthouses and restaurants, alongside reviews of recently published travel guidebooks. Laments about the state of the industry and bitter attacks on politicians who spent their holidays abroad were also not uncommon in the Nazi press.47 Such pieces tacitly acknowledged the economic significance of tourism: they alluded to its ability to improve the balance of payments and stimulate the German economy as a whole. The Nazis had thus already recognized the financial benefits of a healthy tourism industry before 1933, but with Hitler’s assumption of power, a more ideologically inflected kind of tourism propaganda began to appear. The articles in the daily press, industry newsletters and trade journals certainly did not neglect tourism’s economic side. They

12


often sketched the fiscal advantages of increased tourism from abroad and an upsurge in domestic holiday travel. However, as was regularly asserted, economic matters did ‘not stand at the forefront’ in the Nazi regime’s evaluation of the meaning of tourism.48 Tourism’s real value was political. Physical rejuvenation and the restoration of the capability to work strengthened the German people for coming struggles. Accordingly, KdF holidays and commercial vacations played a part in mobilizing the nation for war. Within the field of foreign policy, international tourism had a special role: to convey the ‘truth’ about Germany to guests from abroad. Through tourism, Nazi Germany would persuade the international community of its peaceful intentions.49 Since the vast majority of travellers within the German Reich were German, however, tourism propaganda concentrated primarily on the significance of domestic tourism. When steered correctly, the propagandists asserted, leisure travel at home led to an increase in nationalist sentiment and greater unity within the ‘national community’. Firsthand encounters with the ‘German lands’ deepened ‘the love and understanding of the German people for the landscape, the history and the culture of their Fatherland’. In other words, sightseeing fostered German patriotism. Domestic tourism also decreased regionalist, religious and class differences by bringing together people from all over the country. By ‘link[ing] the national comrades from North to South, from West to East’, tourism overcame the problems of particularism. It allowed Germany’s disparate ‘tribes’ (Stämme) to ‘get to know, understand and treasure each other and so become a united German people’; at the same time, the Volk was made aware of its ‘racial uniqueness’ through the experience of being a tourist.50 Did the Nazis believe their continued assertions about the ideological value of tourism? Moreover, did these convictions motivate actual touristic policy? The material examined in Chapter 2, which moves from the ideological factors considered here to matters of organization and infrastructure, suggests that they did. To date, there has been no detailed reconstruction of the Gleichschaltung of commercial tourism. That chapter goes some way towards filling this gap, but it also raises broader questions about the nature of the Nazi power apparatus. How total was the Nazis’ control over tourism? Did the continuities provide evidence of the limits to National Socialist power? Do we find the same type of administrative chaos here that reigned elsewhere? Having established the institutional foundations of German tourism under Hitler, the following three chapters turn to the distinct, but often overlapping tourist cultures in existence after 1933: the Nazi, the

Introduction

13

‘normal’ and the KdF. If tourism is the general activity at issue in Seeing Hitler’s Germany, then the term ‘tourist culture’ denotes the wider machinery that promoted, codified and facilitated that activity. Chapter 3 describes the explicitly politicized attractions and ideologically inflected tourist literature that emerged after the seizure of power. Like Nazism itself, the resultant Nazi tourist culture awakened various fantasies and offered intensely emotional experiences, making it genuinely popular with German and foreign travellers alike. In contrast, the mode of tourism examined in Chapter 4 had little in common with this thoroughly Nazified tourist culture. Instead, it appeared historically continuous with what had come before. Where the swastika was conspicuous by its absence, an apparent normality helped to maintain the popular legitimacy of the Nazi regime. Chapter 5 turns to the KdF holidays, but places them within the larger context described by the preceding chapters. Official propaganda claimed that all sectors of German tourism cooperated without difficulty, but tensions and outright hostility often marred the relationship. In response to these conflicts, the regime made regular concessions to the demands of the commercial tourism industry, the desires of middleclass tourists and the wishes of KdF participants themselves. Chapter 6 investigates international tourism under Hitler: travel by Germans out of the Reich and travel by foreigners into Germany. Both were issues of great concern to the Nazi regime. Since commercial tourism continued long after September 1939, Chapter 7 follows our narrative into the war years. By working to uphold public morale, the German tourism industry sustained the Nazi war machine. Some familiar motifs appear in this chapter: the Nazi regime’s attitude to consumerism, its desire for popular support, the degree of its control and the continuities it permitted and promoted in order to sustain a semblance of normal, everyday life. Normality – or at least the perception of normality – served many ends in the Third Reich.51 The Nazis’ electoral successes were based in large part on their promises to get the country back to normal after the tragedies of war, the shame of the Versailles Treaty and the upheavals of the Republic. According to Detlev Peukert, this ‘longing for normality’ was ‘the most deep-lying reason for the consent given by the majority of the population to the Nazi regime’.52 There was also a second component to Hitler’s vision of a normalized German society, which allowed for continuity even with the hated Republic. In a speech to his Reich Governors on 6 July 1933, he explicitly prohibited a ‘second revolution’. The radical transformation of social and economic structures still sought by groups like the Sturmabteilung (SA) would not occur. The

14


speech sought to reassure Germans that life could and would take its usual course.53 The process of normalization also meant that Nazi barbarity itself became ‘normal’, something ordinary and acceptable. Tourism was an ideal vehicle for the Nazis’ normality project: it helped to preserve the façade of everyday routine, transforming the exceptional into the commonplace.

Holidays and horror To focus on what seemed normal under the swastika, as this book often does, is not to obscure what was unique about the Nazi regime. Given its incomparable cruelty and lethal objectives, it is difficult indeed to conceive of a ‘“normal” history somehow adjacent to, or detached from, the fact of the Holocaust’.54 Tourism might appear to be a relatively benign aspect of life under Hitler, but it did not escape the most sinister elements of Nazism: its racial hatreds, its nationalist chauvinism and its exterminatory politics. From 1933 onwards, tourism was persistently affected by Nazism’s racist agenda. For instance, in May 1936, Das Reisebüro, the official journal of the German travel agency industry, printed a letter it had recently received from the Thuringia State Tourism Association. Its subject was the ‘idyllic destination’ of Judenbach, a town high in the Thuringian hills. Despite its name, the letter continued, Jews (Juden) had never resided there. The place ‘had only its name in common with the non-Aryan race’. This information, the letter concluded hopefully, would surely clear up any potential ‘misunderstandings’ for future German tourists to the area.55 Months later, a German woman was prohibited from building a holiday home in the Black Forest resort town of Hinterzarten, because her husband was Jewish. The ‘creation of a Jewish colony’, it was alleged, would be damaging to tourism in the area since many leading Nazis vacationed there.56 That same year, Peter Gay, a Jewish Berliner who later emigrated, set out on a driving tour of the country with his parents. The future historian’s memoir describes a journey that became a ‘final farewell’ to Germany. In and amongst his descriptions of picturesque villages and spectacular scenery, the reality of the Third Reich intrudes: ‘As we drove toward a hamlet called Hahn,’ Gay recalls, ‘… we were confronted with a large hand-lettered poster proclaiming to anyone who cared to know that Hahn was, and would remain, “clean” of Jews – Hahn ist und bleibt judenrein’.57

Introduction

15

In Nazi Germany, tourism not only provided another setting for further racial exclusion. According to the regime, it also served an inherently racist objective: the unification of an Aryan-only ‘national community’. Most tourism officials adapted to this new understanding of leisure travel very quickly and with considerable fervour. Objections to the Nazis’ interventions in this sphere were rare. Many genuinely viewed Hitler as the saviour of a suffering industry. In turn, their enthusiasm and complicity ensured the effortlessness of the Nazi Gleichschaltung of Germany’s tourism organizations. Our voyage begins with an examination of that process.

2 The Gleichschaltung of Commercial Tourism

The term Gleichschaltung is an essential one in the lexicon of the Third Reich. The Nazis originally employed it to describe the process whereby non-Nazi state governments were brought in line with the Reich government. Its use was soon extended, however, to encompass a much broader, more insidious project: the transformation of German society in tune with Nazi ideals. The rather innocuous English translations, ‘coordination’ or ‘synchronization’, do little to capture what the process actually entailed. Through Gleichschaltung the Nazi regime imposed dictatorial control, eradicated opposition and sought to nazify all spheres of political, economic and cultural life. This chapter is about the Gleichschaltung of commercial tourism. It examines the key stages in an ongoing continuum of coordination and highlights its increasingly invasive nature. Nazi Gleichschaltung was relentless, but here, as elsewhere, it was rarely a step-by-step implementation of predetermined goals. The Nazis had no preconceived plan for German tourism before they assumed power, apart from their desire to reduce the number of Germans travelling abroad. While a degree of improvisation remained a hallmark of the Nazis’ coordination of this sphere, this did not make it any less effective or hinder its inexorable progress. Three key points emerge when we examine the Gleichschaltung process in the context of tourism. First, the Nazi regime’s measures met with a great deal of consent from Germany’s tourism officials, since they appeared to fulfil many pre-1933 demands. Most were prepared to accept some loss of autonomy in return for the promised consolidation, state protection and professionalization of the industry. Second, the Nazis’ synchronization of German tourism was in no way superficial or cosmetic. The organizational structure of tourism looked very different under Hitler. Real changes occurred, which affected the 16

The Gleichschaltung of Commercial Tourism

17

daily practices of tourism organization and promotion from the national to the local level. Third, Gleichschaltung here was not ‘incomplete and uneven’, as it has been described in other spheres.1 The picture that emerges of the Nazi regime at work in the tourist sector is therefore admittedly at odds with the usual image of the internally chaotic, conflict-ridden structure of governance in the Third Reich. In fact, the coordination of German tourism under Hitler was both extremely thorough and remarkably effective. The Weimar years had brought a sustained series of crises for German tourism. As a result, most members of the tourism industry, like so many Germans, welcomed the change in government. Some may have voted for Hitler in the expectation that the Führer state might revitalize the tourist trade.2 Initially, therefore, the coordination of German tourism faced very few obstacles. The regime’s promotion of travel within Germany found nearly universal favour.3 Moreover, its propaganda about the ideological value of leisure travel, its new vacation laws, its introduction of protectionist measures limiting travel abroad, such as the 1,000 RM tariff imposed on German visitors to Austria, and its promises of general economic recovery soon convinced many within the industry that the Nazis were good for German tourism.4 As a result, the regime achieved not only the compliance of Germany’s tourism professionals, but also their active support. Conflict was not entirely absent, as we shall see, and it did increase after the outbreak of war. However, until that time, most of the regime’s attempts to steer German tourism elicited genuine praise.

The first Nazi tourism law Throughout the Third Reich, Nazi tourism propaganda employed certain words again and again. Among them, ‘authority’, ‘discipline’, ‘strictness’ and ‘clarity’ were particular favourites. The regime expected to put these virtues into practice through a complete reorganization of German tourism, which began soon after its assumption of power. Local tourism societies and organizations were the first to be affected by the Gleichschaltung process. As with German associational life as a whole, 51 per cent of their executive committee members now had to belong to the NSDAP. The tourism industry also underwent the processes of ‘de-Jewification’ (Entjudung), since, the tourism journal Der Fremdenverkehr explained, the ‘Jewish Question’ needed to be resolved here as well.5 Racially unacceptable figures soon disappeared, as did those with questionable political affiliations. Former chairmen and

18


managing directors stepped down or were ‘voted’ out of office. Sometimes this meant that unskilled Nazis with little or no tourism experience took their place. More often, however, the ‘new’ committees looked remarkably similar to their predecessors. Most members were clearly willing and able to accommodate themselves to the altered circumstances. As Germany’s tourism officials hurried to align themselves with the regime, the Gleichschaltung process continued. On 23 June 1933, the regime passed the Law for the Reich Committee for Tourism (Gesetz über den Reichsausschuß für Fremdenverkehr), which established a national body responsible for all tourism matters within the Ministry of Propaganda.6 The regime’s triumphant narrative stressed unanimity, cooperation and unity of will. It also announced that the Reich Committee brought German tourism interests together for the first time. Both claims were only partly true. While many welcomed the creation of a national tourism authority, some conflict between the ministries accompanied its birth. At first it appeared that the Transportation Minister would be at the Committee’s helm and that the Propaganda Ministry would merely ‘cooperate’.7 The Ministry of Transportation had, after all, overseen most touristic matters until that point. But Joseph Goebbels’ ministry emerged victorious in the end, thanks in part to Goebbels’ own efforts to widen his sphere of authority. Additionally, since propaganda (i.e. advertising) had already come to be seen as the key to success in tourism during the 1920s, the move to a Ministry of Propaganda made sense. Moreover, because tourism under the Nazis was to play an ideological role, it seemed fitting that a ministry recently charged by Hitler with all matters concerning the spiritual mobilization of the nation should take responsibility for it. The Committee joined Department II, Propaganda, which dealt with such diverse issues as official ceremonies, national emblems and ideological topics, including the notion of the Volksgemeinschaft. All related tasks once overseen by the Ministry of Transportation now fell under Goebbels’ jurisdiction. If the propaganda about the harmonious inception of the Reich Committee for Tourism was misleading, so too were the statements that claimed the committee was the first of its kind. Since 1931, a Central Committee for Tourism had existed within the Ministry of Transportation. Membership in the new Reich Committee largely mirrored that of its predecessor. However, as newspaper coverage noted, because the latter had the status of an advisory board only, and therefore lacked real authority, its effectiveness was limited. Moreover, since


19

the Reich had not overtaken the leadership of German tourism itself, there was no subsequent impact on the corresponding organizations. The previous organization had lacked legal status, executive power and guaranteed financial means. Now it gained all three.8 The members of the Reich Committee fell into three categories: first, the representatives of various Reich ministries, which included Transportation, the Interior, Finance, Economics, Aviation and Sport, as well as the Foreign Office and the German Railroad; second, the representatives of the state governments of Prussia, Bavaria, Saxony, Württemberg, Baden and Thuringia, plus an additional representative for the remaining states and, after 1938, for Austria; third, the representatives of other groups with direct interests in the promotion of tourism, such as the League of German Tourism Associations, Lufthansa and other hospitality organizations. A later amendment added Kraft durch Freude.9 The Nazis had not created something entirely new with the Law for the Reich Committee for Tourism, but they had made some significant changes. By placing tourism under the authority of the Propaganda Ministry, the regime institutionalized its conception of leisure travel as an ideological matter and not merely an economic or transportation one. Contemporary commentary certainly stressed this shift in emphasis. More significantly, the Reich Committee now had a legal foundation, although some questioned its actual legal status.10 Dubious or uncertain legality was often of little concern to the Hitler dictatorship, of course. What really mattered was that some semblance of legality had been achieved. The Committee was thus declared a Reich authority (Reichsbehörde), a traditional legal designation. As such, it gained substantial new powers over its members. The final change introduced by the Nazis’ first tourism law was the mandatory formation of the state tourism associations (Landesverkehrsverbände, or LVVs), organizations that were intended to bring together all travel-promoting posts within a defined travel area (Verkehrsgebiet). State tourism associations had pre-dated the Nazi regime, as we have seen. Now 24 official ones were to be created, based on geographically defined areas that did not always correspond to the German states, the Party districts or even pre-existing tourism regions, such as the Black Forest. The individual state governments gained authority over the state tourism associations; jurisdiction usually fell to the Finance or Economics Minister, although in Baden, the Minister of the Interior shared these responsibilities. They in turn had the power to name the chairmen of these associations and set their

20


geographical boundaries. In several locations, such as Thuringia and Württemberg-Hohenzollern, high-ranking Nazis with no previous tourism experience took over as chairmen of the state tourism association; elsewhere, as in Baden, the entire executive committee remained in office. The individual state tourism associations themselves were not members of the Reich Committee for Tourism: the League of German Tourism Associations and Bathing Resorts officially represented their interests.11 Nevertheless, as Germany’s final arbiter in all touristic matters, the Committee both oversaw and directed their activities. Yet the Law for the Reich Committee of Tourism was not as totalizing as future legislation would become. There were still loopholes that ensured some degree of independence. At this stage, for example, membership in the state tourism associations remained voluntary and wide-ranging. Hotel owners, tourism societies, travel agencies and souvenir shops were among those now paying membership dues. The contrast between the pre- and post-1933 organizational structure of German tourism was stark. The altered situation in the Black Forest made the repercussions of Gleichschaltung especially clear. By 1934, all ten of the different organizations that had previously represented the region’s touristic interests had been dissolved. According to Fritz Gabler, the Baden State Tourism Association’s chairman, these organizations needed to disappear because they were unnecessary and hindered successful cooperation.12 Elsewhere in Germany the situation was the same. The ‘earlier dismemberment … into numerous sub-associations’, the regime happily announced, which had made ‘effective work in tourism publicity … impossible’, had now thankfully come to an end.13 Most tourism officials concurred. While in theory a simplification and centralization of tourism interests was welcomed, Nazi policy and tourism practice did not always comfortably mix. Several dissenting voices emerge from the files on the endless liquidations and dissolutions of the various societies, expressing resentment, albeit in muted tones, at being shut down. Additionally, some regions felt that large state tourism associations could not meet their unique advertising needs, as will be discussed below. Generally, however, the first phases of the Gleichschaltung of commercial tourism occurred with ease. Tourism officials had secured the state’s interest in their industry, a single national organization, public funds and a drastic reduction in overlapping organizations. Moreover, they appeared to believe the regime’s promise to respect their autonomy in local and regional affairs. Many therefore looked to


21

the future with real optimism and the economic improvements that soon followed seemed to justify the Nazis’ measures further still.14

The second Nazi tourism law The establishment of the Reich Committee for Tourism was an important first step in the National Socialist Gleichschaltung campaign. However, the regime had not yet established its full authority over Germany’s tourism organizations. Its second tourism law, introduced on 23 March 1936, greatly intensified the Nazification process, particularly in the sphere of tourism promotion and publicity. The Law for the Reich Tourism Association (Reichsfremdenverkehrsverband, or RFV) had two important consequences:15 first, it altered the legal status of the association, giving it sweeping powers over its members, the state tourism associations; second, it created the tourism communities (Fremdenverkehrsgemeinde), which were forced to join the state tourism associations, now renamed the Landesfremdenverkehrsverbände (LFVs). The Reich Tourism Association Law thus radically increased and broadened the regime’s control over German tourism. From this point onwards, it makes sense to speak of a truly totalitarian politics of tourism. Why did the regime see it necessary to consolidate its position still further in 1936? It claimed it had already made German tourism completely subservient to the Nazi state and had fully solved the problems of the Weimar period through the creation of the Reich Tourism Committee three years earlier. But 1936 was, of course, a crucial year for the Nazi regime in general. The occupation of the Rhineland and the introduction of the Four Year Plan marked a new phase in its perpetual radicalization. The second Nazi tourism law thus tallied with the regime’s overall direction, as it moved towards a further tightening of the reins. The timing of the law had to do with the summer Olympics in Berlin as well. Nazi ministers and tourism officials alike hailed the new legislation as being particularly significant for the Games.16 As they approached, Goebbels sought greater control over the way the nation and its regions promoted themselves, to foreign guests as well as to Germans. Additionally, as the latest Nazi propaganda now declared, the organization of German tourism still apparently suffered too many ‘shortcomings’ and ‘limitations’.17 Because membership in the state tourism associations was still voluntary, for example, individual towns and resorts were potentially exempt from their directives. More problematically, these state associations did not

22


always follow the guidelines that the Reich Committee for Tourism set down for them.18 Such independence and autonomy – anathema to the Hitler dictatorship – had to be eradicated. The Reich Tourism Association Law did not create a new organization, as had been the case with the first Nazi tourism law, but instead changed the legal status of an existing association.19 The significance of the 1936 thus lay in its transformation of the Reich Tourism Association from a registered society governed by civil law into a corporate body of public law. Although its actual definition remained contested, as one commentator explained, a corporate body of public law was best characterized as something ‘serving the general interest’, like the Film, Press and Music Chambers, which shared this ‘special legal form’. In theory, this legal designation did not imply ‘total state control’, but rather ‘special supervision by the state’.20 In reality, of course, total state control was indeed the aim. Likewise, on paper, the Association did not gain the status of a Reich Authority like the Reich Committee for Tourism, of which it remained a member. Yet the legal differences, noted one Berlin lawyer, were essentially ‘meaningless’ in terms of the Association’s ability to enforce its directives.21 This pointless transformation in legal status provides further evidence of the Nazis’ desire to perpetuate the façade of legality, despite their disdain for the law itself. Although it could simply have inflicted its decrees through extra-judicial channels, the regime chose a route that at least gave the appearance that German tourism adhered to the letter of the law. The image of the Nazi regime as the champion of law and order was thereby upheld, an image vital to the maintenance of popular support. Although a great deal of propaganda was devoted to the supposed maintenance of the state tourism associations’ independence, the limited autonomy they had hitherto enjoyed now disappeared.22 The tourism industry still had reason to welcome the Nazis’ latest move, however, for it stood to make further gains in return for losses in selfadministration. For example, the state tourism associations were now able to extract mandatory financial contributions from their members over whom they now enjoyed increased authority, something they had long desired. Some tourism experts also supported the idea of increased state control over tourism advertising, which the RFV legislation promised. Nationalized regulation, some felt, would ‘forcibly exterminate’ things like kitschy, tasteless ‘nonsense’, misleading information and exaggerated claims, reducing unfair competition between tourism destinations in the process.23 The most significant consequence of the March 1936 legislation was the Reich Tourism Association’s newfound ability to regulate down-


23

ward into the most basic communal cells, the newly established tourism communities. The Nazis’ second tourism law defined a tourism community as any community in which the annual number of overnight stays regularly exceeded one quarter of the number of inhabitants or any community that had a high rate of excursion traffic. In 1936 there were 24 state tourism associations and approximately 6,000 tourism communities; after the Austrian Anschluß, those numbers rose to 30 and 8,000 respectively. An officially proclaimed tourism community had to join the appropriate state tourism association and pay annual financial contributions. That association then oversaw all its activities and was responsible for enforcing the decrees and advertising guidelines of the Reich Committee for Tourism and the Reich Tourism Association. The state tourism associations also had to approve the communities’ brochures and prospectuses and receive monthly statistical reports. Nazi propaganda still stressed the purported autonomy of the tourism communities: ‘The Reich Tourism Association [did] not intend to interfere in local tourism,’ it promised.24 Real local self-governance, however, had become a thing of the past. Through its creation of the tourism communities, the RFV Law sought to place all tourism matters under the direct supervision of municipal authorities. To facilitate this, local mayors were ordered to take over as chairmen of formerly independent tourism societies or offices, which in turn became the designated representatives of these communities. The Nazi regime prescribed what role Germany’s mayors were now to play as ‘tourism politicians’. It was no longer possible, the propagandists declared, for a German mayor to declare that ‘this or that decree of the LFV [did] not interest him’ or that ‘he could not raise the funds to carry it out’ and therefore ‘refuse[d] to execute it’: now he had no choice.25 The Reich Tourism Association Law marked the most significant step in the Nazis’ continuum of coordination. The mechanism to control the organization, administration and promotion of German tourism was now in place. However, the Nazis’ efforts to reorganize German tourism did not end in 1936. In March 1939, a separate department for tourism was created within the Ministry of Propaganda.26 Its areas of responsibility covered everything from transportation matters to major tourism events. The Nazi coordination process also extended past the outbreak of war with the eventual restructuring of this department. It is difficult to overstate the power that the Nazi state now wielded over German tourism. Its authority was not just enshrined on paper,

24


but made itself felt at a practical level. Day-to-day aspects of tourism work were all potentially affected. The Reich Tourism Association named the chairmen of the state tourism associations, as well as their managing directors; it set the rates for their annual financial contributions and approved their budgets; it authorized the creation of any sub-committees. It also threatened any violations of its orders with a 1,000 RM fine. On the local level, all tourism communities now had to subscribe to the tourism journal, Der Fremdenverkehr; they had to inform the Reich Tourism Association of all conferences and congresses taking place, any overseas travel by their directors and the names of new top-level employees; they now required official authorization for the publication of a Fremdenblatt (tourist newspaper), which the regime regularly denied; they also had to submit copies of all official souvenirs, brochures, guidebooks and posters for approval.27 Tourism societies naturally continued to advise tourists, organize excursions and arrange guided tours. However, the regime was poised to intervene at any moment, particularly as it was kept abreast of all activity through the constant stream of information it required. The Nazi Gleichschaltung of tourism was not limited to the imposition of the laws and restructuring measures described above. It affected every branch of the tourism industry. All hotel, guesthouse and restaurant associations also had to be brought into line. This entailed similar propaganda about their ideological importance in the new Reich alongside compulsory organizational simplification, consolidation and centralization. Innumerable local and regional groups were disbanded and at the national level, a single authority over the accommodation and catering trades was established, membership in which became a prerequisite for continued activity in the industry.28 Here again, the Nazis’ interventions generally met with consent and acclaim.

The men of German tourism: Joseph Goebbels and Hermann Esser Although it was crucial, the enthusiastic self-coordination of the tourism industry was not the only factor that facilitated the successful Nazification of German tourism. The men who steered its course and the nature of their power relations played equally significant roles. As we have seen, the Reich Committee for Tourism was established within the Ministry of Propaganda. As its president, Joseph Goebbels became Nazi Germany’s top tourism authority. Final decisions ulti-


25

mately lay with him. However, he rarely mentioned tourism in his diaries and was not always present at Reich Committee meetings. It was Hermann Esser, later lauded as Germany’s ‘tourism general’, who took care of most day-to-day administrative and organizational matters. Esser became vice-president of the Reich Committee for Tourism in December 1933 and president of the Reich Tourism Association in March 1936. In January 1939, he was appointed state secretary (Staatssekretär) for tourism within the Ministry of Propaganda. Esser is so central to the narrative about tourism in Nazi Germany that his biography warrants brief attention. He was an ‘alter Kämpfer’ (old fighter), who had been at Hitler’s side from the very beginnings of the Nazi movement. Esser was born in Röhrmoos, near Munich, on 29 July 1900, the son of a Reichsbahn official. He served during the First World War and first met Hitler in 1920. That same year he became editor of the Nazi newspaper, Völkischer Beobachter, and director of propaganda for the NSDAP, a position he held until 1925. Accounts vary as to whether Esser took part in the failed 1923 putsch in Munich, but they are unanimous about his vulgarity and adulterous affairs. These made him an object of derision for many within the Nazi Party. Gregor and Otto Strasser campaigned for his dismissal, as did Goebbels, who deemed him a ‘little Hitler’, perhaps in reference to Esser’s Hitlerstyle moustache.29 Hitler stood by Esser, however, and this crude, corrupt, convinced Nazi went on to hold various positions within the Bavarian government, where he was also involved in the promotion of tourism. The scandals in his private life nevertheless excluded him from the upper ranks of the Party leadership. His tourism post may have been offered in part as compensation. Unsurprisingly, Esser was a virulent anti-Semite. He published his treatise on the subject, Die jüdische Weltpest, in 1939. Esser’s biographers usually conclude that he stayed out of the public eye in the Third Reich and never again ranked as a prominent Nazi, but his significance within the sphere of German tourism must not be underestimated.30 Under Goebbels and Esser, the struggles over jurisdiction that marked so many spheres of economic and cultural life in the Third Reich occurred far less frequently. At the very lowest levels, rivalries and bureaucratic ‘paper wars’ between various local tourism officials continued.31 However, at the top, it was a different story. The Ministry of Propaganda’s authority over German tourism was never truly challenged. Indeed, it was rarely even questioned. While Esser deeply resented Robert Ley’s efforts to create a department for tourism within the German Labour Front, there is little evidence for one historian’s

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characterization of this as a bitter ‘internal struggle for power in tourism’.32 In any case, Ley’s bid proved unsuccessful. But the Labour Front was not the only potential source of administrative overlap and jurisdictional rivalry. The Reichsverkehrsgruppe Hilfsgewerbe des Verkehrs (RHV), the body in charge of the German travel agency industry, was responsible to both the Economics Ministry as one of its Economic Groups, and the Propaganda Ministry’s Reich Committee for Tourism as one of its members. This certainly created an opportunity for conflicting decrees and guidelines arising from differing aims and interests. Yet examples of inter-ministerial cooperation seem to have been more common than were instances of open conflict. The realm of tourism advertising posed a similar threat to Goebbels’ hegemony. Both the Advertising Council of the German Economy and the Reich Tourism Association issued advertising guidelines to which their shared members were expected to adhere. However, because both groups belonged to the Reich Tourism Committee, and because Esser worked in close association with the Council, this overlap supposedly ‘created no difficulties’.33 This may not always have been the case, of course, but if they occurred, any disputes between the two left few traces in the documentary record. The German Railroads Information Office (Reichsbahnzentrale für den deutschen Reiseverkehr, or RDV) represented a potential rival, since it officially came under the German Railroads’ jurisdiction. This organization, discussed in Chapter 6, was primarily concerned with marketing Germany abroad. Since its parent company, the Reichsbahn-Gesellschaft, had to join the Tourism Committee, the RDV too was subject to its decrees and guidelines. Moreover, the RDV director, Hans-Gert Winter, seems to have posed few direct challenges to the Committee’s authority. While Goebbels fought interminable battles with various Nazi leaders over other matters of propaganda and cultural policy, when it came to tourism, it seems a truce had been declared. The external competition for supremacy in German tourism was thus relatively insignificant. But what of internal rivalry within the Ministry of Propaganda itself? Did any disputes over jurisdiction occur within its walls? Goebbels certainly made no secret of the antipathy he felt towards Esser, particularly during the ‘period of struggle’ (Kampfzeit) and in the early years of the Third Reich. In fact, Goebbels detested him. He referred to him as the ‘vampire of the movement’, a ‘damned idiot’, Hitler’s ‘undoing’, a ‘rascal’ and a ‘scoundrel’. Goebbels was especially enraged by Esser’s alleged attempts to take ‘the sphere of tourism away’ from him. He alluded to quarrels between the


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two and wrote of his determination that, even as state secretary, Esser ‘should not get too big’.34 Goebbels’ diary entries seem to imply that tourism was also marked by the kinds of power struggles that historians suggest were characteristic of Nazi governance. Yet such a conclusion would be mistaken. These were not true power struggles between equals; the balance of power was weighted too heavily in Goebbels’ favour. Esser simply did not pose the same threat to Goebbels’ sphere of influence that men like Alfred Rosenberg or Martin Bormann did. In other words, this was no real contest, just paranoid ranting. Additionally, although he could not stand him, Goebbels still voluntarily ceded a great degree of authority to Esser. Most importantly, any disputes that did occur between the two men do not appear to have influenced or hindered the Nazi regime’s coordination and consolidation of German tourism. That is, they did not result in the kind of chaotic fragmentation seen elsewhere: the chain of command was clear. Ultimately, of course, even Goebbels was responsible to Hitler. What role did the Führer play in German tourism? We must naturally consider all of the regime’s interventions into German tourism – from overt politicization to radical restructuring – as a collective form of ‘working towards the Führer’.35 However, in contrast to Benito Mussolini, who at times personally intervened in Italian tourism, Hitler rarely displayed much interest or became actively involved.36 He issued few explicit statements about leisure travel, but Der Fremdenverkehr seized upon those he did make, such as ‘travel widens [one’s] view’ and ‘the best patriots are people who like to travel’.37 Hitler signed the tourism laws, of course, and sent official greetings to the various State or Reich Tourism Association assemblies. He opened the German House of Tourism in Berlin and attended several conferences. As we shall see in the following chapter, sites associated with him became Germany’s must-see attractions. However, as with most affairs of domestic policy, the day-to-day operations of commercial tourism did not concern him. The Führer could afford to be disinterested, because Nazi Germany’s tourism policy in no way opposed his ultimate goals: the avoidance of civil unrest, the maintenance of popular support, the unification of the ‘national community’ and the psychological mobilization of the Volk for war. The tourism apparatus may even have functioned more smoothly because Hitler so rarely intervened. Today, the most familiar picture of government in the Third Reich has become one of ‘rival hierarchies, competing agencies, uncertain chains of command, duplication of responsibilities,

28


reluctant pooling of information, inadequate machinery for co-ordination’, and general administrative incoherence.38 The sphere of tourism displayed few such symptoms. Here, instead, we find an arena in which Nazi politics and the smooth, orderly functioning of bureaucracy went hand in hand.

Total control? The Nazi response to conflict It is easy to prove the totalitarian intentions of the Nazi regime in the touristic sphere since it took every opportunity to proclaim them. It buttressed these claims through extensive legislative measures, the dissolution of pre-existing bodies and the establishment of radically centralized national organizations. The Nazi regime was thus poised to dictate the most minute details of tourism work. Hierarchical stability and clarity in the tourism sector also facilitated the enforcement of its regulations. In theory, the Nazis enjoyed far-reaching authority over German tourism in the Third Reich. In reality, though, how total was their control? Could Nazi tourism policy be circumvented, resisted or even overturned? We can best answer these questions by examining the regime’s response to actions that contravened its official policy or ran counter to its aims. While there was a great deal of affinity between Nazi tourism policies and the goals of tourism officials themselves, conflict was not entirely absent. Generally speaking, disputes most often arose when local and regional autonomy was asserted, much to the dismay of the Reich Committee for Tourism and the Reich Tourism Association. The illustrative examples discussed below cover the attempted establishment of new tourism organizations and bids for independent control in financial matters. Exploring these points of conflict offers a clearer picture of the degree to which the Nazi regime actually fulfilled its totalitarian ambitions and realized total rule in practice. Although most tourism officials had sought an end to the splintering and administrative overlap of the Weimar period, some detected a new problem wrought by the Nazis’ strictly centralized infrastructure, which they believed might have a negative impact on communal advertising (Gemeinschaftswerbung) initiatives. This was certainly the case in the Black Forest. Most towns and villages of the Schwarzwald tended to promote themselves as the highlight of a visit to a particular area, be it the Hotzenwald, the Murgtal, the Odenwald, the Klettgau, the Ortenau or the Oberrhein, the northern or southern Black Forest, or the Baden or Württemberg Black Forest. As we have seen, a multitude of organizations developed to facilitate communal publicity


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endeavours for these regions. Tourism officials believed the new regime would lend its support to such cooperative projects.39 But they were soon to be disappointed, for the Nazi conception of who should be cooperating with whom did not always correspond to that of local tourism officials. The Baden State Tourism Association, responsible for most of the Black Forest, now aimed to promote all of Baden and not just individual places or areas. In recognition of the variations between regions, Northern and Southern Area Committees were established. But the Association continued to receive ‘isolated complaints, that this or that travel region was too little taken into consideration in the propaganda or others too much’.40 Some regions therefore attempted to set up their own tourism associations, which they believed would ensure better tourism publicity. These efforts soon brought them into conflict with Nazi Germany’s tourism authorities. The campaign to establish a tourism association for central Baden offers a prime example. The Central Baden Tourism Society (Mittelbadische Verkehrsgemeinschaft) had once served this region’s interests. In 1933, the Bühl and Karlsruhe tourism societies made an attempt to revive it, since they felt that neither the Northern nor the Southern Area Committee of the Baden State Tourism Association adequately served the region’s needs. They failed. A tourism organization for central Baden was never established.41 Other towns expressed similar dissatisfaction with the existing state tourism associations. The report on the final meeting of the Schwarzwaldbahn-BodenseeRheinfall Tourism Society in Villingen was full of complaints. ‘We lie between two tourism associations, here the Württemberg, there the Baden,’ it claimed, ‘[and] we are, to put it mildly, somewhat badly neglected by both.’ What was really needed, the report continued, was a South-West German Tourism Association (Südwestdeutscher Verkehrsverband), stretching from Freiburg to the Bodensee and on to the Bavarian Alps.42 At first, the idea found favour with Hermann Esser. But Esser soon decided against it and informed the applicants that the matter was now ‘settled’.43 Nevertheless, attempts to construct other groups outside the purview of the Baden State Tourism Association continued into 1938. They included thwarted plans for an Advertising Society for the Hochrhein-Hotzenwald region and a Freiburg association of tourism advertisers.44 This latter group, founded in early 1938 to train those who marketed the city’s attractions, attracted Esser’s attention once again. He angrily denounced its activities, claiming they threatened to ‘impinge upon the jurisdiction of the [official] tourism organizations’. Needless to say, its activities

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went no further.45 Esser and the Nazi regime were simply not prepared to permit the development of such autonomous initiatives. Criticism of the new organizational structure of German tourism extended to the Reich Tourism Association itself. In 1937, it appears that some local tourism societies had called for the creation of a League of German Tourism Societies. Barred from actual membership in the respective state tourism associations, they alleged that the 1936 legislation had left them ‘hanging in the air’. Unsurprisingly, their wish was never granted. According to Der Fremdenverkehr, such organizational ‘co-existence’ would have led once again to a detrimental ‘mix-up’ (Kuddelmuddel) in German tourism of the type experienced under the hated Weimar Republic.46 It would not be allowed. There were admittedly some exceptions, which appeared to flout Nazi policy. In the early months of the new regime, some tourism officials believed that international cooperation between tourism organizations would still be possible. The dissolution of societies like the Swiss-German Schwarzwaldbahn-Bodensee-Rheinfall Tourism Society quickly put those hopes to rest. Yet the Bodensee Tourism Society remained. Founded in 1902, the society united members from Austria, Switzerland and Germany. This international Bodensee society managed to remain in existence until March 1939, when it was replaced by a Working Group of German Places on the Shores of the Bodensee (Arbeitsgemeinschaft der deutschen Bodenseeuferorte), by which time Austria was already part of Germany.47 This unusual tale of organizational survival was, however, the exception that proved the rule. Conflicts over organizational matters were less frequent than disputes arising between region and Reich over financial matters. Tourism communities consistently called for a reduction in their mandatory contributions to the state tourism associations and sometimes expressed resentment at having to pay them at all.48 The associations also complained about the amount they in turn had to pay to the Reich Tourism Association. In 1937/38, the issue of financial contributions brought the local tourism representatives in Weimar, along with the Lord Mayor, into conflict with the Thuringia State Tourism Association, the Reich Commissioner for Price Setting and, ultimately, Hermann Goering, now the Economics Minister and Commissioner of the Four Year Plan. Although the 1936 Reich Tourism Association Law dictated that tourism communities now had to make payments to the state tourism associations, it contained no specific directives about how they were meant to raise those funds. It was seemingly left to the communities


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themselves to determine how they should proceed. In Weimar, as elsewhere, membership fees in the local tourism society were viewed as a valuable source of income. In 1937, the Lord Mayor therefore launched a campaign to increase the Tourism Society’s membership numbers. It failed miserably, since few businesses decided to join.49 Weimar tourism officials soon came up with an alternative solution. They planned to make membership and the payment of monthly fees mandatory for a variety of local businesses.50 At this point, the Society ran into trouble. Its attempts to enforce financial payments stood in direct violation of the ‘price stop order’ (Preisstoppverordnung) of 26 November 1936, which forbade the imposition of contribution fees unless they were authorized by the Reich Commissioner for Price Setting.51 The Thuringia State Tourism Association had already warned Lord Mayor Koch that he was unlikely to meet with success, but Koch continued to press his case. He approached Goering directly, but once again, his request was denied.52 Much to the disappointment of Weimar’s tourism officials, their bid for financial autonomy had come to an end. Nazi tourism propaganda regularly emphasized that the Reich authorities respected and even promoted the supposed independence of the tourism communities – and German mayors – in making decisions about local touristic matters.53 As the experiences of Weimar and Black Forest officials revealed, this claim had no substance. The regime did not intervene everywhere, every day and in absolutely every issue, but it had the power to do so and did use it. Much was admittedly allowed to carry on as before, but superficial continuities should not mask the significant ruptures. For the tourism communities, local self-administration in any real sense had disappeared. In the long run, ignoring, bypassing or challenging Nazi tourism policy had proved almost impossible. Yet, on the whole, it rarely needed to be. During the interwar years, the regime’s policies continued to elicit genuine enthusiasm within the tourism industry even as the noose of state control was tightened. This becomes especially clear when we turn to the experiences of German travel agents in the Third Reich.

German travel agents under the swastika The German travel agency industry will only be strong when it is also pure. Der Fremdenverkehr, 6 February 193754

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The story of Germany’s travel agents in Nazi Germany is emblematic of the way the entire tourism industry easily oriented itself towards, and often benefited professionally from, the regime’s interventions. A degree of reciprocity characterized the Nazis’ synchronization campaign, the acknowledgement of which in no way diminishes its authoritarian intentions or its brutality. While the Nazification process was clearly imposed from above, once in motion it also adapted to populist demands and desires from below. In the case of Germany’s travel agents, these centred on the call for a reduction in ‘unfair’ competition: economic competition from supposedly unqualified individuals, without expertise in the business. This could be achieved, travel agents believed, through national legislation on the one hand and a greater professionalization of the industry on the other. Both measures, they felt, would lead to the establishment of Reich-wide standards of practice, designed to ensure that non-professional travel agents disappeared. The Nazis’ regulation of the practices and practitioners of travel arrangement had begun with the Gleichschaltung of all travel agency organizations. Prior to 1933, several travel agency associations competed at the national level. The Nazis replaced these with the National Society of German Travel Agencies in 1933. At that time, its membership was still voluntary and consisted of all persons and businesses involved in arranging or providing information about travel. Some remained critical of the new Society. It lacked the ‘necessary stability’, it was said, and had failed to bring the industry’s ‘conflicting aims’ to an end.55 Clearly, something more had to be done. On 25 September 1935, the Reich Group for the Auxiliary Travel Industry (Reichsverkehrsgruppe Hilfsgewerbe des Verkehrs, or RHV) was established to watch over the entire travel arranging industry.56 Although the Reich Group was officially housed within the Economics Ministry, it was also required to join the Reich Committee for Tourism, which ensured that Goebbels and Esser retained their influence over it. Membership and membership contributions became mandatory: without membership in the Reich Group, travel agents could not remain in business. The Nazi regime also had an impact on the arrangement of group tours (Gesellschaftsreisen). The following year, it decreed that 51 per cent of all group trips organized by German travel agents now had to take place within the German Reich.57 Such direct state intervention into the travel agency industry was unprecedented. Yet while RHV directives were binding on its members, many within the industry still sought a legal codification of these measures through


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actual legislation in the form of a travel agency law. The regime, ever desirous of some semblance of legality, soon obliged. On 26 January 1937, it passed the Law for the Practice of Travel Arrangement (Gesetz über die Ausübung der Reisevermittlung), which imposed wide-ranging new regulations on the German travel agency industry.58 By defining who could work as a travel agent, the new law simultaneously identified the professional (read: qualified) travel agent and demanded that he alone should monopolize the travel arrangement market. The regime assured the travel agency industry that the law represented not a ‘limitation of commercial freedom’, but rather ‘protection against the misuse of commercial freedom’: ‘Anyone who is in a position to fulfil the relatively simple prerequisites’, the propagandists continued, ‘can still be active as before without further ado.’ At the same time, however, the law aimed to free the industry from the ‘parasitic symptoms’ and ‘unreliable elements’ under which it still allegedly suffered. There was to be, in short, ‘a fundamental purification’ of all ‘unnecessary ballast’.59 The eradication of allegedly unfair competition by these supposed parasites lay at the heart of the new travel agency legislation. In the Weimar Republic, the number of businesses calling themselves travel agencies had increased substantially. While the trend slowed down in the Third Reich, many felt that too many individuals were still vying for too few customers.60 With the 1937 law, only those enterprises fulfilling ‘relatively simple prerequisites’ were allowed to remain in operation. These were three-fold. First, employees had to possess the necessary ‘expert knowledge’ and ‘professional qualifications’ required to make travel arrangements, sell tickets and book tours. Second, travel agents were required to be trustworthy: ‘Cheating, disloyalty, embezzlement, foreign currency violations or … other punishable acts’ precluded the continuation of activity. The law thus aimed at preventing unqualified and untrustworthy practitioners from plying their trade.61 Getting rid of them meant not only a reduction in touristic competition, but also a greater professionalization of the industry, both of which pleased most German travel agents. In their stress on aptitude and reliability, the above-mentioned criteria echoed the equally vague wording of decrees like the First Implementation Decree of the Reich Culture Chamber Law.62 They contained no direct references to Jews, and no ‘Aryan paragraph’ per se, but they provided a superficially legal foundation for further exclusionary measures against them, which facilitated the Nazis’ drive to remove Jews from the German economy. Jewish travel agents could easily be categorized as incompetent or

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dishonest practitioners, according to the abhorrent racialist logic of National Socialism, which made them unfair competitors.63 We do not know how many German Jews were directly affected by this law. On the one hand, if the director of Freiburg’s municipal travel agency is to be believed, Jews were extremely rare in the travel agency business.64 On the other, many Jewish-owned travel agencies, like the Ullstein agency in Berlin, had already been forced to close before this law was passed. In any case, local authorities most likely took advantage of their newly legislated powers to shut down, or at least make life more difficult for, those travel agents whom they viewed as either racially or politically suspect. In early 1939, the situation was clarified: the second implementation decree explicitly prohibited Jews ‘from the commercial organization of travel arrangements’.65 The new legislation enshrined a third precondition for employment: only businesses that dealt exclusively in travel arrangements were now permitted to use the designation ‘travel agency’. ‘Travel arrangement in the Third Reich’, one article explained, ‘no longer means the sale of travel tickets next to cigarettes and cigars, next to mixed goods and all kinds of other stuff (Allerlei).’66 The so-called ‘also travel agencies’, enterprises that combined the business of tourism with other activities, angered many full-time, well-trained professional travel agents. Like amateur and part-time musicians or untrained medical quacks, these allegedly unskilled agents were seen not only to provide inferior services, but comprised further sources of unfair competition as well. The problem of the ‘also’ and ‘wild’ travel agencies was so acute in the Third Reich that commentators spoke of a ‘crisis’ and compared their proliferation to the spread of cancerous tumours and parasites.67 Many of Germany’s travel agents viewed the 1937 law as the best possible solution to this problem still plaguing the industry. The Nazi regime had undoubtedly disappointed the economic and professional expectations of many sectors of the commercial middle classes after 1933.68 Yet not all members of the Mittelstand were constantly grumbling. Travel agents, like other white-collar tourism employees, believed that the regime had met some of their most important pre-1933 demands. Discontent was never entirely absent: the KdF holidays, for example, evoked some vociferous complaints, as Chapter 5 reveals. Nevertheless, the regime’s impact on the business of travel arrangement was still assessed largely in positive terms. Long before the Nazis came to power there had been a call for a ‘ruthless cleansing of the industry’, according to the well-known Berlin travel agent, Carl Degener. To him, the 1937 law was a ‘long sought lever for


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eliminating dubious and professionally incapable elements’.69 It promised not only a decrease in competition – both fair and unfair – and thus a likely increase in profits, but also higher professional standards and better services for customers. As they did for Germany’s tourism organizations, these perceived benefits often compensated travel agents for any loss of autonomy.

The professionalization of German tourism Alongside the benefits of centralization, unification and regulation, the Nazis also promised the increased professionalization of German tourism as a whole. This not only involved eliminating non-professionals from its ranks, as has been detailed above, but making its members and the business of tourism itself more professional as well. While professionalization was not a goal of the Gleichschaltung process per se, it was a crucial component in the synchronization of a number of diverse spheres, from medicine to the arts.70 The travel agency industry is perhaps better conceived as a trade rather than a profession: certainly it bore little obvious resemblance to the classical ‘free professions’ (freie Berufe) like medicine and engineering. Nevertheless, their experiences of professionalization – the transformation of a non-manual occupation into an activity practised by experts rather than amateurs – were strikingly similar.71 Both involved greater organizational unity, standardized training, coherent qualification procedures and state protection, all at the expense of occupational autonomy. Professionalization is a key theme in the story of tourism in the Third Reich. After 1933, travel agents, information bureau personnel, tourism advertisers and tour guides alike became the objects of concerted and extensive professionalization campaigns. The Nazi regime introduced a series of measures aimed to improve the quality of service, increase the standard of training and regulate the certification of tourism professionals. As was the case with its centralization and simplification of the local, state and national tourism organizations, the Nazis’ professionalization efforts largely dovetailed with demands that had been made long before their assumption of power. At one level, the Nazis embarked on a kind of rhetorical professionalization campaign, which sought a perceived heightening of professional status amongst those active in the German tourism industry. Once again, the experience of travel agents is emblematic. The actual social standing of travel agents may not have increased after 1933, but according to Nazi propaganda, their work had become something of

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national importance and was therefore highly valued by the regime. Certainly Der Fremdenverker, Herman Esser and other tourism authorities constantly assured them this was the case. At the first German Travel Agency Conference in 1936 – another important step towards the institutionalization of professional knowledge and practice – Esser told the assembled participants: Be the Hanseaten of German cultural assets, be the ambassadors of tourism. You are not only the sellers of travel tickets, not only the arrangers of business travel, you are the agents of valuable cultural goods, you are the bridge-builders in the Heimat from area to area and the bridge-builder for the beauties of the German Heimat over the borders of the Fatherland.72 It is difficult to determine the effect of such speeches, which were printed in trade journals like Der Fremdenverkehr and Das Reisebüro, as well as in the general press. While they may not have led to an actual transformation in travel agents’ ‘interpreted social reality’, there is more to this story than simple self-aggrandizement on the part of tourism practitioners.73 The fact that official propaganda constantly imbued their work with cultural and political significance and confirmed their status as ‘tourism experts’ (Fremdenverkehrsfachmänner) rather than mere employees may have increased travel agents’ social prestige through greater pride in their work.74 Under Hitler, they had finally attained what many viewed as their rightful place within the tourism industry, just as the business of tourism more generally had secured its position as one of Germany’s most valued industries. So how did travel agents learn to be Hanseaten and tourism ambassadors? How was German tourism to become more professional? Professionalization depended above all on specialized education, training and specific credentials, which would eventually serve as prerequisites for employment. The highpoint in travel agent instruction came with the opening of the German Travel Agency Technical College (Deutsche Reisebüro-Fachschule) in 1937, which issued a training certificate to those who completed its courses. It was jointly established by the RHV and the German Labour Front in order to deepen the expert knowledge of Germany’s travel agents. Its courses offered not only ‘purely technical’ training, but also an education in worldview, tourism politics, character-building and physical fitness.75 In addition to having technical skills and an acceptable ideological outlook, professional travel agents were supposed to know a great deal about the tourist destinations they promoted. To this end, the state


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tourism associations regularly hosted study trips or put on slide show evenings to introduce travel agents to their respective regions.76 Der Fremdenverkehr also played a role by providing information deemed important ‘for the service counter’. It reported on a variety of matters of interest to tourists, such as the opening of an elevated promenade in Freiburg or the completion of a bridge between Magdeburg and Harburg. Such information was intended primarily for the staff at tourist information offices, who now had to ‘know everything!’77 The Nazi regime established a variety of institutions to train and certify other tourism professionals as well. The Reich Upper School for Advertising in Berlin, for example, offered courses designed for new tourism advertisers and those already in the business. In January 1938, the school hosted a week-long course for the managing directors of Germany’s state tourism associations to enable them to master the methods of good tourism advertising.78 Many such courses offered both practical and ideological training. An educational conference held in Düsseldorf intended for ‘all men who serve German tourism’ covered such topics as ‘National Socialist Thinking in Tourism Politics’ and the necessity of a ‘German character’ for German tourism advertising.79 Professionalization also involved the standardization (‘norming’) of various other practices, such as the collection of statistics. Before 1934, the collection of tourism statistics was not effectively regulated in Germany. The kind of data surveyed varied from town to town and from state to state. Sometimes German tourists’ region of origin was recorded, sometimes it was not. Some places listed the number of overnight stays, while others registered the number of visitors who arrived.80 The situation was made more problematic because in many towns the figures came from the police registration slips on which hotel and pension owners had to register their guests and not from forms designed explicitly to catalogue that information. In 1934, however, the standardization of German tourism statistics was achieved through the introduction of Reichseinheitsstatistik (unified Reich statistics). This meant, essentially, that there was one single form, issued through the state tourism associations, for local tourism societies and offices to fill out, based on information they received from individual accommodation owners. The form requested the number of guests, the country of origin and the length of stay. This information was then passed to the Reich Statistical Office, to be published in its annual Statistisches Jahrbuch des Deutschen Reiches.81 Hosts still needed to register their guests with the police, but those registration slips no longer officially served in the compilation of Nazi Germany’s tourism statistics.

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By 1936, individual businesses could be fined by the Ministry of Propaganda for providing incorrect information or failing to provide their numbers. Still, the process of data collection did not always run smoothly. The state tourism associations regularly issued lists of tourism communities who had failed to submit their numbers on time. The Statistical Office itself often had to send ‘reminders’ to various towns.82 Yet, while admittedly imperfect, the thrust towards a more modernized, professionalized mechanism for gathering statistical information did occur. And once again, it was something that had long been desired by many tourism officials. In the Third Reich, further standardization of the tourism industry was achieved through nationalized definitions for various types of accommodation. The hospitality industry had long sought some kind of authoritative categorization of its different facilities: private rooms, pensions, guesthouses and hotels. It hoped that such measures would help to end the ‘wild room trade’, the unregulated renting of private rooms, a regular source of bitter complaint.83 The regime also restricted the use of the terms Kur and Bad to those destinations fulfilling certain, specific criteria, something tourism professionals had been calling for since the 1920s.84 Both these measures aimed to reduce competition for Germany’s professional hosts and officially recognized spa and bathing resorts. Like wild travel agencies and the wild room trade, ‘wild tour guides’ were also a problem.85 Once again, regulation from above was viewed as a possible and effective solution. In Weimar, wild tour guides were those who ‘forced themselves’ upon guests and worse possessed no expert knowledge about the city or its attractions. Using language extremely similar to that deployed in the discussions of the regulation of travel agencies, Weimar officials complained that it was ‘necessary to keep unsuitable people away from this activity’.86 ‘Unsuitable’, unsurprisingly, also meant non-Aryan. In July 1938, the Law for Changes in Trade Regulations explicitly forbade Jews from working as tour guides.87 While we must therefore not discount the racist implications of the campaign to root out wild tour guides, the central focus was on politically undesirable and unskilled tour guides: men and women who did not possess the necessary ‘personal, political and professional reliability, or the physical and spiritual vigour, or sufficient political schooling’. A lack of historical or cultural knowledge was also criticized. The regime responded by setting down a number of guidelines for employment that included political loyalty, language ability and a love of nature, amongst others. Tour guide training courses were also established.88


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The ‘academization’ of tourism – the study of tourism as an academic discipline – also expanded in the Third Reich. Leisure travel had become an object of academic attention at the turn of the twentieth century.89 Robert Glücksmann’s pioneering Research Institute for Tourism, established in Berlin in 1929, was closed by the Nazis in 1933 because its founder was Jewish. Yet the Nazis still approved of its academic approach to tourism. In 1938, the first Jahrbuch des Deutschen Fremdenverkehrs appeared, a publication that Esser deemed crucial to the perpetuation of ‘tourism science’ (Fremdenverkehrswissenschaft). In Munich, a Tourism Research Institute was opened. Once, Der Fremdenverkehr proclaimed, ‘we would have made fun of the “Professor for Tourism”’, calling him a symbol of the ‘“Americanization” of German universities’; now, the article continued, his existence pointed to the regime’s recognition of the significance of tourism.90 The academization process culminated in the establishment of the Hermann Esser Tourism Research Society in Frankfurt in 1939 (see Chapter 7). While research into tourism was often ideologically motivated in the Third Reich, the study of tourism did make some progress as an academic discipline. The move towards greater professionalization of the tourism industry was already underway before 1933. Thus, it is likely that tourism would have become more professionalized without the Nazis. Yet many within the industry had been dissatisfied with the pace of professionalization efforts in the Weimar period and, more crucially, with the lack of state intervention aimed at steering and encouraging them. In the Third Reich, the process was accelerated, to widespread approval. The Nazi regime was also astute enough to present the changes that had occurred as something for which it alone was responsible, independent of longer-term developments. Although it was clearly morally dubious, from the perspective of those permitted to remain in business, the experience of touristic professionalization in the Third Reich was largely positive. State protection compensated for a radical loss of autonomy, while racial and political exclusion was excused since it reduced the number of reputedly unqualified practitioners and unprofessional practices, which, in turn, minimized unfair competition. The growth of the tourism professional is linked to the emergence of modern tourism. The issue of professionalization, therefore, is closely connected to that of modernization, a more contentious matter in the context of Nazi Germany.91 To what degree had the Gleichschaltung process made German tourism more modern? The state’s recognition of tourism as an important branch of the economy, one worthy of

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direct intervention and public funding, is clearly a modern phenomenon. It was part of the increase in public sector activity seen throughout the world from the late nineteenth century onwards. The trend towards rationalization has also been diagnosed as a key symptom of ‘classical modernity’.92 In this respect, the Nazi regime supported measures similar to those undertaken by other modern, twentiethcentury societies. The regime also built upon the modernizing developments of the Weimar Republic in many spheres of social and economic life. In the context of tourism, it deliberately hastened their progress. What was most significant about the intentionally modernizing thrust of the Nazis’ Gleichschaltung of commercial tourism, however, was the ideological goal it was meant to serve. While the means by which this goal was pursued appeared ‘normal’, the ends were anything but.

Conclusion Research on the Italian Fascists’ interventions into tourism suggests that they were largely reduced to changes in the names of the various organizations. In its day-to-day functioning, tourism carried on just as before; we are thus left with a ‘marked impression of the superficiality of fascism’.93 In Nazi Germany, in contrast, touristic alterations were rarely that cosmetic. The structure of governance had truly been transformed. Indeed, it would be hard to exaggerate the Nazi state’s capacity for involvement in even the most minute touristic issues. While the potential for control over German tourism was total, practical tourism work did often continue to function ‘as normal’, that is, as it had in the Weimar Republic and even before. But these forms of touristic continuity do not provide evidence for the limits to Nazi power in this sphere. The Hitler dictatorship chose to permit and even promote certain continuities here, just as it did for tourist literature, KdF tourism, international tourism and even tourism after the outbreak of war, which are explored in the following chapters. Any acceptance of the status quo was usually deliberate. In other words, similarities between tourism in the Weimar period and the Third Reich do not indicate that the Nazis had failed to gain control over German tourism. They reveal instead a very calculated attempt to maintain a degree of touristic normality, which the regime felt would better serve its ultimate political aspirations. Several factors contributed to the Nazis’ remarkably thorough, pervasive and successful Gleichschaltung of German tourism. First, the relative lack of competing national agencies and significant personal


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rivalries had great effect. Some overlapping and disagreement over jurisdiction undoubtedly occurred, but they seem not to have diminished the regime’s ability to impose its will on all facets of the industry. Cooperation, not chaos, was the defining motif here. The overall goals were shared and the principal figures generally went unchallenged. The usual arguments about the fragmentary, inefficient nature of Nazi government thus do not hold true with regards to tourism. A single case of efficient management does not, of course, overturn readings that stress the incoherent character of the Nazi administrative system as a whole; the two interpretations do not necessarily contradict one another. Yet, by highlighting an example of well-ordered bureaucratic functioning in the Third Reich, this chapter suggests that overarching statements about Nazi organizational chaos might need to be qualified. Second, and more importantly, the Gleichschaltung of tourism was effective, especially in the initial stages, because it appeared to provide a solution to the industry’s problems, while also fulfilling demands for greater professionalization and protection from ‘unfair’ competition. As a result, the regime achieved a great deal of consent and support from Germany’s tourism officials. Admittedly, the touristic sector was never entirely free from conflict under Hitler. When disagreements did arise, however, the regime was able to coerce and compel to achieve its ends. During the interwar years, it became almost impossible to avoid, resist or overturn Nazi tourism policy. The Nazis’ synchronization of commercial tourism aimed at a thorough rationalization of the industry. As a solution to the industry’s pre-1933 problems, the introduction of a central authority, organizational simplification and the standardization of certain practices theoretically resembled the response of any corporate authority charged with improving its performance. The recognition of such parallels undoubtedly runs the risk of making the Nazi Gleichschaltung of tourism sound somewhat benign. Clearly, the results of this continuum of coordination alone – racial and political exclusion and a complete loss of local autonomy – belie that impression. What really set the Nazis’ efforts apart, however, is the intention that lay behind them. It bears repeating that economic or administrative improvements were only useful if they served the regime’s ideological and political objectives. The Gleichschaltung process marked an attempt to ensure that they did. But what did this process mean for tourists themselves? Did tourism under the swastika look any different to them? To answer such questions, we must take a closer look at the tourist cultures of Nazi Germany.

3 Nazi Tourist Culture

German tourism experienced significant changes under Hitler. Leisure travel gained new meaning in the Nazi regime’s extensive propaganda, and the Gleichschaltung process had a heavy impact on national and municipal tourism organizations. Yet what was the broader effect of alterations made at the level of propaganda and organizational structure? Did they result in the Nazification of tourist culture? The Nazi takeover of power clearly affected touristic practices at certain locations in Germany. There, a different kind of tourist gaze emerged, one that encompassed a completely different way of seeing and experiencing the nation’s sights. New sightseeing attractions appeared as well, as did blatantly ideological tourist literature. The new, overtly politicized tourist experience available in the Third Reich sustained the Nazi message prominent in many other spheres of daily life. Its literature – guidebooks, brochures, prospectuses and postcards – propagated the familiar discourse about community and national renewal. Nazi tourist culture provided a perfect platform for Hitler’s Weltanschauung, but, surprisingly, this function was not simply imposed from above. Although the Reich Tourism Association, the body responsible for tourism publicity, aimed to regulate the smallest details of tourism promotion, its advertising guidelines rarely included explicit instructions regarding content or tone. The Nazification of tourist culture thus appears to have been a spontaneous, usually voluntary, reaction to the Nazis’ assumption of power. Nazi tourist culture was not unique in having a political character and ideological goals. In fact, German political tourism had a long pedigree. In the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, organizations such as the Alpenverein and the Wandervogel linked activities like touring and hiking to the völkisch cause. Individual tourist prac42

Nazi Tourist Culture

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tices, such as travel to the borderlands, were also promoted as a way to strengthen German loyalties in the Habsburg Empire and German national identity in the Reich.1 By the 1920s, the foundations of an explicitly socialist tourist culture had been secured. Social Democratic tourist clubs like the Friends of Nature encouraged travel by the nation’s workers, while seeking to deepen their political allegiance.2 Nevertheless, despite following in this tradition of ideologized travel, the novelty of Nazi tourist culture was soon apparent. What then do we mean by a ‘Nazi’ tourist culture? What set it apart from its predecessors? It had several distinguishing characteristics. First, it encompassed new sights and attractions deemed ‘worthy of seeing’ (sehenswürdig), which were explicitly connected to the Nazi regime in some way. Second, it employed a certain politicized discourse, easily discernible in its advertisements, brochures, guidebooks, maps and postcards, which imbued them with the ideas of National Socialism. Third, it centred on a number of what might be called ‘Nazi events’. Fourth, it was essentially self-referential. That is, it drew the tourist gaze toward other media – specifically exhibits and museums – in which the central tenets of Nazism were reiterated. Other features included a quintessentially modernist focus on the contrast between the past and present, and an emphasis on historical discontinuity. At the same time, Nazi tourist culture helped to construct a public memory of Nazism, since the recent history of the NSDAP also found a central place. Finally, Nazi tourist culture conflated the ideological with the practical: its literature extolled the virtues of the Hitler movement while providing information about hotels, restaurants and public transport. That an explicitly ideological tourist culture emerged in Hitler’s Germany is hardly surprising. Yet this overtly Nazified variant was by no means the only or even the predominant tourist culture in the Third Reich. It co-existed with a superficially normal or non-Nazified tourist culture, which will be examined in the following chapter. Nazi tourist culture was limited, therefore, to specific locales and coalesced only around particular sights, events and experiences. Predictably, it took hold in places with strong links to the Nazi Party such as Munich and Nuremberg, the ‘City of the Movement’ and the ‘City of the Reich Party Rallies’. As might be expected, it emerged in Berlin as well. Yet a distinctly Nazified tourist culture also surfaced at contested sites where the Republican past had to be obliterated and the future reinvented, as in the town of Weimar. These destinations, along with several others, became key loci of Nazi tourist culture after 1933. Their guidebooks

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and brochures promoted the Nazi regime as much as they marketed specific tourist attractions. By examining the guidelines for tourist literature established under Hitler, we can probe the degree to which they determined its content and form.

Tourist literature in the ‘National Socialist spirit’ There is … still much to learn about the creation of prospectuses. … I would like to request of you that they correspond to the style of the new era … [which] has nothing to do with sweet sentimentality and overpowering exaggeration. It is necessary that prospectuses … become more functional and above all, ‘more German’. Hermann Esser, 19363 The Reich Tourism Association accepted that it was difficult to dictate a single norm or standard for tourist literature given its sheer variety. Nevertheless, attempts were made. Like advertising in general under Hitler, it had to be tasteful, devoid of exaggeration and, above all, ‘German in sense and expression’; brochures, guidebooks and other tourist publications also had to convey the ‘National Socialist spirit’.4 Prior to 1936, the state tourism associations were meant to check all tourist material printed in their respective regions to ensure it adhered to these somewhat vague principles. The 1936 Reich Tourism Association Law reinforced the mechanism for inspection when it made membership in the state tourism associations mandatory for the tourism communities. At the same time, from 1936 onwards, more detailed criteria defined the ‘correct’ brochure or prospectus. The Nazi tourism authorities relied on three different methods to communicate their expectations. First, meticulous guidelines, published by the Reich Tourism Association, covered everything from the proper font to the size of the brochure. Second, tourism officials made numerous references to the ideal brochure or guidebook in a variety of speeches and articles. Third, official tourism newsletters and journals like Der Fremdenverkehr regularly critiqued individual local brochures, which set further standards for what was desirable and what was not.5 Let us now take a closer look at what these prescribed. The guidelines established by the Reich Tourism Association’s 1936 Leaflet for Prospectus Design, unlike those of the previous year, were now obligatory rather than recommended.6 They contained a multi-


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tude of instructions and directives concerning when brochures should be sent to travel agencies (by 1 March each year), their size, the mandatory inclusion of the date and the name of the responsible state tourism association on the cover and a general prohibition on advertisements unless officially approved. They also stipulated a number of textual and visual features. For example, every publication had to list train stations and churches in its table of contents, but NSDAP offices went unmentioned. The photographs also had to be recent. Tourism officials were advised to check cars, clothes and flags to make sure that these were not outdated. This would also, of course, ensure the disappearance of Republican flags and other equally detested symbols. Generally, however, the guidelines for content aimed to eradicate something of apparently far greater concern: superlatives, exaggerated epithets and allusions to foreign destinations. The 1937 edition of these guidelines spelled out what this entailed more carefully. The unwanted comparisons included words like ‘biggest, prettiest, oldest and best’, ‘pearl’ and ‘paradise’, and handles like the ‘German Riviera’ or ‘Franconian Switzerland’ for the Bodensee and regions of Franconia.7 All these were damaging, the 1937 leaflet maintained, because they had a ‘laughable effect on the serious observer’, especially the foreign guest. The tourism authorities also wanted to combat comparative advertising, because it led to unfair competition. Places were to stop advertising the fact that they did not impose a spa tax, while others did, and from making derogatory statements about other nearby locations.8 These guidelines applied to all local, regional and state tourism publications, but not to travel guidebooks, since they remained a matter of the private publishing industry; nevertheless, it was desirable, of course, that the travel guide publishers ‘cooperate’ with the tourism posts. Another set of guidelines set out the parameters for newspaper travel supplements.9 These had little to do with the content, tone or language of the travel articles themselves, but instead restricted the amount of advertising the supplements could include. The Reich Committee for Tourism did demand that all material containing references to the ‘persons or events of the Marxist liberalist past’ be destroyed, an unambiguous example of Nazification from above.10 Yet such explicit orders to get rid of specific touristic content were not the norm. Even more exceptional were any definite stipulations about its replacement. In and amongst the commands to avoid boring brochure text and to choose images characteristic of the location, we do find brutal reminders that these instructions emerged under Hitler. For example, in 1939, Propaganda Minister Joseph

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Goebbels criticized the inclusion of maps that had not been updated to include Austria and the Sudetenland. The Reich Tourism Association’s 1936 prospectus guidelines ordered that ‘non-Aryan’ establishments be listed separately; by 1939, this meant that ‘Jewish hotels’ were to be described as such even if only the owner’s spouse was Jewish. Anti-Semitism may also have lain behind the suggestion that, in a local prospectus, tourists preferred a photograph of a farmer’s wife selling eggs at the market to a ‘modern view of the department store Lindemann & Wollenberg’.11 But even these recommendations and critiques were in the minority when compared to the number of rules determining things like brochure size. Vague commands that tourist literature be more German or in the National Socialist spirit were given, but explicit interpretations of what this actually entailed were not. Thus, while an overtly politicized tourist culture, which in large part depended on Nazified tourist literature, did emerge after 1933, actual guidelines dictating this transformation – such as the addition of NSDAP-related attractions – were exceedingly rare. Yet, as we shall see below, this in no way hindered the Nazification of tourist material at specific destinations.

