b_Strasbourg
S_Strasbourg
t_Strasbourg
r_Strasbourg.
a_Strasbourg
sStrasbourg
o_Strasbourg
u_Strasbourg
r_Strasbourg
g_Strasbourg

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sunny, finally. Sunny France!

The sun appears less frequently in the French version of spring, apparently. But today it is with me. It sets now, long and low, sweet and rich and darkening, romantic and lovely ... always the setting sun, its colors and contrasted textures across the sky, inspires ...

... and out wide train windows I watch lazy canals move swiftly past, cows and horses galloping away from the roaring, menacing train, running desperately away from the long, deepening shadows.

But I can't hear all this commotion; even the whizzing of a modern train is muffled by the romance out my earphones. My eyes see the romance of France unfolding before me, soft jazz romancing my ears.

Just past Luxembourg, just before Paris. The schedule is, Strasbourg is next.

What can I say about Strasbourg that could not be said about all the other romantic European cities visited? Absolutely beautiful, of course.

This is the great Alsacian city at the crossroads, and in more ways than one. It's in France but, bordering Baden-Württemberg, it is decidedly Germanic. The border point is important and, throughout history, contentious. The Huns destroyed it, the Franks rebuilt it. The Holy Roman Empire claimed it, but the Protestants soon separated it. The Prussians grabbed it (in 1871, the Franco-Prussian War) but, come WW I, the French took it back (the Treaty of Versailles). In WW II the Germans sought revenge and damaged Strasbourg but ... lost the war.

Now, having served as crossroads for conflict, two world wars and many squabbles through the centuries, the new Millennium opens to peace.

I say "we," and I do not hold back my happiness in this though, admittedly, we are talking about the peace between America and all of Europe. You and I may not know all of this intimately. But, this being a key seat of the European Union – the European Parliament and the Council of Europe – promising visions of togetherness emanate from here throughout the continent and beyond. We are at peace to meander the indurate landscape of a Pax Europe political – indeed, more cultural – epicenter. Which is the way it should be, us and them. Who knew?

Crossing over these lilting shimmers of lazy canal waters that detour from the mighty Rhine and Ill rivers, through decidedly Germanic-like twisting cobblestone streets, I would stop at four museums and many times that many street performers, musicians, clowns and magicians. My lenses brought back stills of Nigerians hustling about pushing to sell trinkets; Italian mafia-like artists drawing vain tourists with little children in tow buggies and wagons; waiters dutifully bending toward guests with appreciative, loving smiles; Greek pita makers slapping together hand-meals to passers-by; the occasional quiche makers plying their own peculiar food art.

Me? Flambee tarts – yum! And Italian Ices made with almonds, strawberries and raspberries, mangos and melons and lemons. And quiche lorraine, of course. Meanwhile, my camera's lenses peered at handsome yet mysterious, pierced, tattooed and hair-dyed drifting youth; and beautiful little children with sweet, lovely head-dresses and cute little shoes, looking up at all the big, scary, rushing throngs of people and multicolored buildings leaning in all around.

We now have before us any typical, grand Saturday night in Ile de Vieux Strasbourg, surfeited with in-crowds and tourists and performers and hawkers and the homeless, swirled up and served to a wistful world pondering the gothic and Renaissance ages looming down from weary old buildings. They lean in at us, their mysterious stories bittersweetly silent.

I ran 14 kilometers here, and probably walked twice that, during my 2½-day stay.

Strasbourg was a big city, too, with really big stuff, and not only this gigantic Notre Dame Cathedral at the center. Sunday morning, during an early run, I came up upon an enormous glass EU building – not enormous TALL, enormous WIDE, shaped like a gigantic glassy croissant. This was a building that you don't run past, so much as you circumvent like a great geographical landmark – one of those big pan-European buildings, like of the design I remembered from Brussels ...1960s style you nervously imagine will at any moment blow out a brilliant terrorist blast mid-height, showering glass and shards of aluminum down onto unsuspecting passers-by. Didn't see that yet here in Europe. Lucky me.

