Wordle Procrastination

I was inspired by the dual Gavins to make a wordcloud of my PhD proposal…

PS More posts coming soon…

Wales: Conwy Castle & Llandudno

After Birmingham, I went to Wales because I was determined to get my castle back. You see, there is a place called Conwy Castle, and I figured it was time for the Welsh to hand it back to its rightful owner.

Today it is a ruin, but it is a truly spectacular ruin—perhaps the most impressive castle I have ever seen. It was so defensively strong that it only needed 30 troops to hold off an entire army, and it was never conquered militarily. There are eight massive towers, four of which have additional smaller towers on top. When you climb them, you are treated to an outstanding view of the castle town, the surrounding mountains, and the rich fishing bay nearby.

The town itself is completely walled in, with another 29 towers, and they are the most complete remaining town walls in Britain. It is hard to believe that they built the entire castle and all the walls in only four years!

The castle was the largest and most expensive of a series built by the English King Edward I to contain the Welsh. He defeated the Welsh army in 1277 and built some castles around the perimeter of Wales. Then six years later, the Welsh attacked again and burnt down all his castles! So Edward gathered a huge army and defeated them a second time. Then he built even more castles, one of which was Conwy. It was a lynchpin, as it is on the Welsh side of the river Conwy, traditionally a strong defensive position enabling Welsh armies to hold off the English. He also built the walled town, which was only populated with Englishmen—the Welsh we only allowed inside once a week for market.

The Welsh were a fierce people, and even magnificent Conway castle didn’t deter them. Once, when Edward was staying there, they besieged Conway for months. Unfortunately, it was so strong, the couldn’t break it, and even if they did, Edward could have escaped by sea, as there is a seaside entrance and British warships controlled the waves. Eventually, English troops relieved the castle.

But the Welsh weren’t finished with Edward yet. They waited until Good Friday, when the castle garrison were all at prayer. It also happened to be April Fool’s Day. Then a few of them knocked on the door, claiming to be carpenters there to work on the roof. The cook opened the castle door for them—and they promptly burnt it down, and the town as well. Then the couple of them held off a counter-attacking English army for months, until finally they negotiated their freedom. Pretty crazy, right?

I wasn’t able to stay in Conwy because there is only living space for about 300 people inside the town walls, so hotel beds are rare. So I stayed in this little seaside town called Llandudno, which is prononced as if you are coughing up phlegm and then swearing in a foreign language.

Names aside, it is stunningly beautiful… charming hotels spread across a wide beach, flanked by two hills called Great and Little Orme. You can take harbour cruises, hike up the Ormes, and do all sorts of fun little things there. I fully intend to come back to this part of the world.

The Welsh train ride was rather eventful—I was woken from my slumber by a wild bachelorette party. These girls started drinking around noon, and were now on the train talking to me, sitting on my lap, and feeding me beer. It was just awful, I must say. Haha.

Unfortunately, they got off before my stop. Yet, as they had involved nearly everyone on the train in their shenanigans, those of us left over after they were gone continued a (much more civilized) conversation. It turns out that one of the guys they were talking to was gay—I’m talking skin-tight hot pink girls outfit, sings and dances and writes his own films kind of gay. He was complaining about how Wales is such a backward hole and he can’t wait to get out of there and go places with gay-friendly culture… and we realized that he is the living incarnation of the only gay in the village! It was also interesting when the train filled with new people, including a very rough working class father and his young son, who sat within earshot of this gay character as he loudly chronicled his coming out story. The father got progressively more uncomfortable the more he heard, and he kept trying to distract his son to prevent him from hearing anything. But it worked a little too well: the son launched into a loud repetitive song that embarrassed the father further, forcing him to vacillate between shushing his son and having to hear the coming out story. I thought it was fascinating, if sad, to see him squirming around thus. If he could just relax and accept things as they are, it would have been easier on him and his son.

The train ride there was rather eventful—I was woken from my slumber by a wild bachelorette party. These girls started drinking around noon, and were now on the train talking to me, sitting on my lap, and feeding me beer. It was just awful, I must say. Haha.Unfortunately, they got off before my stop. Yet, as they had involved nearly everyone on the train in their shenanigans, those of us left over after they were gone continued a (much more civilized) conversation. It turns out that one of the guys they were talking to was gay—I’m talking skin-tight hot pink girls outfit, sings and dances and writes his own films kind of gay. He was complaining about how Wales is such a backward hole and he can’t wait to get out of there and go places with gay-friendly culture… and we realized that he is the living incarnation of the only gay in the village! It was also interesting when the train filled with new people, including a very rough working class father and his young son, who sat within earshot of this gay character as he loudly chronicled his coming out story. The father got progressively more uncomfortable the more he heard, and he kept trying to distract his son to prevent him from hearing anything. But it worked a little too well: the son launched into a loud repetitive song that embarrassed the father further, forcing him to vacillate between shushing his son and having to hear the coming out story. I thought it was fascinating, if sad, to see him squirming around thus. If he could just relax and accept things as they are, it would have been easier on him and his son.

