A trip to the Kehlsteinhaus and Obersalzberg – September 12, 2024

Kehlsteinhaus (Eagle’s Nest)

There’s a weird disconnect between knowing the historical significance of this place, the horrors and evil that were hatched here, and seeing the physical reality of it now. Most of the top party members’ houses have been demolished, with just the foundations or a sign left as a marker, and the whole area is a gorgeous stage park, filled with huge pine trees, walking and biking trails, ski lifts, and other holiday activities. The hand-paved, winding road up to the entrance tunnel has been covered with bitumen, and is open only to official traffic – with a pedestrian and bicycle track beside. When you arrive, you go through the double layers of double doors into the stone tunnel, and stand in the beautiful domed stone room waiting for the elevator. There’s a sign forbidding photographs in this room. When the elevator doors open, the shining golden interior is almost blinding. You all cram yourselves in there as close as you can get, until the operator stops any more people entering, then make the short trip up – the equivalent of 124 floors. Everyone is very quiet and solemn, a few comments on how shiny the lift is, speculation of whose job it is to polish it, surprise at how quickly the trip is over. Then the doors open and you’re in a nice room paved with tiles, trimmed with hardwood, facing the line of people already heading back down. Straight ahead, the corridor that would lead to the guard room and Hitler’s private study is roped off. To the left, glass doors lead you out onto the platform that’s the top of the foot path up (yes, you can walk it), and from which you can access the outdoor areas and path to the mountain peak. There’s no access to the lower floor.

I dressed for the cold, knowing it’s 1 824m above sea level, but didn’t expect it to be snowing enthusiastically when we arrived. This also meant that there wasn’t much to be seen of the view, a real shame because the few glimpses I did get were really impressive. Despite not being totally appropriately equipped, I headed for the mountain-head trail and climbed the many steps, stopping briefly at the summit cross, to the information panel detailing the geological points of interest of the mountain and park. The peak was further still and, shrouded in thick fog, the path surrounded by huge jagged rocks, and with the snow falling faster, I decided it was too far for me without better clothing. I made my way (very carefully) back to the house – stopping to get a photo of it from this angle – and went across the elevator foyer, and through the timber door marked Restaurant. Here I was greeted by a fairly traditional looking, timber panelled room with a bar at one end, and tables and chairs along one side. Big windows look out into the sun terrace and through its windows. I turned right and walked down a few steps into the reception room, the main space of the place, where a huge marble-surrounded fireplace immediately got my attention. Here the walls and ceiling are not covered, showing off the smooth and huge slabs of stone the place is made of, and the massive hardwood beams holding up the ceiling. Between the beams the plaster is bright white. There’s no fire in the fireplace, modern heating has been installed. The room is, I think, eight sided, with big windows set into every side not occupied by stairs, fireplace or door. It’s filled with more tables and chairs, and a souvenir stand. Turning left from the stairs I go through a heavy timber and glass door, down some more stairs, and into a smaller square room, covered in pattern-matched wood panelling. Here the big windows look out straight over the side of the mountain – sadly of course just white today. From here another door leads to the once open to the air sun terrace, which features a photo exhibit of a mix of Hitler’s personal, and official photos. There’s now glass in the huge arched openings in the wall, so it’s not freezing cold in winter. This is the part of the building made famous by Band of Brothers, where they sat on deck chairs enjoying a brief respite in the sun and the quiet.

I walk along the corridor slowly, looking at the photos and reading the description of each. Such innocuous pictures if you don’t know what you’re looking at. At the end of the corridor, a roped-off doorway to the left leads to the kitchens, bustling with activity related to the restaurant. Straight ahead, another few stairs leading through (modern) glass doors and up to the outdoor deck. Today its collection of tables and chairs are all stacked up and covered in snow. There’s another souvenir stand, and pretzel and coffee window, out here in a little timber hut. The stone wall is right up against the edge of the mountain, and all I can see below is the snow-coated tops of pine trees. A family stand here examining a photo of a relative, looking up from it to the building, back down to the photo, and debating the exact angle it was taken. I offer to take their photo in the same spot when they find the place he stood wearing his military uniform in 1945. They’re far from the only ones here for a similar reason; I’ve spotted tons of more modern military veterans, mostly US, and a few families discussing similar connections to the place. They’re all very solemn and examine the place slowly, thoroughly.

