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"Je crois que la beauté est partout, même là où les manuels de géographie nous décrivent la terre comme aride, infertile, et sans accidents."
Etty HILLESUM - Une vie bouleversée.
direction régionale des affaires culturelles Strasbourg - place de la république
I started learning French two weeks ago, just as a hobby. I've always thought it's a wonderful language and whenever I heard someone say basically anything in French, my heart melted a little bit out of awe. Despite my former respect towards the language, it's never been a part of my endless list of interests. Until now!
Though I'm a mere beginner, a punk amateur, I feel I've found something of utter brilliance. As words form sentences and as a tiny bit of poetry slowly implants itself into the uninhabited plains of my mind, I'm loving it more and more. Though I've sampled several languages in my short life and have attained acceptable skills regarding one or two, nothing compares to French.
I find it inexpressible what a joy it is to be able to say 'You're perfect' in French and make it truly mean what it's intended to; or to be able to listen to this ethereal melody and have something of it understood. It's like falling in love. It's like discovering a very old book, which surpasses your taste in contemporary literature or basically just anything you've ever read in your whole life.
I'm so glad I started this. And it makes me enthusiastic of many other things. The beginning of something wondrous, like this, is always a perfect reminder of the fact, that there are infinite options, infinite chances in life. And the majority of them is better than I could ever dream. I realised, that there's just so much to do. Tomorrow, when I wake up, I'll know I have amazing and beautiful things to do, besides life's endlessly grave side. I invite you to start learning a language you've always wanted to, or to finally get to read (COMPLETELY) War and Peace, or just simply to begin a journey of any kind, which will make you more as a person and as a part of the ever-expanding interconnection of us: the people. Our days can get boring and miserable every now and then, but it's never, NEVER, unchangeable.
This weekend, in fact! Every April, Strasbourg hosts some ekiden running races, and a festival of Japanese culture on the side. Taiko drums, shamisen, martial art demos including kyûdô and aikidô, Japan-inspired artists, food... and games like shôgi and mah-jong, the latter of which I will be partaking in as a member of the Strasbourg club. So if perchance you are in Strasbourg this weekend, pop by!
Busy week done! Lots of work especially on Wednesday, and helping Vent d'Est organise their mah-jong tournament on Sunday to cap it off. We were on the boat in the foreground of this photo taken a few years ago - yep, still there today. A more flattering angle for the river, at a greener time of year, below.
In 1870, a broad coalition of German nations waged a war against France. Napoleon III's Second French Empire fell swiftly, and the Second German Reich formed on the back of this victory, with a Kaiser at its head. Germany annexed Alsace and Moselle, and had particularly grand plans for Strassburg, the capital of the region. While the city centre on the island was repaired after heavy shelling, the Germans decided to develop around it. To the North, the Neustadt, "New Town", was built, with, at its core, a wide avenue with a palatial residence for the Kaiser at one end, and a University Palace at the other, the storefront of a brand new campus complex. It's still part of the university today, with classrooms and all.
Completed in 1884 in a neo-Renaissance style as a monument to Germany's newfound power, the Palace is richly decorated with statues, ranging from effigies of Germania and Argentina - no relation, the Roman settlement at Strasbourg was called Argentoratum -, and historical figures of German science and thought: below, theologist Martin Luther, mathematician Gottfried von Leibniz, astronomer Johannes Kepler and educator Johannes Sturm. Though probably not a direct response, the Eiffel Tower would provide a similar list of French greats a few years later.
France regained Alsace following World War I, and would de-germanify several buildings in the Neustadt area. The home of Germania insurances became the Gallia building, and the effigy of Germania, restored below, was removed from the University Palace. A similar process would be undertaken in 1945, after Alsace was once again be annexed by Germany in 1940 - the University Palace would need de-nazifying.
However, a few symbols remain as a reminder of the Nazi oppression. In the grand hall, called the Aula, a subtle swastika appears among the geometric patterns on the floor. It sits in a corner, as lonesome as it is loathsome. I thought I had a picture of that swastika, but looking through my folders, I don't appear to have taken photos of the interior at all. I seem to remember thinking "nah, it's weird to take pictures of Nazi swastikas". It's still weird, right?
Latest ambiance from Strasbourg, with love from our end-of-year mascot: Chris Moose!
I know, I know. Notre-Dame in Paris just reopened. But Notre-Dame is a very common name for churches in France. In fact, we covered one in Le Havre not that long ago, possibly one of the smallest cathedrals in the country. At the other end of the scale, one of the largest, if not still the largest, is Notre-Dame de Strasbourg. Built during the same time period as its Parisian counterpart, its facade has striking similarities: the grand rose, the two square towers at a similar height (66-69 m)... but while Paris stopped in 1345, Strasbourg kept going for almost a century, filling in the space between the towers, and adding a whopping octagonal spire on one side, reaching 142 m above ground.