Stratford-Upon-Avon

Stratford is so close to Birmingham that it’s part of the city transit system, so I decided to check it out. Turns out it looks surprisingly similar to Stratford Ontario—at least, the part with the river and swans and huge Shakespearian theater.

The big thing to do there is to see the various Shakespeare houses… such as the place where he was born…

…The place where he scandalously wooed his much older wife before their shotgun wedding, the place where his daughter lived, the church where he was buried…

…and the site of the huge mansion he built after returning from London as wealthy playwright. They are doing an archeological dig there now, because the place got torn down long ago. Apparently the guy who bought it off of Shakespeare’s descendants was a bit of a jerkbag. First, he got pissed that so many people wanted to see the tree Shakespeare planted in the backyeard, so he chopped it down. Then, he got tired of the high taxes on Shakespeare’s old house, so he had it destroyed “so that no one will have to pay taxes on it again.” Douchbag: 1; History: 0.

At least there are some sweet sculptures there with select Shakespearian verse.

Stratford is tres touristy, and the exhibits are hugely overhyped. There is really not much there to see. “This is a bed similar to the one Shakespeare might have been born in, placed in a room that might possibly have been the room where he was born, we think. Notice that the wallpaper bears resemblance to the type of wallpaper his family most likely had, and that he referred to wallpaper once in King Lear.”

The best thing about Stratford is undoubtedly the Royal Shakespeare Company. I caught a performance of Anthony and Cleopatra that was truly riveting. They crossed the ancient setting with modern dress, so that soldiers wore commando gear and wielded assault rifles, whereas Caesar wore a $4000 suit. You might think this would clash horribly, but they really made it work. Another innovation entailed the use of expertly-timed bells, drums, and tones to underline dramatic moments, almost like an understated soundtrack. It really hammered home the shock and dismay that characters felt when stuff happened.

Oh, and there was a butterfly farm, which I actually enjoyed a lot less than i thought I would… way too many flying and mutating insects everywhere. Ugh.

Birmingham

I flew to Birmingham for a conference. It went well… it was the small, intimate kind of conference where you get the chance to actually meet and talk to most of the people there rather than simply see them from a distance. Some good ideas got batted around, and I got some nice feedback on my presentation. And my academic sister, Kim Quinn, was a very nice host. She took me out for lunch and told me stories about the old days in the department, and gave me stern advice: get WRITING young man!

After the conference, most of us went out to dinner at a French restaurant that the French girl in our group insisted was not really French. After all, she told us, they use PARSNIPS! Apparently real French people have never cooked with parsnips since the war, when they were all there was to eat… Real French or not, I was happy to go there because it was the first decent food I had eaten since crossing the channel. I guess I have been spoiled by the cheap, fresh, and delicious food readily available in Germany… when I came to Britain everything seemed drab, bland, pre-packaged, overcooked, and gross.

I took some time to wander around Birmingham. Hmmm. Definitely lacking the flair of other European cities. Basically Birmingham consists of rows and rows of dirty brick warehouses and factories woven into a maze of narrow streets surrounding the biggest mall in Europe:

Even in the touristy part paved with cobblestones, there were no lovely boutiques or sidewalk cafes—just cell phone shops and discount clothing stores. And they have this marketplace that is supposed to be famous and awesome, but actually its just more cell phone shops and discount clothing stores…

Fortunately, Birmingham does boast a solid science museum. It has the world’s oldest functioning steam engine, from about 1800. It is frikkin’ enormous. They used it to refill the locks with water so that canal traffic could increase tenfold. They also have a car that broke the world land speed record several times during the 60’s. It looks like speed racer.

At the museum, I gained insight into the industrial history of the city. Basically, Birmingham sits in the middle of England, far from any port. But, when canal building became the big thing around 1800, Birmingham suddenly found itself in the center of all the canals, roughly equidistant from the 4 major British ports. Thus, it was an ideal place to import raw material, turn it into stuff, and ship it back out again. And that is what Birmingham did—making furniture, jewelry, metal parts, steam engines, railroad cars, wool cloth, buttons, children’s toys, tires, and basically anything else that is part of modern society.

Unfortunately, all this industrial activity was hard on the working classes—think Dickens, with the soot and the sweatshops and the 10-year-olds with 18-hour work days. That was normal. And Birmingham retains its working class character to this day. There were big advertisements reminding people that cheering for England during the World Cup is fine—but PLEASE don’t get in a fight afterward. And when our conference group went out for a pint, our conversation was interrupted by one lone drunk fool who kept bursting into song at the top of his lungs. Apparently obesity is increasing there at four times the American rate—no doubt due the abundance of fast food… and their breakfast:

Berlin

I took a trip to Berlin to visit my friend Johanna, who was in Germany for a job interview with Thomas Mussweiler in Cologne. Although Johanna did grad school in Canada, she used to live in Berlin, and still has friends there. So, I got to meet her friends, crash at their pad, and experience the city through the eyes of a local.Thats her in the middle, peeking around Francois:

First of all, her friends were awesome. We were joking around within the first minute or so of meeting—it was like they knew me. We ended up watching quirky Austrian comedies together until the wee hours of the morning—the kind of comedies that remind me of trailer park boys or Napoleon dynamite. And their apartment was amazing… spacious and lovely, with 15 foot high ceilings, only costing a couple hundred euro a month. Apparently that is quite standard for Berlin, one of the cheapest big cities in the world.

