Germany's North Sea Coast (Part 5): The Three Sisters – Sylt, Amrum and Foehr

Crossing the sea on rails, the car train is the umbilical cord of Germany's northernmost island Süd, a place constantly attacked by storms. Sand pumped from the sea in a spectacular rescue operation. The neighboring island of Föhr with the most thatched roofs on the entire German coast. The precious costumes originate from the old whaling times. Amrum is the wildest of the North Frisian islands. Seafarers dreaded its sandbanks. Lighthouses prevent the worst, but not for all. Germany's North Sea coast. The route leads along the three largest islands in the North Frisian Wadden Sea. Süd, Föhr and Amrum. A world between land and sea. At low tide, the tideways and sandbanks seem to go on forever. Today, the Wadden Sea National Park is a UNESCO World Heritage Site. This once used to be fertile ground, but it was destroyed by severe storm floods during the Middle Ages. However, the people didn't give up, building dikes to retrieve the land taken by the sea. The newly claimed land behind the dikes is called a polder. The fertile ground that developed from sediments in the sea is ideal for growing grain. But not only grain is harvested on the polders of the North Frisian coast. Where the sea once raged, gigantic wind farms have been built. The constant breeze from the sea is an unlimited source of natural energy, a contribution to saving the planet. The village of Seebüll lies far in the north. It's famous for its flower garden, planted by Expressionist painter Emil Nolde and immortalized in his works. The Expressionists' most beautiful paintings were created here, inspired by the magnificent flowers. Some people say he exaggerated the colors, but I don't think so. If you look at the individual plants and shrubs or sunflowers in the garden, their colors can be very intense depending on the time of day. I think Nolde captured that well. Today, more than 50 years after Emil Nolde's death, Andreas Weber is the painter's gardener. His garden attracts visitors from all around the world, in every season. The garden is at its most beautiful in late summer, when it's in full blue. Sometimes I think about Emil Nolde. I need that to remember the importance of the work I'm doing here. I try to nurture what he left behind, and I think a lot about what he might have liked and how he felt about the garden when he strolled through it. It's almost as if the painter has only left for a brief stroll to town to buy new colors. Even Nolde's painting hut has stood the test of time. Emil Nolde was also the great painter of the North Sea. His paintings often show a tempestuous sea and a dominant sky. In Nolde's times, the North Sea flooded the land almost up to his garden. The dikes were only built after his death. The quiet garden used to be his favorite spot. A self-portrait. The bright blue eyes look like mirrors. With them, Emil Nolde sees and perceives the sea and the flowers in his own unique way. Anyone who visits Nolde's house and garden today won't just find pleasure in Andreas Weber's gardening skills. Exhibited in the studio behind the flower garden are Emil Nolde's major works. The painter himself decided that the collection shouldn't be sold, but should remain in the place where he felt the happiest. Nolde's works and his garden are an entity. They belong together, and if I could manage to preserve them that way, I'll have achieved a lot. It is only a short distance to the island of Sud, where Nolde spent several summers. Today, Sud is easily accessible by train. It reaches the island over a causeway. The car train on its way to the island. The Hindenburgdamm, as the causeway is called, is 11 kilometers long. It's the lifeline of Germany's most popular holiday island. At the moment, we have 105 trains daily, not including special services. We have passenger trains, regional trains and, of course, car trains. Rainer Dampschen is the warden of the Hindenburgdamm. He regularly inspects the mighty structure. I live in a wonderful and unique world here. I love being here and couldn't imagine anything more beautiful. The causeway was built in the 1920s, one of the most important projects after the First World War. The construction work took four years. It was the biggest construction site in Europe, with more than 2,500 workers who worked here during the summer months. In the winter months, most of the workers were on the island. Germany's only causeway through the sea has remained a construction site. We are trying to protect the causeway from the storm floods, which can be really violent over here. On the one hand, we take care of the grass. We have to keep it short so the dam stays solid and can hold up to the waves. We also try to elevate mudflats in the vicinity of the dam in order to break the waves before they can hit the dam. In the car, by train, across the sea. A unique railway experience. After just 10 minutes on the causeway, the train reaches Sylt. A third of the island is covered in sand dunes. Two wandering dunes formed some 5,000 years ago, leaving just a narrow strip of green for the villages. At low tide, the large tideways in the mudflats off the coast of Sylt are popular with kiteboarders. When the tide goes out, delicacies are served up from the sea, covered by a blanket of seaweed. Bine Puna is the oyster princess of Sylt, and the boss of these strong lads. They tend the shellfish for three years. The sacks are turned several times a season to allow the oysters to grow. We're very dependent on nature. We work in harmony with it. The moon determines the tides, which shift every day by around three quarters of an hour, and that means our working hours shift too. Only when the tide is out can the tractor get to the oyster banks. It's a race against time. The tractor can only be on the mudflats for two hours before the water reclaims them. The oysters of Sylt spend the winter in basins on land because they would otherwise be destroyed by ice and storms. The variety, known as Syltaroyale, is considered unique. The water quality of the North Sea around Sylt only exists in three places in Europe at the moment, around a tip of Scotland, in an area in the Irish Sea, and here in the North Frisian Wadden Sea off the coast of Sylt. Oysters are only as good as the water they live in. A hundred years ago, there were still natural oyster banks in the waters around Sylt, but they disappeared as a result of overfishing. 