Utterly Utrecht

As you may know, a good bit of my European travel over the last several years has been occasioned by pen shows.  Writing instruments in general and fountain pens in particular have been a significant part of my life for a couple decades now and responsible for some of my most enjoyable moments and best friendships, to say nothing of a new husband more recently. While I was in the US, I not only went to (probably) dozens of pens shows, but I also ran one for five years and served on the national board of the hobby association. Since crossing the pond and particularly since finding T, we have been regulars on the European circuit, where we attend annual shows in London, Hamburg, Madrid, Barcelona and Bologna, among other cities. But just this past April, we were notified of a brand new show to be held in Utrecht, the Netherlands, by THE most energetic and enthusiastic person either of us had ever met. We agreed to be among the marquee attendees and quickly made our plans to head west in early June. And we’re so glad we did.

We were not disappointed in the least. The pen show was well organized, well run, well attended, and oodles of fun to boot, with new pen friends and brisk sales. Kudos to Chaïm Bruijning together with his amazing wife Christa. But in addition to Everything Pen for several days, we had the chance to see and explore a new city, and that’s the part I’ll be writing about today.

Utrecht is situated smack dab in the middle of the Netherlands and is hence a major rail and transit point for the region. Its new train station sees more passengers annually than Amsterdam’s and that’s saying a lot. It has several universities and is a commercial and high-tech hub, with a population around 350,000 souls, many many of whom are young and fill the clubs and pubs that dot the city. But of course I start by being interested in the older history, and there’s plenty of that as well.

While Utrecht truly developed in the Middle Ages, as seen in the map above, there is evidence of Bronze Age habitation prior to the development of a Roman fort, Traiectum, which apparently denoted its location as a possible Rhine River crossing point. That name evolved into Trecht with the added leading “U” meaning “downriver.” The location of the fortress became the location of the Dom (cathedral), which is the green square in the middle of the map above, just over the small canal. The Franks turned Utrecht into a center of power for the Church and it has been known as the religious center of the country since the 8th century.

But secular me just loves to wander city streets, and here’s a shot of the entrance to the old city, taken from the point of entrance at the far right of the map above:

Oh, these little Dutch cities are just heaven. I fell in love with Leiden last June, and now I can see this will be a life-long addiction. One just strolls slowly down the medieval byways that meander along and away from the canals and enjoys the bits of life that present themselves one after another…here’s a coffee shop window that got my full and complete attention for a moment or two:

…a few steps further, a lovely family waits for a shopper to finish her errands:

The canals themselves are charming and form an integral part of the urban landscape…and along this one in particular I spotted what I believe to have been a…Hijab Hen Fest, a group of Muslim women celebrating the engagement or wedding of one of their party, with significant help from their mobile devices, of course:

Here’s a Swatch store in what apparently had been a butcher shop in former times…if you can make out the writing over the door:

…and of course we dipped into the Dom to see if we could sense the leylines that we had been told ran through the site. Here T is boning up on his ecclesiastical knowledge and seeing firsthand the impact of the Reformation on the high arts in situ:

But for good or ill, Utrecht is not just a medieval village. Time marches on, and so does good and bad architecture. In the period of the 1960s or so, there was a movement to modernize the city, paving over some canals and building some new neighborhoods which, to my eye, are an acquired taste. Here’s an example along with some canal-side animal art that appears to have an environmental and recycling theme:

The railroad station, mentioned above, has a most delightful feature that helps travelers recharge their phones and connect with their Inner Child all at the same time:

Speaking of kids, I was charmed and enchanted that our hotel had separate bathrooms….just for them. I tried to put my child molestation fears to rest for just a brief moment and to enjoy the sheer whimsy and thoughtfulness of the idea. The doors are to scale, but I can’t figure out a way to show that, so you’ll just have to take my word for it:

And of course it wouldn’t be the Netherlands if it weren’t for bikes, so many bikes that I spent a good bit of my time shrieking and trying to stay out of their way as they zipped around the city in and among the pedestrians as well as in their own lanes. Here’s a art gallery that obviously attracts a few peddlers…

…so finally I’ll leave you with my attempt to create a modern Vermeer shot of the long lovely summer evening that we enjoyed before returning to Berlin:

Farewell, Utrecht for now…I can’t wait to return…and to explore more of your welcoming land.

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A slice of Schwerin

I was fortunate that my good friend K recently invited M and me to go visit our friend U in Schwerin, giving us a chance to see the famous castle there and take a turn around the historic small town. It was May Day, a public holiday in Germany and most of Europe, celebrating the return of spring (tick-tock, still waiting!) and workers’ rights. It struck us as not a bit ironic to be walking through the former home of royalty on the day that celebrated the common man and woman, but what the heck, history is nothing if not ironic. In addition, Schwerin had the benefit of being a town we didn’t know well as well as the capital of the state of Mecklenburg-Vorpommern which runs runs along the Baltic Sea in the northeastern corner of the country – Angela Merkel territory.