Building new tourist attractions Through its extensive rebuilding programme, the Nazi regime literally created new sightseeing attractions throughout Germany. While most were not conceived primarily as tourist attractions, they were soon transformed into them by the tourism industry. Moreover, the regime’s discourse about these new structures mirrored touristic descriptions from the outset. Nowhere was this process more evident and extolled than in the Reich capital. According to Hitler, Berlin could now finally become a ‘truly’ German capital city: it was to be totally rebuilt and renamed Germania.12 Historians have devoted considerable attention to Hitler’s plans for the rebuilding of Berlin, but they have rarely acknowledged their effect on both the face of tourist Berlin and the meaning of a visit to the capital between 1933 and 1945. Yet it is impossible to overestimate the degree to which Berlin’s new buildings – among them, the Reich Chancellery, the Reich Sport Field, the Reich Ministry of Transportation and the Reich Aviation Ministry – became key sights for visitors to the city. There was also another new edifice to visit, one rarely mentioned in historical accounts of the Nazi rebuilding programme. The only building to be completed along the monumental North-South Axis was the


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House of German Tourism, the headquarters of the Reich Committee for Tourism and Reich Tourism Association. The house, designed by Albert Speer, contained 1,500 square metres of exhibition space and a congress hall with space for 1,600 people. The estimated costs were set at 21 million RM.13 When Hitler laid the foundation stone on 14 June 1938, Der Fremdenverkehr praised the event for ‘symbolically linking the new epoch in tourism in Germany with the new design of Berlin’.14 Nazi propagandists thereby noted a link that historians of leisure travel have often failed to observe: the connection between tourism and the built environment, something particularly significant in the Third Reich. Berlin was not the only city in which new building projects were designed and executed under Hitler. In Weimar, there was the enormous Gauforum on the massive square, Platz Adolf Hitlers. Hitler had made the first thrust of the spade (Spatenstich) on 4 July 1936 during the festivities to mark the tenth anniversary of the second Reich Party Rally. Heralded as the ‘fundament of a new classicism’, the Gauforum, designed by architect Hermann Giesler, was intended to serve as a new centre of National Socialist power in the state of Thuringia.15 The three buildings, meant to surround a gigantic parade ground, were to house offices for the district leadership, individual divisions of the Party and the German Labour Front. An enormous meeting hall, the Hall of the National Community, was also planned. The Nazis had plans for similarly massive governmental complexes elsewhere in the Reich, but the Gauforum was the first and only on which construction actually began.16 The site of the Gauforum was soon added to the tourist’s itinerary, but tourism brochures often relied on photographs of architectural models since the complex was never fully completed. Other building projects in Weimar were finished between 1933 and 1944, amongst them the extension to the Goethe National Museum, a Nietzsche Memorial Hall and the much celebrated renovation and extension to the Elephant Hotel, which reopened during the 1938 Thuringian District Rally (Gautag). There were also plans for a House of Thuringian Tourism in Weimar similar to the House of German Tourism in Berlin.17 The outbreak of war brought these plans to an end, as it did Hitler’s plans for Germania. Nevertheless, by 1939, German tourists were able to view a number of new sights alongside the traditional attractions like the Schiller House and the Brandenburg Gate. In Munich, too, tourists could observe new structures like the House of German Art, the Führer Complex or the Temples of Honour on the Königsplatz. The newly constructed Reich Party Rally grounds

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in Nuremberg also drew visitors throughout the year.18 These attractions formed the cornerstones of the Nazi tourist culture dominant in these cities.

The literature of Nazi tourist culture and the politics of Nazi memory The true sightseeing attraction was something not merely to be seen, Der Fremdenverkehr maintained, but something to be experienced, something that had to ‘enrich’ and even ‘transform’ its viewers.19 It was therefore not enough that such monuments to Nazism were built. They needed to be encoded within an ideologized tourist literature. Maps, brochures, postcards and guidebooks all served to create a true Sehenswürdigkeit, something worthy to see. An undated brochure for Berlin was explicit. The first page began with the headline ‘What I Must See’: the Reich Sport Field topped the list, followed by the Reich Chancellery and the Aviation Ministry. To be sure, other sights merited some attention, but tourist literature established a clear hierarchy of the most valuable sights in the city20 (see Figure 3.1). Historians have suggested that guidebook itineraries ‘incorporated the buildings and symbols of the new order’, but ‘did not necessarily give them center stage’.21 Such statements do not hold true for most guides to Berlin, Weimar, Nuremberg and Munich. They, along with brochures, posters and postcards, placed the new and ‘updated’ Nazi buildings at the very core of a developing Nazi tourist culture. In Berlin, they became quite literally the capital’s star attractions. Grieben guidebooks gave the Reich Chancellery their highest, three-star rating: ***. In later editions, other Nazi sights obtained more stars. The Reich Sport Field, for example, received two stars in the 1941 Grieben guide to Berlin; it had only achieved one in 1936. Elsewhere, new sites gained similar attention. In some guides to Munich, photographs of Nazi Party buildings and shrines – elements of the ‘New Munich’ – outnumbered those of churches and museums. In Nuremberg, Nazism framed the entire tourist experience. Even postcards depicting attractions like ‘the pretty fountains and the Frauenkirche’ were bordered with swastikas and carried the slogan ‘City of the Reich Party Rallies’.22 As the new sights rose in importance, traditional attractions were sometimes demoted in the visitor’s itinerary, but they were never neglected entirely. For example, the aforementioned list of what to see in Berlin included the Armoury (Zeughaus) and the Museum Island. Other guidebooks explicitly stressed that historic Berlin would not dis-


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Figure 3.1

appear completely. Albert Speer’s ‘architecturally masterful deeds of the present’ would stand ‘next to the monuments of a powerful past’ such as the Brandenburg Gate and the Neue Wache memorial.23 Still, in Berlin, the new structures were definitely spotlighted. In Weimar, by contrast, there was a more balanced approach to the past and present. The city’s tourist guidebooks and brochures may have devoted more pages to the classical sites, such as the Schiller House and the Goethe Museum, but these were inevitably accompanied by information about ‘the new time’. Material about the state of Thuringia as a whole had a similar emphasis.24 Tourists were not to see Weimar as a musty museum, but as a city emblematic of the Nazi period. It was not a

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‘cultural graveyard’, which had ‘kept progress at a distance’. ‘Next to the old, honourable heart of the city’, the guidebook continued, ‘[appears] a new Weimar’.25 Weimar had become both the city of Goethe and the city of the Gauforum. Material about Munich and Nuremberg similarly combined the old and the new, the Pinakothek galleries with the House of German Art, Albrecht Dürer’s House with the massive Zeppelin Field on the Reich Party Rally grounds.26 In Berlin and Weimar, however, there was also a deliberate focus on the contrast between old and new, between the recent past and the present. The New Berlin declared that before 1933, Berlin suffered war, revolution, inflation, selfish struggles between parties. Incapable power holders, alien to the Volk, hindered further development or steered it down the wrong path. … Goods, possessions and rights (Anrechte) were flogged, corruption [and] party interests reigned. Then, in early 1933, the national socialist revolution came. More ominously, it recorded that Berlin’s Lord Mayor, Julius Lippert, ‘moved into the “red city hall” and began a cleansing process that only now brought all the odious affairs of past times rightly into the light’.27 Even the formerly liberal Baedeker guides adopted this Nazified rhetoric. The Baedeker firm had received a loan from the Nazi regime in 1934, when it found itself in great financial difficulties.28 There is no evidence that the loan came with strings attached: the publisher appears not to have received any direct orders regarding guidebook content at that time. Nevertheless, the history section of the 1936 edition for Berlin was substantially revised. It was now much more in tune with the ideology of the day, recounting the former influence of ‘foreign cultural elements’ and Joseph Goebbels’ struggle against Marxism and Communism.29 Similar statements, it should be noted, are not found throughout all Baedeker guides of the Nazi period. But for Berlin, praise for the Party’s achievements appears to have been inescapable; it also appeared in the editions aimed at English readers. Tourist literature not only trumpeted the political changes occurring in the capital; it also heralded the moral and cultural transformation of the city once known as ‘Babylon on the River Spree’. Once riven by all that was anathema to the Nazi Party – ‘communism, capitalism, fragmentation, moral decadence, subversion of national identity and German tradition through internationalism’ – Berlin had now become a quintessentially German city, a truly


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German Heimat, where even Bavarians could feel at home.30 ‘Three years of Nazi rule’, recalled a German who made a trip to Berlin for Easter 1936, ‘had wrought a complete transformation.’31 Weimar had a different problem with the past to confront. While some of the Nazis’ earliest electoral victories were recorded in the state of Thuringia, the despised Reich constitution was forever bound with the name of Weimar, as a guide to the city had once proudly proclaimed.32 ‘The new Weimar’, one newspaper announced, would therefore ‘have to strive with all its strength to eliminate the stain that has lain upon it since 1919’.33 Weimar had also once been lauded as an international, cosmopolitan centre of culture, something unacceptable under the new, often absurdly parochial regime. After 1933, then, the city’s former association with democratic values had to be eradicated and Nazified tourist literature began to serve that end. It did so by drawing attention to Weimar as it was then and to Weimar as it was now. The highlighting of the contrast between yesterday and today, between the old and the new, became one of the central and defining motifs of Nazi tourist culture. However, the politicized tourist culture of the Third Reich was not unique in its focus on the here and now. Examples of this modernist vision can be found in pre-1933 German tourist literature as well. The 1932 Dietz guide to Germany aimed to highlight new attractions for its worker-tourists. ‘The people’, it proclaimed, rather than the nobility of the past, would be spoken of, ‘their work, their sufferings and triumphs’. Socialist in tone, the guide included the Centre of the Social Democratic Party at Lindenstraße 3 as a Berlin attraction and also listed production and trade centres as sights to be seen. It even promoted the Ruhr as a region worthy of a visit, although in the past such a destination rarely appeared on any tourist’s ‘Top Ten’. In Weimar, too, visitors were directed not only to the city’s ‘old history and culture, valuable art and museum pieces, memories of great poets and thinkers, but also [to its] modern development in traffic, trade and industry’.34 In the first decades of the twentieth century, the tourist gaze was restructured: it now looked backwards, outwards and forwards in time. Even Karl Baedeker admitted that ‘the diffusion of the historical aspect must not be allowed to overwhelm what is living and new’.35 In its stress on a break with the past and its focus on historical discontinuity, Nazi tourist culture was quintessentially modern. Modernism, it has been said, ‘breaks with the past, manufactures its own historical traditions, and imagines alternative futures’.36 We can

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therefore describe the National Socialists as modernists because they placed the acknowledgement of historical discontinuity at the very core of their political programme. Yet while Nazi tourist culture’s inclusion of the contemporary landscape drew on the modernist tradition, the emphasis on a total break with the immediate past set it apart. Additionally, it distinguished Nazi tourist culture from the ‘normal’ tourist culture flourishing in other areas of Germany such as the Black Forest or the Bavarian Allgäu. There, tourist literature described a landscape seemingly rooted in a kind of timelessness. It was, of course, only a certain past – the Republican past – which the Nazis wanted to disown, not the past in general. Nazi tourist culture proved quite capable, whenever politically expedient, of setting Nazism within the longer course of German history. Brochures and guidebooks continued to characterize Munich, for example, as a centre of the arts as it had been since the time of Ludwig I. ‘No German city’, one RDV publication claimed, ‘can boast of having influenced German artistic life in the past and the present as much as Munich’. ‘Himself an artist through and through’, the guide continued, ‘the Führer has undertaken the further development and new design of the “City of German Art” with special affection’.37 The House of German Art, which became a much-vaunted tourist attraction after 1937, was depicted as being in tune with the city’s artistic heritage. Tourist Nuremberg focused largely on the city’s legacy in German political history, particularly its hosting of the medieval Imperial Diets. This ‘great past’ was now linked to a ‘cheerfully optimistic future’, epitomized by the Reich Party rallies.38 A 1935 postcard reveals how Nuremberg’s tourist culture drew on German history, but almost inevitably connected it to the Nazi present. An artist’s rendering depicts Nuremberg Castle. Portraits of Hitler and Julius Streicher, Gauleiter of Franconia, and a giant swastika appear above, while a medieval procession complete with armoured knights passes below. The ubiquitous slogan ‘Nuremberg – The City of the Reich Party Rallies’ completes the image.39 Thus, while Nazi tourist culture often emphasized certain continuities with pre-1918 German history, the ‘new’ Germany – be it in Berlin, Weimar, Munich or Nuremberg – often stole the limelight. History of a different sort had another, more crucial part to play in the politicized tourist culture of the Third Reich. Its commemoration of the most recent past – the Nazi past – created a whole range of new attractions honouring the movement’s ‘martyrs’ and its ‘period of struggle’ more generally. The architectural triumphs of the Third Reich


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were physical new constructions. They did not need descriptions in guidebooks or brochures for tourists to notice them, although their meaning was reinforced by these texts. In contrast, the so-called sites of martyrdom were transformed into new sightseeing attractions by the tourist literature itself. Formerly meaningless locations, invisible on the tourist landscape, were imbued with ideological value and were consequently turned into something worthy of seeing. Through its retelling of the history of the NSDAP, Nazi tourist culture played a key role in the creation of a Nazi politics of memory and the promotion of an official version of the past. In the Third Reich, postcards, souvenirs, brochures and guidebooks not only brought Nazi history to a wider public; they also commercialized the terror and persecution at its heart.40 The Feldherrnhalle on Munich’s Odeonsplatz, the nineteenthcentury memorial to the Bavarian Army, had hardly been invisible before 1933, but it certainly took on new significance after the Nazis came to power. A monument to those who died during the Beer Hall Putsch transformed it into one of the holy places of Nazism. The plaque, often quoted in guides to the city, read: ‘The Feldherrnhalle is bound for all times with the names of the men who gave their lives on 9 November 1923 for the movement and the rebirth of Germany.’ Two SS men stood on constant guard in front; pedestrians were required to give the Nazi salute as they went by. One British visitor recalled how Germans’ arms ‘shot up as though in reflex to an electric beam’ when they passed.41 The Feldherrnhalle appeared in all post-1933 guidebook itineraries, often meriting a photograph. Along with the Feldherrnhalle, the new Temples of Honour on the Königsplatz, built to house the sixteen copper coffins of Putsch victims, also attracted many visitors. Postcards contributed to this process of canonization, whereby Nazi shrines became top tourist attractions42 (see Figure 3.2). A more infamous example of Nazified tourist literature was a guide published by two SA members, We Ramble through National Socialist Berlin: A Guide to the Sites of Memory of the Struggle for the Reich Capital.43 The guide offered a 22-page history of the SA and the NSDAP in Berlin, included a chronological table of key events beginning in 1920 and ending in 1936, and even provided election results for the years 1921 to 1933. This background information was followed by detailed descriptions of the individual sites – monuments, graves, houses, restaurants and pubs – sorted by the year in which important events took place there. The sites of street battles, meetings and martyrdoms became the attractions of this tour. In its promotion of an ideologically motivated tour through the urban landscape, the SA

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Figure 3.2

guide drew upon a development already evident in some pre-1933 Berlin tourist literature, which had highlighted the traces of workingclass struggle in the city.44 This trend reached its apogee in Wir wandern. The SA guidebook was an exceptional text, even though it was part of a broader literature that defined a city’s landscape in terms of the


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history of the Nazi movement. There was no similar guide to any other German city as far as current research reveals. It is therefore not the hyper-Nazified Wir wandern that one should regard as the emblematic text of Nazi tourist culture, but rather guides like the Berlin Tourism Society’s Berlin A–Z.45 Berlin A–Z differed from the SA guide in several ways. The latter offered no practical travel, restaurant or hotel information, although the opening times of various museums were given. It was not, in fact, a ‘true hybrid’.46 In contrast, A–Z did represent a truly hybridized form of brochure, which incorporated new Nazi sights into the more ‘normal’ discourse of tourism. In and amongst information about banks, museums and hotels, a section was devoted to ‘The Resting Places of SA Men Fallen in Berlin’. This conflation of the ideological with the practical was a common motif of politicized tourist literature under Hitler. For one thing, the inclusion of useful information ensured a wider readership. Although the Völkischer Beobachter carried advertisements for Wir wandern, it seems unlikely that many non-SA members purchased it and followed its itineraries. Brochures like A–Z were presumably more popular than the SA guide, in large part because of the useful information they contained. The intertwining of hotel addresses and paeans to Hitler had another effect: it normalized the Nazification process. It soon became customary for tourists to view a photograph of goose-stepping Nazis on one page, followed by a list of tourist information offices on the next. After 1933, references to the Nazi cult of the fallen appeared in a variety of touristic material about the capital. Horst Wessel was the most frequently named ‘martyr’: most brochures and guides made at least a brief allusion to sites associated with him. He was touted as a ‘freedom fighter’ and the composer of the Nazi anthem ‘Die Fahne hoch’, who later ‘fell victim to Communist terror’.47 This commemoration of Nazi heroes found its place in tourist literature about Weimar as well. Throughout the city, plaques had been erected to memorialize the German ‘greats’. They included one to Hans Maikowski at the house where he had lived in 1932. According to the 1943 edition of the Woerl guide to Weimar, Maikowski, a local SA leader, was ‘persecuted in the period of the struggle for Germany … [and] was murdered in Berlin on the day of national renewal (30.1.1933)’.48 His legend thus lived on in tourist propaganda. The incorporation of the Party’s dead heroes into the tourist landscape was a defining feature of Nazi tourist culture. Another was putting living Nazi leaders on the tourist map. Spotting a top Nazi was

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considered a touristic highlight, as the photographs of Hermann Goering captured by one visitor to Berchtesgaden reveal.49 But even sites merely associated with top-ranking Nazis could become popular attractions. Without question, the most important of these were those connected to the Führer himself. In Berlin, guides asked ‘Where does the Führer work?’ and responded by showing visitors photographs of the Reich Chancellery and suggested they see it for themselves.50 The Chancellery became an extremely popular attraction for Berlin’s tourists, though not all were impressed by the architecture. ‘Where was the grandeur, where was the splendor?’ one man wondered. ‘This was the nerve center of the Third Reich!’51 Nevertheless, thousands came every day to view the seat of Nazi rule. In Munich, they could view the plaques erected on the buildings where Hitler had once lived or given key speeches. These included the Hofbräuhaus, the city’s bestknown beer hall.52 A kind of Hitler tourism soon developed at the Obersalzberg near Berchtesgaden, where pilgrims took away pieces of Hitler’s garden fence as souvenirs. It was ‘like a wonderful dream to be so near to the Führer’, one female visitor from Frankfurt recalled.53 Perhaps she even sent one of the many postcards that depicted Hitler’s mountain retreat, labelled ‘the home of our Führer’ (see Figure 3.3). After Austria was annexed, Braunau am Inn, Hitler’s birthplace, and other cities that proudly proclaimed a connection to his youth, also gained in importance as tourist destinations.54 Hitler tourism flourished in Weimar as well, a city the Führer visited at least once a year between 1925 and 1939. When there, he always stayed at his favourite hotel, the Elephant. Once he was in power, local brochures and guides began to promote the hotel as a ‘not to be missed’ attraction for visitors to Weimar.55 The hotel, built in 1696, was, according to the Weimar Tourism Society, not only the inn ‘most visited by famous guests’ during the classical period, including Goethe; it was also the ‘residence of the Führer during his visits to Weimar’.56 Tourists flocked to the Elephant. When Hitler was there, crowds of visitors and locals alike gathered outside in hopes of catching a glimpse of him. While they did, they were said to have chanted: Lieber Führer, komm heraus aus dem Elephantenhaus, Lieber Führer sieh doch ein, wir können nicht mehr länger schrein’ Lieber Führer, geh nicht fort, bleib an diesem schönen Ort.


Figure 3.3

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[Dear Führer, come on out, out of the Elephant House. Dear Führer, please do see we can’t scream any longer. Dear Führer, don’t go away – in this pretty place you should stay.]57 Even when he was not there, the hotel remained a popular attraction for Germans. Yet not all were satisfied with their visit. Paul Gerhard, a local reporter, tour guide and Heimat historian wrote about the experiences of a ‘poor comrade from the village’, who had visited the Elephant Hotel ‘to see where our Führer lives’ and left ‘shocked at the high drink prices’.58 Still, the hotel drew its share of Weimar’s guests and viewing it became one of the highlights of the city’s Nazi tourist culture. Tourist literature about Berlin, Weimar, Munich and Nuremberg did not confine its ideologized discourse to descriptions of the sites associated with the Party, its martyrs or its leaders. The general tone, the prefaces and introductions were also Nazified. In other words, the Nazi message was visible at the outset and throughout. Photographic images also sustained the consistent themes of struggle, victory and power. In Berlin, they depicted mass processions through the Brandenburg Gate ‘to honour the Führer’, a Party parade in the Lustgarten and an illuminated Unter den Linden Avenue, flanked by pillars bearing eagles and flying swastika flags.59 Images of the ceremonies conducted at the Feldherrnhalle to commemorate the 1923 Putsch or during the Reich Party Rallies were numerous in publications about Munich and Nuremberg. In all these cities, tourist literature thus commemorated key events in Nazi history. This not only generated a distinctly Nazi tourist culture; it also helped to create a public of memory of Nazism.

Omissions and disappearances: alterations to tourist literature Nazi tourist culture was based primarily on entirely new attractions and new historical interpretations. That is, it was engaged largely in making additions to the sightseeing canon. At the same time, however, it depended upon erasure, obliteration and eradication. By their silences and omissions, guidebooks and brochures deemed some attractions unworthy after 1933. Other sites therefore disappeared


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from the tourist gaze, symbolically if not always physically. The process did not take place only within the pages of the tourist material itself. Some pre-existing attractions underwent actual material alterations after 1933 which were subsequently reflected in the texts about them. In Weimar, for example, the plaque commemorating the National Assembly was removed from the National Theatre in 1933. After this physical obliteration, all references to the event it had once memorialized were similarly struck from Weimar brochures and guides. A pre-1933 edition of the official city guide contains crosses, in pencil, over every reference to the Assembly and the comments in the margins – references to important dates in the Nazi calendar – were soon substituted in the revised edition.60 Even still, it took some time to eradicate this event entirely from touristic memory. The first drafts for the new city guide recounted both the meeting of the National Assembly and the final victory of the National Socialist revolution. In 1937, the Weimar Tourism Society was forced to send a letter to the Brockhaus publishing company after receiving a draft of the encyclopaedia entry it proposed for the city. The society requested ‘especially’ that ‘the 1919 National Assembly no longer be mentioned’. Even as late as 1939, however, the Society still listed the event as one of the city’s ‘noteworthy’ occurrences, although it described it in dismissive terms as the ‘so-called National Assembly’.61 In Berlin, the process of memory distortion took place through the renaming of streets and squares. The Weimar Republic had generally avoided naming streets after persons or events connected to the revolution. A 1932 Dietz guide lamented this fact, complaining that Berlin had ‘neither a monument to the [1918] liberation nor a street of 9 November’.62 Still, Germany’s first democracy had left some traces on the city map. Consequently, the Nazi regime sought to bury the capital’s ignominious past with new names connected to the regime. Thus began the ritual of renaming so characteristic of Germany’s twentieth century. In Berlin, the mainly working-class district of Friedrichshain was transformed into Horst-Wessel-Stadt. Stresemannstraße was rechristened Saarlandstraße and the Platz der Republik became Königsplatz. Hermann-Goering-Straße took the place of Friedrich-Ebert-Straße. The capital also honoured the Nazi movement’s ‘martyrs’, such as Herbert Norkus, a member of the Hitler Youth allegedly murdered by Communists in 1932, through renamed streets.63 The Nazis’ assumption of power transformed touristic topographies in other ways as well. Socialist monuments, such as Ludwig Mies van

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der Rohe’s memorial to Karl Liebknecht and Rosa Luxemburg in Berlin, were demolished almost immediately. In Munich, the plaques and Revolution Monument (Revolutionsdenkmal) dedicated to Kurt Eisner, the leader of the 1918 communist revolt in Bavaria, soon disappeared, as did the Weimar memorial commemorating the victims of the 1920 Kapp Putsch, designed by the Bauhaus artist Walter Gropius.64 Guidebooks and brochures naturally reflected these literal absences. But some buildings still physically in existence after 1933 also disappeared from tourist literature. The Reich Committee for Tourism chastised the Trier Tourism Office for distributing a brochure that alluded to the house in which the ‘famous German Socialist Karl Marx was born’. The Committee therefore ordered the immediate destruction of material making such references to the ‘Marxist-liberalist past’.65 Yet, as we have seen, direct commands like this to get rid of specific touristic content were exceedingly rare. In most cases, it seems that local tourism officials decided to make alterations to tourist literature voluntarily, whether through additions or omissions. The sale of certain guides or pamphlets in their old form, their pre-1933 form, was not possible under Hitler, as the Weimar Tourism Society acknowledged, but less because the authorities forbade them and more because they were now often unacceptable to the officials themselves.66 While Nazi tourist culture made the political orientation of the new regime abundantly clear, the racist ideas of the Third Reich left surprisingly few distinct traces in this literature. There were naturally some exceptions. The SA guide Wir wandern claimed that Berlin’s Kurfürstendamm area was ‘intensely Jewified’ before 1914.67 Tourist maps now used the new street names that had replaced those recalling Jewish persons or neighbourhoods.68 In general, though, explicitly anti-Semitic discourse in guidebooks and brochures was rare, even in guidebooks published after the outbreak of war. There were, however, more subtle ways in which the tourist experience was influenced by the Nazis’ racial ideology after 1933, both at actual sights and in the touristic representations of them. In September 1934 the Prussian Ministry of Education received an angry letter from a Mr Heinrich Ludendorff: ‘As is conveyed to me by reliable sources,’ he wrote, ‘a volume of the Jewish philosopher Moses Mendelssohn has lain for years in the Schiller House in Weimar as the only book on this German poet’s writing desk in his study. … Visitors to this room … [have] struggled in vain for a long time to have this book removed.’69 The 1930 guide to the house confirms that Mendelssohn’s ‘philosophical writings’ did indeed lie on the desk,


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alongside a quill pen, a letter opener and a globe.70 The Thuringian Minister for Education requested more information on the matter. In response, the director of the Schiller House, Professor Eduard Scheidemantel, made a moving, eloquent plea to leave the book where it was, claiming he had never heard any calls for its removal. Scheidemantel’s arguments were ignored: the book was removed and guides to the house no longer mentioned it.71 Guides to the Goethe House during the Nazi period remarked that the only things missing from that poet’s study, which otherwise remained in the same condition as just after his death, were ‘a few meaningless pieces, among them, several books’.72 It is tempting to attribute this absence to the kind of cultural cleansing that occurred at the Schiller House. Likewise, it is possible to see the ‘thorough re-arrangement’ of the rooms in the Kirms-Krackow-House, which took place in the Third Reich and which ‘freed [them] from all foreign ingredients’, in a similar light.73 Proof that the cultural sites of memory underwent alterations along such blatantly ideological lines in Weimar or elsewhere in Germany is difficult to obtain. But these kinds of disappearing acts are easy to detect in that other essential item of touristic equipment, the map. As late as 1935, the Berlin tourist map issued by the Pharus firm marked the presence of the New Synagogue in Oranienburgerstraße with a miniature depiction of the building, just as it did other key attractions like the Brandenburg Gate and the Berlin Cathedral. Stars of David pinpointed the locations of other synagogues nearby. In the 1936 edition, not only had the building vanished, so too had any indication that synagogues still existed in the area.74 The physical destruction of the synagogues that was to follow in 1938 was thus preceded by their symbolic disappearance from tourist literature. Yet there is no evidence to suggest that these changes occurred as a result of direct intervention on the part of the regime. Map publishers were instead reacting to the vague command to work in tune with the ideals of National Socialism. In contrast to the references to the Nazis’ victory over Communism in January 1933, which were found in the vast majority of Berlin’s tourist material, such silences about Berlin’s Jewish life were not ubiquitous in the tourist literature of the Third Reich. The 1936 Baedeker guide’s map still marked the location of the New Synagogue and listed the city’s other synagogues and Jewish hospitals; by 1938, however, the year so many Jewish houses of worship were literally destroyed, their absence generally became the rule.75 The obliteration of Jewish institutions from the prescribed tourist gaze took place

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elsewhere as well. In Bühl, a photograph of the local synagogue was among the images used by the small Black Forest town to sell itself in 1932. Not surprisingly, this photograph was to disappear from future publications.76 The contours of any tourist culture are clearly shaped as much by what its texts leave out as by what they put in. But Nazi tourist culture, like the Third Reich itself, was especially reliant upon obliteration, eradication and annihilation.

The main events: from party rally to folk festival The spectacular mass events of the Third Reich offered the Nazi regime an additional platform from which to trumpet its achievements and display its power. Given that they often attracted thousands of out-oftown visitors, it is surprising how little attention the Nazi pageants, rallies and festivals have garnered as tourist events. Only the 1936 Olympics, discussed briefly in Chapter 6, have attracted such consideration. Nevertheless, these events further sustained the politicized tourist culture developing in many cities under Hitler. Best known, of course, are the Reich Party Rallies in Nuremberg.77 These mammoth demonstrations of Nazi unity took place every September until 1939, drawing as many as a million people – party functionaries and individual travellers alike – from all over Germany. The highpoint of the Nazi calendar, the rallies also represented a fantastic business opportunity for the city of Nuremberg and its tourism industry. Hitler himself had stressed the financial advantages Nuremberg might gain as a result of accommodating and catering for thousands of guests. Even better, the new structures on the party rally grounds drew visitors to Nuremberg the year round. The local tourism society was actively involved in the preparations for the week of festivities. These included endless parades, military manoeuvres and march-pasts, but also a variety of public entertainments, such as sporting events, exhibitions, fun fairs, fireworks, concerts and opera performances. In 1937, the Kraft durch Freude Town opened to great fanfare. Here, visitors who had tired of marching Nazis could attend open-air theatres and bowling alleys, or ride the carousels. Purchasing a souvenir was an equally important part of a visit to Nuremberg during the rallies. Vendors set up their stalls throughout the city, selling everything from swastika flags to Nuremberg gingerbread.78 The party rallies represented an extreme form of Nazi-centric tourism. Nevertheless, many participants took away a very different impression of their time in Nuremberg than the regime had intended. Hotel and restaurant owners often complained


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loudly about the excessive alcohol consumption, general hooliganism and sexual shenanigans of party members. Pleasure and politics clearly intersected within the Nazi tourist culture of the Third Reich, and not only in Nuremberg. Since 1926, when Weimar was the site of the second party rally, visitors had arrived in ever greater numbers to join in the city’s anniversary festivals, meetings, marches and political demonstrations. An event-centred Nazi tourist culture flourished beside a tourist culture based on the traditional sites associated with Goethe and Schiller. Yet is it really possible to conceive of the zealous participants of these mass events as ‘tourists’? Sightseeing may not have been their primary intention in travelling to Weimar, but we know that most visited the classical sites during their stay. Moreover, the city’s tourism officials certainly viewed the participants as potential clientele, as becomes clear when we examine the elaborate celebrations planned to mark the tenth anniversary of the second party rally in July 1936. From the moment preparations began in 1935, the members of Weimar’s Tourism Society played an extremely active role. They organized accommodation for the thousands of expected guests and planned an extensive programme of events, ranging from performances in the German National Theatre to an ‘evening of comradeship’ for the participants of the original party rally.79 Nazi officials, apparently unconvinced that the event’s political value was itself sufficient to lure participants, also promoted Weimar’s tourist attractions in order to persuade people to make the journey. The advertising for the anniversary thus bore distinct similarities to commercial tourism marketing in Weimar. The promotional rhetoric also seemed designed to make the event appeal to regular tourists as well as party members. In one full-page advertisement, Reich Governor Fritz Sauckel stressed the opportunity to see the ‘city of Goethe and Schiller’, as well as participate in these ‘historic’ celebrations.80 The charms of old Weimar also enticed visitors to other celebrations that marked the triumph of the new Germany, such as the Thuringian district rally in November 1938. The Lord Mayor recognized its potential for boosting tourism numbers in the future: ‘We must prove our Weimar hospitality as never before,’ he wrote.81 Nazi political spectacle was clearly good for business. The Nazi regime’s major rallies, festivals and anniversaries were in part ‘touristified’ after 1933: they became objects of the tourist gaze. In the same way, other events designed specifically for tourists were co-opted by National Socialist ideology and used to further the goals of Nazism. In the Third Reich, travel writers drew on two allegedly

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German traditions. The first depicted Germans as travellers par extraordinaire; Wanderlust became an almost exclusively German trait. From Goethe to Baedeker, they claimed, Germans had always played crucial roles in the history of travel. 82 The second focused on Germans as hosts, promising a return to the legendary German hospitality of the past, which had disappeared under the Weimar government.83 German hospitality lay at the heart of a major event in the tourist calendar in Thuringia, the Thuringia State Tourism Association’s new annual folk fest, the Day of the Thuringian Guest. The Day of the Thuringian Guest was one of the Association’s most celebrated initiatives. Inaugurated by its chairman, Willy Marschler, as a means ‘to increase tourism’ and ‘to symbolize the close connection between those in search of relaxation and [their] hosts’, it was popular with local residents and guests alike. 84 In practical terms, Marschler saw the festival as an opportunity to thank visitors who had already chosen Thuringia as their holiday destination and to attract others who until then had not. Although the festival looked back to an imagined time-honoured tradition of German hospitality, it was simultaneously part of a quintessentially modern mass advertising campaign, reliant on the most up-to-date means of communication and publicity available. It was, in a sense, reactionary modernism at work.85 On 10 August 1935, the first Day of the Thuringian Guest took place. The Thuringian association’s praise for its own work was effusive, heralding the event as a ‘top performance in tourism advertising’.86 The day’s festivities included performances by musicians, choirs, singers and folk dancers, which took place throughout the state, with some of the most lavish occurring in Weimar. Specially chosen guests were presented with bouquets of flowers over breakfast. The ubiquitous ‘green heart’ logo appeared everywhere: on programmes, on the thousands of postcards distributed to participants, and in the hands of women dressed in traditional costume.87 In the following years, events followed a similar pattern, but the celebration soon became a two-day occasion. Weekly newsreels, radio programmes and the daily press covered the events. The Thuringia State Tourism Association guaranteed further publicity by inviting travel agents to take part in an extensive trip through the state during the festivities. The final Day of the Thuringian Guest took place in July 1939. During its lifetime, the festival fêted regional cuisine, costume, dance and other traditions. On the surface, it therefore celebrated the people, natural beauties and cultural achievements of the Thuringian


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Heimat and not those of the German nation as a whole. However, the constant evocation of the Volksgemeinschaft in the festival’s publicity and the image of Germans from all regions joining with the Thuringian population echoed the stated aim of most Nazi tourism propaganda: a stronger, more unified German Volk. It was this goal, propagandists declared, that turned the Day of the Thuringian Guest, a celebration of tourism, into a ‘totally new … truly National Socialist’ event.88 After 1933, other long-established festivals, carnivals and fairs in Germany were similarly transformed into events that openly celebrated the Nazi regime. Their host cities in turn often became loci of Nazi tourist culture. Bayreuth is a good example. Its annual Wagner Festival welcomed Hitler and his entourage every summer; by 1933, the Manchester Guardian was reporting that the event now resembled a ‘Hitler Festival’. During the rest of the year, even when the Festspielhaus sat empty, it attracted Hitler devotees as well as Wagner fans. Tourist material lauded Hitler’s special affection for the town and its operas. Postcards even depicted the Hotel Bube in Bad Berneck, just north of Bayreuth, where he stayed during the festival every year.89 Munich’s famous Oktoberfest was also Nazified. Souvenirs added swastikas to their depictions of the Münchner Kindl (Munich Child), the festival’s trademark. By 1936, swastika flags had replaced the traditional Bavarian blue and white banners. In 1938, even the festival’s name had changed. It was now called the Greater German Folk Festival in honour of Austria’s recent ‘return’ to the Reich.90 Throughout Germany, Fasching (Mardi Gras) parades were similarly infused with Nazism, nowhere more so than in Cologne, home of the renowned Karneval. While the regime dictated that carnival organizers had to make sure a ‘happy mood’ reigned, the most menacing face of Nazism was readily apparent: floats carrying anti-Semitic slogans and stereotypical representations of Jews, such as ‘Deviserich’, the Jewish banker, joined the parade from 1935 onwards.91 These events were incredibly popular with residents and tourists alike, especially ‘because you could experience all this for free’, as one Munich woman recalled of the lavish pageants for the city’s German Day of Art.92 They represented the shining façade of the Third Reich, the pleasurable side of Nazi politics; they were part of the public sphere in which Nazism gained further public acceptance and greater acclaim. Even festivities that pre-dated the Third Reich deviated from what came before through the incorporation of Nazi symbols and rhetoric. In other words, these events were definitively not normal:

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they – like the Nazis’ new buildings and new memorial cult – highlighted what had changed in Germany since 1933.

Museums and exhibits: reiterating the Nazi message The events described above often put the Nazis themselves on show. In contrast, many museums and exhibits, further cornerstones of Nazi tourist culture, showcased Nazi ideology. Museums and exhibits were extremely popular tourist attractions in the Third Reich. Berlin’s permanent museums, for example, welcomed an estimated 12–15 million visitors annually.93 Sights like the Germanic Museum in Nuremberg and the German Museum in Munich also drew large crowds. The experience of visiting a museum certainly changed after 1933. Guides were updated and ‘corrected’ to accommodate references to the new regime. Notices promoting the use of the German greeting, ‘Heil Hitler’, were prominently displayed. Exhibit text and other signage had to be redone in the Fraktur script, now mandatory in the Reich.94 Recent studies have also revealed the degree to which the museum display itself became yet another vehicle for the propagation of the Nazi ideological message. Certainly, all kinds of blatantly political museums were opened throughout Germany after 1933. These included a museum dedicated to the ‘SA Revolution’ in Berlin, a NSDAP museum in Merseburg and a museum outlining Munich’s role in the history of National Socialism in that city’s Sternecker beer hall, the site of the first party headquarters.95 Describing his visit to an unnamed museum, a visiting Frenchman recalled how sightseers were made to relive the history of the National Socialist Party: ‘You’ll wait your turn – so numerous are the visitors and so great their piety – to bow over the venerable relics. Here is an autograph of the Führer, his hand passed over this paper … . Uncover your head before this dusty sheet: it’s the list, already thirteen years old, of the first party members in Munich.’96 Even more popular among locals and tourists alike, however, were the temporary and travelling blockbuster exhibits, which made their way through Germany. ‘German Volk – German Work’, a mammoth art exhibit, and ‘Give Me Four Years’ Time’, a celebration of Germany’s achievements under Hitler, drew thousands of spectators to Berlin. One of the most popular of these exhibits was ‘The Eternal Jew’, which opened in Munich in November 1937. This rabidly anti-Semitic display counted a large number of foreigners among its attendees, if contemporary reports are to be believed.97 Less popular with guests from abroad, but still a big draw for domestic tourists, were


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exhibits like the Thuringia State Tourism Association’s 1937 ‘Show of Achievement’ (Leistungsschau) in Weimar – a massive exhibit in the 73 rooms of the Schloß Museum detailing the NSDAP’s feats in Thuringia over the previous five years.98 Admittedly, not all exhibits acquired this explicitly political character after 1933. However, historical displays regularly manipulated the past to sanctify the present, and even superficially apolitical Heimat museums and automobile shows tacitly supported the regime.99 As did the mass events described above, then, most museums and exhibits conveyed a political message that visitors consumed as part of their tourist experience in a particular city or town. This doubled politicization process was part of the inherent self-reflexivity of Nazi tourist culture and one of its defining features. Nuremberg offers a perfect example. During the 1937 party rally, the Germanic National Museum opened an exhibit about the party rallies. The exhibit focused on the historical continuities between these modern events and the medieval Imperial Diets, for which Nuremberg had once been known.100 Visitors could view the exhibit, then step outside to view participants in the rally marching past. At every turn in Nuremberg, Nazism confronted the city’s guests. Here, as elsewhere, the selfrepresentation of the Nazi regime had been transformed into a tourist spectacle.

Cashing in on Hitler: profiting from Nazi tourism Nazi tourist culture never achieved hegemonic status. Certain regions of Germany, like the Black Forest, seemed relatively untouched by it. But at other locations, Nazi-centric attractions dominated the tourist landscape. Why did Nazi tourist culture flourish in some places and not in others? That Munich and Nuremberg became objects of a Nazified tourist gaze is likely self-evident. The history of these cities, and even their urban topographies, were intimately linked to key persons and events in the Nazi past. In Berlin and Weimar too, the associations to Nazism were obvious and easily promoted. Elsewhere, a Nazified tourist culture sprang up in cities and towns that proclaimed connections either to the Führer himself or to a politically charged history that was easily instrumentalized by Nazi ideology. In the Third Reich, many of these destinations gained official titles, which, like ‘City of the Movement’ or ‘City of the Reich Party Rallies’, were used by local tourism industries to distinguish their product and thereby attract visitors.

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Landsberg am Lech, where Hitler had been imprisoned after the 1923 Putsch attempt, was one such place. From 1933 onwards, the city marketed itself using various sobriquets: ‘Hitler City’, ‘City of the Führer’, ‘National Socialist Site of Pilgrimage’ and ‘Birthplace of the Ideas of National Socialism’. In 1938, 100,000 visitors came to Landsberg, most incorporating a glimpse of Hitler’s former prison cell into their tour. Eventually, the town received the official honorific ‘City of Youth’, because it welcomed thousands of Hitler Youth members in 1937 and 1938 for massive ‘Adolf Hitler marches’. The delegates also visited the prison – which had plans to become the biggest youth hostel in the Reich – and received a copy of Mein Kampf as a souvenir.101 This kind of Hitler tourism was not unique to Germany. Even before the Anschluß, cities in Austria had attempted to capitalize on their ties to the Führer. Hitler’s plans for Linz are well known. He wanted to transform the city on the Danube into a cultural metropolis, with theatres, museums, art galleries and an enormous stadium. Tourism officials there saw a way to cash in on Hitler’s affection for his boyhood town. Linz styled itself first as the ‘City of the Führer’s Youth’, then as the ‘Hometown of the Führer’, and finally as the ‘City of the Foundation of the Greater German Reich’ (Gründungsstadt des Großdeutschen Reichs). When Hitler announced in March 1938 that he was personally adopting the city, it quickly became the ‘Adopted City of the Führer’.102 While the entire region of Upper Austria called itself the ‘Führer’s Home District’, individual Austrian towns highlighted their early support for Nazism. Graz was especially gratified when Hitler bestowed the honorary title ‘City of the People’s Uprising (Volkserhebung)’. It used this designation often in its own publicity. A Shell roadmap also referred to Graz as the ‘City of the People’s Uprising’, noting that the town had received this appellation from Hitler in recognition for its ‘self-sacrificing, tenacious perseverance in the fight for Greater Germany’.103 There was clearly blatant opportunism at work and not mere civic pride in these attempts to sell a town’s Nazi side. Hotel proprietors and tourism officials alike tried to profit from any relationship to the regime, however tenuous. Döllersheim, in Lower Austria, sought to call itself the ‘Hometown of the Führer’s Father’, something it was forbidden to do. A hotel in Lambach, the Gasthof zur Traube, applied for special permission to erect a plaque informing guests that Hitler had once lived there for a short time in 1897/98. The resort town of Bad Godesberg wanted to use the postmark ‘Favourite Stopover of the Reich Chancellor’ on its outgoing mail.104 Such requests reveal that the


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desire to highlight Nazi attractions, or merely a link to the Party or movement, regularly came from below. The Reich Tourism Association thus had no need to enforce the Nazification of tourism. At certain places, it occurred all by itself. Nazi tourist culture also flourished where specific ideological work could be done. The State Tourism Association of East Prussia highlighted the regime’s revanchist aspirations in all its literature, railing against the injustice of its post-Versailles borders. It included innumerable photographs of Hitler, now depicted as the region’s saviour, and prioritized attractions like the Reich Cenotaph at Tannenberg, a monument to Hindenburg’s victories along the Eastern Front during the the First War. KdF brochures about the region recounted similar themes.105 Perhaps surprisingly, the most sinister side of Nazi tourist culture was revealed at the seaside. North Sea resorts like Cuxhaven, Borkum and Zinnowitz had a long tradition of open anti-Semitism. Long before the Nazis came to power, their shops had sold postcards caricaturing Jewish guests and local bands played anti-Jewish songs, like the notorious ‘Borkum Song’, with vacationers eagerly joining in. But by late 1933, even Norderney, a resort that had once been popular with German and foreign Jews, used marketing slogans like ‘The North Sea Resort of Norderney is free of Jews’. Visitors could even purchase a postcard entitled ‘At one time and now’, which depicted a group of young, dark-haired, allegedly Jewish vacationers above and a group of tall, blond, bathing-suited ‘Aryans’ below.106

Conclusion After 1933, a very different kind of tourist experience was available in Germany. It was not, however, the result of any ‘subterfuge’ on the Nazis’ part.107 Its politicized features were never subtle or understated. The ideological message was explicit. Moreover, Nazi tourist culture was not simply imposed from above: state and municipal tourism organizations, local officials and guidebook publishers worked to create its contours even in the absence of detailed guidelines determining its appearance. Within this Nazi tourist culture, new sights became the highlights of visits to particular cities. Memorials to the Nazi ‘martyrs’ appeared at times among the traditional German memory sites on the tourist’s itinerary. Some brochures incorporated tourist information within a newly ideologized framework. Events and exhibits that repeated the Nazi message also drew visitors. At the same time, tourist literature demonized or fell silent about Germany’s

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democratic past. Maps and guidebooks foreshadowed the physical extinction of Jewish life in the nation. Nazi tourist culture was not simply the result of ‘a process of agglutination’, whereby Nazi symbols were added to the ‘pre-existing symbolic landscape’, while others were taken away.108 These additions and omissions represented more than merely superficial alterations to a previous tourist culture. They formed the basis of a new, distinct tourist culture. While these changes admittedly dealt mostly with the look of things, the introduction of new photographs in a brochure or revised content in a guidebook actually affected the very core of the tourist experience, for tourism is a practice based essentially on seeing. Nazi tourist culture demanded a new way of seeing specific German destinations, which distinguished it from both the tourist cultures of the past and the ‘normal’ tourist culture of the Third Reich. The degree to which tourists themselves actually internalized the National Socialist message propagated by such tourist literature unfortunately remains elusive. The issue of reception in tourism history has always been extremely problematic. Historical sources provide few real insights into how tourists conceived of their experiences in the past. Tourists were also, of course, highly individual beings, who read texts or viewed attractions in various ways. Not every visitor to the Reich Sport Field, the Gauforum or the Feldherrnhalle saw his or her visit within the politicized framework intended by Nazified tourist literature. The acknowledgement of variant readings merely confirms, however, that an ideologized reading in tune with this literature was undoubtedly among them. In fact, Nazi tourist culture appears to have been genuinely popular. The German public displayed a very real fascination with the Nazis’ new structures, their history of struggle and their mass spectacles. Nazi tourist culture thus became another venue in which Germans could learn more about, express approval of and perhaps even pay homage to the Hitler dictatorship. Choosing a particular tourist experience – be it a visit to the Reich Chancellery or participation in the Thuringian District Rally – represented a conscious choice to enter a public sphere in which the doctrine of Nazism was acclaimed, for tourists did have an alternative. Other, more numerous destinations were promoted in material where references to Nazi martyrs and the new Germany and even the ubiquitous swastika were the exception rather than the rule. Yet however limited in scope and place, Nazi tourist culture was not only a very real facet of the Third Reich, but also something unique in the twentieth century. It was based on an entirely new ideological


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foundation, which differentiated it from previous politicized tourist cultures. It appeared alongside innovative propaganda that touted the value of pleasure travel and was sustained by an unprecedented campaign of coordination and centralization. Given these conditions, it is not at all surprising that an overtly Nazified tourist culture emerged in the Third Reich, one that celebrated the NSDAP’s past and present and one in which ideological rhetoric held sway. The more complex question, however, asks why this Nazi tourist culture was dwarfed by an outwardly non-Nazified variant, whose practices, literature and attractions appeared largely continuous with those of previous decades. The following chapter addresses this question.

4 The Absent Swastika: ‘Normal’ Tourist Culture

The omnipresent swastika perfectly symbolized the voracious, intrusive nature of National Socialism. It was everywhere – on flags, banners, badges, uniforms, buildings, monuments, letterhead and stamps. For German tourists, however, the swastika, along with other key signs and signifiers of the Hitler dictatorship, was never so ubiquitous. Certainly, it took pride of place in the overtly politicized tourist culture characteristic of cities like Berlin and Munich. There, the swastika typified an explicit ideologization of the tourist landscape. Yet, elsewhere, the swastika was absent from many common tourist experiences. In the Third Reich, a seemingly normal tourist culture persisted, which lacked the distinguishing characteristics of its Nazified counterpart. It was based on traditional sightseeing attractions rather than newly constructed buildings or recently invented sites of Nazi martyrdom. Unlike Nazi tourist culture, which centred on historical rupture, it promoted a vision of timelessness by focusing on seamless, unbroken continuities with the past. The experiences it offered appeared to mirror those from an earlier time. Its language was also surprisingly apolitical: references to the Nazi movement’s leaders, anniversaries and ideological tenets were infrequent. Leisure travellers came into contact with this non-Nazified tourist culture at a number of points after 1933. First, they encountered it when they visited certain local sightseeing attractions such as the classical memory sites in Weimar. These seemed little affected by the Nazi present, even though Weimar’s overall marketing of itself as a tourist destination took place in increasingly politicized terms. Second, tourists experienced this ‘normal’ tourist culture when they shopped for souvenirs. Souvenirs were not transformed under Hitler in the way that some other tourist material was, although they remained an item 72

The Absent Swastika: ‘Normal’ Tourist Culture

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about which Nazi tourism authorities expressed profound, almost obsessive concern. Third, when visitors journeyed to areas like the Black Forest, they discovered a tourist culture apparently free from Nazi influence. They were able to take part in daytrips abroad, an activity frowned upon by the Nazi regime in theory, and the region’s tourist literature, which further codified visitors’ experiences, was surprisingly swastika-free. Continuity and absence were the hallmarks of this second but far more prevalent tourist culture in the Third Reich. It appeared continuous with its pre-1933 predecessors and generally lacked openly Nazified elements. Yet we must continually speak of a seemingly normal tourist culture, because in truth so much had changed. The Nazi regime had thoroughly coordinated Germany’s tourism organizations and enjoyed extensive control over German tourism publicity. What becomes clear, then, is that the regime actually permitted and even promoted certain touristic continuities and omissions. These were in tune with the Nazi dictatorship’s propaganda strategy as a whole, which involved the state’s own endorsement of a superficially state-free sphere, a theme to which the concluding section of this chapter returns. In sum, although it maintained the power to intervene, coerce and compel, the Nazi regime sanctioned much of what German tourists expected and wanted, for, ultimately, their desires rarely challenged its overall objectives. In places like Munich and Nuremberg, visitors anticipated, and presumably sometimes wanted, an overtly politicized reading of the city. Elsewhere, however, they sought what looked like an escape from the Nazi everyday.

The classical sites of memory in Weimar ‘Weimar’s future lies in the past,’ remarked the local statesman Theodor Gottfried Stichling in 1871.1 Although Weimar tourist literature began to turn equally to the city’s present and future after 1933, the past remained crucial to the local tourism industry. Brochures and guidebooks outlined the city’s ancient pre-history and alluded to the figures of the so-called ‘post-classical period’, including Franz Liszt and Friedrich Nietzsche.2 But generally, ‘the past’ signified the golden age of German Enlightenment personified by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe and Friedrich Schiller. The sights associated with them appeared on every tourist itinerary. It was said after the war that Hitler never visited the Goethe House in Weimar. However, like so many first-time visitors to the city, the future Führer had indeed toured the house during his first visit to Weimar in

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1925, accompanied by Hans Wahl, the director of the Goethe National Museum.3 Wahl’s subsequent refusal to acknowledge Hitler’s visit was part of a broader attempt to deny the complicity of Germany’s cultural elite in the Nazi regime’s remarkably successful exploitation and instrumentalization of the ‘myth of Weimar’.4 Today, Weimar’s City Museum openly confronts the city’s role in the abuse of that myth. The permanent display, ‘Poetische Weltprovinz’, includes a photograph of the Goethe and Schiller monument in front of the German National Theatre awash in swastika flags and banners. The text below reads: ‘The … bronze figures of Goethe and Schiller on the Theaterplatz were themselves transformed in the midst of a sea of standards into fellow National Socialist fighters.’ Most of the numerous works written about the Nazis’ misappropriation of the classical past offer similar readings of this transformation of Germany’s leading classical figures.5 Yet these studies have completely overlooked the interpretations on display for tourists at Germany’s heritage sites, the houses where the great poets once lived, worked, slept and died. Tourist attractions are likewise neglected within the extensive corpus of works written about the Nazi sense of the past more generally.6 We might expect that historic homes served as effective vehicles for the Nazis’ use and abuse of German history, and thus as further cornerstones of an explicitly Nazified tourist culture. Many historical museums and exhibits did indeed twist their interpretations of the past to suit the Nazi present. Weimar’s classical sites underwent no such alterations. Both their displays and their visitor guides largely mirrored those of the pre-Nazi past. In the following, we examine the Goethe and Schiller sites in greater detail, visits to which represented some of the ‘normal’, non-Nazified tourist experiences possible under Hitler. ‘Weimar is Goethe,’ Propaganda Minister Joseph Goebbels once declared.7 In the Third Reich, as he still is today, Goethe was indispensable to the city’s self-image and thus to its tourism publicity.8 The most important – and most popular – of the classical sites of memory in a city that called itself a Goetheopolis was undoubtedly the poet’s former house and the adjoining Goethe National Museum on the Frauenplan Square. The house, where Goethe died in 1832, contained hundreds of his personal possessions, ranging from innumerable works of art to souvenirs he brought back from his travels through Italy. The exhibit in the museum, in contrast, focused on the wider cultural, political, literary and scientific-academic context in which he played such an important role. In combination with the objects on display in the house, this exhibit was intended to present a ‘total picture’ of Goethe.9 After 1933, did Nazism intrude into this total picture?


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The public gained a different impression from reading descriptions of the Goethe sites published in newspapers and journals than it did from actually visiting the sites and perusing the guides they issued. The former frequently linked German classicism to Nazism and Goethe to Hitler. Much was made, for example, of an ancient Germanic dagger decorated with a swastika included within the display since 1925. Goethe, one writer therefore concluded, ‘must be associated with the swastika’, since ‘he himself possessed one’.10 The dagger even appeared in a 1938 brochure, Gauhauptstadt Weimar, published by the Thuringia State Tourism Association. Yet the visitor guides themselves made no mention of it, although it provided a perfect opportunity to link Goethe to Nazi ideology. More surprisingly, these guides omitted Hitler’s contribution to the extension to the Goethe National Museum, which opened on 28 August 1935. Hans Wahl had campaigned for years to have the museum expanded, but only the Führer’s direct intervention secured the necessary funds. Newspaper articles at the time and subsequent guidebooks to Weimar celebrated Hitler’s role as patron, but the museum guides themselves were silent about it.11 There is also little evidence to suggest that the exhibition text or the display itself were ever altered to accord with the spirit of National Socialism. The voluminous correspondence between Hans Wahl and various Nazi officials records no modifications along those lines. Although one English visitor remembered seeing a bust of Hitler among the items shown at the house, the sources do not confirm it.12 Postcards of the Albrecht Dürer House in Nuremberg regularly portrayed the structure festooned in swastika flags, but the postcards of the Goethe House presented a building seemingly untouched by the passage of time. All in all, the Goethe sites conveyed an image of Goethe and an interpretation of his life and work that was not overtly Nazified. The visitors who arrived by the thousands thus experienced the house and the museum just as visitors had done for decades. Some academics have characterized the Nazi regime’s stance towards Goethe as ‘somewhat neutral’ and ‘indifferent’.13 Admittedly, Goethe’s image was left relatively unscathed in comparison to other cultural figures, including Schiller. However, indifference is hardly the word to describe Goethe’s transformation by the Nazi propagandists, assisted by willing and respected cultural figures, into a pioneer of the Nazi movement.14 Why did a similar transformation not take place here? The first explanation likely concerns the number of international tourists who visited the site each year. Wahl and other Weimar officials must have realized that these guests would not have welcomed Goethe’s portrayal as a supporter of National Socialism. A second, more

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practical explanation has to do with the nature of the site itself, which prided itself on being a site of memory rather than one of instruction. The house provided very little explanatory text about the poet, as is still the case today. Furthermore, guided tours were not conducted through the house, a source of disappointment for many guests, who apparently felt it had been difficult to gain information during their visit.15 Some visitors were clearly frustrated by the lack of curatorial interpretation. However, the vast majority of tourists came to the Frauenplan not to learn more about Goethe, but to gaze upon the rooms where he once lived and which supposedly looked just as they had at that time, a fact no guidebook failed to mention. The Goethe House was essentially a shrine where relics were displayed. Nothing could be allowed to upset the sanctity of the rooms, not even the Nazi message so prominent elsewhere. There were other ways, of course, in which the house might have propagated a more Nazified Goethe image even without reams of explanatory text and guided tours. As was the case in the Schiller House, books that Goethe had once owned, of which the regime now disapproved, might have been removed from the bookshelves. The visitor guides represented another potential site for the Nazi appropriation of the Goethe myth. They seemed to offer a perfect venue for an ideologized interpretation, one that would connect Goethe to the Third Reich. However, these texts mostly provided information about the rooms and their objects rather than about Goethe himself. As such, they provided little opportunity for a distinctly Nazified reading. For example, the 1939 edition of the Short Guide through the Goethe House and Goethe National Museum devoted not a word to the poet’s importance, but delved directly into a tour of the house. It did offer some biographical clues – ‘[Goethe] often entertained visitors in the evening with wine and cold meals’ – but these comments tended to be more about his living habits and day-to-day existence than about his larger significance within German history; moreover, the nature of the objects themselves made it supremely difficult to portray Goethe as anything less than a cosmopolitan citizen of the world, although the Nazis had furiously protested this characterization during Weimar’s Goethe celebrations in 1932.16 Overall, then, the representation of Goethe at Weimar’s most important tourist attraction was continuous with that of an earlier time. Visiting his bedroom or study provided a ‘normal’ tourist experience in the Third Reich, one that the Nazi regime made no effort, at least as far as current research reveals, to transform. But what of Friedrich Schiller, a cultural figure whom the Nazis embraced even more closely?


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The Schiller House was another top sightseeing attraction in Weimar. The poet bought the house in 1802 and died there in 1805. Historians generally agree that the figure and works of Schiller were more easily misused by the Nazis; in fact, they have sometimes suggested that he stood at the heart of National Socialist cultural politics.17 Joseph Goebbels’ commemorative address, given in Weimar in 1934 in honour of Schiller’s 175th birthday, is often quoted in corroboration: ‘Had Schiller lived at this time, he would undoubtedly have become the great poetic pioneer of our revolution. … He was one of us, blood from our blood and flesh from our flesh.’18 Was Goebbels’ depiction in tune with the one on display at the Schiller House in Weimar? As at the Goethe house, no guided tours through the Schiller House were permitted and a detailed booklet provided information about its features instead of explanatory wall text. Here too the emphasis was on a visit to rooms that looked as if Schiller had just left them, the holiness of which was not to be disturbed. When Hitler visited the house during one of his many stays in Weimar, he was said to have marvelled at the narrowness and simplicity of Schiller’s rooms. Newspaper articles and guides to the house emphasized the theme of austerity as well, particularly in contrast to the relative opulence of the Goethe House, something that might suggest which poet was favoured after 1933. However, the narrowness and simplicity of Goethe’s study was also a recurrent theme and the contrast between the two homes pre-dated the Third Reich, making it unlikely that these motifs represented a real manipulation of Schiller’s image.19 It thus appears that the Schiller House, like the Goethe House, was largely immune to the Nazis’ instrumentalization of the classical past, which took place in other media. Even the souvenirs on offer – miniature statues of Goethe and framed Schiller quotations – enhanced the normality of a visit to Weimar’s sites of classical memory.

Souvenirs and the Nazi struggle against kitsch The travel souvenir has the power not only to recall an individual’s experience as a tourist, but also to evoke an image of a particular destination, be it a town, region or country. For many tourists in the Third Reich, the purchase of souvenirs was an essential component of their leisure travel experiences. For top-level tourism authorities, souvenirs became an issue of great importance as well. ‘Souvenirs (Reiseandenken) are in no way a meaningless matter for each one who takes the promotion of tourism seriously,’ Der Fremdenverkehr explained. ‘It is a sign of sound sense if the travel guest wants to take a memento from the

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area, which has offered him relaxation and happy experiences, into the everyday environment.’20 Today the stars and stripes, the maple leaf and the Union Jack decorate innumerable souvenirs. In contrast, souvenirs under the swastika only very rarely displayed that national symbol. In fact, travel mementoes were specifically prohibited from undergoing the Nazification process we have seen elsewhere, through which the swastika and other Nazi emblems took centre stage. The Nazis wanted to modify and ultimately regulate the kinds of souvenirs on sale for tourists in Germany, but, ironically, these efforts ensured that buying a souvenir in the Third Reich remained an essentially normal practice. In turn, souvenirs became important elements of a tourist culture under Hitler that appeared historically continuous, apolitical and un-Nazified. The 1933 Law for the Protection of National Symbols had put a stop to the veritable flood of mementoes issued in celebration of – or rather, in commodification of – the Nazi assumption of power: swastikacovered ties, ashtrays, cufflinks and placemats, SA dolls with their arms raised in the Nazi salute and playing cards featuring depictions of Hitler and Goering.21 Although these items had not been issued as travel souvenirs per se, we can imagine similar localized examples of Nazi kitsch on offer for German and foreign tourists. Fearing its enervating effect on the official cult of the Führer and the NSDAP, the regime moved to restrict the commercialization of its most potent emblems. Trinkets engraved with Nazi symbols or mementoes bearing images of Party leaders were rarely permitted.22 But the problem of kitsch and tacky travel keepsakes had not yet been overcome. At times it seemed that the primary concern of Nazi Germany’s top tourism authorities, repeated ad nauseam in the pages of Der Fremdenverkehr, was the eradication of kitschy souvenirs.23 The Reich Committee for Tourism and the Reich Tourism Association were apparently incensed by how many vulgar, trashy mementoes were available for purchase throughout Germany. Hermann Esser acknowledged that the tasteless souvenir appeared in countless forms, which made a legal prohibition of kitsch nearly impossible. However, the state tourism associations and the tourism communities were meant to abide by and enforce the guidelines he set out in a decree on 12 June 1936.24 These did not list strict criteria for defining ‘kitschiness’. Rather they described the worst offenders: cheap, mass-produced items, using synthetic materials, which in some way gave an inauthentic picture of a certain town, region or state. In contrast, a proper souvenir was characterized as a genuine handicraft, created by real local craftsmen using


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natural materials, which displayed a strong connection to the area in which it was made. Examples of the latter included lace from the Erzgebirge, Black Forest cuckoo clocks, silver filigree from Friesland and Bavarian dirndls. Unlike the attractions and literature of Nazi tourist culture, which promoted a break with the past, the souvenirs advocated by the regime were meant to exemplify regional historical continuities. However, the familiar motif of old and new was not missing entirely. Der Fremdenverkehr regularly contrasted the attitude of tourism officials in the Weimar Republic towards souvenirs with that of the leading figures of German tourism after 1933. The former, it insinuated, had done nothing to staunch the epidemic of garishly painted, childishly sentimental, gaudy, commercially produced objects parading as authentic souvenirs, but the latter, led by Esser, worked towards a cure. It was not enough for tourism authorities to list the characteristics of an appropriate souvenir: tourism officials and promoters had to be shown what was acceptable and desirable. One of the most popular methods employed to do so involved the staging of souvenir exhibits. Many of these displayed examples of both ‘good’ and ‘bad’ travel mementoes. Just as true German art was juxtaposed with degenerate art in Munich in 1937, the tasteful souvenir was contrasted with the tacky.25 Yet despite these efforts, and much to the dismay of Esser, souvenir kitsch was still to be found throughout Germany. He vowed to fight on, with the newly pledged support of the Chamber of the Visual Arts behind him. In 1936, the Chamber’s president issued a reminder that the creation and sale of souvenirs and other ‘little travel presents’ was an activity about which he was to be kept informed. All businesses involved in such activities now had to report to the appropriate Chamber representative if they had not already done so. In a further step towards the regulation of souvenirs in Nazi Germany, the Chamber established a Committee for Souvenirs in 1938, which was charged with leading the battle against kitsch.26 Later propaganda declared that tacky mementoes – like a cow-shaped porcelain jug bearing the inscription ‘Greetings from Posemuckel’ – belonged entirely to the past.27 However, it seems the battle had not yet been won. Tourism authorities were still fighting the war on tawdry souvenirs even after the Second World War had begun. In increasingly hysterical terms, kitschy souvenirs were now described as ‘spiritual cocaine for the Volk’s soul’, something at once ‘international’ and ‘characterless’.28 The war on kitsch was not only waged from above. Local tourism promoters also took up the fight. In Säckingen, the mayor vowed to

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cleanse his town of the Trumpeter, the leading figure in a poem composed by the town’s most famous native son, Viktor von Scheffel, whose visage adorned every brochure and souvenir. ‘The whole city’, the mayor raged, is ‘trumpeter-ified (vertompert)’.29 Unfortunately, it is extremely difficult to measure what impact he or the Nazi regime had within the realm of Reiseandenken. First, the academic interest in souvenirs as useful historical artefacts is new. Analysts of contemporary tourism have paid little attention to souvenirs in the past and, with the exception of old postcards, historians have largely ignored them.30 Even locating these objects is hard: few archives and museums have systematically collected and catalogued souvenirs from the past, particularly the kind of cheap, mass-manufactured variety so detested by the Nazis. Second, since the National Symbols Law of 1933 outlawed the commercial use of Nazi emblems, dating such items, even if they were preserved, would be tricky. We do not know, therefore, if more tourists bought cuckoo clocks under Hitler or if some souvenir factories went out of business because the demand for their cow-shaped jugs was down. Yet we must still attempt to address several important questions. Did the regime ultimately find it impossible to prevent the creation and sale of such souvenirs? Or did it bend to what was popular with consumers, stopping short of an actual ban? In other words, why were souvenirs so conspicuously ‘normal’ in the Third Reich, be they of the tacky or the tasteful variety? Mechanisms that facilitated the inspection of German travel mementoes were certainly in place. By 1939, tourism communities had to submit all official souvenirs for approval by their state tourism association and souvenir producers had been bound by the guidelines of the Chamber of Visual Arts for several years. Nevertheless, practical difficulties certainly hindered the regime’s ability to monitor and approve each souvenir sold in every shop and market stall. Although the Nazis openly condemned the Volk’s penchant for tacky souvenirs, the steady stream of articles devoted to the subject attests to their continued popularity. On the surface, then, the regime failed to gain total control over German souvenirs: tasteless souvenirs still appeared and the Volk’s fondness for them was not stamped out. Yet perhaps we should interpret this absence of a transformation in German souvenirs in another way. Although it was the absolute authority in German tourism, the regime regularly tolerated – and even ensured – continuities in a variety of touristic practices, so that tourist experiences, particularly those of the middle classes, were not disturbed. The Nazis aimed to elevate the Volk’s taste through anti-kitsch propaganda, which they hoped would precipitate a voluntary refusal to buy these items. Recognizing


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how popular the trashy souvenir was, however, they may have been reluctant to prohibit it completely. After all, the Trumpeter continued to attract visitors to Säckingen. And while Nazi propaganda depicted kitschy souvenirs as a national threat, their continued sale did not actually undermine the regime’s goals, either within the touristic sector or in broader political terms. As a result, the purchase of souvenirs carried on largely as before, a practice which in turn ensured the continued existence of a seemingly normal tourist culture under Hitler. But nowhere did tourism under the Nazis appear more normal than in the Black Forest.

Crossing borders in the Black Forest: excursions abroad carry on The Black Forest’s bucolic farmhouses, natural landscapes and peasants in traditional dress represented completely different kinds of attractions to those on offer in the Goethestadt, the Reichshauptstadt or the ‘Capital of the Movement’. Tourist brochures described the region as romantic, idyllic, marvellous and magical. Visitors were drawn by the cultural attractions of Weimar and the political ones in places like Nuremberg, but in the Black Forest, they came to experience Germany’s countryside. If Weimar’s charms were largely historic and Berlin’s appeal was in some way futuristic, here picturesque villages and landscapes looked ancient, almost timeless.31 One young Berliner recalled his first trip to the area: ‘I was somewhat intoxicated and amazed that there was something like that: so much beauty, so much colour, light, so much magnificence on the earth.’32 To tourists, then, the Black Forest often appeared free, or at least remote, from the Nazi present. While there were many other German vacation destinations of which the same could be said – among them, the Thuringian Forest, the Harz Mountains, the Lüneburg Heath, or the Allgäu in the Bavarian Alps – this chapter examines the Black Forest as a quintessential site of the absent swastika and locus of a seemingly normal culture of tourism. The Gleichschaltung process had dramatically affected the region’s tourism organizations. In this regard, 1933 marked a genuine turning point. Yet, as we investigate the contours of Black Forest tourism, again and again we find evidence of apparent continuity, including the carrying out of excursions across the borders and tourist literature that bore few traces of the overt politicization noted elsewhere. The following sections seek to explain these continuities, which persisted despite the very real ruptures in German tourism that accompanied the Nazi power takeover.

