Thursday, July 26, 2007
So long. Farewell. Auf Wiedersehen, etc.
Well folks, it appears that my Bavarian adventures are nearly over. In under half an hour I'll be checking out of the youth hostel that has served as my home for the past month and catching the next train to Munich's central station. From there it's a mere 8€ train ticket to the airport and a nine hour flight before I touch ground on American soil.
Hopefully, once I'm home, I can finally start posting detailed reflections on all the amazing places that I've seen during the past month because despite my best intentions, I was unable to keep up with a one post per day schedule. Maybe if I had just posted photographs without commentary or with a one line caption...but no use waxing nostalgic now. I have to finish packing before I once again bid goodbye to the Continent.
If you absolutely can't bear to be without Germany-related anecdotes featuring yours truly, you might do well to stop by the Sleeper Cell.
Otherwise, assuming that Bernoulli's Principle remains constant, I'll see you on the other side of the Atlantic.
(1) comments
Well folks, it appears that my Bavarian adventures are nearly over. In under half an hour I'll be checking out of the youth hostel that has served as my home for the past month and catching the next train to Munich's central station. From there it's a mere 8€ train ticket to the airport and a nine hour flight before I touch ground on American soil.
Hopefully, once I'm home, I can finally start posting detailed reflections on all the amazing places that I've seen during the past month because despite my best intentions, I was unable to keep up with a one post per day schedule. Maybe if I had just posted photographs without commentary or with a one line caption...but no use waxing nostalgic now. I have to finish packing before I once again bid goodbye to the Continent.
If you absolutely can't bear to be without Germany-related anecdotes featuring yours truly, you might do well to stop by the Sleeper Cell.
Otherwise, assuming that Bernoulli's Principle remains constant, I'll see you on the other side of the Atlantic.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Harry Potter and the Unexpected Plot Twist
We interrupt this blog’s month long focus on Bavarian history and culture to discuss something of even greater literary, and I dare to suggest, historical significance.
I refer, of course, to the release of the final volume of J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter series, an event which, as the picture above from a German bookstore illustrates, possesses truly global scope. In fact, one would be hard-pressed to name another book whose release has been so eagerly discussed in the popular press...except of course for the previous Harry Potter installment. As one might expect, the Potter-philes have been out in full force this week, reveling in the box office success of the cinematic adaptation of the series’ fifth book and eagerly speculating upon the ultimate fate of everyone favorite British wizard-in-training. (I actually watched the new movie this afternoon at a theater near the Deutsches Museum. Aside from some unexpectedly sweet British-style sugared popcorn, I thoroughly enjoyed the whole experience...even the badly dubbed trailer for National Treasure 2: History Schmistory!) The message boards on Mugglenet and The Leaky Cauldron are all buzzing with debates over whether various characters will survive throughout the book’s 750+ pages and whether all of the unresolved questions from the previous six books will be answeed in an appropriate fashion. Never mind that the Potter fan community is brimming with enough factions to make even the most die-hard parliamentarian dizzy.
I have no doubt that part of this debate results from the genuine enthusiasm fans feel towards Rowling’s works and their deep and abiding love for the characters which she created. At the same time, however, it provides a convenient means for fans to forestall the inevitable realization that this is, in fact, the end of their precious series. Because barring an unforeseen reversal on the author’s part, within a few days, Harry Potter’s story will be over. The conclusion of a truly great story fills its audience with a bittersweet mixture of satisfaction and depression— contentment at the way the various narrative threads have been tied up, but frustration that at the necessity of an ending. And despite only being a casual Potter fan (especially compared to a certain girlfriend of mine who will remain nameless), I am relatively confident that Rowling’s writing will live up to this emotional standard, securing a lasting place for Harry Potter in the annals of young adult literature for many years to come.
I did not arrive at this conclusion easily. I was, for example, quite disappointed by Book 7's title: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. After all, lots of people have dealt with stones, chambers, or goblets in their time. Not to mention the occasional half-blood prisoner with a pet phoenix (or living in Phoenix!)...but how many people can tell you what a hallow is? Honestly, I’ve asked around and no one can seem to tell me what they are or why they should be deadly. Apparently, J.K. Rowling has sworn that it will all make sense after we’ve read the story, but I’m still going to go on the record as saying that so far as the Harry Potter series’ titles are concerned, this book drew the short straw.
That does not mean, however, that I am going to avoid reading it or engaging in my own reckless speculation about the book or its characters. The following ideas are entirely my own. Any resemblance to any spoilers, published either online or elsewhere, is purely coincidental.
Here’s what I, with my Outstanding OWL scores in Divination, predict the future holds for:
Harry Potter: Successfully avoids even the deadliest of hallows, maintaining his 100% survival rate against dark wizardry, once and for all confirming his “Boy Who Lived” moniker.
Ron Weasley: Tired of being shoved in the corner during Harry’s duels with Voldemort, Ron actually manages to do something useful, nonchalantly firing a Muggle-made sniper rifle at the Dark Lord during the latter’s final evil monologue and ensure his best friend's success. (Projectilus Bolt-actionus!)
Hermione Granger: Everyone’s frizzy-haired know-it-all suffers from a panic attack halfway through the book when she realizes that her time at Hogwarts, where she was the academic big fish in the medium sized pond, is coming to a close. Setting aside her spellbooks, she hitchhikes around the Continent for a while and shacks up briefly with Viktor Krum before coming back to her senses, returning to Hogwarts, and convincing her “Ronald” that they were meant to be together.
Severus Snape: Reveals his true motivation for tormenting Harry and murdering Dumbledore...an elaborate scheme to steal British treasury bonds worth an estimated 600 million Galleons. Killed by Bellatrix Lestrange who discovers his heretofore concealed link with the arms dealers who sold Ron his sniper rifle.
Lord Voldemort (a.k.a. Tom Marvolo Riddle, He Who Shall Not Be Named, Quirrell’s Dirty Little Secret, Ralph Fiennes): He’s a dead man. For real this time. No more of his normal shell-games, tricking wizards into playing a fun game of “Find My Soul.” Nope, this time, it’s all over, and the sad fact is there is very little that our pal Voldy can do about it thanks to the machinations of...
Albus Dumbledore: The inclusion of The Big D on this list is likely causing fits among the more die-hard Potter-philes in the audience, who are even now snorting butterbeer out of their noses in disgust and accusing me of being crazier than a hippogriff hopped upon gillyweed. After all, Dumbledore DIED in Book 6, didn’t he? (Answer: Yes he did. Rowling even confirmed it.) How can Dumbledore be in Book 7 if he died in Book 6?
The answer is simple: Time Travel. Dumbledore has already demonstrated a functional knowledge of temporal mechanics during the whole Prisoner of Azkaban affair and is known to be in possession of a working Time Turner amulet. It would be no trouble at all for him to travel back to his own laboratory in the past, grow a homunculus of himself, and send it back to die in his stead. But the question must now be asked, given that he COULD do those things, WHY would he go to such great pains to fake his own death? Thankfully, Hogwarts has someone who can put all the pieces together for us.
Luna Lovegood: Good old Loonie. Remember all those crazy theories her father’s been publishing for years in the Quibbler? The ones that nobody believes? The ones that make the Weekly World News look respectable? Well, it turns out they’re almost entirely true, and this is the book where Luna finally gets to say “I told you so.” to all of those who doubted that Voldemort was merely an INCREDIBLY REALISTIC illusion created by Dumbledore in order to bestow the House Cup to Gryffindor in perpetuity by allowing Harry and his friends to earn several billion points for his death. (What? It’s not like the endings of the earlier books are any less contrived. After all, who REALLY earned the House Cup in Book 1?)
Minerva McGonagall: With the House Cup firmly under Gryffindor’s control, Hogwarts’ Professor of Transfiguration can finally retire. She fills the time by writing angry letters to the editor of The Daily Prophet about misspelled answers in their crossword puzzles and chiding her former students in a firm, yet loving, Scottish accent.
Neville Longbottom: It’s better living through herbology for Neville in Book 7, as he avenges his parents by paralyzing Bellatrix Lestrange with a well-placed dose of belladonna extract. Unfortunately, this means that the driving force behind his newfound magical combat skills is out of the picture and Neville’s plant-based experiments start tending towards the use of black lights and psychedelic tie-dye robes.
Draco Malfoy: Eaten by Voldemort’s pet snake Nagini for failing to kill Dumbledore.
Nagini: Also makes short work of Daily Prophet reporter Rita Skeeter, who looked surprisingly like a slimy (yet satisfying) insect, before being consumed herself by Hagrid’s giant brother Grawp.
Sirius Black: Having passed through a mysterious glowing portal to his “death” in Book 5, Black spends the entirety of Book 7 unsuccessfully trying to travel back to the future from the 1930s. He encounters several strange Americans, including one whose ears had been injured by a mechanical rice picker, but ends up reaching the future the old fashioned way (i.e. living) as a senile centenarian raving about boron and coin flipping.
Rubeus Hagrid: Accidentally crushes Peter Pettigrew to death while the latter is in his rodent form, while yammering on about how he and his brother were eventually going to have their own farm where they can live off the land.
Lucius Malfoy: After making light of Hagrid’s half-giant ancestry one time too many, Lucius meets his fate in the Forbidden Forest, making snide comments while being ripped apart by the groundskeeper’s secret menagerie.
Cedric Diggory: Remains popular, even though he’s now a pile of popular remains. Last seen hanging out with Nearly Headless Nick and occasionally flirting with Moaning Myrtle in the girls’ washroom.
Cho Chang: Ends up dating Viktor Krum after Hermione returns from Europe. The two find they have a surprising amount in common such as: 1. Monosyllabic last names. 2. Being dumped by main characters, and eventually become engaged.