I head around the building to the left and past the entrance to the elevator foyer, this time heading down the foot path a little way to see if I can get a different angle on the entire structure. But the path drops rapidly behind the mountainside and all I can see is trees and snow and, in the base of the building, a locked door covered in stickers. I take some photos from out here but lacking any view past the thick fog, soon head back inside and into the restaurant again. I get lucky and one of the tables against a window is free, so I sit and look at how impressively thick the walls are, admire the light fixtures on the walls, and enjoy the warmth from the heater under the table. A friendly waiter comes to take my order, I ask for hot chocolate, and he goes to get it for me. I overhear another Australian (the accent stands out) talking to the other waiter, whose accent is also familiar and he soon reveals he’s Croatian. I wonder idly how he feels about working here. My hot chocolate arrives, it’s very tasty, and an American couple sit down a table quite near me. They didn’t know the Nest is all cash only (seems Hitler never installed wifi) and ask what they can get with the change they have. I offer them some more cash and they order coffee. The Croatian waiter disappears before I can catch his attention and chat with him. I finish my hot chocolate and pay, then book my departure time and join the queue for the elevator. It’s almost lunch time and the arriving groups are 3 or four times the size of the one I arrived with. It’s getting crowded and hard to move, and loud with chatter and laughter. I’m the last one allowed on the elevator for the next trip down. When we get to the bottom, the access tunnel is packed with the latest groups arriving. I head outside, hop on my bus, and go back down the mountain, marvelling again at the stone tunnels the drive takes us through.

Dokumentationszentrum (museum)

The ticket up to the Nest also gives you free entry to the Dokumentationszentrum, or museum, near Obersalzberg, where the bus returns us to. Because it is now midday, it’s pretty busy and there’s a line of people waiting to get in. Some Americans try to cut it because they “already have tickets” and ignore me when I say we have to wait anyway. They’re turned away at the door by a member of staff. I spot 3 older men in 101st Airborne bomber jackets, though they’re certainly not old enough to be the originals, Vietnam-era if I had to guess. Though I didn’t dress for the snow I did at least bring an umbrella, so stand and wait in the relative dry, only about 20 minutes until I’m through the door and putting my coats and bags in a locker (number 69, nice, and previous user left 2€ in the mechanism, score). I make my way through all of the exhibits, another place with big signs requesting no photos. Here it is again a mix of personal and official photos, some seemingly very innocuous, and some the kind you would expect given the subject matter. It’s a variety of talking about how the town became the home of the party, how the Nazi buildings were planned and constructed, and the meetings and events that happened here. There’s things like video cameras, street signs, military uniforms, keepsakes, and looted items on display. There’s no kids among the crowds.

The last area is a section of the extensive network of tunnels and bunkers that are below most of the notorious town – isolated from the rest of the bunkers that were beneath party members’ houses, some of which you can also visit from nearer the modern town, though the houses themselves have been demolished and the sites reclaimed by the forest. There’s unfinished sections, damaged areas, photos, videos, audio, and labels on the rooms of interest explaining their use and why some are so much more damaged than others. Pieces of unexploded ordnance dropped by the British and found near the entrance are also on display, as well as bullets and pieces of grenades embedded in floors, walls, ceilings, from when the Allies took the place from the Germans amidst the black smoke from the latter burning all their documents. There’s graffiti everywhere, dating from as far back as the start of construction, all the way through to modern vandalism. The Allies added plenty while they were there in the 1940s, and much of it is covered in glass panels to preserve it. The Germans shake their heads at the modern names scratched into the soot still on the walls. The route out from the bunkers is through the rubble tunnel, where earth and stone excavated from the digging was dumped in order to hide the place’s construction from prying eyes overhead, along with tools and other items discarded by the forced labourers who did the work. The voices of survivors telling their tales of working on the construction of the bunkers play as you depart.

Overall thoughts and feelings

It’s not an impressive structure, the Nest. The engineering is, for sure, especially the road up there. But it’s just a bar, a reception room and a study, with a shiny personal elevator and a great view. During winter it would have been cold and unpleasant, and on a sunny day it would have been blinding up there. It’s not even particularly eerie or scary (unless you know your history). Hitler spent about a quarter of his time in power up there, with trusted members of the party surrounding him, all living in the nearby town so they could enjoy the perks of being part of his inner circle. And now it is a restaurant. It’s a hard thing to reconcile. While I am supportive of removing the ghost of its past, and inevitable… attraction? to certain folks of a place with such an impactful history, it’s one of the few sites I have been to that no longer feels like the source of such evil works. Aside from in the sun terrace, looking at the photo displays, most people are generally cheerful and chatty and the atmosphere is one of excitement and interest (not a bad thing by any means!), unlike in the museum where the energy is very different and much more contemplative. Likewise, knowing that Obersalzberg now has ski resorts and animal refuges is… odd? Until relatively recently the only people allowed there were hardcore Nazis, their families, and invited guests (oh and forced labour, of course). Showing up uninvited was a good way to get shot – even sometimes if you were invited. Beautiful as the surrounds are, I am not sure I could live there, or go to the technical college that’s also up there now. Sure, most of the Nazi-era buildings have been razed, but I’d still know they’d been there. And the constant stream of weirdos like me going to look would ensure you could never forget. But then, I guess that is rather the point.