25 years ago, Dittmeier's Oyster Company began experimenting with breeding them. It proved a success. Today, several million oysters are growing on the metal tables in Blitzl Bay. The oysters feed off floating particles that they filter out of the water during high tide. One million Syltaroyale are harvested every year. Even though they don't weigh as much as their French counterparts, their flavour is just as good. They're really tasty and taste a bit like baby vegetables. My nephew always says they taste like cabbage. Everyone has their own association. I think it tastes like a good Syltaroyale. The end of another day's work at the oyster reef. If you could taste the landscape, the evening atmosphere on the North Sea would also be a delicacy. This is as far north as you can go in Germany. The tip of Sylt juts out over the German-Danish mainland border. From the small harbour in List, a ferry shuttles between Germany and Denmark. Every day, the ships bring passengers from Sylt to the neighbouring island of Rømø. The bay is resting and breeding ground for thousands of migrating birds, particularly in springtime. The nature reserve is also a protected area for spotted and harbour seals. Here on the sandbanks, they raise their young in summer. Visible from afar, at 22 metres above sea level, the eastern lighthouse in List. On the west side of the headland, the surf breaks on the edge of the island. In the dunes to the west of List stands the oldest lighthouse on the German coast, the Red Cliffs of Kampen. The steep, sandy cliff face is 50 metres high, but under threat. Every year in autumn, the land retreats by a few metres under the pressure of the storm floods. To prevent the island from falling apart, the people of Sylt have developed a unique way of protecting their coastline. It takes manpower and money. If it weren't for us, sooner or later the island would divide into two parts. Maybe one day this will happen and it will be pointless to continue, but as long as we succeed with our work, we will go on. The people of Sylt simply bring back the sand the sea has claimed. Every year, millions of cubic metres of sand are pumped onto the beach through large pipes. It comes from sandbanks out in the sea. A suction excavator collects it, brings it to the coast and pumps it onto the land through the pipes. 6,000 cubic metres of sand and water are pumped onto the beach with an incredible force. This is when Hauke Roelof's work begins. In order to reconstruct the profile of the beach washed away by the storm, the sand has to be kept in motion and evenly distributed. It's a feast for the seagulls, as the sand contains worms and crabs. Thick structures aren't strong enough to withstand the waves. They break very quickly. Natural materials are the best defence. Sand is the most natural material we have. Hauke knows that the autumn storms often ruin what he spent the summer building with his bulldozer. It's a never-ending task. I live on an island and without this kind of coastal management, I probably wouldn't be able to live there anymore, so I'm doing it to preserve my home. Protecting Zoot, but only for a limited time. The Germans' most popular holiday island remains a diva in distress. Westerland is the island's centre and possibly the place with Europe's ugliest balconies. But they offer a spectacular view over the open sea. Surely one of the 13,000 wicker beach chairs set up every season must still be free. The bandstand in the shape of a mussel. Civilisation and the natural world co-exist here. Around 40 kilometres of sandy beaches attract hundreds of thousands of holidaymakers every year. The beaches are Zoot's capital, populated by nature lovers and naturists. Zoot is reputed as the island of the rich and beautiful. A house here in the dunes costs more than in any German city. In Rantum, this reputation is lived up to more than anywhere else. Thanks to Herbert Zeckler, owner of the Zanzibar, Germany's number one beach bar, a favourite hangout for the jet set. Showing what you've got is the aim of the game and the owner in the midst of it all. In the beginning, it was a lonely time here. I was all by myself for weeks. You can't imagine what this was like when you see all of this today. But I spent days and weeks here without having a single customer. A true rags-to-riches tale. At the tender age of 22, he came here as a cook. Then he bought a kiosk by the beach. From here, he created the trademark Zanzibar with several million euros. Pride is not the right word. It's more about contentment and good fortune that I'm allowed to live like this. It's a gift and I'm very lucky. When my dog looks good, that's something I'm proud of. But being able to live like I do, I call myself lucky. In summer, more than 2,000 customers come every day. Where