That being said, Schwerin is most known for its castle, sometimes called the “Neuschwanstein of the North.” Located on a lake and looking from the outside like something you might find in a Tim Burton film, the castle dates back in its earliest incarnation to roughly the 10th century, although it assumed the beginnings of its current Dutch Renaissance form in the 17th century. Here we are preparing to enter and start our exploration:

Searching for history, as well as a bit of central heating.

For most of German history, of course, Germany wasn’t even a country. Rather, it was a confederation of nearly 40 sovereign states, the leaders of which were at each other’s throats a good deal of the time. As a result, the country is chock-a-block full of castles that, unlike my childhood fantasies of princesses and happily ever after, served as strongholds to defend and protect a range of very competing interests. The Dukes of Mecklenburg were particularly unsuccessful during a good deal of their history (you haven’t heard much of them, have you now?), and as a result this castle seems to express its inferiority complex in the way some people sport expensive watches and fast cars. Here, for example, is the throne room:

Behind me as I took this shot turned out to be one of the first examples of indoor heating in a building of this type (located in the throne room, naturally, to keep a chill off the Royal Bum). Behold the first imperial radiator:

I won’t bore you with too many of the features of the building itself (except to say that it is definitely worth a look if you are there – some amazing craftsmanship, beautiful porcelain, and a great gun collection), but I will share the most interesting living art I saw that day. Speaking of Tim Burton, this fellow visitor looks ready for Halloween and wouldn’t go amiss in Seattle or Berlin. Nothing wrong this his parenting skills, though – he had two smalls under excellent and loving control.

Here’s a external shot of the building, complete with a view into a lower-level garden and restaurant. IMHO, the decorative effects are a bit overwhelming:

In addition to its function as a nearly-restored historic castle, this edifice has a modern life as the seat of the state assembly (Landstag). That end of the building has been massively restored to contemporary standards and houses a state-of-the art assembly forum and assorted support offices. Here’s an arty shot of the staircase:

And located near the formal meeting rooms, I was charmed by the inside smoking accommodation, complete with air filtration, thoughtfully provided for those hard-working public servants who have not been able to overcome their addiction to the Evil Weed:

Hanging not far away one spots a huge mural with a cautionary theme as to the results of not playing so nicely on the world stage. No wonder the parliamentarians are still smoking.

Once we had completed our walk through the castle, we wandered into the center for a stroll and little nosh. En route we passed this remnant of the old town, a building which really does challenge one to pick it up and put it in your pocket. (The man in the lower left must either be geocaching or maybe just really likes manhole covers.)

U, who comes from Schwerin, took us to a charming bistro on the edge of the lake for lunch. After a great meal and once outside the restaurant, I spotted this lovely little statue evidencing sibling concern. You have to look closely to get the idea, but ‘it’s actually raining under the umbrella.’ The darker damper circle surrounding the children’s feet gives you a clue:

Finally, since it was May Day, we couldn’t leave town without passing by the small demonstration taking place in the Platz by the cathedral (I’ll spare you, but it’s the biggest and oldest building in town, dating from 1160). The red signs represent the trade unionists who, like most of the parties at the moment (as far as I can tell) support a strong Europe with democratic principles. How you do this, exactly, is currently subject to a lot of discussion and disagreement, no surprise.

On our way back to Berlin, K, M, and I decided to follow the “road not taken,” forgoing the Autobahn and speeds which make me dizzy in favor of wending our way through some of the dozens of little hamlets dotting the northern German landscape. (I learned K hasn’t met a church steeple he doesn’t want to know better.) It was a beautiful early spring day and we feasted our eyes on the golden fields of canola and bright green ones of budding crops. Yet again I want to express my gratitude for this chapter of my life and for the wonderful people I get to share it with. Stay tuned for the next adventure.

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Plucky Bydgoszcz

So now I’m clueing you into my new travel dilemma. (And aren’t I the lucky one to have this at the top of my list?) I’m looking to find and explore cities in Europe that 1.) are not tourist Disneylands filled with cheap international chain stores and hordes of tourists carrying selfie sticks and eating in restaurants with English menus or 2.) zombie towns that have been painstaking restored but which haven’t found their new life yet and sit in ornate and reconstituted splendor with only the cats for company. No, I want to find cities, real places, small and large, who are still “themselves,” still places where real people live and work and hang out in the town center and the language is still theirs and they are holding on to their souls and THEN they invite the tourists to come and share the place with them. Vilnius falls into this category, or at least it did when I visited in 2015, and now I’ve decided to Go East and see how Poland is managing this conundrum.

I bumped into the idea of going to Bydgoszcz (pronounced, as far as I can hear and tell as “BID-de-goshcht) by reading a teachers’ forum on eslcafe.com, a great place to hear folks talk about places small and large, known and remote around the world. Bydgoszcz came up as a place where someone could accept a nine-month contract and not go quietly insane in a matter of weeks from teaching in an isolated little burg. I did a quick Wiki check and learned that it had a university and a Philharmonic, that it had recently overhauled its small museum complex, and that it had a rich and diverse architectural heritage. That, and the train and hotel being cheap, was basically all it took, and away I went.

