Channeling Kate McKinnon
My Very Own "Close Encounter" in Triberg, Germany
Have you ever noticed how travel stories always seem to fall into two categories? There’s the dreamy, flawless version where everything is Instagram-perfect, and then there’s my version—the one that feels like I’ve stumbled into a live-action Kate McKinnon skit. Think Saturday Night Live’s Close Encounter: everyone else is having enlightening alien abductions while I’m over here on the side of the road trying to explain directions with interpretive dance.
Welcome to my experience in Triberg.
It started when I got off the train and was greeted by... nothing. No people, no sound, just a few vague signs pointing to who-knows-where. I spotted one with a waterfall icon and thought, “This seems promising,” so I followed it.
The trail took me over a river, through the woods (yes, literally), and dumped me under a highway overpass. There, I paused to admire two incredible murals before realizing I was standing at the base of a mountain. Naturally, I did what any intrepid traveler would do—I started walking.
As I climbed, I passed a cuckoo clock shop that seemed to house every single clock ever made in the Black Forest. While tempting, the sight of eager shoppers spilling out of the store like kids on Christmas morning made me decide I didn’t need that kind of chaos in my life.
Instead, I kept moving toward the waterfalls, following signs promising a "short walk" from the town center. I have no idea what part of Triberg qualifies as the "center," but after winding through trails surrounded by moss-covered rocks and towering trees, I finally reached the cascades.
The waterfalls were stunning—just the kind of dramatic, tumbling beauty you’d expect from one of Germany’s highest falls. The best part? It was blissfully quiet, with just a handful of people enjoying the view.
On my way down, I wandered off the beaten path (read: I got lost) and found myself at a serene lake surrounded by mushrooms—every shape, size, and color you could imagine. It felt like they were everywhere, thanks to that Baader–Meinhof phenomenon where once you notice something, it’s suddenly all you see. It had been happening with mushrooms since Finland.
Following the lake’s edge eventually led me to a beautiful pink church with a copper dome and intricate geometric designs inside. This was none other than Wallfahrtskirche Maria in der Tanne, aka the Pilgrimage Church of Mary in the Fir Tree.
If you’ve ever found yourself wandering through the Black Forest, wondering what kind of magic could possibly be hiding among all those trees, let me introduce you to Wallfahrtskirche Maria in der Tanne, aka the Pilgrimage Church of Mary in the Fir Tree.
Yes, you read that right—this place owes its fame to a Virgin Mary statue chilling in a hollow fir tree. The story goes that back in the 17th century, a little girl with a nasty eye infection washed her face in water from a nearby spring and, boom, miraculous healing.
Not long after, a merchant (probably one of those "I’ve seen some stuff" types like me) survived a close call on the road, found the spring, and decided to stick a statue of Mary in the fir tree as a "thank you" note to the heavens. Naturally, people started showing up for their own divine makeovers, and the rest is Black Forest history.
As I stepped inside the church, with its lavish Baroque décor and that unmistakable air of peace, I couldn’t help but think about all the people who had come here over the centuries, carrying hopes, fears, and plenty of eye infections.
I lit a candle. My own prayer? That my boots would hold up for the rest of the trip and that I’d somehow manage to find my way back to the train station without incident. And I did—well, sort of.
Now, here’s the part where I tell you about my own pilgrimage to this sacred spot. Spoiler alert: there was no miraculous healing, but there was a miracle of sorts—I found it without getting hopelessly lost in the woods (GPS: 1, Jolene: 0). And after wandering through more winding streets and one last stop to see the world’s largest cuckoo clock (which, for the record, costs a euro to make it go “cuckoo”), I finally made it back.
So, if you’re ever in Triberg, skip the tourist traps (though the waterfalls are a must!) and make your way to this quirky little gem of a church. Whether you’re in need of healing, clarity, or just a good story to tell, Maria in der Tanne has a way of delivering the unexpected—just like any good pilgrimage should.