champagne flows freely, the island is only 350 meters wide. A single storm flood could drown Herbert's dream. But he's not afraid, as he has survived many storms before. It takes time to get used to the island. When you're 20, you don't see that. It takes years to take that for granted and to realize how beautiful it is around here. How good it feels to be in the middle of nature. I think at 20, you're too young to see that. The Zanzibar. Beach bar and gourmet temple. The menu in Herbert Zeckler's restaurant is legendary. Currywurst and sushi, side by side. The menu reads like the biography of the owner. From an ordinary cook to a high society star. Even more famous than the menu is the wine list in the Zanzibar. It is inspired by the sea. The light and the atmosphere here are typical for the sea. And enjoying that with a bottle of red wine makes it even better. When he ran out of space upstairs, Herbert Zeckler built a cellar two meters beneath the sand for a wine cellar. Under the sand dunes lie rare wines with prices of up to 5,000 euros. We simply had a wooden hut. 30 years ago, nobody thought this was romantic or quaint. It was all very simple and my idea was to compensate the simplicity with the best products. Despite his success, Herbert has never forgotten how many times he failed in his life. He went bankrupt more than once and 20 years ago his bar burned down. He started from scratch every time. Zoet's southern tip. Here too, the North Sea storms eat away at the island. Instead of depositing sand, the people here have turned to concrete barriers known as tetrapods. Only time will tell what will save the island in the long run. On the side facing the Wadden Sea is Hernam Lighthouse, right above the harbour. Zoet was once a poor fishing island, but its unusual environment is now a source of income to the 20,000 people who live here, envied by many who don't. You live on Zoet? That's great, people say. Only the rich and beautiful live there. You must be really rich yourself and spend the whole day on the beach. I can't be on the beach all day because I have to work like everybody else. I can only come and enjoy the beach in the evening after work. After travelling around the world, Svenja Trautmann returned to Zoet because she felt homesick and because she wanted to help out in her father's company. For 60 years now, the Trautmann family have been manufacturing Zoet's traditional wicker beach chairs, or beach baskets as they're known. Even though machines now do a lot of the hard work, it still remains an intricate puzzle with many different processes involved. Instead of using natural reed, the company now uses plastic imitation reed material that doesn't weather. The company was founded by Svenja's grandmother. It was out of love for her that she trained as a joiner. I learned all the basics from her, and she was very fond of me. But then she became ill and couldn't be here anymore. But she was proud that somebody carried on the tradition. She always said, you are like me, and she was happy that I was so interested in it. Svenja's realm is the cloth store room, where she cuts the marquees for the beach chairs. She has a large variety from which customers can choose. It's of course difficult to get cloth that is modern and funky. In the beginning, there were three different colors, striped differently, and that was it. And now there's such a variety, because everyone wants to have his individual chair. Together with her father and six employees, Svenja produces around 50 beach chairs every month. I think it's great that I can say, my father did that, and my grandmother before him, and maybe one day my children will work here too. I think that's the best thing about it. Most of the beach chairs are sold to the mainland. But with the old company lorry, Svenja and her father deliver their work on the island as well. Business is booming. The permanent wind at the coast means the chairs are in high demand. A beach chair can weigh up to 100 kilos. Good to have a willing helper to carry the load. Generations of beach chair rental companies followed their customers like this to their chosen spot by the water. This is my small world here. I have traveled a lot and I have seen many beautiful places. But there was no place I would have moved to. Like others who migrate to South Africa, for example. I don't want to do that. Maybe that is because I have my home here, and my family, and a job I like. Taking a cut-and-run straight from the beach out onto the water. Unlimited freedom. That too is part of life on Zoot. This place is a paradise for seals. Huddled close together, they bask in the sun and raise their young here. Once they were frequently hunted, but today they have almost no enemies. It's just a short journey to Zoot's neighboring island of Fur. But it's a completely different world. Fur is the second largest island in the North Friesian Wadden Sea. The remains of floodplains from former times emerge. Up until the great floods of the Middle Ages, the floodplain shaped the entire coastline. Then the land between the islands was submerged beneath the waves. Fur is the green island in the North Friesian Wadden Sea. It was settled as long ago as the Stone Age. The Vikings set up a ring-shaped rampart as protection against the sea and enemies from outside. The one at Lembeksborg on Fur is evidence of an ancient culture on the North Friesian Islands. Nyblom, in the south of Fur. Nowhere else on the German coast are there more thatched roofs in one spot. Paul Petersen is one of the island's thatchers. Thatchers belong here. A thatched roof is a sign of