Once off the train, I made my way to my crib for the weekend, a lovely Belle Epoque structure near the center of town originally built in 1887. The new owners have tenderly restored the property in just a slightly over-the-top style, but my room was cozy, the restaurant delicious and under-priced, and the staff welcoming and more than helpful:

Because of its location in the Kuyavian-Pomeranian Voivodeship, Bydgoszcz has a complicated history. Kuyavia is a historic area in Poland with a history dating back millenia and including a famous history of cheese. Pomerania is the area to the north of Kuyavia and includes Gdansk and Szczecin, about which I wrote in December. I only knew it as a place that named a dog, but I have subsequently learned that both areas have gone back and forth, back and forth, between Poland (when it was functioning) and Prussia/Germany (when it wasn’t), resulting in a marvelous Slavic/Germanic mix that permeates a number of places in the region. The “hero” of Bydgoszcz is Kasimir the Great who granted Bydgoszcz civic rights in 1346 and set it on the road to whatever fame and fortune it has been able to achieve:

The next significant events in Bydgoszcz were “the Swedish deluges” in the 1620s and 1650s when the city was basically blown to bits by the retreating Swedes during the Polish-Swedish Wars (marble columns were recently found in the river during a drought-ish summer) and then the devastating effects of the plague. (Enough to keep everyone home with Netflix and MREs, IMHO.) But Bydgoszcz picked itself up and moved on.  A century or so later it was acquired by Prussia and renamed “Bromberg.” The pragmatic Prussians, understanding Bydgoszcz’s strategic location in terms of transportation of goods through the region, initiated a series of canals connecting the rivers surrounding the city and making it an immediate hub for commerce. Here’s a shot of the medieval city in bronze:

The main section of the “new” city extends north from the island seen above – the castle to the right was destroyed by the Swedes and has basically stayed destroyed ever since.

So under Prussian “inspiration,” Bydgoszcz became a forward way-station for the development and transport of goods and services through the region, known particularly for its granaries, one of which is in the process of becoming a whole exhibit itself on the history of water and waterworks in the region. Trying to get into the aquatic spirit of it all, I was completely charmed by a local fisherman and his avian assistant. (The quality of the photo is a bit grainy because I took it at a distance and had to enlarge:)

But what completely won my heart was the set of amazing small museums that Bydgoszcz has developed recently – a stunning set of historical “gems” that help visitors understand this city’s history and contributions to the region. In the small but incredibly well developed archeological museum on Mill Island, one can learn about centuries of history here, including the fascinating (for me) fact that during the early middle ages, people hung bones just inside the door to ensure the inhabitants’ well-being. Here’s a typical home of the time and place:

Nearby is a coin museum (I didn’t have time to visit) and a beautiful house filled with art in commemoration of the artist Leon Wyczolkowski. Now, I didn’t know this guy from Adam, but *wow,* is he great. Google him. Just do it. Here’s an arty portrayal from one of the rooms of the exhibition:

And nearby here was one of the most wonderful modern art museums I have ever seen (oh, and did I mention these places all cost about 1.00 USD each, less if you are old like me?) I would say the downside of this particular place was that….in an incredibly uncomfortably remnant of the old Commie times, a bored old man accompanies you through the museum, unlocking doors, turning lights on and off, and basically making you feel like a nuisance and sending the message that you better be quick about it. Amid a number of masterpieces I have never seen before (but thankfully I bought the book), I saw this tribute to our own Martin Luther King. Wasn’t expecting that:

I’m sorry that since I wasn’t supposed to take pictures I didn’t manage to capture the artist. But it was lovely to see MLK here, and fascinating to learn that he had inspired someone in the neighborhood.

And finally, in the spirit of museum trolling, I discovered….the Museum of Dirt and Soap! Now this venue truly captured my heart because my great-grandfather, a German immigrant to Milwaukee from Ulm, Germany, was a soap manufacturer of some note. It’s a dirty job, soap, actually, lye and ash in the old days, and this little museum offered a rather amazing hour tour to educate visitors on the whole problem of dirt and its removal throughout much of recorded history. They start you off, cleverly enough, with a quick hands-on soap-making lesson, the product of which is proudly presented to you on your departure from the premises. Here are my two fellow tourees engaged in the process:

A little further on, the same brave lass volunteered to demonstrate washing techniques under the watchful eye of our enthusiastic guide:

As I headed to the train station for my ride back, I walked through the in-process re-furbishing of the town square and over the recently renovated pedestrian bridge, connecting the old town center with the rest of the city. Holding his own across the waterway was this intriguing acrobat:

…and across the bridge from the water walker, was an exhibit reminding one and all of where Bydgoszcz stood in the fight for Polish independence:

An inspiring shot of Lech Walesa speaking to what looks like the entire population of the city, and now a photo from 1981 that continues to inform the city and its visitors.

I dipped into the Basilica on my last stop – I was fascinated to learn it was built on the model of the Pantheon in Rome, that complicated and compelling homage to Roman pagan civilization and later the power of the Christian Church. But what I found most endearing of all is that the Basilica, in an effort to give everyone something to take away, offered a “fortune cookie” bowl of scripture lessons to visitors young and old:

Of course I took one! My scripture fortune was Ephesians 5:19, which reads, more or less, in the King James version:

“Speaking to yourselves in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing and making melody in your heart to the Lord.”