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In Nazi Germany, the crossing of international borders had become a contested issue. Travel abroad, while still permitted, was not only frowned upon, it had also become much more difficult due to increased visa and currency regulations (see Chapter 6). Black Forest officials certainly wanted Germans to choose their own country over foreign destinations. However, the key to attracting those German visitors – and international guests as well – lay in the region’s ability to offer excursions to nearby Switzerland and Alsace, France. Few other German locations so habitually marketed short daytrips to other countries as part and parcel of their own attractions. In the Black Forest, the desire to continue these excursions after 1933 threatened to bring the region’s tourism professionals into direct conflict with the Nazi regime. Ultimately, the regime was keen to avoid the kind of disruption to commercial tourism that a prohibition on excursions across the border would cause. The regime therefore allowed these trips to continue, although it continued to decry them and, more importantly, was always in a position to forbid them. The Nazis’ call to limit or even eliminate these bus and car trips altogether sometimes found favour with local tourism officials. For example, Dr Graff, later the spa director in Badenweiler and the Reich Tourism Association’s spa expert, had long criticized Freiburg’s Baden Travel Agency (later the Black Forest Travel Agency) for arranging so many mountain trips (Höhenfahrten) to Switzerland and the Alsatian Vosges rather than within the Black Forest.33 The critiques increased after the Nazis’ takeover of power. In May 1933, Freiburg’s Lord Mayor also condemned the travel agency’s arrangement of automobile trips to Alsace. Such trips, he wrote, were ‘regrettable when viewed from the Fatherland perspective’; the agency would serve Germans better, he believed, by arranging automobile excursions within the Black Forest instead of carrying money abroad.34 The Freiburg Tourism Office defended the travel agency. It stressed how much these trips abroad had ‘continually pleased … Freiburg guests’. Moreover, it continued, offering tourists coming here the opportunity of a nice automobile trip into nearby beautiful Switzerland and the interesting French fields of battle can scarcely be avoided. It remains to be considered, whether it suits the character of a tourist city like Freiburg, if tourists were no longer to be offered those kinds of charming automobile trips in the future.35 Identical justifications can be found in many archival files, not only for Freiburg but for other towns in the Black Forest as well.


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Why could such excursions scarcely be avoided? Why did Freiburg feel it suited its character to offer such trips? There are three closely related explanations. First, quite simply, local tourism officials recognized how very popular these destinations were. That is, there was money to be made in arranging these excursions. When Freiburg’s tourism director, Albert Denzlinger, visited Berlin, travel agents there confirmed his suspicion that daytrips to Switzerland and the Vosges represented a distinct draw for the region.36 Secondly, these tours represented a way to compete with the region’s greatest rivals, Bavaria and, after travel restrictions were eased in 1936, Austria. The Black Forest could not lay claim to the Alps, but it could at least offer excursions to them. Additionally, since they were only daytrips, the tourists’ Reichsmarks stayed largely within the Reich. Far better, so the argument went, to bring guests to Switzerland or Alsace for the day than to have them stay there overnight. The third and final explanation involved a genuine belief that these areas belonged together and should be marketed as such. Tourism regions do not always correspond to political boundaries. International borders were never as fluid as in the tourism advertising Germany’s Black Forest. For Offenburg, the Vosges and Strasburg were part of the package the city had to offer potential visitors, while Freiburg celebrated its position in the ‘three country corner’. Even in 1941, a map within a brochure for the resort town of Säckingen omitted the border between Germany and Switzerland, emphasizing the proximity of the latter to the former. Externally as well, south-western Germany and Switzerland were regularly marketed as comprising a single region.37 Admittedly, there were some differences in the way Black Forest towns positioned themselves within tourist material before and after the Nazi takeover. For example, in one 1928 guide to the region, the proximity to Switzerland, Strasburg and the Vosges is noted first and foremost, but later guides left this information out.38 Generally speaking, however, the attractions of Alsace and Switzerland still found their place in Third Reich tourist literature. Most justifications for the excursions abroad stressed potential profit, the competitive factor or the interconnectedness of the region. However, some Black Forest tourism professionals also exploited the Nazis’ own nationalistic rhetoric in their defence. The director of Freiburg’s municipal travel agency wrote: Travel with the train or by car to Switzerland and the Vosges has a not to be underestimated moral value, through which our neighbouring countries become informed by word of mouth about the

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actual situation in Germany; it therefore has a reconciliatory quality for the Volk.39 Like the Bodensee Tourism Society, which utilized the notion of invalid borders and a single German culture to justify its continued existence, officials here invoked arguments that highlighted the political value of these trips. Cross-border excursions remained a contested issue in the Third Reich, but this did not prevent the marketing and organization of all kinds of trips abroad, especially to Switzerland.40 Many areas that had not yet experienced the upswing in tourism numbers trumpeted by the Nazi regime saw that by promoting themselves as middlemen (Vermittler) – the arrangers of daytrips abroad – they might combat their own economic misery; some tourism officials openly criticized the regime’s foreign travel regulations, the relaxation of which, they felt, would lead to increased traffic in their own towns and resorts.41 The regime had obvious pragmatic and ideological reasons for not wanting these excursions to take place, especially for domestic tourists. Trips abroad carried money out of the country and they indicated a worrying preference for the foreign over the German. Nazi officials were also concerned about the effects of direct contact with non-fascist countries. On the one hand, they wanted to limit Germans’ experiences of the personal freedom permitted elsewhere. On the other, they did not want to risk the verbal abuse that had been directed at some Germans abroad.42 Black Forest tourism officials did, therefore, come into conflict with the regime over these foreign trips. They had to justify them more often and it does appear that they began to pay greater attention to German destinations. In the end, however, the arrangement and promotion of excursions abroad carried on as normal. The trips to neighbouring countries were a popular, crucial feature of the region’s tourist culture, just as they had been in the 1920s. What, then, can we conclude from the continuation of activities that contradicted the Nazis’ stated ideological and economic goals? At first, it appears to give some credence to the argument that the Nazi regime changed little in the general patterns of leisure travel between 1933 and 1945. Yet this explanation ignores the degree to which the regime might have intervened more extensively had it so desired. In other cases of conflict between Reich and region, the Nazi government swiftly resolved the situation in its own favour. Furthermore, while the regime had introduced a law to ensure that travel agents sent more travellers on group tours within the Reich, it


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only stipulated a minimum percentage of 51 per cent, although it could have enforced a higher one. This suggests that the regime had what it wanted for the most part. Daytrips abroad, while perhaps theoretically ‘regrettable’, did not actually subvert the Nazis’ long-term ambitions. In fact, they helped them along by tightening the mask of everyday normality so critical to the regime’s continued popular legitimacy. Given that it was not a threat in this context, the regime recognized customer demand; it acknowledged public desires and, as will be discussed in greater detail below, it aimed for consumer satisfaction. And, even in the new Germany, visitors to the Black Forest wanted to daytrip in Switzerland and Alsace.

‘Normal’ tourist literature: the case of the Black Forest The Reich Tourism Association’s guidelines for tourist literature neither specified the addition of new attractions to the sightseeing canon nor called for the insertion of an ideologized discourse. In fact, they rarely dictated or even recommended the inclusion of any Nazi-oriented material, offering instead somewhat vague directives about the need to exemplify the National Socialist spirit. In places like Berlin, Weimar, Munich and Nuremberg, this had resulted in tourist material that proudly proclaimed its ideological orientation. Elsewhere, when the Nazification of tourist literature did not occur naturally (that is, voluntarily and spontaneously), the regime did not enforce an explicitly politicized reframing of the tourist experience. As a result, when visitors journeyed to certain destinations – from resorts in the Harz Mountains to spa towns in the Bavarian Alps – they encountered brochures and guidebooks in which swastikas were few and far between.43 Touristic material for the Black Forest bore an especially strong resemblance to the material of the 1920s. There are, of course, some obvious clues the historian can use to distinguish between them: the photographs of the local town hall flying a Nazi flag, for example, or the presence of Adolf-Hitler-Straße on the map. The argument is not, of course, that swastikas were missing from Black Forest tourist literature entirely. Brochures, guides and advertisements naturally included images of buildings, swimming pools or special events in which Nazi symbols were present.44 Yet even these scenes, essentially everyday images in the Third Reich, were infrequent when compared to material about Berlin or Nuremberg. In the Schwarzwald, the visual images tended instead towards depictions of natural beauty devoid of human influence or of peasants in traditional costume. In any case,

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touristic Nazification – here defined as the process by which tourist material or tourist experiences were imbued with National Socialist values and meaning – involved more than depictions of everyday scenes. It required a broader referential framework and a more explicit incorporation into a larger political agenda. Context was crucial. One of the most obvious ways in which tourist material was Nazified was through direct references to National Socialism in the text. A guide to Thuringia, for example, opened with a quote from Adolf Hitler, while Berlin’s brochures often charted the city’s history from the Nazis’ assumption of power. In the Black Forest, in contrast, few brochures and guidebooks made such references and most historical chronologies of either individual towns or the region as a whole ended long before 1933.45 There were admittedly some exceptions to the general rule that overtly ideologized tourist literature was not characteristic of the Black Forest. For example, the 1937 Heimat Guide to Baden listed the locations of the state’s ‘memorial sites of the National Socialist uprising’; a brochure issued by the Karlsruhe Tourism Society, Easter 1934 in Karlsruhe, proudly referred to the fact that, under the new regime, ‘the state, the communities and the police are [now] purified of enemies of the state’.46 Perhaps the most significant exception was the literature of the Black Forest Society (Schwarzwaldverein), a self-described ‘Fatherland-ish and nationalist’ hiking club with local chapters throughout the region, which found it extraordinarily easy after 1933 to accommodate itself to the new goal of national renewal. The phrase ‘Mit Waldheil und heil Hitler’, with which the society’s annual reports often signed off, nicely summed up the result of a process of enthusiastic self-coordination.47 Nazi ideology was ever-present in both the society’s chosen activities and the written descriptions of them. For example, at Whitsuntide, the society organized hikes to Schönau, the birthplace of Leo Schlageter. Schlageter had been shot in 1923 by French occupation authorities in the Ruhr. Already a nationalist hero, Schlageter soon took his place among the pantheon of Nazi martyrs. By including pilgrimages to his hometown within the annual calendar of events, the Black Forest Society contributed to the creation of a Nazi politics of public memory. Moreover, like the NSDAP itself, the Black Forest Society claimed that it fought against the spirit of class and happily repeated Nazi slogans such as ‘public good before private profit’. Additionally, the monthly journals were filled with endless photographs of members’ processions through swastika-bedecked streets, which reinforced the Nazi message.48 Significantly, it arranged


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no hiking trips across the borders. The Black Forest Society therefore promoted a Nazified form of tourist activity, one imbued with National Socialist ideology. But, interestingly, member numbers dropped between 1934 and 1938. And while it could be argued that its activities had greater resonance beyond the membership circle, since the society often arranged the hikes that local tourism officials so ardently marketed, the Black Forest Society was not emblematic of Black Forest tourism as a whole in the Third Reich. Its ideologized publications and activities stood out because they were indeed so uncommon. How should we explain the absence of Nazified tourist literature in this region? Clearly, it was not the result of any lack of interest in Black Forest tourism on the part of the Nazi regime. The Nazis saw tourism everywhere in Germany and later, in the countries they occupied, as a matter of great economic, cultural and political significance: the Black Forest was no exception. Furthermore, this absence did not stem from the dictatorship’s inability to enforce certain touristic norms on the region. The Black Forest’s tourism organizations were thoroughly coordinated and their literature had to be inspected and approved. Here, as elsewhere, the Nazi regime acted swiftly when it felt specific directives had been contravened. Simply put, the mechanisms were in place for the Nazi regime to do with Black Forest tourism – its organization, its promotion, its personnel and its literature – what it wished. It was not too weak to impose more overt forms of Nazification. Finally, the missing swastika in Black Forest tourist literature did not indicate a lack of Nazi sentiment. The region was hardly a hotbed of resistance to Hitler, although its many Catholic communities may not have been among his staunchest supporters. Since official guidelines rarely dictated ideologized content or images, the vast majority of local tourism officials and promoters were not standing up to, or voicing their disapproval of, the regime when they failed to include references to the Nazi movement beyond the obligatory Hitler Street on the map. There were, however, a number of practical reasons for the lack of Nazi symbols and politicized text in Black Forest tourist literature. First, there was a lag in tourism publishing between the preparation of a brochure or guidebook and its first appearance. Such preparations took time, sometimes even years. Much of the tourist literature used here in the early years of the Third Reich actually pre-dated the Nazi assumption of power. In Berlin, in contrast, material was updated far more quickly, which ensured that Nazi tourist culture took hold in the capital at a relatively early stage. Second, publishing brochures and guidebooks was very expensive. Tourism societies with much smaller budg-

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ets than those of bigger cities like Munich and Nuremberg could not afford to issue new publications on a regular basis and therefore continued to use older editions until their stock ran out. Additionally, even when they did publish a new edition, many towns found it much easier and cheaper to use the same texts and the same photographic material as previous versions. So long as these did not represent people or events connected to the Marxist-liberalist past, this presented few problems. Yet, while we should not disregard these practical considerations, they alone do not account for the de-politicized appearance of most Black Forest tourist literature. The following represents an attempt to explain the phenomenon of the absent swastika in Black Forest tourist literature and the continuities in the region’s tourist culture. Its conclusions also apply to other regions where Nazi symbols and rhetoric were largely absent from tourist material.

Costumes, customs and consumer demand At the most basic level, the Black Forest lacked touristic elements that were easily incorporated within the Nazi worldview. It lacked Nazi martyrs (apart from Leo Schlageter), it lacked sites associated with key Nazi events and it lacked massive building projects. While the absence of an obvious link to Nazi ideology did not always stop the regime from finding, inventing or applying one, the ideologization process was greatly facilitated by more effortless connections to Nazi values. Additionally, there was a much less pressing need for Black Forest tourist literature to be ‘reclaimed’ after 1933, because the Weimar Republic had left far fewer traces there than it had in places like Berlin or Weimar. Few towns in the Black Forest had such clear links to Germany’s first democracy; as a result, the tourism publicity of the 1920s made few explicit references to it. Moreover, Black Forest material had always stressed historical continuity and remoteness from the political present, which further explains the lack of touristic ideologization in tune with democratic values after the First World War. Apart from photographs bearing Republican flags or maps with renamed streets, there was relatively little that tourism officials had to eliminate or replace with allusions to Nazism once Hitler was in power. The Black Forest also offered an entirely different kind of tourist experience than did Berlin or Weimar. It promoted different kinds of attractions and defined different sights as ‘worthy of seeing’. Rather than visit the Reich Chancellery, tourists attended a peasant wedding in Neustadt or went skiing on the Feldberg. Instead of touring Goethe’s


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house or the Gauforum, visitors rented boats on Lake Titisee or observed craftsmen making authentic cuckoo clocks.49 The Black Forest’s timeless, rural landscapes and its inhabitants’ traditional lifestyle seemed to offer an escape from the present. Local tourism officials recognized what tourists were after and therefore promoted the region’s ancient customs, buildings and dress alongside its natural attractions in countless brochures, guides, advertisements and postcards. The presence of swastikas or ideological discourse would thus in many ways have been entirely out of place; it would have disturbed the Black Forest’s tourist aesthetic and, more crucially, endangered commercial success. It could be argued, of course, that allusions to the German landscape and German peasants’ ancient way of life potentially lent themselves to Nazism’s myth of ‘blood and soil’. Certainly some guidebook text and brochure imagery could be read in this light. Old folk customs, a Baedeker guide noted, were ‘an expression of a healthy peasant pride and feeling of Heimat’; the locals, noted another brochure, were ‘as rooted as their houses to the earth and to a past hundreds of years old’.50 One cannot discount the possibility that tourism officials and tourists alike might have linked these images and phrases to the Nazis’ glorification of peasant customs, life and traditions. However, it is wrong to regard them as inevitably emblematic of Nazi myth. Rather, there were pragmatic reasons for the endless depictions of women in traditional costume that adorned so much of the Black Forest’s tourist literature.51 Leisure travellers have long been attracted by potential encounters with purportedly bona fide natives. Black Forest officials were simply exploiting that desire when they promoted the opportunity to see residents in their natural habitat. The ubiquitous presence of costumed locals also aimed at differentiating Baden, Württemberg and the Black Forest from other German destinations: they were something special and therefore worth seeing (see Figures 4.1. and 4.2). While they certainly accorded with Nazi ideals after 1933, the promotion of Germany’s authentic Volk traditions in tourist literature under Hitler was thus by no means unique. The overarching framework stressing rootedness, community and historical continuity pre-dated the Nazi regime. Echoing brochure phraseology of the time, English and American visitors to the Black Forest in the 1920s admired the ‘charm and simplicity of the folk life’, their ‘quaint costumes and rustic amusements’, and their ‘unique and picturesque dwelling[s]’.52 The evocation of authentic local traditions succeeded the Nazi regime as well. Today the costumes, houses and festivals of the Black Forest, along with its

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‘rugged and romantic’ landscape, still draw tourists, who, according to one souvenir picture book, desire an ‘escape … from modern life’.53 In Berlin, Weimar, Nuremberg and Munich, where buildings associated with the new regime appeared, where sites of struggle and martyrdom were numerous and where traces of the Republican past needed to be demonized or totally obliterated, the Nazification of tourist culture seemed almost inevitable. In contrast, destinations like the Black Forest offered less fertile ground for Nazi tourist culture to take root. Yet these admittedly significant distinctions do little to explain the seemingly paradoxical nature of tourism publicity and practices in the Third Reich. Tourism as a whole was to serve the Nazis’ ideological aims, but guidelines and directives for tourist literature did not uniformly enforce the addition of Nazi-centric images and text. Weimar’s sites of memory presented images of Goethe and Schiller out of step with the Nazis’ misuse of the nation’s classical past. Tourists continued to buy the kitschy mementoes that the regime so abhorred. Excursions abroad continued, even though the regime opposed them in theory. On each of these occasions, tourists enjoyed experiences that not only contravened officially proclaimed aspirations, but also displayed much continuity with the hated Weimar Republic. Given the great degree of control the Nazi regime enjoyed over all facets of tourist culture in Germany, how are we to explain its striking normality at certain times and in specific locations? One historian has suggested that, with regard to travel guidebooks and many tourist practices, ‘Nazism’s totalitarian impulse may have come up against a certain immutability’.54 A number of German leisure travel conventions, which preceded the Nazi assumption of power, clearly endured under Hitler. There was indeed a great deal of continuity. The tourist experiences described in this chapter often seemed identical to those of the previous decade. Yet the persistence of an apparently ‘normal’ tourist culture in the Third Reich did not denote some kind of touristic triumph over Nazism and its totalizing ambitions. The Nazis not only tolerated a non-Nazified German tourist culture, they also actively promoted it. This conscious cultivation of continuity – the absence of the swastika in short – was in tune with the Nazis’ propaganda strategy generally. Goebbels’ campaign to mobilize the German nation depended in part on maintaining and marketing spheres of everyday life, which appeared free from ideological intervention or manipulation. While the spectacular side of National Socialism – its mass festivals, its grandiose buildings, its cult of memory – was designed to fascinate and impress the Volk, thereby ensuring a more


Figure 4.1

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Figure 4.2


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positive commitment to National Socialism, these seemingly apolitical spaces aimed at neutralizing opposition and securing passive acceptance of the status quo. It was this combination – overt celebrations of Nazism alongside deceptively state-free spheres – that proved most lethally effective for sustaining Hitler’s regime. In March 1933, in a speech to the controllers of German radio, Goebbels outlined the first principle of radio broadcasting in the new Germany: ‘At all costs avoid being boring. I put that before everything. … So do not think that you have the task of … indulging in patriotism, of blasting out military music and declaiming patriotic verse – no, that is not what this new orientation is all about.’55 Years later, in a 1937 speech, the Propaganda Minister conveyed a similar message when he described his vision of the ‘truly’ National Socialist film: ‘I do not wish the kind of art which proves its National Socialist character merely through a parade of National Socialist emblems and symbols.’56 Many of Goebbels’ speeches throughout the Third Reich addressed similar themes. ‘We do not want to suppress the creation of a daily ration of small amusements, designed to combat the boredom and troubles of daily life,’ he noted. ‘We do not want to concentrate attention the whole time on political attitudes’; ‘one cannot always beat the drum’, he further explained, ‘because if one does so, the public gradually becomes accustomed to the sound and no longer hears it. The drum must be kept in reserve … . If we always want to shout and make a noise, then the public will gradually become used to this sound.’57 The public, he felt, would be much more open to the Nazi message if not numbed by a parade of Nazi emblems or deafened by endless ideological proclamations. Given Goebbels’ vision of what constituted effective propaganda, it was only logical that official directives for tourism publicity did not dictate the addition of Nazi-oriented content. The Propaganda Minister’s obsession with film is well known and historians have devoted considerable attention to its function in the Hitler state. But few have applied their conclusions about Nazi cinema to studies of other cultural spheres. A comparative approach yields valuable results in the context of tourism and tourist literature, particularly with regard to the so-called ‘entertainment films’ (Unterhaltungsfilme). Such films, note their scholars, ‘appeared to have little in common with political priorities’ and lacked ‘the reality of everyday life in the NS state’.58 Yet these superficially apolitical films in no way subverted, and may actually have upheld, the existing social, economic and ideological order. Entertainment films had an important political function: maintaining a façade of normality, fulfilling the Volk’s desire for

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stability, and reassuring Germans that ‘the more things change[d] the more they remain[ed] the same’.59 While historians of Nazi cinema tend to take the actual films as their primary object of investigation, most of their analyses do not neglect the context – institutional, structural, political and ideological – in which they were made. ‘What was political about the products of the Nazi dream factory’, writes one film historian, ‘… must be seen not simply in internal textual characteristics’, but also in the ‘external systems of signification’.60 In contrast, histories of tourism in Germany often examine only the touristic end-products, such as guidebooks, without paying adequate attention to, or even acknowledging, the context of their production. When we do consider that context, the continuities in tourist culture take on new meaning. Tourism was clearly not among the ‘niches, free spaces[s] and private preserves’ in which the Nazis’ influence was minimal.61 This assessment of the limits of Nazi power might hold true elsewhere, but under Hitler, the seemingly normal tourist brochure or guidebook, apparently untouched by National Socialism, was an illusion. It may have appeared continuous with its predecessors from the 1920s and beyond, but the context in which it emerged had been totally transformed, both ideologically and structurally. Crucially, this illusion of normality was cultivated by the regime itself. It was indeed a ‘managed normality’.62 Historians now recognize that the Nazis were, despite their unquestioned authority and their willingness to resort to terror and coercion, quite sensitive to public opinion and consumer demand; they were also adept at bending to it. Sometimes their acquiescence represented a tactical manoeuvre, designed to curtail dissent in the short term in order to achieve eventual success. However, the regime was relatively free to respond to the travelling public’s desires and did so regularly, because those desires easily co-existed with, and did not threaten, its overall ideological goals. So long as it had certain controls in place, the contours of the existing touristic consumer culture were largely acceptable to the Hitler state. The continued existence of a tourist culture in which overtly ideological rhetoric, Nazi symbols and other politicized changes to tourist praxis were largely absent must be seen in this context. As we shall see, the steering of KdF holidaymakers away from established resorts, the continued entreaties to foreign guests and the regime’s reluctance to ban pleasure travel after the outbreak of war represented further points at which the Nazis bowed to the demands of touristconsumers. Clearly, the customer was not always right in the Third Reich, but until the outbreak of war, the regime could not simply dis-


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count his or her preferences, which were, after all, still articulated within the larger political context of Nazi hegemony. The notion of a dictatorship being preoccupied with pleasing its ‘customers’ might appear somewhat incongruous, but the Nazi regime did appreciate the importance of consumer satisfaction.63 And for many tourists, satisfaction came with the consumption of superficially normal travel experiences.

Anti-Semitism, tourism and the concept of ‘normality’ It is impossible, of course, to speak of a truly normal, historically continuous tourist culture under Hitler. For German Jews, tourism in the Third Reich bore little resemblance to the Weimar years. First, it became increasingly difficult for them to travel at all. They not only suffered increasing financial hardship as a result of economic discrimination, they also faced restricted access to public transportation. One NSDAP district leader was thus able to boast in 1936 that the resort town of Hinterzarten in the southern Black Forest ‘was – thank God – hardly visited by any Jews anymore’.64 Second, even if German Jews did travel in Nazi Germany, they were continually made aware that they were unwanted. Anti-Semitic signs, like ‘Jews enter this place at their own risk’ or ‘Jews are our misfortune’, greeted them upon their arrival in numerous towns throughout Germany. Hotels, pensions, guesthouses, pubs, restaurants, shops, public baths, spas, gardens, sports facilities, entertainment venues and reading rooms were among the countless locations where Jews were not welcome. Some towns and resorts even advertised their ‘Jew-free’ status in tourist brochures and advertisements. Additionally, Jewish-owned businesses still in operation by the mid-1930s were often no longer listed in local visitor prospectuses or permitted to advertise within them.65 In Rothenburg ob der Tauber, anti-Semitism became a central component of the tourist experience. In 1937, the town erected four wooden, handcrafted plaques on its medieval gates. They bore stereotypical images of ‘the Jew’ and a number of anti-Semitic texts, which visitors could purchase in the form of postcards. KdF holidaymakers were greeted there with speeches about local anti-Semitic agitation in the Middle Ages.66 Until the mid1930s, Jewish visitors from abroad continued to frequent resorts like Baden-Baden, where such open displays of anti-Semitism were relatively uncommon. But having to choose a hotel among those designated as ‘Jewish’ in the brochures or having to search out a Jewish doctor for treatment certainly distinguished their visit from those made in the past.

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Given this racially charged context, the concept of touristic normality was clearly a relative one in the Third Reich. Yet the notion of the normal is still useful for historians of tourism in this period. After 1933, most international visitors and many Germans, Jewish and non-Jewish alike, would have been struck and horrified by the changes that the regime’s anti-Semitic ideology had wrought upon the tourist experience. Other Germans, of course, may have looked upon those changes with approval. For most ‘Aryan’ Germans, however, the very ubiquity of anti-Semitic discourse – whether it appeared in a shop window or on a park bench – meant that it became part of the everyday social fabric of life in the Third Reich. It entered the realm of the taken-for-granted, which tempered the rupture with the past to some degree. In this way, even anti-Semitic village signs or posters barring Jewish patrons became part of Nazi Germany’s superficially normal tourist culture.

Conclusion In the Third Reich, the consumer had a variety of touristic experiences from which to choose. There was, on the one hand, a thoroughly Nazified option. Some tourists in the Third Reich were undoubtedly seeking the politically charged travel experience that came with viewing the capital’s grand new constructions or taking a tour through Munich’s sites of Nazi memory. On the other, there were many tourist practices that appeared free of ideological manipulation. Whether travellers saw their leisure choices in this light at the time is difficult to ascertain: some holidaymakers just wanted to ski, something one couldn’t do in the ‘City of the Reich Party Rallies’; others simply desired a more urban holiday, which tiny resort towns could not offer. We do know that Jewish Germans actively sought to escape the Nazi present through travel. Bitterly disappointed to find anti-Semitic signs at what had once been a favourite vacation spot, one Jewish tourist remarked: ‘I guess I’d been hoping that time would have stood still in that lovely Bavarian village.’67 The Nazi regime itself permitted and promoted apolitical tourist experiences. Touristic continuities – in the displays at the Weimar cultural sites, the kinds of souvenirs on offer and the experiences available to visitors in the Black Forest, such as crossing the border on a daytrip or reading tourist material – thus represented neither disinterest nor weakness on the part of the regime. They did not point to the triumph of the supposed immutability of German tourism over Nazi attempts at politicization. Rather, an apparently normal tourist culture was the


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result of an intentional propagandistic strategy and an enduring sensitivity to consumer demand. As with the entertainment films, the Nazis employed a ‘shrewd technology of power’ over tourism, which ‘allowed for seemingly unpolitical spaces of … consumption only to reinforce the existing political dependencies and identities’.68 When it did not actively subvert the Nazis’ larger political project, depoliticized, modern consumer activity could actually be aligned with it. So long as the rearmament project was not compromised, commercial practices were to be disrupted as little as possible: normalcy was needed. As we shall see, even the KdF vacations – the quintessential symbol of tourism in the Third Reich – would not be allowed to jeopardize the success of private leisure travel in Nazi Germany.

5 Shoulder to Shoulder? Commercial Tourism and Kraft durch Freude

Within Nazi propaganda, images of Kraft durch Freude tourists enjoying the amenities of a spa, visiting a well-known museum or experiencing Germany’s varied urban attractions symbolized one of the regime’s greatest achievements: its democratization of leisure travel. However, within the commercial tourist trade, the KdF vacationer painted a very different picture. For many holidaymakers, his arrival en masse was an unwelcome, noisy disruption, which ruined the atmosphere of ‘their’ exclusive resorts; moreover, they found his manners and morals appalling. To guesthouse and hotel owners, the KdF tourist was a guest who paid too little and cost too much. For travel agents, KdF participants represented a lost source of revenue. While an official discourse repeatedly stressed that KdF and commercial tourism stood ‘shoulder to shoulder’, in reality, conflicts between the two were rife.1 Yet hostility towards KdF and the resultant tensions between private and state tourism did not go unmentioned by the regime.2 The issues appeared again and again in a wide variety of sources, from the state tourism association newsletters and KdF publications to more widely read newspapers. The Nazi regime did not seek to hide these problems, therefore, but paid them explicit attention in the campaign designed to surmount them. This chapter examines the KdF leisure travel programme from a new perspective by placing it within the context of tourism in the Third Reich as a whole. The Nazi regime distinguished commercial tourism from KdF tourism by referring to the former as ‘normal travel’ (normaler Reiseverkehr). The phrase neatly encapsulates the contradictory nature of the Nazis’ touristic goals: privately organized tourism was to carry on ‘as normal’, while the KdF trips aimed at revolutionizing leisure travel. KdF undoubtedly sparked some friction in the tourist sector. At times, 98

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it triggered outright dissent. Ultimately, however, it was not permitted to threaten another Nazi project: the creation of a façade of normality. This, more than KdF itself, proved most essential to the Nazis’ manufacturing of consent.

Kraft durch Freude and the Office for Travel, Hiking and Vacations In May 1933, the Nazi regime dissolved the trade unions and in their place established the German Labour Front (Deutsche Arbeitsfront, or DAF).3 Six months later, on 27 November 1933, the Labour Front leader, Robert Ley, announced the creation of the DAF subsidiary Strength through Joy (Kraft durch Freude, or KdF). Convinced that raising workers’ wages might threaten rearmament, the Nazi regime had chosen instead to ‘raise’ living standards in another way: through democratized access to the cultural property and practices of Germany’s upper and middle classes. In this way, it sought to solidify the support of the working classes, bring class conflict to an end and, ultimately, secure the foundations of the ‘national community’. At the same time, the regime also wanted to increase workers’ productivity in preparation for war. KdF became the instrument for achieving these goals.4 KdF was initially inspired by and modelled after the Italian Fascists’ Dopolavoro (After Work) programme.5 Unlike the Italian version, however, KdF proclaimed the indivisibility of labour and leisure and thus aimed to organize workers’ lives both at work and in their free time. The Beauty of Labour (Schönheit der Arbeit) department was devoted specifically to improvements in the workplace, from better lighting to increased recreational facilities. However, the KdF leadership clearly prioritized leisure-time programmes as a means to cement working-class support. The remaining departments included the ‘Closing Time’ Office (Amt Feierabend), the Sports Bureau (Sportamt) and Adult Education (Volksbildungswerk). Chief amongst these, and by far the most popular and economically valuable, was the Office for Travel, Hiking and Vacations (Amt Reisen, Wandern und Urlaub, or RWU), led by Bodo Lafferentz.6 The first KdF ‘special trains’ (Sonderzüge) set off in February 1934, carrying passengers from Berlin to the mountains of Upper Bavaria. Between 1934 and 1938, 43 million Germans took part in KdF holidays, ranging from one- to three-day excursions to longer, two- to three-week vacations. While KdF statistics need to be treated with some caution given their tendency towards inflation and exaggeration, the numbers

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are indeed truly impressive. In fact, the RWU became Germany’s single largest travel agency.7 It organized thousands of trips each year until the outbreak of war, when KdF’s civilian tourism programme collapsed. Equally impressive were KdF’s prices. In contrast to those offered by commercial agencies, KdF package tours were astoundingly low. KdF was able to keep its costs down through the discounts on travel and accommodation gained via the sheer volume of business it could promise. It also utilized former trade union resources, including hostels and vacation homes, and used membership dues – membership in KdF was automatic upon joining the DAF – to subsidize holiday costs further. While KdF’s domestic tourism operation was by far the more significant in terms of both participants and revenue, the programme’s pièce de resistance was undoubtedly the overseas cruise. The first KdF cruise departed from Bremerhaven en route to Helgoland in May 1934. By 1939, KdF owned twelve ships, several of which it had commissioned itself, including the Robert Ley, which journeyed to destinations including the fjords of Norway and the island of Madeira. As did international travel generally in the Third Reich, the KdF cruises played a role in Nazi foreign policy, something examined in Chapter 6. According to the propagandists, the sea cruise also represented the epitome of the regime’s success in having democratized tourism. The nation’s workers now had access to what had once been off limits to them. As we shall see, however, the Nazi promise to ‘break bourgeois privilege’ entirely went unfulfilled and the image presented of a ‘national community’ on the move was often misleading.8 Workers were continually underrepresented on KdF holidays, while class, regional and religious conflicts regularly marred the trips. Participants complained loudly and often about their experiences. Moreover, Strength through Joy was constrained by the interests of the commercial travel industry on the one hand, and the desires and expectations of upper-class Germans on the other, not to mention the regime’s disinclination to disappoint either. Yet, Goebbels’ characterization of the programme as a ‘movement for the organization of optimism’ was still apt.9 In theory at least, leisure travel had entered the realm of possibility for all Germans, thanks to Kraft durch Freude. The arrival of KdF vacationers represented potential economic salvation for a great number of locations in Germany after 1934. Many cities and towns therefore worked actively to attract the KdF special trains.10 State tourism associations regularly praised KdF’s economic contributions to their poorest regions, for KdF tourists represented an addition-


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al source of income not only for the accommodation and hospitality industries; they also created increased sales for souvenir shops, fruit and vegetable stores, bakeries and other businesses as well.11 Wilhelm Reichert, a former KdF official in the Black Forest town of Neuenbürg, notes that while the ‘remuneration through the individual holidaymaker was small, the masses … brought the desired profit’.12 KdF tourism fully transformed the economies of some places. For example, the town of Allensbach in the Bodensee region recorded 957 overnight stays in 1933; by 1937 that number had soared to 25,000 as a result of KdF. At such locations, as KdF propagandists were keen to point out, KdF tourism contributed far more to the local economy than did ‘normal’, commercial tourism. Even when KdF travellers were still a minority, their impact was usually significant. In the medieval walled city of Rothenburg, in Franconia, KdF overnight stays made up almost 20 per cent of the total by 1938.13 The arrival of the KdF holidaymakers altered local social calendars. Daily events were staged for KdF participants during their stay, including Heimat evenings, dances, theatre visits and educational courses. Residents, especially the young, often took part in these events, which were publicized in local newspapers before the guests’ arrival and discussed again after their departure.14 According to Reichert, this represented ‘the first time [local inhabitants] had the opportunity to get to know people from other regions’.15 In this way, the ideological work of KdF embraced even those Germans who did not take part in its excursions. KdF clearly had an effect on the host population beyond the purely economic. The latest breed of traveller represented a new market for other German industries to exploit. Publishers issued guidebooks designed specifically for KdF vacationers, while the Association of German Printers saw potential profit in creating special KdF souvenir books.16 Camera manufacturers must have been pleased by KdF’s enjoinders to use their products. KdF sponsored several holiday photography competitions and its guidebook to Berlin offered advice on picture taking.17 Many other businesses also welcomed the growth of KdF tourism.

Resistance to a new competitor Nevertheless, while many Germans asked ‘when do we receive the next [KdF] holidaymakers?’ with enthusiasm, others began to pose the question with some trepidation.18 KdF tours usually found the warmest welcome in those regions without a long tradition of tourist traffic. At the

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more established tourist destinations, in contrast, objections to them were often vociferous. Members of the accommodation industry complained about having to house the ‘cheap holidaymakers’ (BilligUrlauber) at low rates. Those who rented out private rooms also resented the minimal reimbursement they received: 2.50 RM per participant per night, which usually included all meals.19 In addition, KdF participants were not required to pay the spa tax (Kurtax), which further decreased their potential economic contribution.20 The German Railroad also suffered losses due to the heavily discounted KdF fares. The custom of private, commercial tourists was therefore much preferred. More overt forms of protest accompanied these complaints. In June 1934, some places refused to accommodate the passengers of the KdF special trains. Most resorts and spa towns enjoyed their highest occupancy rates in the summer and the still struggling tourism industry feared the effect of replacing guests paying full price with those sent by the Office for Travel, Hiking and Vacations. Rather than chastising its members for an evident preference for profit over the communal good as might be expected, the League of German Tourism Associations and Bathing Resorts concurred. ‘One must not be permitted to expect’, it acknowledged, ‘that guesthouses, whose existence depends on the holiday months of July and August, [should] turn away normal paying guests in order to accommodate [KdF participants] at reduced prices.’21 The League actually confronted KdF’s tourism office about this matter. While the latter argued that KdF holidaymakers had to be accommodated in the high season, the former insisted that this would not be possible in some areas. The Office for Travel, Hiking and Vacations therefore agreed that trains to already over-subscribed areas would be limited. The policy appears to have been upheld. The Baden State Tourism Association’s annual report for 1936/37 noted that KdF tourists were generally not accommodated in the bigger health resorts and spas during the busy season, since occupancy by KdF was ‘not desired’ there. However, it continued, ‘outside the season [they] gladly take them in’.22 In other words, this was no wholesale rejection of KdF tourism. When they were otherwise empty, Germany’s top tourism destinations were glad of the extra business. When they stood to earn the most through commercial tourism, however, they deeply resented the presence of KdF tourists. Many local tourism organizations also felt it was unfair that KdF visits were counted equally as normal overnight stays in the tourism statistics. This was a matter of some importance, since contribution rates by the tourism communities to the state tourism associations were based


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on this number. Some tourism communities who welcomed mostly KdF vacationers inquired about paying a reduced amount because they did not receive the same economic benefits from this type of holidaymaker. The Reich Committee for Tourism refused. The KdF visitor, it explained, ‘fulfils all parts of the definition of a tourist: he brings economic advantages to the community’.23 In a letter to the Lord Mayor of Offenburg, who had requested a discount in the contribution rate, the Baden State Tourism Association admitted that KdF holidaymakers represented ‘a lower economic worth for the individual places’, but concluded that they had to be counted none the less.24 Regardless, some tourism organizations kept a separate list, revealing an enduring desire to distinguish KdF visitors from regular overnight guests.25 Academic studies backed up the industry’s complaints about the disadvantages of KdF tourism. KdF trips, one analyst noted, should be carried out ‘so that the normal tourist trade, which brings greater economic success … is not disturbed’.26 As proof, he pointed to hotels in Upper Bavaria, which, he claimed, were now suffering greatly as a result of being filled only with KdF vacationers. Such experiences were clearly not limited to that region alone. Indeed, the critique seems to have been rather widespread, since the regime constantly defended KdF holidays as an additional or supplementary kind of tourist travel. They were said to have a fertilizing effect on commercial tourism. By increasing the public’s ‘joy in travelling’ (Reisefreudigkeit), KdF trips supposedly contributed to the revival of Germany’s tourism industry as a whole.27 The regime strenuously denied that KdF competed with commercial tourism interests and attempted numerous times to clarify the real relationship between the two. In no way did the regime cover up these issues: they were discussed openly, both in the general press and in professional trade journals.

KdF as competition Given that the Nazi regime had pledged to bring ‘unfair’ competition within the travel agency industry to an end, Kraft durch Freude had to mount an especially strong defence when private travel agencies and other promoters of group travel charged it with the same. Yet how much did travel agencies actually stand to lose once KdF excursions began? Some have argued that the industry’s fears proved to be unfounded, since the travel agencies drew their clientele from an entirely different class from that of the typical KdF holidaymaker.28 However, the sources suggest otherwise. The travel agency industry was adamant

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that KdF had stolen many of its former customers and regularly voiced its indignation. Returning from the first German Travel Agency Conference in Frankfurt, Tourism Director Horn reported to the Neustadt Spa Society that ‘a great percentage of those who earlier used travel agencies to arrange their travel today make their holiday travel arrangements through KdF’.29 The extent to which this actually occurred is relatively unimportant: travel agents clearly felt that it was the case. Although otherwise enthusiastic about the Nazi coordination of their industry, the continued prominence of the discourse about competition suggests that many travel agents viewed the KdF trips much less favourably. Travel agencies – especially those offering the cheapest package holidays – saw the greatest threat to their own livelihood from KdF’s gains in the group travel market.30 However, the actual financial losses were not all they resented. Some German vacationers used the commercial tourism apparatus to gather information about a destination, but, in the end, booked a less expensive group tour with the Office for Travel, Hiking and Vacations. According to one report in Der Fremdenverkehr, travel agents regularly provided free services to those who eventually travelled with KdF. ‘Many travellers collect their train information or advertising material from the travel agency’, it noted, ‘yet then … take a journey with KdF.’31 Travel agencies attracted the Reich Tourism Association’s wrath when, in response, they offered package holiday excursions at prices competitive with those of KdF. The newsletter of the WürttembergHohenzollern State Tourism Association reprinted Hermann Esser’s indignant view of such efforts in 1937: Travellers who are not able to travel with travel agencies due to their income are taken care of by the German Labour Front through … KdF. According to the Reich Tourism Association, it is not the task of the travel agencies to compete with KdF through the arrangement of equally cheap travel. … I therefore urge the state tourism associations to point out to their members that contractual agreements with travel agencies, whose price offerings are the same as KdF or actually lie beneath them, are to be avoided in all circumstances.32 The newsletter accused a particular travel agency – Bruno Göckeritz in Leipzig – of engaging in a price war, but competitive pricing apparently occurred on a more regular basis. Der Fremdenverkehr published numer-


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ous articles to counter the misunderstandings and false impressions that had arisen in this regard. One such article claimed: It is fundamentally wrong if private tourism … sees KdF as a competitor, which has to be countered, be it with economic or propagandistic measures. If the KdF trips really were in competition, they would … miss their aim, because they would take the livelihood and work away from other Volksgenossen. They accomplish the opposite, however, and create more work and more revenue in tourism, because they simply create a travel movement that otherwise would not be there. It is a sign of little insight, when one sees how smaller places and pensions … attempt, through the lowest possible price offerings, to win over as private travellers, guests who have the right to travel with KdF. The author stressed that private travel agencies could, in fact, ‘never compete economically with KdF’, and that ‘they personally d[ug] their own graves with this price policy’.33 A Berlin worker earning 150 RM per month paid only 32 RM for an eight-day trip to the Baltic Sea with KdF. With the Central European Travel Agency (Mitteleuropäisches Reisebüro, or MER), a similar trip cost at least 66 RM. MER vacations in the Black Forest or along the Rhine cost even more.34 The price of KdF trips remained unrivalled and many commercial travel agencies deemed this to be unfair. The Nazi regime neither ignored their grievances nor attempted to conceal them. Instead, it defended itself openly and explicitly against such charges, indicating a real drive to placate the commercial tourism industry and a genuine fear of discontent within it. Individual tourist attractions were equally resentful at times about the influx of thousands of KdF vacationers. Weimar provides an illustrative example. Some city officials wanted to increase the number of KdF visitors. They perceived the potential economic benefit and complained that KdF special trains went ‘everywhere’, but that ‘only a few at most [went] to Weimar’.35 But not all were so enthusiastic. The growth of KdF tourism in Weimar was hindered by this inability to adapt – or the lack of a desire to adapt – to the changing face of democratized tourism in the Third Reich. Such intractability is especially evident in the cultural sites’ refusal to alter their practices to meet the needs of the mass tourist. Despite a constant stream of letters from various KdF authorities wishing to bring

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hundreds of holidaymakers through the Goethe House on Sundays, director Hans Wahl resolutely refused to keep its doors open past 1:00 p.m., even though he had expressed worries about the site’s decreased ticket sales compared to previous years. KdF visitors also repeatedly expressed disappointment that no tours were offered during arranged visits to the Goethe House. The local KdF office offered to provide a tour guide from the German Labour Front to do the job, but Wahl refused this offer, maintaining that such sites did not lend themselves to group tours. In general, the archival record suggests that KdF tourists were not the most popular visitors at Weimar’s classical sites.36 The sites’ directors attempted to justify their reluctance to welcome KdF tourists and other large groups of vacationers in financial terms. Like hoteliers, they resented having to replace guests who paid the full entry fare with those, like KdF participants, who paid less to visit them. The curator of the Schiller House noted angrily that these sites received hundreds of requests for reduced ticket prices, ‘a relatively large number’ of which came from members of party organizations.37 While the potential loss of income appears to have been the greatest cause of bitterness, snobbery towards group and package tourists was also perceptible. The curators seemed to think that Weimar’s cultural sites had to be enjoyed by individuals at length and in peace, not as one stop among many on a quick daytrip to the city. Such local resistance ultimately bound Strength through Joy’s tourism programme. But the Nazi regime proved surprisingly willing to accept those limitations as it attempted to steer a course between the traditional practices of leisure travel on the one hand and those of modern, mass tourism on the other. The resulting continuities point less to the regime’s inability to overcome local opposition to KdF, therefore, and more to a conscious decision not to interfere in Germany’s burgeoning commercial tourism industry and the touristic practices of the middle classes. It would be wrong to characterize KdF and commercial tourism only as adversaries. There was a considerable degree of administrative overlap between the two, particularly in terms of personnel. For example, the head of the Office for Travel, Hiking and Vacations, Bodo Lafferentz, served on the executive committee of the Reich Tourism Association. KdF was also often represented at the meetings of state and municipal tourism associations. In the Black Forest, KdF functionaries even occupied important positions within several local tourism organizations. In Weimar, tour guides worked for both the Tourism Society and for KdF. Clearly, KdF and commercial tourism sometimes marched in step, as the propagandists claimed. However, their continued efforts


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to soothe anxieties and tensions indicated just how much resentment towards KdF was still present.

KdF, the middle class and anti-mass tourism Tourism professionals were not the only people to find fault with KdF. Its travel programme theoretically excluded many more than it embraced and it seems that some wealthier Germans were angry at not being able to partake in its holidays. An article appearing in the Berlin newspaper Der Angriff hinted at the presence of such feelings. The article described a cartoon recently published in Fridericus magazine, which depicted two well-dressed men standing in front of a poster advertising upcoming Kraft durch Freude holiday excursions. The accompanying caption announced ‘For all, but not for you’.38 ‘An interesting letter’ supposedly received by Robert Ley, head of the German Labour Front, backed up Der Angriff’s claim that some Germans begrudged National Socialist notions of equality. The letter-writer was annoyed at not being able to participate in KdF trips because his income was too high. ‘I ask’, he wrote, ‘what does “Kraft durch Freude” truly mean for me and what sense does community have in all this?’39 The DAF newspaper denounced him for thinking only of himself and suggested he achieve joy instead by sponsoring a trip for a needy worker. At the outset of their trip, all KdF holidaymakers had to sign the following declaration: ‘I am aware that I am only permitted to take part in this trip if I am not able to afford this trip without the concessions (Vergünstigungen) of the NS organization “Kraft durch Freude”.’ The declaration was regularly quoted in articles about KdF as seeming proof that only those who were truly eligible were actually allowed to participate.40 Yet many Germans with higher incomes were availing themselves of KdF offerings, much to the dismay of travel agents and working-class vacationers themselves.41 The press criticized Germans who booked a KdF trip, but then rented a car upon their arrival or who then used their own funds to extend their visit. It also condemned the ‘big city types’, who travelled with KdF, but carried expensive suitcases, and those who took advantage of KdF only when trips were arranged to the ‘best seaside resorts’.42 Given the very great discrepancies between most KdF and private tourist experiences – fourth-class train compartments, accommodation in private houses as opposed to hotels or pensions and allegedly substandard catering – it seems rather surprising that Germans who could afford to travel privately nevertheless chose KdF holidays. But an annual report by the Thuringia State Tourism

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Association suggests that they did. The report happily noted that ‘because of KdF, tourist traffic to Thuringia was also furthered. … Holidaymakers at the end of a KdF holiday either stayed on as private guests or later returned as private guests … to travel in Thuringia without KdF.’43 The Thuringian association might have been enthused, but the commercial tourism industry’s attitude was generally less upbeat. Individual resorts, hoteliers and travel agents denounced what they viewed as a very real misuse of the programme. Members of the Baden State Tourism Association registered their disapproval just months after the first KdF special trains had departed. The minutes of a meeting of its executive committee in early August reported: We had difficulties this summer with Kraft durch Freude. We support this movement, not only for political reasons, but also because it contributes thereby to making travel popular. [But] it also often happens, that well-situated people take advantage of the cheap prices … . KdF should definitely remain limited to the less fortunate, it must not be permitted to become a ‘travel agency for all’.44 In response to such complaints, the Office for Travel, Hiking and Vacations claimed that it sought only to become a travel agency for all German workers. Earlier historians of KdF have mistakenly taken the Nazis’ statements about working-class participation at face value. However, in truth, workers remained vastly underrepresented on KdF trips, especially the overseas cruises. Truly working-class vacationers made up, on average, only 5 per cent of all KdF overnight stays, in contrast to the figure of 60 per cent claimed by the official statistics.45 Two factors explain the gap between rhetoric and reality. First, even though heavily discounted, most KdF trips were still too expensive for the average German worker. The numerous extras not included in the package price aggravated the situation.46 Secondly, KdF officials permitted the involvement of those Germans who, in theory, were ineligible. In other words, the large number of non-working-class participants was not simply the result of duplicitous scheming by better-off tourists, hungry for a cheap holiday. On the one hand, KdF’s definition of who counted as a worker was extremely wide: ‘Every German, who is active in his profession, is a worker for us.’47 Thus, Germans with higher incomes were not necessarily excluded. On the other hand, local functionaries tended to be lenient about the income limits.48 Most KdF participants were therefore urban, white-collar employees, if not carrenting, expensive suitcase-carrying members of the upper bourgeoisie.


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In any case, Germany’s poorest manual labourers were definitely not in the majority, as Nazi propaganda often intimated. When we place KdF tourism within the context of tourism as a whole in the Third Reich, we find that other class-based tensions arose as well. Germany’s upper classes rarely greeted the arrival of thousands of KdF tourists with enthusiasm. However, while the ‘KdF-ers’ were perhaps the quintessential group holidaymakers in the Third Reich, private group vacationers faced similar disapproval. Although organized group travel became more popular in the 1930s, as will be discussed below, many still snobbishly decried the decline of the ‘real’ traveller and the rise of the mass tourist. For KdF tourists in particular, the low prices ensured a second-class stigma and their arrival en masse did little to minimize the condescension they were often accorded. In Germany, as elsewhere, the story of modern mass tourism is simultaneously the story of an anti-tourist discourse, which has endured until today.49 This anti-mass tourism stance was expressed explicitly and unambiguously throughout the Nazi period. Articles in newspaper travel supplements openly criticized group travel and overly regimented package holidays, which is somewhat surprising in a regime that constantly stressed the value of communal experiences and organized collective activity. One such article despaired that holiday travel associations and travel agencies today ‘take care of everything from the travel tickets to tipping’. It deplored the ‘destruction of peace by the masses’ and noted that ‘travel itself has become a mass hustle and bustle (Massenrummel)’.50 In contrast, another piece praised the ‘other kind of traveller’, the ‘true travel artist’, who did not travel according to any ‘recipe’. It ended with a plea to Germans to ‘travel as your soul directs you’ and concluded that ‘it is best … to travel totally alone’.51 Such critiques of the mass, thoroughly organized travel experience would seem to uphold the claim that the ‘fierce individualism’ of a pre-existing travel culture withstood the effects of the Nazi regime, implying a kind of resistance, or at least an opposition, to Nazi intentions.52 Yet this was clearly not always the case. Certainly the regime stressed the communal over the individual, but the presence of an openly circulated discourse, which praised the (individual) traveller and denounced the (mass) tourist, suggests at least a degree of acceptance by the Nazi dictatorship. Criticism of group travel extended beyond the pages of travel supplements. Indeed, complaints about actual KdF vacationers were frequent. Other tourists complained about the noise they made, their improper comportment and their questionable morals. An official complaint was lodged with municipal authorities in the Black Forest town

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of Neuenbürg when an unmarried couple was billeted in the same private room.53 Drunkenness, sexual permissiveness and other types of rowdy behaviour even gave rise to a popular joke about KdF: its participants lost too much strength through joy! The vacationers’ behaviour was also a matter of concern for the KdF leadership itself. It openly defended the programme against the critique that KdF trips corrupted workers’ morals.54 At the same time, as we shall see, it tried to impose a code of conduct to avoid such excesses. However, the regime seemed far more concerned with the effect that the perceived misbehaviour of KdF vacationers had on the commercial tourism industry. Anti-KdF feelings ran extremely high at certain destinations, especially those of a more exclusive nature. Many were convinced that ‘the KdF vacationer [was] driving away the other holiday guests’.55 While the regime denounced such convictions as ‘evil’, the Sopade reports gave them some credence. One 1939 report noted: ‘People now look for places where there are no KdF visitors. “Not visited by KdF” is now a particular asset for summer vacation [resorts]. A [Bavarian] landlord … wrote in his prospectus: “Not visited by KdF tourists!”’56 While this proprietor had to withdraw the brochure and was banned from receiving summer guests – a further indication of the regime’s power within the touristic sphere – it is clear that the ‘KdF-free’ holiday resort or travel destination was a selling point for some German tourists. KdF officials, including Robert Ley, criticized the snobbish attitudes their tourists faced and denied that KdF holidaymakers drove other tourists away.57 At the same time, however, they worked actively to defuse possible sources of tension. They began to organize KdF excursions in such a way as to avoid conflict and indeed any interaction between commercial and KdF tourists. Working-class KdF participants were already envious of their middle-class counterparts, an emotion hardly conducive to a more unified Volksgemeinschaft. Contact with wealthier tourists, particularly at the better-known, more opulent resorts, posed an even greater danger. A literal separation of the two kinds of tourist in the Third Reich provided an easy solution. Crucially, protecting established tourist destinations from the KdF hordes also served the interests of commercial tourism, something the Nazi regime clearly intended.

Segregating tourists The Office for Travel, Hiking and Vacations promised the hospitality industry and tourism organizations that its trips, ‘with a few excep-


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tions’, would not to go to the spas with lots of international visitors, preferring, it claimed, ‘small and partially unknown places, that [lay] away from the great tourism stream’. The reassurances continued: In the high season [KdF trips] are not permitted to be directed to such places that are already filled with private travellers. That is above all the case in the great world-class resorts of the north and the Baltic Sea, in health resorts with an international reputation and in spas in which guests from all over the world have their rendezvous.58 Baden-Baden was Germany’s pre-eminent destination for these rendezvous. The archival records of the local tourism organization reveal not only its desire to avoid an influx of KdF tourists, but also the regime’s apparent readiness to kowtow to Baden-Baden’s demands. In 1937, the Lord Mayor received a letter from the Baden chapter of KdF. We want, it began, ‘to confirm that neither you nor we have any interest in bringing KdF holidaymakers to Baden-Baden itself’. But, the letter continued, the office was dismayed that the spa director was now protesting the accommodation of 150 KdF vacationers even in nearby Lichtental. The KdF official made a final plea: ‘As we already proved in practice in 1937 and as we will attempt even more in 1938,’ he maintained, ‘we divert the stream of KdF visitors away from BadenBaden, which has special tasks to fulfil as an international spa.’59 The KdF office seemed to acknowledge the possible ill-effects of masses of KdF vacationers descending on this luxury resort in the northern Black Forest. Yet Baden-Baden’s spa director was not entirely successful in turning KdF holidaymakers away. A second letter noted that a complete avoidance of taking in the KdF groups was never going to occur.60 Nevertheless, the exchange reveals how the interests of commercial tourism, and in this case, of international visitors, were clearly put above the goal of providing the nation’s workers with access to the cultural capital of the upper classes, KdF’s oft-stated aim. KdF justified the decision to keep its tourists away from established destinations in a variety of ways. It was important, it maintained, not to upset the peacefulness of health resorts in the interests of the sick: the arrival of ‘hundreds of KdF vacationers’, while ‘naturally without any evil intention’ on their part, would disturb the tranquility of these places.61 Sending KdF holidaymakers to less well-known destinations also had other advantages. First, it represented a way to keep costs low. Accommodation, food and other ‘extras’ were cheaper in places off the beaten track, which further reduced the price of a KdF vacation.

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Second, KdF trips made an important contribution to the border regions and other areas in economic distress, a prominent theme in official propaganda. The proclaimed goal of borderland regeneration was a real one, with distinct economic and political advantages.62 Some economically impoverished regions benefited enormously from KdF tourism. Places like Baden-Baden, ran the argument, did not need KdF Reichsmarks while other places clearly did. Still, this touristic policy, which prioritized unknown and less busy destinations, was primarily motivated by a desire to keep KdF participants away from places frequented by wealthier private tourists. Even the massive KdF resort complex, Prora, on the island of Rügen, represented another way to steer KdF tourism away from the top German resorts.63 Thus, rather than force upper-class tourists and exclusive resorts to adhere to the oft-proclaimed principles of Nazi egalitarianism, the Nazi regime did all it could to avoid damage to the commercial tourism industry and minimize the potential problems that arose when the two groups of tourists came into contact. In sum, then, bourgeois touristic consumption was to continue ‘as normal’, with as few intrusions as possible. In addition to the actual segregation of KdF tourists from others, there was also a conscious attempt to modify their behaviour in order to make it conform to that of the norm: the private, middle-class tourist on holiday alone or with his or her family. In part, all KdF programmes sought to make workers less proletarian in manner and deed. This aim manifested itself in the endless recommendations given about proper travel habits, including the oft-published ‘Ten Commandments for KdF Vacation Travellers’. KdF participants were told not to mock the customs and costumes of other Germans, dress inappropriately, drink to excess or buy kitschy souvenirs.64 Such admonitions suggest that at least some KdF vacationers stood accused of doing exactly that. The behaviour of KdF tourists in the Bavarian town of Nesselwang, for example, reached such a nadir that rules of conduct had to be posted.65 There were also other kinds of more constructive travel advice. One KdF guide to Berlin offered guidance on taking photographs. Other articles detailed what to pack or how to write one’s holiday diary, which was not to be a dry reporting of the facts, but rather a personal and simple reflection of the ‘community experience’.66 KdF holidaymakers were not the only potentially inexperienced travellers to receive advice about how to travel in the new Germany. Similar advice was also given to the members of the Reich Labour Service (Reichsarbeitsdienst). Here the topics ranged from personal hygiene


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while on holiday (clean teeth, combed hair, clean fingernails and shaven chin) to acceptable walking speeds (‘do not loiter’) when exploring a new city. Labour Service vacationers were told not to smoke, drink or ‘dance wildly’, since it was important to ‘do it right!’ Tellingly, this guide to correct behaviour also noted that ‘several guesthouses are not for us, we leave them to the other visitors’.67 Working-class Germans were not to assume they could visit any establishment they wished in the Third Reich: certain places were reserved for a better class of visitor. While commercial tourists also received comparable travel advice, KdF tourists appeared to need more helpful hints.68 KdF vacationers became the objects of a campaign aimed at homogenization. Despite the regime’s propaganda about working-class pride and identity, in truth, it wanted the nation’s most recent tourists to act like ‘normal’ bourgeois tourists as far as possible. For, if they adhered to the rules of decorous touristic behaviour, Germany’s middle- and upper-class tourists would have less cause to complain.

Fear of the horde: complaints by participants On the one hand, propagandists maintained that KdF vacations represented a distinct new travel style, discussed below, which compensated participants in unique ways. On the other, they attempted to show that KdF tourism was actually very similar to commercial tourism. Ley had promised that, through KdF, the nation’s workers would gain access to the cultural property of middle-class Germans. An increase in actual wages was out of the question, but the regime claimed it could still raise working-class living standards by breaking bourgeois privilege.69 For these claims to have any validity, it was crucial that KdF vacationers sensed the parallels between the experiences available to them and those of commercial tourists. Yet the actual conditions of KdF travel soon revealed vital disparities between the two forms of tourism. Moreover, differing modes of consumption exacerbated social distinctions between the two kinds of tourist. As a result, even those Germans directly targeted by KdF sometimes looked down on certain features of its mass holidays. A Sopade report of the time noted that for some KdF vacationers ‘it really mean[t] something to have been on a trip … to the Black Forest or the Harz mountains’. They imagined that they had ‘thereby climbed up a rung on the social ladder’.70 However, for others, it was not enough simply to travel to these places. The holiday had to be of a particular kind for it to denote the desired status. It had to

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mirror bourgeois travel experiences as much as possible. When that did not occur, objections were raised. Both KdF publications and the general press addressed two types of complaint. The first were those made by actual KdF vacationers. As might be expected, there were complaints about second-class or condescending treatment by hoteliers and restaurateurs. Participants grumbled not only about the quality and amount of food, but also about being forced to eat things they were not used to. They griped about fourth-class train compartments and substandard accommodation as well. KdF eventually made a promise: ‘We [will] make the effort to raise the standard of our trips so that they no longer can be outdone, except in relation to price.’71 However, since low prices depended in part on lower quality, there was often little the Office for Travel, Hiking and Vacations could do, without raising prices – which, incidentally, it was also prepared to do.72 Given their readiness to bend to the demands of commercial tourism, there was also little KdF officials could do about another source of complaint: the lack of excursions to places ‘with a name’. Some KdF participants resented not being able to go to well-known tourist destinations and tended to think of the regions that were offered as ‘less pretty areas’. Try as the propagandists might to sell these new destinations as places where visitors would ‘find a hospitality that is warmer and more heartfelt than there, where tourism has long been an industry’, many remained unconvinced.73 The destinations of Germany’s middle- and upper-class tourists clearly defined the norm for what a proper holiday was all about. The expectations of many KdF tourists were therefore bound to be disappointed. The press was somewhat loath to make these grievances known. Instead, official propaganda devoted far more attention to the accusations levelled at the KdF excursions by those who had not yet taken part in one. The Nazi regime went to great lengths to deal with and overcome the public’s supposed ‘misunderstandings’ about KdF holidays. ‘Often the reproach has been made against KdF from various sides that it takes the interests of the individual too little into consideration,’ noted one article.74 People clearly feared being made to take part in compulsory activities and KdF officials constantly sought to reassure them that this was not the case. ‘The KdF holidaymaker’, they maintained, was ‘fully free … to spend his vacation according to his own taste’.75 This was not entirely true, of course, and certainly in the case of the overseas cruises, a rigid schedule of activities was maintained and participation was enforced. Yet too often, the KdF holidays are


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contrasted only with private, unorganized travel. The schedule of events and activities for a KdF stay in the Black Forest, for example, not only included a number of free periods, but also a number of activity options. These choices naturally seem limited when compared to those available to individual travellers, but they had much in common with other package holidays of the time.76 Newspaper articles explained that KdF participants did not need to fear mass accommodation and a total lack of privacy. They addressed worries about ‘uniformization’ and other disadvantages of travelling in large groups.77 But many KdF vacationers were still ‘put off by the crowds’ during their actual holiday and not just beforehand, according to Sopade reports.78 There were also assumptions about the role of the tour leader to be quashed. One article assured holidaymakers that ‘he cannot direct tours with commands as he may have done with the SA or SS’. Another article noted that even ‘normal’ group holidays could not avoid the presence of a tour leader.79 Once again, KdF propagandists sought to assert the parallels with the practices of commercial tourism. There were other misunderstandings about KdF holidays to counter. Some workers expressed concerns about possible moral corruption during the trip. The Office for Travel, Hiking and Vacations also worked to overturn the belief that KdF excursions were only for young, unmarried, childless Germans, rather than families.80 A unique strategy was employed to dispel the notion that KdF holidays were overtly militaristic. It called upon the evaluations of foreign journalists who had accompanied a KdF ski trip to the Bavarian Alps. William Teeling of the Daily Telegraph allegedly observed ‘no whiff of militarism’ during his stay; another journalist contrasted KdF holidays with those in the Soviet Union and concluded that, in Germany, participants were allowed to form their own impressions.81 Contemporary criticism of KdF holidays should not overshadow the very real success of the KdF tourism programme. For German workers who had never travelled before, the newfound opportunity to travel anywhere, under any circumstances, was greatly appreciated. But the existence of such critiques is revealing none the less. They show that German society in the Third Reich remained fractured along class lines. Some KdF participants resented what they viewed as second-class treatment and unacceptably inferior amenities. They were still envious of those able to consume the ‘real’ tourist experience: a private holiday at a well-known resort. The regime claimed it had provided a cheaper copy of bourgeois tourism, but actual conditions often proved it wrong.

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The persistent critiques of KdF holidays might, of course, indicate a general distrust of state-organized mass culture and thus a continued preference for private activities in the Third Reich.82 But they were also part of an anti-organized, anti-mass tourism discourse that was not unique to Nazi Germany. While the statistics show that many more people were taking part in structured group tourism, old prejudices remained. Not all KdF vacationers conceived of their holiday experiences in the political and ideological terms promoted by the regime. Many simply used the programme to travel cheaply and were therefore just like other tourists. Previous histories of KdF tours have tended to emphasize their participants’ search for personal enjoyment in spite of KdF’s political aims and stated intentions.83 However, the organization itself explicitly highlighted the opportunities for non-ideologized, pleasurable experiences to sell the KdF product; crucially, this conscious marketing strategy was not seen to compromise the regime’s overall goals. KdF promotional literature regularly conveyed messages about the potential for freedom and fun not only to attract customers, but also to defend KdF holidays against a barrage of criticism. These complaints were never a secret. The Nazi regime discussed them openly and regularly in a variety of forums in a bid to decrease working-class resentment while simultaneously attempting to avoid any disruption of the practices of commercial tourism. Normalcy was to be maintained at all costs.