Johanna took me all over… we walked through street markets and pleasant neighbourhoods, past canals, through parks (I stopped to play on the playground), around the famous Hackesher Martk district, and up and down the Kurfürstendamm, which is a famous shopping district modeled after the Champse-Elyse. She also took me to a play—a German play—and refused to translate anything for me… fortunately, it was a Chekov play, so I was able to surmise that everyone was desperately unhappy, largely through their screaming and fighting and crying. In this case (the Seagull), they were mostly unhappy because they either were famous or wanted to be… so I didn’t feel too sorry for them, just as I don’t much pity Lady Gaga or people who want to be her.

Johanna told me that Berliners LOVE secrets… especially special places that only “insiders” learn about. She took me to one such place. We walked through a gas station, and into a small dead-end alley flanked by unkempt backyards on one side and a crumbling, vine-covered wall on the other. After some searching, she located a small door in the wall. We walked inside, and down some steps… and BOOM! We were in a bustling canal-side café. There must have been 20 people there in the middle of the afternoon. How did they find it? How does the cafe make any money when it hides?

I also visited some requisite attractions—the Reichstag, the TV tower, Brandenburger Tor, and Alexanderplatz. Each was fascinating in its own way. The Richtstag (German Parliment) has a huge glass dome on top so “Dem Volk” can look down on their politicians like overbearing task masters (though if you ask Georg, this is merely a pleasant illusion). The TV tower, although only ¾ as high as the CN Tower, remains the tallest building in Europe.  And considering that the next tallest building in Berlin is maybe 25 stories, it REALLY sticks out and you can see REALLY FAR. It’s great.

Brandenburg Gate has some interesting history… it used to be one of many gates that marked the limit of the city, and is the only one left. Napoleon arrived in Berlin via that gate, and major protests have marched through it, most notably in 1848 when the people demanded democratic reforms. Alexanderplatz was also the site major demonstrations—in fact, the largest German history. Over 10,000 people showed up here in 1989 to demand the opening of the Berlin Wall. There is an excellent exhibit that really evokes the feelings surrounding the wall—the surprise, anger, frustration, defiance, and, ultimately, triumph when the people stood together and demanded that the guards open the gates until they simply had no choice. It actually brought a tear to my eye.

So that was Berlin. I wish I could show you the city, but my camera broke ><. Oh, and Johanna? She got the job! Six year junior prof position! See, it IS possible… granted, she has 7 first-author publications, including a JPSP and 2 PSPBs with 3 more under review… but still. ITS POSSIBLE.

Nürnberg

The next weekend I went to Nürnberg, an important medieval trade hub and the largest city in Franconia (500,000 peeps). It is the second largest city in Bavaria, except the Franconians DO NOT CONSIDER THEMSELVES PART OF BAVARIA much like the Quebecios don’t really consider themselves part of Canada. Might have to do with that whole getting-conquored-200-years-ago thing…

Anyway, Nürnberg is pretty cool because they have a lot of old towers and walls to looks at while eating in an outdoor café…

…some amazing fountains, like this one that surely inspired every Arnold Schwartzenegger movie except Twins and Junior…

…as well as lots of museums, including the German National museum, a toy museum, the deutchbahn museum, and the home of Albrect Durer, a super famous renaissance painter who invented the idea of painting realistically. Of course, he painted lots of religious stuff, but he—Gasp!—ALSO PAINTED NONRELIGOUS STUFF. This constituted a revolution at the time. I must admit he had some serious talent, though.

Nürnberg also boasts a sweet castle called the Kaiserhof where the Kaiser used to live (duh!). Inside the castle they had a really deep well… my tour guide dumped some water into the well and it took 6 seconds before we heard the splash. Imagine drawing up enough water by hand to feed the royal court from that sucker! Handy for sieges though. Also there is huge tower as you can see here:

And here is a view from the tower. I could almost see Canada from there!

The Kaiserhof had a selection of medieval armor, including this piece with a face on, well, the piece…

I went to the Deutschbahn museum to learn about trains. Check out this side-by-side to see how German technology has changed in the past 175 years:

The oldest German train, The Adler, ran on steam and had like 2 handlebars for controls, whereas the new ICE trains look like something that Piccard commands. Ok, first and last Star Trek joke on this blog.