I even saw a few runners pass by me this morning. On an early Sunday morning, no less. Yay!

As with America, any great city features a great river, and the l'Ill doesn't disappoint, with its complex set of companion canals and side docks snaking off helter-skelter. This morning jog was part historical / architectural, part governmental and part, well, industrial – and there were some really lovely smells blowing across, in one spot natural gas, in another spot (believe it or not) the smell of fresh sauerkraut. Maybe they make it there; I had some for dinner the previous night, and it was indeed fresh and very tasty.

From the architectural to the political to the industrial to ... the zoological.

Strasbourg is famous for its storks. I didn't see any despite looking in earnest. But, running on, gazing into the river, there was one attentive swan, all by itself, moving down the main branch of the l'Ill, appearing as a quiet, serene but proud little pure-white Viking vessel. Then down a way I saw another ... then another ... and another, and another. All looking downstream with great aplomb, floating straight and tall, and then ... galumph! One of them stopped for breakfast!

Later on, in the Le Petite France quarter, I got a few lovely pictures of a family, Mom and Dad and six little kid swans. Four of the little guys were steering in-between the parents, but two of them were hitching a ride on the back of the adults! Very cute.

People say to me all the time: "I can't run." "Running is so boring." You see, they are not true runners, because running is not typically boring. Since usually running takes little concentration (basketball or tennis might better suit those seeking a more focused cardiovascular work out), the runner is free, from daily chores or pursuits, to think plainly in solitude ... outside with the wind and weather. Things are there for the touching, but simultaneously fleeting, mind endlessly wandering.

Running at The Crossroads, are a few odd musings of Continental Europe ...

European hotels are not, I repeat, NOT handicap accessible, with a near universal absence of ramps and these teeny-tiny elevators. Courteously and thoughtfully, sleek, sliding glass front doors open electronically. Beyond that, you're on your own to haul your luggage up the often long, steep, insensitive front steps.

In big European cities, the graffiti looks EXACTLY like graffiti in big American cities – you know, that big, blocky, jumpy, energetic, boisterous, flashy, obnoxious-yet-wonderfully-creative scrawls. Interesting.

Europeans love their antique art, their alluring 19th Siecle stuff like the Impressionists, Art Nouveau, naturalists – but equally appreciate the 20th Century stuff of the surrealists (most of that really quite awful, I feel) and modern works of the infinite creativity. Strasbourg's Musée des Beaux-Arts is as the perfunctory must-stop for any great European city -- and here one finds a very interesting collection of works covering the Middle Ages through to the 18th Century. Italian panting and also the Dutch School, from the 15th through to the 17th centuries, is particularly rich.

In Strasbourg you can also revisit Alsace of old at the "Musée Alsacien," the Alsatian Museum, a museum of folk art is located in the ancient homes of Strasbourg residents -- its a veritable maze of hallways and stairs overlooking inner courtyards, and wooden galleries and quaint little side rooms that feature incredible bedroom furniture, old stoves; elaborate kitchen implements and lovely clothing of the period ...

... and back even further to the Middle Ages, medieval and Renaissance art, at the "Musée de l'Œuvre Notre Dame," the Museum of Notre Dame, found in 14th and 16th century buildings, near the great cathedral, which documents the evolution of the arts between the 11th and the 17th centuries in Strasbourg and the Upper Rhine region. The Maison de l'Œuvre, and its four charming courtyards, show an important role i the history of the Notre Dame cathedral itself. Here is included "CHrist's Head from Wissembourg, thought to be the oldest extant example of stained glass in the world.

The best of this can be found in Strasbourg's Modern Art Museum were the animated works ... foam wafting out of a silver box, water running in a copper gutter running around the room, broken but lit neon spilled underneath shards of stuff scattered around the gallery floor, a caboodle of artist easels fastened to the wall – backwards. Need I say more?

