Sunday, July 29, 2007
Holidays in the Alps
Last Thursday evening I got home from a seven-day holiday in the Alps with my old friend Shev. I'm still a bit overwhelmed by the experience, I didn't stay long enough to lose any sense of awe of the mountains. I'll put up summaries of our experiences in installments as I'm certain that I won't be able to write it all up at once. So, stay tuned for Phil and Shev's Excellent Adventures!
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Thanks to repeated proddings from Matt Stuckings, I now have a profile on Facebook. I'm really not sure what I am getting myself into, but at present I'm feeling a little overwhelmed by all the now-rather-old paradigm of Web 2.0 (oh do I sound geeky when I drop that kind of jargon). Anyway, I can see this rapidly taking up a vast amount of my time so I must urge PATIENCE to anyone who pokes/befriends me as I AM NOW REALLY BUSY AND STILL TRYING TO CATCH UP ON WRITING EMAILS / BLOG-ENTRIES / PAPERS, NOT TO MENTION THAT HOLIDAY TO SWITZERLAND ON FRIDAY, SO PLEASE *DON'T* BE OFFENDED IF I DON'T RESPOND IN A REASONABLE TIME. I'LL GET BACK TO YOU SOON, PROMISE.
Love, light and peace to you all.
Love, light and peace to you all.
Um Ulm
Three Sundays ago I had one of the most amazing bike trips since my visit to Reussenstein. On account of the +32 degC heat, it was also probably the closest I've yet come to killing myself on one of these outings. For the benefit of my mother, that last statement was meant mostly in jest - I managed (somehow) to keep hydrated, but it was pretty heavy going for the last couple of hours under the baking mid-afternoon sun.
For me the last German summer was sheer torture with sky-rocketing temperatures and tropical humidity. Although this year we've been spared most of these discomforts, we had a brief taste of this special hell on Sunday the 15th. It was in these less-than-ideal circumstances that I took the early-morning express train to the large town of Ulm which lies just on the border with the neighbouring state of Bavaria, also marking the eastern-most edge of the Schwaebisch Alb. Although my sister liked Ulm, I wasn't planning on spending much time there - as soon as I arrived at the train station, I saddled up and started off to the west, following the small river Blau.
The morning ride along the Blau would prove to be the most pleasant part of the day. The air was still cool, the blue of horizon not yet turned to summer haze, and the dew still fresh underfoot when I paused to take the panorama above. Unlike last time, there was very little traffic on the bike paths, so again I could feel that wonderful sense of freedom produced by the open road. After about an hour's cycle unmistakable signs that I was approaching the edge of the Alb began to appear: stout limestone pinnacles could be seen poking above the trees on either side of the valley, and also factories where quarried limestone is ground up to extract calcium, a basic chemical ingredient of cement. I was now very close to the source of the Blau itself, and the valley had considerably deepened and narrowed. Remembering Machiavelli's dictum that the mountain is the best place from which to observe the valley, I decided to climb up to the television tower standing at the top of the forested ridge some distance in front of me. The sun was burning more ferociously than when I had started out, so the cool of the forest offered a welcome relief from the valley.
Emerging from the forest at the end of my climb I was met by the view above, showing the golden-brown fields of
wheat sweeping southwards down to the distant Donau. It was just at the beginning of harvest time, and the combine harvesters were starting to make their rounds of the many small fields. Avoiding these behemoths on the road, I eventually made it back to the forest and located the television tower - as well as an unexpected stone lookout (left), constructed as a monument to Schiller. The view across the Blau valley from this point is seen below.
At the left-hand side of the photo you can see the small village of Blaubeuren, which was my next stop and the primary purpose of my trip - to see the source of the Blau. Just at the northwestern edge of Blaubeuren the river emerges from an enourmous hole in the ground, the so-called Blautopf, which is connected to a subterranean river and cave system. It is also what gives the river it's name - the water in the hole is of a
magnificent blue colour. This is due to the dissolved minerals from the limestone of the Alb: the rain that falls on the Alb soaks through the porous limestone, dissolving some of it as it goes, eventually coalescing into large underground rivers. The flow of water coming out of the Blautopf was quite remarkable, perhaps due to the heavy rains we had in June.
Despite the beauty of this spot, it wasn't overcrowded (people seemed more interested in the nearby swimming pool) and I spent some time peering into the crystal-clear water - one can see at least 10m down without difficulty. It was now past midday and I decided to press on for the nearby village of Schelklingen, but this proved a bit of a disappointment - what can you say about a town that
lists a concrete factory as a major tourist attraction? Wanting to just find somewhere to sit down in the shade, I made for the nearby hamlet of Urspring, which my cycling map claimed had a cloister. It was a good decision - the village, such that it is, seemed to me to be a single complex, comprising of some old timbered houses, an impressive nunnery (?) and what appeared to be a series of modern school-buildings - all built around a small spring, which had the same beautiful blue waters as the Blautopf. It was at the secluded edge of the spring that I took my lunch.
The next leg of my trip took me towards Ehingen, and the Donau itself. I tacked a little detour through the forest onto my way, as I didn't fancy cycling past a series of cement factories. Although the forest roads were typically poorly marked, I'm beginning to develop some kind of intuition about reading the map, and
I made without much difficulty the scenic view to the right, looking down to Ehingen and the Donau valley. Unfortunately my intuitive grasp of the German landscape does not yet extend to cities, and I spent a long time in Ehingen trying to work out precisely where I was meant to go in order to get to the river. After much head-scratching and cursing, I eventually reached (more by luck than design) the bike path running along a ridge just above the river, from where the panoramic shot below was taken.