KdF tourist culture Any tourist culture is defined by the travel infrastructure on which it relies, the meaning it ascribes to leisure travel and the touristic literature it produces. Additionally, it rests on the kinds of attractions promoted and the language invoked to describe them. The questions remains: Did a distinct KdF tourist culture emerge in the Third Reich, or was KdF tourist culture merely a cheaper version of one of the two tourist cultures analysed in the previous chapters? Did it mirror those elements characteristic of Nazi tourist culture, with new Nazi sights and politicized touristic description, or was it more like the ‘normal’, nonNazified tourist culture that predominated in Nazi Germany? The actual experiences of KdF vacationers are often difficult to reconstruct. Gestapo and Sopade reports, as well as latter-day reminiscences, are helpful in this regard. However, there is another source capable of providing further insight. The Nazi regime regularly used the personal testimonies of former participants to promote its KdF vaca-


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tions.84 Predictably, these testimonials, always by members of the working classes, praised the programme and expressed gratitude to Hitler. But such letters were not mere inventions of Nazi propagandists. In 1937, Wilhelm Wernicke of Berlin wrote to the mayor of Neustadt. He wanted to express his ‘heartfelt thanks’ for the KdF holiday he and his wife had enjoyed that summer in the Black Forest: ‘Nice memories … force me to write to you and all who made our stay so pleasant… . The heart is overfilled with nice memories. … It was all so lovely, that it is unforgettable. … Again and again I must say how great our Führer Adolf Hitler is … and how splendid is his organization Kraft durch Freude.’85 The archival files contain numerous unsolicited letters like this, which extolled the virtues of KdF tourism. A visit to the Upper Bühl Valley that same summer moved Anton Steinbüchel of Cologne to compose a song, although he praised God rather than Hitler for the wonders he had experienced.86 Such personal testimonies show just how mistaken one would be to assume that KdF tourists were uniformly displeased by their second-class travel experiences. Unfortunately, however, these hymns of praise tell us very little about how tourists experienced individual towns, landscapes and attractions while on holiday with KdF or indeed much about KdF tourist culture itself. For that, we must look elsewhere. While private tourists travelled increasingly by automobile in the Third Reich, most, like KdF holidaymakers, still used buses or trains to make their journeys. KdF regularly relied on private rooms to accommodate its participants, but commercial tourists also rented private rooms at times. Elsewhere, KdF and commercial travellers shared the same hotels. If complaints by travel agents can be believed, some tourists were making use of their information services before booking with KdF, the only agency capable of offering trips they could afford. Even if they dealt only with the Office for Travel, Hiking and Vacations, however, the services it provided – from brochure distribution to travel advice – largely paralleled those of other travel agencies. Another overlap occurred when Germans with higher incomes used KdF to see the Reich. Finally, while private tourists retained absolute freedom over their leisure travel arrangements, group holidaymakers and KdF tourists alike adhered to a schedule of preplanned events and were supervised by a tour leader. We must conclude, therefore, that with regard to tourism infrastructure, it makes little sense to speak of a separate or unique KdF tourist culture. The travel philosophies of both KdF and commercial tourism were also similar, at least as they were articulated by the Nazi regime. Admittedly, the entire KdF experience was packaged in explicit ideological wrapping. From the mayor’s welcome upon arrival to the final

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farewell ceremony, the Nazi message about the value of leisure travel for uniting the Volksgemeinschaft was repeatedly propagated to KdF vacationers.87 Commercial tourists experienced nothing like this while on holiday. However, that same message was proclaimed regularly in daily newspapers and other tourism publications. All Germans could be rejuvenated and gain increased capacity to work through travelling. Any kind of leisure travel reduced regionalist particularism and deepened love for the Fatherland. Even the rhetoric about the abolition of class distinctions was not particular to KdF. As will be discussed below, group travel arrangers also promoted similar notions of the ‘national community’ in their advertisements, highlighting how the worker and middle-class businessman could experience Germany together. In the Third Reich, all German tourists, regardless of class, Gau, religion or gender, could benefit from pleasure travel. KdF vacationers and commercial tourists also had a common desire to learn more about their holiday destinations through reading guidebooks and brochures. Although KdF officials, like group tour arrangers, emphasized that their holidays freed participants from travel worries and the arduous tasks of pre-trip preparation, such as reading ‘fat guidebooks’, they seemed at the same time to recognize the public’s desire to take part in that quintessential middle-class touristic practice. Even deeply ideological publications remarked that reading a Baedeker guide before any trip, KdF included, was de rigueur.88 KdF published a pocket atlas with information about its destinations, which stressed the active role that KdF vacationers could play in choosing a holiday location. The Office for Travel, Hiking and Vacations reviewed recently published tourist guidebooks, presumably in the interests of its own customers. Local KdF offices also regularly received brochures designed primarily for individual travellers for distribution to their future customers.89 In addition to reading the same brochures and guidebooks, KdF and commercial tourists also shared many other touristic practices. They purchased and sent the same postcards. They took similar photographs (see Figure 5.1). They also regularly bought the same souvenirs, such as Black Forest schnapps or Nuremberg gingerbread, although there were some attempts to create souvenirs solely for KdF consumers.90 In sum, there were clear parallels between how Germany’s two kinds of tourist planned their holiday travel, how they travelled, where they stayed, how they made sense of and even how they remembered their travel experiences. The apparent lack of specificity would seem to suggest that a unique KdF tourist culture did not exist, despite the fact that KdF tourism was


Figure 5.1

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organized and promoted exclusively by the Nazi state. Yet certain features were unique. The extended and often intimate contact with local residents clearly set it apart. The dances and Heimat evenings really did introduce Berliners to Bavarians, Rhinelanders to Schwarzwalders. KdF vacationers were woven into the fabric of daily life of all residents and not just of those dependent on the tourism industry. In places like Wolfach and Rothenburg, for example, KdF beer evenings and dances became the highlights of the local social calendar.91 A second feature of KdF tourism also points to the existence of a distinct KdF tourist culture. While KdF tourists had access to the literature available to other German tourists, they could also refer to tourist publications created exclusively for them. Historians have tended to use KdF literature mostly as a source of factual information – for prices, destinations or itineraries – but such publications deserve further scrutiny. At first glance, they appear to be heavily ideologized. They were often laden with paeans to the Nazi regime as the guarantor of democratized tourism. They inevitably repeated the Nazi message about the meaning of leisure travel for German workers. Yet how did they describe actual tourist destinations? Did their descriptive techniques differ from the brochures and guidebooks designed for private tourists? Did they highlight different attractions or were their sightseeing circuits identical? To facilitate a comparison between KdF literature and commercial tourist literature, the following provides an examination of touristic texts about Berlin and the Black Forest. The Reich capital was not the most popular KdF destination for lengthy vacations, but mass events like the Olympics, the major exhibitions and the automobile shows definitely attracted a large number of KdF special trains. In fact, over one million KdF tourists visited the city during the Third Reich. For them, KdF published a Berlin guide in its series On Holiday with KdF. The text fused the usual guidebook information with travel tips and advice for the inexperienced tourist. It also served as a travel diary, with space to record individual impressions, and as an address book, with pages for the names of ‘travel acquaintances’. At a cost of 0.80 RM, this hybrid publication aimed to serve the needs of Germans with limited budgets. The guidebook’s cover displays a close-up photograph of the Reich Chancellery, with Hitler, Goebbels and Goering on the balcony. They gaze down upon some of the ‘thousands’, who, the text later notes, appear before the Chancellery ‘day in, day out’. The guidebook opens with a welcome address by Goebbels to Berlin’s KdF visitors. His visage also appears on the facing page under the caption ‘He liberated Berlin’.


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Goebbels recalls Hitler’s oft-repeated statement about his intention to give all German workers a holiday. ‘What a difference’, he enthuses, ‘between the kept word of the Führer and that ever-unfulfilled promise of the “system-lings” (Systemlinge)’. The KdF programme, Goebbels further claims, is all about ‘the politics of peace’: with KdF, he cries, ‘we journey toward peace in the world!’92 After the usual propaganda about the value of KdF in general, the guidebook turns to the city of Berlin itself. Immediately we are presented with a section entitled ‘Berlin at one time – and now’. The comparative motif between old and new, between the past and the present, which is omnipresent in all Nazified tourist literature, appears here as well. The guide begins with ‘the fourteen years in which inhumanity ruled Berlin’, which the events of 1933 brought to an end. While a longer Berlin chronology follows, the most important date in the city’s history – 30 January 1933 – has thus already been established. KdF tourists are explicitly exhorted to pay attention to the contrast between old and new: ‘When you, comrade, are shown this new Berlin on your KdF trip to the Reich capital … then do not forget to keep your eyes open for the traces of the recent past, which was only overcome by the new Germany.’93 We can presume that the content and tone of KdF literature was dictated from above, since KdF was, after all, a National Socialist organization. However, the degree to which they mirrored the subject matter and tenor of other tourist literature about Berlin, which was often published by private firms, is striking. The guidebook’s photographs also provide clues as to what KdF tourists were meant to see. They include the Brandenburg Gate and the Neue Wache memorial, but they also depict the Reich War Ministry and Horst Wessel’s grave, some of the newest tourist attractions in the Third Reich. In Chapter 3, Nazified tourist literature was characterized as being essentially self-referential. That is, it worked within a closed system of signification. Brochures and guidebooks consistently pointed to sights, events and other media at which National Socialist ideology was further propagated. The same process occurs here. Among the images of buildings and monuments, we find a photograph of the participants of a KdF city tour. KdF tourists were thus simultaneously readers of the guide and an object of the tourist gaze. They were both actors and spectators. This self-referential focus is further sustained by the inclusion of personal testimonies of previous KdF visitors to Berlin.94 After 1933, tourist literature portrayed the German capital in explicitly politicized terms that accorded with Nazi propaganda more generally. It highlighted new buildings and memorials to ‘martyred’ Nazis as

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the city’s top tourist attractions. It articulated a contrast between the Berlin of the Weimar Republic and that of the Thousand Year Reich at every turn. In its focus on historical discontinuity, it typified the modernist touristic perspective. KdF publications were no exception. Yet the question remains: Did all KdF literature exemplify the trend towards touristic Nazification? The Black Forest, to which we now turn, suggests that it did not. By 1937, the Freudenstadt-based Oskar Kaupert publishing firm, like many other private businesses, decided the time was right to cash in on KdF tourism. The result was a guidebook by Friedrich Rothfuß, On Holiday in the Black Forest: The Northern Black Forest around Freudenstadt – A Travel Guide for Relaxation Seekers and Hiking Enthusiasts.95 Although the title did not specify KdF holidaymakers among the relaxation seekers and hiking enthusiasts, the publication was clearly aimed at them. In the first place, the cost was low (0.25 RM). In the second, the foreword addressed KdF vacationers, and only KdF vacationers, by name: The number of trips arranged by the NS organization KdF is clearly strongly increasing. Thousands of KdF holidaymakers have become acquainted with the beauties of the Black Forest and the healing power of a stay in pure, fragrant, high-altitude air. To bring these holidaymakers closer to our Black Forest Heimat in word and image … is the purpose of this Black Forest guide. However, after this short paragraph, there is little to distinguish the Rothfuß guide from tourist literature about the Black Forest in general. The language is not politicized and there is no reference to 1933 as a pivotal year. Indeed, there is no recent history at all. It recommends neither Nazi attractions and events, nor an observance of the contrast between old and new. Like many other guidebooks, it contains advertisements for souvenir and postcard shops, car rental agencies and excursion organizations. The commercialized elements of KdF tourism clearly paralleled those of private tourism. There is one photograph of KdF tourists in the city of Schwenningen, but otherwise there is little of the self-reflexivity of the Berlin guide. Here, landscape photographs predominate, from which people are largely absent. In its focus on timeless scenes rather than images of the new Germany, the Rothfuß guidebook adopted the conventions of non-Nazified tourist literature about the Black Forest. There is, however, one significant difference: the guide focuses primarily on less wellknown destinations. Smaller towns and resorts off the beaten track, such as Glatten, Lombach, and Tumlingen, take the place of Baden-


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Baden and Karlsruhe, which, somewhat surprisingly, are not included at all. The publishers may actively have been trying to popularize such destinations in an attempt to boost their economies. This strategy might also have reflected an already established trend, which saw KdF tourists directed towards ‘new travel lands’ and away from the haunts of middle- and upper-class Germans. As will be discussed below, however, the focus on the unknown also reflected a similar development within the literature of commercial tourism. The lack of ideological language and politicized description was not simply the consequence of private publication. The official KdF guide to the Black Forest, extolling the treasures of this ‘German Kraft durch Freude paradise’, reveals a similar absence of Nazification.96 There are photographs of Schwarzwald residents in traditional costumes and descriptions of local Mardi gras (Fastnacht) festivities, as in much Black Forest tourist literature, but no swastikas. The descriptions of individual places are completely free of Nazi propaganda. Furthermore, plans for a future KdF prospectus for the whole of Baden showed that KdF officials seemed to have little interest in sites connected to famous local Nazis or key events in Nazi history there. Instead, a questionnaire distributed by KdF requested information about such diverse topics as local cuisine, the birthplaces of well-known poets or composers, museums, native handicrafts, excursion destinations and traditional costumes.97 Other questionnaires of the time, like the one issued by the Reich Tourism Association for an automobile guide to Greater Germany, did solicit information about the birthplaces of Nazi ‘greats’ or past sites of struggle, but the KdF one did not.98 Once again, touristic conventions for the region were upheld. The literature of KdF tourism was not uniformly Nazified. Certain destinations were subsumed within a Nazified touristic discourse, but in other places, few traces of overt politicization can be detected. Clearly, whether or not an individual location underwent this process of touristic Nazification depended less on whether it was being visited by private tourists or KdF vacationers and more on the destination itself. In other words, tourist literature varied from place to place, rather than from tourist type to tourist type.

A ‘new travel style’: the group tour and other trends in modern tourism In the Third Reich, despite the enormous popularity of KdF tourism – 8.5 million Germans travelled with KdF in 1939 alone – the private individual or familial vacation remained both the norm and the

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ambition for most Germans. Recognizing this, the regime drew attention to the characteristics that KdF holidays supposedly shared with those vacations. It emphasized the amount of personal choice, voluntary participation and privacy on offer. In truth, however, the KdF experience was first and foremost a group experience. A paradox thus emerged. On the one hand, KdF officials marketed their trips as cheaper copies of private vacations. On the other, they claimed that what set their trips apart actually benefited their participants. The value of KdF trips, they asserted, lay ‘neither in the type of transport nor in the destination of the journey, but solely in the community experience’.99 In other words, the benefits of the community experience were meant to compensate KdF tourists for the fourth-class trains and second-class treatment, unpopular destinations and lower quality accommodation. In the 1930s, the town of Wolfach issued a special leaflet to its KdF guests. Along with requests to arrive promptly for meals and photographs of a region ‘ceaselessly rich in natural beauties’, it contained an important reminder: ‘Dear Holidaymaker Comrades! Bear in mind, that it is above all the community experience that distinguishes the KdF holiday from the usual holiday and confers increased value upon it.’100 KdF publications, newspapers and trade journals regularly repeated this message. KdF holidays did not just attract participants because of their cheap prices. They were drawn by opportunities for ‘greater community connectedness’; KdF-lers wanted to meet new people and experience things collectively. In sum, KdF holidays epitomized not only a new ‘new travel style’, but also a ‘new lifestyle’, one in tune with the aims of the Third Reich.101 The Nazi regime certainly promoted specific forms of travel, which shared a collective character. Many travel experiences were mass experiences in the Third Reich. Alongside the KdF holidays, there were Hitler Youth hiking and camping trips, SA excursions, Labour Service outings and special train journeys to Nazi events, like the Nuremberg party rallies. ‘The German person of today’, observed one newspaper article, ‘moves inevitably in a community.’102 True, this was not always the case. Most tourists travelled on their own in Nazi Germany and a strong anti-mass tourism bias remained. But statistical evidence suggests that group travel (Gesellschaftsreisen) arranged by non-party organizations was also becoming increasingly popular. Prices had dropped steadily since 1929, and there were now more package holidays to be had for under 100 RM. MER, for example, increased its offerings by 31 per cent between 1929 and 1936. Der Fremdenverkehr reported a 30.7 per cent increase between 1936 and 1937 in group tours and package holidays arranged by German travel


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agencies.103 Some studies have attributed little significance to this increase, situating it instead as part of a continuous, steady rise in group travel that began after 1900.104 Yet if the quantitative growth is indicative of a long-term trend, significant qualitative changes in the marketing and meaning of group travel had taken place since 1933. KdF officials were not the only ones to proclaim the ideological value of communal travel. Travel agents and other private group tour organizers also appropriated the National Socialist discourse of community. While many German travel agencies saw Strength through Joy as a potential threat or source of unfair competition, others detected an advantage to be gained from its increasing popularity, especially in combination with Nazi propaganda about the value of collective activity in general. KdF, they hoped, would overcome common prejudices against mass tourism. It would thus popularize group travel and ultimately increase profits. Carl Degener, a leading figure in the Reich Group responsible for travel agencies (Reichsverkehrsgruppe Hilfsgewerbe des Verkehrs, or RHV), suggested that the ‘newcomer’ KdF had actually contributed to a modest increase in group travel by the end of 1937. But tourism officials wanted more. Since KdF aimed only to introduce the lower classes to the joys of group travel, Degener explained, the German travel agencies had to win over ‘the remaining comrades of all professions and classes’.105 To do so, the RHV recommended that its members advertise group travel in terms more in tune with the new communal spirit of the times: ‘The more weight the German travel agencies themselves lay on the promotion of the Volksgemeinschaftfeeling amongst the guests of their group tours, the easier it will be for them to win further customers.’106 The idea of the national community, it appears, was perceived as something that could potentially sell holidays. The message travel agencies were to adopt in this regard echoed KdF propaganda. For example, Der Fremdenverkehr claimed that ‘group trips … teach [Germans] how to be a Volksgemeinschaft’. ‘The group trip’, it continued, ‘is also the mediator between North and South, East and West, between all German tribes and comrades. The German traveller gets to know his brother in other districts.’107 Commercial group tour operators actually had an advantage over KdF in terms of this community discourse. KdF holidays were meant – despite what actually occurred – to be only for working-class or disadvantaged Germans. The commercial group trip, however, was theoretically available to any German. Group travel therefore meant that ‘working people of all occupations … high-ranking professionals and manual labourers, enjoy the

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land together’.108 Given how few workers with the lowest incomes were able to take part even in KdF vacations, this claim is especially dubious. However, the intent behind such assertions is clear. In this way, what many viewed as the downside of group travel – constant contact with strangers – was transformed into something positive. While travel agencies and commercial tour operators adopted this vocabulary, they also intimated that private package holidays lacked the rigidity and coercion of the state-organized trips. Their advertisements noted, for example, that ‘during the stay at the destination there are never annoying ties or duties. Each participant in a group trip can enjoy the beauties of nature alone and according to his own taste, if he does not place much value on camaraderie.’109 How much value did German tourists – KdF and non-KdF – actually place on camaraderie? Did they internalize the Volksgemeinschaft message? It is, unfortunately, very difficult to determine. For many KdF vacationers, having to share their tourist experiences with hundreds of others was the chief drawback rather than a selling point. Most were attracted by the prospect of pleasure, fun and adventure at cheaper prices than ever before. The same can be said for most participants of commercial tours. Why then was the National Socialist community discourse appropriated here? We should not completely discount tourism professionals’ genuine belief in the power of collective travel to unify the German Volk. The Ministry of Propaganda, German tourism’s ultimate authority, might also have recognized another potential vehicle for the Nazi message beyond the relatively limited circles of KdF. Economic opportunism offers another possible explanation. Adopting the Nazis’ community discourse was clearly seen as a way to compete with KdF, even if competitive pricing was prohibited. This suggests that the notion of the ‘national community’, perhaps the most popular of the central tenets of Nazism, was also deemed to be a commercially viable one, at least by members of the tourist trade. The rise in group travel during the twentieth century represents an important trend in modern tourism. In Germany, KdF undoubtedly contributed to the popularization of communal trips and package holidays, which heralded the advent of a new leisure lifestyle.110 KdF typified and at times accelerated other touristic developments as well, although a direct cause-and-effect relationship is hard to establish. The movement towards increased travel in the ‘off season’ (spring and autumn) is typical. KdF holidays often took place outside the high season in order to keep costs low, but there were other advantages – fewer tourists, different experiences – which KdF officials highlighted. While


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not an entirely new phenomenon after 1933, the German press now increasingly proclaimed the benefits of commercial travel ‘outside of July and August’.111 KdF had an even more discernible influence, according to Nazi propaganda at least, on the popularization of the winter holiday, particularly the winter sports holiday. Hermann Esser suggested that KdF had finally ‘healed many comrades of their prejudice’ against vacationing in the winter.112 KdF tourism was also, some claimed, responsible for the newfound desirability of less well-known places as tourist destinations, particularly those along Germany’s borders. KdF trips had led the way, one article maintained, and now regular tourists were attracted to these places, led by guidebooks promoting the hidden and the unknown.113 Der Fremdenverkehr recommended that commercial group tours, like their KdF counterparts, be sent to areas away from ‘the usual travel routes’, especially those ‘in German areas of distress, borderlands and border regions’.114 How regularly this occurred is difficult to determine – most of MER’s excursions, for example, tended to stick to the beaten track – but KdF tourism and commercial tourism clearly shared a discourse about the economic, political and touristic advantages of unfamiliar places. This chapter has focused primarily on how commercial tourism interests impacted and limited the KdF travel programme. Yet KdF also exerted a reciprocal influence upon the course of private tourism in Germany.

Conclusion Kraft durch Freude was created to wage a war for its members’ hearts and minds. Its battlefields were the nation’s hotels and guesthouses, its spa towns and beach resorts. With an eye to the inevitable international conflict to come, KdF fought to secure the support of German workers by compensating them for the loss of labour unions, low wages and the burdens of rearmament, while simultaneously attacking class privilege. But soon a number of other fronts had opened up. KdF came into conflict with commercial tourism organizations and private travel agencies, and campaigned against the disapproval and resentment of their customers, Germany’s ‘normal’ tourists. It also had to combat the disappointments of its own clientele, the KdF vacationers themselves. Total victory here was never achieved: the ‘shoulder to shoulder’ vision of Nazi propaganda remained elusive. Nazi propaganda also portrayed KdF holidays as part of a revolution in leisure travel. Yet, despite their inflated rhetoric, the Nazis’ touristic

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efforts were never actually revolutionary. Germany’s working classes remained vastly underrepresented amongst the KdF vacationers. Bourgeois privilege remained. The Nazi regime prioritized the profitdriven interests of the private tourism industry and these economic considerations often outweighed the political. Additionally, the regime never sought to enforce a new travel style – the group holiday – on an unwilling populace: it did not attempt to make the collective experience the norm. The Nazis recognized the enduring popularity of private, individual tourism, particularly amongst middle-class Germans. They chose not to interfere in their travel habits, while still imbuing those practices with ideological significance. The Nazi regime thus appeared to make several concessions with regard to Kraft durch Freude tourism, but all of them were in tune with its sustained and deliberate pursuit of everyday normality. On the one hand, the regime highlighted how very normal KdF travel actually was, by pointing to the parallels between its destinations, accommodations, itineraries, menus, activities and transportation methods, and those of commercial tourists. On the other hand, the regime made every effort to ensure that the KdF trips did not jeopardize truly normal (i.e. commercial) tourism itself. Crucially, the regime still got what it wanted from these apparent concessions. In fact, the willingness to adapt to consumer demand worked to the regime’s advantage. Many German workers were won over, if not to active then at least to passive support. Middle- and upper-class travellers were also convinced that the government had their interests at heart. So long as rearmament was not compromised, the Nazi regime was prepared to allow Germans to travel how and where – at least within the Reich – they wished. Travel beyond its borders, of course, proved more problematic. As we shall see in the following chapter, while it celebrated KdF cruises to different countries, the regime naturally preferred to attract foreign visitors to Germany. Yet, in its continued bid for the normal, the Nazis also allowed commercial travel abroad to continue under the swastika.

6 International Tourism

‘It is possible’, a German tourism newsletter advised in 1937, ‘to take a trip overseas … without a passport and a visa, [and] … without a full wallet.’ Although there was ‘no need to worry about getting sea sick’ during this trip, travellers could still send postcards marked ‘from overseas!’ All one had to do, the writer joked, was travel to the village of Übersee (Overseas) in the Bavarian Alps, population 2,000.1 The witticism was part of the wider campaign to get Germans to holiday in the Heimat or, at the very least, to ‘see Germany first’ before venturing abroad. At the same time, the article tacitly acknowledged the enduring lure, even in the new Germany, of travelling beyond the boundaries of the Reich. How did the Nazi regime respond to these potentially transgressive desires? And what was its attitude to guests from abroad? While domestic leisure travel was always more significant in the Third Reich, statistically, economically and even ideologically speaking, travel into and out of the country remained matters of considerable importance. The Nazis nevertheless had a somewhat contradictory relationship with international tourism. Foreign visitors to Germany were fervently desired from an economic standpoint since they brought much needed income and hard currency into the Reich. International visitors also had a valuable political function to fulfil, particularly in the realm of foreign policy. Although we may doubt the sincerity of Goebbels’ purported desire to secure world peace through tourism, the regime did believe that tourism had the potential to improve international relations in Germany’s favour. At the same time, international tourism meshed uncomfortably with the xenophobic mentality of the regime. The Nazi press periodically demonized the German’s ‘pathological worship of the foreigner’ and the special attention paid to ‘foreign millionaires’ in the past.2 These denunciations eventually became 129

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less frequent as the regime recognized the concrete economic and political benefits to be gained through tourism. Simply put, Nazi Germany needed international travellers. Many Germans needed and wanted to travel internationally as well. While the regime worked to dampen this consumer demand in various ways, the desire to see more than Hitler’s Germany did not disappear. Yet travel abroad did not actually run counter to the regime’s long-term ideological goals. In fact, it was easily incorporated into the larger Nazi political project: the search for normality. For just as the regime wanted to convince foreigners of the seeming normality of everyday life in Nazi Germany, so too did it want Germans to see that travel outside the Reich – with some restrictions, of course – was also continuing ‘as normal’.

The ideological function of international tourism in the Third Reich Goebbels had a favourite epithet for international tourism. He hailed it as ‘peace work in the purest sense’, something that led to greater cooperation and harmony between nations.3 Like Hitler’s characterization of himself as a man of peace, such statements represented a diplomatic manoeuvre aimed at camouflaging the Nazis’ true ambitions on the world stage. Goebbels was also following in a longer tradition, which asserted that leisure travel could serve the cause of international concord. Years before, the American Ambassador in Berlin had described tourism as the ‘most efficient means of preventing the possibility of misunderstandings between nations’.4 The Nazi regime was particularly worried about the effects of so-called ‘Greuelpropaganda’ (atrocity propaganda) in the press abroad, which, it claimed, spread lies about the new Germany. Such lies could be countered, it believed, when guests returned home with favourable impressions of Hitler’s Reich, which in turn would persuade foreign governments to downplay or ignore more disturbing reports. ‘Come to Germany and see for yourself!’ promotional material therefore exhorted. This was a favourite theme of German tourist propaganda. Visitors from abroad would finally see ‘the truth’ about the ‘oft misunderstood phenomenon – “new Germany”’ by witnessing its economic, social and cultural achievements for themselves. Naturally, tourism officials continued, they had no interest in turning foreigners into National Socialists, but they believed that the prejudices and biases ‘evoked by a malevolent press abroad’ would ‘melt away’ when foreign travellers observed the actual conditions of life under the new regime.5 Convinced that Germans

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might also be further won over to the regime through external validation, the press regularly publicized the enthusiastic appraisals of guests from other countries. Regular tourists were not, of course, the only ones capable of transmitting a positive image of Germany abroad. The evaluations of visiting dignitaries and other famous personalities, alongside those of foreign journalists, were also important. International students were an equally crucial part of the attempt to convince other nations of the supposed normality of life in Third Reich. Indeed, a whole variety of institutions developed to facilitate foreign visits and ensure the experience was a positive one. These included Alfred Rosenberg’s Foreign Affairs Office and the Ribbentrop Bureau (Dienststelle Ribbentrop).6 However, since Nazi Germany welcomed many more tourists than notable public figures, journalists and students combined, it was imperative that their impressions were favourable. All foreign visitors may have been equal, but some were more equal than others: guests from certain countries were particularly sought after. Hitler’s desire to further Anglo-German cooperation is well known. Nazi Germany’s efforts to create an image of ‘normal’ nationhood also pivoted around England. One German memoirist recalled how eager the Nazis were to secure the approval of all foreigners, but ‘especially the British’.7 Many tourism organizations did indeed make special overtures to the British travelling public. These efforts ranged from local initiatives to national endeavours. The Black Forest Travel Agency in Freiburg invited over fifty English travel agents for an eight-day, all-inclusive, fully paid vacation in the region at a cost of 5,500 RM, while the Propaganda Ministry paid the highly regarded English travel company, Thomas Cook, almost 86,000 RM between 1935 and 1937 to help lure its customers to Germany. The donations were made, according to one commentator, without demands about the style or content of the advertisements, but the resulting campaign must have pleased Nazi officials. ‘What! Have you never been to Germany?’ Thomas Cook brochures asked, then proceeded to list the highlights of this ‘great country’.8 The German Ambassador in London, writing to the Foreign Office in Berlin, agreed with such measures: ‘I am convinced that favourable travel impressions … will have the best conceivable impact on the further formation of the English attitude toward Germany.’9 Even ordinary Germans, it seems, shared this desire for English admiration. During his travels, one English tourist was frequently asked about the dominant impression of Nazi Germany back home.10

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While official propaganda sometimes disparaged it and the regime took real steps to limit it, as we shall see below, travel beyond the Reich was also invested with ideological significance. Under Hitler, travel abroad became a way for Germans to gauge his achievements. While commercial tourism offered the same benefits, renewed appreciation for the Fatherland became a more common theme in propaganda about Kraft durch Freude overseas cruises. Although the cruises represented only about one per cent of all KdF trips, peaking at 140,000 participants in 1939, they nevertheless had a unique political role to play.11 According to the propagandists, they were a high-profile symbol of Nazi success in democratizing leisure travel. But the KdF overseas cruises were also linked to the Nazis’ expansionist dreams. They heralded Hitler’s future global empire. A contemporary cartoonist made this connection when he depicted an overweight Robert Ley, German Labour Front leader, with wineglass in hand, sitting on board a KdF sailing ship. The ship’s horn blasted out the slogan ‘Next we go to England’.12 The KdF cruises also advertised the merits of Nazi social policy abroad. In Ley’s words, their participants served as ‘missionaries of National Socialism’.13 Their very presence in foreign ports demonstrated the achievements and successes of the new regime, which had made once inaccessible leisure practices available to working-class Germans. The press regularly reported on how deeply the KdF vacations impressed non-Germans. ‘You are a lucky folk!’ exclaimed an anonymous foreigner to a KdF participant travelling in East Prussia: ‘Where on earth are such experiences possible? Only for you!’14 KdF travel abroad had another significant ideological function. Its participants were to gain a deeper affection for Germany by comparing its daily conditions and standard of living with those witnessed on unfamiliar shores. Although some official publications made reference to ‘broadening one’s intellectual horizons’ and ‘expanding one’s image of the world’, travelling overseas was only truly desirable when it made Germans ‘appreciate the appearance of [their] Fatherland’.15 Seeing beggars, ill-clad children and workers firsthand in the slums of Portugal and Italy convinced many KdF travellers that they were indeed better off in Germany. In contrast, when the regime felt the comparisons might not be as favourable, passengers were not allowed to disembark. This was the case in Norway, where KdF ships cruised through the fjords but did not dock. While abroad, KdF-lers had an opportunity not only to compare the relative cleanliness or poverty of their destinations with home, but also to assess the relative racial status of the local population. Although not


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permitted any personal contact with actual Norwegians, one KdF holidaymaker nevertheless proudly asserted that they were ‘of our blood’; in contrast, the travel diary of Otto Kühn, a civil servant from Stettin, recorded derogatory observations about ‘half-breeds (Bastarden)’ and ‘Negroes’ working at the docks in Portugal.16 Of course, commercial travellers could also use their experiences abroad to deepen their sense of racial hierarchy. A trip to England proved upsetting to the deeply anti-Semitic German Count, Michael Alexander. Because the ‘Jewish bacillus’ had so thoroughly infected the country, he concluded, England could only be saved through a war with Germany.17 International tourism had a distinct practical value in the Third Reich. Convincing foreigners that Nazi Germany posed no threat to world peace was vital, as was persuading participants of the KdF overseas cruises of the relative merits of life in the Nazi dictatorship. The political advantages of commercial travel abroad, however, were admittedly more ambiguous. At times, the regime seemed to highlight its ideological benefits more to justify why travel abroad continued when Germans were supposed to be seeing Germany first. How should we interpret the Nazis’ response to a practice that persisted despite official condemnation and practical manoeuvres to limit it?

Commercial travel abroad Despite their many statements to the contrary, the Nazi regime was not, the tourist press explained, actually against travel abroad.18 As we have seen, KdF cruises in particular had a special role to play. Other Germans could, in theory, travel to any country they chose. In reality, though, the imposition of further currency restrictions and visa fees ensured that more travel was directed inward after 1933. The regime thus made private foreign travel very difficult, without actually forbidding it altogether. It limited how many Reichsmarks could be taken across the border or exchanged for foreign currency, made getting international visas difficult, and regularly imposed tolls on travel abroad. These measures were not unique to the Nazi regime. During the latter years of the Weimar Republic, the government made similar attempts to decrease the number of Germans travelling abroad. In 1931, the government had imposed a 100 RM tariff on all those departing the Reich.19 But the Nazi regime certainly broadened the scope of such measures. For example, it inflicted a 1,000 RM levy on travel to Austria, a move that practically crippled the Austrian tourist industry.20 Predictably, many German tourism professionals supported this type of

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state intervention, except, as we have seen, when it interfered with arranging daytrips across the border. Travel agents were less keen. They resented having to cancel fully booked package tours due to currency restrictions. They prized the ‘international character’ of their profession and worried about the effect that increasing limitations on foreign travel would have on their business.21 In the end, they need not have been so concerned. Travel abroad would continue under Hitler to a greater degree than they might have predicted. In addition to these economic sanctions on travel abroad, the Nazi regime aimed to reduce its dimensions through propaganda. One of its campaigns focused on getting all civil servants to spend their holidays in Germany.22 While most of the regime’s proclamations in this regard took the form of strongly worded requests rather than direct orders, some Germans were nevertheless under the impression that travel abroad already was or was about to be forbidden entirely. One visitor from England recalled being told that ‘only Germans of proved loyalty can be allowed to go abroad’; another quoted two Hitler Youth members who shared their thoughts on travelling internationally: ‘It would be interesting, but our Leader forbids [it]. He wants German youth to be German, not to pick up other ways: and we have plenty to see in our own beautiful Fatherland. Also Germany is poor. We haven’t money to spend outside’. A second English visitor pitied the German because ‘his own country won’t let him out’.23 In truth, however, foreign travel was mostly limited only by one’s purse strings. With the exception of KdF participants, the wealthy alone were able to book extended trips across the border or overseas. When Hitler came to power, one German from Münster recognized that he would not be able to leave his country: ‘First of all we would have no money’, he reminisced, ‘and then there would be the war’.24 But others would – and did – continue to travel beyond the borders of the Reich. It is extremely difficult to determine how many Germans travelled to foreign countries during this period. Relevant, accurate statistics are difficult to attain. One study, which lists the number of days Germans spent abroad (Aufenthaltstage), gives an idea at least of when this number ebbed and swelled. From 22 million in 1913, the number sank to 10 million in 1932, but soared to 25 million in 1936 and again in 1937. Other data reveal that, in 1936, German travel agencies arranged 6,024 group tours abroad and 7,864 the following year. These numbers become more significant when viewed as a percentage of the overall totals. Group tours abroad represented at most 12 per cent of the total arranged for Germans, while the percentage of days spent abroad


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hovered between 6 and 8 per cent of the total number of days Germans spent away from their homes both within Germany and without.25 Travel abroad, while representing only a fraction of German tourism figures overall, actually increased after 1933. The Nazi regime recognized that the desire to travel outside the Reich had not disappeared and that some Germans still possessed the means to undertake it. It therefore made no move to prohibit it completely, although it did try to direct and monitor it in various ways. There was now a quota for group tours arranged by German travel agencies: no more than 49 per cent of them could cross the Reich’s borders. Official propaganda also clearly prioritized which countries were to be visited. Unsurprisingly, Italy topped the list from an ideological standpoint. As a kind of touristic counterpart to a diplomatic alliance, travel to Italy was promoted as a way to unite the two fascist countries (see Figure 6.1). Commercial tourism publicity and KdF literature alike praised the Italian government and included new buildings and other sites associated with Mussolini and his Blackshirts within their itineraries. The political development of ages past, noted the German guidebook firm, Grieben, now found ‘expression and form in the Fascist movement. Their Führer (il Duce) Benito Mussolini created the authoritarian-ruled Fascist state. … He mastered the trade unions … [and] regulated the economy.’26 Fortunately for the Nazi regime, Italy was already an incredibly popular tourist destination for Germans before 1933. In the late 1920s, German visitors comprised the single largest group of foreign tourists in the country. The trend continued during the Third Reich and was further reinforced by the addition of KdF trips. By 1939, 145,000 KdF tourists alone had journeyed to Mussolini’s Italy.27 Alongside Italy, other countries with governments friendly to fascism, such as Spain, Portugal and Greece, were also recommended as destinations. At least in the early years, England too was acceptable, although it was far more crucial that the English travelled to Germany than it was for Germans to see the ‘other Germanic nation’. As with Italy, tourism was seen to foster political ties. Numerous exchanges took place between Hitler Jugend members and Boy Scout troops; more ominously, the first KdF cruise ships deliberately sailed by the Isle of Wight en route to Helgoland.28 The tourism propagandists seemed to have much less to say about travel to America. Germans were still visiting its shores, however, and they even had an up-to-date Grieben guide to help them plan their trip. Travel reports about the United States also continued to capture the public’s imagination. Some of this writing clearly dovetailed with Nazi anti-Americanism, but other stories conveyed a more positive

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Figure 6.1

evaluation of the country.29 In contrast, certain destinations were downright unacceptable in the new Germany, at least in theory. Hermann Esser condemned those German travel agencies that still dis-


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played brochures for the Soviet Union and no KdF trips were sent into the heart of Bolshevism. Yet, again, the regime did not actually forbid travel to the USSR. In fact, unflattering travel reports about the poor living conditions there had excellent propaganda value.30 In addition to recommending some destinations over others, travel agents and newspaper editors were also exhorted not to highlight trips abroad in their advertisements as much as they had done in the past. According to one analysis of the travel pages of the Frankfurter Zeitung, after 1933 far less attention was paid to far away lands in both articles and advertisements. About 75 per cent of the place names mentioned were German.31 But travel agencies and shipping companies under Hitler still marketed international holidays, whether through brochures and prospectuses or via advertisements in newspapers and magazines. Most newspaper travel sections also retained a worldly appearance. The Berliner Tageblatt’s Reiseblatt included an ‘overseas service’, which listed the next departures by ship from Germany to points all over the world. Until 1938, it displayed the daily temperatures at, and local times for, various international cities across the top of the front page. The travel section of the Rheinisch-Westfälische Zeitung was even renamed in 1933: ‘The World of Travel’. In some cases, travel supplements under Hitler looked more cosmopolitan than they had in the Weimar years. Yet others moved in a different direction. The depiction of the Egyptian pyramids that had accompanied the header for the Berliner BörsenZeitung’s travel insert disappeared shortly after Hitler’s takeover. Few Germans were actually able to travel abroad during the Third Reich. However, KdF and commercial foreign travel did have a broader resonance. Germans gained vicarious tourist experiences through the wide dissemination of travel images and stories in newspaper articles and radio programs. Travel literature, which had gained a wide readership during the Weimar Republic, also continued to be very popular under Hitler. Lavishly illustrated books with titles like Towards the Sun! and Volk on Board highlighted the joys of KdF overseas cruises and bus trips to sunny climes and distant fjords.32 Non-KdF travellers recounted their experiences in works with titles like Mexico is Different: A Trip into the Land of the Aztecs, Brazil: A Journey by Car, Train and Plane and Unearthly China: A Travel Report.33 Popular journals like Atlantis, Westermann, and Velhagen & Klasings Monatshefte published numerous travel articles about countries all over the world, from Canada to the Canary Islands, from India to Indonesia. Baedeker, which had been bailed out of its dire financial circumstances by the Nazi government in 1934, published several guidebooks for foreign countries, from nearby Switzerland to exotic Algeria and Morocco.

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The Nazi regime not only permitted German companies to promote travel abroad; it also allowed other countries to further their own touristic interests within the borders of the Reich. A great number of national tourist offices, which had representatives in Berlin and other German cities, continued their work after 1933, with several new organizations setting up shop quickly thereafter. As might be expected, Italy led the way in this regard. It had opened a branch of the Italian National Tourist Office (Ente Nazionale Industrie Turistiche, or ENIT) in Berlin during the 1920s, where prospective travellers could obtain information and brochures to help plan their Italian vacation. Its monthly newspaper, Reiseland Italien, and its German-language tourist material regularly placed Mussolini’s achievements in the foreground. Even the seemingly innocuous pamphlet Honeymoon in Italy emphasized political themes.34 The Official Italian Travel Agency, also in Berlin, sold train, sleeping car and airplane tickets, exchanged lire and Reichsmarks and even booked hotel rooms. There were many more of these national tourist organizations, which made it surprisingly easy to find out about and arrange travel abroad in the Nazi dictatorship. The Official Yugoslavian Travel Agency, the Swiss Travel Bureau, the Dutch Travel Bureau, the Finland Travel Agency and agencies for Norway, Poland and Lithuania were among those competing to lure German travellers away from the Reich. France had an uphill battle to wage via its French Travel Bureau. Continued strained relations between the two countries after the First World War ensured that relatively few Germans travelled to France. Stories about the negative reception Germans had received in Alsace did little to help matters. Likewise, signs like that warning visitors that ‘Dogs, pigs and Frenchman [would] not be tolerated’ at a Freiburg hotel minimized the number of French visitors to Germany.35 American and British tourist organizations lagged far behind their European counterparts in terms of promotional work abroad. They were not represented in Berlin or elsewhere in the world. Only after the Second World War did they get involved in the kind of public relations efforts at which Nazi Germany excelled.36 Perhaps more surprising than their absence was the continued presence of Intourist, the Soviet Union’s pre-eminent tourist organization, which maintained an office in Berlin until 1939 and continued to publish brochures in German at least until war broke out.37 During the war, a number of new organizations opened their doors. Hungary and Japan set up tourist offices in Berlin for the first time in 1941. What do we make of these continuities and the seeming normality of German travel abroad under Hitler? How should we assess the endur-


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ing desire to holiday outside his Reich? It would certainly be wrong to cast all travel abroad during this period as nothing more than an attempt at escape and thus as representing some kind of anti-Nazi opposition. Seeking to flee the repressiveness of Nazi Germany, if only temporarily, may have motivated some tourists, but probably not the majority. Curiosity about life without Hitler undoubtedly played a part. Two Hitler Youth members who travelled to Czech Bohemia in 1936 justified the trip as follows: ‘We have heard so much about the hellishness of democracy that we have to visit … . We want to talk to Germans who have experienced life in a democracy.’38 What their actual impressions of democracy were, they left unsaid. Other travellers abroad used the opportunity, as the regime hoped they would, to reaffirm their faith in National Socialism. A stay in England merely convinced Hans Thost, author of As a National Socialist in England, that the negative things he had heard about the country were true. But these politically motivated travellers were undoubtedly in the minority. For most Germans wealthy enough to travel abroad, skiing in Switzerland, a visit to the Louvre in Paris or a sojourn to New York was an intrinsic part of ‘normal’ life. It provided further confirmation for Germany’s upper classes that Hitler’s revolution did not intend to upset established practices and routines. Travel abroad did not mean, therefore, that the regime had lost control of its citizens or that it had simply failed to inculcate the correct values. To be sure, the regime might have preferred that more Germans stayed home. The increased tariffs it placed on travel abroad attest to that desire. In the end, however, travel abroad was relatively insignificant from a numerical perspective. It was also forced to run along the channels prescribed by the regime. Moreover, when viewed from an ideological standpoint, it had potentially valuable contributions to make. The regime did not have to prohibit travel abroad because it did not oppose long-term Nazi objectives. In fact, the Nazis profited in terms of their popular legitimacy by allowing these vacations to continue. Yet, while travel abroad was permitted, it was much more important, economically and politically, to get more foreign visitors to come to the German Reich.

The Reichsbahnzentrale für den Deutschen Reiseverkehr (RDV) Most German tourism organizations were keen to attract foreign visitors to Germany and made a range of attempts to do so in addition to their efforts to increase domestic tourism. The international web of travel agencies run by MER (Central European Travel Agency) played a

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paramount role here. Established in 1917, MER served as the chief representative of the German Railroad abroad and had offices in countries throughout the world, where it sold individual train tickets for travel in Germany, as well as package rail tours. By 1928, there were 612 MER agents working abroad; by 1933, that number had grown to 790 and continued to climb thereafter.39 Domestic initiatives to increase international visits were less elaborate but still varied. The State Tourism Association for Munich and Southern Bavaria created a special department to deal exclusively with drawing more tourists from abroad. In Baden-Baden, where foreigners comprised about 25 per cent of total visitor numbers, the local Spa Authority devoted a significant part of its annual budget to advertising abroad. Like the well-known resort of Berchtesgaden, it published its promotional material in many languages, tailoring the content in each in order to appeal to different audiences. Working on a much smaller scale, even tiny Black Forest towns like Bühl marketed their attractions in foreign newspapers like the Manchester Guardian. Individual hotels and transportation companies also sought non-German patrons. Even Baden-Baden recognized, however, that ‘the German had always been [its] best customer’.40 As a result, most of these organizations focused primarily on the German market, turning less attention worldwide. At the national level, there was a much starker division of labour. The Reich Tourism Association set and policed advertising standards and served as the ultimate authority in German tourism, but its promotional activities were geared largely towards a domestic audience. In contrast, the primary mandate of the German Railroads Information Office, the Reichsbahnzentrale für den Deutschen Reiseverkehr (RDV), was to sell Germany abroad. Surprisingly, very little has been written about this body, even though it played a central role in creating and disseminating an image of Germany during both the Weimar Republic and the Third Reich. Its forerunner, the Reichszentrale für Deutsche Verkehrswerbung was founded in Berlin in February 1920, in large part to improve Germany’s image and reputation after the First World War. At first it was a registered society (eingetragener Verein), financed by a multitude of different organizations interested in increasing international tourism. In 1928, it received a new name (RDV) and was transformed into a corporation (GmbH), with the German Railroad as its only shareholder. This new name, many felt, was misleading. The RDV was not simply an advertising post for the railways: it was a general promoter of travel to Germany. Naturally, the RDV also supported attempts to increase inner-German travel. It published advertising material in


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German and its enormous archive of photographs and films was at the disposal of domestic organizations. Its main purpose, however, was to further international travel and the vast majority of its publications – between 90 and 95 per cent – were sent abroad.41 The RDV did not only send material abroad directly from its headquarters in Berlin. In 1920, it also began to establish offices outside Germany. By 1929, RDV offices could be found in twelve different countries worldwide. Although it gained international acclaim for its innovative and extensive advertising campaigns, the RDV’s early history was fraught, according to contemporary commentators and Nazi propagandists alike, with the same kinds of rivalries and institutional fragmentation that marked German tourism as a whole. The RDV had faced considerable animosity from other organizations, which resented its focus on foreigners; it also allegedly suffered from the decentralizing trends of the Weimar Republic. Nazi tourism propaganda claimed these difficulties were only resolved by Hitler’s assumption of power. The RDV was indeed more unified after 1933 under the directorship of Hans-Gert Winter. The advisory board’s regular praise for Hermann Esser’s steering of German tourism thus seems more genuine than merely opportunistic.42 While the RDV was certainly affected by the Gleichschaltung process, it appeared, on the surface at least, to retain a greater degree of autonomy from the Ministry of Propaganda than did bodies such as the state tourism associations, since it was answerable instead to the Ministry of Transportation. However, it was subject to the directives of the Reich Committee of Tourism via its parent company, the German Railroad, which was a member. Additionally, the Ministry of Propaganda had a very vocal representative on the RDV’s advisory board, Fritz Mahlo, who made its desires and demands abundantly clear. The RDV itself emphasized how it followed ‘National Socialist principles’ and worked together with all other tourism bodies.43 Even the overseas offices fell victim to a thorough Nazification. Their directors were immediately dismissed, for example, if ever expelled from the Nazi Party. The RDV expanded its network of international offices in the Third Reich, opening branches in cities from Rio de Janeiro to Montreal. These were not travel agencies, in that they did not book tours or hotel rooms, but served instead as information outlets. By 1938, the RDV had 31 offices in 26 different counties and it employed around 350 employees, 145 at the Berlin headquarters alone.44 The Berlin office directed all activities abroad, setting budgets, approving publications and soliciting a constant stream of statistical information. Via these

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overseas offices, the RDV distributed an incredibly wide range of material, including brochures, posters, films, slides, window displays and even puppets dressed in typical German costumes. Tourism professionals abroad continued to express their admiration for the ingenuity and extent of the RDV’s work.45 Certain RDV offices abroad were more important than others. Unsurprisingly, England became a linchpin in the RDV’s campaign to increase international tourism. In September 1938, for example, the head office earmarked an additional 100,000 RM for the London branch to combat falling visitor numbers in the wake of growing apprehension about Germany’s foreign policy aims.46 While the London office’s paperwork has unfortunately gone missing, we do have a partial documentary record for the New York branch of the RDV, since the United States government confiscated some of its files as alien property during the Second World War. By examining them, we can reconstruct how Nazi Germany attempted to sell itself to the American travelling public and – in the process – to sway American opinion of Hitler’s Reich.

The German Railroads Information Office (GRIO) in New York The RDV representative in New York had to compete with numerous other national tourist offices, especially the French ones, for France remained the most popular European destination for Americans.47 RDV opened its New York branch in 1925, calling it the German Tourist Information Office. In 1935, its name was changed to the German Railroads Information Office (GRIO), although clearly it did much more than advertise the German railways. Directed by Ernst Schmitz, its annual budget seems to have been around 470,000 RM, many, many times more than that allotted to countries such as the Netherlands or Australia.48 GRIO promoted interest in travelling to Germany in several ways. It distributed press releases and information sent from RDV headquarters to American newspapers and other interested organizations and institutions, such as travel agencies, informing them about everything from upcoming festivals to new price reductions for train travel. It passed on copies of a weekly wire service report it received from Berlin, entitled News Flashes from Germany, which detailed various planned cultural events and other touristic highlights. GRIO also sent photographs and posters of German cities, castles and other tourist attractions to college instructors, libraries, and authors of newspaper


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and magazine travel articles. Its travelogue films were lent out for screening in museums and high schools. One of them, ‘A Trip through Germany’, was still eliciting very positive viewer comments until 1940 during its run at the American Natural History Museum. In response to individual requests, GRIO issued long, detailed sample itineraries for travel throughout the country, explaining how to get an international driver’s licence and where to stay. GRIO’s director estimated it handled between 65,000 and 150,000 such requests from Germany-bound travellers per year. Finally, GRIO actively sought out travel agencies to ‘cultivate’ – in other words, to bombard with promotional material – which it felt were willing to display Germany to good advantage. As a noncommercial institution, all GRIO services were free of charge.49 There can be no doubt that GRIO’s activities in New York were ideologically as well as economically motivated. Its work was ultimately intended to blunt growing criticism of Adolf Hitler and his Third Reich. The fact that the Nazi government seemed to be carrying out its propaganda campaigns unimpeded on American soil angered many. Controversy erupted in 1934 when GRIO hired an American public relations firm, Carl Byoir and Associates, to advise on its advertising efforts, paying $108,000 for an eighteen-month contract. Not only was this undesirable from Nazi Germany’s point of view – the GRIO director admitted he had hired Byoir before informing Berlin – in the end it proved very problematic for the firm as well. American critics accused Byoir, who happened to be Jewish, of trying to ‘sell Hitlerism’.50 The House Committee on Un-American Activities investigated the contract in June 1934. It concluded that GRIO’s activities were not limited to tourism promotion, but involved actual political propaganda. The contract left an enduring stain on Byoir’s professional career. Yet GRIO was permitted to carry on its work, despite the Committee’s findings, and the organization was undoubtedly instrumental in increasing visitor numbers to Germany from the United States. The GRIO files are a fascinating source because they show how successful Nazi travel propaganda abroad was proving to be. What can only be described as fan mail about Hitler and the achievements of the new Germany arrived at regular intervals. Even after war was declared in Europe, these letters continued to pour in, from both previous visitors to Germany and those who hoped to visit in the future. In contrast to RDV offices in Cairo, Montreal, London, Paris and Warsaw, which closed their doors in August 1939, GRIO remained active, trying desperately to convince Americans that travel to Germany could carry on as normal even while the country was at war. GRIO still supplied

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travel agencies with material, lent films to museums and answered travellers’ inquiries about the latest progress on the Nuremberg Party Rally grounds. But new and sometimes disturbing tasks were added to the list. At the same time as the German Railroad was gearing up for mass deportations from Germany, the New York RDV office was sending politely worded letters advising hopeful Jewish emigrants and their advocates about air travel regulations and visa fees.51 GRIO’s continued work after the outbreak of war aroused the ire of the American public. ‘Most of the travel bureaus operated by “warring” nations have been closed,’ raged one editorial. Yet ‘the German Railroads Information Bureau [sic] is still open. And for a reason.’ The author went on to describe GRIO’s most recent six-page news bulletin, dated 18 May 1940. Its purpose, he fumes, ‘is obviously to show the glamorous and powerful state of affairs in Hitler’s beautiful kingdom of love, laughter and life. … Reading the reports … one could get the idea that noble Germany is intent on nothing but the opposite of butchery, murder and world disruption. These railroad bulletins are part of the planned propaganda to lull America into fear or acceptance of the super-power of Hitler.’52 This was indeed a shrewd observation. Actual tourism promotion had clearly taken a back seat. According to the Propaganda Ministry, the RDV’s work had to become more political in nature. The American Treasury Department finally closed GRIO down on 16 June 1941, but RDV offices in seventeen friendly and neutral countries were still operating in 1942. In an agreement formalized with the German Foreign Office that year, the RDV was recognized as a key player in the wartime propaganda game.53 But long before then, it had occupied a central role in purveying an image of Hitler’s Germany for consumption abroad.

Selling Hitler’s Germany: the Third Reich’s touristic image abroad So what was the image of Nazi Germany projected beyond the Reich’s borders? Generally, in foreign publications, it became a peace-loving, trustworthy and progressive nation, a joyful country of festival-goers, hearty eaters, smiling peasants and music-lovers. GRIO promotional material typified this depiction: ‘See for yourself’, one article advised, ‘how Germany is going ahead: no unemployment, production at peak levels, social security, gigantic projects for industrial development, economic planning, organized efficiency, a dynamic will of pulling together – a happy, energetic people who gladly share their achievements


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with you.’54 Other RDV publications focused on Germany’s quaint old towns, colourful costumes and friendly policemen. Abroad, Berlin was heralded as a modern, dynamic and cosmopolitan capital, while Nuremberg was praised as a city of toys.55 Material about Munich focused on its art museums and festivals. Early issues of the Reich Committee for Tourism’s English-language magazine, Germany, promoted golf courses and spoke of Wagner, while guidebooks spoke vaguely of the ‘changes’ that had occurred since 1933.56 In a great deal of this material, then, the symbols of Nazism were largely absent. However, one historian’s claims that swastikas and allusions to Hitler were prevalent only in tourist literature intended for a domestic audience are simply not true. Foreign tourist literature was not ‘completely free of politics’; at times, it deliberately promoted the Germany of the National Socialists.57 Nor were swastikas merely ‘skilfully integrated so as not to alter the [overall] ambience’; they often dominated the picture.58 Certain destinations were cloaked in the symbols and ideological language of Nazism, while others remained seemingly exempt, just as they were for German consumers. More research could still be done to delineate how and whether material destined for one country differed from that targeting another. Initial impressions suggest that American campaigns, for example, were less stridently pro-Nazi than were many British ones. Yet in all foreign tourism advertising after 1933, what was new – and therefore Nazi – about Germany remained a key theme. A few examples should illustrate how much and how often tourist material sent abroad dealt explicitly with the Third Reich. In New York, GRIO sent a slide show entitled ‘Adolf Hitler is Germany’ to various schools and museums. The photograph of the Berlin Town Hall it ordered for its brochures featured swastika flags waving prominently in the foreground. Later issues of Germany promoted a kind of Hitler tourism with extensive articles about his birthplace, Braunau am Inn, and the Führer House in Munich. The ‘new situation’ after January 1933 was made abundantly clear in many English-language publications. One RDV guide explained that the NSDAP was now the only political party. A 1936 Baedeker guide deemed the Versailles Treaty to be a ‘penal sentence’, included key dates in the Nazi calendar, described how the Nazis had ‘eliminated fruitless parliamentarianism’, and justified the Nuremberg Laws as merely ‘new laws dealing with German citizenship’. The overtly politicized guidebook Das neue Berlin and the picture book Bilder aus Berlin, described in Chapter 3, included captions for its photographs in French and English, suggesting that they too were aimed at a foreign readership.59

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Once again, we find that the extent of Nazified elements depended upon the destination. Depictions of the Black Forest, for example, remained relatively swastika-free as they did in German brochures. Material promoting the luxurious resort of Baden-Baden is particularly illustrative. At an early stage, local tourism officials had foreseen potential difficulties for the future marketing of an international bathing place in a state now concerned primarily with ‘building up the national elements’ and intensifying ‘national character’.60 They need not have worried. Although fervently anti-internationalist, the Nazi regime relished the spa town’s worldwide reputation. Thus, despite the Reich Tourism Association’s guidelines calling for ‘more German’ tourism publicity, Baden-Baden remained a Weltbad. ‘The world – literally the whole world – knows Baden-Baden’, a 1938 brochure joyfully declared.61 Baden-Baden’s reputation also rested on its status as a luxury, high-profile playground of the rich and famous. Although such lavish excess did not exactly fit with the official Nazi worldview, tourism authorities could not do away with this image entirely. Pictures of women in fur coats, casino guests in dinner jackets and other icons of glitz and glamour still found their way into much of the resort’s publicity material, both in that destined for abroad and that aimed at German tourists. For the most part, overt Nazi symbols and rhetoric did not. The Spa Authority’s multi-language pamphlets promoting the 1939 ‘Big Week in Baden-Baden’ contained a watercolour painting of a streetscape bedecked with flags to ‘greet the guests from all nations’.62 Among them, there was not a single swastika to be found. A superficially normal tourist culture remained intact here, as it did in the Black Forest in general. In large measure, foreign tourists read the same kinds of things about Nazi Germany as did German tourists. This equality in advertising contrasted starkly with international publications about Mussolini’s Italy, in which, with the exception of German-language editions, only the briefest of references to Mussolini or Fascism were made. ‘The style adopted in the tourist propaganda which was directed to foreigners differed as night from day if compared with the rhetoric devised for domestic consumption.’63 There was admittedly a greater tendency to incorporate more overt references to Italian Fascism from 1936 onwards. In the Third Reich, by contrast, explicit references to Nazism were there from the beginning. Many commentators seem to have overlooked the fact that Nazism itself lured many foreign guests to Germany. Some came, of course, because Germany was relatively cheap. The cost of visas was low,


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exchange rates were favourable and train travel was heavily discounted for visitors from abroad.64 Others were drawn by Germany’s beautiful landscapes or various urban cultural experiences. For them, Nazism held little interest. But many foreigners came specifically to see what had changed after 1933. A hotel owner in Bonn raved to an English guest: ‘This is the best tourist season we have had in Germany for many years. … Curiosity as to whether we Germans have cloven hoofs is bringing people into our country.’65 Tourism advertisers highlighted Nazi attractions in response to this consumer demand. In Baden-Baden, when international students expressed their interest in ‘the development of the city since the NS takeover’, the Baden chapter of the Ministry of Propaganda ordered the Spa Authority to put together a list of attractions along these lines.66 We also know that foreigners visited the Nazi sites, be it the Feldherrnhalle in Munich or the Nuremberg Party Rally grounds. In fact, at Berchtesgaden, it was no longer possible to determine which guests, including those from abroad, came for the rural landscapes and which ones wanted to see the ‘chosen Heimat of the Führer’.67 Die Reichshauptstadt, the Berlin Tourism Society’s weekly newsletter, described special tours arranged by the foreigners’ information service (Ausländerdienst) to various NSDAP welfare and social establishments, including labour service camps. One English visitor who took part in a similar tour characterized the latter as ‘immaculately clean and tidy’.68 Unlike in Soviet Russia, where the Intourist travel agency ensured that model organizations were all foreign guests saw during their stay, in Nazi Germany, visitors from abroad were under no obligation to join such tours.69 The fact that many did reveals a genuine interest in the institutions of Nazism. There was, however, one significant difference between tourist material aimed at domestic and international audiences. Blatant antiSemitism – mentioning that this or that town was now ‘Jew-free’, for example – was not supposed to appear in tourist literature destined for abroad. When the Bavarian resort of Bad Tölz mistakenly included its limitations on ‘non-Aryan’ spa guests within a brochure it sent to a prospective visitor from the Netherlands, it hurried to assure him that such restrictions did not apply to foreigners.70 Both the Nazi regime and the German tourist trade were concerned about the effect that open displays of anti-Semitism might have on international tourism. In Baden-Baden, some members of the hospitality industry protested the erection of anti-Jewish signs at various establishments and plans to exclude Jews from accessing the resort’s amenities. With the permission of the LFV Baden, Baden-Baden continued to include the names of

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Jewish doctors and Jewish-owned hotels in its tourist literature, albeit in a separate column. Characterizing Baden-Baden as a ‘refuge’ for nonAryan visitors surely overstates things, but there was a greater degree of freedom and choice here for Jewish guests than in less well known, less cosmopolitan German resorts.71 While foreigners were in some way protected from the anti-Semitism of Nazi Germany during the preparations for their journey, it regularly confronted them at specific destinations. In Nuremberg, for example, the ‘persecution of the Jews was brazenly acknowledged’, one Englishwoman recalled. She noticed one decorative plaque, recently restored, which read: ‘Shun the fox on the heath, and the Jew on the street’. The tour she joined took her to the medieval ‘Torture Tower’ and then on to the Nazi Party Rally grounds. In Nuremberg, she thus observed, ‘the past has never been allowed to die a decent death. Its cruelty and its passions have been kept alive to nourish the brutality of the present.’72 But while they were often aware of it, and perhaps even disgusted by it, most travellers seemed willing not to let anti-Semitism tarnish their German holiday.73 The regime made the most concerted effort to shield visitors from vulgar expressions of anti-Semitism during the 1936 Summer Olympics in Berlin. The display cases erected at bus stops and newsstands for the rabidly racist tabloid, Der Stürmer, were dismantled; banners advising that Jews were not welcome were removed from city entrances. However, while these measures acted as an elaborate smokescreen for the Nazis’ true ethnic hatreds, the Olympics themselves were otherwise about putting Nazi Germany on display for the world to see. The touristic event of the Third Reich was also a Nazi event, one that celebrated Nazism even as it camouflaged its most sinister side. The promotional material about the Games that was sent abroad was certainly never free of swastikas. In foreign advertisements, Hitler himself appeared alongside the Olympic bell, both of them summoning ‘the youth of the world’ to Berlin. The 1936 Games represented a triumph of National Socialist propaganda. They created an extremely favourable impression of the new Germany for most foreign visitors and thereby blinded the majority to the regime’s real ambitions. ‘Almost no one escaped the impression that the new Germans were working hard, were playing hard, were at peace, and would stay that way,’ one historian rightly concludes.74 Even some Jewish Germans were misled. ‘For me,’ reminisced historian Peter Gay, ‘the most formidable adventure of the year, breathlessly anticipated and just as breathlessly enjoyed, were the Olympic Games.


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The atmosphere was electric and contagious. … It took me some years to recognize the political side of this bracing event. The Olympic Games had been staged by the regime with an eye to world opinion.’75 In turn, the overwhelmingly positive impressions gained by foreigners also had an effect on non-Jewish Germans. The unabashed foreign enthusiasm of the Olympics and Germany as whole became a further endorsement of ‘their’ system of government. When on holiday, foreigners and Germans were presented with very similar images of the Reich. The absent swastika characterized material about certain destinations, such as the resort towns of the Black Forest, but brochures about Berlin or Nuremberg steered visitors toward a number of Nazi attractions. Material about the German nation after 1933 might have stressed its efficiency, its cleanliness, its friendliness or its safety, but it rarely ignored the supposed creator and guarantor of this state of affairs, Adolf Hitler.

A success story The campaign to attract more tourists from abroad in the Third Reich was a success story in numerical and economic terms. Nazi propaganda claimed a 260 per cent increase in foreign overnight stays between 1932 and 1935, which was undoubtedly an exaggeration, but the numbers were definitely up after 1933.76 The Olympic Games marked a banner year in international tourism and Berlin was not the only city to benefit. That summer, 1.2 million foreigners, about 15 per cent of all registered visitors, arrived in Germany, an increase of 55 per cent over the summer of 1935. Thuringia alone witnessed a 61.3 per cent rise in visitors from abroad.77 But the Olympic year merely presaged what was to come. Berlin welcomed almost 56,000 more foreigners in 1937 than it had in 1936. That year, too, Bavarian tourism numbers finally surpassed the best years of the Weimar Republic. The region around Berchtesgaden, which recorded a mere 35,064 foreign guests in 1933, listed 237,000 in 1937, a number not reached again until 1961/62.78 The regime also had success with those nationalities it had specifically targeted. American overnights doubled between 1934 and 1937. The percentage of English and Irish visitors amongst foreign travellers increased from approximately 7 per cent in 1931/32 to 19 per cent in 1936/37. In some states, such as Baden, they now became the most numerous group. Interest in travelling to Germany also grew in Britain. In March 1936, the RDV office in London noted a threefold increase in enquiries over the same month the previous year.79

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To what degree were these increasing numbers attributable to the efforts of the Nazi regime? Were they not simply in tune with broader developments, which saw a continual increase in leisure travel after the Great War? Some historians have certainly argued the latter.80 Yet difficult as it might be to measure, the Nazis’ concerted drive to increase international tourism after 1933 undoubtedly had some effect. For the first time in German history, the state made advertising abroad a top national priority and financed it accordingly. Moreover, tourism professionals attributed the rise in visitor numbers to the measures undertaken by the regime. Like economic regeneration generally, the revitalization of international tourism might have happened had not Hitler come to power. Nevertheless, because it did occur while he was at the helm, it contributed substantially to sustaining the government’s popular legitimacy, particularly amongst the thousands of Germans who made their living from foreign tourists. Nazi propagandists had always maintained that tourism’s real value was political rather than economic. The regime’s greatest success with regard to international tourism undoubtedly came in the political arena. Travel outside the Reich often deepened Germans’ affection for Hitler and their admiration for his accomplishments. At the very least, it rarely diminished their support for – or their passive acceptance of – the Nazi dictatorship. Some vacationers must have compared the situation at home unfavourably with that they witnessed while on holiday. But while tourism is often characterized as an escape from the everyday, tourist experiences are always culturally mediated: they are shaped by a pre-existing mentality. Many German tourists already shared a Nazified worldview; they therefore interpreted what they saw abroad in ways that coincided with it. Thus, after a long stay in England, one Nazi journalist bizarrely concluded that the country’s much vaunted ‘liberal’ values, such as individualism and pacifism, were, in fact, synonymous with National Socialist virtues.81 The KdF cruises were also having the desired effect upon world opinion. We have little reason to doubt the story of the Portuguese journalist, who, in light of the KdF trips across the Atlantic, was convinced that the Germans did not want war.82 With the exception of the KdF participants, the regime might indeed have preferred that fewer Germans departed for foreign shores. However, travel abroad ultimately tallied with the Nazi agenda, which explains why it was never entirely forbidden after 1933. Most importantly from the perspective of the regime, tourists from abroad were obtaining the ‘right’ impression of the Third Reich. They praised its cleanliness, orderliness and cultural vitality, and, frequently, the general contentment of its population. ‘Great masses of people’,


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remarked an English visitor, ‘know the meaning of the word “happy”.’83 Seeing the new Germany firsthand had indeed overturned certain misconceptions, just as the Reich tourism organizations had promised. ‘Before we crossed the frontier into Germany, I had been apprehensive’, another traveller from England recalled, but ‘people were friendly everywhere’; the Germans she met, recounted another, were ‘too travelled and too cultured to become fanatics’.84 Some American visitors found much to admire about the Nazi political system itself, particularly in contrast to the situation at home. They admired Hitler, a ‘strong man who really stands for Principle’; chillingly, others explicitly ‘welcome[d] the idea of vacation tours without contact with jews [sic] and other “racketeers” to spoil enjoyment’.85 These Nazi sympathizers were, of course, in the minority amongst holidaymakers. Most departed convinced only that Germany was a normal nation, albeit one that had proved ill-suited to democracy.86 They had seen with their own eyes a peace-loving and progressive country. Later reports of Nazi political and racial ‘excesses’ could therefore easily be discounted. Of course, not every visitor was so easily deceived. Some were willing to reserve judgement. ‘Germany to-day is a seething cauldron,’ wrote one British visitor soon after the Nazi assumption of power. ‘And it is as yet difficult to see the shape into which it is being cast.’87 In contrast, other travellers to the Third Reich recognized the looming dangers of Nazism right away. From an Austrian librarian to a French Communist sympathizer, from American newspaper correspondent William Shirer to African-American sociologist W. E. B. du Bois, these more prescient arrivals not only observed, but also critiqued, the new regime’s repression of labour, the persecution of its political opponents, Nazi foreign policy and the plight of German Jews.88 But while these four may have glimpsed the brutality lurking behind the shimmering façade of everyday normality, they often did so only because they spent months, and even years, living in Hitler’s Germany. Regular tourists, there for a week or two at most, usually returned only with positive impressions of a peaceful, pleasant land. ‘There is little reason to fear’ what was occurring in Nazi Germany, one English visitor asserted after driving from one end of the country to the other.89 That is exactly what tourism officials in the Third Reich had hoped to hear.

Conclusion During the interwar period, foreign labour delegations toured the Soviet Union; Catholics from overseas made the pilgrimage to what was now Mussolini’s Rome; holidaymakers in search of fun and relaxation

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descended on the spa towns of the Third Reich. International tourism thus provided some intriguing points of contact between the closed societies of European dictatorships and the relatively open societies of western democracies. Recognizing the concrete economic and political benefits to be gained, these nations sought to reconcile an inherent nationalist chauvinism with the need to attract foreign visitors. Leisure travel created an extraordinary public relations opportunity, whereby negative preconceptions could be overcome. Happy foreign tourists, claimed one Italian official, offered ‘the very best propaganda [for Fascism] and the most effective denial of absurd foreign calumnies against our country’.90 German officials agreed. In stark contrast to the Soviet Union, which controlled the entire travel experience of even the most sympathetic observers, Hitler’s achievements in Nazi Germany were often allowed to speak for themselves. And most visitors heard only positive things. For every foreigner who felt her vacation had been marred by Hitler Youth parades, as did one Russian artist on holiday in Austria, there were hundreds more who were captivated and impressed by Nazi pageantry, especially during events like the Nuremberg Party Rallies. Some foreign guests were indeed embarrassed by the ubiquitous ‘Heil Hitler’ salute, while others relished the practice and adopted it themselves during their stay; one English visitor went so far as to affix a swastika pennant to his car.91 Fascism was fascinating indeed. At the same time, international tourists were struck by the pleasant ‘normality’ of travelling in Hitler’s Germany. Anti-Semitic signs, ubiquitous uniforms and waving swastika flags aside, Germany was, as the propagandists maintained, still Germany. The Nazi regime was predictably less enthused about Germans travelling abroad. Backed by large segments of the tourist industry, it thus worked to limit the crossing of Reich borders by imposing currency restrictions and declaring that the Reich had everything that the USA, South Africa or Australia could offer.92 But even travel abroad could have a positive political impact by deepening vacationers’ appreciation for the Fatherland upon their return. More importantly, continued travel abroad shored up the façade of normality so crucial to the Nazi regime’s quest for popular legitimacy. While consumer desires thus affected touristic policy, they did not do so at the expense of, or in actual opposition to, the Nazis’ overall political goals. International tourism’s contribution to the Nazis’ normalization project did not diminish after the outbreak of war. The regime was desperate to assure potential visitors from friendly and neutral countries that travel to Germany was still possible. News Flashes from Germany,


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the weekly reports wired from RDV headquarters in Berlin to GRIO in New York, therefore focused on what had not been interrupted, delayed or cancelled by the war. ‘Business as usual’ was the dominant motif. The regime was even eager to convince Germans that they could still travel outside the country ‘despite the war’.93 Travel purely for pleasure was not always possible, but cultural exchanges, conferences and sporting events across Europe welcomed German participants after September 1939. A young girl from Berlin en route to Italy in 1942 to compete in a track meet agreed that it was strange to be going abroad in the middle of the war.94 As the following chapter reveals, however, the experience of being a tourist in wartime Germany was not so unusual after all.