The best was a dark room with a very tall, narrow screen at one end. The work was called the "Arc of Ascension." A projected image, accompanied by a broadly amplified sound, I subsequently determined was an extremely slow film of someone diving into water, I think. Yet, shockingly, this was extremely frightening slow-moving image, with this jet-like sound and a great explosion as the image struck what appeared to be the water. You just had to see it; it's impossible to fully describe how scary it was.

It's easy to get lost in old European cities not only because the narrow streets twist about, or because the best they can do for street signs are these blue placards showing up sporadically on the sides of buildings.

Most of the old European cities I've visited -- Strasbourg, Nancy, Antwerp, Brugge, Brussels, even London and Paris -- were formed as circles or ovals of closed together settlements, originally surrounded by walls, gates and moats.

I understand the Old World relevance. A runner – particularly the New World variety – wonders how one gets around without becoming disoriented. Just when you think you're going one direction, and without the sun to guide you (blocked by clouds, say, or tall buildings), you could easily be heading the wrong direction, heading down an opposing "spoke" of the "wheel" instead of a more neatly organized and recognizable grid-like pattern one comes to expect.

Toilets. They vary all over the place here – how they work, how to get them to flush, and how you are expected to use them.

True, European toilet stories are laughably notorious – God bless our differences. I went into one bar in pan-European Strasbourg that had a sort of toilet that resembled a shower stall without the shower. In the center were two raised plastic sections featuring a shoe-shaped grate pattern – obviously for you to stand on while you did anything you did in this, well, particularly inventive version of the "unisex" toilette. There was a vacuum cleaner-like tube at the wall side of the thing to wash down whatever was left there. You think, "Couldn't they have done better?" But this is not America.

America can be outdone. In somewhat fancier places, you may find commodes that automatically grab the toilet seat and "spin" it slowly clockwise, while it automatically swipes it "clean." Or there are these gigantic public toilets that clean themselves somehow, which might be found pedantically dropped on a city sidewalk. These great aluminum-clad NASA-like inventions would, presumably, ensure a clean toilet trip for a formerly degraded, downtrodden public – indeed, much better condition than for the homeless people I saw in Venice, peeing in public right in front of passers-by.

If high tech toilettes do not impress, quite often there's even a real human looking after things – a Madame de Toilette (what else would you call them?). However, they insist you pay to enter and use the place – and by the way, these people are NOT kidding. Once, somewhere in Belgium, I ran into an old, bumbling man in the Lady's Room who – was I to presume? – was dutifully tending things. He assured me he would watch my bags while I stepped into the stall. Who was I, fellow uninitiated American, to complain?

One thing's almost for sure, every bathroom stall in Europe would comprise a fully enclosed, efficiently lockable room, complete with a light switch. That is quite nice. But weirdly, the world just outside was considered considerably more overt. Several places I entered featured the Men and Women bathrooms combined – but women had their own designated stalls.

Well, there you have it, the whole inside story of peeing in Europe, and it only took me six paragraphs to wrap it up. Call it my "W.C. (Water Closet) Wrap-Up."

Ok, more about Europe proper ...

On any given street one is much more likely to see Indians, Pakistanis, dark black Africans, hand-waving Italians (the real kind), Middle-Easterners. There is a fresh reminder of what it (still) means being of the Kingdom of Women, when you see girls and mothers wearing head-dresses and close-in face coverings, this the great new modern world (or not so great) we really have not yet passed into ... the same as in America.

Of course everyone knows how much better public transportation is in Continental Europe. That's simply a manifestation of Old World circumstance – more time, more people, better transportation over time. No wonder that Europeans, on the whole, drink more alcoholic beverages despite that they have stricter drinking and driving laws. Getting back home and into bed is simply far less daunting.

But also, in Europe they have great bakeries and chocolate shops and glorious "perfumeries" with hundreds of spectacularly colored boxes and dazzling bottles and glorious arrays of make-up counters. Each visit is an exquisitely individual and unique experience.