And I’ll take that to the good. Time to join a choir, me thinks.

So ends my most recent trip to Poland; stay tuned for Katowice, coming up soon.

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Görlitz, the Sleeping Beauty of Silesia

Last week was an interesting confluence of the spring equinox and a full “Worm” moon, so named because of the thawing earth bringing the reappearance of earthworms and hence the robins. Well, it certainly thawed me out and put me in mind of a ramble. And since, apropos of my last blog posting, I wanted to find a place to explore that hadn’t become the Disneyland consumer mall version of its former civic self, I figured I would have more luck sniffing around in the municipalities of the old East Germany. A “Top Ten Prettiest Cities” list had drawn my attention to Görlitz, located just at the Polish border in the southeastern corner of Germany.  Since trains were frequent and cheap to that destination, off I set, expecting an easy day trip and home for supper.

But the mysteries started before I even reached Cottbus, the half-way and train transfer point of my journey. Around there I began seeing town names with odd translations, seemingly Slavic, but nowhere never the Polish border. Consider this example:

“Odd,” sez I. Hmmm. Turns out….the region between Berlin and Görlitz, roughly 220 kilometers or 132 miles is, in addition to being the biosphere known as the Spreewald, is also the ancient region of Lusatia (Lausitz in German, Łužica in one of the local dialects), the home territory of a western Slavic tribe known either as the Sorbs or the Wends that populated this part of Germany starting in the 6th century or so. Although their physical geography swapped rulers like baseball cards over the centuries, today the peoples of Lusatia have to content themselves with cultural rights and the protection of both dialects as minority languages in Germany. (There’s even a bilingual high school in Cottbus.)

If that weren’t good enough, coming to Görlitz, the first thing I noticed was the town is actually…divided into two by a river – and a national border – and obviously one side got the better deal:

The city was unified until 1945 when the borders for Germany and Poland were redrawn and the Neisse River was thriftily used as a metric right about here. The fact that it divided a formerly thriving metropolis was just collateral damage.

First and foremost, Görlitz is gorgeous, drop-dead gorgeous. It’s also….oddly empty, at least big parts of it, for seemingly much of the time. The current population is around 56,000 souls, but the physical footprint and height of most buildings appear to be able to hold considerably more. Although millions of Euros were spent in the 1990s for renovation of stunning architecture, it seems so far, at least, to be a case of “If we build it, they may or may not come.” Of course there’s a story, but let me share some of the pictures and history. Here’s a picture of a cafe on the Rathaus (City Hall) plaza, the center of the Altstadt (Old Town) and some of the lovely Baroque buildings:

Here’s a charming street scene showing some fully renovated buildings and some that just wanted to keep a bit of patina, as it were:

You can start to see why many movie companies have chosen to use this little burg as the site for their shooting. Görlitz was used for Tarantino’s Inglourious Basterds (where it stood in for Sicily), The Book Thief, The Reader, and even The Grand Budapest Hotel, where an actual Jugendstil department store, standing empty, was redecorated to serve as the hotel itself. (Must have been, ahem, glourious.)  I really wanted to see inside this particular building, but it was locked, like the cathedral, and here’s all I can offer:

…so as compensation, a posting I found this invitation on one of the windows, along with a shadowy representation of a photo-bombing blogger:

But before I could get too depressed, I briskly took myself off to walk more of the city streets to try to recapture some of the magic. I spied this intriguing mural gracing a less-than-stellar piece of architecture:

and not far away…

…I found these fine fellows guarding the modern pedestrian bridge that links the two cities and the two countries. I walked across myself to see if any buzzers would go off, alarms would sound, anything at all would happen, and of course, just crickets. I did, however, see the first free-range cat that I’ve seen anywhere in months. It scurried away before I could record the fact.

It was starting to get a little cool and dark and I thought about running for the train, and then I said to myself, “What’s the rush?” The city was asking far more questions than it it was answering, and I wanted to learn more. I marched into the most expensive hotel in town (thanks, Expedia) and learned it would be 50 euros to stay in a nice room with a nice view and enjoy a nice breakfast the next morning. So I did.

After I was sufficiently caffeinated, off I went to the local museum, which was absolutely wonderful, if a bit of a linguistic Pilates session since the information was only presented in German and Polish. And then the nickel started to drop, big time.

BESIDES being….currently German, on the edge of the Lusatia region AND a border town with Poland just north of the Czech Republic, Görlitz historically has identified itself with…Silesia. Right. I wracked my brain, huge repository of useless facts that it is, and managed to come up with one word. “Coal.” That was it. “Silesian coal mines,” my brain repeated, trying to be helpful. Clearly I needed more help to understand the situation.