A busy week

Ok, so I have a bunch of posts saved up that I am just gonna throw down in chronological order

Monday I went to Afrikafest—the apparently the biggest African music festival outside, well, Africa. In Wurzburg. Who knew? There were thousands of people there listening to artists on various stages, so I was very fortunate to run into my friend Sabina and her entourage… she promptly taught me how to translate my German phone interface into English so I can actually connect with people as needed. We drank some beer…

…and headed into the main tent, where some bands rocked our friggin socks off. The main act, XXXXXXX, was phenomenal. After the second encore, they launched into this dramatic 20 minute exit song in which each band member performed a flourish and then left, allowing you to really appreciate the element that each of the 13 band members contributed to the overall sonic experience. After the concert, we did the natural thing… we went to the main river and took in the view of the illuminated Marienburg. It is spectacular.

Tuesday I found myself back at the main, this time with Georg, who is an excellent conversation partner… he continues to enlighten me on the state of the political situation in Germany, and together we have solved racism, poverty, the imbalance of power, and most other problems in society. And by “solved,” I mean that we discussed them while drinking beer. Practically the same thing.

We had an interesting moment as we stopped at a falafel place to refresh our beer (see, you can just buy beer and then walk around. Its brilliant). We were talking in English, so the Middle-Eastern shop owner glared at us balefully. “Are you American?” he challenged. We clarified that we were german and Canadian, respectively. But he asked me a second time. When I repeated, a little indignantly, that I was Canadian, he relaxed a little… but then launched into a tirade about US foreign policy, how it was ruining the world, and hoe China was so much better. I conceded his point about US diplomacy, but suggested that there are also some problems with China’s foreign policy (e.g., Darfur). At which point he emphatically replied, “NO! China is helpful. US is FUCKFUL!!” And then proceeded to shout how he FUCKS the US, accompanied by graphic full-body demonstration. It was quite a sight. Fortunately, after 15 minutes or so of conversation, we were able to obtain our beer and leave. He even shook my hand.

Wednesday I engaged in a marathon 15 hour German lesson (sprache-austache) with my Deutsch teacher Johanna. Although we started off somewhat academically, eventually things devolved into café runs, bicycle accidents (who put those rail tracks in the middle of the street??!!), discussions with a random Iraqi guy at a Chicken-for-you shack in the pouring rain, a life-threatening double bicycle ride that Johanna barely survived, free food, lessons about Syrian history, and, finally, Salsa dancing at a Havana-style club until 3 in the morning. And by “Salsa dancing,” I mean Johanna tried to teach me and then bravely tolerated my outstanding Whiteness for the rest of the night. Was fun!

Friday was the start of Weinfest, which is like Oktoberfest, except involving wine and not in October. Or Munich. During this event, vendors set up booths in the normally open market square, covering it with benches and tables and place to buy wine. At any one moment, about 2000 people are carousing there. It was a lot of fun.  Thor and I had quite an epic night that included many notables, such as Sabina, Lisa, and my new friend Mona… we ended up at this place called the Pleasure Hof that was so packed you had to fight for enough space just to stand, let alone dance. I kept trying to go to bed at a decent hour but somehow I kept meeting people and talking to them until suddenly it was light out…

A week in the German life…

OK, OK, so I know I haven’t posted anything in a long time, and I’m a bad person and all that. In my defense, I have been pretty damn busy. Usually I am out doing stuff rather than sitting around writing my blog, and when I do sit down to write… well, its weird. I procrastinate by doing my work instead. Apparently I should blog all the time!

But the time has come for me to finally, finally, put things to rights here on the interwebs… now that my classes are finished, my experiment has been designed, run, analyzed, and presented, and my other paper totally done (56 pages!). I guess there is no work left to procrastinate with! Just kidding. There is always more work.

Let me start by giving you a sense of a typical week here in Deutschland. On Montag (you know, Monday) I usually get up around noon (that’s just how I roll) and then wander to the department to do some work… once I have grabbed some fruckstuck at this fantastic bakery on the way. They make all their rolls fresh every day, and then stuff them with fancy cheeses and ripe tomatoes and lots of other things… fresh, delicious, nutritious, and it only costs 2 or 3 euro. Why the hell can’t Tim Horton’s make things like that?

Anyway, Mondays at 6:30 we have politisch psychologie… a voluntary student seminar run by my friend Georg about, well, political psychology (tough translation, I know). The tricky part is… its all in German! Fortunately, sometimes people translate for me, but often I am left to derive the jist of the conversation on my own. And sometimes I can sort of figure it out, and then make a comment myself! That part is very gratifying.

Tuesdays I usually roll out of bed around noon (that’s just how I roll… out of bed… yeah), grab a fresh sandwich from my bakery, and head to projekt-zeitsung, which is basically lab meeting for the 10-15 people in the Strack lab group—except it lasts almost 2 whole hours! Usually, they deign to present in English, which suits me well, though you would be surprised how much German you can understand when it is accompanied by powerpoint containing graphs and references to English studies.

Tuesday afternoons i would typically visit my friend Lisa who works in the library downstairs. She is usally starving for coffee by 4 or 5, so she is happy when I bring her a spare cup from the kitchen (she can’t leave the library for like 7 hours straight!). We always sit and chat about random things as people check things in and out of the library. She swears I am the louder person but that is just my laugh… the rest of the time SHE is louder I swear.