Of course, there were plans to make the monumental facade symmetric, but the ground under the South tower wouldn't support the weight of 76 m of spire. In fact, huge structural repairs had to be made during the 19th century to avoid collapse.
The cathedral was the world's tallest building for a couple of centuries, from 1647 to 1874. Considering it was completed in 1439... Yeah, it didn't grow, it owed it title to the Pyramids of Giza shrinking from erosion and taller spires on other cathedrals burning down. Then it lost the title when churches in Hamburg, Rouen (another Notre-Dame Cathedral) and Köln were completed.
But talk of records is just talk, and 142 m is just a number, until you're faced with it. My favourite approach to the cathedral, to truly give it is awesome sense of scale, is the one I inadvertently took on my first proper visit to Strasbourg. From the North end of Place Gutenberg, walk along Rue des Hallebardes. The town's buildings will hide the cathedral from view for a moment, only for it to reappear suddenly at the turn of a corner, much closer, the spire truly towering over the surrounding buildings which also dwarf the viewer. I don't pass by there too often, to try to replicate the breathtaking reveal.
PS - We've already done a piece on the astronomical clock housed in the cathedral, an absolute treasure.
One of Europe's oldest Christmas market, and likely the most famous in France, is Strasbourg's. Its existence is attested as far back as 1570, appearing in the years following Protestant Reformation. Today it is a sprawling event, covering all the main squares of the central island of Strasbourg, and it's very busy, especially in the evenings and on weekends.
The traditional Alsatian name of the market is Christkindelsmärik, "the market of baby Jesus", while the city's more recent branding (since the 1990s) proclaims the town as "Capital of Christmas".
Pictures from 2018 - I haven't been to this year's market yet, but I plan to once my workload deflates - I get my annual stock of jams from the local producer's market!
Another short one today, just a couple of Christmas decorations from Strasbourg. The "tree of cathedrals" was, as far as I can remember, new for last year in front of the station, and is back again this year. I definitely should talk at length about the cathedral at some point... Not to worry, normal nerdy and rambling service will soon be resumed.
On this day in 1994, Strasbourg inaugurated - or rather, resurrected - its tramway network. Like many cities in France, Strasbourg had a streetcar system until the late 1950s, when it was decided that cars would take over. 30 years of worsening congestion and pollution later, the town chose a tramway, which had made a successful return in the mid 1980s in Nantes and Grenoble, over an automatic metro to revitalise its transit service.
Unlike Nantes and Grenoble, Strasbourg looked to foreign streetcar manufacturers Socimi and ABB, who designed a fully low-floor tram with generous windows. The Eurotram was at first a 33-metre vehicle (original form seen above), which quickly proved insufficient. A lengthened version, with an extra motor module and carriage, appeared in the following years.
Personally, I quite like this tram for the massive windows, the very mechanical sounds as it runs, and the fact that the warning bell is a real bell (later models have an electronic bell which... just sounds worse). A downside I have noticed, though not for me specifically, is that it has a low ceiling.
After losing out in the 90s, national constructor Alstom won the next round of contracts for Strasbourg's trams in the 2000s. The Citadis model, fully low-floor and taller than the Eurotrams, entered service in 2005. More Citadis trams arrived in 2016, with a new design that I really like, and with special adaptations to allow it to run in Germany, as the network crossed the border to Kehl in 2017, a first for a French tram operator.
Today, the network consists of 6 lines, crisscrossing the city centre and heading out into the suburbs. A 7th line is in the planning stages, due to head North towards Bischheim and Schiltigheim. Despite refurbishment, the Eurotrams won't be around forever, and new trams are on order - more from Alstom.
A few pictures of Bastille Day fireworks... at least whatever got above the roofline.
I could go on about this thing for ages. There's so much history, so many symbols to spot, and so much information on display... This is going to be a long one.
I guess I'll start with the artistic aspect on which I have the least to say because it's the least up my alley. There's loads of mythology and Christian symbolism going on on this 18-metre tall monument, and these are the main draw for the general public, because they move around.
Like cuckoo clocks in neighbouring Schwarzwald, this astronomical clock has automatons. Every quarter hour, the lower level of the photo above sees a change of "age": a child, a young man, an adult and an old man take turns to be in the presence of Death, whose bells toll on the hour. At high noon, the upper level also moves, with the 12 disciples passing before Christ, and the rooster at the very top crows.
Moving on to what really makes me tick: the amount of information on this clock is incredible. The time, obviously, but actually two times are on display on the clock at the bottom of the picture above: solar time and official time. Given Strasbourg's position in the time zone, there is a 30-minute discrepancy between the two. Then there's all the astronomical stuff, like the phase of the Moon (just visible at the top), the position of the planets relative to the Sun (middle of the picture), a celestial globe at the base (pictures below, on the right)...