Like Galicia, Ruitania, and Bessarabia, Silesia lives at the edge of my knowledge and understanding as the name of a piece of long-gone political flotsam and jetsam of the 20th century.  Short answer – Silesia is a historic region in the middle of Europe. But unlike in other blog posts, even after a quick scan of Wiki I’m not even going to try to summarize the history – it’s just way too complicated and convoluted to be believed. (Look it up if you are interested.)

Here’s a map from 1770 that gives you a quick overview including the location of the major players in the region and that should help a bit. First, find the dark blue blob in the middle. That’s Silesia (Schlesien), wedged between Poland on the right, the Czech Republic (Austro-Hungarian Empire) on the south and west, German Saxony on the direct west, and German Prussia on the northwest. Görlitz is located at the tip of the “nose” of the blue blob sticking into Taupe Sachen, just where you see the river coming south from Prussia.

You are here.

Silesia is rich in natural and mineral resources, hence its unending source of attraction (and desire for control) for the major powers around it. Its historic political and cultural “capital” is Wroclaw (German: Breslau), a lovely city I visited four years ago, and its major population center now is Katowice, a city hosting a pen show in a few weeks that I plan to attend with my best fella. The museum was chock-a-block of the usual stuff of good little museums – paintings, swords, statues, ceramic, maps, photographs. Since I shared the river geese and the wall horse with you, now it’s time for the museum chicken, symbolic of the wealth and high degree of craft that the region exhibited:

The museum building itself (the Schönhof ) was marvelous  – a masterful renovation of the oldest Renaissance building in the city that dates from 1526. Here’s a shot of a time when perhaps architecture was less important to daily life and the chickens were served on plates, not hung in cases. Like much of the rest of the city, the buildings were in quite bad repair by the time of German reunification (war, depression, war, DDR) and it was a matter of great civic and personal significance to the inhabitants that these buildings were restored.

A good museum always drives a powerful thirst, but sadly there was no convenient artsy bistro next door this time. So I hoofed around town some more, shocked to find that very few places in town served beer before 6:00 pm (are you sure this place is in Germany?). Turns out Görlitz is more of a “Kaffee und Kuchen” kind of place, and since that’s not my thing, I kept looking until I found the Altstadt Cafe, where actual humans (haven’t been many of those) were enjoying the sun and suds:

…and speaking of suds, on my way to the train station, I wandered past this interesting piece of urban art, hopefully soon to be returned to his summertime aquatic glory:

So, a captivating town in a region with a long and complicated history, now restored and renovated to perfection…will he come to kiss the Princess, awaken her from her slumber, and allow her to to take her throne on the European stage again? Perhaps the only thing worse that a beautiful old town filled with tourists and chain stores is …a beautiful old town…with no one to enjoy it. I hope that changes soon.

Posted in Germany | Tagged | 6 Comments

Hints of Heidelberg and Happy Trails

As some of you know, I spent a fair bit of my youth tucked away in rural southern California on the Mojave Desert. There’s a back story, of course, but what’s relevant here is that my little burg sported a museum completely dedicated to Roy Rogers and Dale Evans. For those of you too young to remember, Roy and  Dale were the stars of “The Roy Rogers Show,” a Western cowboy program that ran for nearly 20 years on radio and TV. The museum, housed in a former bowling alley, featured loads of memorabilia from the pair’s personal and professional histories. Most striking of all, for me at least, was the incarnation of Roy’s faithful horse, Trigger, professionally stuffed and rearing mightily over the foyer.

So what’s Trigger in a bowling alley got to do with Heidelberg, you might ask. And well you should. As I travel around Europe, especially as I visit cities that have been designated UNESCO World Heritage sites or have similar amazing historical centers, it seems to me that many of those places have sacrificed their civic vitality in return for….becoming a kind of cultural Disneyland. This is a longer topic, one I hope to explore in the future, but now after having seen, among others, Heidelberg, Lübeck, Bath, Avignon, Cesky Krumlov, Riga, and even Prague, literally turned into beautifully restored, maintained and illuminated…stages for selfies and curio shops for hordes of tourists, it does give me pause. The places have survived and apparently are thriving, but not as organic day-to-day centers for normal citizens but as highly curated “experiences” for paying guests (including me, I assume). More later on this.

Anyhoo, I headed to Heidelberg last week because the local chapter of Democrats Abroad was hosting the annual meeting of DA-Germany AND that gave me a chance to see a city I had hoped to visit for a long time. Upon my arrival, I headed to my hotel located in the heart of the Altstadt and chanced to see this very lovely night shot of the Heidelberger Schloss (Castle), initially constructed around the year 1300:

So, “stuffed city” or not, doesn’t that image just get you all fired up to explore the town and learn more about its history? Of course it does, and first thing the next morning, after a hearty breakfast, I set off to do just that.

Heidelberg has a ridiculously long and fascinating history. Some of the earliest evidence of human life in Europe, the jaw of “Heidelberg Man” from somewhere between 60,000-200,000 BCE, was found in the area, according to Wiki. Evidence of a Celtic fortress of refuge and worship dates from 500 BCE, the Romans had a fort in the area, the Byzantines wandered through, and the town as we currently know it dates pretty firmly from about 500 CE.  Although the area saw a lot of Catholic abbeys after its Christian conversion, Heidelberg actually became one of the most contested regions for the fierce fights between the Lutheran and Calvinists in the 15th and 16th centuries (Protestants in the ring, hard to picture.) The university is Germany’s oldest and the pedestrian walking street, now home to an excessive number of global brands, is Germany’s longest.