7 Tourism at War

The outbreak of war on 1 September 1939 brought neither an end to leisure travel in the Third Reich nor the dissolution of German tourism organizations. Certainly, extended Kraft durch Freude holidays were over. Many hotels and guesthouses, particularly those near the Western Front, were quickly converted into military hospitals to await the inevitable wounded. The German Railroad immediately prioritized the transportation of soldiers to the Front, rather than the needs of pleasure travellers. At least initially, some local tourism societies and offices began to restrict their activities and even discussed closing down.1 The conflict therefore undoubtedly made its presence felt. However, the Nazi regime issued no sweeping prohibition on civilian travel. Nor was there a mass departure from resorts like Baden-Baden, and within days, new guests were again arriving. A truly international tourist trade was now a thing of the past, but visitors from friendly or neutral countries could still be seen in some hotels and restaurants. Government officials themselves stressed that they did not foresee or desire a complete shutdown of German tourism organizations.2 Many members of the tourism industry thus had reason to be optimistic. The first Blitzkrieg victories convinced them that a rapid end to hostilities was guaranteed. More importantly, Germans were still travelling for pleasure. Now joined by the thousands of soldiers traversing the nation, these commercial tourists continued to sightsee, buy guidebooks and souvenirs, and send postcards. The efforts made by tourism officials to meet their needs were also little altered by the events of autumn 1939. Moreover, the ideological importance that the Nazis had assigned to tourism since their assumption of power did not waver. The Führer himself, it was repeatedly stressed, recognized the political value of tourism at war and wanted it to continue.3 The Nazi regime saw the 154

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continuation of leisure travel, both in these early stages of the conflict and as the war progressed, as crucial to the maintenance of the Volk’s morale and the war effort more generally. It was not September 1939 that marked the next turning point in the history of German tourism, therefore, but rather the winter of 1942/43. Admittedly, this is a somewhat artificial designation. The travel traffic for Whitsuntide 1943 was heavier than in any year since 1939, suggesting enduring continuity into the later years of the war. There were also very significant regional differences, which makes assigning a single turning point for Germany as a whole more difficult. Tourism ground to a halt in Breisach on the Rhine even before September 1939 with the building of the Westwall. Within the Black Forest in general, the events of 1939 brought drastic reductions in the number of overnight stays. However, by 1940, after victory in France, the region witnessed a substantial increase in the number of visitors. Resorts in southern Bavaria experienced a similar revival, while the town of Rothenburg, in Franconia, welcomed twice the number of tourists as in the year before.4 Elsewhere, 1942/43 marked the first resumption of tourism work and sometimes frenzied activity in preparation for an expected postwar boom. For Weimar, after an initial dip in 1939, tourist traffic remained relatively constant until the first air raids in 1944. Berlin’s situation was different. Visitor numbers declined there in 1939 and again in 1940, but in 1941, the capital recorded more overnight stays than for any other year under Hitler.5 Generally speaking, however, 1939–41 represented a period in which pleasure travel in Germany continued to be very strong, to the increasing chagrin of the Nazi regime. In peacetime, the regime had surmounted some of the tensions between consumption and rearmament in part through its promotion of domestic tourism, for both commercial tourists and KdF holidaymakers. Once war broke out, the regime was extremely reluctant to impose unnecessary hardship and sacrifice on the civilian populace. A degree of normality on the home front had to be retained. The Nazis later realized that victory would not come through concessions to consumerist aspirations and popular desires. Too many Germans were continuing to travel as they had done in the interwar period. After Stalingrad, the Nazis’ efforts to curtail the public’s Wanderlust increased dramatically. Even still, certain forms of leisure travel continued throughout the war, and the work of tourism officials, particularly their services for soldiers and evacuees, thereby contributed to sustaining the Nazi war machine.

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The legacy of the First World War With the outbreak of war, tourism officials understandably looked back to their experiences during the previous war in order better to prepare for the events to come. Some, like the director of the Black Forest Travel Agency, feared the war would be detrimental to ‘the finer things in life’, including leisure travel, as the Great War had been.6 In contrast, the Frankfurter Zeitung maintained that the previous war had actually taught that ‘tourism continues to develop in times of struggle’. Therefore, the article continued, it was necessary for the central, regional and local tourism posts to remain active.7 Armed with these conflicting recollections of tourism at war, tourism officials were unsure about how the current hostilities would affect their industry. The imposition of the War Economy Decree on 4 September 1939, which suspended all vacation rights for the nation’s workers, must have increased their apprehension. Yet this drastic measure was soon revoked. Since 1933, a fundamental transformation in the meaning and worth ascribed by the state to leisure activities and pleasure travel had occurred. In keeping with the Nazis’ emphasis on health, strength and ‘nerve’ more generally, the regime not only acknowledged the importance of sightseeing and visits to resort towns for those in need of relaxation, particularly German workers, but also vigorously promoted these activities. Here again, memories of the Great War were crucial. For the Nazis, a supposed lack of nerve on the part of the German people had led to defeat. In his speech marking the creation of Strength through Joy, Robert Ley declared: ‘We lost the war, because we lost [our] nerve.’8 Spawned by a lost war, the Nazi regime strove to strengthen German nerve in part through the promotion of leisure travel for KdF holidaymakers and private vacationers alike. If memories of the Great War had played a critical role in determining the course of tourism development prior to September 1939, they became even more influential with the invasion of Poland. One of the primary motivations for the continuation of tourism work after 1939 was the Nazi regime’s desire to avoid a repeat of the events of 1918. Morale on the so-called inner front quickly became a critical and enduringly sensitive issue. Public spirits, the regime recognized, hinged on the apparent continuation of normal life. The consumption of leisure travel was especially important in this regard. It not only affected civilian morale like other material factors, such as rationing, actual victories and defeats, or air raids, but also allowed the Volk to relax and unwind, something Goebbels deemed essential to the war effort.

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Maintenance of morale was crucial, but the key wartime aim for tourism and other leisure activities in the Nazis’ eyes was to keep the nation strong and fit to continue fighting. Thus, in the first few weeks of the war, tourism officials and organizations were called upon to take part in an active promotion of travel and hiking at the weekends to ‘gather reserves of strength for the soul’.9 The campaign to keep Germans travelling was supported by efforts to assure the Volk that it was still safe, that Germany was still a peaceful land; early propaganda also lauded the economic benefits of tourism at war.10 However, as the war progressed, the economic argument played less and less of a role. The Nazis had long claimed that tourism was more a political and ideological matter than an economic one. Once war broke out, this interpretation predominated to an even greater degree than it had done before. Tourism propaganda in these early months continued to vaunt the unifying capabilities of travel within the Reich, particularly for the German soldiers now criss-crossing the nation: ‘The more the individual German tribes get to know one another and their landscapes’, it declared, ‘the more indissoluble will remain the unity and unanimity of our Volk forever.’11 In the first months of the war, the benefits of travel for the whole German Volk were a key theme: the entire German nation had to retain its nerve. This idea later disappeared from official propaganda, like the evocation of the economic benefits of tourism at war, as the regime was forced to acknowledge that not all Germans could continue to share these tourist experiences. As we shall see, eventually, only certain people were deemed to have the right to travel for pleasure. But in 1939, this was still a long way off. Given the endless proclamations about how essential, even indispensable, tourism work was at war, the hope and optimism tourism officials displayed about the 1939/40 winter season was not at all misplaced. Even with much of its accommodation given over to military use, even though the town lay in a theatre of operations and the train connections were limited, the Titisee Spa Authority (Kurverwaltung Titisee) met in November to discuss whether and to what degree winter business was to be expected and could be promoted.12 As it turned out, the season was surprisingly successful in the Black Forest, with some places reporting 100 per cent occupancy over the Christmas and New Year holidays. For the 1940 summer season, Germany’s tourism communities reported an average increase of 35 per cent in the number of overnight stays compared to the previous year.13 Again, there were regional differences. In Säckingen, for example, economic life was scarcely influenced by the military events between 1939 and 1941, whereas other Black Forest locations faced massive disruptions. Garmisch-Partenkirchen enjoyed high visitor numbers in early

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1940, but its experience was unique for southern Bavaria.14 At this point, tourism officials were keen not to dissuade German tourists from undertaking their journeys, but rather to help them navigate potential difficulties. The brochure published by the RDV for the 1939/40 season, Winter in Germany, therefore advised its readers to make enquiries at the local tourism association or office about events, accommodation and transportation opportunities ‘before setting out on the journey’.15 However, by early 1940, a serious dilemma was already emerging for the Nazi regime. As we have seen, its propaganda praised the tourism industry for contributing to the maintenance of the Volk’s physical health and morale. At the same time, the regime wished to enlist tourism organizations in its campaign to limit and reduce the number of Germans who still travelled for pleasure, since continued civilian travel was now complicating transportation more necessary to the war, especially the transport of troops.

Curtailing the demand: initial attempts to decrease civilian leisure travel ‘Despite the dangers of bombing and strafing, despite long journey times and endless delays, millions of people travelled right across Germany during these years,’ recalled a Nazi welfare official after the war.16 To the growing dismay of the regime, there were many tourists among them. Goebbels had been shocked to witness women on trains, ‘sunburnt from holiday’, refusing to give up their seats and sleeping compartments to wounded soldiers.17 The image of sunburnt holidaymakers seated next to standing injured soldiers perfectly exemplified the tensions between pleasure and politics that characterized the war years in Germany. The Nazi press continued to preach the importance of leisure travel for those in need, but a new campaign to restrict the number of pleasure travellers had begun. In an initial attempt to decrease the number of civilians using the trains, the German Railroad withdrew all discounts on ticket prices. When this failed to have the desired effect, a number of measures were introduced to prohibit superfluous and non-urgent journeys by rail.18 It is not very clear how these measures were policed or whether fines and punishments were actually levied at this stage. What is clear is that thousands of Germans continued to take vacations by train. In response, some of the travel restrictions were eased. But the regime was still eager to reduce the total number of pleasure-travelling Germans, albeit with as little overt coercion as possible.

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The regime was now obliged to turn to the promoters of leisure travel themselves, the tourism associations and travel agencies, as allies in the war against unnecessary travel. If the German population was to stop travelling voluntarily, as the Nazis apparently hoped it would, its desire to travel had to be staunched. Since tourism advertising kindled that desire, it too had to be limited and then forbidden altogether. Determining at what point tourism advertising was forbidden and when it was merely discouraged has proved somewhat difficult. An order from the Reich Tourism Association, reprinted in the Thuringia State Tourism Association’s news bulletin from January 1940, seems unequivocal: ‘In order not to awaken and develop the population’s notto-be-satisfied desire for relaxation travel … all propaganda must cease with immediate effect’.19 ‘Propaganda’ here included advertisements in newspapers and journals, the publication of travel articles in newspaper travel supplements, the display of posters and other travel agency activities. However, according to the Baden State Tourism Association’s newsletter seven months later, it was permitted to advertise travel destinations within a 30–50 kilometre radius.20 At the annual Reich Tourism Association Conference in Vienna in December 1940, questions about tourism publicity at war also remained on the agenda.21 At this stage, a total ban was clearly not going to be enforced. The Nazis’ early efforts to restrict tourism advertising did not always meet with success. The Weimar Tourism Office, for example, continued to advertise in a number of magazines and newspapers throughout 1940 and 1941. Titisee joined 75 other Black Forest resorts and spa towns in creating a joint, one-page advertisement, which appeared in newspapers in eleven cities, all with the approval of the Baden State Tourism Association. Ski resorts in the Bavarian Alps also continued to promote the winter holiday. In Berlin, the travel agency of the wellknown department store, Kaufhaus des Westens, advertised far-away travel destinations at least until 1943.22 Even when tourism officials technically abided by a limit or ban on tourism advertising, they managed, quite ingeniously at times, to carry out their promotional work. For example, in September 1940, the Baden State Tourism Association introduced what might today be called a direct mail campaign. It involved sending a ‘double postcard’ to previous visitors to Baden. The first card informed them about the ‘newly altered circumstances’ produced by the ceasefire with France. The second postcard was an accommodation booking form.23 In April 1942, a memorandum from the Deutscher Gemeindetag reminded its members that all tourism advertising was now forbidden, even in the

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form of newspaper greetings from German cities to their soldiers in occupied territories.24 These messages, intended to boost morale, had apparently mirrored tourism advertisements in that they noted local attractions and the possibilities for accommodation. This flouting of official commands would seem to call the regime’s ability to direct German tourism into question. Yet, while the war was going well, the continuation of tourism marketing did not seriously jeopardize the Nazis’ overall aims. In fact, tourism’s capacity for maintaining public morale often outweighed its potential ill-effects. This generated a number of contradictory orders from above and a somewhat lenient response to measures that appeared to contravene them. However, when the regime did detect an outright breach of its instructions, as in the case of the soldier greetings, swift action was taken. Thus, as during the interwar period, the Nazi regime permitted certain continuities in tourism, but was forever poised to intervene when it felt its interests were truly being harmed. The regime wanted to curtail tourism advertising primarily to reduce the number of pleasure travellers, but there were other reasons behind its campaign. First, a severe paper shortage meant paper had to be conserved for tasks more critical to the war effort.25 Second, it was feared that so-called ‘touristic information’ might be dangerous to Germany if it fell into enemy hands. In September 1942, a fleeing French prisoner of war had been found with an advertising pamphlet for the resort town of Säckingen on his person. Despite the mayor’s protestations, the Gestapo forbade the further distribution of the brochure and withdrew it from the town’s information posts.26 The incident seemingly confirmed the desirability of such sources for the enemy and justified the prohibitions that had been in place since January 1940. These prevented public access to brochures, advertisements or books whose content included information about the locations or capacities of transportation, electricity, water and gas works. Maps, especially topographical ones, could no longer be displayed or distributed. Early in the war, soldiers had also been banned from sending panoramic postcards, an act deemed to be in violation of camouflage and secrecy regulations. By 1943, postcards that depicted bird’s-eye views of towns, strategic ‘targets’ such as bridges or factories, geographical features like lakes, and even certain monuments, were either censored or forbidden altogether.27

Holidays at home and in the neighbourhood Tourism organizations were now called upon to prevent rather than promote travel through their work ‘at home’. According to the regime,

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promoting local activities, sights and events would discourage nonnecessary travel.28 This included keeping museums, galleries, castles and similar attractions open. Very early in the war, the tourism industry’s ability to organize entertainment and other leisure activities on the home front had been used to justify the continuation of its work. Now the hidden agenda behind staging these events became clear. They were part of an attempt to get German civilians to stay at home. Hermann Esser, now State Secretary of Tourism, recognized the irony of having to reverse a trend that the regime itself had set in motion: We must now in war do the opposite of what we as men of tourism originally had to do. Previously we were able to make propaganda for travel in order to point out to the German comrades the beauties of their Heimat. … Today we must attempt with limiting measures to slow down the course of the development, which has been brought into being by us ourselves.29 Yet despite the limits on tourism advertising and an increased focus on the treasures of one’s own city, despite the threat of penalization and the heavy-handed propaganda about the necessity of sacrifice, Germans were still travelling ‘unnecessarily’. Tourism officials, therefore, had to steer and direct the travel behaviour of these unrepentant tourists as well. Der Fremdenverkehr wanted tourism organizations to highlight the benefits of postponing summer vacations until the autumn, in order to reduce the demand for accommodation and transportation in the high season.30 Additionally, tourism organizations and travel agencies were now to recommend travel to relatively nearby areas. This marked a return to the kinds of limited local tourism of the early 1930s, when economic circumstances had prevented taking holidays further afield. A stream of articles and exhibits lauded the delights of ‘a holiday in the neighbourhood’, replete with personal testimonies. ‘It was lovely,’ one woman recalled. ‘I really did not know at all, and therefore could not imagine, that a holiday in the neighbourhood best fills vacation time physically and spiritually.’31 In response to the Reich Tourism Association’s request that tourism offices propagate the narrower Heimat more strongly, Freiburg’s tourism director composed a series of weekly articles on Tuninberg, Breisach and other locations close by. The general message of them all, summed up nicely in a piece entitled ‘Why Roam in the Distance?’ was clear: ‘We can postpone our travel until after the war, [since] soldiers and materials need the trains today.’32 Avoiding travel by train allegedly had other benefits as well. A Baden-Baden brochure claimed that

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visitors would now learn the joys of hiking, an activity far more ‘peaceful’ than the train journeys of former times.33 Tourism organizations were, unsurprisingly, not always willing allies in the struggle to bring pleasure travel to an end. As we have seen, this sometimes resulted in activity that broke or at least bent certain rules. There is even some evidence that German tourism officials worked actively to thwart a total takeover of the railway system for military purposes by endeavouring to keep certain trains entirely free for civilian travellers.34 The genuine and widespread support they had once shown for the regime’s steering of tourism had clearly begun to falter. In the Third Reich, ‘Germans dreamt of consuming more, often to the chagrin of Nazi officials who preached sacrifice’.35 Nowhere is this tension more visible than in the sphere of tourism during the Second World War. The Nazis had obviously been very successful with their propaganda, which asserted that every German had the right to travel through his or her Fatherland. These same Germans now saw tourism as an entitlement, one they were not going to give up easily, even in a time of war. Nevertheless, it was up to former promoters of leisure travel to lead the way in reducing it now. They became key players in this campaign, which sought not to coerce or compel, but to sway public opinion in order to get Germans to stop travelling voluntarily.

’A very nice tour’: tourist experiences in war Despite the regime’s calls for sacrifice, most German tourism professionals were eager that tourism should continue ‘as normal’. In those destinations far from the front, where the war had intruded relatively little into everyday life, continue it did. While naturally more prevalent in the early stages of the conflict, continuities in touristic practice often endured much longer. Tourist experiences in Germany during the Second World War thus bore striking similarities to those of the interwar period. The Berlin Tourism Archive’s collection of photograph albums contains the holiday snapshots of a 1940 trip through the Elbe Sandstone Mountains (Elbsandsteingebirge) and excursions in 1942 to Marburg and the Black Forest. More surprisingly, this collection includes photographs of Black Forest resorts like Titisee, Feldberg, Schluchsee and Bärental from 1944. The archive also holds a travel diary entitled ‘Our Holiday in 1942 in the State of Thuringia’. It records an unnamed couple’s trip through the state in June 1942. The caption above one photograph, which shows a man seated beside a woman

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picking flowers, reads: ‘2 very happy summer guests’. Similar comments are to be found in a travel scrapbook, which recounts a trip from Berlin to Wölfelsgrund in July 1944. It includes postcards, an itinerary, drawings, travel tickets and pressed flowers. The accompanying commentary described a hike ‘in magnificent sunshine … [on] a very nice day’, and, upon the return to Berlin, notably on 20 July 1944, an assessment of the trip as ‘a very nice tour’.36 Postcards sent or collected during the war years reveal further continuities in the tourist gaze. The Weimar City Museum houses one collection of postcards, each marked ‘Aug. 42’ on the back, which seems to have been gathered during a single wartime trip to the city. Their reproductions of Goethe portraits, Schiller busts, the Goethe House, Goethe’s Garden House and the Schiller House mirror those sold during the interwar years. Other postcards with wartime postmarks display the Ettersberg Castle, near the Buchenwald concentration camp, and the dining room in Hitler’s favourite hotel, the Elephant.37 The Kreisarchiv Breisgau-Hochschwarzwald contains similar material, but many of its postcards bear handwritten holiday greetings on the reverse. Thus, they offer a glimpse into the everyday experiences of German tourists while the nation was at war. On 25 January 1941, from the Gasthof zum Adler in Bärental, ‘Liesel’ wrote to Martha Sackmann in Todtnau: ‘We are sitting so happily together and are eating so much’. A postcard from the Hotel und Kurhaus Hebelhof on the Feldberg, written on 16 July 1941 and sent to an address in Mainz, described a three-day hike to Todtnau, the Feldberg and Titisee. A similar holiday greeting was issued from the Gasthaus und Pension Auerhahn in Aha am See on 17 August 1942, this one sent by Feldpost: ‘From my current stay during splendid weather and in good company I send you heartfelt greetings. Güschi’.38 Clearly, one fundamental touristic practice, the composing, collecting and sending of postcards, continued after 1939. Moreover, despite bans on certain views and images, ‘approved’ cards were ordered again and again throughout the war, and photographers continued to sell their wares to municipal tourist offices.39 The order books of the Metz Verlag, a Tübingen postcard firm, reveal not only that some postcard images were re-ordered while Germany was at war, but also that many were ordered for the first time between 1940 and 1942. There were also noticeable continuities in conference tourism during the war. Only in 1944 did the Reich Housing Commissioner issue an order forbidding conferences with over 25 participants.40 Until then, in Weimar at least, conferences and meetings of various groups, which

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were not all war-related, had continued with little hindrance. The itineraries largely echoed the conference programmes of earlier years. They included excursions to Tiefurt Castle, a visit to the Schiller House and a guided city tour, which were all designed to give visitors the opportunity ‘to abandon themselves, if only for a few hours, to the incomparable spiritual atmosphere of Weimar’.41 Various forms of cultural tourism also continued, often attracting an international clientele. Writers from France and Italy attended events like the Great German Poets’ Convention and the meetings of the European Writers’ Union in Weimar, while Bulgarian, Hungarian, Romanian and even Japanese musicians, conductors and opera singers visited and performed in cities throughout the Reich.42 The maintenance of opening hours at tourist sites became crucial to ensuring that tourism at war continued along the usual channels. Museums, exhibits and heritage houses were seen as part of the general effort to maintain morale on the home front. ‘Cowardly’ England, the Nazi press crowed, had shut the doors to most London museums, but in Berlin, museums remained open to the public.43 The Germanic Museum in Nuremberg closed down only after extensive bomb damage in 1944, while in Weimar, the Schiller House still welcomed visitors and daily tours went through the Kirms-Krakow-House. Not only were there continuities in individual leisure travel experiences during the war, the vast majority of the tourism infrastructure in Nazi Germany remained intact. Daily activity often mirrored that of the interwar period as well. The Reich Tourism Association collected its annual contributions from the state tourism associations until 1944, while the latter in turn demanded contributions from the tourism communities. The state tourism associations still approved brochures and distributed their frequent newsletters, memoranda and circulars. National tourism conferences continued until 1944, and while wartime duties were naturally at the top of their agenda, they also dealt with more mundane, everyday matters of the tourism industry. Der Fremdenverkehr, which appeared until 20 January 1945, published articles about ‘good and bad posters’, ‘artistic posters’, ‘the struggle against kitsch’ and the nature of the sightseeing attraction alongside updates on military campaigns.44 The Nazi regime also continued to tighten its grasp on German tourism during the war, just as it had since 1933. In the interwar period, the Reich Tourism Association issued model statutes for local tourism societies and offices, which were recommended but not compulsory. Most organizations happily adopted them; in any case, all had to sub-

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mit their statutes for approval by the appropriate state tourism association. Nevertheless, this lingering symbol of autonomy eventually became unacceptable. In 1941, therefore, the Association introduced new mandatory statutes. The objectives of tourism societies and offices in the past had been limited to the management or promotion of tourism; in contrast, these new statutes focused explicitly on tourism’s ideological underpinnings. The tasks now included ‘maintaining the health and physical fitness of German comrades’, ‘strengthening and stabilizing the greater German Volksgemeinschaft’ and ‘promoting the greater German feeling of Heimat’.45 The war also saw the continued restructuring of the Department for Tourism within the Ministry of Propaganda, which ensured an even greater dominion over leisure travel. A continuum of coordination was still in evidence, one that would evidently characterize the postwar period as well. ‘After the war’, Esser promised, ‘an even stronger unification of the tourism organizations and tourism work will be carried out.’46 In addition to the perpetual politicization of German tourism under Hitler, a further parallel to peacetime activity can be detected in its continued professionalization. One week before the invasion of Poland, the Hermann Esser Research Society for Tourism opened in Frankfurt. The society occupied a special place amongst academic institutions, claimed those responsible, for it had been established to examine both the political and the economic state of affairs in tourism. In 1941, it published a massive, two-volume Cultural History of the Guest House, which celebrated the return to ‘traditional’ German hospitality achieved by the Nazi regime.47 In addition to the establishment of this research centre in Frankfurt, many other tourism education courses were launched after war broke out. In 1940, tourism courses were introduced during the summer semester in Vienna and others began as late as 1943. The Hermann Esser School at Marienbad opened in April 1942 and a tourism institute at the University of Heidelberg followed six months later.48 The publication of guidebooks and brochures also continued well into the war. In most of these texts, few references to the conflict are to be found. The 1943 edition of the Woerl guide to Weimar, for example, still described Weimar as a place of cultural pilgrimage, visited by admirers of Goethe and Schiller ‘from all over the world’. Only in the section listing the opening hours of attractions ‘during the war’ did the war intrude.49 The geographically-based distinction between politicized and seemingly apolitical literature also persisted. Material about Berlin, Munich, Weimar and Nuremberg generally focused on Nazi sights and

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discontinuity with the Republican past, while Black Forest brochures depicted locals wearing traditional costumes in timeless landscapes where few swastikas were to be seen. In many ways and in many spheres, the Nazis’ term ‘normal tourism’ (normaler Reiseverkehr) was still entirely appropriate during the Second World War.

Tourism takes off: Waldshut and Säckingen The war actually marked the real beginning of modern tourism in several cities. Waldshut and Säckingen, two Black Forest resort towns on the Swiss border, offer rather astonishing cases where the desire to create a popular tourist destination – not only after the war, but in the present as well – seemingly outweighed all other concerns while that war was being fought. In 1942, Hermann Dietsche, the Waldshut mayor, summarized his thoughts on the necessity of printing a new tourism brochure for the city: ‘The matter regarding the brochure must be worked on, so much so that after the war the printing can be carried out without delay. In no case may the matter be permitted to be postponed until the end of the war.’50 As did many, the mayor looked to future success in the postwar period. However, his letter also referred to Waldshut’s twin town, Tiengen, where the ‘right publicity’ had already increased overnight stays from 2,000 to 4,000 in the 1930s to 20,000 to 25,000 during the previous two years. Dietsche must also have known of other Black Forest locations, where visitor numbers had recently exceeded those of the best years before the war.51 He clearly did not want to wait: he wanted the economic benefits to be gained from this wartime tourism boom as soon as possible. The mayor commissioned a graphic artist, Karl Klaus of Stuttgart, to design the publicity material for Waldshut. After Klaus had visited the area as part of a research trip for the project in 1943, the mayor did admit that the tasks of war took precedence. ‘I am not in a hurry for the time being,’ he explained. ‘I do not think of carrying out publicity during the war. What I merely want, is to finish off the preparations … in order to be able to bring the advertising into play without delay after the war’s end.’52 Yet the attention he devoted to the project indicates that he was indeed in a hurry. His plans for one brochure, Waldshut am Hochrhein, were particularly ambitious. He hired photographers, he commissioned original line drawings and, in cooperation with local writers and historians, he worked on endless drafts and rewrites of the brochure text. Letters to Klaus about this project continued into 1944. The mayor even detected advantages that Waldshut would enjoy as a result of the

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war. In his brochure, he planned to focus on the town’s Altstadt. Since the ‘terror attacks’ had destroyed large sections of the ‘historical parts of the big cities’, he reasoned, after the war, tourists would ‘practically only [be able to] find history (Historik) in the small cities’. He also noted that ‘the desire for relaxation [would] be very, very great’.53 As late as November 1944, the mayor paid 340 RM for 24 photographs intended for the new brochure.54 Dietsche’s oft-made argument, that every opportunity for an increase in tourism had to be exploited, seemed hardly to take the Second World War into account. That he was able to pursue this campaign with such vigour for so long suggests again the extent of regional variations in the war’s impact on the home front. If the mayor of Waldshut was keen, however, the mayor of Säckingen was actually obsessed with tourism promotion well into the latter stages of the war. Just over a month after the invasion of Poland, Säckingen’s mayor sent a letter to a photographer in Lörrach regarding his intention to publish a new brochure immediately after the end of the war.55 A voluminous correspondence began between the two. In December, the mayor wrote to the same graphic artist at work on the Waldshut brochure, Karl Klaus, saying he was now ‘ready despite the war to put together the prospectus in its entirety’.56 The brochure was not, however, the only project that Säckingen’s mayor had on the go. He had ordered the establishment of ‘two nice reading rooms’, a ‘Scheffel room’, devoted to the town’s famous poet, Viktor von Scheffel, and a special exhibition, entitled ‘Säckingen, romantisch schön am Hochrhein!’ ‘All of this’, he noted himself, ‘in the middle of war and [the] theatre of operations.’57 Orders from above limiting tourism advertising did intrude on his plans for the brochure, but by February 1940, he was again optimistic. He planned a printing for the following autumn since, he wrote, ‘I do not believe that in the next year further restrictions regarding tourism [will be] present’.58 Preparations thus continued. Even when the mayor had to go to Alsace, plans for the brochure’s overall design, text, photographs and drawings carried on. References to the Third Reich and the Nazi Party were entirely absent from these preliminary drafts. Was this perhaps some strategic thinking on the mayor’s part, to ensure that the brochure could be used no matter what the outcome of the war? Or, as is more likely, did it simply follow in the tradition of much Black Forest tourism literature in the Third Reich, which was only rarely overtly Nazified? The brochure, Säckingen am Hochrhein und der Hotzenwald, finally appeared in May 1941. The costs had been very considerable indeed.59 Much of the work done by tourism officials while Germany was at war, including that by the mayors of Waldshut and Säckingen, was

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carried out with an eye to the postwar situation. At first, such planning measures stemmed from the belief that the war would in fact be over very quickly. Later, it was motivated by a desire to be prepared when victory was eventually achieved. Quite shrewdly, many correctly forecast the massive boom in leisure travel that would take place. Despite an expected domination of Europe, they believed that Germany would still have to work hard to attract the tourist stream. They also foresaw heightened touristic competition between German regions, which demanded that further groundwork be laid. Getting ready for this impending state of affairs was a common theme in tourism propaganda. ‘In the most meaningful tasks of the moment,’ Hermann Esser declared, ‘we must not be permitted to forget the future … after the victorious end of the war’ when there would be, he predicted, ‘an unprecedented upswing [in] tourism’.60 Such statements naturally had considerable propagandistic value and were meant to sustain morale, but they were also accompanied by very real measures designed to prepare for this coming upswing. On one level, these measures were protective in nature. They sought to ensure that there would still be a platform on which to rebuild the industry. The Reich Tourism Committee, for example, invoked emergency regulations to protect tourist material from air raids.61 At the same time, actual preparations for the postwar period were being made and discussed in all spheres of the tourism industry even while the war raged. Upper-level organizations recommended that work should begin on travel guides and brochures immediately, so that after the war they could be printed quickly.62 Radio programmes and the general press also praised such efforts. This work will bear ‘rich fruit’, one article proclaimed, ‘when later the flags of victory fly over the German states’.63 In addition, tourism officials took part in a kind of dual-purpose activity, which prepared the way for the future and simultaneously met travellers’ needs in the present. One approach meant treating soldiers and evacuees as future tourists. ‘As we treat the guests today’, wrote Albert Denzlinger, Freiburg’s tourism director, ‘[so] will tourism develop after the war. After the victorious conclusion of the war we will stand in a difficult competitive struggle and we must already do everything today to convey as favourable and friendly an impression as possible to the people who come here.’64 The tourism boom of the late 1950s has sometimes been linked to the journeys taken by former soldiers to places they had first visited during the war, which suggests how prescient officials like Denzlinger had been. The effects of the Second World War on Germany’s tourism industry must, of course, not be underestimated. Hundreds of hotels were forced

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to close their doors, and many areas dependent on tourism faced dire financial crises as a result of German aggression. Yet for some German businesses, at least until 1942/43, tourism at war remained a profitable enterprise. Things had gone relatively well for the travel agency industry between 1936 and 1939.65 For particular agencies, they continued to go well after that. The statements drawn from the files of Freiburg’s Black Forest Travel Agency speak for themselves. ‘In the first year of the war,’ one letter from its director reveals, ‘the travel agency had to fight for its very existence. … Today, with the end of the war in the west, I can assert with pleasure that our firm will outlast the war.’66 The 1940 Business Report concluded that ‘the forecasts for the business year 1941 are … to be characterized as extremely good’. The 1941 report noted a ‘pure profit’ of 7,121.48 RM, which had grown to 14,783.78 RM by 1942. ‘Despite all hindrances and difficulties at this time, the economic situation of the firm is satisfactory,’ concluded the 1942 report.67 The Blitzkrieg victories and the fall of France ensured that life continued largely as normal on the home front. As a result, during the first half of the war, there was great continuity in the promotional work of some German travel agencies, many of which experienced significant economic success. Travel agents even benefited directly from the expansion of the Reich. The early military victories of the Wehrmacht had greatly extended the boundaries of domestic tourism. As a result, travel agents gained a vast new array of ‘German’ destinations to advertise to a public still convinced of its right to travel for pleasure.

New tourist destinations The Nazi concept of Lebensraum had a very different twist for members of Germany’s tourism industry. The successful conquests of the German army not only secured new travel destinations to promote, both immediately and in the postwar future, but also opened up new markets within which to advertise travel to the old Reich (Altreich). The Wehrmacht’s invasions thus had great consequences for the history of tourism under Hitler. A process of ‘touristification’, to coin an awkward term, occurred surprisingly quickly after surrender to Nazi Germany, whereby the German tourism infrastructure was extended and an area or entire country was transformed into a tourist destination for Germans. This process was no mere by-product of invasion. The speed and apparent efficiency with which it occurred in one conquered territory after another reveals how important the regime considered it to be, both economically and ideologically. Hitler himself linked the Nazis’ imperialist conquests to tourism. ‘Since 1938’, he noted in 1944, ‘the

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number of beauty spots within the boundaries of the Reich has increased considerably’.68 In the following, we trace how this increase occurred. With the outbreak of war, Der Führer, the official organ of the Nazi Party in Baden, ceased to print its regular travel supplement. On 17 September 1939, however, two lengthy articles appeared, which looked identical to the kinds of things that had once appeared in the Wandern und Reisen section. The first was entitled ‘That is Warsaw – the Heart of Poland – the Polish Capital Yesterday and Today’. The second described Krakow as ‘The Old Royal City’.69 Complete with postcardtype images of both cities, the articles provided descriptions of the recently occupied cities as potential tourist attractions. The process of ‘touristification’ had already begun, however, with the return of the Saarland in 1935. The newly established Saar-Pfalz State Tourism Association quickly arranged ‘pilgrimages’ to the Saarland for commercial and KdF tourists alike to reintroduce them to the area. These were designed to create an increased feeling of unity with the loyal Saarlanders. According to Der Fremdenverkehr, the number of requests about the Saarland from individual travellers, as well as travel agencies and bus companies, increased daily once it had rejoined the Reich.70 The Saarland was never seen as one of Germany’s most popular tourist destinations. In contrast, the ‘return’ of Austria offered a wealth of natural and historic sights, which Germans could now explore without constraint. Immediately after the Anschluß, the Nazi regime’s tourism laws were extended to apply to Austria. The Ostmark was divided into six state tourism associations, which were all to get their ‘marching orders’ from the Reich Tourism Association in Berlin.71 Again, KdF holidaymakers soon departed for the region. A sudden glut of special newspaper travel sections devoted to the newest part of the Reich appeared: ‘We sense the magic of the word “Tyrol” ourselves more strongly and forcefully today’, one noted, ‘because this wonderfully pretty piece of Austria and the rest of the Austrian Alpine lands suddenly now belong “to us”.’72 Such pieces often highlighted destinations in Austria with special connections to Hitler. The Upper Danube was dubbed ‘the Heimat district of the Führer’.73 Braunau-am-Inn, Linz and other towns in Austria, which were linked to his earlier days, now joined the Reich Chancellery in Berlin and the Obersalzberg near Berchtesgaden as potential sights for touristic homage. The phenomenon of Hitler tourism was on the rise. Most Germans were overjoyed about the Anschluß, but few German tourism officials welcomed the potential competition that Austria rep-

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resented, especially those in the Black Forest. Some trips to the region were even cancelled in favour of vacations to the newest part of the Reich; however, in contrast to the situation in parts of Bavaria, where the dissolution of the border had a profoundly negative impact on the local tourism industry, the fears of Black Forest officials generally proved to be unfounded.74 In his July 1938 report to the Baden State Tourism Association, Neustadt’s tourism director, Horn, wrote: ‘The fear that strong tourist traffic to Austria would have a deeply negative impact on visits to our spa location … [is] overstated.’75 Fewer fears were apparently expressed about the Sudetenland, although a similar flood of tourism articles accompanied its occupation.76 These continued after the creation of the Protectorate of Bohemia and Moravia. Austrian and Czech destinations also now appeared in publications like the annual calendars of the German Railroad. All this coverage admittedly served a practical purpose: it made travel agents and others involved in the tourism industry acquainted with these new travel destinations. It also had a political goal, which Esser’s speech, ‘One Reich – One Tourism’, reveals. Esser was actually speaking about Austria, but his comments would apply more broadly as the Reich expanded. Both visits to and from newly incorporated territories would ‘make the national comrade … acquainted with his … Germany and thereby underpin the unity of Greater Germany’.77 Through tourism, increased solidarity would be achieved. Such unity was naturally to be gained through other methods as well, such as increased propaganda and even terror, but the Nazi regime believed that personal contact with an area – seeing it with one’s own eyes – would increase the Germans’ attachment to it. Touristification thus represented one means by which newly conquered lands were to become a ‘real’ part of the Reich. The incorporation of Austria and the Sudetenland as tourist destinations had set a precedent for the touristic takeover of other areas, which followed during the war. The process of touristification continued first in Poland. That Germans were travelling to the territory is noted in a gruesome observation by Victor Klemperer, who recorded in his diary that ‘vacationers back from Poland reported with disgust that “hundreds” were being shot each day’.78 Yet such horrific events appeared to have little effect on tourist travel to some areas of Poland. Posen, the capital of the newly established Gau Wartheland, proved extremely popular as a destination for Germans from the Altreich.79 Enthusiasm was even greater, however, about the possibilities for pleasure travel made available by the ‘return’ of Alsace to the German Reich.

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‘The recovery of Strasburg! Whose heart does not beat higher at that news!’ wrote the historian Friedrich Meinecke.80 Certainly the hearts of tourism officials in the bordering state of Baden beat faster. Now they could once again promote the region of Alsace, which was seen as a crucial draw for tourists, without facing the once problematic issue of crossing international borders. The ‘recovery’ of Alsace occasioned a glut of travel articles mirroring those about Austria and Czechoslovakia.81 In similar fashion, the German tourism apparatus was also quickly established and plans soon made for the future organizational rebuilding of the various tourism communities. Originally, these fell under the control of a Strasburg-Alsace State Tourism Association, still directed from Karlsruhe, but by October 1942, the seat had moved to Strasburg and the organization was renamed the Baden-Alsace State Tourism Association. In 1942, Baedeker published a guide to Alsace, which enabled tourists, two years later, to revel in the French defeat there. ‘After a twenty-two year interruption’, the preface began, ‘the blessed and providential land on the Upper Rhine is today once again a living member of the German Reich and belongs amongst the most beautiful and valuable travel destinations available to Germans.’82 The fall of Paris marked special new opportunities for touristic exploitation. Soon after the conclusion of hostilities with France, Hitler himself played the part of the tourist when he took in the highlights of Paris, among them, the Opéra, the Champs Elysée, the Arc de Triomphe and the Eiffel Tower.83 The Wehrmacht introduced a campaign to facilitate soldiers’ visits to the city with the slogan ‘Everyone one time to Paris!’84 Such efforts highlighted the Nazis’ positive and respectful attitude toward French culture, which was notably absent in touristic representations of the East while the nation was at war. The German Army’s 1942 guide to Warsaw, for example, focused primarily on Polish military shortcomings and the country’s inferior architecture.85 Nevertheless, as elsewhere, the Germans followed military victory in the East with the establishment of a number of tourism organizations. State tourism associations were set up for Danzig-East Prussia, Gau Wartheland and the General Government, with Reich Germans sent to staff them. German-owned hotels were also erected, like the Hotel Ostland in Posen, which played a role in the planned ‘Germanization’ of certain areas.86 Although it is hard to imagine given the atrocities that were being committed there, leisure travellers did actually go to the General Government. The most infamous Baedeker publication, one of the most disturbing wartime travel guides, was a 1943 guide to the region.87 To meet tourists’ needs, three tourism communities

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were set up in Krakow, Warsaw and Lublin; local tourism offices were also created and an advertising post (Werbestelle) for the General Government was established in Berlin. These efforts soon paid off. In September 1942, a city official in Lemberg wrote: ‘After one year has passed since the expulsion of the Bolshevists in Lemberg … an increased stream of Reich Germans is to be confirmed and one can even already speak of tourism [here].’88 The General Government’s spa towns were also proving useful in rejuvenating Germany’s fighting forces. In 1943, authorities had to shut them off to civilians, which suggests that they were still visiting until that point.89 In the midst of an exterminatory war, then, valuable manpower and resources were allocated to fulfilling the touristic ‘mission’. Given the realities of the war in the East, this may seem remarkable, but these measures accorded with the Nazis’ belief in the ideological, cultural and economic significance of tourism, even while the nation fought for its survival. While these conquered territories were promoted as destinations within the Reich, they also represented new markets for German tourism officials since they contained a wealth of future tourists. The Mayor of Säckingen, for example, wrote to the Reich Postal Marketing headquarters in Karlsruhe, requesting that he be permitted to distribute some of the city’s 100,000 official postcards in Alsace. Approval was quickly granted. In 1943, Freiburg tourism officials must have been pleased to receive a letter from Bromberg, in West Prussia, asking for advertising material in order to direct its inhabitants toward the Black Forest capital.90 Tourist literature played a role in promoting ‘a sense of Germanness’ in the early twentieth century by allowing readers to imagine the German nation more precisely.91 The same argument holds true for tourism more generally, especially during a time of war when a sense of nation and national belonging was crucial. In one of his late-night monologues in 1941, Hitler remarked on the necessity of every German having a Volkswagen in order to see the conquered territories. Since the German had to be ‘ready to fight for them if need be’, Hitler mused, it was imperative that he saw those lands with his own eyes; this would, Hitler explained, deepen his connection to them.92 German soldiers were to be followed, and more importantly, reinforced, by the arrival of German tourists, who would also play a part in securing the Nazis’ gains. The process of touristification contributed to wartime continuities in the promotion, organization and practice of leisure travel. However, tourism ‘as normal’ could endure only so long as Germans still had reason to be optimistic about their final victory. By 1942/43, events on

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the battlefields began to have a much more severe impact on the tourism industry. As the possibility of final defeat became ever more real, the conditions of daily life on the home front deteriorated. German tourism at war now became less a story of continued success than a struggle for survival.

1942/43: the turning point In the early years, the war had not yet made its presence felt in equal measure everywhere. Indeed, in many places, the war had not seriously affected the course of everyday life. Some historians disagree with this general characterization, pointing to the drastic reductions in civilian consumer standards that quickly followed the invasion of Poland. The myth of Germany’s ‘easy war’, they suggest, is just that: a myth.93 That the Nazis were moving ever closer to a fully militarized economy is undeniable. And the outbreak of war did place immediate restrictions on some forms of consumer activity: the purchase of tangible luxury goods was indeed limited. But consumer culture, something often neglected in economic histories of Nazism, involves much more than the purchase of material items. After September 1939, many non-material forms of consumption continued. Among these, we should include not only pleasure travel, but also visits to museums, theatre outings and participation in sporting events. These contributed to the maintenance of a certain standard of living and compensated for the loss of other material goods. Just as in peacetime, the continuation of tourism at war thus provided a partial diffusion of the tensions between guns and butter, at least while Germany was winning the war. Oral accounts of the Third Reich often characterize the years 1936–42 as being the ‘good years’ in many Germans’ lives. They were the ‘normal’ years, whereas the period of total war, defeat and occupation, 1943–48, was ‘abnormal’.94 The maintenance of touristic activity – the fact that people could visit resorts, go hiking, see tourist attractions, in other words, consume – facilitated a positive evaluation of that earlier period. 1943 marked a psychological turning point for the German people. While military setbacks and terrifying bombing raids were primarily responsible, the increasing difficulty – and eventual impossibility of ‘normal’ activities was also to blame. Tourism propaganda was naturally forced to undergo some transformations as Germany began to suffer defeat. The Wanderlust awakened during the interwar years by the constant refrain that Germans had a right and even a national duty to travel was now proving increasingly

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problematic. The regime had first responded, as we saw above, with campaigns to limit tourism advertising and increase leisure opportunities at home and in the neighbourhood in a bid to convince German civilians to stop travelling voluntarily. In June 1942, the regime took another step. It introduced an ‘enlightenment action’, aimed specifically at quelling unnecessary train travel, whereby radio programmes, films and posters repeatedly proclaimed the slogan ‘Wheels must roll for victory!’ The Minister of Propaganda began to employ another catchphrase as well: ‘First victory, then travel’.95 The tourism press repeated these messages, but their effect was hindered by simultaneous propaganda about the value of a stay at a German spa and the benefits of relaxation travel. As late as May 1942, Der Fremdenverkehr stated that ‘despite everything, the civil sector needs the cure (Kur) and relaxation, which can take place thanks to the steering measures carried out by [Hermann Esser]’.96 Thus, while the German Volk was told to stay off the trains and away from tourist destinations, hiking and travel were still promoted as crucial ‘life requirements, just as important to the war and the future as daily bread’.97 Germans were used to hearing the latter, but the former represented a new development, increasingly apparent after the defeat at Stalingrad. The regime’s attempt to reduce the amount of superfluous travel was further complicated by the fact that it did not demand that all members of the Volk stay put. The idea that certain Germans had priority over other civilians in terms of access to leisure travel had already been introduced in the winter of 1941. By 1943, it was no longer simply a matter of priority. ‘The formerly much-wooed pleasure traveller is … a foreign concept … in war,’ Der Fremdenverkehr declared: now, at least in theory, only the wounded, soldiers on leave or en route elsewhere, armaments workers, women and girls in enterprises important to the war, children’s transport participants, evacuees, the ill, and widows and relatives of the fallen were allowed to travel to spas and health resorts. Increasingly from 1942, the regime also shortened the length of time even they were permitted to spend there.98 The number of Germans who maintained the right to travel was admittedly limited in comparison to the earlier years of the war. However, it still remained quite large, and more problematically, it was not always easy to define exactly who was included within this category. Surprisingly, the regime enforced no total prohibition on all nonessential travel and only on 11 January 1945 did the Baden-Alsace State Tourism Association issue an order, which decreed that all accommodation was now to stand at the disposal of evacuees and refugees.99

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Long before, however, violators of official touristic decrees were threatened with legal punishment, which increased in severity as the war progressed. By 1944, guests who disobeyed regulations about the permitted length of stay in resorts and spas faced a 150 RM fine or sixweek prison sentence.100 Calculating how many Germans were actually arrested for engaging in unnecessary travel is very difficult. Despite the risk of imprisonment, leisure travel continued. What made such a blatant disregard worse in the eyes of the regime was the behaviour of some Germans, particularly women, while on holiday. The SS Security Service reports describe the incomprehensible behaviour of ‘furbedecked’ women, who ‘amuse[d] themselves while … men of the same blood daily put their lives on the line at the front’.101 Concern about inappropriate guest behaviour was widespread during the war, and it was considered serious enough to warrant the involvement of the Gestapo. In January 1942, the Gestapo in Karlsruhe sent a letter to Baden’s district administrators, police presidents and police directors regarding the ‘fight against abuses in the tourism places’: In addition to the congestion in the spa and relaxation places … the behaviour of the visitors has also given rise to complaints. The unbridled conduct of these persons (gluttony, regular drunken excesses, moral laxity) shows that they do not comprehend … the seriousness of the time. Moreover, the unity of the home front is endangered through the disadvantageous effect on the mood of the working population if this activity is not brought to a stop. … The chief of the Security Police and the Security Service has therefore ordered that this danger is to be opposed with all [their] energy. The letter continued by calling for guests to be observed and reported on in an ‘unobtrusive’ manner, which would not disturb the ‘real relaxation seekers’. Those who continued such behaviour were to be prohibited from staying and ‘in difficult cases’ would be reported to the police.102 Der Fremdenverkehr also vilified the German Volk for believing it could ‘travel … for any reason it like[d] without limitation’.103 Yet it is hardly surprising that Germans continued to do so, for they had been promised that even the declaration of total war did not mean an end to all forms of relaxation. Certainly, the measures introduced by the regime to steer wartime tourism do not appear to have curtailed pleasure travel by top-ranking Nazis. According to Goebbels, writing in 1943, ‘the entire Reich and Party leadership [was] on holiday’.104 At the same time as it published pleas for sacrifice and demands for an end to superfluous travel, the tourist press tried ever more desper-

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ately to affirm the role the tourism industry still had to play as the country mobilized for total war. Tourism too, it argued, could prepare for total mobilization. There was some palpable scepticism, however, about whether tourism agencies and personnel were as important to the general war effort as they made themselves out to be. Der Fremdenverkehr noted that some ‘unreasonable spirits’ denied tourism’s wartime value.105 Even top-ranking Nazis apparently shared this ‘incorrect’ assessment of tourism’s importance. In early 1940, Goebbels noted in his diary that Wilhelm Frick, the Reich Minister of the Interior, was arguing for the dissolution of Germany’s central tourism bodies.106 In response to expressions of doubt about the necessity of tourism at war, tourism organizations presented increasingly shrill justifications for continued activity. Travel agents inspired special resentment and condemnation for still being in business. ‘One is not supposed to travel in war,’ an anonymous critic noted, ‘so why are travel agencies still necessary?’ Der Fremdenverkehr offered an extremely dramatic reply, in which it defended the uninterrupted work of the approximately 400 travel agencies in the German Reich. After an enemy air attack, the article claimed, the travel agency was often the first to begin selling tickets, which ensured that the necessary train travel could carry on. This evocation of the travel agency continuing its very own struggle in the midst of air attacks suggests how eager the tourism industry was to show that it too was making a valuable contribution to Germany’s war.107 In 1944, tourism officials, including Otto Rieger of the Baden-Alsace State Tourism Association, were among those to be awarded the ‘War Service Cross, Second Class’ (Kriegsverdienstkreuz 2. Klasse).108 It may be tempting to dismiss such medals as mere attempts to inflate tourism’s role. Yet canny propagandists had not simply invented the contributions of German tourism organizations to the war effort. Their activities on the home front actually played a key role in sustaining the Nazi war machine. Nowhere is this more evident than in the services tourism officials provided for the men directly involved in Nazi Germany’s fight for existence, the soldiers.

The soldier tourists The outbreak of war brought an immediate change to the visitor profile within the Reich with the arrival of soldiers en route to the front, the wounded and those on leave. They were a welcome group in many areas. Since the summer of 1938, so-called ‘war psychosis’ had severely reduced the number of tourists from abroad in Germany. Places like

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Baden-Baden and Titisee recorded losses of 50 per cent; Berchtesgaden figures reached new lows.109 But tourism began to pick up with the arrival of members of the Wehrmacht. In many areas, the number of overnight stays increased quite dramatically in comparison to 1938. Two weeks after the outbreak of war, Der Fremdenverkehr claimed, many tourism destinations, including lesser-known places, were welcoming more visitors than they ever had in times of peace. In recounting these developments, Esser attempted to put a positive spin on the fact that tourism in Germany had now become almost exclusively domestic. The nation, he proclaimed, could now enjoy ‘guest traffic [Gästeverkehr] in the best and truest sense of the word’, rather than ‘foreigner traffic [Fremdenverkehr]’.110 There are many parallels between the experience of being a soldier and being a tourist. For both the soldier at war and the tourist on holiday, the experience is something different from everyday life: it necessitates a change of place, creates an illusion of community and classlessness and often generates problems upon the return home. Moreover, the soldier’s photographs often resemble tourist photographs, his letters home recall the phrases of tourist postcards and he sometimes uses guidebooks to navigate his way through new cities. Various armed forces have drawn these parallels explicitly. The American army once used the opportunity to travel to enlist new recruits: ‘Join the Army and see the World’, it promised.111 During the Second World War, the German army also exploited touristic language in an effort to maintain morale. According to the Wehrmacht High Command, photo albums provided a ‘perfect opportunity’ for soldiers ‘to compose a souvenir, a lasting memory of their “special war experiences”’; the Wehrmacht even issued a guide to Paris intended for German soldiers, entitled Der deutsche Wegleiter.112 Crucially, these tourist experiences were now also possible within the Fatherland. For, despite the Nazi regime’s claims of prior success in democratizing travel, many young soldiers were not only visiting foreign destinations for the first time, but parts of Germany as well. The German army might thus have operated the biggest travel agency in German history, but it was by no means the only organization involved in ensuring that soldiers gazed at strange cities through tourists’ eyes. The civilian tourism industry also responded to the needs of the German soldier. What did its members have to do for the new arrivals? Generally speaking, most of their tasks mirrored what they had been doing, and were continuing to do, for ‘normal’ tourists: finding accommodation, providing information, distributing maps and

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brochures, and arranging guided tours. The organization of guided tours for soldiers began very quickly after the outbreak of war. These tours, which often included discounted or free entry to key attractions, provided an opportunity to get to know a new city. In Freiburg, the tours were so popular that they were staged twice daily and carried on well into 1943.113 Propagandists lauded the way in which the tours brought ‘the field greys closer to unfamiliar cities and unfamiliar areas’ and made them ‘acquainted with Heimat culture’.114 Those dependent on the tourism industry, however, viewed them in far more practical terms. The Karlsruhe Tourism Society’s monthly newsletter, the Karlsruher Monatsschau, clearly foresaw future advantages: ‘Several of these soldiers, who stayed for the first time in our pretty city and got to know it during an expert tour, will retain friendly thoughts for it and in peaceful times will advertise directly or indirectly for it.’115 Today’s soldier tourists were welcomed as the commercial tourists of tomorrow. Several tourism publications were aimed directly at soldiers. In 1940, the Berlin Tourism Office and Berlin Tourism Society jointly published a brochure entitled The Reich Capital Greets its Guests. It cost ten pfennigs, but was free to members of the Wehrmacht. It devoted an entire section to material deemed ‘important for members of the armed forces on leave’. Acknowledging the limited time a soldier had to experience the capital, the brochure listed a series of itineraries ranging from half a day to one week.116 The tourism associations were at work before the soldiers arrived as well. They regularly sent promotional material about individual towns and their attractions directly to the Wehrmacht for distribution to vacationing combatants.117 Tourism organizations also worked to maintain soldiers’ morale during actual fighting by sending copies of their tourism newsletters and journals directly to the front. Until its final edition in 1943, issues of Der Schwarzwald, the monthly journal of the Black Forest Society, were regularly dispatched to members serving on the frontlines. The Baden State Tourism Association ordered other publications, such as the Offenburg Tourism Society’s Land am Oberrhein, to be sent to troops to create ‘a close connection between front and Heimat’.118 One of the more obvious examples of this transformation from tourism newsletter to morale booster was the Karlsruher Monatsschau. In the early months of the war, it served mainly as a guide to Karlsruhe for visiting soldiers. Each issue opened with a section for soldiers on leave, which listed information on where to report, where to get ration cards and how to secure accommodation, alongside the types of entertainment available, the times of city tours and the titles of current exhibitions.

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By September 1940, an addition to its intended readership had been made. It was now being sent to the front: ‘The Karlsruher Monatsschau [brings] a welcome greeting from home to our field greys and to our soldiers. … In this way, there is a binding link between Heimat and front.’119 A photograph of some soldiers reading the newsletter at the front was also included. By 1944, the newsletter had been utterly transformed. Where it was once meant for visitors to the capital of Baden, it was now intended exclusively ‘for our soldiers’. It still mentioned that tours of Karlsruhe were available for members of the Wehrmacht, but far more attention was paid to messages to the troops, with salutations like ‘Dear Comrades!’ and ‘Greetings from the Heimat to the Front’. Even still, it served to promote Karlsruhe as a tourist destination for after the war. The newsletter, so suggested one soldier, was ‘written proof of Karlsruhe’s beauty’. Once it had ‘made its rounds, several assured me that they wanted to visit me after the war, in order to get to know the Fan City (Fächerstadt) in the state of Baden’, a reference to Karlsruhe’s fan-shaped system of streets and avenues.120 What was the effect of the above efforts on German soldiers? Der Fremdenverkehr suggested that soldiers were ‘the most grateful guests’ and many likely appreciated the opportunity to see new cities and sights.121 Later in the war, stays in resort towns far from the battlefields offered a welcome respite from the horrors of the front. As one Weimar inn’s guest book records in July 1941: ‘This house is the nicest place for the soldier; if he is here, all his worries disappear.’122 The efforts of the tourism industry at war made possible the necessary relaxation and recovery of soldiers on leave and their wounded comrades. Perhaps seeing some of the nation’s more well-known monuments and buildings increased the will to fight to protect them. There is also some indication that soldiers were grateful to receive tourism publications at the front, if the excerpts from the Karlsruher Monatsschau’s ‘daily letters and cards from the field’ are to be believed. One proclaimed: ‘We at the front, we’re happy to experience something of Karlsruhe from our dear Monatsschau, which we have read for years.’ Another wrote: ‘It always pleases me, when I … receive “M for our soldiers”. … It is so nice that our comrades at home do not forget us.’123 ‘It is an honour to take care of and accommodate a soldier,’ claimed the National Socialist press.124 Such propaganda, which appeared from the earliest days of the war, was meant to make members of the tourism industry feel that they too were making a valid contribution to the war effort. However, the necessary task of having to accommodate, entertain and advise hundreds of thousands of soldiers between 1939 and

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1945 did not always meet with the desired patriotic fervour. In fact, many resort towns resented the sudden loss of income this honour had brought. Soldiers on leave and wounded soldiers were not required to pay the spa tax on which so many resort towns depended. In addition, accommodating soldiers meant that fewer beds were available for commercial tourists. The lack of beds was particularly distressing for Black Forest resorts like Titisee and Neustadt, where most hotels and guesthouses had been converted into military hospitals soon after the outbreak of war. In January 1942, the NSDAP district leader in Titisee wrote to the Baden State Tourism Association on the matter. ‘The danger exists’, he explained, ‘that through the establishment of the military hospitals, the opinion [may] arise that Titisee can no longer be visited by spa tourists.’ Perhaps, he suggested, the Association could advise travellers that ‘Titisee stands at tourism’s disposal now as before, even if in limited dimensions’.125 Tensions between the needs of the nation at war and the desire for profit arose on numerous other occasions as well. For example, many hotels and guesthouses resented the Wehrmacht’s appeal to the public to donate its skiing equipment, since some customers cancelled their skiing holidays as a result. The Baden State Tourism Association chastised these enterprises, which had reacted angrily to the cancellations, for not recognizing the donation of skis as a ‘national duty’.126 German soldiers’ positive memories of their travel experiences during the war may have led some to a positive evaluation of Nazism more generally after 1945. Like many Germans’ reminiscences about KdF holidays, this was a memory of a more equal access to leisure travel, to privileges from which they had hitherto been barred. Some soldiers even drew an explicit parallel between these two mass tourism experiences. ‘Until now’, wrote one enthusiastic German soldier, ‘this war has been one big Strength through Joy trip.’127 In November 1941, Der Alemanne printed an article entitled ‘Military Hospital City Freiburg – The wounded are the Black Forest capital’s dearest guests’.128 A quintessential touristic image accompanied the article. It depicted a man, in profile, looking out over the city of Freiburg, the sun’s rays illuminating the spires of the cathedral. The ‘tourist’, however, was actually a wounded soldier in uniform, his arm in a sling. This, ironically, was the true face of a more egalitarian leisure travel, which the Nazis claimed KdF had already introduced in the interwar years. As it did in so many spheres, the war radicalized a trend the regime had already set in motion.

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Germany’s tourism officials regularly claimed that they contributed directly to sustaining the war effort. In part, they did so in an attempt to secure their own livelihood. However, much more than simple selfaggrandizement was involved. Meeting the needs of German soldiers, whether they were on leave, en route to the fighting or actually at the front, validated the endless proclamations about the indispensability of tourism at war. What is more, German soldiers were not the only new travellers making demands on the German tourism industry. As the war drew ever closer, millions of evacuees also began to traverse the German Reich. Once again, tourism officials were called upon to serve them.

The newest arrivals: evacuees On 6 July 1944, German radio broadcast a programme entitled ‘Heimatbild Odenwald’.129 Once, the narrator explained, there had been lots of tourism in the Neckar Valley; now there were only the Kinderheime (children’s homes). Evacuated children from Germany’s bomb-threatened cities and industrial areas had replaced the once numerous leisure travellers there and in many resort towns in Baden, Württemberg, Bavaria and Thuringia. During the Second World War, beginning in 1941, the regime’s Kinderlandverschickung (KLV) programme sent thousands of children below the age of fourteen to the relative safety of the countryside, where they were accommodated either in camps established in hotels, hostels or guesthouses, or with foster families. The programme had roots in the interwar years, when a variety of groups organized travel for children from urban centres to holiday camps and health resorts in the country or at the seaside. The regime explicitly drew on this continuity when it used the term ‘expanded children’s transports to the countryside’ (erweiterte Kinderlandverschickung), suggesting a link with this earlier kind of children’s tourism. In reality, of course, the movement of masses of young children – one half of all German evacuees – was entirely unprecedented.130 German tourism associations were called upon to assist with the KLV in a number of ways. For example, they had to provide the necessary lists of available beds on which the programme was absolutely dependent. They were also likely to be involved when the regime ordered the intake communities to support things like theatre or cinema visits and the viewing of sightseeing attractions.131 They were thus forced to juggle the needs of evacuated children with those of German holiday-

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makers, who continued to arrive even as the regime discouraged leisure travel by civilians. Some members of the hotel and guesthouse industry may indeed have welcomed the business that KLV brought; others clearly resented having to accommodate these children, just as they did German soldiers. They felt that private housing was the answer; otherwise, they complained, they feared a total shutdown of tourism. Ultimately, hotel and guesthouse owners had little say in the matter. They were simply informed of the children’s arrival date. These new guests were also not required to pay the local spa tax. Accommodating the KLV participants thus meant a further loss of income for those resorts still visited by regular tourists.132 Children with little money were clearly not amongst their preferred clienteles. The Nazi press likened the KLV experience to a ‘happy vacation’, as it actually was for some children. Naturally, many more participants suffered homesickness and unease in their new surroundings, but as it had for the soldier tourists, this experience of wartime travel included elements of more ‘normal’ tourist experiences. By 1943, however, a new flood of travellers appeared, who bore even less resemblance to the tourists of the interwar years: those fleeing terrifying bombing raids. One can draw few parallels between their experiences of dislocation, fear and local hostility and those of previous visitors on holiday. Once again, tourism officials and organizations were instrumental in dealing with this latest influx of guests and there was continuity in the activities carried out to meet their needs. There was also an analogous discourse, which attempted to ‘market’ evacuation destinations and thereby to convince Germans to leave their homes: Gau Lower Silesia awaits with open arms! A Heimat, a site of rest with Silesian hospitality … nowhere will there be mass quarters or barracks accommodation. Private quarters stand everywhere at [your] disposal. … There [will] be a real rest and finding of oneself in our Lower Silesia with its mountains [and] its wide, fruitful plains.133 The message of this poster, which sounds very much like a tourism advertisement, was actually addressed by the NSDAP Gau leadership to women and children about to be evacuated from the district of Cologne-Aachen. Nazi functionaries used a variety of means to persuade civilians to evacuate endangered areas after 1942, including the exploitation of the language of tourism. According to such propaganda, evacuation became nothing more than a peaceful, relaxing stay in the countryside.

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The Nazis not only (mis)appropriated touristic discourse. They also utilized the structures of the tourism industry and drew upon the efforts of individual tourism officials as the state-regulated evacuation of Germany’s big cities and industrial areas began in 1942/43. Even before the regime’s official evacuation policy was established, tourism authorities were already dealing with numerous letters from Germans bombed out of their homes or who simply feared remaining in the nation’s big cities. Weimar’s Tourism Society, like many others, received a virtual flood of letters requesting accommodation from residents all over Germany, from Wilhelmshaven to Düsseldorf, beginning in the autumn of 1942.134 At first, then, tourism organizations and personnel assisted those displaced by the war in an unofficial capacity. After Stalingrad, when the bombing raids increased in number and intensity, that more informal role metamorphosed into one dictated by the regime itself. In July 1943, the Baden-Alsace State Tourism Association sent a letter, marked ‘confidential!’, requesting information from its members about the number of available beds for the ‘eventual accommodation of the bomb-damaged’.135 Wounded soldiers and KLV participants were now to be joined by German evacuees on the long list of ‘guests’ that tourism officials were required to accommodate and care for. They not only found beds for evacuees, but also provided information upon their arrival and arranged outings and entertainment for them. As was the case with soldiers and the KLV, some tourism officials were dismayed by the presence of evacuees, since it meant that even fewer beds were available for the more profitable leisure travellers. As late as August 1943, Karl Pflaumer, Baden’s Minister of the Interior and chairman of the Baden-Baden Spa and Bathing Authority, protested the planned evacuation of members of the Foreign Office from Berlin to Baden-Baden, because it would bring tourism there to a halt.136 Even in the midst of total war, the hope remained that ‘normal tourism’ could still continue in some form. On the surface, tourism often appeared to be far removed from the wartime violence and cruelty of the Nazi regime. Yet tourism and terror were intimately connected. Foreign labourers, often women from Russia, were forced to work in the hospitality industry. Barred from contact with the guests, they were chosen from incoming transports so that leisure services – deemed ‘particularly important’ – could be maintained.137 Jewish German travellers also faced intensified persecution: orders concerning ‘Jews as spa guests’, ‘Jewish commercial enterprises’, ‘Jews in sleeping and eating compartments’ and ‘Jews in public trans-

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portation’ proliferated.138 The Holocaust even inspired a new, supremely grotesque form of tourism: ‘execution tourism’. In one case in Latvia, ‘scores of spectators’, some of them civilian officials of the German Railroad, joined members of the German army and navy to observe the most macabre of sightseeing attractions, the mass execution.139 In this context, of course, the term ‘normal tourism’ obviously does not apply.

Conclusion: making war as tourists German soldiers, noted Gustave Folcher, a French prisoner of war from Languedoc, ‘made war almost as tourists’.140 Clearly, for the millions of German men who fought for Hitler, the Second World War was no pleasure trip. However, some of their experiences – be it their participation in a guided city tour or their perusal of the latest Baedeker or Woerl guidebook – closely approximated those enjoyed by other German tourists in the interwar period and after the invasion of Poland. During the first half of the war, the degree of continuity in the administration, promotion and practices of tourism was remarkable. Despite the regime’s efforts to curtail superfluous travel, Germans initially journeyed throughout their ever-expanding Reich largely with its blessing. Desperate to avoid a collapse in morale and a weakening of popular support, the Nazis not only permitted the continuation of some forms of leisure travel, they also explicitly promoted it, characterizing it as essential to Germany’s ultimate victory. They were aware that demands for sacrifice would be extremely unwelcome amongst a population who had not wanted war. They also recognized the value of relaxation, entertainment and sightseeing: these activities achieved some semblance of normality and provided a temporary respite from the realities of the present. These non-material forms of consumption thus continued to play a crucial role. Moreover, by serving the needs of soldiers and later, evacuees, tourism officials actually sustained the Nazi war machine. Undoubtedly, the war had an extremely detrimental impact on some regions of the country, but elsewhere, until 1942/43 and sometimes beyond, tourism flourished: travel agencies recorded satisfactory profits, hotels and guesthouses were full and preparations for the expected postwar boom were undertaken. As the war raged, the regime lashed out against more and more of its alleged enemies. Germans who still clung to the Nazi promise of the interwar years, that the right to leisure travel belonged to all, were now included within their ranks. Once, tourism – KdF and commercial alike – had contributed to the diffusion of tensions between rearmament and

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consumption, an enduring trademark of the Third Reich. The Nazi regime had also once lauded tourism as a potent force in the creation, strengthening and unification of the Volksgemeinschaft. As defeat loomed, tourism was helping to rent that community apart: it inspired increased resentment and hostility toward those Germans whose lives seemed to be carrying on as normal, untouched by war. After its first experiences of military setback, the Nazi regime realized the impossibility of waging an annihilatory war on a peacetime footing. This was no normal war. It thus called for an end to the privileges the Volk had hitherto enjoyed. Total war demanded the cessation of civilian pleasure travel and placed harsh restrictions even on those fighting in it. Germans would have to wait until after the war to be tourists once again. Incredibly, despite the devastation of defeat, they did not have to wait for long.