AND NOW, A BRIEF INTERLUDE WITH THE AMAZING WEASLEY FAMILY!
Molly and Arthur Weasley: The loving, but exhausted, parents of the Weasley clan are quite thrilled that within a few years they may finally have the house all to themselves again, even if Arthur will likely shatter any hope for peace and quiet with his newly acquired Muggle-manufactured entertainment system.
Bill Weasley: Along with his new bride, Fleur Delacouer, opens a successful steakhouse franchise, providing Britain with its first taste of properly cooked meat. He is soon knighted for his efforts.
Charlie Weasley: The Hogwarts equivalent of Chuck Cunningham, as far as we know, he’s still living in Romania working with the dragons. Some things will never change.
Percy Weasley: Having dabbled briefly with the dark side throughout the series, Percy finally decides that full-fledged malevolence requires too much energy. He settles instead for a comfortable middle management position at the Ministry of Magic, crushing peoples hopes and dreams through his mastery of Bureaucromancy.
Fred and George Weasley: Arrested by British anti-terrorism authorities after “accidentally” filling the House of Lords with Bertie Botts’ Every Flavored Jellybeans. An escape seems to be in the works, however.
Ginny Weasley: Eager to capture Harry’s affections once and for all, Ginny stands outside his window, holding the Sorting Hat over her head and forcing it to sing a heartwrenching Peter Gabriel medley. Harry is actually too busy to pay attention at the time, what with trying to finish off Voldemort, but he makes it up to her afterwards by asking her out on a real, honest-to-goodness date at a fancy restaurant.
(WE NOW RETURN YOU TO THE REST OF THE HARRY POTTER CAST)
Remus Lupin: In an inspired move, Lupin joins forces with Bill Weasley to become the greatest team of crime-fighting lycanthropes in British history. The spin-off possibilities are endless!
Nymphadora Tonks: Highly supportive of Lupin's efforts to combat illegal activity in Britain. Unfortunately, due to that country’s low crime rate, those plans seem doomed to fail unless someone can find some vice for he and Bill to confront...and fast. Good thing he has a clever, shapeshifting girlfriend who is more than willing to manipulate the seedy underbelly of Diagon Alley to boost her boyfriend’s self-esteem.
Dolores Umbridge: After her negative portrayal in Cornelius Fudge’s tell-all memoir, Dolores’ already tenuous grasp of reality begins to crumble and she eventually becomes what was foreshadowed so strongly in the new movie...a crazy cat lady.
Sybill Trelawney: One word—LASIK!
Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody: Ditto.
Professor Flitwick: Singlehandedly defeats the Empire, saves a magical princess, and protects his pot of gold from meddling teenagers, all while conducting the Hogwarts chorus in a rousing rendition of the school’s alma mater during Harry’s graduation.
Gilderoy Lockhart: Has finally relearned to distinguish simple shapes and colors. The doctors also say that he can dress himself, but that seems like a bit of a stretch.
Dobby and Kreacher: Ah, the simple pleasures of a house-elf knife fight! No matter who dies, everybody wins. Except for Filch...he has to clean up the mess.
The Dursleys: Except for Dudley’s brief stint on the competitive eating circuit, Harry’s foster family fades back into obscurity, just like they always wanted.
And last but not least:
Horace Slughorn: Thinks that all of these people are terribly interesting and wants to invite them all to dinner at his place so that they can get to know each other. You know, a little party with a few rising stars! Refreshments will be served.
That’s all I’ve got for now. If there are any characters that you feel I missed and you would like me to speculate upon their fates before I return to America and actually read the last book, let me know.
Otherwise, to those of you brave and/or foolish enough to stand in line at midnight in order to get the book, best of luck. And to J.K. Rowling, whom I doubt will ever read this blog as she has far better things to do with her time, thank you for all of your hard work in sharing this world and these characters with us...and please don’t sue me.
(1) comments
We interrupt this blog’s month long focus on Bavarian history and culture to discuss something of even greater literary, and I dare to suggest, historical significance.
I refer, of course, to the release of the final volume of J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter series, an event which, as the picture above from a German bookstore illustrates, possesses truly global scope. In fact, one would be hard-pressed to name another book whose release has been so eagerly discussed in the popular press...except of course for the previous Harry Potter installment. As one might expect, the Potter-philes have been out in full force this week, reveling in the box office success of the cinematic adaptation of the series’ fifth book and eagerly speculating upon the ultimate fate of everyone favorite British wizard-in-training. (I actually watched the new movie this afternoon at a theater near the Deutsches Museum. Aside from some unexpectedly sweet British-style sugared popcorn, I thoroughly enjoyed the whole experience...even the badly dubbed trailer for National Treasure 2: History Schmistory!) The message boards on Mugglenet and The Leaky Cauldron are all buzzing with debates over whether various characters will survive throughout the book’s 750+ pages and whether all of the unresolved questions from the previous six books will be answeed in an appropriate fashion. Never mind that the Potter fan community is brimming with enough factions to make even the most die-hard parliamentarian dizzy.
I have no doubt that part of this debate results from the genuine enthusiasm fans feel towards Rowling’s works and their deep and abiding love for the characters which she created. At the same time, however, it provides a convenient means for fans to forestall the inevitable realization that this is, in fact, the end of their precious series. Because barring an unforeseen reversal on the author’s part, within a few days, Harry Potter’s story will be over. The conclusion of a truly great story fills its audience with a bittersweet mixture of satisfaction and depression— contentment at the way the various narrative threads have been tied up, but frustration that at the necessity of an ending. And despite only being a casual Potter fan (especially compared to a certain girlfriend of mine who will remain nameless), I am relatively confident that Rowling’s writing will live up to this emotional standard, securing a lasting place for Harry Potter in the annals of young adult literature for many years to come.
I did not arrive at this conclusion easily. I was, for example, quite disappointed by Book 7's title: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. After all, lots of people have dealt with stones, chambers, or goblets in their time. Not to mention the occasional half-blood prisoner with a pet phoenix (or living in Phoenix!)...but how many people can tell you what a hallow is? Honestly, I’ve asked around and no one can seem to tell me what they are or why they should be deadly. Apparently, J.K. Rowling has sworn that it will all make sense after we’ve read the story, but I’m still going to go on the record as saying that so far as the Harry Potter series’ titles are concerned, this book drew the short straw.
That does not mean, however, that I am going to avoid reading it or engaging in my own reckless speculation about the book or its characters. The following ideas are entirely my own. Any resemblance to any spoilers, published either online or elsewhere, is purely coincidental.
Here’s what I, with my Outstanding OWL scores in Divination, predict the future holds for:
Harry Potter: Successfully avoids even the deadliest of hallows, maintaining his 100% survival rate against dark wizardry, once and for all confirming his “Boy Who Lived” moniker.
Ron Weasley: Tired of being shoved in the corner during Harry’s duels with Voldemort, Ron actually manages to do something useful, nonchalantly firing a Muggle-made sniper rifle at the Dark Lord during the latter’s final evil monologue and ensure his best friend's success. (Projectilus Bolt-actionus!)
Hermione Granger: Everyone’s frizzy-haired know-it-all suffers from a panic attack halfway through the book when she realizes that her time at Hogwarts, where she was the academic big fish in the medium sized pond, is coming to a close. Setting aside her spellbooks, she hitchhikes around the Continent for a while and shacks up briefly with Viktor Krum before coming back to her senses, returning to Hogwarts, and convincing her “Ronald” that they were meant to be together.
Severus Snape: Reveals his true motivation for tormenting Harry and murdering Dumbledore...an elaborate scheme to steal British treasury bonds worth an estimated 600 million Galleons. Killed by Bellatrix Lestrange who discovers his heretofore concealed link with the arms dealers who sold Ron his sniper rifle.
Lord Voldemort (a.k.a. Tom Marvolo Riddle, He Who Shall Not Be Named, Quirrell’s Dirty Little Secret, Ralph Fiennes): He’s a dead man. For real this time. No more of his normal shell-games, tricking wizards into playing a fun game of “Find My Soul.” Nope, this time, it’s all over, and the sad fact is there is very little that our pal Voldy can do about it thanks to the machinations of...
Albus Dumbledore: The inclusion of The Big D on this list is likely causing fits among the more die-hard Potter-philes in the audience, who are even now snorting butterbeer out of their noses in disgust and accusing me of being crazier than a hippogriff hopped upon gillyweed. After all, Dumbledore DIED in Book 6, didn’t he? (Answer: Yes he did. Rowling even confirmed it.) How can Dumbledore be in Book 7 if he died in Book 6?
The answer is simple: Time Travel. Dumbledore has already demonstrated a functional knowledge of temporal mechanics during the whole Prisoner of Azkaban affair and is known to be in possession of a working Time Turner amulet. It would be no trouble at all for him to travel back to his own laboratory in the past, grow a homunculus of himself, and send it back to die in his stead. But the question must now be asked, given that he COULD do those things, WHY would he go to such great pains to fake his own death? Thankfully, Hogwarts has someone who can put all the pieces together for us.
Luna Lovegood: Good old Loonie. Remember all those crazy theories her father’s been publishing for years in the Quibbler? The ones that nobody believes? The ones that make the Weekly World News look respectable? Well, it turns out they’re almost entirely true, and this is the book where Luna finally gets to say “I told you so.” to all of those who doubted that Voldemort was merely an INCREDIBLY REALISTIC illusion created by Dumbledore in order to bestow the House Cup to Gryffindor in perpetuity by allowing Harry and his friends to earn several billion points for his death. (What? It’s not like the endings of the earlier books are any less contrived. After all, who REALLY earned the House Cup in Book 1?)