In America, we're more standardized. You know what you're going to get, including bored. Boredom is the antithesis to every notion of restaurant / lodging / retail place I know. But Americans have a way of bringing you down to Earth; retail places see themselves competing in such a way that the allusion of choice really becomes more standardized and the more hum-drum. Standardization is, in fact, quintessentially American, for better or worse.

In America, even our slang tends to be standardized ("Cool!" "That's Awesome!" "Sweet!" are examples) – miraculously, it works in every state in the Union. In Europe you can speak French in one place; then in another place, someone won't understand you just because of simply the word choice or pronunciation alone. That is, I can practice and practice, and say something the "correct" way – right in one place and wrong in another, and never fully sure when I got it right.

Not to forget, too, the British have their own set of funky sounding slang words. Plus, I've passed back and forth into no less than four different linguistic regions, none of them English speaking, and the natives have to have the basics down in no fewer than at least two of the local languages ... therefore, being multilingual comes much more naturally.

One thing's for certain, the French in particular really adore their language. At least they like it enough to almost never speak English. It's really been a struggle. Even the bank officer in Nancy, when I first arrived in France and in need of cash, I asked if she spoke English – and, with a great swoop of directness and in your face-ness, she replied bluntly, "No. Francaise" Wow. Oooookayyyy ...

Oh, and the French love to kiss. Right out there for everyone to enjoy. Doubtful that's less an expression of puritanical ideals, you know, marriage, monogamy, love. When it comes to the luxuriously prurient, France is an open society.

Well, not intending to go on and on here ... perhaps the images do just as well to do the talking.

Go to Strasbourg, place of crossroads, see its famous Cathedrals, its beautiful streets and canals, its proud architecture and broad places of important politics and culture. And its lovely swans. Or maybe a stork family, who knows?

And be mindful of our place on Earth. We may all be in heaven someday. When you get there, ask some other folks you meet if they have tales of great places, squares, piazze and carrefours, where people have met over the ages, shared wondrous times together and moved on. Thereon will be many crossroad stories of the ages to share with you.

And Now ...

Click The Picture

Below, and View ...

 

The Mafia Artists

At Work!

(When the applet Photo Cube loads, use your mouse wheel to spin the cube; use your left mouse button and click once to stop and view a picture)

 

 

 

Coucher du soleil ...

 

Training Across France (this is a Belgian train, actually!)

 

 

"Sunday Headbands"

"Squeeze Boxing," Place du Chateau, Strasbourg

"Bridge Up"

"Bulles d'Aire"

"Swan Ride"

 

 

"Secret Windows," Musée Alsacien, Strasbourg

"Bureau Gremlins," Musée Alsacien, Strasbourg

"And One More Thing" -- Musée de l'Œuvre Notre Dame, Strasbourg

"Dark Man" -- Musée de l'Œuvre Notre Dame, Strasbourg "Les_Amants_Trépassés" -- Musée des Beaux-Arts, Strasbourg

 

 

"That's Italian"

"Silent_Sunday_I" -- Vieux Strasbourg, France

"Silent_Sunday_II" -- Vieux Strasbourg, France

"Big Day" --

"Hot_Creations"

 

 

"Hot Juggler" -- Strasbourg "Bard Beggar" -- Strasbourg

"Renaissance Rock!"

"Silly Singer" "Where_Lenses_Look,"Place du Chateau, Strasbourg

 

 

Œuvre Notre-Dame, Strasbourg "Delicate Doors" -- West façade, Œuvre Notre-Dame, Strasbourg

"Heaven Above" -- Œuvre Notre-Dame, Strasbourg

"Great Glass" -- Œuvre Notre-Dame, Strasbourg

"ForThem" -- Œuvre Notre-Dame, Strasbourg

"Glory Of Light" -- Œuvre Notre-Dame, Strasbourg

"Park Love"

The Mafia Art Men of Strasbourg!

 

Back to www.Explorewithjulie.com ...Back to Cities of Northern France Entry URL ...

Back Home ...Back ...

 

Swans on the River -- Strasbourg More about Strasbourg and Its Swans ...