I crossed the Donau shortly afterwards at the small village of Nasgenstadt, taking the above shot on the bridge. On the other side I stopped for a moment and went down to get a closer look at this famous river, washing my face in the clear waters and contemplating the schools of small fish darting in the shallows. The water dripping off my face tasted salty due to the evaporated sweat from my exertions in the heat. It was also at this time that I noticed that I was running low on water - and still 30km left to the train station in Ulm. Thankfully the road would be flat now that I was on the Donau floodplain. As I made my way back to Ulm I passed countless small nondescript villages each with a church with an onion-shaped dome on its steeple, as well as many man-made lakes siphoned off from the Donau, filled with waterlilies and attracting numerous anglers.
I got back to Ulm with plenty of time for the next train to Stuttgart, so I took a short wander into the city to see the magnificent cathedral there up close. This is a remarkable building, as the steeple is the highest in Europe,
and for some time (before a certain Mr Eiffel) it was the tallest construction on the continent. Unfortunately I was too late to hike to the top like my sister, but I was suitably impressed nonetheless. I do sometimes regret not being able to spend more time in the towns I visit on my journeys and it is unfair of me to dismiss them all as "typically-pretty traditional old towns", but I nevertheless find them much less memorable than the natural beauty of this country; besides, I do not want to waste the best months of the year walking around a town when I could be out in the country feeling the wind in my hair. Maybe in winter I can return to see Ulm more closely.
For me the last German summer was sheer torture with sky-rocketing temperatures and tropical humidity. Although this year we've been spared most of these discomforts, we had a brief taste of this special hell on Sunday the 15th. It was in these less-than-ideal circumstances that I took the early-morning express train to the large town of Ulm which lies just on the border with the neighbouring state of Bavaria, also marking the eastern-most edge of the Schwaebisch Alb. Although my sister liked Ulm, I wasn't planning on spending much time there - as soon as I arrived at the train station, I saddled up and started off to the west, following the small river Blau.
The morning ride along the Blau would prove to be the most pleasant part of the day. The air was still cool, the blue of horizon not yet turned to summer haze, and the dew still fresh underfoot when I paused to take the panorama above. Unlike last time, there was very little traffic on the bike paths, so again I could feel that wonderful sense of freedom produced by the open road. After about an hour's cycle unmistakable signs that I was approaching the edge of the Alb began to appear: stout limestone pinnacles could be seen poking above the trees on either side of the valley, and also factories where quarried limestone is ground up to extract calcium, a basic chemical ingredient of cement. I was now very close to the source of the Blau itself, and the valley had considerably deepened and narrowed. Remembering Machiavelli's dictum that the mountain is the best place from which to observe the valley, I decided to climb up to the television tower standing at the top of the forested ridge some distance in front of me. The sun was burning more ferociously than when I had started out, so the cool of the forest offered a welcome relief from the valley.
Emerging from the forest at the end of my climb I was met by the view above, showing the golden-brown fields of
wheat sweeping southwards down to the distant Donau. It was just at the beginning of harvest time, and the combine harvesters were starting to make their rounds of the many small fields. Avoiding these behemoths on the road, I eventually made it back to the forest and located the television tower - as well as an unexpected stone lookout (left), constructed as a monument to Schiller. The view across the Blau valley from this point is seen below.
At the left-hand side of the photo you can see the small village of Blaubeuren, which was my next stop and the primary purpose of my trip - to see the source of the Blau. Just at the northwestern edge of Blaubeuren the river emerges from an enourmous hole in the ground, the so-called Blautopf, which is connected to a subterranean river and cave system. It is also what gives the river it's name - the water in the hole is of a
magnificent blue colour. This is due to the dissolved minerals from the limestone of the Alb: the rain that falls on the Alb soaks through the porous limestone, dissolving some of it as it goes, eventually coalescing into large underground rivers. The flow of water coming out of the Blautopf was quite remarkable, perhaps due to the heavy rains we had in June.Despite the beauty of this spot, it wasn't overcrowded (people seemed more interested in the nearby swimming pool) and I spent some time peering into the crystal-clear water - one can see at least 10m down without difficulty. It was now past midday and I decided to press on for the nearby village of Schelklingen, but this proved a bit of a disappointment - what can you say about a town that
lists a concrete factory as a major tourist attraction? Wanting to just find somewhere to sit down in the shade, I made for the nearby hamlet of Urspring, which my cycling map claimed had a cloister. It was a good decision - the village, such that it is, seemed to me to be a single complex, comprising of some old timbered houses, an impressive nunnery (?) and what appeared to be a series of modern school-buildings - all built around a small spring, which had the same beautiful blue waters as the Blautopf. It was at the secluded edge of the spring that I took my lunch.The next leg of my trip took me towards Ehingen, and the Donau itself. I tacked a little detour through the forest onto my way, as I didn't fancy cycling past a series of cement factories. Although the forest roads were typically poorly marked, I'm beginning to develop some kind of intuition about reading the map, and
I made without much difficulty the scenic view to the right, looking down to Ehingen and the Donau valley. Unfortunately my intuitive grasp of the German landscape does not yet extend to cities, and I spent a long time in Ehingen trying to work out precisely where I was meant to go in order to get to the river. After much head-scratching and cursing, I eventually reached (more by luck than design) the bike path running along a ridge just above the river, from where the panoramic shot below was taken.