8 Conclusion: Coming to Terms with Tourism

By May 1945, many of Germany’s most popular tourist destinations lay in ruins. Eyewitnesses described the devastation. Freiburg, the formerly ‘Baedeker-ish’ (baedekerhaft) capital of the Black Forest, was now ‘another city’, one ‘bombed away’, ‘burned’ and ‘wasted’. It was ‘a skeletal city’. Berlin, the once proud Reich capital, had become a ‘freezing city of hunger’, a ‘field of rubble’ and a ‘city of the dead’. Weimar had also been deeply wounded by the ‘sacrilegious fury of war’: even the Goethe House, the very ‘heart’ of the city, had not been spared. Nuremberg was now a ‘dump’, a ‘horror’, reported a returning emigrant. Munich was buried under some five million cubic metres of debris.1 Germany’s entire tourism infrastructure was badly damaged as well. Hundreds of hotels and guesthouses had closed, were filled with evacuees or had been destroyed. The country’s transportation networks generally were in a dire state and travel by rail was often impossible.2 In the immediate postwar period, a time of widespread deprivation, the necessities of survival naturally took precedence over travel for pleasure. Yet, ‘despite it all’, a 1946 newspaper article suggested, Germans were still thinking about tourism.3 Indeed, the demand for rooms and transportation soon exceeded the limited supply. ‘One is amazed’, exclaimed another article the following year, ‘but there really are still holiday guests’: ‘They sit completely matter-of-factly in the few cafés that are open for a couple of hours per day … in front of a cup of undrinkable brown broth and write postcards.’4 At that time, touristsightings were still rare. Within slightly more than a decade, however, they would become commonplace. A tourism boom of unprecedented proportions was on its way. The Soviet zones saw some of the earliest attempts to revitalize tourism after Germany’s unconditional surrender. In Weimar, for example, a fully 187

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revised edition of the Weimar city guide appeared in 1946. The division of Berlin into Allied and Soviet zones of influence hindered the rebuilding of certain organizations, such as the former Berlin Tourism Society. But new soldier tourists – the members of the occupying forces – provided an incentive for both halves of the divided capital to produce brochures and offer guided tours.5 In parts of the Black Forest, where tourism resorts were relatively untouched by wartime bombing, tourism organizations were brought back to life remarkably quickly. The Baden State Tourism Association was re-founded in November 1945. By 1947, thirteen regional tourism associations were active in the western zones. That same year, the League of German Tourism Associations met for the first time. The following year, West Germany’s national tourism organization, the Deutsche Zentrale für Fremdenverkehr, was established. In 1950, the (West) German Tourist Information Office opened its doors in New York.6 These early efforts notwithstanding, the West German tourism industry still recovered more slowly than the economy as a whole in the late 1940s. Even by the early 1950s, the tourism industry was only a third of the size it had been in 1936. Visitors from abroad, especially Americans, first dominated the tourist profile. However, after the currency reforms of 1948, the number of domestic leisure travellers increased as well. By 1953, annual overnight stays in West Germany surpassed those of the peak years under Hitler. By 1955, one in four West Germans was taking a holiday away from home lasting more than five days.7 In the German Democratic Republic, tourism flourished as well. Excursions organized by the state and the trade unions attracted numerous participants, but individual leisure activities like camping proved even more popular.8 In both German states, tourism continued to serve explicit political agendas. In the west, the new administration hoped travel to the Federal Republic might influence foreign opinion. Echoing an argument once used by the Nazis themselves, it cast sightseeing as a means whereby visitors from abroad, especially Americans, would ‘get to know Germany and the German people as they are today’.9 As the Cold War loomed, tourist literature also drew explicit comparisons to ‘the other Germany’ and hailed West Berlin as ‘the most advanced outpost’ of the ‘citadel of democracy’ that the Federal Republic had become.10 The Left utilized tourism as a platform for political activism as well. Its forms of social tourism harkened back to the politicized leisure activities of the Weimar Republic. Trade unions organized their own package tours and socialist travel groups, like the Naturfreunde, were re-founded.11 Across

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the border, tourism was meant to mobilize East German youth in the collective socialist struggle. Brochures and guidebooks also invoked familiar phrases about leisure travel’s ability to increase workers’ happiness. Yet in neither German state did an organization comparable to Kraft durch Freude emerge. The Allies’ dissolution of KdF’s parent organization, the German Labour Front, which it labelled a ‘criminal organization’, certainly hindered any potential recovery. More importantly, West Germans rejected any kind of state-directed leisure, while East Germans now gained what KdF had ultimately failed to provide: statesubsidized holidays for even the lowest paid workers. Neither the prosperous, consumer-oriented Federal German Republic nor the tightly controlled Communist dictatorship thus desired or needed an organization like Strength through Joy.12 According to the official histories of Germany’s tourism organizations, the immediate postwar period marked a new beginning, a time to rebuild, refound and restore. But many of the tourism officials who now celebrated that new beginning had actually launched or advanced their careers under Hitler. The rhetoric of total destruction and absolute rebirth obscured these continuities in personnel. It also precluded any acknowledgement of the tourism industry’s complicity in the Third Reich. As was so often the case in postwar Germany, it was not that the Nazi period was forgotten, simply that it was remembered selectively.13 The official histories readily recounted the tourism sector’s achievements after 1933. Their recital of positive advances echoed Nazi propaganda. They praised the creation of a centralized national authority and the end to organizational overlap and internal rivalries; they highlighted increased economic growth, higher visitor numbers and improved advertising techniques.14 Usually, however, neither Hitler nor the NSDAP was mentioned by name. Instead, 1933 was euphemistically described as having brought ‘fundamental transformations’ and ‘political developments’ to Germany.15 Utter silence about the fate of racially or politically ‘unacceptable’ colleagues reigned. The ideological goals that tourism was meant to serve under the swastika were also conveniently ignored. This book has examined what those earlier accounts repressed. In 1933, the ailing German tourism industry genuinely welcomed Hitler as its physician. Tourism professionals, from travel agents and hotel owners to tourism society chairmen, greeted state coordination and control with enthusiasm. They accepted their loss of autonomy, for the Nazis seemed to have fulfilled many of their long-standing aspirations. They not only closed their eyes to racial persecution, but also actively

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supported it, often in a bid to reduce supposedly unfair competition. Additionally, many members of the tourism industry upheld the regime’s view of tourism as essential to the unification of the Volksgemeinschaft and to overturning foreign ‘misconceptions’ about the new Germany. Tourism was not completely apolitical, as tourism professionals later intimated; it became a political weapon in the broader Nazi campaign. Even without direct commands from above, officials began an immediate overhaul of tourist literature for certain destinations after 1933. Guidebooks were revised, brochures withdrawn, postcards amended and maps altered. References to the Weimar Republic disappeared and paeans to the Nazi regime took their place. Yet tourism promoters were also canny businessmen. They knew that these new and improved touristic products would appeal to German consumers. They recognized that Nazism genuinely fascinated the German public, whether it was on holiday or at home, just as it fascinated many foreign visitors. The traces of the NSDAP’s ‘time of struggle’, the monuments to its martyrs, its mass events and monumental building projects quickly became popular tourist attractions. In turn, an explicitly politicized, deeply modern tourist culture emerged. It both decorated the Nazi cult of violence and transformed it into a commodity for sale. In places like Berlin, Weimar, Munich and Nuremberg, Nazism’s imprint on the tourist experience was distinct indeed. The process of politicization, however, was largely contingent upon place. For KdF holidaymakers and private leisure travellers alike, a visit to Berlin became a forum for the celebration of Nazism. In the Black Forest, by contrast, an apparently normal tourist culture predominated. However, the absent swastika there did not indicate some kind of touristic resistance to Nazism. This façade of normality was intentional; it fit with the Nazis’ political strategy as a whole. The Nazis had no doubts about what tourists wanted when they journeyed to the Black Forest, be it excursions into Alsace and Switzerland or the cosmopolitan luxury of a Weltbad. The regime thus not only permitted, but also promoted tourist experiences that seemed to offer an escape from the politicized present. If the tourist culture in the capital became the touristic equivalent of the film Triumph of the Will, then the tourist culture rooted in the Schwarzwald was a kind of Request Concert (Wunschkonzert). One advertised the virtues of the regime; the other marketed the possibilities for living life ‘as normal’ in Hitler’s Germany. The former highlighted 1933 as an historical rupture; the latter emphasized historical continuity. In German tourism, as in so many cultural


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spheres, which were equally tightly coordinated, discourses emerged that both celebrated and obscured the horrors of a murderous regime. While both ultimately served the regime’s broader political goals, the veneer of normality proved especially significant in ensuring continued popular support and the enduring stability of the regime itself. As the German writer and historian Sebastian Haffner later recalled, this ‘continuation of normal daily life’ hindered effective opposition to the dictatorship.16 More ominously, it contributed to the toleration of its worst abuses. The Nazis’ continued drive towards a semblance of everyday normality co-existed with their oft-repeated claims about having transformed life in Germany. The KdF holidays typified the juggling of such competing ideas. On the one hand, the KdF trips were symbols of a supposed revolution in leisure travel; on the other, they were ‘just like’ regular commercial vacations. International tourism was also characterized by these conflicting discourses. Come and see what has changed under Hitler, the promoters begged, but leave convinced that Germany is still Germany. The notions of the new and the normal were always in tension with one another in the Third Reich. Since there was no logical way to synthesize them, the Nazi regime did not attempt to do so. Instead, it permitted them to sit alongside one another. Such examples of the plurality of Nazism, its so-called ‘divided consciousness’, are numerous. Yet these ideological confusions and inconsistencies proved not to be a weakness; they actually worked to the regime’s advantage by allowing it to appeal to various sectors of society at the same time.17 The semblance of normality alone did not sustain the popular legitimacy of the Hitler dictatorship. The German people also needed to feel that the conditions of everyday life had improved during its rule. While the realization of full employment was crucial in this regard, a superior quality of life depended equally on consuming more than before. But the Nazi regime’s quest for Lebensraum and the drive to rearm placed severe restrictions on the production of many consumer goods, which in turn limited popular consumption. How then was the regime’s claim to have raised the German standard of living to have any validity? The answer came primarily through its redefinition of what that standard of living entailed. Quality of life under Hitler was not to be determined by increased wages or the purchase of luxury goods, but rather by access to the practices, privileges and cultural property of the upper classes. Guns and butter were indeed difficult to reconcile; guns and sightseeing, in contrast, were not, nor were guns and theatre visits, guns and sporting events or guns and art exhibitions. Tourism offered an

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especially attractive mode of consumption that nevertheless remained consistent with the goals of rearmament. The Kraft durch Freude holidays convinced many German workers that the Nazis had indeed enhanced their well-being and delivered on the promise of a better life despite their refusal to increase wages. The belief that the purchase of non-material ‘products’ improved one’s quality of life also found much wider resonance. Even though material scarcities loomed as Nazi Germany prepared for war, many Germans – middle- and working-class alike – later recalled these years as the ‘good old days’. Consumerist practices like tourism helped to create that impression. According to the postwar recollections of some tourism officials, the good old days of German tourism were brought to an abrupt end with the outbreak of war. The Karlsruhe Tourism Society, for example, claimed that its ‘work for peace’ suddenly ‘went up in flames’.18 Certainly, the image of long dormant organization strengthened the notion of an entirely new beginning for German tourism after 1945. Yet, as we have seen, tourism continued long after the conflict began. While the Nazi regime made some effort to curtail civilian leisure travel, it remained fearful of the effects of a total ban on the home front’s morale, especially since tourism partially compensated for increased restrictions on material consumption. Only after the tide of war had turned against Germany did the state enforce drastic measures designed to eradicate ‘superfluous’ travel. Tourism professionals also actively supported the war effort in a number of ways, from their work in occupied countries to the services they provided to soldiers and evacuees. Most importantly, their wartime activity perpetuated the veneer of normality, which in turn guaranteed public support and maintained popular morale. German tourism officials were definitely not inactive after 1939, as they sometimes later suggested. They proudly served the needs of their industry at war. This book has stressed how complicity and consent dominate the story of tourism under Hitler. But does this emphasis underestimate the reality and importance of Nazi intimidation and terror? Fear of the consequences of dissent must, of course, never be discounted. It determined the overall context in which ‘ordinary Germans became complicit’.19 However, the self-coordination of commercial tourism speaks more of genuine admiration for the Nazis’ interventions than it does of individuals and organizations cowed by Nazi intimidation. Officials neither welcomed every touristic measure with equal enthusiasm nor was conflict entirely absent. There were attempts to assert local financial autonomy, travel agents engaged in price wars with KdF, the


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production of kitschy souvenirs carried on and excursions across German borders continued. On the whole, however, these were the exceptions that proved the rule. In each case, the regime either intervened to bring such activities to an end or actively allowed them to continue, denying them their oppositional quality. The Nazi takeover thus had a profound impact on German tourism despite superficial continuities in the day-to-day aspects of its administration and promotion. While the regime’s authority was fundamentally unchallenged, interventions every day and everywhere did not always follow. Yet, crucially, the potential existed for the regime to intervene if and when it wished. While much admittedly carried on as before, the tightly coordinated infrastructure provided a mechanism for the regime to impose its will if the need arose. In sum, the regime managed these daily continuities and the resulting semblance of normality as much as it orchestrated far-reaching changes. After the Second World War, a kind of ‘dark tourism’ emerged in Germany, as the former sites of death and terror in the Third Reich became ‘must see’ sights on the tourist trail. Today, Dachau, Buchenwald, Sachsenhausen and other ‘fatal attractions’ linked to the Hitler dictatorship draw thousands of visitors each year.20 The most recent Lonely Planet guide to Germany, for example, lists the former concentration camp at Dachau as one of the key attractions around Munich, alongside the Chiem Lake, the Andechs brewery and the Alpamare water park. Foreign and German travellers climb the trails to see Hitler’s Tea House on the Obersalzberg in southern Bavaria; they take part in guided tours to view the location of his underground bunker in Berlin.21 Of course, not all German cities are equally keen to promote this dark past, as a recent trip to Nuremberg revealed. At the tourist information centre, brochures about the Reich Party Rally grounds were available only on request and at a cost. The image of a crowd of holidaymakers – guidebooks in hands, cameras at the ready – descending on a site like Dachau is admittedly disturbing. Yet tourism plays a role in Germany’s ongoing attempt to come to terms with its Nazi past. Today, leisure travel has become an important vehicle for understanding and working through a nation’s history, not only in Germany, but also in many other countries struggling to confront their own horrific legacies. The connections between tourism, consumer culture and public memory invite further investigation. Certainly, attractions like the ‘Stalin World’ theme park in Lithuania and the ‘massacre trail’ in Sarajevo, with its shell-casing souvenirs, threaten to exploit human suffering for commercial gain.22

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Germany’s attractions face similar dangers. Nevertheless, seeing the former sites of Hitler’s Germany can facilitate a genuine, meaningful engagement with the history of the Third Reich. It is up to the most recent promoters of ‘Nazi tourism’ to ensure that it does.

Notes 1

Introduction

1 Alon Confino, review of Reisen als Leitbild: Die Entstehung des modernen Massentourismus, by Christine Keitz; and Reiselust: Touristen, Tourismus und Urlaubskultur, by Christoph Hennig, German History 17, n. 3 (1999): 438–9. 2 I borrow this term from Anne Gorsuch, ‘“There’s No Place like Home”: Soviet Tourism in Late Stalinism’, Slavic Review 62, n. 4 (2003): 785. 3 Eric J. Leed, The Mind of the Traveler: From Gilgamesh to Global Tourism (New York: 1991), 2; John Urry, The Tourist Gaze: Leisure and Travel in Contemporary Societies (London: 1990), 1–4; Georges Hughes, ‘Conceiving of Tourism’, Area 23, n. 2 (1991): 265–6. See also Neil Leiper, ‘The Framework of Tourism: Towards a Definition of Tourism, Tourist and the Tourist Industry’, Annals of Tourism Research 6 (October–December 1979): 390–407; Erik Cohen, ‘Who is a Tourist? A Conceptual Clarification’, Sociological Review 22, n. 4 (1974): 527–55. 4 John K. Walton, ‘Taking the History of Tourism Seriously’, European History Quarterly 27 (1997): 563. 5 Daniel J. Boorstin, The Image: A Guide to Pseudo-Events in America (New York: 1961), especially 77–117. Some of the best exceptions to this rule are cited in Cord Pagenstecher, ‘Neue Ansätze für die Tourismusgeschichte – ein Literaturbericht’, Archiv für Sozialgeschichte 38 (1998): 591–619. 6 Helena Waddy Lepovitz, ‘Pilgrims, Patients and Painters: The Formation of a Tourist Culture in Bavaria’, Historical Reflections 18, n. 1 (1992): 121–45; Werner Trapp, Seh-Zeichen: Reisen diesseits und jenseits des Bodensees (Constance: 1993); Astrid Paulsen, ‘– ein gesegneter und reizvoller Fleck Erde –’: Tourismus in der Holsteinischen Schweiz, 1867–1914 (Neumünster: 1994); Karl Fuß, Geschichte der Reisebüros (Darmstadt: 1960); Peter J. Brenner, ed., Der Reisebericht: Die Entwicklung einer Gattung in der deutschen Literatur (Frankfurt am Main: 1989). 7 Shelley Baranowski and Ellen Furlough, ‘Introduction’, in Being Elsewhere: Tourism, Consumer Culture, and Identity in Modern Europe and North America, ed. Shelley Baranowski and Ellen Furlough (Ann Arbor: 2001), 7. 8 On Alltagsgeschichte generally, see Alf Lüdtke, ed., The History of Everyday Life: Reconstructing Historical Experiences and Ways of Life, trans. William Templer (Princeton: 1996). For a helpful, if now outdated, overview of the enormous literature on everyday life in the Third Reich, see Detlev Peukert, ‘Das “Dritte Reich” aus der “Alltag”–Perspektive’, Archiv für Sozialgeschichte 26 (1986): 533–56. 9 Paul Betts, ‘The New Fascination with Fascism: The Case of Nazi Modernism’, Journal of Contemporary History 37, n. 4 (2002): 553. 10 Ueli Gyr, ‘Touristenkultur und Reisealltag’, Zeitschrift für Volkskunde 84, n. 2 (1988): 224–39.

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Notes

11 John Milfull, ed., The Attractions of Fascism: Social Psychology and the Aesthetics of the Triumph of the Right (Oxford: 1990). 12 These works include Peter Reichel, Der schöne Schein des Dritten Reiches: Faszination und Gewalt des Faschismus (Munich and Vienna: 1991); Hans Dieter Schäfer, Das gespaltene Bewußtsein: Über deutsche Kultur und Lebenswirklichkeit 1933–1945 (Munich: 1981); Berthold Hinz et al., eds., Die Dekoration der Gewalt: Kunst und Medien in Faschismus (Giessen: 1979). 13 Alon Confino and Rudy Koshar, ‘Regimes of Consumer Culture: New Narratives in Twentieth-Century German History’, German History 19, n. 2 (2001): 142. 14 I share this argument with Shelley Baranowski, Strength through Joy: Consumerism and Mass Tourism in the Third Reich (Cambridge: 2004). 15 Susanne Appel, ‘Reisen im Nationalsozialismus: Eine rechtshistorische Untersuchung’ (PhD diss., Universität Rostock, 1999); Janos Tihanyi, ‘Zur faschistischen Fremdenverkehrspolitik’, Zeitschrift für Geschichtswissenschaft 20, n. 8 (1972): 967–73; Petra Krempien, Geschichte des Reisens und des Tourismus: Ein Überblick von den Anfängen bis zur Gegenwart (Limburgerhof: 2000), 137–42; Karin Hlavin-Schulze, ‘Man reist nicht, um anzukommen’: Reisen als kulturelle Praxis (Frankfurt am Main and New York: 1998), 65–7; Franz Berktold-Fackler and Hans Krumbholz, Reisen in Deutschland: Eine kleine Tourismusgeschichte (Munich and Vienna: 1997), 73–4, 86–7, 88–94. 16 Hasso Spode, ‘“Der deutsche Arbeiter reist”: Massentourismus im Dritten Reich’, in Sozialgeschichte der Freizeit, ed. Gerhard Huck (Wuppertal: 1980), 300. 17 Rudy Koshar, German Travel Cultures (Oxford: 2000); Christine Keitz, Reisen als Leitbild: Die Entstehung des modernen Massentourismus in Deutschland (Munich: 1997). 18 Koshar, German Travel Cultures, 208. 19 For more on the history of European tourism generally and German tourism specifically, see Hermann Bausinger, Klaus Beyrer and Gottfried Korff, eds., Reisekultur: Von der Pilgerfahrt zum modernen Tourismus (Munich: 1991); Maxine Feifer, Going Places: The Ways of the Tourist from Imperial Rome to the Present Day (London: 1985); Hans-Wolfgang Höfert, ‘Kurwesen’, in Tourismuspsychologie und Tourismussoziologie: Ein Handbuch zur Tourismuswissenschaft, ed. Heinz Hahn and Jürgen Kagelmann (Munich: 1993), 391–6; James Buzard, The Beaten Track: European Tourism, Literature, and the Ways to Culture, 1800–1918 (Oxford: 1993); John Towner, ‘The Grand Tour: A Key Phase in the History of Tourism’, Annals of Tourism Research 12, n. 3 (1985): 297–333; Hans-Werner Prahl and Albrecht Steinecke, Der Millionenurlaub: Von der Bildungsreise zur totalen Freizeit (Darmstadt: 1979); Barbara Wolbring, ‘“Auch ich in Arkadien!”: Die bürgerliche Kunst- und Bildungsreise im 19. Jahrhundert’, in Bürgerkultur im 19. Jahrhundert: Bildung, Kunst, Lebenswelt, ed. Dieter Hein and Andreas Schulz (Munich: 1996); Hasso Spode, ‘Der moderne Tourismus – Grundlinien seiner Entstehung und Entwicklung vom 18. bis zum 20. Jahrhundert’, in Moderner Tourismus: Tendenzen und Aussichten, second edition, ed. Dietrich Storbeck (Trier: 1990), 48–50. 20 Rudy Koshar, ‘“What Ought to Be Seen”: Tourists’ Guidebooks and National Identities in Modern Germany and Europe’, Journal of Contemporary History

Notes

21 22

23

24 25 26 27 28 29

30

31 32 33 34 35

36

37

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33 (1998): 323–39; Edward Mendelson, ‘Baedeker’s Universe’, Yale Review 74, n. 3 (1985): 386–403. Piers Brendon, Thomas Cook: 150 Years of Popular Tourism (London: 1991); Spode, ‘Der moderne Tourismus’, 55–6. Karl Baedeker, Deutschland in einem Bande: Kurzes Reisehandbuch, third edition (Leipzig: 1913). On this guide, and the pre-First World War ‘Baedeker travel culture’ more generally, see Koshar, German Travel Cultures, 19–64. Ernst Lutz, ‘Die Einflüsse des Weltkrieges auf den Fremdenverkehr in Bayern’ (PhD diss., Friedrich-Alexanders-Universität, Erlangen, 1927), 46, 51–2. Harry A. Franck, Vagabonding through Changing Germany (New York: 1920), 74. Ibid., 126. Trapp, Seh-Zeichen, 10. Franck, Vagabonding, 114, 124–5, 251, 343. Henry Albert Phillips, Meet the Germans (Philadelphia: 1929), 208. Gerald D. Feldman, ‘Welcome to Germany? The Fremdenplage in the Weimar Inflation’, in Geschichte als Aufgabe, ed. Wilhelm Treue (Berlin: 1988), 634, 645. Frank Bajohr, ‘Unser Hotel ist judenfrei’: Bäder-Antisemitismus im 19. und 20. Jahrhundert, second edition (Frankfurt am Main: 2003); Jacob Borut, ‘Antisemitism in Tourist Facilities in Weimar Germany’, Yad Vashem Studies 28 (2000): 7–50. ‘Die Nöte des deutschen Fremdenverkehrs’, Brandenburger Anzeiger, 11 May 1925. Keitz, Reisen als Leitbild, Table 6, 319. Ibid., 129–61. Sylvester Kolanowski, ‘Das Reisebürowesen’, Das Reisebüro 7, n. 4 (1927): 8–10; Fuß, Geschichte der Reisebüros, 45. Günter Menges, Wachstum und Konjunktur des deutschen Fremdenverkehrs 1913 bis 1956 (Frankfurt am Main: 1959), 209; ‘Die Notlage des Hotelgewerbes in Zahlen’, Deutsche Hotel-Nachrichten 37, n. 30 (13 April 1933). For further statistical data and other contemporary reports, see Erich Wolter, ‘Fremdenverkehr und Presse: Eine Untersuchung über die volkswirtschaftliche Bedeutung und Struktur des Fremdenverkehrs und über seine Beziehungen zur Presse’ (PhD diss., Martin-Luther-Universität, HalleWittenberg, 1934), 35–41; Georg Nave, ‘Fremdenverkehrswerbung in Notzeiten’, Archiv für den deutschen Fremdenverkehr 3 (1932/1933): 12–15; ‘Hoffnung auf Besserung’, Deutsche Hotel-Nachrichten 37, n. 1 (4 January 1933); ‘Notstandsumgebungen überall im Reich’, Deutsche Hotel-Nachrichten 37, n. 9 (1 February 1933). Oded Heilbronner, Catholicism, Political Culture and the Countryside: A Social History of the Nazi Party in South Germany (Ann Arbor: 1998), 22, 56, 103; Ian Kershaw, Popular Opinion and Political Dissent in the Third Reich: Bavaria 1933–1945 (Oxford: 1983), 130; Angelika Schindler, Der verbrannte Traum: Jüdische Bürger und Gäste in Baden–Baden (Bühl-Moos: 1992), 95. State Secretary Koenigs, Reichs- und Preußisches Verkehrsministerium, in Der Fremdenverkehr 1, n. 1 (2 May 1936): 2. As we shall see, there was a great deal of truth in his comments.

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Notes

38 Berktold-Fackler and Krumbholz, Reisen in Deutschland, 70. See also Jürgen Hagel, ‘Zur Geschichte der Verschönerungsvereine in Südwestdeutschland’, Zeitschrift für Württembergische Landesgeschichte 46 (1987): 351–67. 39 ‘Die Wirtschaftskrise. Und der Herr Oberbürgermeister?’ Breisgauer Beobachter, 29 October 1925 (StaF, C4/XVI/20/4). 40 In the Black Forest, at least ten associations worked to promote travel to the area. These were: Verkehrsgemeinschaft Hochschwarzwald, Verkehrsgemeinschaft Südhochschwarzwald, Verkehrs- und Verlagsgesellschaft Schwarzwald, Oberrhein, Bodensee (SOB), Freie Vereinigung Süddeutscher Bäder, Südwestdeutscher Verkehrsverband, Murgtal Verkehrsverband, Verkehrsgemeinschaft Rhein-Schwarzwald-Donau, Verkehrsverband AlbHotzenwald, Schwarzwaldverkehrsverband Obere Kinzig, Verkehrs-Verband Rastatt-Murgtal and the Verkehrsgemeinschaft Schwarzwaldbahn-BodenseeRheinfall. 41 Berktold-Fackler and Krumbholz, Reisen in Deutschland, 72; Wolter, ‘Fremdenverkehr und Presse’, 62; Hugo Mühlhäuser, 50 Jahre Landesverkehrsverband Württemberg (Stuttgart: 1958), 11, 27–30; Keitz, Reisen als Leitbild, 64–7. The Central Association of Travel Agencies and the International Association of Travel Agencies were both founded in 1914. The Union of German Travel Agencies joined them in 1921 (Fuß, Geschichte der Reisebüros, 257–66). 42 ‘Für enge Zusammenarbeit zwischen Hotellerie und Reisebüros’, Deutsche Hotel-Nachrichten 37, n. 10 (4 February 1933); Emil Friedrich Brodek, Über die Notwendigkeit vorübergehenden staatlichen Eingreifens zugunsten der Entwicklung der Fremdenindustrie Badens, n.d. (StAF, A 96/1, 485). 43 ‘Überberechtigte Provisionsansprüche städtischer Verkehrsbüros’, Deutsche Hotel-Nachrichten, October 1931 (StaF, C4/XVI/18/1). 44 Pieter Judson, ‘“Every German visitor has a völkisch obligation he must fulfil”: Nationalist Tourism in the Austrian Empire, 1880–1918’, in Histories of Leisure, ed. Rudy Koshar (London: 2002); Linda Richter, ‘The Political Uses of Tourism: A Philippine Case Study’, The Journal of Developing Areas 14 (January 1980): 237–57; Richard Clarke, ‘Self-Presentation in a Contested City: Palestinian and Israeli Political Tourism in Hebron’, Anthropology Today 16, n. 5 (2000): 12–18. 45 Carl vom Berg, Das deutsche Fremdenverkehrsrecht (Berlin: 1939), 5. See also ‘Dankeskundgebung der Fremdenverkehrsträger für Hermann Esser’, Der Fremdenverkehr 3, n. 25 (18 June 1938): 4. 46 Heilbronner, Catholicism, Political Culture and the Countryside, 156. 47 ‘Ausflugsorte, Geschäftsempfehlungen und Massenquartiere’, Der Nationalsozialist, 1 August 1931; ‘Der herrliche Thüringer Wald: Liebliche Täler, stolze Burgen, prächtige Höhen!’ Der Nationalsozialist, 28 July 1931; ‘National Sozialisten treffen sich in …’, Der Führer, 28 May 1931; ‘Wo verbringe ich meinen Urlaub?’ Der Nationalsozialist, 1 July 1932; ‘Für die Fremden’, Der Nationalsozialist, 1 August 1931; ‘Geschächtetes Fremdengewerbe’, Der Führer, 15/16 March 1931. 48 Hermann Esser, ‘Wirtschaftsfragen im Fremdenverkehr’, Der Fremdenverkehr 1, n. 16 (15 August 1936): 1. 49 ‘Klarer Kurs im deutschen Fremdenverkehr’, Der Fremdenverkehr 1, n. 1 (2 May 1936): 6; ‘Deutschland – gastliches Land der Welt! Fremdenverkehr dient der Friedensidee des Führers’, Berliner Morgenpost, 5 July 1936.

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50 Heinrich Lammers, in Der Fremdenverkehr 1, n. 1 (2 May 1936): 1; ‘Fremdenverkehrsarbeit: Eine Angelegenheit aller!’ Der Fremdenverkehr 1, n. 1 (2 May 1936): 3; ‘Reisen und wandern überwindet den Partikularismus’, DAF, 8 August 1939 (BAB, NS5 VI/19470); ‘Fünf Minuten Schulung’, Der Fremdenverkehr 1, n. 5 (30 May 1936): 5. See also ‘Der deutsche Fremdenverkehr von heute’, Der Fremdenverkehr 1, n. 22 (26 September 1936): 1; ‘Im Dienste des Führers – Fremdenverkehr fördert Politik, Kultur und Wirtschaft’, Der Fremdenverkehr 2, n. 5 (30 January 1937): 1; ‘Politik und Fremdenverkehr’, Der Fremdenverkehr 2, n. 17 (24 April 1937): 1; ‘Die hohe Aufgabe des deutschen Fremdenverkehrs’ Rheinsich-Westfälische Zeitung, 23 May 1936. 51 I want to thank to Ronald Shearer and Julia Sneeringer for their thoughtful insights about the role of normality in German history. See also Frank Trommler, ‘Between Normality and Resistance: Catastrophic Gradualism in Nazi Germany’, in Resistance against the Third Reich, 1933–1990, ed. John W. Boyer and Michael Geyer (Chicago: 1992), 125. 52 Detlev Peukert, Inside Nazi Germany: Conformity, Racism and Opposition in Everyday Life, trans. Richard Deveson (London: 1987), 76. 53 Hermann Mau, ‘Die “zweite Revolution” – Der 30. Juni 1934’, Vierteljahrshefte für Zeitgeschichte 1 (1953): 119–37. 54 Michael Burleigh, The Third Reich: A New History (Oxford: 2000), 811. 55 ‘An die deutschen Reisebüros!’ Das Reisebüro 9, n. 9/10 (1–15 May 1936). 56 Bezirksamt Neustadt to Baden’s Minister of the Interior, 29 September 1936 (Kreisarchiv Breisgau-Hochschwarzwald, B1-1-1554). 57 Peter Gay, My German Question (London: 1998), 76.

2


1 Rudy Koshar, Social Life, Local Politics, and Nazism: Marburg, 1880–1935 (Chapel Hill: 1986), 245. 2 Resort towns in southern Bavaria and the Thuringian Forest showed above average support for the NSDAP before 1933, but the same does not hold true for the Black Forest. See Ian Kershaw, Popular Opinion and Political Dissent in the Third Reich: Bavaria 1933–1945 (Oxford: 1983), 136; Donald Tracey, ‘The Development of the National Socialist Party in Thuringia, 1924–30’, Central European History 8, n. 1 (1975): 24, note 4; Ellsworth Faris, ‘Takeoff Point for the National Socialist Party: The Landtag Election in Baden, 1929’, Central European History 8, n. 2 (1975): 148. 3 See, for example, Hugo Welle, ‘Deutschland über alles’, Das schöne Deutschland – Deutsche Verkehrs- und Fremdenzeitung 1, n. 1/2 (1933): 1; ‘Parole: Urlaubsreise selbstverständlich in Deutschland!’, Deutsche Verkehrsblätter, n. 24 (12 June 1934): 1. 4 On German vacation laws, see Jürgen Reulecke, ‘Vom blauen Montag zum Arbeiterurlaub’, Archiv für Sozialgeschichte 16 (1976): 205–48; Hasso Spode, ‘Arbeiterurlaub im Dritten Reich’, in Angst, Belohnung, Zucht und Ordnung: Herrschaftsmechanismen im Nationalsozialismus, ed. Carola Sachse, Tilla Siegel, Hasso Spode and Wolfgang Spohn (Berlin: 1982). On the Nazis’ imposition of currency and visa regulations, see Christine Keitz, Reisen als Leitbild: Die Entstehung des modernen Massentourismus in Deutschland

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18 19 20

21 22

Notes (Munich: 1997), 67–8; Gustav Otruba, A. Hitler’s ‘Tausend-Mark-Sperre’ und die Folgen für Österreichs Fremdenverkehr (Linz: 1983). ‘Fünf Minuten Schulung’, Der Fremdenverkehr 1, n. 2 (9 May 1936): 5. Gesetz über den Reichsausschuß für Fremdenverkehr (23 June 1933), Reichsgesetzblatt I, 393. ‘Die Neuordnung des deutschen Fremdenverkehrs’, Freiburger Zeitung, 12 April 1933; Nachrichten-Dienst des BDVB 3, n. 24 (5 October 1933); ‘Reichsausschuß für Fremden-Verkehr’, Berliner Tageblatt, 2 June 1933. ‘Reichsausschuß für Fremdenverkehr’, Berliner Börsen-Zeitung, 25 June 1933. Other commentators agreed. See Erich Wolter, ‘Fremdenverkehr und Presse: Eine Untersuchung über die volkswirtschaftliche Bedeutung und Struktur des Fremdenverkehrs und über seine Beziehungen zur Presse’ (PhD diss., Martin-Luther-Universität, Halle-Wittenberg, 1934), 62; Carl vom Berg, Das deutsche Fremdenverkehrsrecht (Berlin: 1939), 5; Carl E. Schmidt, Fremdenverkehrswesen (Berlin: 1933), 37, 40. Ergänzungsverordnung zum Gesetz über den Reichsausschuß für Fremdenverkehr (25 October 1935), Reichsgesetzblatt I, 1257. vom Berg, Fremdenverkehrsrecht, 30. In November 1933, the League of German Tourism Associations and the General Association of German Bathing Resorts were amalgamated to form the League of German Tourism Associations and Bathing Resorts. Fritz Gabler, ‘Aufgaben des badischen Fremdenverkehrs’, in ‘Baden – Die Grenzmark im Südwesten des Reiches’, Sonderbeilage des Völkischen Beobachters, 13 October 1935, 10. ‘Fremdenverkehr voran!’ Sonderausgabe des Berliner Tageblatts, n.d. (StaO, 5/1563). Sales of travel tickets during the 1933/34 Christmas and New Year holiday period rose by 13 and 26 per cent in Berlin and Munich respectively, figures that the German Hotel News praised as an indication of the new regime’s success (Deutsche Hotel-Nachrichten 38, n. 1 [4 January 1934]). Gesetz über den Reichsfremdenverkehrsverband (26 March 1936), Reichsgesetzblatt I, 271. Julius Lippert, Stadtkommissar Berlin, in Der Fremdenverkehr 1, n. 1 (2 May 1936): 2. The propaganda about these ‘limitations’ is vast. See, for example, Friedrich Mahlo, ‘Zielbewußte Förderung: Zukunftsaussichten des deutschen Fremdenverkehrs’, Rheinische Landeszeitung, 1 April 1936; ‘Fremdenverkehr in staatlicher Betreuung’, Rheinisch-Westfälische Zeitung, 4 April 1936; ‘Der Reichsfremdenverkehrsverband. Das Reichgesetz’, Kölnische Zeitung, 3 April 1936. ‘Massregelung eines Unbotsmässigen’, Nachrichten-Dienst des BDVB 5, n. 9 (10 May 1935): 1. In 1935, the League of German Tourism Associations and Bathing Resorts was renamed the Reich Tourism Association. ‘Rechtliche Gedanken zur Neuordnung im Fremdenverkehrswesen’, Thüringer Hotel-Nachrichten, n. 17, 23 April 1936 (ThHStAW, Thüringisches Wirtschaftsministerium, 5006). vom Berg, Fremdenverkehrsrecht, 32. Ritter von Heilingbrunner, ‘Über die Selbständigkeit der Landesfremdenverkehrsverbände’, Der Fremdenverkehr 1, n. 1 (2 May 1936): 4.

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23 Kenkel, ‘Vom Kitsch in der Fremdenwerbung’, Deutsche GemeindebeamtenZeitung, 13 January 1935 (StaO, 5/1563); Heinz Gräfe, ‘Grenzen des Wettbewerbs im Fremdenverkehr’ (PhD diss., Universität Leipzig, 1936), 6. 24 Nachrichtendienst des Deutscher Gemeindetags, 21 April 1936 (ThHStAW, Thüringischer Gemeindetag, 453). See also Ritter von Heilingbrunner, ‘Die Organisation des deutschen Fremdenverkehrs’, Jahrbuch des deutschen Fremdenverkehrs (1938): 8. 25 ‘Der Bürgermeister als nationalsozialistischer Fremdenverkehrspolitiker’, Der Fremdenverkehr 1, n. 1 (2 May 1936): 9. 26 Georg Wilhelm Mueller, ‘Das Reichsministerium für Volksaufklärung und Propaganda’, Schriften zum Staatsaufbau – Neue Folge der Schriften der Hochschule für Politik, n. 43, ed. Paul Meier-Benneckenstein (Berlin: 1940), 20–1; ‘Die neue Abteilung Fremdenverkehr im Propagandaministerium’, Deutsche Verkehrsblätter, n. 11 (14 March 1939): 9. 27 Otto Rieger, LFV Baden, to Bürgermeisteramt Waldshut, 29 April 1939 (StaWT, 792.85 WH); Hermann Esser to Badisches Staatsministerium, 17 May 1936 (Generallandesarchiv Karlsruhe, 233/25496); Amts- und Nachrichtenblatt für Thüringen, n. 77, 1 October 1938 (StaW, HpA 407–03/26); Albert Denzlinger, Freiburg, to Lord Mayor Franz Kerber, 12 December 1935 (StaF, C4/XVI/24/4). 28 The Reich Association of German Hotels, Restaurants and Related Enterprises and the German Proprietors’ Association, along with several others, became the Unified Reich Association of the German Catering Industry (Reichseinheitsverband des deutschen Gaststättengewerbes) and later the Economic Group for the Catering and Accommodation Industry (Wirtschaftsgruppe Gaststätten- und Beherbergungsgewerbe, or WGB). In March 1939, the WGB joined the newly created Reichsgruppe Fremdenverkehr, led once again by Hermann Esser. See ‘Neue Reichsgruppe Fremdenverkehr unter Führung von H. Esser’, Deutsche Verkehrsblätter, n. 12 (21 March 1939): 7; ‘Gaststätte und Beherbergung: Die neue Reichsgruppe Fremdenverkehr’, Der Fremdenverkehr 4, n. 12 (25 March 1939): 9. For the town of Süderbrarup in particular, see Thomas Peter Petersen, Gastwirte im Nationalsozialismus 1933–1939 (Bad Kleinen: 1997). 29 Joseph Goebbels, Die Tagebücher von Joseph Goebbels: Sämtliche Fragmente, ed. Elke Fröhlich (Munich: 1987), 6 November 1925. On Esser’s reputation for adultery, see Hans Peter Bleuel, Strength through Joy: Sex and Society in Nazi Germany, trans. J. Maxwell Brownjohn (London: 1973), 145–7. On the conflict between Esser and other leading Party members, see Dietrich Orlow, The History of the Nazi Party: 1919–1933 (Pittsburgh: 1969), 29, 52, 66. 30 Robert Wistrich, Who’s Who in Nazi Germany (London: 1982), 69; James Taylor and Warren Shaw, Dictionary of the Third Reich (London: 1997), 90; Hermann Weiss, ed., Biographisches Lexikon zum Dritten Reich (Frankfurt am Main: 1998), 113. 31 See, for example, the long-running dispute between officials of the Freiburg Tourism Office and the city’s Official Travel Agency, especially Rechtsabteilung to Lord Mayor Franz Kerber, Freiburg, 11 October 1935 (StaF, C4/XVI/18/1). 32 Keitz, Reisen als Leitbild, 246. 33 vom Berg, Fremdenverkehrsrecht, 65–6. 34 Goebbels, Tagebücher, 8 May 1926, 6 November 1925, 21 August 1925, 19 October 1935, 16 December 1937, 20 January 1938.

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35 Ian Kershaw, Hitler 1936–1945: Nemesis (London: 2000), Chapter 13. 36 R. J. B. Bosworth, ‘Tourist Planning in Fascist Italy and the Limits of a Totalitarian Culture’, Contemporary European History 6, n. 1 (1997): 16. 37 ‘Der Führer über das Reisen’, Der Fremdenverkehr 2, n. 23 (5 June 1937): 4. 38 Jane Caplan, ‘Bureaucracy, Politics and the National Socialist State’, in The Shaping of the Nazi State, ed. Peter Stachura (London: 1978), 234. See also Martin Broszat, Der Staat Hitlers (Munich: 1975), 9; Ian Kershaw, The Nazi Dictatorship, fourth edition (London: 2000), 74–6. 39 Otto Ernst Sutter, ‘Mehr Gemeinschaftswerbung für den Schwarzwald’, Freiburger Zeitung, 1 January 1933. 40 LVV Baden, Ein Jahr im Dienste badischer Gastlichkeit! Bericht über die Hauptversammlung des LVV Baden am 1. und 2. Juni 1935 in Konstanz (Karlsruhe: 1935). 41 Verkehrsverein Karlsruhe to Verkehrsverein Bühl, 11 March 1933 (StIB, Stadtarchiv Bühl alt, 1929);Verkehrsverein Karlsruhe to Lord Mayor, Karlsruhe, 5 November 1937 (StaK, 1/H-Reg.3186a). 42 ‘Um den Fremden-Verkehr’, Schwarzwälder Tagblatt, 26 May 1934 (StaS). 43 Freiburg Verkehrsamt to Lord Mayor Franz Kerber, 6 September 1933 and 3 August 1934 (StaF, C4/XVI/21/2). 44 StaW-T, 792.90 TG, ‘Verkehrsamt. Gründung eines Gebietsausschusses’, 1938; ‘Im Dienste des Fremdenverkehrs. Gründung einer Freiburger Fachgruppe Verkehrswerber’, Freiburger Zeitung, 15 February 1938. 45 LFV Baden to Lord Mayor Kerber, Freiburg, 3 March 1938 (StaF, C4/XVI/20/11); Hermann Esser to LFV Baden, 24 February 1938 (StaF, C4/XVI/20/11). 46 ‘Mitarbeit der Verkehrsvereine’, Der Fremdenverkehr 2, n. 4 (23 January 1937): 1. 47 Werner Trapp, Seh-Zeichen: Reisen diesseits und jenseits des Bodensees (Constance: 1993), 16, 28, 20. The regime may have been swayed by the society’s arguments in defense of its continued existence, which cleverly utilized the Nazis’ own rhetoric about the invalidity of Germany’s borders. The Bodensee states, it argued, had to work together because they were all ‘members of one Volk … and one culture’ (Hauptversammlung des Bodensee Verkehrs-Vereins, Bregenz, 14 November 1937 [Stadtarchiv Konstanz S II 4461]; Lord Mayor Herrmann, Konstanz, to LFV Baden, 16 November 1937 [Stadtarchiv Konstanz, S II 4461]). 48 See numerous letters in ThHStAW, Thüringsiches Wirtschaftsministerium, 5008. 49 ‘Die Fremdenverkehrswerbung ist eine Gemeinschaftsaufgabe’, Allgemeine Thüringische Landeszeitung Deutschland, 16 April 1936 (StaW, HpA 407–03/18); Fördere den Fremdenverkehr ist Dein Nutzen – Warum?, n.d. (StaW, HpA 407–03/18). 50 Berk, Erhebung von Verkehrsförderungsbeiträgen im Stadtkreis Weimar, 26 April 1937 (StaW, HpA 407–03/17). 51 ‘Verordnung über die Auswirkung des Verbots der Preishebung’, Ministerialblatt, n. 28, 14 July 1937 (StaW, HpA 407–03/17). 52 LFV Thüringen to Lord Mayor Otto Koch, Weimar, 31 August 1937 (StaW, HpA 407–03/17); Hermann Goering to Thuringia’s Wirtschaftsminister, 27 January 1938 (StaW, HpA 407–03/17). 53 Karl Fiehler, ‘Gemeinde und Fremdenverkehr’, Der Fremdenverkehr 2, n. 22 (29 May 1937): 6–8.

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54 ‘Aufgaben der deutschen Reisebüros’, Der Fremdenverkehr 2, n. 6 (6 February 1937): 8. 55 Draft, Satzungen der N.V.D.Reisebüros, 17 February 1934 (StaF, C4/XVI/18/4); NVDR Tagungsbericht, 26 February 1934 (StaF, C4/XVI/18/4). 56 Gesetz zur Vorbereitung des organischen Aufbaues der deutschen Wirtschaft, in vom Berg, Fremdenverkehrsrecht, 144–50. Emil Kipfmüller was its president. The RHV was further divided into sub-groups. The Fachgruppe Reisevermittlung was responsible for the travel agency industry (Höchstetter, ‘Die Fachgruppe Reisevermittlung in der Reichsgruppe Hilfsgewerbe des Verkehrs’, Jahrbuch des Deutschen Fremdenverkehrs [1939]: 266–70). 57 Karl Fuß, Geschichte der Reisebüros (Darmstadt: 1960), 265; Johannes Graf, ‘Die notwendige Reise’: Reisen und Reiseliteratur junger Autoren während des Nationalsozialismus (Stuttgart: 1995), 121–2. It has been very difficult to acquire any details about this decree. The idea was first broached, it seems, in RHV President Emil Kipfmüller’s ‘Provisional Guidelines for the Arrangement and Booking of Group Travel’ (H. Jentsch, ‘Reisebüro und Volksgemeinschaft’, Der Fremdenverkehr 1, n. 28 [7 November 1936]: 8). Certainly the regime made every effort to ensure that it was kept up to date on the numbers and destinations of holidays sold by travel agents (‘Reisebüro-Statistik’, Der Fremdenverkehr 3, n. 3 [15 January 1938]: 11). 58 ‘Reisebürogesetz vor der Verabschiedung’, Der Fremdenverkehr 1, n. 22 (26 September 1936): 3–4. 59 ‘Das Reisebüro im Dritten Reich’, Der Fremdenverkehr 1, n. 21 (19 September 1936): 4; S. Kolanowski, ‘Reisevermittler und Fremdenverkehr’, Der Fremdenverkehr 1, n. 6 (6 June 1936): 6; H. Jentsch, ‘Reisebüro und Volksgemeinschaft’, Der Fremdenverkehr 1, n. 28 (7 November 1936): 8. 60 The number of travel arranging businesses tripled between 1907 and 1933 (Keitz, Reisen als Leitbild, 119, 230–1). An examination of Berlin address books reveals a less dramatic but still steady increase after 1933 (Berliner Adreßbücher, 1933–1944, Centre for Berlin Studies, Berlin, B895). 61 Erste Durchführungsverordnung über die Ausübung der Reisevermittlung (22 February 1937); S. Kolanowski, ‘Reisevermittler und Fremdenverkehr’, Der Fremdenverkehr 1, n. 6 (6 June 1936): 6; Emil Kipfmüller, ‘Erster deutscher Reisebürotag’, Das Reisebüro 9, n. 17/20 (September/October 1936). 62 Alan E. Steinweis, Art, Ideology, and Economics in Nazi Germany: The Reich Chambers of Music, Theater, and the Visual Arts (Chapel Hill: 1993), 107, 105. 63 Avraham Barkai, From Boycott to Annihilation: The Economic Struggle of German Jews, 1933–1943, trans. William Templer (Hanover and London: 1989), 16, 18. 64 Erich Krause, Zur Frage der Genehmigungspflicht im deutschen ReisebüroGewerbe, in Krause, Amtliches Reisebüro Freiburg, to Lord Mayor Franz Kerber, Freiburg, 12 April 1935 (StaF, C4/XVI/20/7). 65 Keitz, Reisen als Leitbild, 233. 66 H. Jentsch, ‘Reisebüro und Volksgemeinschaft’, Der Fremdenverkehr 1, n. 28 (7 November 1936): 8. 67 Krause, Zur Frage der Genehmigungspflicht im deutschen ReisebüroGewerbe; Beschluß für die Freiburger Polizeidirektion, 2 May 1936 (StaF, C4/XVI/19/7).

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68 Robert Gellately, ‘German Shopkeepers and the Rise of National Socialism’, The Wiener Library Bulletin 28, n. 35/36 (1975): 31–40; Kershaw, Popular Opinion, 120–39. 69 Carl Degener, ‘Lebensfragen des deutschen Reisebürogewerbes’, Der Fremdenverkehr 2, n. 50 (11 December 1937). 70 Michael Kater, Doctors under Hitler (Chapel Hill: 1989); Ulfried Geuter, The Professionalization of Psychology in Nazi Germany, trans. Richard J. Holmes (Cambridge: 1992); Steinweis, Art, Ideology. 71 On German professions more generally, see Charles E. McClelland, The German Experience of Professionalization: Modern Learned Professions and their Organizations from the Early Nineteenth Century to the Hitler Era (Cambridge: 1991); Konrad H. Jarausch, The Unfree Professions: German Lawyers, Teachers, and Engineers, 1900–1950 (Oxford: 1990); Geoffrey Cocks and Konrad H. Jarausch, eds., German Professions, 1800–1950 (Oxford: 1990). 72 Hermann Esser, ‘Deutsche Fremdenverkehrspolitik’, Das Reisebüro 9, n. 17/20 (September/October 1936). 73 David Schoenbaum, Hitler’s Social Revolution (New York: 1967), 285–6. 74 This notion of the ‘honour of labour’ has until now been applied only to industrial workers under the Nazis. See Alf Lüdtke, ‘“Ehre der Arbeit”: Industriearbeiter und Macht der Symbole. Zur Reichweite symbolischer Orientierungen im Nationalsozialismus’, in Arbeiter im 20. Jahrhundert, ed. Klaus Tenfelde (Stuttgart: 1991). 75 ‘Deutsche Reisebüro-Fachschule’, Der Fremdenverkehr 2, n. 8 (20 February 1937): 10; ‘Eröffnung der ersten deutschen Reisebüro-Fachschule’, Deutsche Verkehrsblätter, n. 31 (3 August 1937): 3. 76 See, for example, ‘Rhein-mainische Studienfahrt’, Der Fremdenverkehr 4, n. 15 (15 April 1939): 10; ‘Schulung der Reisebüro-Expedienten’, Der Fremdenverkehr 1, n. 1 (2 May 1936): 18. 77 ‘Für den Schalterdienst’, Der Fremdenverkehr 1, n. 1 (2 May 1936): 17; ‘Kundendienst am Auskunftsschalter – Er muß alles wissen!’ Der Fremdenverkehr 1, n. 4 (23 May 1936): 13. 78 ‘Höhere Reichwerbeschule’, Der Fremdenverkehr 1, n. 8 (20 June 1936): 2; ‘Konferenz des deutschen Fremdenverkehrs’, Berliner Tageblatt (29 January 1938). 79 ‘Schulungstagung in Düsseldorf’, Der Fremdenverkehr 1, n. 1 (2 May 1936): 19. 80 See Wolter, ‘Fremdenverkehr und Presse’, 45–52; Heinz Gremelsbacher, ‘Der Freiburger Fremdenverkehr und seine wirtschaftliche Auswirkung’ (PhD diss., Ruperto-Carola-Universität zu Heidelberg, 1937), 16–17, 60–2. 81 Rudolf Erhard, ‘Zur gegenwärtigen Lage der deutschen Fremdenverkehrsstatistik’, Deutsches Statistisches Zentralblatt 29 (1937): 129–40. On the Reich Statistical Office in Nazi Germany and its collation of macro-economic statistics, see J. Adam Tooze, Statistics and the German State, 1900–1945: The Making of Modern Economic Knowledge (Cambridge: 2001), 177–282. 82 See, for example, LFV Thüringen Rundverfügung, n. 6, 17 January 1939 (StaW, HpA 407–02/02); Statistisches Reichsamt, Berlin, to Bezirksamt, Säckingen, 4 July 1938 (StAF, G23/4, 68–68a). 83 Moritz Hoffmann, Geschichte des deutschen Hotels: Vom Mittelalter bis zur Gegenwart (Heidelberg: 1961), 225–6; Fritz Gabler, ‘Beherbergung und

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93

Reisevermittlung’, Der Fremdenverkehr 1, n. 6 (6 June 1936): 5; Niederschrift der Versammlung des Kur- und Verkehrsausschuß, Freiburg, 31 August 1931 (StaF, C4/XVI/19/7); ‘Kampf gegen Privatzimmer-Vermietung’, Deutsche Hotel-Nachrichten 37, n. 28 (8 April 1933). ‘Neugründung von Bädern und Kurorten – Warnung vor nutzlosen Investitionen’, Der Fremdenverkehr 3, n. 53 (31 December 1938); Max Hirsch, ‘Der Begriff “Kurort”’, Archiv für den deutschen Fremdenverkehr, Nr. 1 (1931/32): 2–5. ‘Die Heidelberger Fremdenführer werden uniformiert’, Freiburger Tageblatt, 14 January 1934 (StaF, C4/XVI/21/3). Oberbürgermeisteramt, Weimar, to Polizeipräsident, Weimar, 30 July 1936 (StaW, Stadtverwaltung 1919–45, 2–25–119). Barkai, From Boycott to Annihilation, 121. Lord Mayor Otto Koch, Weimar, to Polizeipräsident, Weimar, 12 June 1937, including a draft of the Polizeiverordnung über die Tätigkeit der Fremdenführer (StaW, Stadtverwaltung 1919–45, 2–25–119); ‘Reiseleiter als Verkehrswerber’, Der Fremdenverkehr 2, n. 25 (19 June 1937): 8; ‘Schulung der Fremdenführer’, Der Fremdenverkehr 3, n. 7 (12 February 1938): 10. Hasso Spode, ‘“Reif für die Insel” – Prolegomena zu einer historischen Anthropologie des Tourismus’, in Arbeit, Freizeit, Reisen: Die feinen Unterschiede im Alltag, ed. Christiane Cantauw (New York: 1995), 105. ‘Lebensnahe Wissenschaft: “Professor für Fremdenverkehr”’, Der Fremdenverkehr 1, n. 29 (14 November 1936): 4. See also ‘Fremdenverkehrsarbeit in Wissenschaft und Praxis’, Der Fremdenverkehr 4, n. 35 (2 September 1939): 7. For a good overview of the state of research on Nazism and modernism, see Kershaw, The Nazi Dictatorship, 243–8; Paul Betts, ‘The New Fascination with Fascism: The Case of Nazi Modernism’, Journal of Contemporary History 37, n. 4 (2002) 541–58. Detlev Peukert, Die Weimarer Republik: Krisenjahre der klassischen Moderne (Frankfurt am Main: 1987). Bosworth, ‘Tourist Planning in Fascist Italy’, 24.

3


84

85 86 87 88

89

90

91

92

1

2

Karin Hlavin-Schulze, ‘Man reist nicht, um anzukommen’: Reisen als kulturelle Praxis (Frankfurt am Main and New York: 1998), 62–5; Petra Krempien, Geschichte des Reisens und des Tourismus: Ein Überblick von den Anfängen bis zur Gegenwart (Limburgerhof: 2000), 132–3; Franz BerktoldFackler and Hans Krumbholz, Reisen in Deutschland: Eine kleine Tourismusgeschichte (Munich and Vienna: 1997), 41–4; Pieter Judson, ‘“Every German visitor has a völkisch obligation he must fulfil”: Nationalist Tourism in the Austrian Empire, 1880–1918’, in Histories of Leisure, ed. Rudy Koshar (London: 2002); Elizabeth Harvey, ‘Pilgrimages to the “Bleeding Border”: Gender and Rituals of Nationalist Protest in Germany, 1919–39’, Women’s History Review 9, n. 2 (2000): 201–28. Christine Keitz, Reisen als Leitbild: Die Entstehung des modernen Massentourismus in Deutschland (Munich: 1997), 152–62; Rudy Koshar,

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3 4

5

6 7

8 9

10 11

12

13

Notes German Travel Cultures (Oxford: 2000), 97–113; Bruno Frommann, ‘Reisen im Dienste politischer Zielsetzungen: Arbeiter-Reisen und “Kraft durch Freude”-Fahrten’ (PhD diss., Historisches Institut der Universität Stuttgart, 1992), 21–83. Hermann Esser, ‘Deutsche Fremdenverkehrspolitik’, Das Reisebüro 9, n. 17/20 (September/October 1936). ‘Drei Jahre nationalsozialistische Fremdenverkehrsarbeit. Die Ordnung der Fremdenverkehrswerbung’, Der Fremdenverkehr 1, n. 1 (2 May 1936): 20; Bodo Ronnefeld, ‘Inhalt und Gestalt der deutschen Reiseführer’, Der Fremdenverkehr 3, n. 47 (19 November 1938): 9. See also Heinz Gräfe, ‘Grenzen des Wettbewerbs im Fremdenverkehr’ (PhD diss., Universität Leipzig, 1936), 44. On advertising generally in the Third Reich, see Uwe Westphal, Werbung im Dritten Reich (Berlin: 1989); Matthias Rücker, Wirtschaftswerbung unter dem Nationalsozialismus: Rechtliche Ausgestaltung der Werbung und Tätigkeit des Werberats der deutschen Wirtschaft (Frankfurt am Main: 2000). See, for example, Der Fremdenverkehr’s regular column ‘Kritik in Stichwörtern’, which once criticized a Waldshut brochure for describing its ancient wooden bridge as stretching from the Black Forest to Switzerland rather than the reverse (Der Fremdenverkehr 1, n. 18 [29 August 1936]: 10), and articles such as ‘Das gute und schlechte Plakat’ (Der Fremdenverkehr 5, n. 51 [21 December 1940]: 3). RFV, Merkblatt für Prospektgestaltung, 1 January 1936 (StaO, 5/1588). RFV, Merkblatt für die Herstellung von Fremdenverkehrswerbeschriften, 1 April 1937 (StaO, 5/1588). See also ‘Die richtige Werbeschrift’, Der Fremdenverkehr 1, n. 1 (2 May 1936): 12; Kenkel, ‘Vom Kitsch in der Fremdenwerbung’, Deutsche Gemeindebeamten-Zeitung, 13 January 1935 (StaO, 5/1563); LFV Baden, Jahresbericht 1935/1936, 4 (StaO, 5/1563). LVV Baden Rundschreiben, 28 December 1934 (StIB, Stadtarchiv Bühl alt, 1931). Bodo Ronnefeld, Zeitungsverleger und Fremdenverkehr: Disposition des im Grossen Werbeausschuß am 14. Juni 1938 gehaltenen Vortrages, 28 June 1938 (BAB, R36/2494). See also Erich Wolter, ‘Fremdenverkehr und Presse: Eine Untersuchung über die volkswirtschaftliche Bedeutung und Struktur des Fremdenverkehrs und über seine Beziehungen zur Presse’ (PhD diss., Martin-Luther-Universität, Halle-Wittenberg, 1934). LFV Baden Rundschreiben, n. 22a, 21 November 1935 (Stadtarchiv Wolfach, 82.00/2/334). LFV Baden Rundschreiben, n. 6, 23 March 1939 (StaO, 5/1569); LFV Thüringen Rundverfügung, n. 12, 5 July 1939 (StaW, HpA 407–02/02); Karl-Günther Brandt, ‘Der Ortsprospekt’, Die nationalsozialistische Gemeinde – Zentralblatt der NSDAP für Gemeindepolitik 3, n. 23, 1 December 1935 (StaF, C4/XVI/23/5). Albert Speer, Inside the Third Reich, trans. Richard and Clara Winston (New York: 1970), 119–29; Hans J. Reichardt and Wolfgang Schäche, Von Berlin nach Germania: Über die Zerstörung der Reichshauptstadt durch Albert Speers Neugestaltungsplanungen (Berlin: 1984). ‘Das “Haus des deutschen Fremdenverkehrs” wird gebaut’, Deutsche Verkehrsblätter, n. 23 (7 July 1938): 3; Bericht über die Sitzung des Beirates

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15

16 17

18

19 20

21 22

23

207

des Reichsfremdenverkehrsverbandes, 27 January 1938 (BAB, R36/2494), 12; BAB, R55/362, ‘Planung und Finanzierung eines Hauses des Fremdenverkehrs in Berlin durch den Reichsfremdenverkehrsverband’. ‘Ehrentag des Fremdenverkehrs’, Der Fremdenverkehr 3, n. 25 (18 June 1938): 1. See also ‘Stein-Symbol deutscher Gastlichkeit. Monumentalbau des deutschen Fremdenverkehrs’, Der Fremdenverkehr 1, n. 26 (24 October 1936): 1; ‘Haus des deutschen Fremdenverkehrs’, Der Fremdenverkehr 3, n. 23 (4 June 1938): 1–3. ‘Deutscher Festtag unter leuchtender Maiensonne – Im Gau Thüringen wachsen die Fundamente einer neuen Klassik’, Thüringische Staatszeitung, 3 May 1937. For more on the Gauforum, see Norbert Korrek, Justus H. Ulbricht and Christiane Wolf, eds., Das Gauforum in Weimar: Ein Erbe des Dritten Reiches (Weimar: 2001). Contemporary sources include Hans Hertel, ‘Thüringen’, in Die deutschen Gaue seit der Machtergreifung, ed. Paul Meier-Benneckenstein (Berlin: 1941), 42–5; Bruno Nowack, ‘Das neue Weimar: Die Bauten am “Platz des Führers”’, Völkischer Beobachter, Norddeutsche Ausgabe, 26 August 1937. On Gaufora elsewhere, see Christiane Wolf, Gauforen: Zentren der Macht: Zur nationalsozialistischen Architektur und Stadtplanung (Berlin: 1999). ‘“Elephant” – Stätte grosser Tradition’ and ‘Das neue “Haus Elephant”’, Thüringer Gauzeitung, 5 November 1938; ‘Neugestaltung der Ecke KarlsplatzGeleitstraße’, Allgemeine Thüringische Landeszeitung Deutschland, 6 June 1939; ‘Grosser Neubau am Karlsplatz’, Thüringer Gauzeitung, 6 June 1939. Elisabeth Angermair and Ulrike Haerendel, ‘Der Ausbau der “Stadt der Bewegung”’, in Inszenierter Alltag: “Volksgemeinschaft” im nationalsozialistischen München 1933–1945 (Munich: 1993); Siegfried Zelnhefer, Die Reichsparteitage der NSDAP in Nürnberg (Nuremberg: 2002), 77–89, 261–5. Herbert Günther, ‘Was ist eine Sehenswürdigkeit?’ Der Fremdenverkehr 5, n. 7 (17 February 1940): 5. ‘Was ich sehen muß’, in RDV, So erlebe ich Berlin (Berlin: n.d.), 1 (HAT). The Reich Sport Field was frequently listed as the number one Berlin attraction, popular even when no big sporting events were being held (RFV, ed., Reichs-Handbuch der Deutschen Fremdenverkehrsorte: Wegweiser durch Deutschland für Kur, Reise und Erholung, tenth edition [Berlin: 1938]; Fremdenverkehrsamt der Reichshauptstadt Berlin, Berlin [Berlin: 1938]). Other new buildings regularly turned up on postcards. See Landesarchiv Berlin, Bestand F, Rep. 250, ‘Ansichtensammlung’; RDV postcard, ‘Die Bauten im Neuen Deutschland’, n.d. (personal collection, Karl Stehle, Munich). Koshar, German Travel Cultures, 158. RDV, München und die Bayerischen Alpen (Munich: 1936); Frauenkirche postcard, n.d. (author’s collection). See also the postcard entitled ‘Erinnerung an Nürnberg, Stadt der Parteitage’, n.d. (Wiener Library, N5b). Fremdenverkehrsamt der Reichshauptstadt Berlin and Berliner Verkehrsverein, Berlin (Berlin: 1940). See also Grieben, Berlin und Umgebung: Kleine Ausgabe (Berlin: 1941), 13; Woerls Reisehandbücher, Illustrierter Führer durch die Reichshauptstadt Berlin und Umgebung mit Einschluß von Potsdam, twentieth edition (Leipzig: 1938), 5–6.

208 24 25

26

27

28

29 30

31 32

33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41

Notes ‘Die neue Zeit’, in LFV Thüringen, Thüringen – das grüne Herz Deutschlands (n.p.: 1937). Woerls Reisehandbücher, Weimar, nineteenth edition (Leipzig: 1943), 7. See also Hans Malberg, Weimar, n.d. (StaW, HpA 123–05/10), 2; ‘Weimars altes und neues Gesicht’, Thüringer Gauzeitung, 20 August 1939; ‘Das alte und neue Weimar’, Zittauer Nachrichten, 22 April 1939 (StaW, HpA 407–03/37). RDV, Deutsche Hauptstädte (Berlin: 1937); RDV, ‘Berlin-München mit der Deutschen Reichsbahn’, Reisen und Schauen, n.d. (AfT, D060/00/–47 BAHN) Hansgeorg Trurnit, Das neue Berlin: Stadt der Olympischen Spiele (Berlin: 1936), preface. See also ‘Berlin – gestern und heute’, 35-40. Passages in a similar tone can also be found in H. von Wedderkop, Das unbekannte Berlin: Ein Führer durch Strassen, Zeit und Menschen (Leipzig and Berlin: 1936), 299–302. See Friedrich Mahlo, Propagandaministerium, to Dr Ott, Propagandaministerium, 20 September 1934, which notes a ‘contribution’ to the Baedeker firm of 35,000 RM (BAB, R55/365). See also Alex W. Hinrichsen, Baedeker Katalog, v. 1. History of the Firm, trans. Michael Wild (Holzminden: 1989), 32. Karl Baedeker, Berlin und Potsdam, twenty-first edition (Leipzig: 1936), 6. Charles W. Haxthausen and Heidrun Suhr, ‘Introduction’, in Berlin: Culture and Metropolis, ed. Charles W. Haxthausen and Heidrun Suhr (Minneapolis and Oxford: 1990), xix; Verlag der deutschen Heimatführer, Die deutschen Heimatführer, v. 1. Heimat Berlin (Berlin: 1937); ‘Reisen und Wandern überwindet den Partikularismus’, DAF, 8 August 1939 (BAB, NS5 VI/19470). Bernt Engelmann, In Hitler’s Germany: Everyday Life in the Third Reich (New York: 1986), 106. Weimar Verkehrsverein, Weimar (Weimar: n.d.), 18 (StaW, HpA 407–06/1). On the history of the NSDAP in Thuringia, see Bernhard Post, ‘Thüringen unter nationalsozialistischer Herrschaft 1932–1945: Stadt und Verwaltung’, in Thüringen 1933–1945: Aspekte nationalsozialistischer Herrschaft, ed. Andreas Dornheim, Bernhard Post and Burkhard Stenzel (Erfurt: 1997), 9–22. ‘Das neue Weimar’, Allgemeine Thüringische Landeszeitung Deutschland, 2 May 1933. Dietz, Arbeiter-, Reise- und Wanderführer: Ein Führer für billige Reise und Wanderung (Berlin: 1932), 9–10, 82–3, 94–6, 187, 144a. Hinrichsen, Baedeker Katalog, 33. Peter Fritzsche, ‘Nazi Modern’, Modernism/Modernity 3, n. 1 (1996): 12. RDV, Deutsche Hauptstädte. RDV, Berlin-München mit der Reichsbahn; RDV, Nürnberg und Franken, sixteenth edition, n.d. (HAT, D060/00/33–45/RDV); RDV, Deutsche Haupstädte. View this postcard at http://www.calvin.edu/academic/cas/gpa/images/ postcard/pc-1933.jpg. Koshar, German Travel Cultures, 136. David Clay Large, Where Ghosts Walked: Munich’s Road to the Third Reich (London: 1997), 258.