Sometimes we would bring in an outside speaker for projekt-zeitsung, in which case the whole lab group would go out for dinner at one of the many excellent local restaurants. If not, then typically Georg and I would work until around midnight, then hang out, drink a beer, and watch some How I Met Your Mother. Elyse, you win… I do identify with Ted. Though I think I am less rigid and uptight than he is…

Wednesdays were tough; I had to get up BEFORE noon to make it to class on time! I have been taking a class on survey methodology with the prof here, Fritz Strack. I like his style of lecturing… basically he provides you with a list of questions about the readings, and then goes through the list, asking people to comment on this or that aspect of a study. Easy enough for me, especially since this is now my tenth year in university (I KNOW!!!!!!). Sometimes things got a little awkward though, because there are only 7 people in the class, and on any given week only 4 people would show up, and out of the four of us, I seemed to be the only one who ever actually did the readings. So basically, class went like this:

FRITZ: Someone tell me how question order affected life satisfaction ratings in study X.

AWKWARD SILENCE AS STUDENTS LOOK AROUND ROOM TO DETERMINE WHO WILL ANSWER.

FRITZ: Paul, how did question order affect life satisfaction ratings in study X?

PAUL: Um, well, they were higher in this group than that group.

FRITZ: Good. And how did things change in study Y?

AWKWARD SILENCE AS STUDENTS LOOK AROUND ROOM TO DETERMINE WHO WILL ANSWER.

FRITZ: Paul, how did things change in study Y?

Repeat Ad nausem.

It was weird for me because the questions seemed very straightforward, and I was continually surprised that no one else volunteered an answer more than a few times a class—especially because I really liked my class-mates and hung out with them socially. They always insisted that they were at a disadvantage because English was their second language (they would complain using their near-perfect English) and because they were only in their fourth or fifth semester. Still, I feel that actually reading the readings really makes it easier to answer questions in class….

Wednesday afternoons were usually reserved for my Sprachen-austauch, or TANDAM as they seem to call it here. Basically, I would sit on the roof garden with my friend Johanna, and she would teach me useful German phrases like “Deine Mutter!” and I would teach her useful English phrases like “Yo mama!” Then we would head off to this thing called Mittwochs Club, where psychology students hang out with patients at the local psychiatric institute. The patents were really nice, and we always did interesting things together, like head to BBQs by the river or international fairs in botanical gardens. Somehow Johanna and I usually ended up hanging out afterwards as well, going to a dance club or sneaking into a party for dental students or just sitting around her apartment… our record was hanging out for 15 hours in a row.

Thursdays I was free to get up when I felt like it (usually around noon), and work at the department. About every second week I would work at the department ‘til about midnight with Georg; other weeks I would attend the crazy social activity du jour: winefest, house parties, BBQs, or what have you.

Fridays I would get up when it suited me (noon), get a little work in, and then head off to class: I have been taking this class on “German World Heritage” by the most stereotypical German prof ever. Every class he dresses in a suit, stands rigidly in front of the class, and in the most formal tone possible, drones on with absolute precision about the precise numerical details of German monuments and sharply and unnecessarily gestures with the pointer to obvious details. Once, he showed us a slide depicting a room with walls and a fancy stove. Then he pointed to the stove, and said, “This is the stove.” Then he held the pointer there for 30 seconds, in case we were confused by the lack of any other thing that could possibly resemble a stove.

The rambunctious Americans I usually sit with find him unbearably funny, and I must say it rubs off on me. Though I must admit, I really have learned a lot, and much of it has been fascinating. We covered all 37 German UNESCO world heritage sites, and some of them are truly outstanding. We all had to do a presentation, and I did mine on the Wartburg… I shared it below cause the Wartburg is pretty nifty.  After class various things would happen, often involving the aforementioned crazy Americans or some of my other friends…

Saturdays and Sundays I was usually travelling to some local town and exploring the heck out of it. Most of those excursions have/will get their own treatment here on the blog, so I will not digress for now. But hopefully you believe me now that I didn’t have much time for blogging! It was a rare night indeed that I made it home before midnight…

One last thing. I would love to include some fantastic photos with this update, but, well, I have been having some camera issues. See, my camera busted, so I bought another one from local cheapskate/ripoff—I mean, electronics store—called MediaMarkt. Their camera lasted one week and then busted on me, but due to their crappy exchange policy and their refusal to accept VISA, I cannot get it fixed for less than 189 euros (it cost 111 to buy). So, I am using cheap disposables at the moment, which have not been developed. I would love to get a new camera, but I refuse to buy from MediaMarkt, and they are the ONLY electronics store left in town (now that they ran the others out of business)… Paul…. ANGRY……. RRAAAAWWWRRR

The Wartburg

So I wrote this paper for my German World History Class… its a little academicy for a blog post, but hopefully still of enough interest that you can enjoy…

A Slender Fortress

The Wartburg, a slender fortress perched on a precipice of rock high above Eisenach in the Thüringen countryside, has borne witness to nearly a thousand years of German history. A UNESCO World Heritage Site since 1999, the Wartburg has hosted some of the greatest events in German history, and sheltered some of history’s greatest figures. This unique structure is comprised of a hodgepodge of architectural styles testifying to periods of glory, ruin, and revitalization as the needs and moods of the German people have changed.  An investigation of the Wartburg’s many facets reveals much about the people who built it.