coziness. Around here, it's a way of life. In the past, only poor people had thatched roofs on Fur. They harvested the reeds themselves and stuffed them into holes in the roof. Today, thatching is very expensive. Due to draining and the extensive agriculture, thatch-making material is no longer available on Fur and must be brought with ferries on the mainland. Not only on historical buildings, but also in some villages on the island, the houses must have a thatched roof by law. I usually work on small houses, but some of the houses are several hundred square meters in size. With the reeds, it doesn't matter. You can do anything with them. They're like bamboo. If you wanted to, you could even build the Eiffel Tower with them. The Hauke-Heinkork, a polder on the mainland nearby. One of the few places left in Germany where the reeds are still harvested. The reeds are cut in winter. After storing and drying them, Karl-Heinrich Petersen bundles them up in summer. He is the father of Paul, the thatcher on Fur. My father has been growing reeds as long as I can remember. As children, we were always with him. We had to help with the harvest in winter. All the other farmers' children had to help their parents harvest in summer. We had to do it in winter. Nobody knew why. That's just how it was. Paul has brought another load of reeds from his father's polder. Today, most of them are imported from Southeast Europe. But Paul is sure that his father's reeds are the best, although they are slightly more crooked. Fastening, fixing and sewing in the traditional way. Thatched roofs provide perfect insulation. In summer, they cool the house. In winter, they retain the warmth. Every day is different, as the interior is different every time. It's always a new challenge. The roofs differ. When the houses are old, the beams are sometimes askew. Then I have to compensate that with my reeds. Every day bears a new challenge. That's why I like this job. The best part of the job. When the roof has been covered, it is brought into position by tapping gently. The sun sets over the beaches of fur. On the coast, no two days are the same. At low tide, there are peculiar goings-on. The mudflats come to life. This natural spectacle occurs twice a day. In the evening, young and old meet by the sea. In contrast to zoot, many family traditions are still alive on fur. The people here are proud to be Frisian. At sunset, they make their way to the sea. Women from fur. Housewives, doctors or farmers, clad in traditional dress. We don't feel obliged to do this. We like doing it. It comes from the heart. Because it's so important to us. We've inherited some of these items. The tradition and the costume are alive on this island. They never died out like they did in so many other regions. So, Perga, I'm just going to put a knot on you. Yes, that's fine. The women speak to each other in the old language known as Fering, that's only understood here. Fering is also the name of the traditional dress. And it's the Frisian name of fur. During the day, Perga Vögens looks quite different. She is the only organic dairy farmer on fur. She earns 60 pounds. Every single one is valuable to Helga. They all have names here. This is Esau, for example. Over there, that's Glatte. I also have a Freddy, a Hanna and a Helga. And that was my husband's idea. It was such a pretty calf that he called it Helga. The farm of Helga and her husband Erik can only survive because they produce organic instead of regular milk. To me, it's like a dream come true, a job I always wanted. Of course, it's a lot of work, but there has always been farming on fur. And now there are fewer and fewer farms here. So for me, it's like keeping up a tradition and a culture here. And of course, I'm my own boss and I'm out of doors all day, working in harmony with the changing seasons. Dressing in the traditional costumes is quite a procedure. The women rely on each other's help. Putting on the bonnets and the precious silver jewellery is a time-consuming process. The charm of living history. The girls wear their full silver for the first time when they're confirmed at church. The silver dates back to the whaling days. The men brought it back if they'd been successful. They always brought one more piece, another button, and that's how the collection grew. These are the symbols of seafaring in silver, the cross, the heart and the anchor, symbolising faith, love and hope. It's only because of the wealth from whaling that these costumes became so elaborate. There haven't been any whalers on fur for a long time. Only the women in their costumes still keep their memory alive. The heyday of North Frisian seafaring is fondly remembered history. Today, the adventures of the captains are restricted to taking passengers back and forth on the local ferries. Our next destination is Amrum, the least populated of North Frisia's three large islands. Like Zote and Feu, Amrum was also once connected to the mainland. But when the glaciers melted after the last ice age, sea levels rose and over thousands of years, the island formed. Amrum has a 15km protective belt of sand, an extremely slow-moving sandbank that formed 50 years ago. Unlike Zote, where the sea washes away the coast, Amrum is growing year by year because sand is blown onto the island. Matthias Clausen loves harnessing Amrum's natural resource, the wind. I have been to many other countries, Australia, New Zealand, Fiji. But the best was here, because you can go out onto water when the wind picks up again in the evening. Matthias always wanted to become a teacher. First he taught maths, now surfing. Our beach is