I crossed the Donau shortly afterwards at the small village of Nasgenstadt, taking the above shot on the bridge. On the other side I stopped for a moment and went down to get a closer look at this famous river, washing my face in the clear waters and contemplating the schools of small fish darting in the shallows. The water dripping off my face tasted salty due to the evaporated sweat from my exertions in the heat. It was also at this time that I noticed that I was running low on water - and still 30km left to the train station in Ulm. Thankfully the road would be flat now that I was on the Donau floodplain. As I made my way back to Ulm I passed countless small nondescript villages each with a church with an onion-shaped dome on its steeple, as well as many man-made lakes siphoned off from the Donau, filled with waterlilies and attracting numerous anglers.
I got back to Ulm with plenty of time for the next train to Stuttgart, so I took a short wander into the city to see the magnificent cathedral there up close. This is a remarkable building, as the steeple is the highest in Europe,
and for some time (before a certain Mr Eiffel) it was the tallest construction on the continent. Unfortunately I was too late to hike to the top like my sister, but I was suitably impressed nonetheless. I do sometimes regret not being able to spend more time in the towns I visit on my journeys and it is unfair of me to dismiss them all as "typically-pretty traditional old towns", but I nevertheless find them much less memorable than the natural beauty of this country; besides, I do not want to waste the best months of the year walking around a town when I could be out in the country feeling the wind in my hair. Maybe in winter I can return to see Ulm more closely.
Fire Trucks, Terrorists and Fast Trains
Although June proved to be a very busy month for me, I did manage one other bike trek before I got overwhelmed with work. This was on Sunday the 17th June, when I decided to explore the river Enz downstream from Pforzheim. I had a co-worker arriving on Monday for two days of intense discussions on a paper, so I didn't want to do anything too draining: the well-marked bike track running along the Enz river as it snakes it way through the fertile, gently-rolling countryside to the north-west of Stuttgart seemed like the perfect choice. A nice change from the last two muscle-crunching climbs up the alb! The train-ride to Pforzheim did, however, pre-empt the only downside of the day - the bike carriage on the train was as full as I have ever seen it, and the cycle paths were clogged with retirees enjoying the good weather.
It may well be that Sunday morning is the only time in my life that I see Pforzheim. Although the short amount of time I spent there allowed me only the briefest of impressions, it struck me as a neat, largely new, middle-class satellite town. Not particularly memorable as such, but probably not an unpleasant place in which to live. This rather mediocre assessment set the tone for most of the rest of the day. The first hour or so along the Enz offered no particularly lovely vistas, but rather that strange agricultural-industrial hybrid that so characterizes much of the German countryside.
The section of the trip between Muehlacker and Vaihingen an der Enz was the most rewarding in terms of scenery - This is arguably the least developed stretch of the Enz between Pforzheim and Besigheim (where it joins the Neckar) and the steep sides of the relatively narrow Enz valley reinforced the pleasant sensation of isolation. The river snakes crazily in this region also, and just besides the small village of Muehlhausen an der Enz it curves around a long drop-shaped peninsula. Of course, one day the river will cut right through this spit of land and the village of Muehlhausen an der Enz will have to change its name - but this is still some time off.
I decided to get a better view of this by climbing out of the valley just before reaching the village. I soon found
myself surrounded by fields of corn, now almost as tall as me. In the distance I could see what appeared to be a convoy of red trucks heading east. The unusual and intermittent sirens I could hear suggested that perhaps it was a military exercise - I commonly see signposts giving speed limits for tanks - so I went on my way without giving it much more thought, A little further down the road I came across several people standing on an improvised platform, 
cameras at the ready - immediately understanding the situation, I jumped off the bicycle and whipped out my own camera. The convoy was of old restored firetrucks - ranging from what seemed to 1920s to perhaps the early 1980s. There were an awful lot of them, and I have absolutely no idea to where they were headed.
Continuing further down the road, I found the view pictured in the panoramic shot below. At the edge of the photo you can see the old-style terraced vineyards which covered the sides of the valley. According to my map, a little further on the ruins of castle Altrosswang could be found - but they must be more ruined than poor Greifenstein, as I couldn't find any sign of them. The local I managend to accost seemed surprised to learn that such a thing existed, so I decided to head on my way and rejoin the Enz in Rosswang.
After one and a half hours I arrived at the town of Bissingen, the last major town on the Enz. Instead of continuing along the Enz until it meets the Neckar in Besigheim, I decided to turn south and cycle across the north-western outskirts of Stuttgart until I reached an S-Bahn station. After about an hour I found myself on Solitude Allee, a road which once connected the pleasure palace of Schloss Solitude with the seat of Ducal power at Ludwigsburg. Undoubtedly influenced by the severe geometry of the age, this road runs perfectly straight over its +10km length - it does not recognise the obstacles of topograghy, cutting carelessly across contour lines, an ostentatious symbol of the duke's control over his lands.
Travelling along Solitude Allee, the first building one comes to in Stuttgart proper is the infamous prison of Stammheim, rising like some strange concrete box from the surrounding fields of grain. Stammheim is well-known in Germany as it is here that the members of the Red Army Faction (RAF) terrorist organization are interned. The RAF belongs to the time when terrorists were educated marxist urban guerillas, and their murderous exploits almost seem petty by today's dismal standards. Active during the 1970s and born of the bitter disaffections of the student rebellions, the motivations of the group were complicated and perhaps even contradictory. Their actions touched a raw nerve in German society, as their targets were often prominent ex-Nazis, highlighting the very incomplete nature of the post-war denazification.