Minerva McGonagall: With the House Cup firmly under Gryffindor’s control, Hogwarts’ Professor of Transfiguration can finally retire. She fills the time by writing angry letters to the editor of The Daily Prophet about misspelled answers in their crossword puzzles and chiding her former students in a firm, yet loving, Scottish accent.
Neville Longbottom: It’s better living through herbology for Neville in Book 7, as he avenges his parents by paralyzing Bellatrix Lestrange with a well-placed dose of belladonna extract. Unfortunately, this means that the driving force behind his newfound magical combat skills is out of the picture and Neville’s plant-based experiments start tending towards the use of black lights and psychedelic tie-dye robes.
Draco Malfoy: Eaten by Voldemort’s pet snake Nagini for failing to kill Dumbledore.
Nagini: Also makes short work of Daily Prophet reporter Rita Skeeter, who looked surprisingly like a slimy (yet satisfying) insect, before being consumed herself by Hagrid’s giant brother Grawp.
Sirius Black: Having passed through a mysterious glowing portal to his “death” in Book 5, Black spends the entirety of Book 7 unsuccessfully trying to travel back to the future from the 1930s. He encounters several strange Americans, including one whose ears had been injured by a mechanical rice picker, but ends up reaching the future the old fashioned way (i.e. living) as a senile centenarian raving about boron and coin flipping.
Rubeus Hagrid: Accidentally crushes Peter Pettigrew to death while the latter is in his rodent form, while yammering on about how he and his brother were eventually going to have their own farm where they can live off the land.
Lucius Malfoy: After making light of Hagrid’s half-giant ancestry one time too many, Lucius meets his fate in the Forbidden Forest, making snide comments while being ripped apart by the groundskeeper’s secret menagerie.
Cedric Diggory: Remains popular, even though he’s now a pile of popular remains. Last seen hanging out with Nearly Headless Nick and occasionally flirting with Moaning Myrtle in the girls’ washroom.
Cho Chang: Ends up dating Viktor Krum after Hermione returns from Europe. The two find they have a surprising amount in common such as: 1. Monosyllabic last names. 2. Being dumped by main characters, and eventually become engaged.
AND NOW, A BRIEF INTERLUDE WITH THE AMAZING WEASLEY FAMILY!
Molly and Arthur Weasley: The loving, but exhausted, parents of the Weasley clan are quite thrilled that within a few years they may finally have the house all to themselves again, even if Arthur will likely shatter any hope for peace and quiet with his newly acquired Muggle-manufactured entertainment system.
Bill Weasley: Along with his new bride, Fleur Delacouer, opens a successful steakhouse franchise, providing Britain with its first taste of properly cooked meat. He is soon knighted for his efforts.
Charlie Weasley: The Hogwarts equivalent of Chuck Cunningham, as far as we know, he’s still living in Romania working with the dragons. Some things will never change.
Percy Weasley: Having dabbled briefly with the dark side throughout the series, Percy finally decides that full-fledged malevolence requires too much energy. He settles instead for a comfortable middle management position at the Ministry of Magic, crushing peoples hopes and dreams through his mastery of Bureaucromancy.
Fred and George Weasley: Arrested by British anti-terrorism authorities after “accidentally” filling the House of Lords with Bertie Botts’ Every Flavored Jellybeans. An escape seems to be in the works, however.
Ginny Weasley: Eager to capture Harry’s affections once and for all, Ginny stands outside his window, holding the Sorting Hat over her head and forcing it to sing a heartwrenching Peter Gabriel medley. Harry is actually too busy to pay attention at the time, what with trying to finish off Voldemort, but he makes it up to her afterwards by asking her out on a real, honest-to-goodness date at a fancy restaurant.
(WE NOW RETURN YOU TO THE REST OF THE HARRY POTTER CAST)
Remus Lupin: In an inspired move, Lupin joins forces with Bill Weasley to become the greatest team of crime-fighting lycanthropes in British history. The spin-off possibilities are endless!
Nymphadora Tonks: Highly supportive of Lupin's efforts to combat illegal activity in Britain. Unfortunately, due to that country’s low crime rate, those plans seem doomed to fail unless someone can find some vice for he and Bill to confront...and fast. Good thing he has a clever, shapeshifting girlfriend who is more than willing to manipulate the seedy underbelly of Diagon Alley to boost her boyfriend’s self-esteem.
Dolores Umbridge: After her negative portrayal in Cornelius Fudge’s tell-all memoir, Dolores’ already tenuous grasp of reality begins to crumble and she eventually becomes what was foreshadowed so strongly in the new movie...a crazy cat lady.
Sybill Trelawney: One word—LASIK!
Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody: Ditto.
Professor Flitwick: Singlehandedly defeats the Empire, saves a magical princess, and protects his pot of gold from meddling teenagers, all while conducting the Hogwarts chorus in a rousing rendition of the school’s alma mater during Harry’s graduation.
Gilderoy Lockhart: Has finally relearned to distinguish simple shapes and colors. The doctors also say that he can dress himself, but that seems like a bit of a stretch.
Dobby and Kreacher: Ah, the simple pleasures of a house-elf knife fight! No matter who dies, everybody wins. Except for Filch...he has to clean up the mess.
The Dursleys: Except for Dudley’s brief stint on the competitive eating circuit, Harry’s foster family fades back into obscurity, just like they always wanted.
And last but not least:
Horace Slughorn: Thinks that all of these people are terribly interesting and wants to invite them all to dinner at his place so that they can get to know each other. You know, a little party with a few rising stars! Refreshments will be served.
That’s all I’ve got for now. If there are any characters that you feel I missed and you would like me to speculate upon their fates before I return to America and actually read the last book, let me know.
Otherwise, to those of you brave and/or foolish enough to stand in line at midnight in order to get the book, best of luck. And to J.K. Rowling, whom I doubt will ever read this blog as she has far better things to do with her time, thank you for all of your hard work in sharing this world and these characters with us...and please don’t sue me.
Monday, July 16, 2007
An English Garden with a Chinese Tower
This afternoon I joined a few of my fellow students from the Schiller Center for dinner and drinks at one of the most famous venues in Munich. The Englischer Garten was opened to the public in 1808 on the initiative of Sir Benjamin Thompson. Thompson, also known as Count Rumford, worked as an aide-de-camp for Bavarian elector Karl Theodor and convinced his boss to open royal hunting grounds north of his residence.
Today this hunting preserve is better known for hosting picnickers and sunbathers. And the most notable beer garden is the Chinesischer Turm (the Chinese tower) erected in 1790.
Also nearby? The Siegestor--the Bavarian equivalent of the Arc de Triomphe. Originally dedicated to the glory of the Bavarian army, it now is inscribed with the words: "Dedicated to victory, destroyed by war, urging peace."
(0) comments
This afternoon I joined a few of my fellow students from the Schiller Center for dinner and drinks at one of the most famous venues in Munich. The Englischer Garten was opened to the public in 1808 on the initiative of Sir Benjamin Thompson. Thompson, also known as Count Rumford, worked as an aide-de-camp for Bavarian elector Karl Theodor and convinced his boss to open royal hunting grounds north of his residence.
Today this hunting preserve is better known for hosting picnickers and sunbathers. And the most notable beer garden is the Chinesischer Turm (the Chinese tower) erected in 1790.
Also nearby? The Siegestor--the Bavarian equivalent of the Arc de Triomphe. Originally dedicated to the glory of the Bavarian army, it now is inscribed with the words: "Dedicated to victory, destroyed by war, urging peace."
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Joining the Big Leagues in Augsburg
The Sleeper departed Munich this afternoon. We woke up late and grabbed lunch at one of the few restaurants open in the Marienplatz on a Sunday, an Italian place that seemed to cater to tourists. After parting ways at the Hauptbahnhof, I decided to take a day trip to the nearby town of Augsburg, the home of an eponymous 1555 treaty and a 17th century European alliance.
Augsburg is one of the oldest organized settlements in Germany, originally founded in 15 BCE by the Romans. The city became well known as a trading and banking center during the Middle Ages and many of its Renaissance buildings remain for the curious tourist to visit.
Some highlights:
1. The Augustusbrunnen: This fountain honors the Emperor Augustus. The four surrounding figures represent the Lech River and the Wertach, Singold, and Brunnenbach Brooks.
2. The Goldener Saal: This lavishly decorated banquet hall is located within the Augsburg city hall (See the Rathaus picture below). Although I might have enjoyed this room more if I could translate the Latin inscriptions, even I recognized the portraits of the various emperors scattered around the perimeter...each with his own catchphrase.
3. The Fuggerei: The unfortunately named Jakob Fugger was an Augsburg banker who was so successful he earned the nickname "Jakob the Rich." And later in his life, like so many successful businessmen, he wanted to give something back. So he opened "The Fuggerei": a Catholic welfare settlement housing approximately 250 people. Since the 17th century, the rent has been frozen at 1 Rhenish guilder (or 1 Euro) per year, plus utilities and three daily prayers. Among the more notable residents? Franz Mozart--Wolfgang's great-grandfather.
4. The Rathaus: Augsburg's city hall dominates the main square. It was constructed between 1615 and 1620 and is crowned by the city's emblem, a 4 meter tall pine cone.
5. Two more fountains: Each with a mythological theme and each representing the city's commercial success. The first, the Herkulesbrunnen shows Hercules fighting the hydra. The second, the Merkurbrunnen shows the god Mercury, the god of trade.
All in all, a worthwhile trip despite the sweltering heat. Luckily, I was able to find an ice cream shop near the Fuggerei with a delicious raspberry gelato.