our capital. Its breadth is something special. And we appreciate that here on Amrum. The contrast here is so special. Parts of the islands are buzzling with activity. Other areas are quite remote. A beach party on Amrum. Matthias has rounded up his pupils for a relaxed evening on the beach. To me friends are very important. You don't have many, but I'm happy that I have a few real friends here. Even more so on an island where the number of people is limited. I went to university on the mainland. There the range was wider. It was very difficult for my wife, who came to Amrum with me, to find somebody her age and on the same wavelength. That's why I'm happy to have real friends. Only islanders are allowed to light a fire at the beach on Amrum. And only when it's calm, which is rare. The dry grass on the dunes would light up immediately by flying sparks. On the following day the traces of the evening are gone. The dunes on Amrum. Lonely and windswept. Those who want to spend their lives here need to be at peace with nature and themselves. Or have a mission. I collect the rubbish here, plastic bottles and bottle tops. I think most of the waste is thrown overboard and is washed up to the beach. Ottfried Schwarz is an artist. He cleans up the beaches in his own special way. In 1954 I started collecting wood and made a small castle from it, which grew bigger and bigger. This castle here was only a windshield in the beginning and maybe it will grow a little more over time and maybe it will get clogged with more sand. He first came here when he was 12 years old as a holidaymaker. His family stayed on Amrum and over the following years Ottfried became famous here. Many visitors come to his castle on the beach. Some are regulars. In winter Ottfried lives in Berlin as a painter and sculptor. In summer he lives in his castle. I often sleep here when the weather allows. I have everything here to make myself a coffee. And then I have fish I can put on the barbecue here. When I'm out here it's the best inspiration I have, simply sitting upstairs looking at the sea. Strictly speaking such buildings are prohibited on Amrum. But Ottfried's junk fortress has been allowed to stay for its artistic value. I wish a storm flood would destroy the castle so I could start all over again. My work is an art that decays and it's about time to make something new. Amrum's lighthouse. After Heligoland it is the tallest on the North Sea coast. Its beacon is at a height of 63 meters. Since the early seafaring days sailors have feared Amrum's sandbanks. Countless ships were sunk here in stormy nights. At low tide wrecks still emerge from the water. Out here around Amrum bank the North Sea is a wet, cold cemetery just without tombstones. The captain's tombstones in St. Clemens Cemetery on Amrum are the evidence of the danger of this coastline before the existence of lighthouses. You had landmarks during the day you could use for orientation. But once it got dark and the sun set in the west you had nothing to navigate with. Not even a small light. That was the main reason so many ships were shipwrecked here. It was the age of Amrum's beach pirates. They lit fires at night to lure the ships onto the beach and steal their cargo. The lighthouse of Amrum put a stop to that in 1875. Wolfgang Stöck is now responsible for all the beacons on the North Fisian coast. There are lighthouses and buoys here and if sailors use those and proper maritime maps they won't have any trouble navigating. The beacons let them know they are entering dangerous waters. The light from Amrum's lighthouse can be seen 43 kilometers away. Wolfgang Stöck thinks the old methods are still far superior to modern satellite navigation. Everything is done by computer these days but that dulls the senses. They have to be trained again and that can be done easily along the coast. We can use simple tools to find out where we are by determining how deep the water is, for example. And if you then take lighthouses into account too, you'll find your way home. Wolfgang Stöck doesn't just look after the lighthouses. He's also in charge of the buoys. In this area of three and a half thousand square kilometers we have 327 floating navigation aids. Among these we have around 50 light buoys which need to be looked after. Otherwise they would overgrow with barnacles and shellfish larvae. Then they would sink under the weight and become even more overgrown and so on. If we didn't do anything you wouldn't be able to see them anymore. Then it wouldn't be a navigation aid but an obstacle and we don't want that. The buoys are checked every single day. Usually Wolfgang Stöck is present when his crew do their rounds. If necessary the heavy buoys are lifted out of the water, each weighing up to 20 tons. The buoy is secured on the seafloor with a huge concrete block. Once secured it's difficult to retrieve. This buoy is in desperate need of cleaning. The iron chain which attaches the buoy to the concrete block weighs several tons. The links have been eroded by the seawater. The chain will soon have to be replaced otherwise it could break. These are my babies and I love them of course. That's part of my job and they are essential for the coast. As we depend upon them we have to take good care of them. When seafaring began thousands of years ago people looked for ways to guarantee a safe passage for ships at night. Beach fires and metal baskets with glowing coals were the first sign to use. To this day lighthouses symbolize the coast. They are romantic and invite people to dream. Even people like the engineer from the Maritime Navigation Office, Wolfgang Stöck.