I finished my ride shortly after passing by Stammheim at the train station in the suburb of Zuffenhausen. While purchasing my ticket, I noticed a fast train coming in on the main line to Stuttgart, but not the usual white of the German ICE - rather the blue and grey of the French TGV. Yes, the TGV does come to Stuttgart: just this year, a new Stuttgart-Paris express route started up. A perfect weekend outing? Not sure exactly what the Parisians would want to see in Stuttgart ;)
It may well be that Sunday morning is the only time in my life that I see Pforzheim. Although the short amount of time I spent there allowed me only the briefest of impressions, it struck me as a neat, largely new, middle-class satellite town. Not particularly memorable as such, but probably not an unpleasant place in which to live. This rather mediocre assessment set the tone for most of the rest of the day. The first hour or so along the Enz offered no particularly lovely vistas, but rather that strange agricultural-industrial hybrid that so characterizes much of the German countryside.
The section of the trip between Muehlacker and Vaihingen an der Enz was the most rewarding in terms of scenery - This is arguably the least developed stretch of the Enz between Pforzheim and Besigheim (where it joins the Neckar) and the steep sides of the relatively narrow Enz valley reinforced the pleasant sensation of isolation. The river snakes crazily in this region also, and just besides the small village of Muehlhausen an der Enz it curves around a long drop-shaped peninsula. Of course, one day the river will cut right through this spit of land and the village of Muehlhausen an der Enz will have to change its name - but this is still some time off.
I decided to get a better view of this by climbing out of the valley just before reaching the village. I soon found
myself surrounded by fields of corn, now almost as tall as me. In the distance I could see what appeared to be a convoy of red trucks heading east. The unusual and intermittent sirens I could hear suggested that perhaps it was a military exercise - I commonly see signposts giving speed limits for tanks - so I went on my way without giving it much more thought, A little further down the road I came across several people standing on an improvised platform, 
cameras at the ready - immediately understanding the situation, I jumped off the bicycle and whipped out my own camera. The convoy was of old restored firetrucks - ranging from what seemed to 1920s to perhaps the early 1980s. There were an awful lot of them, and I have absolutely no idea to where they were headed.Continuing further down the road, I found the view pictured in the panoramic shot below. At the edge of the photo you can see the old-style terraced vineyards which covered the sides of the valley. According to my map, a little further on the ruins of castle Altrosswang could be found - but they must be more ruined than poor Greifenstein, as I couldn't find any sign of them. The local I managend to accost seemed surprised to learn that such a thing existed, so I decided to head on my way and rejoin the Enz in Rosswang.
After one and a half hours I arrived at the town of Bissingen, the last major town on the Enz. Instead of continuing along the Enz until it meets the Neckar in Besigheim, I decided to turn south and cycle across the north-western outskirts of Stuttgart until I reached an S-Bahn station. After about an hour I found myself on Solitude Allee, a road which once connected the pleasure palace of Schloss Solitude with the seat of Ducal power at Ludwigsburg. Undoubtedly influenced by the severe geometry of the age, this road runs perfectly straight over its +10km length - it does not recognise the obstacles of topograghy, cutting carelessly across contour lines, an ostentatious symbol of the duke's control over his lands.
Travelling along Solitude Allee, the first building one comes to in Stuttgart proper is the infamous prison of Stammheim, rising like some strange concrete box from the surrounding fields of grain. Stammheim is well-known in Germany as it is here that the members of the Red Army Faction (RAF) terrorist organization are interned. The RAF belongs to the time when terrorists were educated marxist urban guerillas, and their murderous exploits almost seem petty by today's dismal standards. Active during the 1970s and born of the bitter disaffections of the student rebellions, the motivations of the group were complicated and perhaps even contradictory. Their actions touched a raw nerve in German society, as their targets were often prominent ex-Nazis, highlighting the very incomplete nature of the post-war denazification.
I finished my ride shortly after passing by Stammheim at the train station in the suburb of Zuffenhausen. While purchasing my ticket, I noticed a fast train coming in on the main line to Stuttgart, but not the usual white of the German ICE - rather the blue and grey of the French TGV. Yes, the TGV does come to Stuttgart: just this year, a new Stuttgart-Paris express route started up. A perfect weekend outing? Not sure exactly what the Parisians would want to see in Stuttgart ;)
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Random directions
Hello there! I've been rather unproductive as far as my blog is concerned this past month. Unfortunately, I've had quite wild ride at work since my birthday - three weeks of concentrated effort directed at firstly a 40 page paper I'm writing with a few coauthors, and then preparing for a 50 minute seminar at the institute last week. Needless to say, I've let a few things slip, and blogging is one of the first things to go overboard. I'm still trying to catch up on some of my correspondence, so I beg patience if you haven't heard back from me yet. I nevertheless couldn't resist jotting down a few random thoughts here:
Why Germans Recycle
The Germans tend to have a reputation for being green. Of all the major industrial nations, Germany is arguably the most environmentally aware, and green politics is mainstream here. One thing that they are very keen on is recycling, which operates here in three distinct ways. The first two will be familiar to people in Australia: we put the old packaging out for collection, and our glassware in designated bins that are found throughout the suburbs.
All this is very virtuous, but there is also a very good financial reason to recycle, which brings us to the third approach to recycling. When the supermarket sells a bottled product, such as water or beer, included in the price is a "Pfand" (refund): if you return the bottle to the store after you've drunk the contents of the bottle, you get the refund back. At my supermarket, Kaufland (literally "Shopping Land"), this is a very sophisticated process: there are automated bottle receptacles that scan the bar code on the bottle and determine what the associated Pfand is. After you've placed all the bottles in the receptacle, a receipt is printed. Presenting this receipt at the check-out in Kaufland, the total Pfand deducted from your grocery bill.