(0) comments
The Sleeper departed Munich this afternoon. We woke up late and grabbed lunch at one of the few restaurants open in the Marienplatz on a Sunday, an Italian place that seemed to cater to tourists. After parting ways at the Hauptbahnhof, I decided to take a day trip to the nearby town of Augsburg, the home of an eponymous 1555 treaty and a 17th century European alliance.
Augsburg is one of the oldest organized settlements in Germany, originally founded in 15 BCE by the Romans. The city became well known as a trading and banking center during the Middle Ages and many of its Renaissance buildings remain for the curious tourist to visit.
Some highlights:
1. The Augustusbrunnen: This fountain honors the Emperor Augustus. The four surrounding figures represent the Lech River and the Wertach, Singold, and Brunnenbach Brooks.
2. The Goldener Saal: This lavishly decorated banquet hall is located within the Augsburg city hall (See the Rathaus picture below). Although I might have enjoyed this room more if I could translate the Latin inscriptions, even I recognized the portraits of the various emperors scattered around the perimeter...each with his own catchphrase.
3. The Fuggerei: The unfortunately named Jakob Fugger was an Augsburg banker who was so successful he earned the nickname "Jakob the Rich." And later in his life, like so many successful businessmen, he wanted to give something back. So he opened "The Fuggerei": a Catholic welfare settlement housing approximately 250 people. Since the 17th century, the rent has been frozen at 1 Rhenish guilder (or 1 Euro) per year, plus utilities and three daily prayers. Among the more notable residents? Franz Mozart--Wolfgang's great-grandfather.
4. The Rathaus: Augsburg's city hall dominates the main square. It was constructed between 1615 and 1620 and is crowned by the city's emblem, a 4 meter tall pine cone.
5. Two more fountains: Each with a mythological theme and each representing the city's commercial success. The first, the Herkulesbrunnen shows Hercules fighting the hydra. The second, the Merkurbrunnen shows the god Mercury, the god of trade.
All in all, a worthwhile trip despite the sweltering heat. Luckily, I was able to find an ice cream shop near the Fuggerei with a delicious raspberry gelato.
Saturday, July 14, 2007
Bastille Day in Bavaria
My traditional birthday ramblings will have to be postponed this year. Needless to say, I'm planning a rather traditional German way to celebrate, involving both mountain climbing and a trip to a beer hall with my friend from The Sleeper Cell .
I'll post more details (and pictures) from these festivities a bit later, but for now, a special thank you to those people who e-mailed me electronic cards, etc. to celebrate the occasion from several timezones away. Sorry I couldn't be awake at 4 AM local time to receive them immediately.
And for those of you who still feel the need to comment about Bastille Day, Germany, the weird new title to my blog, or anything in between, feel free to do so below.
Wiedersehen!
UPDATE BELOW: Here are some pictures from the day's festivities.
The Sleeper and I began our morning with a train ride to Garmisch-Partenkirchen. Originally two separate towns, the two were forcibly combined in 1936 during the Winter Olympics. You can get a sense of the scenery from the picture below.
From the main train station, we bought tickets on the Zugspitzbahn, a cog wheel train which would carry us to the summit of the Zugspitze, Germany's tallest mountain.
The train stopped briefly on the way to the top to allow passengers to take pictures of the Eibsee, a large lake and its beautiful surroundings.
In hindsight, we could have taken the Eibsee-Seilbahn...a steeper cable car that went right to the summit. But the cog railway was a more leisurely journey and afforded us a wonderful chance to see the sights until the part of its journey where it entered a lengthy tunnel.
But then, before you knew it...we were there, slightly below the summit. The area was reminiscent of a quarry combined with a ski lodge. The rock face was barren and there were a few scattered buildings including a cafeteria and a church. And then there was the view.
Here's a picture of the Sleeper checking out the surrounding countryside.
Here's the interior of that church I mentioned. I imagine there must be more than a few weddings on the top of the Zugspitze each year, especially since one can take a train to the summit.
How far above sea level was this church? Well, to give some idea...there was snow outside. So we constructed the world's smallest snowman. Due to a lack of sticks, we were forced to use mechanical pencils for arms. That's the cafeteria in the background.
This was all well and good and ordinarily I would have suggested we grab lunch at the cafeteria pictured above. But not when we were just one short cable car ride away from the summit and the highest altitude beer garden in all of Germany.
Here's a picture of the summit, 2964 meters above sea level, and conveniently marked with a large golden cross.
And here's a picture of diners at the nearby beer garden. (The sign conveniently informs you that this is Germany's highest beer garden!) I ate a traditional Bavarian breakfast of Weisswurst und Brezeln and the Sleeper ate some vegetable noodle soup. We both enjoyed a refreshing alcoholic beverage.
After lunch, we visited the gift shop and picked up some souvenirs for our respective significant others and for Corinna, who could not join us for the expedition. Unfortunately, we left the gift for the latter at home when we went out for dinner that evening at the Hofbrauhaus. I suppose it was my fault. I got distracted calling family and friends during that brief window of time when it is reasonable to call people in America from Europe.
The Hofbrauhaus is a Munich institution. Since the late 19th century, this fine establishment has been serving locals and visitors alike heaping helpings of beer and German cuisine, and no, the latter is not a contradiction in terms. Although widely acknowledged as a tourist trap by locals, this is ground zero for Oktoberfest, complete with brass bands, dirndl-clad waitresses, and tankards capable of holding a full liter of the city's finest.
Here's a picture of Corinna and the Sleeper enjoying a cold one.
We ate outside, and yes there really was a brass band playing traditional drinking songs. Sadly, the Sleeper and I didn't know any of the words, so we had to content ourselves with "The Ballad of Mad Jack."
One other notable thing about the Hofbrauhaus? GIANT PRETZELS!
After finishing dinner, we rambled through the streets of Munich with Corinna pointing out some of the major sites. I got to test out my new camera's night photography settings from the steps of the Feldherrnhalle.
But by then it was getting late, so we stumbled over to Corinna's place for a little bit, listened to some music, and then the Sleeper and I wandered home to rest after what turned to have been a very exciting Bastille Day indeed.
(2) comments
My traditional birthday ramblings will have to be postponed this year. Needless to say, I'm planning a rather traditional German way to celebrate, involving both mountain climbing and a trip to a beer hall with my friend from The Sleeper Cell .
I'll post more details (and pictures) from these festivities a bit later, but for now, a special thank you to those people who e-mailed me electronic cards, etc. to celebrate the occasion from several timezones away. Sorry I couldn't be awake at 4 AM local time to receive them immediately.
And for those of you who still feel the need to comment about Bastille Day, Germany, the weird new title to my blog, or anything in between, feel free to do so below.
Wiedersehen!
UPDATE BELOW: Here are some pictures from the day's festivities.
The Sleeper and I began our morning with a train ride to Garmisch-Partenkirchen. Originally two separate towns, the two were forcibly combined in 1936 during the Winter Olympics. You can get a sense of the scenery from the picture below.
From the main train station, we bought tickets on the Zugspitzbahn, a cog wheel train which would carry us to the summit of the Zugspitze, Germany's tallest mountain.
The train stopped briefly on the way to the top to allow passengers to take pictures of the Eibsee, a large lake and its beautiful surroundings.
In hindsight, we could have taken the Eibsee-Seilbahn...a steeper cable car that went right to the summit. But the cog railway was a more leisurely journey and afforded us a wonderful chance to see the sights until the part of its journey where it entered a lengthy tunnel.
But then, before you knew it...we were there, slightly below the summit. The area was reminiscent of a quarry combined with a ski lodge. The rock face was barren and there were a few scattered buildings including a cafeteria and a church. And then there was the view.
Here's a picture of the Sleeper checking out the surrounding countryside.
Here's the interior of that church I mentioned. I imagine there must be more than a few weddings on the top of the Zugspitze each year, especially since one can take a train to the summit.
How far above sea level was this church? Well, to give some idea...there was snow outside. So we constructed the world's smallest snowman. Due to a lack of sticks, we were forced to use mechanical pencils for arms. That's the cafeteria in the background.
This was all well and good and ordinarily I would have suggested we grab lunch at the cafeteria pictured above. But not when we were just one short cable car ride away from the summit and the highest altitude beer garden in all of Germany.
Here's a picture of the summit, 2964 meters above sea level, and conveniently marked with a large golden cross.
And here's a picture of diners at the nearby beer garden. (The sign conveniently informs you that this is Germany's highest beer garden!) I ate a traditional Bavarian breakfast of Weisswurst und Brezeln and the Sleeper ate some vegetable noodle soup. We both enjoyed a refreshing alcoholic beverage.
After lunch, we visited the gift shop and picked up some souvenirs for our respective significant others and for Corinna, who could not join us for the expedition. Unfortunately, we left the gift for the latter at home when we went out for dinner that evening at the Hofbrauhaus. I suppose it was my fault. I got distracted calling family and friends during that brief window of time when it is reasonable to call people in America from Europe.
The Hofbrauhaus is a Munich institution. Since the late 19th century, this fine establishment has been serving locals and visitors alike heaping helpings of beer and German cuisine, and no, the latter is not a contradiction in terms. Although widely acknowledged as a tourist trap by locals, this is ground zero for Oktoberfest, complete with brass bands, dirndl-clad waitresses, and tankards capable of holding a full liter of the city's finest.
Here's a picture of Corinna and the Sleeper enjoying a cold one.
We ate outside, and yes there really was a brass band playing traditional drinking songs. Sadly, the Sleeper and I didn't know any of the words, so we had to content ourselves with "The Ballad of Mad Jack."
One other notable thing about the Hofbrauhaus? GIANT PRETZELS!