The founder of the Wartburg as we know it today was Ludwig der Springer (Ludwig the Leaper), Landgrave of Thuringia in the early part of the Twelfth Century (†1123). According to legend, Ludwig earned his epithet while escaping imprisonment. He had met a beautiful woman whom he resolved to marry—once he killed her current husband. This deed landed him in the angstloch (fear-prison) of a castle tower for two years. Tiring of confinement, Ludwig (reportedly) leapt from the prison window into the river far below, using his cloak as a crude parachute like a medieval batman.

Ludwig, Post-Leaping

Free again, Ludwig took up hunting in the rich green forests of Thuringia, accompanied by his royal entourage. It is said that upon one of these excursions he first laid eyes on the mountain that was to shoulder the future Wartburg, and immediately shouted, “Warten, Berg! Sie wird mein Burg sein!” (“Wait, mountain! You will be my castle!”), thus coining the name “Wartburg.” Of course, the name could have something to do with the Wachturm (watchtower) known to exist on that site since the 800’s… but how romantic is that explanation?

“Warten, Berg!"

Ludwig had to overcome one more hurdle before beginning construction on the Wartburg. Apparently the mountain wasn’t technically part of his territory… it was just over the border. But Ludwig was a smart man, and came up with an ingenious solution: he ordered workers to cart barrows of soil from his territory up the mountain and dump it at the top. That way when he started construction, he was technically building on his own soil. I dare you to try that next time you want to extend your house onto your neighbour’s property…

Ludwig der Springer completed a two story hall (with in-floor heating), as well as some defensive structures, before his reign ended. His work was greatly extended by his grandson, Ludwig II der Eiserne (†1172). Ludwig II did well for himself. He married the sister of the Emperor, and thus greatly expanded the territory of Thuringia. This meant big changes for the Wartburg: whereas before it was a fortress on the very edge/slightly beyond Thuringia’s borders, now the Wartburg sat squarely in the center of the newly expanded Thüringen domain. Therefore, it became the new center of power, and Ludwig II commissioned a building that represented his growing wealth and influence. During this period the Wartburg attained the greatest prominence it was to hold for many centuries.

My Fancypants' 3 Story Hall... and Accoutrement

Among other projects, Ludwig II added a third story onto the two story hall built by his grandfather. A three story hall—constructed entirely out of stone, on top of a steep mountain, no less—reflected an extraordinary amount of wealth and would have been tremendously impressive to people of the day. Ludwig II decorated the interior of his building with frescos, tapestries, ornate chests, and other works of art. He also invited poets of the day to entertain him and his court.

See Heinrich cowering in fear, but getting saved by Countess Sophia?

In 1207, a great competition was held at the Wartburg, known as Sängerkrieg (Minstrel’s contest), involving six minstrels who attempted to outdo one another in praise of their host lord, the Count of Thuringia. The people of Würzburg claim that the winner was famous local poet, Walther von der Vogelweide, who is immortalized in the Residenz fountain and buried behind the Dom (against his wishes). According to legend, however, the winner was Heinrich von Ofterdingen. Heinrich was so eloquent that he aroused the jealousy of the other minstrels, so they tricked him into praising his own lord, rather than the host, causing the Count to sentence Heinrich to death. Fortunately, his poetry stirred the heart of Countess Sophia, who granted him a year-long reprieve. Heinrich used this year to seek the help of the sorcerer Klingsor, who ultimately summoned a daemon to finish the poetic duel… The point is, this was supposedly a great turning point in art, when a poet’s quality was no longer to be judged on how well he praised his host, but rather on the pure merit of his work. The Sängerkrieg has been immortalized in Wagner’s Tannhäuser und der Sängerkrieg auf Wartburg, and forms a backbone of medieval German literature.

Shortly afterward, a saint came to live in the Wartburg: St. Elizabeth of Hungary (†1231). Elizabeth came to live at the Wartburg at age four, as the lynchpin of an alliance between Thüringen Landgrave Hermann I and King Andrew II of Hungary against German Emperor Otto IV. Ten years later, at age 14, Elizabeth wed Herman’s son Ludwig IV, and immediately produced three children. Elizabeth was not popular in court. Rather than acting, well, like a princess, she modeled her life on the ascetic St. Francis of Assisi: she eschewed luxurious clothing, gave away her possessions, practiced self-mortification, and established a hospital at the base of the Wartburg. Naturally, these good works earned her the wrath of more selfish members of court—and her kind husband could not shield her entirely. Once, as she was secretly bringing bread to the poor, she was accosted by court officials who demanded to know what she was carrying. As she reluctantly revealed her basket, the bread turned into roses—something referred to as the “Miracle of the Rose.” Accordingly, statues of St. Elizabeth invariably involve bread and roses. Life got harder for St. Elizabeth after her husband died on a Crusade; her brother-in-law took over as Regent and eventually drove her away from the castle. She died at age 24, and was canonized a mere four years later. Pope Gregory IX referred to her as “the greatest woman of the German middle ages.”