But this would all count for nothing if the Pfand was small (think "5c at return depots in S.A."). Here in Germany, however, the Pfand can be substantial: sometimes up to EUR 0.25 (roughly AUD 0.40) a bottle! To illustrate this, I show below my favourite drink in Germany: sparkling water. The Germans are absolutely crazy about carbonated water, and although I thought it rather odd when I first moved here, I've since been converted. That, however, is a post for another day. Anyway, returning to the bottles: the cost of the 3 litres of sparkling water shown below is EUR 0.69. With a Pfand at EUR 0.25 a bottle, however, the actual price you'll pay in Kaufland is EUR 2.19! The Pfand of EUR 1.50 isn't so small that you'll happily ignore returning the bottles. And these are just flimsy PET things.
In The Minority
According to this report on the ABC news website, sometime this year humanity will pass a major landmark in the history of technological civilization: more than half of the global population will own a mobile phone. I may once have told some of you that my ambition is to be the last person on the planet to own a mobile. This goal still stands, and it looks like I have a good chance of achieving it!
Something Silly
You'll be very happy to know that somebody has made a site for this. Some of the Kitlers are rather disturbing.
Why Germans Recycle
The Germans tend to have a reputation for being green. Of all the major industrial nations, Germany is arguably the most environmentally aware, and green politics is mainstream here. One thing that they are very keen on is recycling, which operates here in three distinct ways. The first two will be familiar to people in Australia: we put the old packaging out for collection, and our glassware in designated bins that are found throughout the suburbs.
All this is very virtuous, but there is also a very good financial reason to recycle, which brings us to the third approach to recycling. When the supermarket sells a bottled product, such as water or beer, included in the price is a "Pfand" (refund): if you return the bottle to the store after you've drunk the contents of the bottle, you get the refund back. At my supermarket, Kaufland (literally "Shopping Land"), this is a very sophisticated process: there are automated bottle receptacles that scan the bar code on the bottle and determine what the associated Pfand is. After you've placed all the bottles in the receptacle, a receipt is printed. Presenting this receipt at the check-out in Kaufland, the total Pfand deducted from your grocery bill.
But this would all count for nothing if the Pfand was small (think "5c at return depots in S.A."). Here in Germany, however, the Pfand can be substantial: sometimes up to EUR 0.25 (roughly AUD 0.40) a bottle! To illustrate this, I show below my favourite drink in Germany: sparkling water. The Germans are absolutely crazy about carbonated water, and although I thought it rather odd when I first moved here, I've since been converted. That, however, is a post for another day. Anyway, returning to the bottles: the cost of the 3 litres of sparkling water shown below is EUR 0.69. With a Pfand at EUR 0.25 a bottle, however, the actual price you'll pay in Kaufland is EUR 2.19! The Pfand of EUR 1.50 isn't so small that you'll happily ignore returning the bottles. And these are just flimsy PET things.
In The Minority
According to this report on the ABC news website, sometime this year humanity will pass a major landmark in the history of technological civilization: more than half of the global population will own a mobile phone. I may once have told some of you that my ambition is to be the last person on the planet to own a mobile. This goal still stands, and it looks like I have a good chance of achieving it!
Something Silly
You'll be very happy to know that somebody has made a site for this. Some of the Kitlers are rather disturbing.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Not old yet...
On Saturday 9th June I had my 26 birthday - don't worry if you didn't know or forgot as it's not the kind of thing that troubles me. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to do much to celebrate this, as by about midday the mushrooming clouds in the sky had started to storm, leading to a wet afternoon. Things had fined up by the early evening, just in time for the annual resident's dinner hosted by the landlady. It was very pleasant (Frau Barthelmes-Fleck makes a great tiramisu) but to accommodate my vegetarianism I got extra servings of... white asparagus. Mmmm.
I had managed to persuade some friends from the institute to accompany me to Bad Urach on Sunday for a 12km walk along the Schwaebisch Alb, but the storms on the 9th (and similar predictions for the 10th) convinced them to postpone. So, I made a quick plan for the day: test the alternative route onto the Schwaebisch Alb for my trip to the Bodensee.
I had a late start, leaving home at almost 10am. Instead of catching a train somewhere, I immediately headed south to connect to the bike path down the Reichenbach valley, which starts just at the southern end of Stuttgart. After the obligatory quarter of an hour scratching my head
trying to work out where I was in the suburb of Lenningen, I connected to the bike path and was away. From here on it was a good cruise all the way to the Neckar valley. It was a beautiful day, much like Saturday morning, but as you can see in the photo there were clearly stormy clouds about. This was taken just as I was climbing out of the village of Aich, looking north-west back towards Stuttgart - and look at all those beautiful red poppies!
I connected to the Neckar at Neckartailfingen and rode down towards Mittelstadt. I had been here before - coming home with Lydia and Chen from a wonderful ride to the ruined castle of Hohenneuffen last year - but
I still made the same mistake we made then and looked for a path on the wrong side of the river. As it was now midday, however, I decided to make this wrong turn a right one and eat my lunch next to the Neckar. You might notice in the photo that the river was brown with all the sediment turned up by the storms on Saturday. Even so, I could see trout fighting the substantial current heading up towards Tuebingen. That and watching the antics of the sapphire damselflies made for a wonderful lunchtime (oh yes, and my super-duper cheese sandwiches).