After finishing dinner, we rambled through the streets of Munich with Corinna pointing out some of the major sites. I got to test out my new camera's night photography settings from the steps of the Feldherrnhalle.
But by then it was getting late, so we stumbled over to Corinna's place for a little bit, listened to some music, and then the Sleeper and I wandered home to rest after what turned to have been a very exciting Bastille Day indeed.
Friday, July 13, 2007
The Sleeper Cell Strikes Munich
Two weeks into my Bavarian vacation and things have been going swimmingly. My coursework has been relatively straightforward, although I have some issues with the assessment strategies that the Schiller Center has chosen to adopt to gauge my language proficiency. Is it really fair to place questions on an exam which are not covered in the assigned chapters of the textbook? Why have I spent time making flashcards on vocabulary words that are never even utilized in any practice dialogs? Do I really need to memorize terms associated with the postal service in order to pass my department's German proficiency exam?
The answer of all of these may be no, but the last of these did have some relevance today, when I realized that I have not sent postcards to my family...or my girlfriend. This would have to be remedied immediately...if not sooner. Fortunately I had thought ahead and purchased some postcards when I visited Heidelberg. All I needed now was some time to actually write them. And lucky me, I had plenty of time this afternoon.
Ok...here's the deal. Tomorrow is my birthday and to celebrate the occasion, I arranged a meeting with my old friend and comrade-in-arms...or at least in-blogging, The Sleeper Cell. Yes, this corner of the Internet's favorite revolutionary finally decided to emerge from his undisclosed location somewhere in Britain to travel to the Continent. Since he would be arriving in Munich around 3:30 and my classes ended at approximately 1:00, this left me with plenty of time to get to our chosen meeting place, the Burger King at the Munich Hauptbahnhof, and work on some postcard writing.
Everything went according to plan so far as the writing was concerned. I had already completed that weekend's homework, so now all that remained was to grab lunch and wait for my rendezvous with the Sleeper. For the first time since I arrived in Munich, I ordered what I would consider distinctly "American" food...a Burger King meal, complete with fries and a soda. The only difference from something I could get in the United States was the choice of sauce on the burger. Who knew that mango-curry was so popular in Europe? (Not I!)
But once I had finished my burger and my postcards, there was not particularly much to do. Rather than leave my post in search of a newspaper or magazine, I flipped idly through my city guidebook to determine some possible activities for the weekend. I looked up every so often, keeping a close watch on the escalator leading to the Burger King. But still, no sign of the Sleeper Cell. It appeared that he was late, but this struck me as highly unlikely. Not only was the Sleeper an experienced European traveler...but this was Germany. The planes and trains always arrive on time and schedules and maps are clearly posted. And if push came to shove, the people frequently spoke English. So why the delay?
What I learned later was that my choice of meeting place was at fault for the confusion. I had assumed, given the very large sign posted on the second floor that there was only one Burger King in the main train station's building. I was wrong. There was another, and apparently the Sleeper had spent some time looking for me there.
By the time he finally went upstairs, I had started to doubt my own senses. After all, I hadn't seen the Sleeper in quite a while. Who knew how several months of living in Europe could change a man? Finally, I saw someone who was either my old friend or some sort of evil doppelganger coming up the escalator. I tried to catch his eye, but apparently he didn't see me and proceeded from the escalator not to the tables outside the Burger King where I was sitting, but rather to a coffee shop next door to obtain some caffeine. It was about then that I decided to take action. I got behind him in line and tapped him on the shoulder.
Thankfully, it really was the Sleeper and not some European copycat otherwise I'd have to practice saying excuse me in one of several different languages.
We traveled back to my dormitory via S-Bahn as the Sleeper recounted some of his European adventures. I should note however, that comparing the excitement of a paralegal's daily routine, even in a place like Britain, which is known for its excitement, to that of a graduate student is roughly equivalent to timing which brand of white paint dries faster. Nevertheless, it was good to catch up some before we went out to Stachus to meet up with our mutual friend Corinna. The Sleeper's family had hosted Corinna as an exchange student during high school, and since she was now living in Munich, it seemed like a good chance to catch up. Besides...it couldn't hurt to have a native German speaker with us as we wandered around the city.
We ended up eating dinner at Andecher am Dom, a restaurant right in the shadow of the Frauenkirche best known for its beer, which the monks at the nearby Andechs Abbey have been brewing since 1455. Corinna and I each ordered a sampler plate of sorts, filled with different meats and cheeses and the Sleeper tried to indulge his vegetarian sensibilities as best he could. We drank and noshed on pretzels, occasionally chatting with some friendly folk sharing the table with us, mostly about movies such as Borat and Das Leben der Anderen. (I continuously screwed up the title of the latter due to my continued bewilderment regarding the proper use of the genitive.)
After a fine dinner and promise to meet up with Corinna the following evening, the Sleeper and I left Marienplatz. I had lost track of the time somewhat because the sun had stayed up later than it would in the United States and by the time we left the restaurant it was nearly 9:30 in the evening. The tentative plan for tomorrow involves a trip to Germany's tallest mountain and a visit to the city's most famous beer garden. All in all, it should make for an exciting birthday.
(0) comments
Two weeks into my Bavarian vacation and things have been going swimmingly. My coursework has been relatively straightforward, although I have some issues with the assessment strategies that the Schiller Center has chosen to adopt to gauge my language proficiency. Is it really fair to place questions on an exam which are not covered in the assigned chapters of the textbook? Why have I spent time making flashcards on vocabulary words that are never even utilized in any practice dialogs? Do I really need to memorize terms associated with the postal service in order to pass my department's German proficiency exam?
The answer of all of these may be no, but the last of these did have some relevance today, when I realized that I have not sent postcards to my family...or my girlfriend. This would have to be remedied immediately...if not sooner. Fortunately I had thought ahead and purchased some postcards when I visited Heidelberg. All I needed now was some time to actually write them. And lucky me, I had plenty of time this afternoon.
Ok...here's the deal. Tomorrow is my birthday and to celebrate the occasion, I arranged a meeting with my old friend and comrade-in-arms...or at least in-blogging, The Sleeper Cell. Yes, this corner of the Internet's favorite revolutionary finally decided to emerge from his undisclosed location somewhere in Britain to travel to the Continent. Since he would be arriving in Munich around 3:30 and my classes ended at approximately 1:00, this left me with plenty of time to get to our chosen meeting place, the Burger King at the Munich Hauptbahnhof, and work on some postcard writing.
Everything went according to plan so far as the writing was concerned. I had already completed that weekend's homework, so now all that remained was to grab lunch and wait for my rendezvous with the Sleeper. For the first time since I arrived in Munich, I ordered what I would consider distinctly "American" food...a Burger King meal, complete with fries and a soda. The only difference from something I could get in the United States was the choice of sauce on the burger. Who knew that mango-curry was so popular in Europe? (Not I!)
But once I had finished my burger and my postcards, there was not particularly much to do. Rather than leave my post in search of a newspaper or magazine, I flipped idly through my city guidebook to determine some possible activities for the weekend. I looked up every so often, keeping a close watch on the escalator leading to the Burger King. But still, no sign of the Sleeper Cell. It appeared that he was late, but this struck me as highly unlikely. Not only was the Sleeper an experienced European traveler...but this was Germany. The planes and trains always arrive on time and schedules and maps are clearly posted. And if push came to shove, the people frequently spoke English. So why the delay?
What I learned later was that my choice of meeting place was at fault for the confusion. I had assumed, given the very large sign posted on the second floor that there was only one Burger King in the main train station's building. I was wrong. There was another, and apparently the Sleeper had spent some time looking for me there.
By the time he finally went upstairs, I had started to doubt my own senses. After all, I hadn't seen the Sleeper in quite a while. Who knew how several months of living in Europe could change a man? Finally, I saw someone who was either my old friend or some sort of evil doppelganger coming up the escalator. I tried to catch his eye, but apparently he didn't see me and proceeded from the escalator not to the tables outside the Burger King where I was sitting, but rather to a coffee shop next door to obtain some caffeine. It was about then that I decided to take action. I got behind him in line and tapped him on the shoulder.
Thankfully, it really was the Sleeper and not some European copycat otherwise I'd have to practice saying excuse me in one of several different languages.
We traveled back to my dormitory via S-Bahn as the Sleeper recounted some of his European adventures. I should note however, that comparing the excitement of a paralegal's daily routine, even in a place like Britain, which is known for its excitement, to that of a graduate student is roughly equivalent to timing which brand of white paint dries faster. Nevertheless, it was good to catch up some before we went out to Stachus to meet up with our mutual friend Corinna. The Sleeper's family had hosted Corinna as an exchange student during high school, and since she was now living in Munich, it seemed like a good chance to catch up. Besides...it couldn't hurt to have a native German speaker with us as we wandered around the city.
We ended up eating dinner at Andecher am Dom, a restaurant right in the shadow of the Frauenkirche best known for its beer, which the monks at the nearby Andechs Abbey have been brewing since 1455. Corinna and I each ordered a sampler plate of sorts, filled with different meats and cheeses and the Sleeper tried to indulge his vegetarian sensibilities as best he could. We drank and noshed on pretzels, occasionally chatting with some friendly folk sharing the table with us, mostly about movies such as Borat and Das Leben der Anderen. (I continuously screwed up the title of the latter due to my continued bewilderment regarding the proper use of the genitive.)