Miracle of the Rose

A few centuries later, the Wartburg housed another major religious figure. Martin Luther (†1546) actually attended school in the shadow of the Wartburg, earning his tuition by singing hymns door to door as part of an Eisenach choir before becoming a minister and professor of theology. Luther became increasingly disgusted with the Catholic church’s corrupt policy of indulgences, where people (even the dead) could pay money to be absolved of sin. This policy was making the church filthy rich, but was doing little for the piety (or pocketbooks) of the people. In 1517, Luther took his misgivings public by posting his famous 95 Theses on the door of Wittenburg church. Refusing to recant, he was excommunicated from the church and declared an outlaw by the Emperor, placing him in mortal danger. Fortunately for Luther, Friedrich der Wisse (the Wise) of Saxony sent soldiers to waylay him. Under the guise of an assault, they escorted him to the Wartburg, which by this time had fallen into obscurity. There he lived under the pseudonym “Junker Jorg” (Knight Jorg).

Martin Luther, but neither King nor Junior

Although Luther spent less than a year at the Wartburg, it was a time of immense productivity for him. In only eight months he translated the New Testament from Greek into German. In the process, Luther amalgamated eight different dialects into a single written word comprehensible by all Germans. The Wartburg Bible, as it came to be called, had a profound influence on religious doctrine, translation techniques, and the emerging German language. Moreover, during this time Luther produced a plethora of political and religious pamphlets. His 95 theses had sparked a powderkeg of tension that now erupted into church smashing, peasant revolts, and political maneuvering that culminated in the Reformation. Luther was appalled at the violence he helped unleash. His aim was to reform the intact Catholic church, not smash it apart or create his own order. He frantically published pamphlets condemning the violence and calling for order, but was eventually forced to leave the Wartburg and call for peace personally. The room where Luther translated the Bible has been preserved to this day, and became a place of pilgrimage for Protestants of all varieties. There is still a black spot on the wall where Luther threw his ink at the devil, who apparently visited him there one night.

The Luther Room... see the spot? Me neither.

The poet Goethe (†1832) was the next famous figure to live in the Wartburg during the turn of the Nineteenth Century. Although primarily drawn there by the wild Thüringen forest, Goethe also came to love the old German architecture, despite its dismal state of repair by this point. Goethe sketched the Wartburg and incorporated it into his poetry. He lived in an age characterized by growing desire for German unity to replace the hundreds of principalities that dotted the German landscape, and for him—as well as many others—the Wartburg represented an idealized vision of the past: a past characterized by a mighty, united German nation where rulers lived in harmony with the ruled. Such romantic notions, coupled with the Wartburg’s growing popularity as a Lutheran pilgrimage site, prompted Goethe to found an art collection in 1815 with the aim of enhancing the Wartburg’s esthetic value. Although many fine pieces eventually ended up on display there, sadly, most went missing after the Soviet military took control of Thuringia in 1945.

The remaining art collection includes cutlery THAT ARE ALSO GUNS.

Idealized notions of the Wartburg’s storied history lead not only to an art collection; they spurred a whole new building phase during the mid 1800s. There was a desire to “restore” the Wartburg to former glory—according to romantic, rather than realistic, principles. The aim was to transform the Wartburg into a national monument of German unity, characterized by gesamtkunstwerk (a synthesis of the arts). Grandiose plan after grandiose plan was drawn up and rejected—sixteen in all. It was not until professor Hugo von Ritgen wrote a 140 page manuscript on the subject—unbidden—that planners decided to move ahead with restoration. Accordingly, numerous buildings were added to the site, including the Bergfried, Torhall, Ritterbad, and a hotel. Moreover, existing buildings were completely redecorated. The third story of the great hall was converted into an elegant Wagnerian opera house (where the local high school graduation is held each year), a gilt mosaic depicting St. Elizabeth’s life was installed in the women’s chamber, and Fresco artist Moritz von Schwind depicted famous scenes from German fairy tales on the throne room walls—notably, scenes regarding Ludwig der Leaper, St. Elizabeth, and the Sängerkrieg. Thus, the modern Wartburg reflects Nineteenth Century ideals of medieval life more than an accurate representation of preceding centuries.

See the flag hanging in this Wagner Hall? That is the first German flag ever.

