I hit the autobahn for Frankfurt with visions of doing 200 kph immune from prosecution -- and promptly found myself in a traffic jam.

Yes, I fear it's true. Germany's 11,000 km of Autobahnen, a motorway network second in length only to that of the United States, may commonly be perceived as a Mad Max wannabee's dream, unsullied by ticket-writing cops and speed cameras. In reality, roughly three-quarters of those 11,000 km are this summer in the grip of roadworks, noise-abatement zones and congestion.

I left at the first possible exit, thwarted and disillusioned. And there I was, by chance in the small medieval city of Ulm.

Ulm, population 190,000, sits on the Danube. Ulm's cathedral tower is the highest in the world. And, notes the local guidebook, visitors to Ulm quite often stay for 1.5 to 2 hours. There was something frank and forlorn in this sad boast. Particularly the "quite often" bit. And as for "1.5 to 2 hours"? I'd just done slightly more time covering what felt like 3 km of the autobahn.

Surely Ulm was worthy of more attention?

The next section in my guidebook, headed "Ulm Charming City At The Danube," was even more heart-wrenching. In slightly garbled English it almost apologized for Ulm's lack of tourist allure. Or at least tried to explain it: "Due to people do only have limited time, it is hard to see and experience more of Ulm than just the Cathedral and have a cup of coffee."

Flicking on through the guidebook, I found a chapter recommending places to go that were outside Ulm. The writer didn't exactly say they were more interesting. But that was the inference.

This guidebook smacks of defeatism, I felt. The author has lost faith in Ulm! Time to stop the rot and put it on the map!

I finished my cup of coffee and took a few photos of the highest cathedral tower in the world. Ten minutes in Ulm (ignoring 20 spent trying to find a parking space) had passed. I felt I was doing well. The cathedral tower is 161.1 meters high. The first stone of the cathedral was laid in 1377, but the building wasn't officially finished for another 500 years. Judging by the scaffolding, it's still work in progress.

If you're the sort of person who likes climbing things, allow 30 minutes for the ascent to the viewing platform at an altitude of 143 meters that's arrived at after scaling 768 spiral steps above Ulm's central square.

Right! Tower climbed, and cathedral visited; it was time to cast the net further.

The city walls! These overlook the Danube and are famous, in Ulm at least, because of Albrecht Berblinger. Herr Berblinger, a tailor, designed the world's first hang-glider in 1802 and announced his intention of sailing off and away over the river. A skeptical mob turned up to watch. Did he jump? Or was he kicked? Popular legend favors the latter theory. Whatever the manner of his launch, the Tailor of Ulm wiped out. Spladoosh! But his design survived the ducking and became the prototype of the hang-gliders of today. There is a replica of his machine in the Rathaus (town hall).

Einstein was born in Ulm.

That seemed a stunning enough statement to befit a paragraph all to itself.

He left relatively soon after (one year later to be precise, if one can be precise about time and space and such, though according to Einstein we can't). But this didn't stop Ulm's city elders granting him honorary citizenship. The Nazis then stepped in. Einstein's honorary citizenship was revoked.

An amusing sculpture-cum-fountain depicting Einstein as a sort of goggling snail creature physically acknowledges Ulm's greatest son. It's near the central square.

After an hour and 10 minutes of Ulm, I decided that Ulm was surprisingly action packed. There are lots of funny little details; a cannonball wedged in the wall outside a seafood restaurant (poor service? The prawns were off?), an astrological clock dating from 1520 on the Rathaus wall topped by a clock in Arabic and then a sundial in the shade just to confuse matters further. There's a bread museum. Yup, bread. In a way it makes sense, bread being of historic and current importance and central to the development of the world as we know it. It's an interesting museum and made me bread conscious. For which I thank it.

Time was passing. Three -- no, 4 hours -- were gone! And I hadn't even visited the most crooked hotel on the planet. The Guinness Book of Records awarded this accolade to the half-timbered structure of Hotel Schiefes Haus. Built in 1443, it looks as if it really wants to fall into a mill stream. Beds are elevated by supports to keep guests fairly horizontal while asleep.

Decision time. Try the autobahn again? Or drink lots of beer in the sunlit street cafe by the Rathaus with a big bowl full of stodgy Swabian spinach-stuffed pasta? Perhaps tomorrow a spot of canoeing through the center of town on the Danube?

A quick re-examination of the guidebook and a line in the back leapt out and caught my eye. That clinched it. Ulm is worth a visit, a longer stay. The author seemed finally to have regained his civic self-esteem. I saluted.

"Note: On the third Sunday of July, the people of Ulm float 10,000 lanterns down the Danube. The next day they put to river in deliberately eccentric vessels. Every four years there are waterborne jousts between oddly dressed armored fishermen."

That's one I've got to see!