After a fine dinner and promise to meet up with Corinna the following evening, the Sleeper and I left Marienplatz. I had lost track of the time somewhat because the sun had stayed up later than it would in the United States and by the time we left the restaurant it was nearly 9:30 in the evening. The tentative plan for tomorrow involves a trip to Germany's tallest mountain and a visit to the city's most famous beer garden. All in all, it should make for an exciting birthday.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Stammtisch
Every Thursday night, the Schiller Center hosts a Stammtisch. The online dictionary I prefer translates this as "regular's table," although I think that "happy hour" would suffice for this particular setup. Apparently, the center used to reserve a table at a nearby restaurant for dinner and drinks near the downtown U-Bahn and S-Bahn stops. This was convenient for everyone because after a long day of studying German, no one wants to schlep across town.
But then the restaurant stopped letting the Schiller Center reserve space, so now we have to wander to an out of the way pub nowhere near any major public transit lines. I walked there with a fellow graduate student from Old Ivy and despite having a map, I found the route confusing at best. Thankfully, the drinks were of high quality...as one might expect at a German tavern, even one run (as this was) by a bunch of Irish expatriates. The conversation was muddled at best, however, partly due to the alcohol and partly due to the varying Germany fluency of the various students. I found it very difficult to maintain a strict German-only policy, for example, when chatting with an Oxford philosophy student in a beginner level German class about the relative merits of Heidegger and Kirkegaard. Neither of our vocabularies lent themselves to this level of conversation. On the other hand, I found it similarly difficult to switch from an English conversation back to thinking entirely in German...and likely ended up sounded like some sort of Faulknerian (or perhaps Grassian, given the Teutonic locale) idiot man-child to people with greater fluency.
I suppose that sounding like an idiot is an important part of learning any language. Better to try, after all, than sit silently at Stammtisch, sipping on lager and wishing that my German would improve.
Sadly, I forgot to bring my camera to tonight's event, so for those of you who only read these posts for the pictures...you'll just have to imagine a smoky, crowded, swelteringly hot pub filled with students of varying ages. That about captures the mood.
(0) comments
Every Thursday night, the Schiller Center hosts a Stammtisch. The online dictionary I prefer translates this as "regular's table," although I think that "happy hour" would suffice for this particular setup. Apparently, the center used to reserve a table at a nearby restaurant for dinner and drinks near the downtown U-Bahn and S-Bahn stops. This was convenient for everyone because after a long day of studying German, no one wants to schlep across town.
But then the restaurant stopped letting the Schiller Center reserve space, so now we have to wander to an out of the way pub nowhere near any major public transit lines. I walked there with a fellow graduate student from Old Ivy and despite having a map, I found the route confusing at best. Thankfully, the drinks were of high quality...as one might expect at a German tavern, even one run (as this was) by a bunch of Irish expatriates. The conversation was muddled at best, however, partly due to the alcohol and partly due to the varying Germany fluency of the various students. I found it very difficult to maintain a strict German-only policy, for example, when chatting with an Oxford philosophy student in a beginner level German class about the relative merits of Heidegger and Kirkegaard. Neither of our vocabularies lent themselves to this level of conversation. On the other hand, I found it similarly difficult to switch from an English conversation back to thinking entirely in German...and likely ended up sounded like some sort of Faulknerian (or perhaps Grassian, given the Teutonic locale) idiot man-child to people with greater fluency.
I suppose that sounding like an idiot is an important part of learning any language. Better to try, after all, than sit silently at Stammtisch, sipping on lager and wishing that my German would improve.
Sadly, I forgot to bring my camera to tonight's event, so for those of you who only read these posts for the pictures...you'll just have to imagine a smoky, crowded, swelteringly hot pub filled with students of varying ages. That about captures the mood.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
All Well and Good...But Where's Chekov?
Yesterday, the Schiller Center arranged the first of several outings to museums near the Königsplatz (or if you prefer, Koenigsplatz), one of Munich's so-called "royal avenues."
The plaza was laid out by its eponymous "König" ("king") Ludwig I of Bavaria and he surrounded it with neoclassical temples to house his collections of antiquities. When the Nazis came to power, they paved over the grass in the square and used it as a staging ground for rallies and demonstrations, though one would hardly believe it now that it has been restored to its prewar state. (A better sense of what I mean can be seen by looking at this panoramic image courtesy of your friends and mine at Wikipedia.)
In addition to three separate museums devoted to Greco-Roman art and architecture, Königsplatz is also home to an internationally renowned collection of late 19th and early 20th century art: The Lenbachhaus, which for those of you with shaky German skills translates as "Lenbach's house." Of course, even if you do know a little German like yours truly, this translation still leaves more questions than answers. First and foremost, who the heck is this Lenbach guy? Fortunately, the kindly folks at Munich's public transit authority have attempted to address this issue as one leaves the Königsplatz U-Bahn station.
See the gentleman on the left with the beard? That's Franz von Lenbach, and if you were a wealthy Bavarian during the late 19th century and you wanted to have a portrait made in the style of the Old Masters, he was your go to guy. He set up shop in a swanky house near the king's square intended to mimic the style of a Florentine villa.
After Lenbach's death, the city acquired the property and used it to house collections of art by people who lived in or were affiliated with Munich, most notably the members of Der Blaue Reiter school. Founded in 1911, Der Blaue Reiter (The Blue Rider) and its members promoted expressionist painting that emphasized bright colors, spontaneity, and the use of the abstract to evoke connections between art and music. Probably the most famous member of the group was Wassily Kandinsky, but the Lenbachhaus also has collections from his longtime companion and lover Gabriele Münter and other notable artists like Paul Klee and Franz Marc. I know all of this because of my calm, well-informed tour guide (especially compared to the Deutsches Museum), who managed the impossible as she walked us through all the galleries: She made modern art coherent! (Or at least more coherent than I would have ever expected, especially given the language difference.)
It can be very easy to get disoriented in the Lenbachhaus because there are so many different styles of art and architecture in such close proximity. For example, shortly after entry, we were led into this room, which has been preserved in the same style as Lenbach originally had it built.
But once you leave that room, you never know what sort of architectural madness lays in store. You might stumble upon a climbing wall made of recycled beer bottles!
Or perhaps a room where someone left some cans of spray paint next to a big pile of oily rags and waited for nature to take its course:
And while you're trying to keep your wits around you throughout this avant-garde experimental art-chitecture, you also need to focus on the paintings! If you're lucky, the painting will actually look like what it's supposed to, like this painting by Franz Marc entitled "The Tiger."
Or this portrait of Alexander Sacharoff by Alexej von Jawlensky. Yes. That is the portrait of a man named Alexander. He was a dancer. He was not, as far as art historians are aware, Batman's archnemesis.
But more often than not, you have to use your imagination, especially when you're dealing with something like this Kandinsky painting.
Or this one, which I believe is meant to show people leaving from a concert hall after a show.
Once you realize that the whole point of this expressionist style of painting is not literal representation but rather to experiment with color and shape as a means of capturing human experience, it transforms an otherwise frustrating experience into an engaging one. That doesn't mean that doesn't mean that I can explain some of the stranger temporary exhibits...
But by the time I left the gallery and looked out towards Königsplatz over the fountain in its Florentine style courtyard, I could legitimately claim a deeper appreciation of Expressionist art. And if a museum could convince a philistine like me of the merits of such things, it must be doing something right.
The whole experience left me looking forward to visiting Königsplatz's other museums, especially the Glyptothek which I visited today. However, that is a story for another time.
BY THE WAY...: No matter how convenient or straightforward it might be for the Lenbachhaus to claim, the Blue Rider school was not named after this painting of a blue horse by Franz Marc.
(0) comments
Yesterday, the Schiller Center arranged the first of several outings to museums near the Königsplatz (or if you prefer, Koenigsplatz), one of Munich's so-called "royal avenues."
The plaza was laid out by its eponymous "König" ("king") Ludwig I of Bavaria and he surrounded it with neoclassical temples to house his collections of antiquities. When the Nazis came to power, they paved over the grass in the square and used it as a staging ground for rallies and demonstrations, though one would hardly believe it now that it has been restored to its prewar state. (A better sense of what I mean can be seen by looking at this panoramic image courtesy of your friends and mine at Wikipedia.)
In addition to three separate museums devoted to Greco-Roman art and architecture, Königsplatz is also home to an internationally renowned collection of late 19th and early 20th century art: The Lenbachhaus, which for those of you with shaky German skills translates as "Lenbach's house." Of course, even if you do know a little German like yours truly, this translation still leaves more questions than answers. First and foremost, who the heck is this Lenbach guy? Fortunately, the kindly folks at Munich's public transit authority have attempted to address this issue as one leaves the Königsplatz U-Bahn station.
See the gentleman on the left with the beard? That's Franz von Lenbach, and if you were a wealthy Bavarian during the late 19th century and you wanted to have a portrait made in the style of the Old Masters, he was your go to guy. He set up shop in a swanky house near the king's square intended to mimic the style of a Florentine villa.
After Lenbach's death, the city acquired the property and used it to house collections of art by people who lived in or were affiliated with Munich, most notably the members of Der Blaue Reiter school. Founded in 1911, Der Blaue Reiter (The Blue Rider) and its members promoted expressionist painting that emphasized bright colors, spontaneity, and the use of the abstract to evoke connections between art and music. Probably the most famous member of the group was Wassily Kandinsky, but the Lenbachhaus also has collections from his longtime companion and lover Gabriele Münter and other notable artists like Paul Klee and Franz Marc. I know all of this because of my calm, well-informed tour guide (especially compared to the Deutsches Museum), who managed the impossible as she walked us through all the galleries: She made modern art coherent! (Or at least more coherent than I would have ever expected, especially given the language difference.)
It can be very easy to get disoriented in the Lenbachhaus because there are so many different styles of art and architecture in such close proximity. For example, shortly after entry, we were led into this room, which has been preserved in the same style as Lenbach originally had it built.