After a good deal of huffing and puffing (the funicular was not working due to routine maintenance), I found myself at the castle grounds with this lovely view of the Altstadt and the Neckar river:

…and here’s a painting with a similar view, the “Hortus Palatinus und Heidelberger Schloss”  painted by Jacques Forquiere, a Flemish landscape painter, sometime before 1620. This garden, the first in the renaissance style north of the Alps and later lauded as “the eighth wonder of the world,” never quite achieved the goal of the painting, even though the engineer Salomon de Caus worked great wonders.

Back down at sea level, the view of the castle, a renaissance structure demolished in the 17th and 18th centuries and never totally rebuilt, still inspires:

But then it was time to head off to Significant Local Venues. On my way to the historical museum, I literally stumbled (damn those cobblestone streets) into the Documentation and Cultural Centre for the German Sinti and Roma. As you may know, in addition to Jews and other discriminated groups, the Nazis also performed an extermination campaign against the Sinti and Roma peoples of Germany, known often and incorrectly as Gypsies. Opened in 1997, “the Centre sees itself as a museum for contemporary history and a site of historical remembrance.” Their task is “to document the 600-year-old history of the Sinti and Roma in Germany, focusing on the crimes of genocide perpetrated by the Nazis, crimes that have been repressed from public consciousness for decades now.”

As with all places of remembrance, this was not an easy place to visit. The front desk requested that no photographs be taken, so I have to content myself with showing you the sign at the entrance to the building. It was a moving experience, a reminder, yet again, of the price of intolerance.

…and speaking of Holocaust and assorted themes, here’s a shot of the old Heidelberg Synagogue (or what’s left of it – the white lines indicate the walls of the original building) following the events of November, 1938:

Okay, respect paid, keep going. The local historical museum offered this fascinating insight into the amusements of the rich and famous. Here is a portrait of Perkeo (an abbreviation of “Perche no? for the Salerno-born Clemens Pankert), the dwarf-jester in charge of the largest wine barrel in the world, the Great Heidelberg Tun (Grosses Fass), located in the basement of the castle. Weren’t you supposed to see a pink *elephant* with that much juice?

Assssk and ye shall receive…

According to legend, Perkeo lived happily into his eighties “drinking only wine when one day he got ill and the town doctor had him drink water. He died the next day.” Jus’ saying. Watch out, TW…

Heading back to my hotel, I ran into perhaps the most hopeful sign of any I saw on this trip – a march and protest for  “Fridays for the Future.” Every Friday, many European school children of all ages leave their classes and protest for action against climate change. Bless their hearts – and lord give them strength and patience for the fight:

I’m going to try to find out where they march and protest in Berlin – the least I can do is go and clap like hell. Maybe they’ll even let me march as well.

Okay, so I really was supposed to be in Heidelberg for the Dems Abroad Annual meeting. I made it, at least for a few hours. Here’s a shot of Sherry, a pistol if ever there were one, making a pitch for her ERA buttons. No kidding, it really is a disgrace that the ERA didn’t pass in Virginia – the damn thing was ratified nationally *100 years ago,* but we’re still fighting in the states. C’mon now, y’all; let’s get this done.

…and then on my way to the train station after the final gavel fell, what the dickens did I see – but a very interesting Tee-shirt store. I think this message  may actually have had merit – but only up and until the Brexit vote, when our British brethren drank the same damn Koolaid that infected our recent national election. Interesting to consider nonetheless – maybe this is Europe’s actual perspective…

So there you have a snippet of Heidelberg, and as I head to Bamberg and another fossilized Altstadt and World Heritage site, I leave you with a bit of Roy and Dale. Extra points if you remember the melody:

Happy trails to you, until we meet again
Happy trails to you, keep smilin’ until then
Who cares about the clouds when we’re together?
Just sing a song and bring the sunny weather
Happy trails to you, ’till we meet again…..

Posted in Germany, Uncategorized | Tagged | 2 Comments

Lost worlds…

The muse has been a bit quiet of late, a victim of the winter introversion that grips much of Northern Europe this time of year. But a sudden burst of energy this afternoon inspires me to finally share with you some of the highlights of my brief trip through Rome over the holidays to visit friends and family. A social occasion was cancelled one day leaving me free to my own devices, which usually means a long ramble through Parts Unknown. I had left the hotel and had just wandered through the old Jewish Quarter of Rome near Synagogue when I stumbled upon this curious pile of rock:

“Hmmm,” sez I, “There seems to be a bit missing here.” And indeed there was and is. It appears this bit of the Porticus Octaviae, the Portico of Octavia built by the Emperor Augustus sometime around 30 CE for his sister, is in the process of being renovated and most of it is simply missing at the moment, at the spa, as it were, for refreshment. This edifice, originally designated for the worship of Saturn, was destroyed by an earthquake in 442 and later built upon into a church in 770. Falling on hard times, the complex served as a fish market in the Middle Ages and up through the 19th century. Sic transit gloria pescheria…

This bit of ruin started me musing about the role of recycling, as it were, in the history of Rome, and perhaps in the history of all cities of long standing. Building supplies always being heavy, expensive, and probably in short supply, it’s only reasonable that thrifty and hardworking urban architects and builders have used the resources available to them, no matter their origin or initial intent. Here’s another example nearby:

You see this kind of thing all over Rome, and indeed all over Italy…older edifices being extended and expanded to allow for modern needs. Quite cool, actually.

