Introduction

On the 13th of June, 2017, I took these photographs at the deserted Murmelbachtal minigolf complex in Wuppertal, Germany.

I discovered the site after deciding to follow a road – intriguingly named – Zur Konradswüste – To Konrad’s desert.
The road meanders through a landscape which is correctly described by the name Murmelbachtal – Murmering Brook Valley – a landscape of hills, forest and the brook running down the valley. In this context, the toponym – Konradswüste – seems like a total misnomer – no matter how long the road to it may be.

However, the mystery is solved by looking up the etymology of the word – Wüste.
Originally it meant: desolate, empty, uninhabited, abandoned or devastated.
This meaning is echoed in the link between the English words – desert – and deserted. 

According to the Wikipedia entry for Konradswüste, a farmstead is marked in this location on a map from 1715, and by 1824, this place was called Conrads Wüste. It can therefor be assumed that in the intervening century between these two dates, the farmstead, belonging to a man called Konrad, had been abandoned, devastated or become deserted.

As it turned out, I never followed the road all the way to Konradswüste. I was simply too intrigued by the Murmelbachtal minigolf complex which lay tucked away in the forest as I walked past.

An article from 2018 in the Wuppertaler Rundschau, states that the course had been neglected for some years because the council couldn’t find a lessee.
According to the same article, the complex was constructed by one Horst Schnitter in the 1960’s. Its high-point was as the venue hosting the 11th German National Minigolf Championship in 1973. The winner of that tournament was one Wolfgang Baum – averaging 27 shots over eight rounds.

According to a press release by the Wuppertal City Council three years later, vandals had significantly damaged the course – exposing asbestos that had been used in constructing the complex. The area had therefor been cordoned off to the public. Plans were to safely demolish the site and re/turn it into a green-space.

In 1995 I visited the ruins of the once great Mayan cities – Tikal and Quirigua – in Guatemala.
Tikal flourished between A.D. 300 to 800 before finally being finally abandoned around A.D 900. The dynastic rule of Quirigua lasted from A.D. 426 to A.D. 810 – the year the last hieroglyph in the city was inscribed.
For a thousand years, the cities lay covered by the tropical jungle, before being rediscovered in 1848 and 1840 respectively.

In a weird way, the ruins of the Murmelbachtal minigolf complex reminded me of Tikal and Quirigua – not least because the shape of at least one hole reminds me of a Mayan pyramid. Not least because the ruined course seemed to be slowly dissolving into the forest. Not least because the neglected, rotting eighteen holes – stripped of their familiar green carpets and manicured surroundings – were now only abstract shapes and structures – stripped of their function and hard to understand.

Only ephemera like the electronic hieroglyphs of the above-mentioned online articles, and the photographic records in this book, are a testament to what happened here between that day Wolfgang Baum won the championship, and the day – more than half-century later – when I recorded these images.

PANTA REI – πάντα ῥεῖ