But once you leave that room, you never know what sort of architectural madness lays in store. You might stumble upon a climbing wall made of recycled beer bottles!
Or perhaps a room where someone left some cans of spray paint next to a big pile of oily rags and waited for nature to take its course:
And while you're trying to keep your wits around you throughout this avant-garde experimental art-chitecture, you also need to focus on the paintings! If you're lucky, the painting will actually look like what it's supposed to, like this painting by Franz Marc entitled "The Tiger."
Or this portrait of Alexander Sacharoff by Alexej von Jawlensky. Yes. That is the portrait of a man named Alexander. He was a dancer. He was not, as far as art historians are aware, Batman's archnemesis.
But more often than not, you have to use your imagination, especially when you're dealing with something like this Kandinsky painting.
Or this one, which I believe is meant to show people leaving from a concert hall after a show.
Once you realize that the whole point of this expressionist style of painting is not literal representation but rather to experiment with color and shape as a means of capturing human experience, it transforms an otherwise frustrating experience into an engaging one. That doesn't mean that doesn't mean that I can explain some of the stranger temporary exhibits...
But by the time I left the gallery and looked out towards Königsplatz over the fountain in its Florentine style courtyard, I could legitimately claim a deeper appreciation of Expressionist art. And if a museum could convince a philistine like me of the merits of such things, it must be doing something right.
The whole experience left me looking forward to visiting Königsplatz's other museums, especially the Glyptothek which I visited today. However, that is a story for another time.
BY THE WAY...: No matter how convenient or straightforward it might be for the Lenbachhaus to claim, the Blue Rider school was not named after this painting of a blue horse by Franz Marc.
An Afternoon at the Glyptothek
Contrary to its name, the Glyptothek is not Munich's hottest Egyptian dance club, but rather a museum of antiquities located on the Konigplatz. Constructed in the form of an Ionic temple to house King Ludwig I's collection of classical sculptures, with collections spanning the Archaic, Classical, Hellenistic, and Roman periods. Most people in my tour group would likely have had difficulty explaining the difference between these different styles, but fortunately the guide from yesterday's tour of the Lensbachhaus was there to lead the way. Below are a few photographic highlights from the collections.
First, the external facade of the museum:
This is supposedly a bust of Homer. Considering how strict the museum was about flash photography, one might think they would care more about leaving it next to an open window.
But if famous Greek poets aren't your thing, there's also a panoply of Roman emperors.
Like Augustus:
And Nero:
And even Commodus...who does not look anything at all like Joaquin Phoenix:
The most famous pieces in the museum, however, the ones the guidebooks tell you to notice and whose pictures are found in the nearby U-Bahn station are the Apoll von Tenea and the Barberinische Faun.
I don't have anything against the Apoll von Tenea, although for a statue purported to be an exemplar of proportionality and grace in sculpture, it's hard not to notice that its right hand is FLOATING IN SPACE.
And the Barberinische Faun is fine too, although one has to be rather observant to confirm that it is in fact a half-man/half-goat hybrid rather than just a very large drunk slouching on a marble chaise lounge.
On the whole, I enjoyed my visit to the Glyptothek. The museum's collections are elegantly laid out and the statues remain remarkably well-preserved, especially given that the museum building (like much of the city) was damaged during World War II. I recommend it highly to any classical scholars in my reading audience who plan to visit Munich in the future.
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Contrary to its name, the Glyptothek is not Munich's hottest Egyptian dance club, but rather a museum of antiquities located on the Konigplatz. Constructed in the form of an Ionic temple to house King Ludwig I's collection of classical sculptures, with collections spanning the Archaic, Classical, Hellenistic, and Roman periods. Most people in my tour group would likely have had difficulty explaining the difference between these different styles, but fortunately the guide from yesterday's tour of the Lensbachhaus was there to lead the way. Below are a few photographic highlights from the collections.
First, the external facade of the museum:
This is supposedly a bust of Homer. Considering how strict the museum was about flash photography, one might think they would care more about leaving it next to an open window.
But if famous Greek poets aren't your thing, there's also a panoply of Roman emperors.
Like Augustus:
And Nero:
And even Commodus...who does not look anything at all like Joaquin Phoenix:
The most famous pieces in the museum, however, the ones the guidebooks tell you to notice and whose pictures are found in the nearby U-Bahn station are the Apoll von Tenea and the Barberinische Faun.
I don't have anything against the Apoll von Tenea, although for a statue purported to be an exemplar of proportionality and grace in sculpture, it's hard not to notice that its right hand is FLOATING IN SPACE.
And the Barberinische Faun is fine too, although one has to be rather observant to confirm that it is in fact a half-man/half-goat hybrid rather than just a very large drunk slouching on a marble chaise lounge.
On the whole, I enjoyed my visit to the Glyptothek. The museum's collections are elegantly laid out and the statues remain remarkably well-preserved, especially given that the museum building (like much of the city) was damaged during World War II. I recommend it highly to any classical scholars in my reading audience who plan to visit Munich in the future.
Monday, July 09, 2007
The Deutsches Museum: A Brief Glimpse
This afternoon, the Schiller Center organized a trip to the Deutsches Museum. Despite the miserable rain, which my teacher assures me is not normal weather for Bavaria in the summer, I decided to tag along. So what if I had already visited their archives last week? I hadn't gotten a chance to see the actual museum displays. And besides, this would be a good chance to learn a reliable public transit route from the center of town, since the tram stop right by the museum is closed. Since I could not find a sign-up sheet in the Center's main lobby, I had assumed that no sign-up or payment were necessary.
I was wrong on both counts. Fortunately, they were able to squeeze me into the tour group of 30+ people, none of whom shared a common language beyond German. This was fine with our EXTREMELY ENTHUSIASTIC TOUR GUIDE, who took us on a whirlwind ride through the museum's aeronautics, ship building, and electricity exhibits as well as its justifiably famous walk-through coal mine.
Some highlights from the visit:
1. God can be found all around you. Even in the coat check room.
No kidding! One of the first things one sees upon entering the Deutsches Museum, assuming that you want to check your bags, is this sculpture depicting a rather traditional version of the Supreme Being creating the universe. Yes, that is a quote from Genesis underneath his heavenly perch. While this was, as far as I could tell, the sole direct reference to religion in the museum and seems to have been intended as a contrast to the other hundreds of exhibits, it still seemed somewhat out of place.
2. The Father of the Modern Science Museum?
I have a professor who hates it when people use the phrase, "The Father of _________" to describe someone. While I agree that the expression has become rather hackneyed from overuse and that it is altogether impossible to sire an abstract concept. Nevertheless, I do not feel that the expression is entirely out of place in this context. Because without Oskar von Miller there would be no Deutsches Museum. Von Miller was the driving force behind the museum's creation, and as its first director he organized Germany's politicians and industrialists to support the endeavor and secured cooperation from the local government in Munich, thereby allowing this new facility for science education to be established. Since most of America's modern (i.e. 20th century) science and technology museums based their design at least in part on the Deutsches Museum, von Miller is, if not the father of the modern museum, an incontestably important figure in the history of modern museology.
3. Umberto's Favorite Exhibit
Yes, it's time yet again for everyone's favorite means of demonstrating the rotation of the earth: the Foucault Pendulum. The Deutsches Museum pendulum is suspended inside the main tower, and hangs from a cable almost 60 meters long which apparently has the ability to disappear in digital photographs. (It's there...but very faint!) Like similar demonstrations I had seen in the United States, the pendulum is surrounded by pins which it knocks down as the Earth rotates beneath it. Unlike in America, it is not completely surrounded, win the pins only marking off a 90 degree arc rather than a full circle. I understand the logic behind the decision; ideally, between the time the pendulum is started swinging at 9 in the morning and the museum's closing time at 5, all of the pins on that arc will be knocked down. I am curious, however, whether this setup is typical of European science museums and if so, why their American counterparts tend to do things differently. Is it because Americans need to see the whole circle rather than an arc in order to appreciate the phenomenon being illustrated? Or is it because we just like knocking stuff down more? Questions to ponder...
4. That's Not a My-Boat, So It Must Be...
This is only a third or so of the U-1, the first submarine constructed for the German Imperial Navy. It went into service in 1906 and later served as a training vessel. By the end of World War I, it had to be put up in mothballs. Between 1921 and 1923, the entire submarine was disassembled, loaded on to trains and transported to Munich where the Deutsches Museum was putting the finishing touches on its new building. Although you can't walk through this particular U-Boat like you can with its descendant in Chicago, it still is a fascinating historical artifact.
5. Agricola in Action
Until I started studying the history of science, I had never heard of Georg Bauer, a.k.a. Georgius Agricola. I suppose most of you haven't either. It's understandable, but unfortunate, because Agricola was an interesting character in the history of early modern science, thanks to his contributions to the development of mineralogy and mining technology. In his book, De Re Metallica (which can be viewed in its entirety here), he presented a comprehensive account of mining operations during the mid-16th century, along with a slew of interesting diagrams for machinery that did everything from pump water to provide better underground ventilation. The image above is a full size reconstruction of one of Agricola's water pumps located in the Deutsches Museum's walkthrough coal mine. As my EXTREMELY ENTHUSIASTIC tour guide explains what's going on, two of my fellow Schiller Center classmates are acting as the power source to drive this machine, running along the wheel like a pair of giant hamsters. After a few moments, their efforts are rewarded as the buckets pictured below come up from the ground filled with water drawn from the Isar River outside!