The next stop on the trail was a trip to the Museo di Roma, across the street from where I was staying (I recommend the Hotel Damaso, by the way). As an interesting expansion of the above topic, included among the collections of columns and sarcophagi was a series of photographs explaining how Rome had dug up a significant portion of the city in the early 20th century trying to bring the miracles of modern civilization to this most ancient civic venue. In the process of years of massive land moving, loads of artifacts from centuries past had come to light, and it took a veritable army of archeologists to try and keep up with the discoveries. Here’s a photo of Rome on the operating table, as it were, in the early 20th century:

….and another grand shot, just because I like it, of the early days of driving in the Eternal City…

Much of the material uncovered during those renovations has formed the bases of many museums in town and even around the world, but what an amazing treasure hunt it must have been during those years, and how sad to think of what might have been lost or damaged unintentionally as “collateral damage” in the installation of plumbing and electricity. Here’s one relic that turned up in the rubble. a bishop literally consigned to the dustbin of history from his former glory gracing a cathedral:

Rather indignant

Near this exhibit of historic ruins was another display, this one photographic, of the development of post-war Italy from 1946-1961. Little was I aware that this was an astonishingly important and dynamic decade and a half in the country’s history, catapulting Italy from rubble to a vibrant modern economy, a process which, sadly, has not been sustained at the same level of intensity. Here’s a shot of the pride of the Italians in the first grim days after the end of the Second World War:

“We are against the comfortable life.”

Thankfully, this oddly Puritanical streak was short-lived. Here to make sure La Dolce Vita returned as quickly as possible to the shores of his family’s birth, the former (1933-1945) mayor of New York City, Fiorello H. La Guardia distributes refugee aid (and blessings, apparently) in his role as director general for the United Nations Relief and Rehabilitation Administration. This is a photo from 1946; he died the following year at the age of 64. A crowning achievement to an impressive career of public service.

….and here’s perhaps one of the coolest photos I’ve ever seen, just from the perspective of star power….one Italian cinema’s most enduring objects of fascination finding herself gobsmacked at the day’s news…

“Man in Space”

After all this history and upheaval, I truly thought I was done for the day with only a half an hour or so before the evening appointment. To my surprise, I then stumbled, literally (all those cobblestones) into yet another surprising exhibit, this across the street from the Museo di Roma (and directly next to my hotel, if you’re paying attention):

“The Jewish Museum of Rome and the Museo di Scultura Antica Giovanni Barracco host Ludwig Pollak: Archeologo e mercante d’arte (Praga 1868 – Auschwitz 1943), an exhibition of antiques and archive material relating to the esteemed archaeologist and art dealer Ludwig Pollak. The exhibition marks the 150th anniversary of Pollak’s birth, in Prague in 1868, as well as the 80th anniversary of Italy’s racial laws, promulgated by the fascist regime to enforce racial discrimination, mainly against Italy’s Jews. Pollak is best remembered for important archaeological finds, including his extraordinary discovery in 1906 of the missing Laocoön arm which he donated to the Vatican. However Pollak’s celebrated career came to a tragic end on 16 October 1943 when he and his family were among the 1023 Jews rounded up in Rome’s Ghetto district and deported to Auschwitz concentration camp, where he perished.”

Having earlier that day visited the self-same ghetto, the day was beginning to have a curiously circular and thematic quality to it (Jews, archeology, lost worlds), so of course I had to see as much as possible of this next amazing display in the time I had left. Here’s a portrait of the man in question:

A knowing gaze

Pollak was born in Prague in 1868 and was himself the director of Museo Barracco di Scultura Antica, hence the exhibit this year of his life in the very museum where he spent a good deal of his professional life. The building itself is small, a former Roman home transformed into a gem of a museum, and features a range of fine pieces of Greek, Roman, Etruscan, and other ancient artifacts. I found the personal elements of Pollak’s life more interesting, I am ashamed to admit, but offer by way of example this shot of his Rome apartment, obviously chock-a-block filled with his favorite historic bits and pieces:

Hard to dust

No, you’re not losing your mind and there’s nothing wrong with your monitor, The colored piece indicates that the picture itself was part of the exhibit, and indeed it was. Finally, I was gripped by, for some reason, and have to share with you this photo of Pollak’s friend and fellow art lover, Sigmund Freud with his two sons, Ernst and Martin (or Oliver), who all served in the Austrian army during the first World War. Here they are with Dad on a rare leave from the front. Happily I can report they all returned home more or less in one piece.

