I lived in Mecklenburg until 12 years ago. Then I moved to Berlin. Some people might even say I fled to Berlin. And there’s an element of truth in that. I fled from the characteristic atmosphere, the thing most visitors really like about this state: the peace, the tranquillity. But Berlin – well at least Brandenburg – borders on Mecklenburg, and if that hadn’t been the case I’m not so sure whether I would have gone to Berlin.

My sister always argues with newcomers about the pronunciation of Mecklenburg. A lot of people pronounce the first syllable very short and hard, and every time this happens she insists that the “e” should be long and open. But they find this difficult to believe and reply that there’s no logical reason, neither linguistic nor geographical. Then my sister always refers to the woman professor at the Free University in Berlin who once told her about the typical Mecklenburg “c” that lengthens the preceding vowel. And she wins the argument every time. No one has ever managed to prove her wrong.

The people on Germany’s Baltic coast are known for their perseverance, stubbornness and slowness. There’s an old Bismarck saying that seems to have stuck forever: “When the world comes to an end, I’ll go to Mecklenburg, because there the world will end 50 years later.” This is what the ageing chancellor of the German Reich, Otto von Bismarck (1815– 1898), is reputed to have said. And the people of Mecklenburg don’t mind at all; sometimes they’re even proud of it, as if it were something special.

The federal state of Mecklenburg-Western Pomerania was created in 1990. This particular constellation actually existed from 1945 to 1952 but then the East German Communist government divided it up along Soviet lines into the districts of Rostock, Schwerin and Neubrandenburg.

Mecklenburg-Western Pomerania borders on Lower Saxony and Schleswig-Holstein to the west, Brandenburg to the south, Poland to the east and the Baltic Sea to the north with 340 kilometres of coastline. Every year the white, sandy beaches attract thousands of tourists, especially on the islands of Rügen and Hiddensee and the peninsulas of Usedom and Fischland/Darss. In springtime rape fields surround the coastal roads with a sea of yellow. The landscape was shaped by the ice age, so don’t imagine it to be flat, even though the highest point of the Helpter Hills rises to just 179 metres. People even call the region between Teterow and Malchin “Mecklenburg’s Switzerland”, because to the north German way of thinking it is almost mountainous here.

The people of Mecklenburg and Western Pomerania have elected three premiers since the fall of the Wall in 1989. They came from different parties, but they were all natives of this state. Although electing a candidate from another federal state was not unthinkable, nobody ever really talked seriously about the idea. And Juri Schlünz, manager of Hansa Rostock, the only soccer team from an eastern state to play in the federal league, comes from Mecklenburg. On several occasions the club asked the former assistant manager to take up the position. But he kept refusing, because after being with the club for over 30 years, he was afraid of failing and then having to leave Rostock and Mecklenburg. It’s about a year now since he took the team under his wing and led them to their current position in the league’s top ten.

The state has only 1.7 million inhabitants, about 75 people per square kilometre. So Mecklenburg-Western Pomerania has the lowest population density of all the federal German states. That’s definitely good news for the natural environment. The 1,764 lakes between the Elbe and the Oder provide a home for cranes, herons, storks, sea eagles, lesser spotted eagles and many more rare animals and plants. The people are quiet and in earlier times belonged to the Protestant confession. But 40 years of socialism has emptied the churches. And the characteristic Low German dialect of the north is on the decline too. Hardly anyone speaks the traditional dialect of this region any more.

Even traditional regional cooking had almost died out. But now, with a bit of luck and especially where there are tourists, such dishes as Mecklenburg roast ribs or Mecklenburg jelly can be found on the menus again. Up in this area fish is served in every imaginable variation: fried, smoked, pickled, boiled or steamed. The black rye bread often contains caraway seeds. This herb is used, as throughout the whole of the north, for distilling a type of schnapps called “Köm”, but unlike the Scandinavian version “aquavit”, hardly anyone drinks it any more.

With the exception of Schwerin, Güstrow and Neubrandenburg, the important towns are situated on the Baltic coast – old Hanseatic towns originally characterized by their red brick architecture: Wismar, Rostock, Stralsund and Greifswald. They are all small. Only Rostock has a population of almost 200,000. The state capital, Schwerin, is situated 40 kilometres from the sea and about the same distance from Lübeck in Schleswig-Holstein. It is like a miniature version of the whole state. In 2003 the population was 98,000. The castle lies at the heart of the city, on a tiny island, but it is not of any architectural significance. Nevertheless, with its 365 gables and towers, the former seat of the dukes of Mecklenburg looks exactly like a child’s idea of a real castle: big and splendid, even enchanting.

But “the fairest of them all” is definitely the landscape, even though it’s worth taking a break from nature to climb to the cathedral tower in Schwerin, watch the big ships leaving port in Rostock-Warnemünde or walk around Stralsund’s medieval old town, which is still surrounded by a wall. One of the state’s celebrities, Germany’s greatest Romantic painter, Caspar David Friedrich (1774–1840), painted innumerable portraits of this landscape and in his way made it known throughout the world with such pictures as “Chalk Cliffs on Rügen” and “Sea of Ice”.

One of Germans’ favourite pastimes is lying on the beach in the sun and swimming. This passion has its roots in Mecklenburg. In 1793, at the recommendation of the duke’s personal physician, Heiligendamm was founded as the first German coastal spa town with a sanatorium. Numerous quite magnificent Neoclassical-style houses bear witness to the era. In 1996 they were sold to an investor who is now trying to turn Heiligendamm into a fashionable seaside health resort again, which will include a golf course and a Grand Hotel. The trouble is, the weather isn’t as reliable as on the Côte d’Azur. Another drawback is that Heiligendamm attracts curious locals and “normal tourists” who simply want to “have a look at the rich”. But that’s probably nothing new either. No doubt the local farmers and fisherfolk considered the sight of bathing aristocrats equally bizarre over a hundred years ago. After all, for centuries they had been accustomed to building their houses away from the sea, protected from the wind. And swimming? That would never even have entered my great-grandmother’s mind.

The writer Uwe Johnson (1934–1984) penned the most beautiful description of Mecklenburg between 1930 and 1968: “Jahrestage” – almost 2000 pages long. He came up against difficulties as a writer in the GDR and left in 1959. But his view of the federal republic had always been detached and critical as well. “Where I came from doesn’t exist any more”, says Gesine Cresspahl, the novel’s main character, during a stay in New York. And there was definitely some truth in this. Even so, Uwe Johnson spent his lifetime writing exclusively about Mecklenburg, even when he was living in America or in England. But on another occasion his Gesine also says: “The fisherfolk’s country is the most beautiful country in the world”.

And I’ll endorse that. I recommend a walk from Ahrenshoop to Wustrow along the cliffs, with the sea lying smooth and blue, or whipped up by the wind from dark grey to green. And when autumn comes the buckthorn shimmers on the cliffs with its silvery leaves and orange berries. And without realizing it, you’ve gone from Western Pomerania (Ahrenshoop) to Mecklenburg (Wustrow). When I’ve been in Berlin long enough, I escape again to the north – to the cliffs of Ahrenshoop, to the lake at Schwerin or I hop on the ferry to the island of Hiddensee. There I happily stay for a few days, simply inhaling the tranquillity – and I’m at home.

Gregor Sander