This is just another example of what makes the Deutsches Museum so unique and exciting to visit. Because, let's face it, there are other science museums with walkthrough exhibits. There are even other science museums with walkthrough coal mine exhibits, most notably in Chicago. But I would be willing to wager that there are very few science museums outside Munich that include fully functional pieces of machinery based upon diagrams found in classic Renaissance texts!
6. A Shocking Conclusion
While we were leaving the mining exhibit, our EXTREMELY ENTHUSIASTIC guide asked a few of us what we did when we weren't studying German in Munich. When I explained my interest in science museums , she became even more EXTREMELY ENTHUSIASTIC and decided that after dropping off the rest of the group for a demonstration in the electricity wing, she would take me on a special detour to quickly see a few other exhibits. Thus I ended up getting dragged along by an EXTREMELY ENTHUSIASTIC tour guide, who it turns out LOVES MUSEUMS and explained to me in rapidfire German how great it was that I was able to do research in Munich and how wonderful the Deutsches Museum was. I tried my best to keep up, both physically and conversationally, but in both cases it proved a challenge. I think we saw the room devoted to the history of the Deutsches Museum proper, but not much else before she abruptly (BUT WITH EXTREME ENTHUSIASM) ended the tour, wished me luck, and pointed me towards the electricity demonstration...already in progress.
The show reminded me somewhat of similar electricity demonstrations popularized in Boston and Philadelphia, complete with Van de Graaf generators, Tesla coils, and Jacob's Ladders (the spark gap kind, not the wooden toy). But there were some interesting variations. For example, the demonstrators used a spherical Faraday cage that could be raised about twenty feet off the ground rather than settle for a permanent fixture on the stage. In addition, they demonstrated the importance of using a lightning rod using wooden models, one of which was grounded properly and one of which promptly became a smoking pile of kindling.
I was rather impressed with the whole thing and decided to capture the occasion on my camera using its video function:
The video I've uploaded here (my first ever YouTube upload, by the way), shows a particularly ferocious looking Jacob's Ladder doing its thing. The whole affair was quite impressive, though due to dim lighting, difficult to capture any details beyond the sparks.
After watching the show, I rushed over to the museum's library to sift through a few more documents before adjourning for the afternoon. Frustratingly, I still had not gotten my bearings so far as public transportation was concerned and ended up wandering north from the river in search of the Isartor train station but ending up instead at the Viktualienmarkt, the city's most famous open-air market. I took the chance to buy some fresh fruit for dinner as I wandered north to the nearby Stachus station to catch a trolley home, exhausted from the journey but excited that even after seeing all of these exhibits in the Deutsches Museum, I had only barely scratched the surface. There will still be a lot of exciting things for me to see. I only hope I have the time...
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This afternoon, the Schiller Center organized a trip to the Deutsches Museum. Despite the miserable rain, which my teacher assures me is not normal weather for Bavaria in the summer, I decided to tag along. So what if I had already visited their archives last week? I hadn't gotten a chance to see the actual museum displays. And besides, this would be a good chance to learn a reliable public transit route from the center of town, since the tram stop right by the museum is closed. Since I could not find a sign-up sheet in the Center's main lobby, I had assumed that no sign-up or payment were necessary.
I was wrong on both counts. Fortunately, they were able to squeeze me into the tour group of 30+ people, none of whom shared a common language beyond German. This was fine with our EXTREMELY ENTHUSIASTIC TOUR GUIDE, who took us on a whirlwind ride through the museum's aeronautics, ship building, and electricity exhibits as well as its justifiably famous walk-through coal mine.
Some highlights from the visit:
1. God can be found all around you. Even in the coat check room.
No kidding! One of the first things one sees upon entering the Deutsches Museum, assuming that you want to check your bags, is this sculpture depicting a rather traditional version of the Supreme Being creating the universe. Yes, that is a quote from Genesis underneath his heavenly perch. While this was, as far as I could tell, the sole direct reference to religion in the museum and seems to have been intended as a contrast to the other hundreds of exhibits, it still seemed somewhat out of place.
2. The Father of the Modern Science Museum?
I have a professor who hates it when people use the phrase, "The Father of _________" to describe someone. While I agree that the expression has become rather hackneyed from overuse and that it is altogether impossible to sire an abstract concept. Nevertheless, I do not feel that the expression is entirely out of place in this context. Because without Oskar von Miller there would be no Deutsches Museum. Von Miller was the driving force behind the museum's creation, and as its first director he organized Germany's politicians and industrialists to support the endeavor and secured cooperation from the local government in Munich, thereby allowing this new facility for science education to be established. Since most of America's modern (i.e. 20th century) science and technology museums based their design at least in part on the Deutsches Museum, von Miller is, if not the father of the modern museum, an incontestably important figure in the history of modern museology.
3. Umberto's Favorite Exhibit
Yes, it's time yet again for everyone's favorite means of demonstrating the rotation of the earth: the Foucault Pendulum. The Deutsches Museum pendulum is suspended inside the main tower, and hangs from a cable almost 60 meters long which apparently has the ability to disappear in digital photographs. (It's there...but very faint!) Like similar demonstrations I had seen in the United States, the pendulum is surrounded by pins which it knocks down as the Earth rotates beneath it. Unlike in America, it is not completely surrounded, win the pins only marking off a 90 degree arc rather than a full circle. I understand the logic behind the decision; ideally, between the time the pendulum is started swinging at 9 in the morning and the museum's closing time at 5, all of the pins on that arc will be knocked down. I am curious, however, whether this setup is typical of European science museums and if so, why their American counterparts tend to do things differently. Is it because Americans need to see the whole circle rather than an arc in order to appreciate the phenomenon being illustrated? Or is it because we just like knocking stuff down more? Questions to ponder...
4. That's Not a My-Boat, So It Must Be...
This is only a third or so of the U-1, the first submarine constructed for the German Imperial Navy. It went into service in 1906 and later served as a training vessel. By the end of World War I, it had to be put up in mothballs. Between 1921 and 1923, the entire submarine was disassembled, loaded on to trains and transported to Munich where the Deutsches Museum was putting the finishing touches on its new building. Although you can't walk through this particular U-Boat like you can with its descendant in Chicago, it still is a fascinating historical artifact.
5. Agricola in Action
Until I started studying the history of science, I had never heard of Georg Bauer, a.k.a. Georgius Agricola. I suppose most of you haven't either. It's understandable, but unfortunate, because Agricola was an interesting character in the history of early modern science, thanks to his contributions to the development of mineralogy and mining technology. In his book, De Re Metallica (which can be viewed in its entirety here), he presented a comprehensive account of mining operations during the mid-16th century, along with a slew of interesting diagrams for machinery that did everything from pump water to provide better underground ventilation. The image above is a full size reconstruction of one of Agricola's water pumps located in the Deutsches Museum's walkthrough coal mine. As my EXTREMELY ENTHUSIASTIC tour guide explains what's going on, two of my fellow Schiller Center classmates are acting as the power source to drive this machine, running along the wheel like a pair of giant hamsters. After a few moments, their efforts are rewarded as the buckets pictured below come up from the ground filled with water drawn from the Isar River outside!
This is just another example of what makes the Deutsches Museum so unique and exciting to visit. Because, let's face it, there are other science museums with walkthrough exhibits. There are even other science museums with walkthrough coal mine exhibits, most notably in Chicago. But I would be willing to wager that there are very few science museums outside Munich that include fully functional pieces of machinery based upon diagrams found in classic Renaissance texts!
6. A Shocking Conclusion
While we were leaving the mining exhibit, our EXTREMELY ENTHUSIASTIC guide asked a few of us what we did when we weren't studying German in Munich. When I explained my interest in science museums , she became even more EXTREMELY ENTHUSIASTIC and decided that after dropping off the rest of the group for a demonstration in the electricity wing, she would take me on a special detour to quickly see a few other exhibits. Thus I ended up getting dragged along by an EXTREMELY ENTHUSIASTIC tour guide, who it turns out LOVES MUSEUMS and explained to me in rapidfire German how great it was that I was able to do research in Munich and how wonderful the Deutsches Museum was. I tried my best to keep up, both physically and conversationally, but in both cases it proved a challenge. I think we saw the room devoted to the history of the Deutsches Museum proper, but not much else before she abruptly (BUT WITH EXTREME ENTHUSIASM) ended the tour, wished me luck, and pointed me towards the electricity demonstration...already in progress.
The show reminded me somewhat of similar electricity demonstrations popularized in Boston and Philadelphia, complete with Van de Graaf generators, Tesla coils, and Jacob's Ladders (the spark gap kind, not the wooden toy). But there were some interesting variations. For example, the demonstrators used a spherical Faraday cage that could be raised about twenty feet off the ground rather than settle for a permanent fixture on the stage. In addition, they demonstrated the importance of using a lightning rod using wooden models, one of which was grounded properly and one of which promptly became a smoking pile of kindling.
I was rather impressed with the whole thing and decided to capture the occasion on my camera using its video function:
The video I've uploaded here (my first ever YouTube upload, by the way), shows a particularly ferocious looking Jacob's Ladder doing its thing. The whole affair was quite impressive, though due to dim lighting, difficult to capture any details beyond the sparks.
After watching the show, I rushed over to the museum's library to sift through a few more documents before adjourning for the afternoon. Frustratingly, I still had not gotten my bearings so far as public transportation was concerned and ended up wandering north from the river in search of the Isartor train station but ending up instead at the Viktualienmarkt, the city's most famous open-air market. I took the chance to buy some fresh fruit for dinner as I wandered north to the nearby Stachus station to catch a trolley home, exhausted from the journey but excited that even after seeing all of these exhibits in the Deutsches Museum, I had only barely scratched the surface. There will still be a lot of exciting things for me to see. I only hope I have the time...