Now came the least pleasant part of my trip - the trek through Reutlingen. Apparently this city once had the highest concentration of millionaires in Germany, due to the lucrative cloth trade centred here. I think that's all gone now, and today it is basically just another large town in south Germany (population 100000). And for me all towns are bad - I'm not sure what it is about them, but I find navigating through them incredibly difficult. It is simply too easy to get disoriented, and of course this happened again. It was also about this time that I noticed the weather closing in from the north-west, with dark clouds fanning out over the sky. So when I finally found the correct path, I was wondering if I would make it onto the Alb at all.
In one of those strange twists of weather that I've come to understand is typical of Germany, the dark clouds passed straight overhead without even the slightest hint of rain! As you can see from the panoramic shot above, the weather looked fine as I came to the foot of the Alb. In this photo the bike-path leads towards Reutlingen, which is less than 3km away - but how easy would that be to forget!
The ascent of the Alb was exhilarating, but not very difficult. Although my legs were feeling pretty tired from the long ride from home, I still managed a respectable pace. As before, the transition from climb through the hillside forest to the rolling countryside of the Alb was practically discontinuous -
I turned a corner and there I was in open farmland. It was now 4 hours since I left my front door and I'd managed about 65km. I spent some time resting at the top, which was almost a rural idyll - rolling farmland framed by forests, tree-lined paths and a flock (?) of goats with their kids in the paddock. I now made for the ruin of Greifenstein castle, which was only about 5km south-west of my position. Unlike the last time I was on the Alb, the path was relatively flat and it was a pleasant ride. After hunting around the forest, I finally discovered the ruins. But alas, not all castles are equally ruined - Greifenstein is today little more than an outline of a castle, with only the 2m-high foundation walls remaining (see photo). It was during this time in the forest when I realized that I had absolutely no anxiety about blundering through the German forests - I would never go for a solitary bushwalk in Australia. I find it difficult, however, to understand precisely why this is. Of course, the 
consequences of getting lost in the Budawangs, for example, are much more severe that getting lost in the Naturpark Schoenbuch, but this isn't it. Neither is it the much greater range of unpleasant wildlife in Australia. There is something about the bush which just makes me tense when I'm alone, as if I know that I am an intruder in a forbidden place - and I just don't get that feeling in the forests here. Perhaps it's all due to having watched "Picnic at Hanging Rock" when I was too young or something like that, but I wonder if it's anything deeper...
After taking in the view from Greifenstein (above), I noticed the dark clouds coming back so I decided to set out for the train station in Reutlingen. Of course, the path back was much easier now that I had some idea of the city, which is great news for when I eventually do the trip to Lake Constance. Furthermore, doing a long ride again made me feel relaxed about the prospects of an over-night bicycle trek. The only problem will be to carry enough fluids, as I find I can drink upwards of 5 litres on these outings...
I had managed to persuade some friends from the institute to accompany me to Bad Urach on Sunday for a 12km walk along the Schwaebisch Alb, but the storms on the 9th (and similar predictions for the 10th) convinced them to postpone. So, I made a quick plan for the day: test the alternative route onto the Schwaebisch Alb for my trip to the Bodensee.
I had a late start, leaving home at almost 10am. Instead of catching a train somewhere, I immediately headed south to connect to the bike path down the Reichenbach valley, which starts just at the southern end of Stuttgart. After the obligatory quarter of an hour scratching my head
trying to work out where I was in the suburb of Lenningen, I connected to the bike path and was away. From here on it was a good cruise all the way to the Neckar valley. It was a beautiful day, much like Saturday morning, but as you can see in the photo there were clearly stormy clouds about. This was taken just as I was climbing out of the village of Aich, looking north-west back towards Stuttgart - and look at all those beautiful red poppies! I connected to the Neckar at Neckartailfingen and rode down towards Mittelstadt. I had been here before - coming home with Lydia and Chen from a wonderful ride to the ruined castle of Hohenneuffen last year - but
I still made the same mistake we made then and looked for a path on the wrong side of the river. As it was now midday, however, I decided to make this wrong turn a right one and eat my lunch next to the Neckar. You might notice in the photo that the river was brown with all the sediment turned up by the storms on Saturday. Even so, I could see trout fighting the substantial current heading up towards Tuebingen. That and watching the antics of the sapphire damselflies made for a wonderful lunchtime (oh yes, and my super-duper cheese sandwiches). Now came the least pleasant part of my trip - the trek through Reutlingen. Apparently this city once had the highest concentration of millionaires in Germany, due to the lucrative cloth trade centred here. I think that's all gone now, and today it is basically just another large town in south Germany (population 100000). And for me all towns are bad - I'm not sure what it is about them, but I find navigating through them incredibly difficult. It is simply too easy to get disoriented, and of course this happened again. It was also about this time that I noticed the weather closing in from the north-west, with dark clouds fanning out over the sky. So when I finally found the correct path, I was wondering if I would make it onto the Alb at all.
In one of those strange twists of weather that I've come to understand is typical of Germany, the dark clouds passed straight overhead without even the slightest hint of rain! As you can see from the panoramic shot above, the weather looked fine as I came to the foot of the Alb. In this photo the bike-path leads towards Reutlingen, which is less than 3km away - but how easy would that be to forget!
