He found two stones. Amongst many stones. He was happy.
Tag: Frankreich
Hard Work
This is one of the four statues on the Pont JF Kennedy in Strasbourg, one of the bridges to cross the Ill. The statues all depict workers who do hard manual labour – this is the pelleteur. His job was to clear the waterways from the silt so it would stay navigable for bigger boats. The profession died out in the 1920s.
The bridge was built in 1906 and was then called Schwarzwaldbrücke (pont de la Forêt-Noir / Black Forest Bridge). It has undergone a few name changes, some only because of the change of languages, from German to French and back). It became Pont John F Kennedy in 1965. The locals, however, favour the name Viermännerbruck (bridge of four men, in the local Alsation dialect).
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Trois Trios
I found three trios on a recent short trip to the border between France and German. Three flags in front of the tourist information in Kehl. On the other side of the border in Strasbourg there are many old houses with triple dormers. And the three French slogans – liberté, égalité, fraternité . on the townhall as well as the flags of Ukraine, France and Europe on the balcony.
If We Want to Do Better, We Can’t Forget
French and Germans were told for many years that they were hereditary enemies. The nations fought wars against each other. The borders were re-arranged again and again depending on who “won” the last war.
But times change. Even politicians realised that going forward meant forging friendships. They founded the European Economic Community in 1957 together with Italy, Luxemburg, Belgium and the Netherlands which later developed into the European Union. Many French and German towns and cities were twinned – Städtepartnerschaften it is called in Germany, Jumelage in France.
In 1939 my father went as a soldier to France. In the 1960s he was involved with building friendships between people from our town, Weinheim, and Cavaillon in the South of France. Originally twinning only involved the town officials but my father and others made it an experience for the normal people, the employees and workers of the community.
When he retired he received these two illustrated books, one in French about Germany, one in German about France.
One had been signed by three German statesmen: Annemarie Renger, Willy Brandt and Helmut Schmidt. The other had a whole page handwriten by Alain Poher, the then president of the French Senate.
To me the “lest we forget” is meaningless without adding George Santayana’s maxim:
“Those who forget their history are condemned to repeat it.”
The Cosmic Photo Challenge: Lest we forget
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The Old Tollhouse in Strasbourg
The old tollhouse (l’Ancienne Douanne) features rows of windows in three different sizes.
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2000 Years of History
This is the monument built in 1988 to celebrate the 2000th anniversary of Strasbourg.
Additional Post Box
A few weeks back Jude showed rare red postboxes she found in the UK. I added a couple of old blue ones from Germany. Going through older files I came across this French postbox. The colour, even today, of French letter boxes is yellow. This particular one, found in Oppède in Provence, is not ancient but old enough.
Through Gritted Teeth
In February this year we had some strange weather in the Upper Rhine Valley. Strong winds blew sands from the Sahara, from as far away Morocco, Algeria, Mauretania and Mali all the way to Switzerland, France and the south of Germany. It happens every few years.
As interesting as the effect was, I prefer not to breathe in my sand.
How about drinking it?
A few days ago somebody posted a photo of sand in a bottle and I commented on it and now I cant find anymore. Anyway – this is the bottle that I have, a lot less artistic. I filled this bottle myself 50 years ago with sands from Le sentier des ocres de Roussilon in the Luberon. It’s an old ocher pigment quarry in the South of France which was then open to anybody and one could just collect sand. Nowadays, there are fixed walkways and taking sands is strictly forbidden (and quite rightly so).
I’m not biching about the subject
Bitche, the French town has been in frontier country for many centuries. It is situated in Lorraine, in an area that has changed hands between French and German rule many times. The old people still speak a German dialect but since 1918 the area is French and the youngsters speak French for the most part, even at home. But some things last – like the tradition of celebrating “Hexenacht” (Witches’ Night or Walpurgis Night), the night from 30 April to 1 May, when witches are said to gather and celebrate. In the area, youngsters used to roam the streets and were up to a lot of mischief. Today, it is often celebrated with parties, dancing, and feasting.
Bitche is dominated by the citadel built in the 17th century by the French and is today still a monument to the fact that the town was always contested between the two countries. The massive blocks of the fortification are ever so slightly tapered towards the top.
The arrow slits in the walls are narrow apertures to allow a bowman to shoot through while being protected by the thick walls.
These triplets are dwarved by the citadel yet are big, strong trees if considered separately.
While I have no photo to illustrate gushing, I certainly have been gushing about a town which to English ears carries an unusual name: Bitche.
These photos were taken almost four years ago – just before I changed cameras as there was a spot looking like a water droplet almost in the middle which could not be fixed.
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