One more event in the Wartburg’s storied history deserves mention. It is well documented the world over that students are among the most impatient groups when it comes to change in society, and German students are no exception. Despite the growing desire for German unity that characterized the early Nineteenth Century—particularly after the defeat of Napoleon at Waterloo in 1815 and the great promises that politicians made at that time—Germany remained mired in the status quo of hundreds of tiny principalities. Students felt that progress was stalling, and they had enough. They took matters into their own hands by organizing a huge rally at the Wartburg in 1819 with over 500 participants. There, they laid out the “Principles and Resolutions” that ought to govern unification, and invented the predecessor of the modern German flag, characterized by the Black, Gold, and Red belonging to the troops who defeated Napoleon. They also burned military uniforms as Ludwig Roediger gave his famous “Fire Speech.” As a result of all this hullabaloo, student unions were promptly outlawed and prominent members arrested. Yet, the students had the last laugh, as Germany eventually achieved unification under Bismarck, and student unions are again legal. How times change.

As the Wartburg has played a role during nearly every phase of German history, a visit there is like travelling back in time. Depending on where one looks, one can imagine happening across Martin Luther translating the Bible, or St. Elizabeth helping the poor, or Ludwig der Leaper shouting at his mountain, or students demanding unification. It truly is a unique gem of German heritage, and most deserving of UNESCO World Heritage status.

German Social Life

…and Bamberg

The Germans are an austere people who typically refrain from drinking alcohol until at least 4 o’clock in the afternoon. On weekdays. That is, unless that have started off their day with a Bavarian Breakfast: two white sausages with sweet mustard, white pretzle bread, and white beer. Apparently it doesn’t count as a Bavarian Breakfast if you have already heard the noon bells (that is right, time is determined by the ringing of churchbells here).

During my second week here, at 4pm I was summoned to the department kitchen, where the secretary served champagne in honour of her birthday… “served” as in “refilled everyone’s glass as soon as it was empty.” She is the “real boss” of the department, so her birthday deserves recognition. So there I was, in the middle of the workday, drinking glasses of champagne with the professor and other students in the department. No wonder they have a full set of wine glasses in their kitchen that they can wash in their department dishwasher! I was relating our kitchen facilities in Canada, where not only do we have a machine where you can pay for instant coffee, we also have a microwave! And sometimes plastic cutlery!

Recently the people here employed the full use of all their extensive kitchen equipment for an event called “spargle.” You have heard of the white German asparagus, eh? Turns out it has to be peeled before you can eat it, which is no easy task… it took me 20 minutes to peel four, only two of which didn’t break, and only one of which looked normally shaped after I applied the knife with excessive vigour. In the meantime, expert peelers had shucked 30 or more! Spargle is worth all the fuss, however: drizzeled with real melted cheeses, accompanied by roast potatoes and fine cuts of meat, garnished with fresh parsley and green onion… it is something! And I believe there was more than a bottle of wine provided per person… suffice to say it was an excellent event.

I also attended a house party hosted by one of the students in my class, Judith. There I learnt that Germans LOVE to tell Canadian jokes! I have been assured that the Canadian Government does not exist, and that Canada’s importance and independence are in grave doubt. I also learnt that Germans do not quit lightly… we finally started rounding up people to leave around 4am, and as we wandered down the quiet streets people decided that instead of going to bed, like any sane people would have done, instead we should have breakfast! There is this place that opens at 4:30, serving fresh croissants (that the Germans have a different name for and insist are totally different) and whatnot.

So there we were, eating breakfast until 6:30, before finally wandering home to bed. Notice how I deliberately ensure Thorsten was excluded from the picture? I must say that was some fast thinking on my part.

The Germans do not only have good places for spargle and breakfast. They also—surprize—have good places for beer. On Monday after our political psych study group, we decided to head to this local pub opened by an “almost lawyer.” Apparently the guy was almost finished studying for his law degree, when he hit his head in a car accident and forgot all the legal information he once knew… so he opend a pub instead, and all his legal buddies came by and inscribed their secret society crests on the walls.

This place is truly German because it serves beer “Eine mass”—see that 1 liter mug near me? That is right, my friends. Eine mass. And it is good stuff, too. Every German I meet drrides watered down piss the Americans call beer (they seem unsure as to whether Canada has any beer) and man they are right. The stuff they serve around here is heaps better than Budwiser or any of that generic crap. I think they even have most Canadian microbreweries beat—and I am technically in the wine-producing region of Franconia, where wine is the specialty, not beer!

Speaking of beer, there are some fascinating varieties. Recently, I took a trip to Bamberg—another charming, well-preserved medieval town—where the local specialty is a “smoked” beer that tastes like bacon. Swear to god. You may think that bacon and beer don’t mix, but oh—they most assuredly do. Here are some pics of Rob and I demonstrating the way the beer makes us feel…

Since we are on the subject, lemme take a quick moment to tell you about Bamberg. It is situated in the middle of a river…

…and the town hall even more so—it is literally built right on the river, with four bridges leading to entrances on different sides!  There is a big Cathedral called the Dom attached to a large complex of ancient buildings housing the residenz of the ruling family, the stables, places for the monks, etc…

…and a nice garden in the Residenz…

..and a bustling open-air markt in the middle of town.

And did I mention beer that tastes like bacon??!! Amazing.