The ascent of the Alb was exhilarating, but not very difficult. Although my legs were feeling pretty tired from the long ride from home, I still managed a respectable pace. As before, the transition from climb through the hillside forest to the rolling countryside of the Alb was practically discontinuous -
I turned a corner and there I was in open farmland. It was now 4 hours since I left my front door and I'd managed about 65km. I spent some time resting at the top, which was almost a rural idyll - rolling farmland framed by forests, tree-lined paths and a flock (?) of goats with their kids in the paddock. I now made for the ruin of Greifenstein castle, which was only about 5km south-west of my position. Unlike the last time I was on the Alb, the path was relatively flat and it was a pleasant ride. After hunting around the forest, I finally discovered the ruins. But alas, not all castles are equally ruined - Greifenstein is today little more than an outline of a castle, with only the 2m-high foundation walls remaining (see photo). It was during this time in the forest when I realized that I had absolutely no anxiety about blundering through the German forests - I would never go for a solitary bushwalk in Australia. I find it difficult, however, to understand precisely why this is. Of course, the 
consequences of getting lost in the Budawangs, for example, are much more severe that getting lost in the Naturpark Schoenbuch, but this isn't it. Neither is it the much greater range of unpleasant wildlife in Australia. There is something about the bush which just makes me tense when I'm alone, as if I know that I am an intruder in a forbidden place - and I just don't get that feeling in the forests here. Perhaps it's all due to having watched "Picnic at Hanging Rock" when I was too young or something like that, but I wonder if it's anything deeper... 
After taking in the view from Greifenstein (above), I noticed the dark clouds coming back so I decided to set out for the train station in Reutlingen. Of course, the path back was much easier now that I had some idea of the city, which is great news for when I eventually do the trip to Lake Constance. Furthermore, doing a long ride again made me feel relaxed about the prospects of an over-night bicycle trek. The only problem will be to carry enough fluids, as I find I can drink upwards of 5 litres on these outings...
Monday, May 28, 2007
Whitsunday on the Schwaebische Alb
After the previous weekend's debacle, last weekend I was keen to get on the bike and have a good long ride. It was a long weekend here in Germany for Pentecost (or Pfingstsonntag as the locals say), and Sunday was predicted to be mild with showers. I've cracked the German weather code - fine means fine, stormy means stormy, rain means rain - but showers can mean practically anything, from searing heat to biblical flood. So I decided to risk checking out the pass onto the Schwaebishe Alb that I was thinking of taking on my (aborted) trip to Lake Constance.
The Schwaebische Alb is the name given to the highland that abruptly rises 200-300m from the rolling countryside of the Neckar valley to the south of Stuttgart. It doesn't present a straight face, but rather turns and twists crazily, with some rivers having carved deep gashes into the plateau. Mostly there are no visible cliffs at the edge, although the slope is precipitously steep. The Alb is basically a huge slab of limestone, laid down during the Jurassic time. The area is famed for a large collection of cave systems, as well as very many significant fossil discoveries. Although the soil of the Alb appears rich and dark, the limestone layer is apparently not far below the surface: I passed many fields where the plough had turned up rounded white limestone stones, like so many sprouting mushrooms.
I made my ascent onto the Alb from the town of Ober-Lenningen, after cycling 30km from the closest S-Bahn station of Plochingen. The pass itself was actually quite gentle and I made the 250m climb in only15 minutes, without once encountering any motor traffic (an uncomfortable companion on my last trip to the Alb). Almost as soon as I arrived on the Alb, it started raining. This wasn't all that unexpected, as the weather coming in from the west seemed pretty unpleasant when I left home. It didn't keep up for long, setting a pattern for the rest of the day of brief showers blowing across the Alb every couple of hours, followed by long periods of fine weather. I decided to head to Ochsenwang, where a good scenic view of the lowlands from whence I had come could be found.
Arriving in Ochsenwang ("oxen" something) around midday I decided to eat at the restaurant of the Gasthaus Krone in the town square. The restaurant conformed to every stereotype of the provincial establishment - a dark room lit by the orange glow of incandescent bulbs hidden by fabric lampshades, candles on the tables, ancient stuffed animals and antler-trophies leering at me from every wall - and heavy German meals. One thing about the Germans is that they really go crazy over white asparagus - out of the 4 page menu, 2 pages were devoted to asparagus dishes. Myself, I just don't see the attraction.
Although my heart sank as it started pouring outside during my lunch, by the time I had finished the rain had more-or-less blown over. So I lost no time and headed first for the Auchtert, a hill just outside of the village which was arguably the highest point I made that day (814m). From here I took the panoramic shot of the fields between Ochsenwang and the edge of the Alb (above): you can see the village just on the left and my next destination, Breitenstein, as the high-point in the centre. The day's ride was worth just the view from the Breitenstein, included as the panoramic shot below (as well as the picture of your's truly in cycling garb). It is one of the few places where the Alb actually falls away as a cliff, with a steep drop of about 20m or so just behind me.
After soaking in the view, I made for the ruins of Reussenstein castle, passing on my way a rather curious geological formation known as the Randecker Maar - a deep a conical depression just on the edge of the Alb. Not sure what made it as the explanatory sign had too many formidable German nouns, but I gathered it had something to do with prehistoric elephants and some such. After a little while I arrived at Reussenstein. Really, you couldn't ask
for a more typical romantic ruined castle - perched on a rocky outcrop rising out of the steep forested slope, the only village in sight lies far below down in the valley. I spent a good deal of time here admiring the castle and wondering why it was built, and what it was like in its heyday. As you can see from the photos, it looks as 
if the sides have been patched up at some point - whether from a recent restoration or the scars of a long-forgotten battle, I don't know. Although not crowded, it was clearly a popular spot, especially with the kids - I can well imagine how much fun such a place must seem when you're 7 years old.