A final shot…here a comparison of the city of Palmyra in Syria, on display in the exhibit since some of the artifacts in the museum had come from there. Above is the city as it had stood since the first or second millennium BCE until the 21st century, a beacon of learning and tolerance in the region, and below as the Islamic State left it after intentional destruction in 2015. Sigh.

I left the exhibit, as you can imagine, both fascinated and sad. Such a beautiful day, filled with discovery, wistfulness, regret, and yet occasionally of hope and humor. How much I love this life of travel, exploration, and learning….and how grateful I am to be able to share it with you.

Posted in Italy | Tagged , | 5 Comments

Searching for Szczecin

Indeed it’s been a while since I’ve set out to explore a new part of the world (or at least, new to me). So when T and I had a few days free recently, we made a wild impetuous decision to spend a weekend in….Szczecin, Poland.

Besides its nearly impossible pronunciation (something like “shtetshin,” similar to its name during German days, Stettin) and historic interest, Szczecin had the benefit of proximity (two hours by regional train) and cost. We booked a room in the fanciest digs in town and paid about half of what a boring hotel chain might cost in a standard German city. So with no expectations besides novelty, we hopped on the train and set forth.

Short snippet o’ history here: along with Gdansk (Danzig), Wroclow (Breslau), Poznan (Posen), Klapeida (Memel) and others, Szczecin inhabits a slice of territory that has gone back and forth between Germany and Poland for nigh on close to a thousand years and has as long and complicated a history as any city you can name. Until the start of the Second World War, the city had been a thriving port and industrial center with somewhere in the neighborhood of a half million inhabitants. Allied air raids in 1944 destroyed about 65 percent of the city, and when it was transferred to Polish control a year or so later, those 400,000 inhabitants were forciably expelled, leaving only about 25,000 hungry souls still in residence. Dislocated Poles and Ukrainians from other parts of Europe were rapidly resettled in Szczecin and rebuilt the city, but of course, on a very low budget and with pressing time constraints.

Which is where the urban architecture, and the accompanying history gets interesting and a bit sad. The city today is a mix of the old and new. On one hand, you have the remainder of what was a beautifully planned, beautifully laid out, and beautifully built city, almost French in its symmetry and geometrics. Whole blocks still maintain the gracious spacing and elegant facades that lend themselves to long strolls along tree-lined boulevards or through inviting parks, squares, or shopping areas.

On the other hand, there’s the rest…the awkward blocky rectangles of “socialism strikes again” architecture that one sees all over the former Iron Curtain countries, sprinkled liberally around the city as if shaken from a box in the sky that reads “Worker’s Paradise” on one side and “Aesthetics is for Sissies” on the other. These buildings can reach seven to ten stories and often sport brightly colored accents that highlight the moldy stucco and multiple lines of laundry. You get the picture.

Anyway, I have chosen in this post to focus on the parts of Szczecin that drew my eye to the history and the beauty of the past, and away from the bad fashion choices of the last seventy years. And first, because it’s Christmas, here’s a shot from the last day of the markets that we just managed to hit:

Humble but loveable

And here are a couple slightly sinister Grand Inquisitor/gnome-type creatures that graced a children’s game. Frankly, if I had been a kid, they would have frightened me off, and I sure hope I don’t see them in my dreams:

Our city navigation strategy is usually to search out and find antique stores, and hence we find ourselves often in the older and more historic parts of town. On this particular day, we only found the shops closed, but we did stumble on some lovely neighborhoods:

I was absolutely charmed by this courtyard below, located inside a clearly state-of-the-art 1902 Art Nouveau retail shopping and apartment building. A la William Morris, every architectural detail, all the fencing iron work, every shade of paint, everything worked together for a flawless presentation:

…but of course, the effects are fleeting; nearby a wag made a political statement on a natural gas meter:

…and a water fountain from former times maintains a watch on passers-by:

Close to our hotel stands the Pomeranian Dukes’ Castle, the seat of power in the region for about 500 years, roughly 1100-1600. We didn’t plan our visit well enough to get a chance to tour it, but I plan to on a repeat excursion:

You can see in the shot above how the mixed elements of the castle…are now cheek-to-jowl with more modern buildings on the street. (At least they line up with some regularity, unlike other parts of the city.)

And even the castle itself was decked in holiday finery:

Well, now that we’ve pounded leather for hours in search of pens and come up short, at least we’ve taken the measure of the place and decided to come back for more. That all, as you might imagine, works up a might thirst on a cold rainy windy day, which a local foam in a charming little cafe was more than able to slake:

Twoje zdrowie!

Then we headed back to our hotel restaurant where, as the only diners in the establishment, we were treated to an outstanding meal and a marvelous wine at a price that would have barely cover the wine anywhere else. What a pleasant surprise…

So there’s a little taste of Szczecin, just enough to get you as intrigued and curious as I am to learn more. I’m hoping to make many more such trips in the new year, and I look forward to having you along on my shoulder for every one.

Posted in Poland | Tagged | 4 Comments