The main feature behind the celestial globe is another clock displaying solar time, with the position of the Sun and Moon (with phases) relative to the Earth, sunrise and sunset times, surrounded by a yearly calendar dial. These have remarkable features, such as the Moon hand that extends and retracts, making eclipses noticeable, and the calendar has a small dial that automatically turns to place the date of Easter at the start of each year. This sounds easy, but look up the definition of Easter and note that this clock is mechanical, no electronic calculating power involved! Either side of the base, the "Ecclesiastic Computer" and the "Solar and Lunar Equations" modules work the gears behind these features.
The accuracy of this clock and its ambition for durability are truly remarkable. Relative to modern atomic time, it would only need adjusting by 1 second every 160 years, and it correctly manages leap years (which is not as simple as "every 4 years"). It just needs winding up once a week.
Finally, the history. The monumental clock was built in the 16th century, and used the calendar dial above, now an exhibit in Strasbourg's city history museum. It slowly degraded until the mid-19th century, when Jean-Baptiste Schwilgué restored the base and upgraded the mechanisms. The "dartboard" on the old dial contained information like the date of Easter, whether it is a leap year, which day of the week the 1st January is... - all of which had to be calculated by hand before the dial was installed! - and was replaced by the Ecclesiastic Computer, which freed up the centre space for the big 24-hour clock, complete with Solar and Lunar Equations.
As you may have gathered, I am a massive fan of this clock. Of course, nowadays, all the imagery and information would easily fit into a smart watch, but a smart watch isn't 18 metres tall and powered by gravity and gears!
"Wait, the TGV's electric, right?", I hear you say. You're not wrong: all TGVs in commercial service since 1981 have been electric. But this is the 1972 prototype TGV, and back then, those initials stood for Turbotrain à Grande Vitesse, continuing the development cycle of trains with helicopter engines that had already been introduced on intercity services with the RTG.
This prototype would set the standard of what French high speed rail would become: articulated units of carriages between two power cars, and the distinctive, iconic orange livery I wish they would have kept around in some capacity. The train regularly ran over 300 km/h, peaking at 318 km/h in Southwestern France in December 1972. The difference, of course, is that TGV 001 was equipped with four helicopter-derived gas turbines, two in each power car. As the oil crises hit before the production TGV was properly defined, SNCF were able to redesign the project around electric power in time for the 1980s.
After 15 years of service as a test mule, the train was due to be scrapped, but fortunately the two power cars avoided that fate. Their interiors were gutted, but the cars were saved and put on display as monuments to their builders, Alsthom, at Belfort and Bischheim (North suburb of Strasbourg). UNfortunately, they've been put by the motorway of all places, at both sites, so visiting them isn't very pleasant. At least at Bischheim, there is a footpath on the bridge over the motorway and railway yard, so it's possible to take one's time and get some decent views of the machine that started it all.
My favourite cherry blossom spot in Strasbourg is the Citadelle. The remains of the garrison built under Louis XIV are now a gorgeous park by the Rhône-Rhine canal, and the cherry blossoms there are of the variety that bloom into pompoms.
I haven't been to the park this year, only spotting from a distance that the trees are currently in bloom, somewhat earlier than usual. So here are some pictures from a previous year - the year I first saw this wonderful tree at the ruin's entrance.
C'est avec grand plaisir que je présenterai le mardi 16 avril à la Maison Universitaire France-Japon de Strasbourg une conférence sur la géométrie pendant la période d'Edo, avec en support le sangaku de Kashihara. Entre grande Histoire et petits calculs. Lien vers les détails 4月16日(火)、ストラスブール市の日仏大学会館に江戸時代の算額についてコンファレンスをします。楽しみにしています! Looking forward to giving a conference on Edo-period geometry on 16 April at Strasbourg's French-Japanese Institute. Expect a few posts about Kashihara around then. Has it really been 6 years?...
Another edge of a fog bank on the bridge between the Port du Rhin and Citadelle sectors of Strasbourg. The railway is a freight line, I'm not sure if it's used much. The river, however, regularly sees barges passing by. Anyone or anything on the river had to be on the lookout that morning...
The Fog on the Rhine (is all mine, all mine)
After three weeks of marking, I finally managed to get out of my hole in late January. I was beckoned out by dense fog, seizing the chance to enjoy the misty atmosphere. When I reached the park that straddles the French-German border, I found it on the edge of a fog bank, with haze on one side of the footbridge and perfectly clear skies on the other.
While not among the most outstandingly beautiful parks, the Jardin des Deux Rives has things to offer on both sides of the border, and, just for that ability to hop over to another country, it ranks very high on the cool factor.
Not that the birds would know. They were just taking in the winter sunlight while they could.