From here on my narrative becomes a bit dull and rushed. Making what was in hindsight a rather poor judgement, I decided to cycle to Grabenstetten the long way, staying on the Alb as it curved around the Lauter valley. The point of interest was the ruin of Hofen castle, but I never made it. During the journey to Grabstetten I fought a rather stubborn head wind, the increasingly tiresome continual up-and-down of the rolling hills and my own growing exhaustion. By the time I did arrive in Grabenstetten, it was getting late and I couldn't be bothered stuffing around trying to find some obscure castle. So I coasted down into the Uracher valley to the train station in Metzingen.
According to my cycle computer (which I know to be accurate, having calibrated it against distance markers) I managed over 100km. A good effort, but I was completely thrashed by the end of the day - the next morning I was in no state to get up and do the same. This raises some very important questions for me about that planned trip to Lake Constance. It's probably a good thing I had to cancel, as I now appreciate the fact that my route is more appropriate for a 3-day ride, not the 2-day trip I had envisaged. Furthermore, I underestimated how much of a toll the rolling hills would take, so I've revised my path to both shorten it and also take greater advantage of valleys.
The Schwaebische Alb is the name given to the highland that abruptly rises 200-300m from the rolling countryside of the Neckar valley to the south of Stuttgart. It doesn't present a straight face, but rather turns and twists crazily, with some rivers having carved deep gashes into the plateau. Mostly there are no visible cliffs at the edge, although the slope is precipitously steep. The Alb is basically a huge slab of limestone, laid down during the Jurassic time. The area is famed for a large collection of cave systems, as well as very many significant fossil discoveries. Although the soil of the Alb appears rich and dark, the limestone layer is apparently not far below the surface: I passed many fields where the plough had turned up rounded white limestone stones, like so many sprouting mushrooms.
I made my ascent onto the Alb from the town of Ober-Lenningen, after cycling 30km from the closest S-Bahn station of Plochingen. The pass itself was actually quite gentle and I made the 250m climb in only15 minutes, without once encountering any motor traffic (an uncomfortable companion on my last trip to the Alb). Almost as soon as I arrived on the Alb, it started raining. This wasn't all that unexpected, as the weather coming in from the west seemed pretty unpleasant when I left home. It didn't keep up for long, setting a pattern for the rest of the day of brief showers blowing across the Alb every couple of hours, followed by long periods of fine weather. I decided to head to Ochsenwang, where a good scenic view of the lowlands from whence I had come could be found.
Arriving in Ochsenwang ("oxen" something) around midday I decided to eat at the restaurant of the Gasthaus Krone in the town square. The restaurant conformed to every stereotype of the provincial establishment - a dark room lit by the orange glow of incandescent bulbs hidden by fabric lampshades, candles on the tables, ancient stuffed animals and antler-trophies leering at me from every wall - and heavy German meals. One thing about the Germans is that they really go crazy over white asparagus - out of the 4 page menu, 2 pages were devoted to asparagus dishes. Myself, I just don't see the attraction.
Although my heart sank as it started pouring outside during my lunch, by the time I had finished the rain had more-or-less blown over. So I lost no time and headed first for the Auchtert, a hill just outside of the village which was arguably the highest point I made that day (814m). From here I took the panoramic shot of the fields between Ochsenwang and the edge of the Alb (above): you can see the village just on the left and my next destination, Breitenstein, as the high-point in the centre. The day's ride was worth just the view from the Breitenstein, included as the panoramic shot below (as well as the picture of your's truly in cycling garb). It is one of the few places where the Alb actually falls away as a cliff, with a steep drop of about 20m or so just behind me.
After soaking in the view, I made for the ruins of Reussenstein castle, passing on my way a rather curious geological formation known as the Randecker Maar - a deep a conical depression just on the edge of the Alb. Not sure what made it as the explanatory sign had too many formidable German nouns, but I gathered it had something to do with prehistoric elephants and some such. After a little while I arrived at Reussenstein. Really, you couldn't ask
for a more typical romantic ruined castle - perched on a rocky outcrop rising out of the steep forested slope, the only village in sight lies far below down in the valley. I spent a good deal of time here admiring the castle and wondering why it was built, and what it was like in its heyday. As you can see from the photos, it looks as 
if the sides have been patched up at some point - whether from a recent restoration or the scars of a long-forgotten battle, I don't know. Although not crowded, it was clearly a popular spot, especially with the kids - I can well imagine how much fun such a place must seem when you're 7 years old.From here on my narrative becomes a bit dull and rushed. Making what was in hindsight a rather poor judgement, I decided to cycle to Grabenstetten the long way, staying on the Alb as it curved around the Lauter valley. The point of interest was the ruin of Hofen castle, but I never made it. During the journey to Grabstetten I fought a rather stubborn head wind, the increasingly tiresome continual up-and-down of the rolling hills and my own growing exhaustion. By the time I did arrive in Grabenstetten, it was getting late and I couldn't be bothered stuffing around trying to find some obscure castle. So I coasted down into the Uracher valley to the train station in Metzingen.
According to my cycle computer (which I know to be accurate, having calibrated it against distance markers) I managed over 100km. A good effort, but I was completely thrashed by the end of the day - the next morning I was in no state to get up and do the same. This raises some very important questions for me about that planned trip to Lake Constance. It's probably a good thing I had to cancel, as I now appreciate the fact that my route is more appropriate for a 3-day ride, not the 2-day trip I had envisaged. Furthermore, I underestimated how much of a toll the rolling hills would take, so I've revised my path to both shorten it and also take greater advantage of valleys.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)