Notes 42 43

44 45 46 47

48 49

50 51 52 53

54

55

56 57 58 59 60

209

See the postcard entitled ‘Gedenktafel für die Gefallenen des 9. Nov. 1923’, postmarked 9 November 1935 (author’s collection). J. K. von Engelbrechten and Hans Volz, Wir wandern durch das nationalsozialistische Berlin: Ein Führer durch die Gedenkstätten des Kampfes um die Reichshauptstadt (Munich: 1937). Koshar, German Travel Cultures, 106. Berliner Verkehrsverein, Berlin von A–Z: Amtlicher Führer, first edition (Berlin: 1935). So claims Koshar, German Travel Cultures, 138. Berliner Verkehrsgemeinschaft, Führer für die Besichtigungs-Rundfahrten mit der Berliner Verkehrsgemeinschaft (Berlin: n.d.), 25; Woerl, Reichshauptstadt Berlin (1938), 92; RDV, Berlin, Potsdam und Mark Brandenburg, seventeenth edition (Berlin: 1936), 19. See also Baedeker, Berlin und Potsdam, 6. Horst Wessel, a member of the SA since 1926, died in Berlin after being shot by a member of the Communist Party. Woerl, Weimar (1943), 25. The album documents a trip to Berchtesgaden in February 1934 (HAT, Fotosammlung Naumann). The Nuremberg party rallies also offered an excellent opportunity for tourists to catch a glimpse of their favourite Nazi. Karl Schulz-Luckau, Mit KdF in den Urlaub, n. 2. Berlin (Berlin: 1937), 14. Bruno Manz, A Mind in Prison: The Memoir of a Son and Soldier of the Third Reich (Washington, DC: 2000), 93. Large, Where Ghosts Walked, 232. Beatrice and Helmut Heiber, eds., Die Rückseite des Hakenkreuzes: Absonderliches aus den Akten des ‘Dritten Reiches’, fourth edition (Munich: 2001), 34. See also Ian Kershaw, The Hitler Myth: Image and Reality in the Third Reich (Oxford: 1987), 60. August Eigruber, ‘Oberdonau, der Heimatgau des Führers’, Berliner Tageblatt, 16 July 1938; Grieben, Deutsche Ostmark, second edition (Berlin: 1939), 40, 48, 53; Amtliches Reisebüro Freiburg, Gesellschaftsfahrt nach München und Berchtesgaden – in die Heimat des Führers, 1935 (StaF, C4/XVI/18/6). Woerl, Weimar (1943), 7. On Hitler’s visits to Weimar and his stays at the Elephant, see Holm Kirsten, ‘Adolf Hitlers Besuche in Weimar 1925–1940’ (MA thesis, Friedrich-Schiller-Universität, Jena, 1999); Hans Severus Ziegler, ‘Der Führer im alten “Elephant” – Erinnerungen von Dr. Hans S. Ziegler’, Der Führer in Weimar, 1925–1938, ed. Fritz Sauckel (Leipzig and Berlin: 1938), 33–40. Weimar Verkehrsamt to LFV Thüringen, 16 January 1939 (StaW, HpA 407–02/02). Stadtmuseum Weimar, permanent exhibit, ‘“Poetische Weltprovinz”: Museale Bilder zur Geschichte Weimars’. Paul Gerhard, Weimar, to Berk, Weimar Verkehrsverein, 23 July 1935 (StaW, HpA 407–3/10). Fremdenverkehrsamt der Reichshauptstadt Berlin, Berlin; Anonymous, Bilder aus Berlin, Potsdam und Umgebung (Berlin: 1936). Weimar Verkehrsverein, Weimar (Weimar: n.d.), 18, 30, 38 (StaW, HpA 407–06/1).

210 61

62 63

64

65 66 67 68

69

70 71

72 73 74

75

Notes Draft, Weimar, n.d., 1, 4 (StaW, HpA 407–06/1); Weimar Verkehrsverein to Brockhaus, 14 December 1937 (StaW, HpA 407–03/1, v. 1); Weimar Verkehrsamt to LFV Thüringen, 16 January 1939 (StaW, HpA 407–02/02), my emphasis. Dietz, Arbeiter-, Reise- und Wanderführer, 70. Pharus Verlag, Berlin 1932 (Berlin: 1932); Pharus Verlag, Pharus Besuch Plan – Berlin-Potsdam/ Sanssouci (Berlin: 1935); Pharus Verlag, Pharus-Plan Berlin (Berlin: 1940). The Nazis eventually renamed 121 streets in Berlin (Maoz Azaryahu, ‘Renaming the Past: Changes in “City Text” in Germany and Austria, 1945–1949’, History and Memory 2, n. 2 [1990]: 36). On the renaming of streets in the Third Reich, see also Rudy Koshar, Germany’s Transient Pasts: Preservation and National Memory in the Twentieth Century (Chapel Hill: 1998), Chapter 4. For Weimar specifically, see Rainer Wagner, Weimar: Straßen-, Platz- und Flurnamen damals und heute (Jena: 1996). Rudy Koshar, From Monuments to Traces: Artifacts of German Memory, 1870–1990 (Berkeley: 2000), 124; Gavriel D. Rosenfeld, ‘Monuments and the Politics of Memory: Commemorating Kurt Eisner and the Bavarian Revolutions of 1918–1919 in Postwar Munich’, Central European History 30, n. 2 (1997): 230–2. LFV Baden Rundschreiben, n. 22a, 21 November 1935 (Stadtarchiv Wolfach, 82.00/2/334). Weimar Verkehrsverein to Hauptamt Weimar, 29 March 1935 (StaW, HpA 407–06/1). von Engelbrechten and Volz, Wir wandern, 213. See the petition of Weimar Ratsherr Konrad Boldt, 15 December 1936, to change Lassen Street to Litzmann Street, since ‘in the NS state, it is not desirable that Jewish names adorn the cityscape’ (StaW, Stadtverwaltung 1919–45, 7–70–1). Heinrich Ludendorff to Preussisches Kultusministerium, Berlin, 2 November 1934 (StaW, HpA 551–03/1, v. 4). It is not clear if he was related to the famous German general. Eduard Scheidemantel, Führer durch das Schillerhaus (Weimar: 1930), 21–2. Eduard Scheidemantel to Lord Mayor Mueller, Weimar, Bußtag 1934 (StaW, HpA 551–03/1, v. 4); Aktenvermerk, Thuringian Volksbildungsminister, 22 November 1934 (StaW, HpA 551–03/1, v. 4); Eduard Scheidemantel, Das Schillerhaus in Weimar (Weimar: 1936), 19. That same month, an article in the Deutschland announced the closure of the Schiller House for several weeks ‘due to thorough improvement work on its rooms’ (‘Schillerhaus für einige Wochen geschlossen’, Allgemeine Thüringische Landeszeitung Deutschland, 20 November 1934). Goethe Nationalmuseum, Führer durch das Goethe-Nationalmuseum, Teil I. Führer durch das Goethehaus (Weimar: n.d.). Eduard Scheidemantel, ed., Erinnerungen von Charlotte Krackow, seventh edition (Weimar: 1938), ix. Pharus Verlag, Pharus Besuch Plan – Berlin-Potsdam/ Sanssouci (Berlin: 1935); Pharus Verlag, Pharus-Plan Berlin – XI. Olympiade Berlin 1936 (Berlin: 1936). Baedeker, Berlin und Potsdam (1936); Woerl, Reichshauptstadt Berlin (1938); Fremdenverkehrsamt Berlin and Berliner Verkehrsverein, Berlin antwortet:

Notes

76

77

78

79

80 81 82

83

84

85 86

87

88 89

211

Die wichtigsten Auskünfte und Ratschläge für Ihren Berliner Aufenthalt (Berlin: 1938). See related documents in StIB, Stadtarchiv Bühl neu, 658, ‘Verkehrsförderung und Herausgabe von Werbematerial durch die Gemeinden’, 1926–60. On the rallies, see Hans-Ulrich Thamer, ‘The Orchestration of the National Community: The Nuremberg Party Rallies of the NSDAP’, trans. Ann Taylor, in Fascism and Theatre: Comparative Studies on the Aesthetics and Politics of Performance in Europe, 1925–1945, ed. Günter Berghaus (Oxford: 1996); Zelnhefer, Die Reichsparteitage der NSDAP. Museen der Stadt Nürnberg, Visitors Guide: Fascination and Terror – Documentation Centre/ Nazi Party Rally Grounds (Nuremberg: n.d.), 43; Zelnhefer, Die Reichsparteitage der NSDAP, 190–4. ‘Weimar erwartet 300.000 Gäste’, Allgemeine Thüringische Landeszeitung Deutschland, 6 June 1936; Invitation and Program, Zur Feier der zehnjährigen Wiederkehr des Reichsparteitages in Weimar 1926 (StaW, HpA 100–06/9). Advertisement, Allgemeine Thüringische Landeszeitung Deutschland, 24 June 1936. Otto Koch, ‘Über 100.000 Gäste kommen nach Weimar’, Allgemeine Thüringische Landeszeitung Deutschland, 6 October 1937. ‘“Wenn einer eine Reise tut …”: Deutsche Wanderlust von einst – wie man früher reist’, Berliner Allgemeine Zeitung, 31 May 1936; P. Lindenberg, ‘So reisen die Urgroßväter: Reiseführer der “guten alten Zeit”’, Westdeutscher Beobachter, 23 July 1936 (BAB, NS5 VI/6244); Carl Beck, Deutsches Reisen im Wandel der Jahrhunderte (Berlin: 1936); Viktor Engelhardt, Die Kunst zu reisen in alter und neuer Zeit (Berlin: 1937); ‘Reise und Erholung’, Völkischer Beobachter, 29 May 1938; ‘Reise und Kultur’, Kölnische Zeitung, 2 May 1937. ‘Deutschland – gastliches Land der Welt!’ Berliner Morgenpost, 5 July 1936; Friedrich Rauers, Kulturgeschichte der Gaststätte – Teil 1 und 2. Schriftenreihe der Hermann Esser Forschungsgemeinschaft 2 (Berlin: 1941), xii. ‘Tag des Thüringischen Gastes – Eine Spitzenleistung in der Fremdenverkehrswerbung’, Allgemeine Thüringische Landeszeitung Deutschland, 30 July 1935. Jeffrey Herf, Reactionary Modernism: Technology, Culture and Politics in Weimar and the Third Reich (Cambridge: 1984). ‘Tag des Thüringischen Gastes’. See also ‘Wie der Tag des “Th. Gastes” gefeiert wird’, Allgemeine Thüringische Landeszeitung Deutschland, 1 August 1935. ‘Tag des Thüringischen Gastes in Weimar’, Thüringische Staatszeitung, 1 August 1935; ‘Auch in Weimar Tag des Thüringengastes’, Thüringer Gauzeitung, 2 July 1937; LVV Thüringen Nachrichtendienst, n. 8, 1 August 1935 (StaW, HpA 108–02/8); ‘Zum Ehrentag des Thüringischen Gastes’, Allgemeine Thüringische Landeszeitung Deutschland, 13 August 1935. ‘Tag des Thüringischen Gastes’, LVV Thüringen Nachrichtendienst, n. 10, 20 August 1935 (ThHStAW, Thüringisches Wirtschaftsministerium, 5004). Städtisches Verkehrsamt Bayreuth, Bayreuth – Bayerische Ostmark (Bayreuth: 1936); Hotel Bube postcard, n.d. (author’s collection). On the Nazification of Bayreuth, see Frederic Spotts, Bayreuth: A History of the Wagner Festival (New Haven: 1994), 171–4.

212 90 91

92 93 94

95

96 97

98

99

100

101

102

103 104 105

106

Notes Large, Where Ghosts Walked, 275–6. ‘Fünf Minuten Schulung’, Der Fremdenverkehr 3, n. 4 (22 January 1938): 11; ‘Heil Hitler und Alaaf’, Der Spiegel 9 (23 February 1998); Jürgen Meyer, ‘Organisierter Karneval und “Narrenrevolte” im Nationalsozialismus: Anmerkungen zu Schein und Sein im Kölner Karneval 1933–1945’, Geschichte in Köln 42 (1997): 69–86. Robert S. Wistrich, Weekend in Munich: Art, Propaganda and Terror in the Third Reich (London: 1995), 108. Otto Kümmel, ‘Die Museen im neuen Staat’, Kölnische Zeitung, 6 March 1935. Otto Kümmel to all departments, 3 October 1935; Museum für Volkskunde, Berlin, to Otto Kümmel 25 August 1936; Otto Kümmel to all departments, 10 December 1936 (Zentralarchiv, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin Preussischer Kulturbesitz, I/MVK 3). For more on museums in the Third Reich, see Martin Roth, Heimatmuseum: Zur Geschichte einer deutschen Institution (Berlin: 1990); Andreas Grote, ‘Museen und Ausstellungen’, in Deutsche Verwaltungsgeschichte, v. 4. Das Reich als Republik und in der Zeit des Nationalsozialismus, ed. Kurt Jeserich, Hans Pohl and Georg-Christoph von Unruh (Stuttgart: 1985). Daniel Guérin, The Brown Plague: Travels in Late Weimar and Early Nazi Germany, trans. Robert Schwartzwald (London: 1994), 99. Hans-Ulrich Thamer, ‘Geschichte und Propaganda: Kulturhistorische Ausstellungen in der NS-Zeit’, Geschichte und Gesellschaft 24, n. 3 (1998): 373. On other racist exhibits, see Martin Roth, ‘Xenophobie und Rassismus in Museen und Ausstellungen’, Zeitschrift für Volkskunde 85, n. 1 (1989): 48–65. Führer durch die Leistungsschau Nationalsozialistischer Rechenschaftsbericht Thüringen. Im Schloss zu Weimar, 26. August bis 31. Oktober 1937, 28 (ThHStAW, Library). Roth, Heimatmuseum; Rupert Stuhlemmer, ‘Mit der Sonntagsrückfahrkarte zur Automobil-Ausstellung nach Berlin’, in Die Reise nach Berlin, ed. Berliner Festspiele GmbH (Berlin: 1987). Amt Schriftumspflege in Verbindung mit der Stadt Nürnberg und dem Germanischen Museum, ed., Nürnberg, die deutsche Stadt: Von der Stadt der Reichstage zur Stadt der Reichsparteitage (Nuremberg: 1937). Bürgervereinigung “Landsberg im 20. Jahrhundert e.V.”, ed., ‘Der “nationalsozialistische Wallfahrtsort” Landsberg, 1933–1937: Die “Hitlerstadt” wird zur “Stadt der Jugend”’, Themenhefte Landsberger Zeitgeschichte 3 (n.d.). Fritz Mayrhofer, ‘Die “Patenstadt des Führers”’, in Nationalsozialismus in Linz, v. 2, ed. Fritz Mayrhofer and Walter Schuster (Linz: 2001). On Hitler’s building plans for Linz, see Speer, Inside the Third Reich, 154, 406–7. Shell Reisedienst, Shell Stadtkarte Nr. 90: Graz – Stadt der Volkserhebung (n.p.: 1939), author’s collection. Heiber, Die Rückseite des Hakenkreuzes, 65, 187. LFV Ostpreussen, Ostpreussens Fremdenverkehrsjahr 1937/38 (Danzig: 1938); Shelley Baranowski, Strength through Joy: Consumerism and Mass Tourism in the Third Reich (Cambridge: 2004), 127. Frank Bajohr, “Unser Hotel ist judenfrei”: Bäder-Antisemitismus im 19. und 20. Jahrhundert, second edition (Frankfurt am Main: 2003), 117, 125.

Notes 107 108

4

213

So claims Koshar, German Travel Cultures, 158. Koshar, From Monuments to Traces, 171.


1 Fremdenverkehrsverein Weimar, 100 Jahre Fremdenverkehr in Weimar 1893–1993 (Weimar: 1993), 7. 2 Fritz Fink, ‘Aus Thüringens Geschichte und Kultur’, in LFV Thüringen, Thüringen – Das Grüne Herz Deutschlands, thirteenth edition (Weimar: 1937); Woerls Reisehandbücher, Illustrierter Führer durch Weimar und Umgebung, seventeenth edition (Leipzig: 1936), 6. 3 Hans Severus Ziegler, ‘Der Führer im alten “Elephant” – Erinnerungen von Dr. Hans S. Ziegler’, in Der Führer in Weimar, 1925–1938, ed. Fritz Sauckel (Leipzig and Berlin: 1938), 34. The myth that Hitler never darkened the doors of the Goethe House persists in some tourist literature today. See Gerhard Hendel and Paul Meßner, Weimar, third edition (Cologne: 1996), 151. 4 On the ‘myth of Weimar’, see Lothar Ehrlich and Jürgen John, eds., Weimar 1930: Politik und Kultur im Vorfeld der NS-Diktatur (Cologne, Weimar and Vienna: 1998); Peter Merseburger, Mythos Weimar: Zwischen Geist und Macht, third edition (Stuttgart: 1998). 5 Among them, see Bernhard Zeller, ‘Die Deutschen und ihre Klassiker 1933–1945’, in Beschädigtes Erbe: Beiträge zur Klassikerrezeption in finsterer Zeit, ed. Horst Claussen and Norbert Oellers (Bonn: 1984); Claudia Albert, ed., Deutsche Klassiker im Nationalsozialismus (Stuttgart and Weimar: 1994); Robert Mandelkow, Goethe in Deutschland: Rezeptionsgeschichte eines Klassikers, v. 2. 1919–1982 (Munich: 1989); Burkhard Stenzel, ‘“Pg. Goethe”?: Vom politischen und philologischen Umgang mit einem Weimarer Klassiker’, in Das Dritte Weimar: Klassik und Kultur im Nationalsozialismus, ed. Lothar Ehrlich, Jürgen John and Justus H. Ulbricht (Cologne, Weimar and Vienna: 1999); Georg Ruppelt, Schiller im nationalsozialistischen Deutschland: Der Versuch einer Gleichschaltung (Stuttgart: 1979). 6 For example, see Michael Salewski, ‘Geschichte als Waffe: Der nationalsozialistische Mißbrauch’, Jahrbuch für deutsche Geschichte 14 (1985): 289–310; Franz-Lothar Kroll, Utopie als Ideologie: Geschichtsdenken und politisches Handeln im Dritten Reich (Paderborn, Munich, Vienna and Zurich: 1998); Karl Ferdinand Werner, Das NS-Geschichtsbild und die deutsche Geschichtswissenschaft (Stuttgart: 1967). 7 Burkhard Stenzel, ‘“Buch und Schwert”: Die “Woche des deutschen Buches” in Weimar (1934–1942). Anmerkungen zur NS-Literaturpolitik’, in Hier, hier ist Deutschland: Von nationalen Kulturkonzepten zur nationalsozialistischen Kulturpolitik, ed. Ursula Härtl, Burkhard Stenzel and Justus H. Ulbricht (Weimar: 1997), 94. 8 Burkhard Henke, ‘Goethe®: Advertising, Marketing and Merchandising the Classical’, in Unwrapping Goethe’s Weimar: Essays in Cultural Studies and Local Knowledge, ed. Burkhard Henke, Susanne Kord and Simon Richter (New York: 2000), 22. 9 R. Matthaei, Die Farbenlehre im Goethe-Nationalmuseum: Führer durch die neue Darbietung der Farbenlehre im Museum und das nachgelassene Gerät in Goethes

214

10

11

12 13

14

15

16

17 18 19

20 21 22

23

Notes Wohnhaus (Jena: 1939), 7. The house was built in 1709. Goethe had lived there between 1782 and 1789 and again from 1792 until his death in 1832. It was opened to the public as a museum on 8 August 1885. Wilhelm Scheuermann, ‘Goethes Hakenkreuz’, Nationalsozialistische Monatshefte, n. 60 (March 1935): 262–5. See also Hans Wahl to Thüringisches Volksbildingsministerium, 6 October 1935 (ThHStAW, Thüringisches Volksbildungsministerium, C1412, v. 4). Andrea Dietrich, ‘“Ein Denkmal der Dankbarkeit”: Der zweite Erweiterungsbau des Goethe-Nationalmuseums – Idee – Entwürfe – Ausführung 1930–1935’, in Wege nach Weimar: Auf der Suche nach der Einheit von Kunst und Politik, ed. Hans Wilderotter and Michael Dorrmann (Berlin: 1999); Goethe Nationalmuseum, Kurzer Führer durch den Erweiterungsbau des Goethe-Nationalmuseums (Weimar: 1936). Nora Waln, The Approaching Storm: One Woman’s Story of Germany, 1934–1938 (London: 1939), 357. Dieter Borchmeyer, ‘Goethe’, in Deutsche Erinnerungsorte I, ed. Etienne François and Hagen Schulze (Munich: 2001), 203; Mandelkow, Goethe in Deutchland, 78. See, for example, August Raabe, Goethes Sendung im Dritten Reich (Bonn: 1934); Gustave Mathieu, ‘A Nazi Propaganda Directive on Goethe’, Publications of the English Goethe Society 22 (1953): 130–7. Hans Wahl received numerous letters, several on behalf of KdF participants, complaining about the lack of guided tours and other explanatory information (GSA, Institutsarchiv, Goethe Nationalmuseum, 59). Goethe Nationalmuseum, Kurzer Führer durch das Goethehaus und das GoetheNationalmuseum (Weimar: 1939), 12; Hans Severus Ziegler, ‘Weimar als internationaler Tummelplatz in der Goethe-Woche!’ Der Nationalsozialist, 31 January 1932. Merseburger, Mythos Weimar, 342; Mandelkow, Goethe in Deutschland, 78. ‘Schillers Vermächtnis’, Allgemeine Thüringische Landeszeitung Deutschland, 12 November 1934. Ziegler, ‘Der Führer’, 34; ‘Adolf Hitler und die Gauhauptstadt Weimar’, Thüringer Gauzeitung, 20 April 1943; ‘Weimar im Zeichen Schillers’, Verkehrsblätter für das Land Thüringen, n. 9 (October 1934): 1; Eduard Scheidemantel, Das Schillerhaus in Weimar (Weimar: 1936), 18; Alfred Thon, Weimars klassiche Stätten (Berlin: 1938), 8; Woerl, Weimar (1936), 55; Dietz, Arbeiter-, Reise- und Wanderführer (Berlin: 1932), 144b. ‘Kampf dem Kitsch’, Der Fremdenverkehr 1, n. 9 (27 June 1936): 4. Gesetz zum Schutz der nationalen Symbole, 19 May 1933, Reichsgesetzblatt I, 285; Rolf Steinberg, ed., Nazi–Kitsch (Darmstadt: 1975). ‘Fingerzeige für den Kampf’, Der Fremdenverkehr 1, n. 17 (22 August 1936): 8. Swastikas were not entirely absent from German souvenirs. They appeared, for example, on the decorative plates issued for Berlin’s 700th anniversary celebrations and on various Oktoberfest mementoes. ‘Fremdenverkehr und Reiseandenken’, Der Fremdenverkehr 1, n. 17 (22 August 1936): 17; ‘Keine geschmacklosen Reiseandenken’, Freiburger Zeitung, 12 July 1936; ‘Immer wieder: Reiseandenken’, DAF, 30 June 1938 (BAB, NS5 VI/19470); ‘Kulturpolitik und Fremdenverkehr’, Der Fremdenverkehr 3, n. 10 (5 March 1938): 9; ‘“Ausschuß für Reiseandenken”

Notes

24

25

26

27 28 29 30

31 32 33 34 35 36

37

215

kämpft gegen Kitsch’, Deutsche Verkehrsblätter, n. 13 (30 March 1937): 2; ‘Andenkenkitsch wird überwinden!’ Der Fremdenverkehr 2, n. 1 (2 January 1937): 7; ‘Kampf dem Kitsch’, Der Fremdenverkehr 1, n. 9 (27 June 1936): 4; ‘Kampfgemeinschaft gegen Kitsch’, Der Fremdenverkehr 4, n. 14 (8 April 1939): 6. ‘Amtliche Bekanntmachungen’, Der Fremdenverkehr 1, n. 9 (27 June 1936): 5; Hermann Esser to RFV, 12 June 1936 (ThHStAW, Thüringisches Wirtschaftsministerium, 5007). ‘Erziehung durch Schaubarmachung’, Der Fremdenverkehr 2, n. 1 (2 January 1937): 7. On exhibits in Stuttgart and Weimar, see ‘Das Reiseandenken’, Deutsche Werbung n. 8/9 (2 April–1 May 1937); ‘Reiseandenken müssen nicht unbedingt kitschig sein!’ Thüringer Gauzeitung, 20 August 1939; Hans Malberg and Robert Poeverlein, Das gute Reiseandenken: Preisgekrönte und andere Arbeiten aus dem von der Thüringische Landesstelle für Handwerksförderung in Weimar veranstalteten Wettbewerb (Weimar: 1940). See also LFV Thüringen Rundverfügung, n. 9, 21 March 1939 (StaW, HpA 407/02–2), which announced a forthcoming exhibit in Weimar and requested that Thuringian mayors submit examples of kitschy souvenirs. ‘Amtliche Bekanntmachung der Reichskammer der bildenden Künste’, Der Fremdenverkehr 1, n. 17 (22 August 1936): 8; ‘“Ausschuß für Reiseandenken” kämpft gegen Kitsch’; ‘Kampfgemeinschaft gegen Kitsch’. Malberg and Poeverlein, Das gute Reiseandenken, 12. ‘Kampf dem Kitsch – Im Kriege erst recht!’ Der Fremdenverkehr 4, n. 46 (18 November 1939): 2. Mayor Kuner, Säckingen, to Karl Klaus, Stuttgart, 8 June 1939, and Auszug aus dem Beratungsprotokoll vom 9. Juni 1939 (StaB-S, V,2/65). Ingrid Thurner, ‘Kunst für Reisen: Die Welt der Reisenden im Souvenir’, Sociologus 44, n. 1 (1994): 1–21; Beverly Gordon, ‘The Souvenir: Messenger of the Extraordinary’, Journal of Popular Culture 20, n. 3 (1986): 135–46; Michael Hitchcock and Ken Teague, eds., Souvenirs: The Material Culture of Tourism (Aldershot: 2000); Rudolf Jaworski, ‘Alte Postkarten als kulturhistorische Quellen’, Geschichte in Wissenschaft und Unterrricht 51, n. 2 (2000): 95. Erna Pinner, ‘Der Schwarzwald, auch historisch betrachtet’, Frankfurter Zeitung, 18 June 1933. Horst Krüger, ‘Freiburger Anfänge 1940/1945’, in Freiburg in alten und neuen Reisebeschreibungen, ed. Maria Rayers (Düsseldorf: 1991), 161. Auszug aus dem Protokoll über die Gesellschafter-Versammlung des Bad. Reisebüros, 14 August 1933 (StaF, C4/XVI/18/4). Lord Mayor Franz Kerber, Freiburg, to Freiburg Verkehrsamt, 2 May 1933 (StaF, C4/XVI/19/7). Freiburg Verkehrsamt to Lord Mayor Kerber, 4 May 1933 (StaF, C4/XVI/19/7). Bericht über die Propagandareise des Städt. Verkehrsdirektor Albert Denzlinger und des Betriebsleiters der Schauinslandbahn Heinsius, 10 May 1937 (StaF, C4/XVI/20/11). Verkehrsverein Offenburg, Offenburg – Das Tor zum Herzen des Schwarzwaldes, 1936 (StaO, 5/1578); advertisement, Völkischer Wille, June 1934 (StaF, C4/XVI/21/8); Städtisches Verkehrsamt Säckingen, Säckingen am Hochrhein und der Hotzenwald, 1941 (StaB-S, XIX/30); Wolffs Reisebüro Leipzig, Reise

216

38

39

40

41

42

43

44

45

46

47

48

49

Notes Nr. 3: Devisengesicherte Gesellschaftsreise Schwarzwald – Schweiz – Bodensee, 1937 (Kreisarchiv Breisgau-Hochschwarzwald). Woerls Reisehandbücher, Illustrierter Führer durch Freiburg im Breisgau und Umgebung mit Feldberg-Gebiet und Höllentalbahn, fourteenth edition (Leipzig: 1928), 5; Grieben, Schwarzwald mit Angaben für Automobilisten und Wintersportler, twenty-eighth edition (Berlin: 1934). Erich Krause, Badisches Reisebüro, to Freiburg Verkehrsamt, in Verkehrsamt to Lord Mayor Kerber, 20 May 1933 (StaF, C4/XVI/18/4). See also Krause to Kerber, 16 February 1935 (StaF, C4/XVI/18/4). Amtliches Reisebüro Freiburg, Sonderfahrten in die Schweiz, n.d.; Genfer-See, Berner Oberland, Vierwaldstättersee, n.d. (StaF, C4/XVI/18/6); Zum Wochenend in die Vogesen, n.d. (StaF, C4/XVI/18/6); Verkehrsverein Offenburg, Programm der Ausflugsfahrten, 1936 (StaO, 13/340). Hochrhein-Hotzenwald: Gedanken zum Ausbau des Gebiets, n.d. (StaW-T, 792.90 TG); Kuner, Entwicklung des Fremdenverkehrs im Sommer 1937, 20 September 1937 (StaT-N, Abteilung Neustadt, 2303). See, for example, the letters of complaint made by a German group on excursion to the Vosges in June 1939 during which a hotel cook ranted ‘you Germans are all Swine!’ (StaF, C4/XVI/21/8). German football fans also faced hostile receptions when they travelled to Switzerland for matches (Werner Trapp, Seh-Zeichen: Reisen diesseits und jenseits des Bodensees [Constance: 1993], 87–99). The list of non-Nazified tourist literature is endless. Further examples include Heinrich Hüner, Führer durch Celle und den südlichen Teil der Lüneburger Heide: Für Wanderer und Radfahrer (Celle: 1939); LFV Harz, Bad Harzburg: Heilbad und Klimakurort, Winterkurort, Wintersport (n.p.: 1936); LVV Bayern, Jod-Schwefel-Bad Wiessee am Tegernsee (Munich: 1937). Kur- und Verkehrsverein Hornberg, Hornberg – Schwarzwaldbahn, 1935 (StaG, 2/3019); poster, Deutsche- u. Wehrmacht Ski-Meisterschaften 1938 – Neustadt-Feldberg – Schwarzwald (Kreisarchiv Breisgau-Hochschwarzwald, Allgemeine Fotosammlung). For example, Städtisches Verkehrsamt Freiburg, Führer durch die Schwarzwaldhauptstadt (Freiburg: 1938), 21; Städtisches Verkehrsamt Waldshut, Waldshut am Hochrhein – Führer durch die Stadt und Umgebung (Waldshut: n.d.). Verlag der deutschen Heimatführer, Die deutschen Heimatführer, v. 4. Baden (Berlin: 1937), 83–4; Verkehrsverein Karlsruhe, Ostern 1934 in Karlsruhe, 1934 (StaK, 8/StS 20/1173). ‘Treubekenntnis des Badischen Schwarzwaldvereins’, Der Schwarzwald 36, n. 6 (1933): 91; Jahresbericht Schwarzwald-Verein, Ortsgruppe Freiburg im Breisgau, 1933 (Kreisarchiv Breisgau-Hochschwarzwald); Schwarzwaldverein, Jahresbericht 1940 (Kreisarchiv Breisgau-Hochschwarzwald). On the history of this society, see Schwarzwaldverein, ‘125 Jahre Schwarzwaldverein e.V.’, in Der Schwarzwald. Zeitschrift des Schwarzwaldvereins – Sonderheft (1989). ‘Worte zu Schlageters Gedächtnis’, Der Schwarzwald 36, n. 7 (1933): 119–20; Dr Werner, ‘Wandern ist Not!’ Der Schwarzwald 37, n. 1 (1934): 1; ‘Kundgebung für Volk, Führer und Reich’, Der Schwarzwald 37, n. 6 (1934): 111–12. See StaT-N, Abteilung Neustadt, 2298, ‘Aufführung der Schwarzwälder Hochzeit’, 1931–1934. See also the program of events in Kurzeitung und

Notes

50

51

52

53 54 55 56 57 58

59 60

61 62 63

64

65

217

Fremdenliste für den Höhenluft- und Kneippkurort Neustadt im Hochschwarzwald 4, n. 8 (19 August 1933). Karl Baedeker, Schwarzwald: Reisehandbuch für Kraftfahrer u. Wanderer, third edition (Leipzig: 1936), xx; RDV, Süd-Deutschland: Vom Main bis zum Bodensee, n.d., 21 (HAT, D/060/00/33–45/RDV). The material employing images of mostly female Black Forest locals in traditional dress is endless. See brochures such as LFV Baden, Badnerland: Schwarzwald, Bodensee, Neckar, Odenwald, Bergstrasse, Frankenland, Rhein (Karlsruhe: 1936), guidebooks like the Städtisches Verkehrsamt Freiburg’s Wohin? In den Schwarzwald (Freiburg: 1934), and the collections of postcards at the Stadtgeschichtliches Institut Bühl and the Kreisarchiv BreisgauHochschwarzwald. The LFV Baden even offered its members ‘small, multicoloured costumed figures’ for window displays (LFV Baden Rundschreiben, 9 February 1939 [StaO, 5/1569]). Henry Albert Phillipps, Meet the Germans (Philadelphia: 1929), 208; Christopher Marlowe, The Black Forest: Its People, History and Traditions (London: 1929), 37. Bert Teklenborg, Reisetour durch den Schwarzwald, fifth edition (Bad Münstereifel: 1996), 3. Rudy Koshar, German Travel Cultures (Oxford: 2000), 158. J. Noakes and G. Pridham, eds., Nazism 1919–1945, v. 2. State, Economy and Society 1933–1939 (Exeter: 2000), 191. Peter Reichel, Der schöne Schein des Dritten Reiches. Faszination und Gewalt des Faschismus (Munich and Vienna: 1991), 180. David Welch, The Third Reich: Politics and Propaganda (London and New York: 1993), 153; Benz, ‘The Ritual and Stage Management’, 275. Eric Rentschler, The Ministry of Illusion: Nazi Cinema and its Afterlife (Cambridge, MA: 1996), 20; Peter Longerich, ‘Nationalsozialistische Propaganda’, in Deutschland 1933–1945: Neue Studien zur nationalsozialistischen Herrschaft, second edition, ed. Karl Dietrich Bracher, Manfred Funke and Hans-Adolf Jacobsen (Bonn: 1993), 306. Mary-Elizabeth O’Brien, Nazi Cinema as Enchantment: The Politics of Entertainment in the Third Reich (Rochester: 2004), 259. Lutz P. Koepnick, ‘En-gendering Mass Culture: The Case of Zarah Leander’, in Gender and Germanness: Cultural Productions of Nation, ed. Patricia Herminghouse and Magda Mueller (Oxford: 1997), 163. Norbert Frei, National Socialist Rule in Germany: The Führer State 1933–1945, trans. Simon B. Steyne (Oxford: 1993), 151. Koshar, German Travel Cultures, 133. Alon Confino and Rudy Koshar, ‘Regimes of Consumer Culture: New Narratives in Twentieth-Century German History’, German History 19, n. 2 (2001): 148. Pflaumer, Ministerium des Innern, Baden, to Bezirksamt Neustadt, quoting Neustadt Kreisleiter Kuner, 2 November 1936 (Kreisarchiv BreisgauHochschwarzwald, B1–1–1554). On transportation restrictions, see Avraham Barkai, From Boykott to Annihilation: The Economic Struggle of German Jews, 1933–1943, trans. William Templer (Hanover and London: 1989). Lord Mayor Franz Kerber, Freiburg, to Freiburg Verkehrsamt, 16 September 1935 (StaF, C4/XVI/23/4); Dr. Huessy, NSDAP Gaugericht Baden, to Lord Mayor Kerber, 16 August 1935 (StaF, C4/XVI/24/6).

218

Notes

66 Joshua Hagen, ‘The Most German of Towns: Creating an Ideal Nazi Community in Rothenburg ob der Tauber’, Annals of the Association of American Geographers 94, n. 1 (2004): 220–1. 67 Bernt Engelmann, In Hitler’s Germany: Everyday Life in the Third Reich (New York: 1986), 80. 68 Koepnick, ‘En-gendering’, 162.

5 Shoulder to Shoulder? Commercial Tourism and Kraft durch Freude 1

2 3

4

5

6

‘Der Erfolg der deutschen Fremdenverkehrsarbeit’, Nachrichten-Dienst des BDVB 4, n. 17 (10 September 1934): 3; ‘Aufgaben der deutschen Reisebüros’, Der Fremdenverkehr 2, n. 6 (6 February 1937): 8; ‘Der Reichsfremdenverkehrsverband. Das Reichgesetz’, Kölnische Zeitung, 3 April 1936; Hermann Esser, ‘Deutsche Fremdenverkehrspolitik’, Das Reisebüro 9, n. 17/20 (September/October 1936). So claims Petra Krempien, Geschichte des Reisens und des Tourismus: Ein Überblick von den Anfängen bis zur Gegenwart (Limburgerhof: 2000), 140. On the German Labour Front, see Timothy W. Mason, Sozialpolitik im Dritten Reich: Arbeiterklasse und Volksgemeinschaft (Opladen: 1977); Michael Schneider, Unterm Hakenkreuz: Arbeiter und Arbeiterbewegung 1933–1939 (Bonn: 1999); Tilla Siegel, ‘Rationalisierung statt Klassenkampf: Zur Rolle der Deutschen Arbeitsfront in der nationalsozialistischen Ordnung der Arbeit’, in Herrschaftsalltag im Dritten Reich, ed. Hans Mommsen and Susan Willems (Düsseldorf: 1988); Ronald Smelser, Robert Ley: Hitler’s Labor Front Leader (Oxford and New York: 1988), 117–48. For more about the Kraft durch Freude organization and its tourism programme specifically, see Wolfhard Buchholz, ‘Die nationalsozialistische Gemeinschaft “Kraft durch Freude”: Freizeitgestaltung und Arbeiterschaft im Dritten Reich’ (PhD diss., Ludwig-Maximilians-Universität, Munich, 1976); Hasso Spode, ‘“Der deutsche Arbeiter reist”: Massentourismus im Dritten Reich’, in Sozialgeschichte der Freizeit, ed. Gerhard Huck (Wuppertal: 1980); Hasso Spode, ‘Arbeiterurlaub im Dritten Reich’, in Angst, Belohnung, Zucht und Ordnung: Herrschaftsmechanismen im Nationalsozialismus, ed. Carola Sachse, Tilla Siegel, Hasso Spode and Wolfgang Spohn (Berlin: 1982); Bruno Frommann, ‘Reisen im Dienste politischer Zielsetzungen. Arbeiter-Reisen und “Kraft durch Freude”Fahrten’ (PhD diss., Historisches Institut der Universität Stuttgart, 1992); Hermann Weiss, ‘Ideologie der Freizeit im Dritten Reich: Die NSGemeinschaft “Kraft durch Freude”’, Archiv für Sozialgeschichte 33 (1993): 295–6; Shelley Baranowski, Strength through Joy: Consumerism and Mass Tourism in the Third Reich (Cambridge: 2004). For comparisons between the two, see Victoria de Grazia, The Culture of Consent: Mass Organization of Leisure in Fascist Italy (Cambridge: 1981), 72–3, 181, 239; Baranowski, Strength through Joy: Consumerism and Mass Tourism, 44–5, 59. On average, the Amt RWU contributed 80 per cent of KdF revenue as a whole.

Notes 7 8 9 10

11

12 13

14

15 16

17

18 19

219

For KdF numbers, see Spode, ‘Arbeiterurlaub’, 298–9; Spode, ‘“Der deutsche Arbeiter reist”’, 295. Robert Ley, Durchbruch der sozialen Ehre: Reden und Gedanken für das schaffende Deutschland, ed. H. Dauer (Berlin: 1937), 23. Joseph Goebbels, quoted in George Mosse, ed., Nazi Culture: A Documentary History (New York: 1966), 158. Hochrhein-Hotzenwald: Gedanken zum Ausbau des Gebiets, n.d. (StaW-T, 792.20 TG); Organisation des Kur- und Verkehrsamtes, 24 January 1935 (Stadtarchiv Wolfach, 82.01/1/338), Schramberg Gemeinderatsprotokoll, 29 July 1937, 63 (StaS). LFV Thüringen, Jahresbericht 1936/37, 18 (ThHStAW, Thüringisches Wirtschaftsministerium, 5009); Kuner, Entwicklung des Fremdenverkehrs im Sommer 1937, 20 September 1937 (StaT-N, Abteilung Neustadt, 2303); Lothar Berner, ‘Wenn viele eine Reise tun …: Staatlich organisierter Tourismus unter dem Hakenkreuz’, in Eine Zeitreise zwischen Enz und Nagold: Personen, Episoden und Überliefertes aus Calmbach, Wildbad und weit darüber hinaus. Vormals und heute, ed. Fritz Barth (Bad Wildbad: 1999), 103. Wilhelm Reichert, Kraft durch Freude, unpublished essay, May 2001. Werner Trapp, Seh-Zeichen: Reisen diesseits und jenseits des Bodensees (Constance: 1993), 43; ‘Die wirtschaftliche Auswirkung der KdF-Reisen: Steigerung der Umsätze – Vergleich mit dem normalen Reiseverkehr’, DAF, 18 July 1937 (BAB, NS5 VI/6247); Joshua Hagen, ‘The Most German of Towns: Creating an Ideal Nazi Community in Rothenburg ob der Tauber’, Annals of the Association of American Geographers 94, n. 1 (2004): 210. ‘1000 KdF-Fahrer kommen nach Bühlertal’, Mittelbadischer Bote, 15 June 1938 (StIB); ‘Bühlertal, ein herrliches Reiseziel von “Kraft durch Freude”’, Mittelbadischer Bote, 21 June 1938 (StIB). For examples of events designed to encourage comradeship between hosts and guests, see Berner, ‘Wenn viele eine Reise tun’, 103; Wolfach Kurbetrieb Quellen, v. 1. 1461–1939 (Stadtarchiv Wolfach); Michael Grünwaldt, ‘Die “NS-Gemeinschaft Kraft durch Freude” im Raum Tübingen-Reutlingen (1933–1939)’ (MA thesis, Eberhard-Karls-Universität, Tübingen, 1977), 37–8. Reichert, Kraft durch Freude. Friedrich Rothfuß, Urlaub im Schwarzwald: Der nördliche Schwarzwald rund um Freudenstadt – Reiseführer für Erholungsuchende und Wanderlustige (Freudenstadt: 1937); Willi Mengel, ‘Arbeitsbeschaffung durch KdF-ReiseErinnerungsbücher!’ Zeitschrift für Deutschlands Buchdrucker und verwandte Gewerbe 48, n. 59, 19 August 1936 (BAB, NS5 VI/6244). Shelley Baranowski, ‘Strength through Joy: Tourism and National Integration in the Third Reich’, in Being Elsewhere: Tourism, Consumer Culture, and Identity in Modern Europe and North America, ed. Shelley Baranowski and Ellen Furlough (Ann Arbor: 2001), 226; Karl SchulzLuckau, Mit KdF in den Urlaub, n. 2. Berlin (Berlin: 1937), 80–6. ‘Badener Land – Ferienheimat der Glücklichen – Mit “Kraft durch Freude” über Berg und Wald’, Freiburger Zeitung, 26 July 1936. Berner, ‘Wenn viele eine Reise tun’, 103; ‘Die Urlauber des NSG “Kraft durch Freude”’, Deutsche Hotel-Nachrichten 38, n. 19 (7 March 1934); Kuner, Entwicklung des Fremdenverkehrs. By the end of the 1920s,

220

20 21 22 23 24 25

26

27

28 29 30 31 32 33 34

35

Notes tourists paid a minimum of 4.50 RM for full-board rooms, but prices decreased after the Depression (Christine Keitz, Reisen als Leitbild: Die Entstehung des modernen Massentourismus in Deutschland [Munich: 1997], 240). Current research revealed a variance in price under Hitler, dependent upon the destination. In Säckingen, full-board rooms in hotels cost between 3 RM and 6.50 RM (Städtisches Verkehrsamt Säckingen, Unterkunfts-Verzeichnis. Auskünfte – Anschriften, n.d. [StaB-S, V,2/69]). In Weimar, it cost even more to stay in a hotel, but a Fremdenheim could be found for 2–3 RM (Woerls Reisehandbücher, Illustrierter Führer durch Weimar und Umgebung, nineteenth edition [Leipzig: 1943]). ‘Großzügige soziale Verfügung’, Rheinisch-Westfälische Zeitung, 26 June 1937. LVV Baden Rundschreiben, 30 June 1934 (StIB, Stadtarchiv Bühl alt, 1931). LFV Baden, Jahresbericht 1936/1937, 4 (StaO, 5/1568). Bayerisches Wirtschaftsministerium, Munich, to RFF, Berlin, 30 June 1936 (ThHStAW, Thüringisches Wirtschaftsministerium, 5007). Schmidt, LFV Baden, to Lord Mayor Rombach, Offenburg, 4 April 1939 (StaO, 5/1569). Otto Schrempp, ‘Wolfach – Fremdenverkehrsort mit Tradition’, in Wolfach: Schwarzwaldstadt mit Tradition, ed. Stadt Wolfach (Freiburg: 1988), 207; Übersicht über die Entwicklung des Fremdenverkehrs von 1928 bis 1937 nach amtlichen Zahlen, 4 May 1938 (StaT-N, Abteilung Neustadt, 2273 II). Heinz Gremelsbacher, ‘Der Freiburger Fremdenverkehr und seine wirtschaftliche Auswirkung’ (PhD diss., Ruperto-Carola-Universität zu Heidelberg, 1937), 106. Wilhelm Seelemeyer, ‘KdF-Fahrt und Privatreise sind keine Konkurrenten’, Deutsche Allgemeine Zeitung, 25 February 1938 (BAB, NS5 VI/19470); ‘Für das deutsche Reisebürogewerbe: Reisebüro und “Kraft durch Freude”’, Der Fremdenverkehr 3, n. 7 (12 February 1938): 7. Krempien, Geschichte des Reisens, 140. Niederschrift der Sitzung des engen Vorstandes des Neustadt Kurvereins, 17 October 1936 (StaT-N, Abteilung Neustadt, 2273). Karl Fuß, Geschichte der Reisebüros (Darmstadt: 1960), 47. ‘Für das deutsche Reisebürogewerbe: Reisebüro Statistik’, Der Fremdenverkehr 3, n. 3 (15 January 1938): 1. LFV Württemberg-Hohenzollern Rundverfügung, n. 137, 6 August 1937 (Kreisarchiv Rottweil, Az. 3590 Ifd. Nr. 2). Seelemeyer, ‘KdF-Fahrt und Privatreise’. Franz Berktold-Fackler and Hans Krumbholz, Reisen in Deutschland: Eine kleine Tourismusgeschichte (Munich and Vienna: 1997), 90; MER, Gesellschaftsreisen 1936 (Berlin: 1936), 6, 28, 31. For more examples of KdF trip costs, see Baranowski, Strength through Joy: Consumerism and Mass Tourism, 122–3. ‘Weimar hat’s nicht nötig’, Allgemeine Thüringische Landeszeitung Deutschland, 14 July 1935. See also Stadtassessor Meffert, Weimar Verkehrsamt, to KdF-Amt RWU, Weimar, 16 August 1938, which discusses the need to increase KdF visits to the Schiller House (StaW, HpA 551–07/2, v. 4).

Notes 36

37 38 39 40 41

42 43 44 45 46

47 48 49 50 51 52 53

54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61

221

Sauder, KdF-Gaudienststelle Thüringen, Kreisdienststelle Weimar, to Hans Wahl, Goethe Nationalmuseum, 10 October 1936, and response, 31 October 1936; Hans Wahl to Thüringisches Volksbildungsministerium, 3 July 1937; Bayreuth Verkehrsamt to Liszt Haus, Weimar, 13 April 1937, and response, 23 April 1937; Löser, KdF-Gaudienststelle Thüringen, to Hans Wahl, 21 September 1937, and response, 23 September 1937 (GSA, Institutsarchiv, Goethe Nationalmuseum, 59). Protokoll der Sitzung des Kulturstättenausschusses, 18 February 1936 (StaW, HpA 106–04/11). ‘Die Neidhammel meinten wir’, Der Angriff, 25 April 1936 (BAB, NS5 VI/6242). ‘Ein interessanter Brief’, DAF, May 1937 (BAB, NS5 VI/6247). See, for example, ‘Fragebogen, peinlich ausgefüllt’, Rheinische Landeszeitung, 30 June 1936. ‘Schmarotzer in der NS-Gemeinschaft “Kraft durch Freude”’, Nachrichten-Dienst des BDVB 4, n. 17 (10 September 1934): 3; Bericht über die Tagung des LVV Baden vom 17 December 1935 in Offenburg (StaO, 5/1568). ‘Fragebogen, peinlich ausgefüllt’; ‘Freund, fahrt nicht so, fahrt anders’, DAF, 27 June 1936 (BAB, NS5 VI/6243). LFV Thüringen, Verwaltungsbericht 1938/1939 (ThHStAW, Thüringischer Gemeindetag, 452). Sitzung des Vorstandes des LVV Baden, 8 August 1934 (StaO, 5/1568). Spode, ‘Arbeiterurlaub’, 305. Sopade Reports, Central Germany, April 1939 (J. Noakes and G. Pridham, eds., Nazism 1919–1945, v. 2. State, Economy and Society 1933–1939 [Exeter: 2000], 158). See also Bericht über die Tagung des LVV Baden vom 17.12.1935 in Offenburg (StaO, 5/1568). Spode, ‘“Der deutsche Arbeiter reist”’, 301. Baranowski, ‘Strength through Joy’, 224. Christoph Hennig, ‘Touristenbeschimpfung. Zur Geschichte des AntiTourismus’, Zeitschrift für Volkskunde 93, n. 1 (1997): 31–41. Karl Korn, ‘Die Reise der Massen’, Berliner Tageblatt, 9 August 1936. ‘Glück der Reise?’ Allgemeine Thüringische Landeszeitung Deutschland, 7 June 1936. Rudy Koshar, German Travel Cultures (Oxford: 2000), 159. Polizeichef Agostini, Neustadt, to Stadtgemeinde Neustadt, 20 July 1937 (StaT-N, Abteilung Neustadt, 2292–3); Berktold-Fackler and Krumbholz, Reisen in Deutschland, 92–3; Lothar Berner, ‘Wenn viele eine Reise tun’, 103. Werner Kahl, Der deutsche Arbeiter reist (Berlin: 1940), 24. ‘Die wirtschaftliche Auswirkung der KdF-Reisen’. Sopade Reports, Bavaria, April 1939 (Noakes and Pridham, Nazism, 159). Robert Ley, Deutschland ist schöner geworden (Munich: 1942), 72. Seelemeyer, ‘KdF-Fahrt und Privatreise’. DAF-NSG KdF, Gaudienststelle Baden, to Lord Mayor Hans Schwedhelm, Baden-Baden, 4 November 1937 (StaB-B, A26/15–44). Lord Mayor Schwedhelm to KdF, Gaudienststelle Baden, 5 November 1937 (StaB-B, A26/15–44). Seelemeyer, ‘KdF-Fahrt und Privatreise’.

222 62

63

64

65 66

67 68

69

70 71

72 73

Notes On KdF tourism to the borderlands, see Daniella Liebscher, ‘Mit KdF “die Welt erschliessen”: Der Beitrag der KdF-Reisen zur Aussenpolitik der Deutschen Arbeitsfront 1934–1939’, Zeitschrift für Sozialgeschichte des 20. und 21. Jahrhunderts 14, n. 1 (1999): 48–51; Baranowski, Strength through Joy: Consumerism and Mass Tourism, 120–1, 127–8, 130–1. Hasso Spode, ‘“Zu den Eigentümlichkeiten unserer Zeit gehört das Massenreisen”. Die Entstehung des modernen Tourismus’, in Endlich Urlaub! Die Deutschen reisen, ed. Haus der Geschichte der Bundesrepublik Deutschland (Cologne: 1996), 19. On the Rügen resort, see also Hasso Spode, ‘Ein Seebad für Zwanzigtausend Volksgenossen. Zur Grammatik und Geschichte des fordistischen Urlaubs’, in Reisekultur in Deutschland: Von der Weimarer Republik zum ‘Dritten Reich’, ed. Peter J. Brenner (Tübingen: 1997), 29–43; Jürgen Rostock and Franz Zadnicek, Paradiesruinen: Das KdF-Seebad der Zwanzigtausend auf Rügen (Berlin: 1997); Baranowski, Strength through Joy: Consumerism and Mass Tourism, 155–61. Shelley Baranowski, ‘Between Fordism and Proletarian Milieu: Nazism, Tourism, and the Problem of Mass Desires’, German Studies Association Conference, Houston, Texas (6 October 2000); Baranowski, Strength through Joy: Consumerism and Mass Tourism, 146–7. Berktold-Fackler and Krumbholz, Reisen in Deutschland, 93. Schulz-Luckau, Mit KdF in den Urlaub, 80–6; ‘Der KdF Koffer’, Der Freiheitskampf, 19 June 1936 (BAB, NS5 VI/6243); ‘Das selbstgeschriebene Ferienbuch’, DAF, 17 May 1936 (BAB, NS5 VI/6243). von Gönner, Spaten und Ähre: Das Handbuch der deutschen Jugend im Reichsarbeitsdienst (Heidelberg and Berlin: 1937), 215–19. For the rules of travel intended for non-KdF tourists, ranging from the ‘proper’ behaviour in train compartments to the advisability of keeping a holiday diary, see Der Fremdenverkehr 1, n. 1 (4 July 1936): 5; Der Fremdenverkehr 1, n. 13 (25 July 1936): 6; LFV Baden, Gastlichkeit auf allen Wegen – eine Fibel für den deutschen Reiseverkehr, n.d. (StaO, 5/1588). Gerhard Starcke, ‘Kraft durch Freude hebt den Lebensstandard unseres Volkes. Der sozialpolitische Sinn der KdF-Gemeinschaft’, Arbeitertum, 15 February 1936 (BAB, NS5 VI/6242). Sopade Reports, Berlin, February 1938 (Noakes and Pridham, Nazism, 159). ‘Verbesserung der KdF Fahrten’, Kreuzzeitung, 28 February 1937 (BAB, NS5 VI/6246). For complaints, see Baranowski, Strength through Joy: Consumerism and Mass Tourism, 166–7; Frommann, ‘Reisen im Dienste’, 146, 148, 150–1; Baranowski, ‘Strength through Joy’, 225. Commercial tourists also complained about unfamiliar food. See Hermann Esser, ‘Gemeinden und Fremdenverkehr’, Nachrichten-Dienst des BDVB 4, n. 11 (9 June 1934): 3–4. Non-KdF passengers were equally envious of the better amenities of the first-class train compartments (Fischl, ‘Die Holzklasse’, Die Reichsbahn 24 [16 June 1937]). The average price of a KdF trip rose from 36 RM in 1937 to 48 RM by 1939 (Spode, ‘“Der deutsche Arbeiter reist”’, 304). Seelemeyer, ‘KdF-Fahrt und Privatreise’. See also ‘Reisesehnsucht, gut gelenkt’, NS-Korrespondenz, 11 March 1937 (BAB, NS5 VI/6246); Frommann, ‘Reisen im Dienste’, 149; Zert Zang, Die zwei Gesichter des

Notes

74 75

76

77

78 79 80 81 82

83 84

85 86 87 88

89

90

91

223

Nationalsozialismus: Singen am Hohentwiel im Dritten Reich (Sigmaringen: 1995), 72. ‘Verbesserung der KdF Fahrten’. ‘Badener Land – Ferienheimat der Glücklichen – Mit “Kraft durch Freude” über Berg und Wald’, Freiburger Zeitung, 26 July 1936. See also Kahl, Der deutsche Arbeiter reist, 24; Anatol von Hübbenet, Die NS-Gemeinschaft ‘Kraft durch Freude’: Aufbau und Arbeit (Berlin: 1939), 48; DAF-NSG ‘KdF’, Gau Thüringen, Urlaub – Der Marsch in die Freizeit, May 1937 (BAB, NS5 VI/6247). Programm für den 10 tägigen Aufenthalt der Gäste “Kraft durch Freude” in Neustadt im Schwarzwald von 22.2–3.3.1934 (StaT-N, Abteilung Neustadt, 2273 II). ‘Wanderferienlager’, Der Angriff, 25 April 1936 (BAB, NS5 VI/6242); ‘“Kraft-durch-Freude”-Reisen – richtig gesehen!’ Indie, 8 February 1936 (BAB, NS5 VI/6242). Sopade Reports, Central Germany, April 1939 (Noakes and Pridham, Nazism, 158). ‘Der KdF Reiseleiter’, DAF, 23 June 1936 (BAB, NS5 VI/6243); ‘Verbesserung der KdF Fahrten’. Kahl, Der deutsche Arbeiter reist, 24, 32–6. ‘Im Urteil einig: Vorbildlich!’ NS-Korrespondenz, 24 February 1937 (BAB, NS5 VI/6246). Anson Rabinbach, ‘Organized Mass Culture in the Third Reich: The Women of Kraft durch Freude’, in The Rise of the Nazi Regime: Historical Reassessments, ed. Charles S. Maier, Stanley Hoffmann and Andrew Gould (Boulder, CO and London: 1986). For example, see Frommann, ‘Reisen im Dienste’. Gerhard Ramlow’s ‘Reisen und Wandern mit “Kraft durch Freude”’, in Schaffendes Volk: Das Buch vom Adel der Arbeit, ed. Rudolf Ramlow (Essen: n.d.), 367–92, is comprised almost entirely of such first-hand accounts. Wilhelm Wernicke, Berlin, to Mayor Kuner, Neustadt, 29 July 1937 (StaTN, Abteilung Neustadt, 2287). Anton Steinbüchel, ‘Im Bühlertal’, 19 August 1937 (StIB, Stadtarchiv Bühl neu, 657). ‘Arbeiter packen ihre Koffer’, Völkischer Beobachter, 3 June 1936. ‘Für das deutsche Reisebürogewerbe: Bedeutung der Gesellschaftsreisen’, Der Fremdenverkehr 3, n. 8 (19 February 1938): 10; Hübbenet, Die NSGemeinschaft, 48; Kahl, Der deutsche Arbeiter reist, 18; Gertrud MüllerGaisberg, Volk nach der Arbeit (Berlin: 1936), 262. ‘Arbeiter packen ihre Koffer’; Amt-RWU review, quoted in Verlag der deutschen Heimatführer, Die deutschen Heimatführer, v. 4. Baden (Berlin: 1937), 287; Mayor Kuner, Säckingen, to Karl Klaus, Stuttgart, 30 March 1939 (StaB-S, V,2/65). See, for example, the wooden badges designed specifically for KdF participants (‘Holzabzeichen werben für das sächsische Spielzeugland im Erzgebirge’, Amtliches Nachrichtenblatt des DAF und NSG ‘Kraft durch Freude’, November 1936 [BAB, NS5 VI/6245]). Wolfach Kurbetrieb Quellen, v. 1. 1461–1939 (Stadtarchiv Wolfach); Hagen, ‘The Most German of Towns’, 211. Local inhabitants may not

224

92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101

102 103

104 105 106 107 108 109 110

111

Notes always have welcomed this development. Frommann suggests they were forced to provide entertainment for the KdF vacationers (‘Reisen im Dienste’, 152). Schulz-Luckau, Mit KdF in den Urlaub, 22, 5, 6, 4. Ibid., 20. Ibid., 67, 89–99. Rothfuß, Urlaub im Schwarzwald. DAF, NSG-KdF, Gau Baden, Schwarzwald, das deutsche ‘Kraft durch Freude’ Paradies (Offenburg: n.d.). KdF, Kreisdienststelle Neustadt, to Mayor Albert Hirt, Neustadt, 16 September 1938 (StaT-N, Abteilung Neustadt, 2303). LFV Thüringen Rundverfügung, n. 5, 1939 (StaW, HpA 407–02/02). Willy Mueller, Das soziale Leben im neuen Deutschland (Berlin: 1938), 189–90. DAF-NSG ‘Kraft durch Freude’, Kreis Wolfach, Willkommen im Schwarzwald!, n.d. (Stadtarchiv Wolfach, 82.01/2/339). ‘Für das deutsche Reisebüro: Reisebüro und “Kraft durch Freude”’; ‘Der Umbruch im Fremdengewerbe: Ferienzeit nicht mehr Erholung, sondern Erlebnis des Sozialismus’, Badener Tageblatt, 6 November 1935 (StaB-B, A26/29–177); LFV Württemberg-Hohenzollern, Jahresbericht 1938/1939, 5 (Staatsarchiv Ludwigsburg, FL 20/12 IV); Kahl, Der deutsche Arbeiter reist, 16, 14; Helmut Stretter, ‘Wie wir die Klassengegensätze überwinden!’ DAF, date illegible (BAB, NS5 VI/6242); Rudolf Fürsatz, ‘Gestaltung und Wandlungen im Fremdenverkehr’ (PhD diss., Friedrich-WilhelmsUniversität zu Berlin, 1938), 81. Stretter, ‘Wie wir die Klassengegensätze’. Keitz, Reisen als Leitbild, 229, 230; Deutsches Reisebüro, ed., 70 Jahre Deutsches Reisebüro (Frankfurt am Main: 1987), 23; Fürsatz, ‘Gestaltung und Wandlungen’, 52; ‘Statistik der deutschen Reisebüros’, Der Fremdenverkehr 3, n. 22 (28 May 1938): 9. Keitz, Reisen als Leitbild, 113. ‘Für das deutsche Reisebürogewerbe: Bedeutung der Gesellschaftsreisen’, Der Fremdenverkehr 3, n. 8 (19 February 1938): 10. ‘Für das deutsche Reisebüro: Reisebüro und “Kraft durch Freude”’, Der Fremdenverkehr 3, n. 7 (12 February 1938): 7. ‘Für das deutsche Reisebürogewerbe: Bedeutung der Gesellschaftsreisen’. Ibid. See the advertisement for German travel agencies, Frankfurter Zeitung, 9 May 1937, 3. One article suggested that ‘the KdF trips ha[d] sped up the development [of communal travel] by a decade’ (‘Der Umbruch im Fremdengewerbe’). Some historians concur. See Hasso Spode, Zur Geschichte des Tourismus: Eine Skizze der Entwicklung der touristischen Reisen in der Moderne (Starnberg: 1987), 33–4. ‘Auch ausser Juli und August gibt’s Monate’, Der Angriff, 25 May 1939 (BAB, NS5 VI/19470); Konrad Haumann, ‘Warum nicht zur Nachsaison?’ Rheinisch-Westfälische Zeitung, 21 September 1935; ‘Herbstsaison sehr günstig’, Berliner Börsen-Zeitung, 12 September 1937. See also Margit Berwing, ‘“Kraft durch Freude”: Reisen im Dritten Reich’, in Reisefieber, ed. Margit Berwing (Regensburg: 1984), 120.

Notes 112

113

114

6

225

‘35 Millionen auf Urlaub’, Der Fremdenverkehr 4, n. 29 (22 July 1939): 3. Werner Kahl makes a similar point (Der deutscher Arbeiter reist, 58–60). See also ‘12.307 Berliner Urlauber fuhren in den Winter’, DAF, 13 March 1936 (BAB, NS5 VI/6242); ‘“Glück in Weiß” – Nehmt Euern Urlaub im Winter’, NS-Korrespondenz, 13 November 1936 (BAB, NS5 VI/6245); K. H. Bodensiek, ‘Winterliche Kunstreisen’, Kölnische Zeitung, 29 November 1936. ‘Wohin reist der Arbeiter?’ NS-Korrespondenz, 24 June 1937 (BAB, NS5 VI/6247); Adolf Zeddies, Unbekanntes Deutschland: Wanderungen durch verborgene Schönheiten deutscher Gaue (Bad Homburg: 1937). ‘Für das deutsche Reisebürogewerbe: Bedeutung der Gesellschaftsreisen’.


1 ‘Reise nach Übersee – und bleibe im Lande!’ Deutsche Verkehrsblätter, n. 39, 28 September 1937, 4. 2 Bodensee Rundschau, n.d., in Werner Trapp, Seh-Zeichen: Reisen diesseits und jenseits des Bodensees (Constance: 1993), 42; ‘Fremdenwerbung im Kurort’, Merkur Rundschau, 30 January 1933 (StaB-B, C20/13–31). 3 ‘Friedensarbeit im reinsten Sinne’, Der Fremdenverkehr 1, n. 2 (9 May 1936): 6. 4 A. J. Norval, The Tourist Industry: A National and International Survey (London: 1936), 72. 5 Fritz Gabler, ‘Fremdenverkehrspolitik und Beherbergungsgewerbe im neuen Deutschland’, Vortrag von Fritz Gabler auf dem Internationalen Hotelierkongress in Berlin, n.d. (StaF, C4/XVI/20/9); Heinz Schär, Freiburg, to Albert Denzlinger, Verkehrsamt Freiburg, 23 February 1936 (StaF, C4/XVI/20/11); Moritz Hoffmann and W.-O. Reichelt, Reiseverkehr und Gastlichkeit im neuen Deutschland (Hamburg: 1939). 6 Béla Bodó, ‘Foreign Students in Nazi Germany’, East European Quarterly 37, n. 1 (2003): 19–50; Angela Schwarz, Die Reise ins Dritte Reich: Britische Augenzeugen im nationalsozialistischen Deutschland (1933–39) (Göttingen: 1993), 81–4; G. T. Waddington, ‘“An idyllic and unruffled atmosphere of complete Anglo-German misunderstanding”: Aspects of the Operations of the Dienststelle Ribbentrop in Great Britain, 1934–1938’, History 82, n. 265 (1997): 44–72. 7 Bernt Engelmann, In Hitler’s Germany: Everyday Life in the Third Reich (New York: 1986), 107. 8 Schwarzwald Reisebüro, Freiburg, to Lord Mayor Kerber, Freiburg, 17 August 1938 (StaF, C4/XVI/18/2); Schwarz, Die Reise ins Dritte Reich, 94–8. For the original documents detailing these payments and for copies of the actual advertisements, see BAB, R 55/ 509. 9 Hoesch, German Embassy, London, to Auswärtiges Amt, Berlin, 29 July 1935 (Kreisarchiv Rottweil, Az.3590 Ifd. Nr.1). 10 Eric Taverner, These Germans (London: 1937), 171. 11 Hasso Spode, ‘Arbeiterurlaub im Dritten Reich’, in Angst, Belohnung, Zucht und Ordnung: Herrschaftsmechanismen im Nationalsozialismus, ed. Carola Sachse, Tilla Siegel, Hasso Spode and Wolfgang Spohn (Berlin: 1982), 298. 12 John Alexander Meier, Geflüstertes: Die Hitlerei im Volksmund (Heidelberg: 1948), 47. On KdF ‘imperialism’, see also Daniella Liebscher, ‘Mit KdF “die Welt erschliessen”: Der Beitrag der KdF-Reisen zur Aussenpolitik der

226

13 14 15 16 17 18 19

20

21 22

23

24 25

26

27 28

29

Notes Deutschen Arbeitsfront 1934–1939’, Zeitschrift für Sozialgeschichte des 20. und 21. Jahrhunderts 14, n. 1 (1999): 49; Shelley Baranowski, Strength through Joy: Consumerism and Mass Tourism in the Third Reich (Cambridge: 2004), 141. Margit Berwing, ‘“Kraft durch Freude”: Reisen im Dritten Reich’, in Reisefieber, ed. Margit Berwing (Regensburg: 1984), 119. ‘Erlebnisse aus der KdF Verwandten Fahrt Essen-Ostpreussen’, DAF, 11 June 1936 (BAB, NS 5 VI/ 6243). Gertrud Müller-Gaisberg, Volk nach der Arbeit (Berlin: 1936), 298; ‘Jeder zweite Deutsche’, Völkischer Beobachter, 29 March 1936. Jakob Schaffner, Volk zu Schiff (Hamburg: 1936), 139; Baranowski, Strength through Joy: Consumerism and Mass Tourism, 193. Michael Alexander, Von Scotland Yard ausgewiesen (Berlin: 1941), 146, 149. von Eltz-Rübenach, ‘Der erste Reisebürotag’, Das Reisebüro 9, n. 17/20 (September/October 1936). ABR, 75 Jahre Amtliches Bayerisches Reisebüro (Munich: 1985), 45; Hellmut Schöner, Berchtesgadener Fremdenverkehrs-Chronik 1923–1945 (Berchtesgaden: 1974), 83–4. Norval, The Tourist Industry, 60. For more on the effects of this measure on Austrian tourism, see Gustav Otruba, A. Hitler’s ‘Tausend-Mark-Sperre’ und die Folgen für Österreichs Fremdenverkehr (Linz: 1983). ABR, 75 Jahre, 50; Badisches Reisebüro, Freiburg, to Verkehrsamt Freiburg, 18 May 1933 (StaF, C4/XVI/18/4). ‘Verbringt den Urlaub im Land!’ Karlsruher Zeitung, 10 April 1933; ‘Deutsche Beamte sollen ihren Urlaub in der Heimat verbringen’, Deutsche HotelNachrichten 37, n. 42 (27 May 1933). See also ‘Parole: Urlaubsreise selbstverständlich in Deutschland!’ Deutsche Verkehrsblätter, n. 24 (12 June 1934): 1. Madeleine Kent, I Married a German (London: 1938), 219; Nora Waln, The Approaching Storm: One Woman’s Story of Germany, 1934–1938 (London: 1939), 20; Taverner, These Germans, 75. Josef Pieper, No One Could Have Known – An Autobiography: The Early Years 1904–1945, trans. Graham Harrison (San Francisco: 1987), 90. Günter Menges, Wachstum und Konjunktur des deutschen Fremdenverkehrs 1913 bis 1956 (Frankfurt am Main: 1959), 23; ‘Statistik der deutschen Reisebüros’, Der Fremdenverkehr 3, n. 22 (28 May 1938): 9. Grieben, Italien von den Alpen bis Sizilien: Kleine Ausgabe mit Angaben für Autofahrer, seventh edition (Berlin: 1937). For press coverage of the KdF trips to Italy, see BAB, NS 5 VI/ 6248. Norval, The Tourist Industry, 80; Spode, ‘Arbeiterurlaub’, 318. Gisela Holfter, ‘Deutsche Ansichten über England und Irland: Die “andere Germanische Nation” und das grüne “Land der goldenen Harfe”’, in Reisekultur in Deutschland: Von der Weimarer Republik zum ‘Dritten Reich’, ed. Peter J. Brenner (Tübingen: 1997); Hans Thost, Als Nationalsozialist in England (Munich: 1939), 271; Baranowski, Strength through Joy: Consumerism and Mass Tourism, 135. Grieben, New York-Tal, Boston, Philadelphia, Baltimore, Washington, Niagarafälle, Detroit, Chigago, eighth edition (Berlin: 1938). On German travel reports about America, see Ulrich Ott, Amerika ist anders: Studien zum Amerika-Bild in deutschen Reiseberichten des 20. Jahrhunderts (Frankfurt am Main: 1991), 243–82.

Notes

227

30 Hermann Esser, ‘Deutsche Fremdenverkehrspolitik’, Das Reisebüro 9, n. 17/20 (September/October 1936); Hermann Pörzgen, Ein Land ohne Gott: Eindrücke einer Russland-Reise (Frankfurt am Main: 1936). 31 Johannes Graf, ‘Die notwendige Reise’: Reisen und Reiseliteratur junger Autoren während des Nationalsozialismus (Stuttgart: 1995), 167–8. 32 ‘Reportage von einer Nordlandreise mit dem Dampfer “Monte Rosa”’ (Deutsches Rundfunkarchiv, Frankfurt am Main, 00 2852563); Hans Biallas, Der Sonne entgegen! Deutsche Arbeiter fahren nach Madeira (Berlin: 1936); Schaffner, Volk zu Schiff; P. Wolff, Kleine Italienfahrt (Berlin: 1938). 33 Josef Maria Frank, Mexiko ist anders: Eine Reise ins Land der Azteken (Berlin: 1938); Wolfgang Hoffmann-Harnisch, Brasilien: Eine Fahrt mit Auto, Bahn und Flugzeug (Hamburg: 1938); Ernst F. Löhndorf, Unheimliches China: Ein Reisebericht (Bremen: 1939). 34 ENIT, Rom Mussolinis (Rome: 1933); ENIT, Hochzeitsreise nach Italien (Rome: 1937). For a history of ENIT’s work abroad, see Taina Syrjãma, Visitez l’Italie: Italian State Tourist Propaganda Abroad 1919–1943 (Turku: 1997). 35 Letters of complaint to Freiburger Verkehrsamt, June 1939 (StaF, C4/XVI/ 18/21); ‘Freiburger Liebenswürdigkeiten’, Colmarer Neuesten Nachrichten, 15 March 1933 (StaF, C4/XVI/20/11); Norval, The Tourist Industry, 65. 36 Michael Berkowitz, ‘A “New Deal” for Leisure: Making Mass Tourism during the Great Depression’, in Being Elsewhere: Tourism, Consumer Culture, and Identity in Modern Europe and North America, ed. Shelley Baranowski and Ellen Furlough (Ann Arbor: 2001); John Beckerson, ‘Marketing British Tourism: Government Approaches to the Stimulation of a Service Sector, 1880–1950’, in The Making of Modern Tourism: The Cultural History of the British Experience, 1600–2000, ed. Hartmut Berghoff et al. (London: 2002). 37 Intourist, Reisen nach der UdSSR (Moscow: 1939). I wish to thank Shawn Salmon for this reference. 38 Waln, The Approaching Storm, 305. 39 MER also had numerous offices throughout Germany. On MER, see Otto von Gerlach, ‘Reisen und Reisebüros: Ihre volkswirtschaftliche Bedeutung mit besondere Berücksichtigung Deutschlands (MER GmbH)’ (PhD diss., Julius-Maximilian-Universität zu Würzburg, 1923); Deutsches Reisebüro, ed., 70 Jahre Deutsches Reisebüro (Frankfurt am Main: 1987). 40 ‘Fremdenwerbung im Kurort’, Merkur-Rundschau, 30 January 1933 (StaB-B, C20/13–31). 41 Tätigkeitsberichte der RDV, 1933–1938 (HAT). For more on the RDV, see Carl E. Schmidt, Fremdenverkehrswesen (Berlin: 1933), 41–2; Franz von Schwarzenstein, ‘Die Bedeutung der RDV für Deutschlands Fremdenverkehr’, Jahrbuch des deutschen Fremdenverkehrs (1938): 9–14; ‘Reichsbahn und Fremdenverkehr’, Der Fremdenverkehr 3, n. 29 (22 July 1939): 3. 42 Schmidt, Fremdenverkehrswesen, 42; Walter Kern, ‘Umkehr in der deutschen Verkehrswerbung!’ Schwarzwald Express 8, n. 5 (May 1933) (StaF, C4/XVI/20/9); Knebel, ‘Einheit in der Verkehrswerbung endlich erreicht!’ Der Fremdenverkehr 1, n. 1 (2 May 1936): 8; Hans-Gert Winter, ‘Wertvolles Mittel zur Förderung des Verständnisses für die Erfordernisse der Auslandswerbung’, Der Fremdenverkehr 1, n. 1 (2 May 1936): 10. 43 Julius Dorpmüller, Reichsverkehrsminister, to Hermann Esser, Staatssekretär für Fremdenverkehr, 25 April 1939 (BAB, R4323, Nr. 1).

228

Notes

44 von Schwarzenstein, ‘Die Bedeutung der RDV’, 9; Niederschrift über die 44. Sitzung des Verwaltungsrats der RDV am 23. September 1938 (BAB, R4323, Nr. 2). 45 ‘Deutschland wirbt im Fremde – Ein Ausschnitt aus der Tätigkeit der Reichsbahnzentrale für den deutschen Reiseverkehr’, Deutsche HotelNachrichten 37, n. 16 (25 February 1937); Hans-Gert Winter, ‘Deutschland wirbt im Ausland’, Deutsche Werbung 10 (1935), 1070–2. 46 Niederschrift über die 44. Sitzung des Verwaltungsrats der RDV am 23. September 1938 (BAB, R4323, Nr. 2). 47 ‘Frankreich wirbt um den U.S.A.-Gast’, Der Fremdenverkehr 1, n. 1 (2 May 1936): 27. France and Germany were among the almost 60 foreign travel bureaus at work in New York by 1935. 48 Niederschrift über die 39. Sitzung des Verwaltungsrats der RDV am 8. Dezember 1936 (BAB, R4323, Nr. 2). 49 The above and following details about GRIO’s activities come from the files housed at the National Archives in Washington, DC (NA), RG 13 and 131, Boxes 77–89. See also RDV, ed., News Flashes from Germany by Radiogram from Berlin to the German Railroads Information Office (New York), 1939–1941 (New York Public Library, Humanities and General Research Division). 50 Lore Ludwig, ‘Nazi Politics in America’, The Nation 137 (29 November 1933). For the Byoir saga, see Scott M. Cutlip, The Unseen Power: Public Relations – A History (Hillsdale, NJ: 1994), 146, 547–51. 51 E. Schmitz, GRIO, New York, to Victor Casey, Cercle Athletique, 19 March 1940 (NA, RG 131, Box 86); G. Schiwek, GRIO, New York, to P. Craycraft, American Express Travel Service, 18 December 1940 (NA, RG 131, Box 77); G. Schiwek, GRIO, New York, to E. Hopkins, Travel Department, Fletcher Trust Company, Indianapolis, 11 March 1941 (NA, RG 131, Box 82). 52 Henry Hoke, ‘War in the Mails’, The Reporter of Direct Mail Advertising: A Report of Activities during May 1940, n.d., 7 (NA, RG 131, Box 82). 53 Aktennotiz: Besprechung bei Herrn Ministerialrat Dr. Mahlo, 12 January 1940 and Abkommen zwischen der RDV und dem Auswärtigen Amt vom 4. Dezember 1942 (BAB, R4323, Nr. 1). 54 Hans Portack and Ernst Schmitz, ‘Even an Executive Needs a Vacation’, Advertising Club News, 17 April 1939 (NA, RG 131, Box 78). See also Ernst Schmitz, Dear Traveler, April 1939 (NA, RG 13, Box 77). 55 RDV, Driving Your Own Car through Germany (Berlin: 1934), 18, 20; Ernst Schmitz, GRIO, New York, to Mr. Paris, Amerop Travel Service, New York, 8 March 1939 (NA, RG 131, Box 77); Gustav Schiwek, GRIO, memorandum, n.d. (NA, RG 13, Box 77). 56 RFF, ed. Germany, Nr. 4 (July 1934); Rudy Koshar, German Travel Cultures (Oxford: 2000), 133. 57 Schwarz, Die Reise ins Dritten Reich, 92, 12. 58 Koshar, German Travel Cultures, 134. 59 Diapositivserien und Bildbänder mit Vortragstexten der Reichsbahnzentrale für den Deutschen Reiseverkehr, n.d. (NA, RG 13, Box 77); receipts, Vulcan Photo Engraving Co. Inc., New York, n.d. (NA, RG 131, Box 89); RDV, Travel in Germany (Berlin: 1937); Karl Baedeker, Germany: A Handbook for Railway Travellers and Motorists (Leipzig: 1936), xlvii, 1x, 1xi; Hansgeorg Trurnit, Das neue Berlin: Stadt der Olympischen Spiele (Berlin: 1936); Anonymous, Bilder aus Berlin, Potsdam und Umgebung (Berlin: 1936).

Notes

229

60 Kurdirektor Eberhardt Selasinsky, Baden-Baden, to Lord Mayor Hans Schwedhelm, Baden-Baden, 31 July 1933 (StaB-B, A26/15–177). 61 Bäder- und Kurverwaltung Baden-Baden, Baden-Baden – Weltberühmtes Heilbad im Schwarzwald – 1937/38: Verzeichnis der Hotels, Gasthöfe, Pensionen und Sanatorien (StaB-B, 02–237/21). See also Bäder- und Kurverwaltung Baden-Baden, Merkmale des Weltbades, 1939 (StaB-B, C20/18–43). 62 Bäder- und Kurverwaltung Baden-Baden, Große Woche Baden-Baden, AugustSeptember 1939 (StaB-B C20/18–43). 63 Syrjãma, Visitez l’Italie, 107, 303. 64 Schwarz, Die Reise ins Dritte Reich, 91. 65 Waln, The Approaching Storm, 22. 66 Heilbad Baden-Baden – Übersicht der besonderen Sehenswürdigkeiten, March 1937 (StaB-B, A26/29–182). 67 Schöner, Fremdenverkehrs-Chronik, 84. 68 Die Reichshauptstadt, n. 22, 1–7 June 1937 (HAT, D/060/11/0/33–45); Waln, The Approaching Storm, 132. 69 On Intourist, see Matthias Heeke, Reisen zu den Sowjets: Der ausländische Tourismus in Rußland 1921–1941 (Münster: 2003). 70 LVV Thüringen Nachrichtendienst, n. 11, 13 September 1935 (ThHStAW, Thüringisches Wirtschaftsministerium, 5004); Städtische Verwaltung JodBad Tölz, Bavaria, to Herr Ven, Amsterdam, 13 June 1936 (Wiener Library, London, N5b). 71 Angelika Schindler, Der verbrannte Traum: Jüdische Bürger und Gäste in BadenBaden (Bühl-Moos: 1992), 113; Rolf Gustav Häbler, Geschichte der Stadt und des Kurortes Baden-Baden, v. 2 (Baden-Baden: 1969), 185. 72 Kent, I Married a German, 327–30. 73 See, for example, William van Til, The Danube Flows through Fascism: Nine Hundred Miles in a Fold-Boat (New York: 1938). 74 Richard D. Mandell, The Nazi Olympics (London: 1971), 139. There is an extensive corpus of historical studies about the Nazi Olympics. Amongst them, see Jürgen Bellers, ed., Die Olympiade Berlin 1936 im Spiegel der ausländischen Presse (Münster: 1986); Duff Hart-Davis, Hitler’s Games: The 1936 Olympics (London: 1986); Arnd Krüger and William Murray, eds., The Nazi Olympics: Sport, Politics, and Appeasement in the 1930’s (Chicago: 2003). 75 Peter Gay, My German Question (London: 1998), 78–9, 83. 76 See the poster devised for the ‘elections’ in March 1936 in Hasso Spode, ‘“Zu den Eigentümlichkeiten unserer Zeit gehört das Massenreisen”: Die Entstehung des modernen Tourismus’, in Endlich Urlaub! Die Deutschen reisen, ed. Haus der Geschichte der Bundesrepublik Deutschland (Cologne: 1996), 17. 77 ‘Fremdenverkehr im Deutschen Reich’, Der Fremdenverkehr 2, n.13 (27 March 1937): 6; LFV Thüringen, Jahresbericht 1936/37 (ThHStAW, 5009). 78 Statistisches Jahrbuch der Stadt Berlin 14 (1938): 117; Statistisches Jahrbuch der Stadt Berlin 13 (1937): 100; LFV München und Südbayern, Geschäftsbericht für die Zeit vom 1. April bis 31. März, 3 (BHA, No. 2719), 6; Schöner, Fremdenverkehrs-Chronik, 83, 114. 79 Statistisches Reichsamt, Statistisches Jahrbuch für das Deutsche Reich (Berlin: 1934), 53; Statistisches Reichsamt, Statistisches Jahrbuch für das Deutsche Reich (Berlin: 1938), 74; August Busch, ‘Wandlungen in der Statistik des Fremdenverkehrs’, Allgemeines Statistisches Archiv 26 (1936/37): 288–95;

230

80 81 82

83 84 85

86 87

88

89 90 91

92 93 94

7

Notes Heinz Gremelsbacher, ‘Der Freiburger Fremdenverkehr und seine wirtschaftliche Auswirkung’ (PhD diss., Ruperto-Carola-Universität zu Heidelberg, 1937), 30; Niederschrift über die 38. Sitzung des Verwaltungsrats der RDV am 30. September 1936 (BAB, R4323, Nr. 2). Christine Keitz, Reisen als Leitbild: Die Entstehung des modernen Massentourismus in Deutschland (Munich: 1997), 212–14. Thost, Als Nationalsozialist, 85. Bruno Frommann, ‘Reisen im Dienste politischer Zielsetzungen. ArbeiterReisen und “Kraft durch Freude”-Fahrten’ (PhD diss., Historisches Institut der Universität Stuttgart, 1992), 183. Taverener, These Germans, 225. Waln, The Approaching Storm, 35; Kent, I Married a German, 252. Julia P. Bara, to William L. Nederhoed, 11 June 1940, forwarded to GRIO (NA, RG 13, Box 77); J. S. Potts, Editor, Southern Progress, Richmond, VA, to GRIO, New York, 14 May 1939 (NA, RG 131, Box 80). Taverener, These Germans, 174, 175. Harry Powys Greenwood, quoted in Angela Schwarz, ‘British Visitors to Nationalist Socialist Germany: In a Familiar or in a Foreign Country?’, Journal of Contemporary History 28 (1993): 487. Walter Höflechner, ‘Eindrücke aus dem Dritten Reich 1933: Wolfgang Benndorf – Ein früher Warner’, Geschichte und Gegenwart 13, n. 4 (1994): 204–21; Daniel Guérin, The Brown Plague: Travels in Late Weimar and Early Nazi Germany, trans. Robert Schwartzwald (London: 1994); William L. Shirer, The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich: A History of Nazi Germany (New York: 1960); Werner Sollers, ‘W. E. B. du Bois in Nazi Germany, 1936’, Amerikastudien/American Studies 44, n. 2 (1999): 207–22. Taverner, These Germans, 220. R.J.B. Bosworth, ‘Tourist Planning in Fascist Italy and the Limits of a Totalitarian Culture’, Contemporary European History 6, n. 1 (1997): 15. Fiona McCarthy, ‘Signs of the Future Writ Large’, Guardian Weekly, 2–8 July 2004, 23; Kent, I Married a German, 332; Taverner, These Germans, 19; Schwarz, ‘British Visitors’, 492. Fritz Zielach, ‘Das gibt es auch bei uns!’ Berliner Morgenpost, 26 July 1936. ‘Umstellung der Deutschen Reichsbahn: Auslandsverkehr – trotz Krieg’, Der Fremdenverkehr 3, n. 46 (18 November 1939): 2. Marianne Mackinnon, The Naked Years: Growing up in Nazi Germany (London: 1987), 85–6.

Tourism at War 1

2 3

Adolf Mauer, Gaupropagandaleiter and Leiter des LFV WürttembergHohenzollern, to Fremdenverkehrsgemeinde, 13 December 1939 (Staatsarchiv Ludwigsburg, FL 20/12 IV). Ibid. LFV Thüringen Rundverfügung, n. 2, 26 February 1940 (StaW, HpA 407–02/2); ‘Fremdenverkehr und Staatsführung’, Der Fremdenverkehr 7, n. 21 (1942): 1; ‘Die politische Aufgabe’, Der Fremdenverkehr 7, n. 27 (4 July 1942): 1.

Notes 4

5

6

7

8

9 10

11 12 13

14

15 16 17 18 19

231

Rudy Koshar, German Travel Cultures (Oxford: 2000), 150; Hugo Mühlhäuser, 50 Jahre Landesverkehrsverband Württemberg (Stuttgart: 1958), 55; Gebhard Klein, Breisach im Dritten Reich: Ein Versuch (Breisach: 1995), 88; Schwarzwald Reisebüro, Geschäftsbericht 1940 (StaF, C4/XVI/19/3); Ian Kershaw, Popular Opinion and Political Dissent in the Third Reich (Oxford: 1983), 318; Joshua Hagen, ‘The Most German of Towns: Creating an Ideal Nazi Community in Rothenburg ob der Tauber’, Annals of the Association of American Geographers 94, n. 1 (2004): 222. StaW, Stadtverwaltung 1919–1945, 1–14–6, ‘Fremdenverkehrsstatistik für den LFV Thüringen’, 1938–1940; Reinhard Öhlberger, ‘Berlin im Spiegel des Baedeker 1842–1940’, in Die Reise nach Berlin, ed. Berliner Festspiele GmbH (Berlin: 1987), 289. Schwarzwald Reisebüro, Geschäftsbericht 1940. This evaluation was echoed in ‘Ferne und Nähe – der Reiz einer Stadt: Neustadt im Schwarzwald, am Fuß des Hochfirst, im Hochtal der Gutach’, Freiburger Zeitung, 5/6 October 1940. ‘Die Umstellung des Fremdenverkehrs’, Frankfurter Zeitung, 24 September 1939. Historians’ assessments also differ. See Ernst Lutz, ‘Die Einflüsse des Weltkrieges auf den Fremdenverkehr in Bayern’ (PhD diss., FriedrichAlexanders-Universität, Erlangen, 1927), 46–71; Heinz Gremelsbacher, ‘Der Freiburger Fremdenverkehr und seine wirtschaftliche Auswirkung’ (PhD diss., Ruperto-Carola-Universität zu Heidelberg, 1937), 20. Daniella Liebscher, ‘Mit KdF “die Welt erschliessen”: Der Beitrag der KdFReisen zur Aussenpolitik der Deutschen Arbeitsfront 1934–1939’, Zeitschrift für Sozialgeschichte des 20. und 21. Jahrhunderts 14, n. 1 (1999): 47. ‘Gastlichkeit im Kriege’, Der Fremdenverkehr 4, n. 38 (23 September 1939): 1. ‘Deutschland ruhiges Reiseland’, Der Fremdenverkehr 4, n. 39 (30 September 1939): 1; ‘5 Minuten Nachdenken’, Der Fremdenverkehr 4, n. 7 (17 February 1940): 6. ‘Das neue Gesicht: Wandlungen des Fremdenverkehrs im Kriege’, Der Fremdenverkehr 4, n. 50 (16 December 1939): 1. Protokoll der Sitzung der Titisee Kurverwaltung, 10 November 1939 (StaTN, Abteilung Titisee, 498). LFV Baden to Fremdenverkehrsgemeinde, 12 December 1940 (StaO, 5/1689); ‘Wandlungen im deutschen Fremdenverkehr’, Fach-Pressedienst WGB 13/42 (7 April 1942): 2. Peter-Christian Müller, ‘Die Säckinger Industrie im Zweiten Weltkrieg’, Vom Jura zum Schwarzwald. Blätter für Heimatkunde und Heimatschutz 69 (1995): 133; Kershaw, Popular Opinion, 317. RDV, Winter in Deutschland, 1939/1940 (HAT, D/060/00/33–45/RDV). Jeremy Noakes, ed., Nazism 1919–1945, v. 4. The German Home Front in World War II (Exeter: 1998), 275. Ian Kershaw, Hitler 1936–1945: Nemesis (London: 2000), 506. ‘Maßnahmen zur Einschränkungen des Personenverkehrs’, Die Reichsbahn 2/3, n. 10/15 (January 1940): 36. LFV Thüringen to Verteiler I–II, 13 January 1940 (StaW, Stadtverwaltung 191–1945, 1–14–6). See also ‘Beschränking der Verkehrswerbung’, LFV Baden Rundschreiben, n. 9, 28 June 1940 (StAF, G23/4, 68–68a).

232 20 21 22

23 24 25 26 27

28

29 30 31

32 33 34 35

36 37 38 39

40

Notes LFV Baden Rundschreiben, n. 10, 13 July 1940 (StAF, G23/4, 68–68a). ‘Der Fremdenverkehr im Krieg – Arbeitstagung des RFV in der Hauptstadt der Ostmark’, Der Fremdenverkehr 5, n. 50 (14 December 1940): 1. Verzeichnis über Werbungsaufträge, 1940, 1944 (StaW, HpA 407–03/37b); StaT-N, Abteilung Titisee, 500, ‘Werbebeiträge und Reklame’, 1939–1949; ‘Winterkur/Wintersport’, Berliner Börsen-Zeitung, 24 December 1939; Kaufhaus des Westens, Berlin, to Kurverwaltung Titisee, 28 April 1941 and 6 November 1943 (StaT-N, Abteilung Titisee, 500). LFV Baden Rundschreiben, n. 8, 28 September 1940 (StAF, G23/4, 68–68a). Deutscher Gemeindetag Nachrichtendienst, 20 April 1942 (BAB, R36/2494). LFV Baden Rundschreiben, n. 9, 28 June 1940 (StAF, G23/4, 68–68a). Mayor Kuner, Säckingen, to NSDAP Kreisleiter Bender, 22 September 1942 (StaB-S, V, 2/69). LFV Baden Rundschreiben, n. 1, 9 January 1940 (StAF, G23/4, 68–68a); LFV Baden Rundschreiben, n. 4, 3 April 1940 (StAF, G23/4, 68–68a); RFV, Berlin, to LFVs, 10 May 1943 (StaW, HpA 407–03/1, v. 2–5). For examples of censored and prohibited postcards, see the rich collections of the Metz Verlag, a postcard publishing company in Tübingen, in the Stadtarchiv Gernsbach, the Stadtgeschichtliches Institut Bühl and the Kreisarchiv Breisgau-Hochschwarzwald in Freiburg im Breisgau. Reichspropagandaamt Thüringen, Weimar, to all Thuringian mayors, 13 March 1940 (StaW, HpA 551–03/1, v. 1); Deutscher Gemeindetag to Reichsminister für Wissenschaft, Erziehung und Volksbildung, Berlin, 15 March 1940 (StaW, HpA 551–03/1, v. 1). ‘Wandlungen des Fremdenverkehrs’, Der Fremdenverkehr 9, n. 9 (29 April 1944): 1. ‘Zehn Gebote für den Sommerreiseverkehr 1942’, Der Fremdenverkehr 9, n. 21 (23 May 1942): 1. ‘Urlaub in der Nachbarschaft’, Der Fremdenverkehr 5, n. 23 (8 July 1940): 1. A similar campaign was introduced in wartime Britain. See Chris Sladen, ‘Holidays at Home in the Second World War’, Journal of Contemporary History 37, n. 1 (2002): 67–89. Albert Denzlinger, ‘Warum in die Ferne schweifen?’ Der Alemanne, 19 April 1940. Bäder- und Kurverwaltung Baden-Baden, Zu Fuß durch den Schwarzwald rund um Baden-Baden, 1941 (StaB-B, C20/18–45). Otto Rieger, LFV Baden, to Landrat, Neustadt, 30 January 1941 (StAF, G19/3, 304). Alon Confino and Rudy Koshar, ‘Regimes of Consumer Culture: New Narratives in Twentieth-Century German History’, German History 19, n. 2 (2001): 145. HAT, Fotosammlung Naumann; HAT, Allgemeine Sammlung. Stadtmuseum Weimar, Postkartensammlung. Kreisarchiv Breisgau-Hochschwarzwald, Allgemeine Fotosammlung. Louis Held to Stadtverwaltung Weimar, 17 April 1941 (StaW, HpA 551–03/1, v. 2). In May 1944, the Schiller House ordered 9325 postcards from the Photo-Werkstätte Arno Spieler at a cost of 749 RM. See receipt, dated 4 May 1944 (StaW, HpA 551–03/1, v. 2). Befehlung des Reichswohnungskommissars, 17 August 1944 (StaW, HpA 407–03/1, v. 2–5).

Notes 41

42

43 44

45

46

47

48

49 50 51 52 53 54

233

Tagungsprogramm des Deutschen Heimatbundes, Weimar, 7–9 October 1943 (StaW, HpA 407–07/7); Herr Vollrath, Deutscher Heimatbund, to Lord Mayor Koch, Weimar, 16 October 1943 (StaW, HpA 407–07/7). Francois Dufay, Die Herbstreise. Französische Schriftsteller im Oktober 1941 in Deutschland: Ein Bericht (Berlin: 2001); Mirella Serri, Il Breve viaggio. Giairne Pintor e i fascisti a Weimar nazista (Venice: 2002). On visits by foreign performers, see RDV, ed., News Flashes from Germany by Radiogram from Berlin to the German Railroads Information Office (New York), 1939–1941 (New York Public Library, Humanities and General Research Division). ‘Die deutschen Museen im Kriege’, Völkischer Beobachter, 27 April 1940. See also ‘Unsere Museen im Krieg’, Kölnische Zeitung, 31 October 1940. ‘Das gute und schlechte Plakat’, Der Fremdenverkehr 5, n. 51 (21 December 1940): 3; ‘Das künstlerische Plakat’, Der Fremdenverkehr 6, n. 9 (1 March 1941): 2; ‘Kampf dem Kitsch’, Der Fremdenverkehr 4, n. 46 (18 November 1939): 2; ‘Fort mit dem Andenkenkitsch!’ Der Fremdenverkehr 6, n. 24 (14 June 1941): 1–2; ‘Was ist eine Sehenswürdigkeit?’ Der Fremdenverkehr 5, n. 7 (17 February 1940): 5. Satzung des Fremdenverkehrsvereins Offenburg, 26 March 1941 (StaO, 5/1582); Satzung des Berliner Verkehrsvereins, 24 September 1941 (Landesarchiv Berlin, Bestand B, Rep. 042, Nr. 27178); LFV Baden Rundschreiben, 7 February 1941 (StaO, 5/1582). Examples of earlier statutes include Satzung des Verkehrsvereins Offenburg, August 1928 (StaO, 5/1572) and Satzung des Fremdenverkehrsvereins Offenburg, 17 November 1938 (StaO, 5/1574). ‘Die politische Aufgabe’, Der Fremdenverkehr 7, n. 27 (4 July 1942): 1–2. On the restructuring of the Tourism Department, see Geschäftsverteilungsplan des Reichsministeriums für Volksaufklärung und Propaganda, 1 November 1942 (ThHStAW, Der Reichsstatthalter in Thüringen, 101). Dr Eschenbach, Hermann Esser Forschungsgemeinschaft, to Deutscher Gemeindetag, Berlin, 18 July 1940 (BAB, R36/2494); ‘Fremdenverkehr als Wissenschaft’, Der Fremdenverkehr 4, n. 35 (2 September 1939): 6–8; Alfred Ringer, Die Hermann Esser Forschungsgemeinschaft für Fremdenverkehr in Frankfurt/Main (Berlin: 1939); Friedrich Rauers, Kulturgeschichte der Gaststätte – Teil 1 and 2. Schriftenreihe der Hermann Esser Forschungsgemeinschaft 2 (Berlin: 1941), vii. ‘Reichshochschulekurse für Fremdenverkehr’, Der Fremdenverkehr 5, n. 15 (13 April 1940): 1; ‘Neuland Fremdenverkehrswirtschaftlicher Forschung’, Der Fremdenverkehr 8, n. 3 (23 January 1943); ‘Die Hermann Esser Schule im Marienbad’, Fach-Pressedienst WGB 14/42 (13 April 1942): 1; ‘Die Arbeit des Instituts für Betriebswirtschaft des Fremdenverkehrs’, Deutscher Reichsanzeiger, 17 October 1942. Woerls Reisehandbücher, Illustrierter Führer durch Weimar und Umgebung, nineteenth edition (Leipzig: 1943), 6–7, 40, 54. Hermann Dietsche, Fremdenverkehrswerbung für den Kreis Waldshut, 1 October 1942 (StaW-T, 024.06 WH), my emphasis. ‘Ferne und Nähe – der Reiz einer Stadt’. Mayor Hermann Dietsche, Waldshut, to Karl Klaus, Stuttgart, 21 August 1943 (StaW-T, 024.06 WH). Dietsche to Klaus, 17 March 1944 (StaW-T, 024.06 WH). Archiv Notizen, 23 November 1944 (StaW-T, 024.06 WH).

234 55 56 57 58 59 60

61

62 63

64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71

72

73 74

75

Notes Mayor Kuner, Säckingen, to Friedrich Gutermann, Lörrach, 5 October 1939 (StaB-S, V,2/65). Mayor Kuner, Säckingen, to Karl Klaus, Stuttgart, 4 December 1939 (StaBS, V,2/65). Kuner to Klaus, 12 January 1940 (StaB-S, V,2/65). Kuner to Klaus, 31 January 1940 and 29 February 1940 (StaB-S, V,2/65). The total ‘official’ cost was listed at 8155.71 RM (Aufstellung der Kosten für den Faltprospekt der Stadt Säckingen, n.d. [StaB-S, V,2/69]). ‘Kriegspolitische Zielsetzung’, Der Fremdenverkehr 5, n. 51 (21 December 1940): 3. See also ‘Fremdenverkehr bleibt Zweckgebunden’, Der Fremdenverkehr 8, n. 26 (2 October 1943): 1. Mühlhäuser, 50 Jahre, 47; Lord Mayor Koch, Weimar, to Weimar Stadtverwaltung, Amt 5, 11 July 1944 (StaW, HpA 407–03/1, v. 2–5); LFV Baden Rundschreiben, n. 4, 18 May 1944 (StAF, G23/4, 68–68a). LFV Baden Rundschreiben, n. 4, 19 August 1943 (StaO, 5/1569). ‘Tiengen – “Immer fruendli! Haesch oebbis daegege?”’ Alb-Bote, 8 January 1941 (StaW-T, 792.20 WH). See also Kundgebung des Gaues Oberdonau der NSDAP in Graz für Funktionäre der NSDAP, December 1942 (Deutsches Rundfunkarchiv, Frankfurt am Main, Nr. 002884574). Albert Denzlinger to Lord Mayor Kerber, Freiburg, 29 July 1943 (StaF, 4/XVI/19/10). Karl Fuß, Geschichte der Reisebüros (Darmstadt: 1960), 47. Georg Steinebach, Schwarzwald Reisebüro, to Lord Mayor Kerber, Freiburg, 27 December 1940 (StaF, C4/XVI/18/5). Schwarzwald Reisebüro, Geschäftsbericht 1940; Schwarzwald Reisebüro, Geschäftsbericht 1941 and Geschäftsbericht 1942 (StaF, C4/XVI/19/3). Hitler’s Table Talk, 1941–1944, third edition, trans. Norman Cameron and R. H. Stevens (New York: 2000), 717. ‘Das ist Warschau – das Herz Polens – die polnische Haupstadt gestern und heute’ and ‘Die alte Königsstadt’, Der Führer, 17 September 1939. ‘Fremdenverkehr und Saarland’, Der Fremdenverkehr 1, n. 1 (2 May 1936): 13. Verordnung vom 15. Juni 1938 über die Einführung der Fremdenverkehrsgesetze in Österreich, reprinted in Carl vom Berg, Das deutsche Fremdenverkehrsrecht (Berlin: 1939), 26; ‘Neuorganisation des Fremdenverkehrs in der Ostmark’, Berliner Tageblatt, 16 July 1938. ‘Tirol’, Kölnische Zeitung, 17 April 1938. See also the lavish photographic spreads about this ‘newest travel land’ in ‘Jüngste Ostmark als Reiseland’, Der Fremdenverkehr 3, n. 12 (19 March 938): 3–7. On KdF trips, see ‘Kraft durch Freude erstmals in Österreich’, Neue Freie Presse, 29 July 1938 (BAB, NS5 VI/6249). August Eigruber, ‘Oberdonau, der Heimatgau des Führers’, Berliner Tageblatt, 16 July 1938. Albert Denzlinger to Lord Mayor Kerber, Freiburg, 7 April 1938, which refers to the cancellation of tours to Freiburg and the Black Forest by the Hamburg-Amerika-Linie agency in Breslau in favour of travel to Austria (StaF, C4/XVI/19/11). On the effect of the Anschluß on Bavarian tourism, see Kershaw, Popular Opinion, 137. Director Horn, Entwicklung des Fremdenverkehrs im Juli 1938, 1 August 1938 (StaT-N, Abteilung Neustadt, 2303).

Notes 76 77 78 79

80

81

82 83 84

85 86

87

88 89 90

91

92 93 94

235

‘Sudetenland zum Gruß!’ Der Fremdenverkehr 3, n. 41 (8 October 1938): 1. ‘Ein Reich – Ein Fremdenverkehr’, Der Fremdenverkehr 3, n. 12 (19 March 1938): 1. Victor Klemperer, quoted in Robert Gellately, Backing Hitler: Consent and Coercion in Nazi Germany (Oxford: 2001), 149. Heinz Boberach, ed., Meldungen aus dem Reich: Die geheimen Lageberichte des Sicherheitsdienstes der SS 1938–1945 (Herrsching: 1984), 7: 2466–7, 11: 4399–401. Friedrich Meinecke, quoted in Fritz Stern, ‘National Socialism as Temptation’, in Dreams and Delusions: The Drama of German History (New York: 1987), 177. ‘Das Elsaß wieder deutsch!’ Der Schwarzwald, n. 9 (1940): 91; ‘Befreites Elsaß als großdeutsches Reiseland’, Der Fremdenverkehr 5, n. 33 (17 August 1940): 1–2. Karl Baedeker, Das Elsaß – Straßburg und die Vogesen (Leipzig: 1942), v. Kershaw, Hitler 1936–1945, 299–300. Koshar, German Travel Cultures, 150–1. See also Bertram Gordon, ‘Ist Gott Französisch? Germans, Tourism, and Occupied France, 1940–1944’, Modern and Contemporary France NS4, n. 3 (1996): 287–98. Koshar, German Travel Cultures, 153. ‘Der Aufbau des Fremdenverkehrs im Reichsgau Danzig-Ostpreussen’ and ‘Erste Beiratssitzung des LFV Danzig-Ostpreussen’, Der Fremdenverkehr 7, n. 34 (22 August 1942): 2, 8; RFV, ‘Fremdenverkehrsorganisation im Generalgouvernement’ and ‘Reisebüros im Generalgouvernement’, in Handwörterbuch für Tourismus, v. 2., ed. RFV (Berlin: 1942); ‘Öffnung der Hotel Ostland in Posen’, Fach-Pressedienst WGB 6/42 (16 February 1942): 3. Karl Baedeker, Das Generalgouvernement: Reisehandbuch (Leipzig: 1943). Rudy Koshar’s treatment of this guidebook is excellent (German Travel Cultures, 153–6). On tourism to the area and further descriptions of the guide, see Nicholas Lane, ‘Tourism in Nazi-Occupied Poland: Baedeker’s Generalgouvernement’, East European Jewish Affairs 27, n. 1 (1997): 45–56. Stadthauptmann, Lemberg, to Stadtverwaltung, Freiburg, 22 September 1942 (StaF, C4/XVI/21/1). ‘Kriegseinsatz der Kurorte im Generalgouvernement’, Der Fremdenverkehr 8, n. 10 (13 March 1943): 2. Mayor Kuner, Säckingen, to the Deutsche Reichspostreklame, Karlsruhe, 24 July 1941, and response, 25 July 1941(StaB-S, V,2/66); Amtsgerichtsdirektor, Bromberg, to Lord Mayor Franz Kerber, Freiburg, 2 June 1943. (StaF, C4/XVI/21/1). Koshar, ‘“What Ought to be Seen”: Tourists’ Guidebooks and National Identities in Modern Germany and Europe’, Journal of Contemporary History 33, n. 3 (1998): 332; Koshar, German Travel Cultures, 17. Kershaw, Hitler 1936–1945, 400. R. J. Overy, War and Economy in the Third Reich (Oxford: 1994), 261, 311. Erich Kasberger, Heldinnenn waren wir keine: Frauen Alltag in der NS-Zeit (Munich: 2001), 28–9; Alison Owings, ed., Frauen: German Women Recall the Third Reich (London: 1993), 9, 13; Ulrich Herbert, ‘Good Times, Bad Times’, History Today 36 (February, 1986): 42–8.

236 95

96 97 98

99 100

101 102

103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111

112

Notes Die Reichsbahn 24/25 (17–24 June 1942): 213–14. On the Reichsbahn’s military role during the Second World War, see Michael Robbins, ‘The Third Reich and its Railways’, Journal of Transport History 5, n. 2 (1979): 83–90; Klaus Hildebrand, ‘Die deutsche Reichsbahn in der nationalsozialistischen Diktatur 1933–1945’, in Die Eisenbahn in Deutschland: Von den Anfängen bis zur Gegenwart, ed. Lothar Gall und Manfred Pohl (Munich: 1999), 165–243. ‘Fremdenverkehr und Staatsführung’, Der Fremdenverkehr 7, n. 21 (23 May 1942): 1. ‘Die Arbeitstagung des RFV in Leipzig’, Der Fremdenverkehr 7, n. 50 (12 December 1942): 5. ‘Zum 30. Januar 1943’, Der Fremdenverkehr 8, n. 4 (30 January 1943): 1; ‘Fremdenverkehr bleibt Zweckgebunden’. In 1942, a three-week maximum was introduced. By 1944, that had been reduced to two weeks. See the series of orders limiting the length of stay in spas, health resorts and tourist destinations in StaW, Stadtverwaltung 1919–1945, 0–05–6, ‘Beschränkung der Aufenthaltsdauer in den Fremdenverkehrsorten’, 1939–1945. See also Fritz Mahlo, ‘Fremdenverkehr im 4. Kriegsjahr’, Der Fremdenverkehr 8, n. 13 (3 April 1943): 1. LFV Baden Rundschreiben, 11 January 1945 (StaB-B, A26/28–204). ‘Eine Warnung von dem Staatssekretär für Fremdenverkehr’, FachPressedienst WGB 8/42 (2 March 1942): 2; Polizeidirektor, Baden-Baden, to Bäder- und Kurverwaltung Baden-Baden, 26 January 1944 (StaB-B, A26/29–183). Boberach, Meldungen aus dem Reich, 10: 3586–7. Gestapo, Staatspolizeistelle Karlsruhe, to Baden Landräte, Polizeipräsidenten and Polizeidirektoren, 9 January 1942 (StAF, G19/3, 304). August Hessel, ‘Lenkung des Fremdenverkehrs im fünften Kriegsjahre’, Der Fremdenverkehr 8, n. 32 (25 December 1943): 1. Kershaw, Hitler 1936–1945, 571. ‘Totalmobilisierung und Fremdenverkehr’, Der Fremdenverkehr 8, n. 10 (13 March 1943): 1. Joseph Goebbels, Die Tagebücher von Joseph Goebbels: Sämtliche Fragmente, ed. Elke Fröhlich, v. 4 (Munich: 1987), 3 March 1940. ‘Reisebüros – Helfer im Kriegsreiseverkehr’, Der Fremdenverkehr 9, n. 14 (8 July 1944): 1–2. ‘Staatssekretär Esser: Erhaltet die Substanz’, Der Fremdenverkehr 9, n. 11 (27 May 1944): 1. Kurdirektor Graf to Lord Mayor Hans Schwedhelm, Baden-Baden, 4 July 1938 (StaB-B, A26/29–183); Kershaw, Popular Opinion, 137. ‘Das neue Gesicht: Wandlungen des Fremdenverkehrs im Kriege’. Henning Eichberg, ‘“Join the army and see the world”: Krieg als Touristik – Tourismus als Krieg’, in Reisen und Alltag: Beiträge zur wissenschaftlichen Tourismusforschung, ed. Dieter Kramer and Ronald Lutz (Frankfurt am Main: 1992); Richard White, ‘The Soldier as Tourist: The Australian Experience of the Great War’, War & Society 5, n. 1 (1987): 63–77. Shelley Baranowski, Strength through Joy: Consumerism and Mass Tourism (Cambridge: 2004), 226; Gordon, ‘Ist Gott Französisch?’ 293.

Notes 113

114 115 116 117 118 119 120 121 122

123 124 125 126 127

128 129 130

131

132

133 134

237

Bericht über die Reisezeit 1940, 24 October 1940 (StaF, C4/XVI/19/10); ‘Komm mit durch Freiburg – Fremdenführung auch im Kriege – Vergangenheit und Gegenwart’, Der Alemanne, 25 April 1943 (StaF, C4/XVI/22/3). ‘Das neue Gesicht: Wandlungen des Fremdenverkehrs im Kriege’. Karlsruher Monatsschau 15, n. 5 (July 1940): 5 (StaK, 8/StS 20/1169–1175). Berliner Verkehrsamt and Berliner Verkehrsverein, Die Reichshauptstadt grüßt Ihre Gäste (Berlin: 1940). LFV Baden Rundschreiben, n. 23, 2 December 1939 (StAF, G23/4, 68–68a); Karlsruher Monatsschau 15, n. 5 (July 1940): 9. LFV Baden Rundschreiben, n. 2, 26 February 1940 (StaO, 5/1569). Karlsruher Monatsschau 15, n. 7 (September 1940): 1. Karlsruher Monatsschau 19, n. 1 (January 1944), front cover, 32. ‘Das neue Gesicht: Wandlungen des Fremdenverkehrs im Kriege’. Bernhard Hecker, In Weimar zu Gast: Gästebücher erzählen von der Klassik bis heute (Stuttgart: 1998), 83. A later entry reads: ‘We were in the East, we were in the West, but the Ilmschlößchen pleases us the best’ (84). Karlsruher Monatsschau 16, n. 1 (January 1941): 11; Karlsruher Monatsschau 19, n. 1 (January 1944): 31. ‘Der Urlauber ist Ehrengast des Gaststättengewerbes’, Der Führer, 2 February 1942. NSDAP Kreisleiter Kuner, Neustadt, to LFV Baden, 19 January 1942 (StaTN, Abteilung Titisee, 501). LFV Baden Rundschreiben, 2 March 1942 (StaT-N, Abteilung Neustadt, 2306). Alon Confino, ‘Traveling as a Culture of Remembrance: Traces of National Socialism in West Germany, 1945–1960’. History & Memory 12, n. 2 (2000): 108. ‘Lazarettstadt Freiburg – Die verwundeten sind die liebsten Gäste der Schwarzwaldhauptstadt’, Der Alemanne, 20 November 1941. Heimatbild Odenwald, 6 July 1944 (Deutsches Rundfunkarchiv, Frankfurt am Main, Nr. 002874456). On the KLV, see Gerhard Kock, ‘Der Führer sorgt für unsere Kinder …’: Die Kinderlandverschickung im Zweiten Weltkrieg (Paderborn: 1997); Martin Rüther, ‘Zu Hause könnten sie es nicht schöner haben’: Kinderlandverschickung aus Köln und Umgebung 1941–1945 (Cologne: 2000). Michael Krause, Flucht vor dem Bombenkrieg: ‘Umquartierung’ im Zweiten Weltkrieg und die Wiedereingliederung der Evakuierten in Deutschland 1943–1963 (Düsseldorf: 1997), 52. LFV Baden Rundschreiben, n. 4, 5 April 1941 (StAF, G23/4, 68–68a); Der Beauftragte für die KLV, NSDAP-HJ, Gebiet Baden, to Karl Franz, Haus Waldeck, Titisee, 7 April 1941 (StaT-N, Abteilung Titisee, 501); LFV Baden Rundschreiben, n. 15, 16 November 1940 (StAF, G23/4, 68–68a). The room rates ranged from 5.50 RM per day for mothers, to 2–3 RM per day for younger children and infants, but many felt this was not nearly enough. Krause, Flucht vor dem Bombenkrieg, 6. See the letters in StaW, HpA 407–03/1, v. 2–5, ‘Verkehrsverein Weimar. Allgemeines’.

238

Notes

135 136 137

LFV Baden-Alsace, Strasburg, to FVGs, 7 July 1943 (StAF, G24/1, 230). Protokoll der BKV Sitzung, 20 August 1943 (StaB-B, C20/1675). LFV Thüringen to Thüringische Fremdenverkehrsstelle, 27 July 1942 (ThHStAW, Thüringischer Gemeindetag, 453). The number of foreign labourers working in the hospitality industry is difficult to determine. They likely represented between one and two per cent of the total. See Edward Homze, Foreign Labor in Nazi Germany (Princeton: 1967), 235; Andre Beyermann, ‘Zwangsarbeit in Thüringen 1939–1945’ and ‘Fremdarbeiter’, Thüringen – Blätter zur Landeskunde 9 (2000): n.p. RFV, Handwörterbuch für Tourismus. Ernst Klee, Willi Dreßen, and Volker Riess, eds., ‘The Good Old Days’: The Holocaust as Seen by its Perpetrators and Bystanders, trans. Deborah Burnstone (New York: 1991), 126–7. Michael Burleigh, The Third Reich: A New History (Oxford: 2000), 411.

138 139

140

8


1 Horst Krüger, ‘Freiburger Anfänge 1940/1945’, in Freiburg in alten und neuen Reisebeschreibungen, ed. Maria Rayers (Düsseldorf: 1991), 160, 162–3; Carl Zuckmayer, ‘Zweimal Ankunft in Berlin’, in Berlin in alten und neuen Reisebeschreibungen, ed. Georg Holmsten (Düsseldorf: 1989), 220–1; Hans Wahl, ‘Weimar, 9. Februar 1945’, in Quellen zur Geschichte Thüringens: Kultur in Thüringen 1919–1949, ed. Thomas Neumann (Erfurt: 1998), 244–8; Bernd A. Rusinek, ‘“Die deutscheste aller deutschen Städte”: Nürnberg als eine Hauptstadt des Nationalsozialismus’, in Hauptstadt: Zentren, Residenzen, Metropolen in der deutschen Geschichte, ed. Bodo Baumunk and Gerhard Brunn (Cologne: 1989), 97; Gavriel D. Rosenfeld, Munich and Memory: Architecture, Monuments, and the Legacy of the Third Reich (Berkeley: 2000), 18. 2 Alexander Wilde, ‘Zwischen Zusammenbruch und Währungsreform. Fremdenverkehr in den westlichen Besatzungszonen’, in Goldstrand und Teutonengrill: Kultur- und Sozialgeschichte des Tourismus in Deutschland 1945 bis 1989, ed. Hasso Spode (Berlin: 1996), 87–8; Deutsches Reisebüro, ed., 70 Jahre Deutsches Reisebüro (Frankfurt am Main: 1987), 30. 3 Hellmut Holtaus, ‘Trotz allem: man denkt an Fremdenverkehr,’ newspaper title not given, 23 July 1946 (StAF, G 19/3, 304). 4 Badische Zeitung, 21 November 1947, in Wilde, ‘Zwischen Zusammenbruch und Währungsreform’, 91. 5 Hasso Spode, ‘Tourismus in der Gesellschaft der DDR. Eine vergleichende Einführung,’ in Goldstrand und Teutonengrill: Kultur- und Sozialgeschichte des Tourismus in Deutschland 1945 bis 1989, ed. Hasso Spode (Berlin: 1996), 15; Thüringens Landeshauptstadt Weimar (Weimar: 1946); Berliner Verkehrsamt to Amtsgericht, Berlin, 9 December 1955 (Landesarchiv Berlin, Bestand B, Rep. 042, Nr. 27178); Ulrika Poock-Feller, ‘“Berlin lebt – Berlin ruft”: Die Fremdenverkehrswerbung Ost- und West-Berlins in der Nachkriegszeit’, in Goldstrand und Teutonengrill: Kultur- und Sozialgeschichte des Tourismus in Deutschland 1945 bis 1989, ed. Hasso Spode (Berlin: 1996). 6 LFV Baden, Französische Zone, Neugliederung der gewerblichen Wirtschaft, 22 November 1945 (StAF, G23/4, 68–68a); Alon Confino, ‘Traveling as a

Notes

7

8 9 10

11

12

13 14

15

16 17

18 19

239

Culture of Remembrance: Traces of National Socialism in West Germany, 1945–1960’, History & Memory 12, n. 2 (2000): 101–2; Rudy Koshar, German Travel Cultures (Oxford: 2000), 168. See also ‘Der Neuaufbau des Fremdenverkehrs,’ Badische Zeitung, 10 June 1947 (StAF, G23/4, 68–68a). Günter Menges, Wachstum und Konjunktur des deutschen Fremdenverkehrs 1913 bis 1956 (Frankfurt am Main: 1959), 30; Christine Keitz, Reisen als Leitbild: Die Entstehung des modernen Massentourismus in Deutschland (Munich: 1997), Table 25, 336. Spode, ‘Tourismus in der Gesellschaft der DDR’, 20. Confino, ‘Traveling’, 105. Eugene Fodor, ed., Germany 1953 (New York: 1953), 327. For an in-depth treatment of this guide, see Koshar, German Travel Cultures, Chapter 4, ‘Fodor’s Germany’. Keitz, Reisen als Leitbild, 272–85; Klaus-Peter Lorenz, ‘“Zu neuen Ufern lockt ein neuer Tag”. Zum Wiederstehen der Naturfreundejugend in den Westzonen’, in Goldstrand und Teutonengrill: Kultur- und Sozialgeschichte des Tourismus in Deutschland 1945 bis 1989, ed. Hasso Spode (Berlin: 1996). On postwar tourism in West and East Germany, see also Axel Schildt, ‘“Mach mal Pause!”: Freie Zeit, Freizeitvorhalten und Freizeit-Diskurse in der Westdeutschen Wiederaufbau-Gesellschaft der 1950er Jahre’, Archiv für Sozialgeschichte 33 (1993): 357–406; Cord Pagenstecher, Der Bundesdeutsche Tourismus – Ansätze zu einer Visual History: Urlaubsprospekte, Reiseführer, Fotoalben, 1950–1990 (Hamburg: 2003); Haus der Geschichte der Bundesrepublik Deutschland, ed., Endlich Urlaub! Die Deutschen reisen (Cologne: 1996), 25–111. Shelley Baranowski, Strength through Joy: Consumerism and Mass Tourism in the Third Reich (Cambridge: 2004), 231–49; Spode, ‘Tourismus in der Gesellschaft der DDR’, 16–18. Robert G. Moeller, ‘War Stories: The Search for a Usable Past in the Federal Republic of Germany’, American Historical Review 101 (1996): 1013. Hugo Mühlhäuser, 50 Jahre Landesverkehrsverband Württemberg (Stuttgart: 1958), 44; Verkehrsverein Karlsruhe, 75 Jahre Verkehrsverein Karlsruhe (Karlsruhe: 1978), 24; Heinrich Nüßle, Die Entwicklung des Fremdenverkehrs in Schramberg in den letzen 50 Jahren, 2 May 1956, 7 (StaS). Early postwar histories of the German tourism industry similarly ignored the wider political context. See Menges, Wachstum und Konjunktur; Karl Fuß, Geschichte der Reisebüros (Darmstadt: 1960). Mühlhäuser, 50 Jahre, 41; Verkehrsverein Karlsruhe, 75 Jahre, 24. For an exceptionally open confrontation with the Nazi past, see Peter Uli-Faerber and Hermann Freudenberger, Hundert Jahre Verkehrsverein Stuttgart (Stuttgart: 1985). Sebastian Haffner, Defying Hitler: A Memoir, trans. Oliver Pretzel (London: 2000), 112. I share this assessment with film historian Mary-Elizabeth O’Brien. See her Nazi Cinema as Enchantment: The Politics of Entertainment (Rochester: 2004), 259. Verkehrsverein Karlsruhe, 75 Jahre, 25. Jeremy Noakes, ‘The Gestapo’s little helpers’, review of Backing Hitler: Consent and Coercion in Nazi Germany, by Robert Gellately, Times Literary Supplement, n. 5140 (5 October 2001): 32.

240

Notes

20 John Lennon and Malcolm Foley, Dark Tourism (London and New York: 2000); Chris Rojek, Ways of Escape (Basingstoke: 1993). 21 Lonely Planet, Germany, fourth edition (Hawthorn, Australia: 2004); Steven Lehrer, Hitler Sites: A City-by-City Guidebook (Austria, Germany, France, United States) (Jefferson, NC: 2002). 22 Douglas Rogers, ‘News of the World: At “Stalin World” the horrors of the Communist past have been turned into a tourist attraction’, The Times Magazine, 29 June 2002, 12; Lennon and Foley, Dark Tourism, 159.

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Newspapers and journals Der Alemanne Allgemeine Thüringische Landeszeitung Deutschland 241

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Index Alexander, Count Michael, 133 Allensbach, 101 Alltagsgeschichte, 3 Alpenverein, 42 Alsace, 82–5, 138, 167, 171–3, 190 America, 135–6, 138, 145 visitors from, 89, 142, 149, 151 see also German Railroads Information Office (GRIO) anti-Semitism, 25, 46, 65, 95–6, 133, 152 in exhibits, 66 and Gleichschaltung, 17–18, 33–4, 38, 189 at seaside resorts, 8, 69, 147–8 and the Second World War, 184–5 in tourist literature, 60–1, 147 in the Weimar Republic, 9 Austria, 19, 23, 30, 46, 152 Hitler tourism in, 56, 68 ‘return’ of, 65, 170–1 tariffs on travel to, 17, 83, 133 Bad Berneck, 65 Bad Godesberg, 68 Baden, 19, 28, 82, 89, 111, 149, 159, 170, 172, 180, 182 Baden State Tourism Association, 9, 19–20, 29, 102–3, 108, 147, 159, 171, 179, 181 Baden-Alsace State Tourism Association, 172, 175, 184 Baden-Baden, 7, 140, 154, 178, 184 anti-Semitism in, 95, 147–8 and Kraft durch Freude, 111–12, 122–3 tourist literature about, 146, 161–2 Baedeker, 187 Baedeker, Karl, 51, 64 guides, 6, 50, 61, 89, 118, 145, 172, 185 publishing firm, 50, 137 Baltic Sea, 105

Bärental, 162–3 Bavaria, ix, 5, 19, 83, 129, 149, 193 Kraft durch Freude in, 99, 103, 110, 115 in the Second World War, 155, 158, 159, 171 as site of ‘normal’ tourist culture, 52, 81, 85 souvenirs from, 79 in the Weimar Republic, 7, 9 Bayreuth, 65 Berchtesgaden, 56, 140, 147, 170, 178 Berlin, ix, 1, 7, 39, 51, 66, 81, 88, 141, 187 and Kraft durch Freude, 99, 101, 117, 120–2 new buildings in, 46–7 renamed streets in, 59 and the Second World War, 155, 159, 163, 164 as site of Nazi tourist culture, 43, 67, 72, 85, 87, 90, 165, 190 Summer Olympics in, 21, 148–9 tourist literature about, 48–51, 58, 145, 149 Black Forest, ix, 7, 9, 10, 14, 62, 113, 118, 122–3 effects of Gleichschaltung on, 20, 29–30 and Kraft durch Freude, 106, 109, 113, 118, 122–3 and the Second World War, 155, 157, 162, 166, 171, 181, 188 as site of ‘normal’ tourist culture, 52, 67, 73, 81–90, 146, 149, 190 Black Forest Society, 86–7, 179 Bildungsreise (educational trip), 5 Bodensee, 29–30, 45, 84, 101 Bonn, 147 borderlands, 43, 112, 127 Borkum, 69 Brandenburg Gate, 47, 49, 58, 61, 121 259

260

Index

Braunau am Inn, 56, 145, 170 Bühl, 62, 117, 140 Byoir, Carl, 143 Central Committee for Tourism, 10, 18–19 Chamber of the Visual Arts, 79–80 Cologne, 65, 117, 183 consumers; consumption, 2, 4, 80, 85, 94–6, 145, 147, 152, 162, 185, 191–2 Cuxhaven, 69 Dachau, 1, 193 Day of the Thuringian Guest, 64–5 Degener, Carl, 34, 125 Denzlinger, Albert, 83, 168 Deutsche Arbeitsfront (DAF) see German Labour Front Dietz guides, 51, 59 Döllersheim, 68 Dopolavoro (After Work), 99 Du Bois, W. E. B., 151 East Germany, 188–9 Eisner, Kurt, 60 Elephant Hotel, 47, 56–8, 163 England, 131–2, 139, 149–50, 164 visitors from, 75, 89, 134, 149, 151 Esser, Hermann, 29, 32, 39, 141 and Kraft durch Freude, 104, 127 and the Reich Committee for Tourism/Reich Tourism Association, 24–7, 32 in the Second World War, 161, 165, 168, 171, 175, 178 on souvenirs, 78–9 on tourist literature, 44 on travel agents, 36, 137 events, Nazi, 43, 62–65, 69, 88, 190 exhibits, 4, 66–7, 69, 120, 191 Feldherrnhalle, 53, 54, 70, 147 films, 93–4, 97, 190 First World War see Great War France, 82, 138, 142, 155, 159, 164, 169, 172 see also Alsace

Frankfurt am Main, 39, 165 Freiburg im Breisgau, 29, 37, 138, 161, 173, 181, 187 guided tours through, 179 municipal travel agency of, 34, 82–3, 109, 131, 168–9 Frick, Wilhelm, 177 Friends of Nature, 8, 43, 188 Gabler, Fritz, 20 Garmisch-Partenkirchen, 157 Gauforum, 47, 50, 70, 89 Gay, Peter, 14, 148 General Association of German Bathing Resorts, 10 General Government, 172–3 German House of Tourism, 27, 47 German Labour Front, 25, 36, 47, 99, 104, 106, 107 German Railroad, 10, 19, 26, 102, 140–2, 154, 158, 171, 185 German Railroads Information Office (GRIO), 142–5, 153 Giesler, Hermann, 47 Gleichschaltung (coordination) see tourism, Gleichschaltung of Glücksmann, Robert, 39 Goebbels, Joseph, 32, 45–6, 50, 120–1, 156, 158, 175, 176–7 on Friedrich Schiller, 77 and Hermann Esser, 26–7 and international tourism, 129–30 on Kraft durch Freude, 100 and the Reich Committee for Tourism/Reich Tourism Association, 18, 24–7 in the Second World War, 156, 158, 175, 176–7 vision of effective propaganda, 90–3 on Wolfgang von Goethe, 74 see also Ministry of Propaganda Goering, Hermann, 30–1, 56, 59, 120 Goethe House and National Museum, 47, 49, 61, 73–7, 88–9, 106, 163, 187 Grand Tour, 5 Graz, 68 Great War, 6–8, 13, 25, 156 Gropius, Walter, 60

Index Haffner, Sebastian, 191 Harz Mountains, 5, 6, 81, 85, 113 Helgoland, 100, 135 Hinterzarten, 14, 95 Hitler, Adolf, 11, 17, 25, 27, 52, 62, 85–7, 189 and international tourism, 130–1, 143, 145, 148–9, 151 and Kraft durch Freude, 117, 120–1 and new buildings in the Third Reich, 46–7 and the Reich Committee for Tourism, 1 in the Second World War, 154, 163, 169, 172, 173 in Weimar, 73–5 Hitler tourism, 56, 68, 170, 193 Hitler Youth, 124, 134–5, 139, 151 Hofbräuhaus, 56 Holocaust, ix, 14, 185 House of German Art, Munich, 47, 50, 52 Intourist, 138, 147 Italy; Italian Fascism, 5, 40, 99, 132, 135, 138, 146, 153, 164 Judenbach, 14 Karlsruhe, 29, 86, 123, 173–4, 176, 179–80 Kinderlandverschickung (KLV), 182–4 Kirms-Krackow-House, 61, 164 kitsch, 22, 77–81, 90, 112, 164 see also souvenirs Klemperer, Victor, 171 Kraft durch Freude (KdF), 4, 12, 13, 62, 94, 97, 98–128, 135, 185, 189, 190 and anti-Semitism, 95 and the Reich Committee for Tourism, 19 and the Second World War, 154, 156, 181 tourist culture, 116–123 overseas cruises, 100, 114, 132–3, 137, 150 Lafferentz, Bodo, 99, 106

261

Lambach, 68 Landsberg am Lech, 68 Law for the Protection of National Symbols, 78, 80 League of German Tourism Associations, 10, 19, 188 League of German Tourism Associations and Bathing Resorts, 20, 102 League of German Tourism Societies, 10 Ley, Robert, 25, 99–100, 107–8, 132, 136 Liebknecht, Karl, 60 Linz, 68, 170 Lippert, Julius, 50 Liszt, Franz, 73 Lufthansa, 19 Lüneburg Heath, 81 Luxemburg, Rosa, 60 Mahlo, Fritz, 141 Maikowski, Hans, 55 Mardi Gras, 65, 123 ‘martyrs’, Nazi, 52–5, 59–69, 72, 88, 121–2, 190 see also Hans Maikowski; Herbert Norkus; Horst Wessel; Leo Schlageter Marx, Karl, 60 Mendelssohn, Moses, 60 Mies van der Rohe, Ludwig, 59–60 Ministry of Propaganda, 18, 23, 24, 25, 26, 126, 141, 147, 165 Mitteleuropäisches Reisebüro (MER), 105, 124, 127, 139–40 Munich, 7, 25, 39, 60, 65, 66, 88, 147, 187, 193 new buildings in, 47 as site of Nazi tourist culture, 43, 48, 67, 72, 85, 90, 165, 190 tourist literature about, 48, 52–3, 58, 145 museums, 6, 48, 55, 66–7, 68, 98, 123, 143, 145, 161, 164, 174 see also exhibits; Goethe House and National Museum Mussolini, Benito, 27, 135, 138, 146, 151

262

Index

‘national community’, 18 and group tours, 125 and Kraft durch Freude, 99, 110, 118 tourism as a creator of, ix, 2, 12, 15, 65, 118, 165, 186, 190 Nazi tourist culture, 13, 42–71, 72, 87, 90, 116, 145, 165–6, 190 Nesselwang, 109, 112 Neuenbürg, 101 Neustad,. 88, 104, 117, 181 New Synagogue, Berlin, 61 Nietzsche, Friedrich, 47, 73 Norderney, 69 Norkus, Herbert, 59 normality and Gleichschaltung, 40 and Kraft durch Freude, 98–9, 113, 116 Nazi regime’s pursuit of, ix, 2, 3, 13–14, 128, 130, 152, 190–1 ‘normal’ tourist culture, 13, 43, 52, 70–1, 72–97, 116, 122–3, 146, 149, 166 and the Second World War, 155, 173–4, 186 Norway, 100, 132 Nuremberg, 66, 67, 75, 88, 118, 145, 187 anti-Semitism in, 148 postcards of, 48, 52 as site of Nazi tourist culture, 43, 58, 81, 85, 90, 149, 165–6, 190 see also Reich Party Rallies Obersalzberg, 56, 57, 170, 193 Offenburg, 83, 103, 179 Office for Travel, Hiking and Vacations, 99–100, 102, 106, 108, 110–11, 114, 117–18 Oktoberfest, 65 Olympics, Berlin, 21, 62, 120, 148–9 Poland, 156, 171 Portugal; Madeira, 100, 132–3 Prora, 112 Reich Chancellery, 48, 56, 70, 88, 120, 170

Reich Committee for Tourism, 1, 18–23, 24, 26, 32, 45, 47, 60, 78, 103 Reich Labour Service, 112–13, 124 Reich Party Rallies, 47, 48, 50, 58, 62–3, 67, 124, 144, 147–8, 152 Reich Sport Field, 48, 70 Reich Tourism Association, 21–4, 26, 30, 42, 44, 47, 69, 78, 82, 123, 140, 159, 161, 164, 170 Reichsbahn see German Railroad Reichsbahnzentrale fér den Deutschen Reiseverkehr (RDV), 10, 26, 140–5, 149, 153, 158 Reichsverkehrsgruppe Hilfsgewerbe des Verkehrs (RHV), 26, 32, 36, 125 Rosenberg, Alfred, 131 Rothenburg ob der Tauber, 95, 101, 120, 155 Ruhr, 51 Saarland, 170 Säckingen, 79–81, 83, 157, 160, 167, 173 Sauckel, Fritz, 63 Scheidemantel, Eduard, 61 Schiller House, 47, 49, 60–1, 73–7, 163–4 Schlageter, Leo, 86, 88 Schmitz, Ernst, 142 Schwarzwald see Black Forest Second World War, 17, 94, 192 evacuees in, 155, 168, 175, 182–4, 192 soldiers in, 155, 157, 160, 175, 177–82 tourism during, 154–86 souvenirs, x, 56, 62, 65, 72–3, 77, 81, 90, 101, 112, 118, 154 Soviet Union, 115, 137, 138, 147, 151 Speer, Albert, 49 Strasburg, 83, 172 Streicher, Julius, 52 Strength through Joy see Kraft durch Freude Sturmabteilung (SA), 13, 53–5, 124 Sudetenland, 171

Index Switzerland, 5, 82–5, 137, 139, 190 Tannenberg, 69 Temples of Honour, Munich, 47 Thomas Cook Travel Agency, 6, 131 Thost, Hans, 139 Thuringia, 5, 19, 47, 49, 51, 61, 63, 70, 81, 86, 149, 162, 182 Thuringia State Tourism Association, 9, 14, 20, 30–1, 67, 75, 107–8, 159 see also Day of the Thuringian Guest Titisee, 89, 157, 159, 163, 178, 181 tour guides, 35, 38, 106 tourism definition of, 2 early history of, 5–6 Gleichschaltung of, 1, 10, 12, 15, 16–41, 42, 81, 141 international, 2, 11, 13, 40, 75, 111, 82–5, 96, 128, 129–53, 154, 164, 188 professionalization of, 16, 32, 35–40, 165 role in Third Reich of, 11–12, 99–100, 125–6, 129–33, 152, 154–5, 175, 180, 185–6, 190 ‘unfair’ competition in, 22, 32–5, 39, 41, 45, 103–5, 125 in Weimar Republic, 6–11 see also Kraft durch Freude; Nazi tourist culture; ‘normal’ tourist culture; Second World War

263

travel agencies, 6, 8, 10, 31–6, 103–5, 134, 169, 177 Trier, 60 Übersee, 129 Villingen, 29 visas, 7, 82, 133, 144 Volksgemeinschaft see ‘national community’ von Scheffel, Victor, 80, 167 Wahl, Hans, 74, 75, 106 Waldshut, 166–7 Wandervogel, 42 Warsaw, 170, 172–3 Weimar, ix, 7, 30–1, 60, 63, 67, 72, 81, 88, 187–8, 190 and Kraft durch Freude, 105–6 new buildings in, 47 in the Second World War, 155, 159, 163–5 site of Nazi tourist culture, 43, 48, 58, 85, 90 tourist literature about, 49–51, 59 see also Goethe House and National Museum; Schiller House Wessel, Horst, 55, 59, 121 West Germany, 188–9 Winter, Hans-Gert, 26, 141 Wolfach, 120, 124 Württemberg, 9, 19, 20, 89, 104, 182 Zinnowitz, 69

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