Topziele

Today we successfully checked off two more items on the Oh-Shoot-We-Still-Need-to list by visiting two TOPZIELE (must-see activities) listed in our Schwarzwald-Sueden magazine. In the morning, we revisited the beautiful Baroque Kloster in St. Peter and took a guided tour of the Festsaal, the library, and the church. The knowledgeable guide, eyes a-twinkle, waxed fondly about the history of the monastery-turned-seminary, explaining how religion, geography, local politics, and Enlightenment progressivism intertwined with the paintings, architecture, and sculptures throughout the buildings.

Then it was on to the Vogtsbauernhofmuseum in Gutach im Kinzigtal. The museum is closed for the winter, but this weekend hosted a Weihnachtsmarkt. My main purpose in going was to see authentic Schwarzwald Bollenhuette, which Stefan insists translates as "round lumps hats," but which might be described more elegantly as "pom-pom hats" or "ball hats." We have only seen real Bollenhuette in action once, from afar, at the closing awards ceremony at the senior world roller figure skating championships. But we've seen photographs of them, most often on milk cartons, butter wrappers, and yogurt containers, upon which the Bollenhut logo proclaims "this quality product came from the Black Forest."

Bollenhuette are part of the traditional Tracht in Gutach. They feature a straw hat laden with wool pom-poms. Unmarried women wear red pom-poms; once a woman is hitched, she wears black pom-poms. The feminist semioticist in me has a lot to say about bright red blooms and deflowerings, but is restraining herself at the moment as this is a family blog.

We did not see anyone wearing a Bollenhut this afternoon, but we had a fine time nonetheless. Stefan helped Elias and Zoe basteln (make handicrafts) in a hands-on workshop, where the toys they built had little to do with traditional Black Forest crafts, but where the activity itself (basteln) was about as German as you can get. There is nothing more fun or wholesome for German kids--with the possible exception of soccer--than basteln. Stefan still has an impressive scar on his hand to proudly show for his own happy childhood basteln experiences.

We also enjoyed some Gluehwein inside an old farmhouse at the Vogtsbauernmuseum. Every available seat was occupied by friendly folk having a cheery time in the cozy, low-ceilinged, fireplace-smoke filled room. When newcomers locate an empty spot, they ask the people already sitting at the table "ist hier noch frei?" ("is this spot still free?"), and then squash in next to them to share in the general conviviality. Like basteln, this is a thoroughly German experience.

In the evening, we went to Elias's third grade class Christmas party. To the parents' delight, the children sang the Christmas carols they've been learning at school. According to the party line, everybody enjoys spending school time learning these songs because everybody is Christian--except for the minority Muslims, Jews, and atheists, of course, whom the system has yet to figure out a way to acknowledge.

Cuckoo clocks

Today we saw the "World's First Largest Cuckoo Clock" in Schonach, next to Triberg, near Furtwangen. It was the first of its kind until it was preempted by the World's Subsequent Largest Cuckoo Clock, located who knows where. The good people of Schonach earn points for their honesty.

Unfortunately, by the time I saw the sign for the clock and pulled off the main road, Stefan had a raging headache, and Elias was tired and didn't want to get out of the car. Thus it was up to me alone to visit this important landmark. I grabbed my camera and trudged the half block from where we had parked, through the cold, damp, high-altitude air, only to discover that the clock is closed until "at least December 13." More points for honesty.

Despite my disappointment at not being able to enter this monument to kitsch, our trip demonstrated beyond a shadow of a doubt that Americans don't have a monopoly on goofy roadside attractions. Indeed, you could probably fit quite a few jackalopes and world's-largest-hairballs inside Schonach's claim to fame.

Schonach was a likely place to find a World's Largest thing of this type. We ended up there because rain thwarted our plan to hike the Belchen. (According to all our tour guides, the Belchen "is reputed to be the most beautiful mountain in the Schwarzwald." I'm intrigued by the repeated use of "reputed" around here--as in "Freiburg is reputed to be the sunniest city in Germany" and "Linzer Torte is reputed to be the oldest known torte in the world"--as though no one can think of standards by which to objectively evaluate any of these things). We browsed through our reliable guide to the southern Schwarzwald and decided to take in a little local culture by visiting the Deutsches Uhrenmuseum (German Clock Museum) in Furtwangen.

Furtwangen has been a clock-making center for centuries. During the Industrial Revolution, the town's residents found themselves unable to compete with new factory-produced clocks. In 1850, Furtwangen's Baden Grand-Ducal Clockmaking School sponsored a competition seeking a more modern clock aesthetic--and thus was born the Bahnhaeusle-Kuckucksuhr ("wee train house clock"), a wooden cuckoo clock designed by architect Friedrich Eisenlohr and modeled on a railway signalman's house.

By the 1860s, Eisenlohr's design had pushed laquered metal shield cuckoo clocks and picture frame cuckoo clocks off the market, and had paved the way for the ornately carved wooden cuckoo clocks famous around the world today. The popularity of the clocks played a major role in pulling Furtwangen, Triberg, and other Black Forest communities out of poverty during the 19th century.

One of the many other interesting things we learned at the clock museum today was that prehistoric Stonehenge was a dangerous place to be a sheep.

Freiburg to St. Peter

As a community, St. Peter came into existence with the founding of a monastery in the late 11th century. The present baroque church dates from the 1720s. While the exterior of the church is rather reserved, the recently renovated interior is bright, airy, and ornate--the best of the baroque.

Because my husband is kind and generous, and because he's finally back after a two-week stint in California, I was able to hike from Freiburg to St. Peter today. I didn't intend to do that when I set out for a walk early this morning. Had I planned on it, I would have taken the topo map that includes St. Peter, rather than the one that includes the Rhine valley; I would have headed to St. Peter directly from Herdern, rather than first walking a few miles north to Zaehringen; and I would have brought some water along. But thanks to my handy GPS device, my cell phone, and Stefan's willingness to meet Elias after school and then come pick me up, a spontaneous idea became a reality. And so this morning I ended up tromping along the Kandelhöhenweg, a trail that follows mountain ridges and connects Freiburg to St. Peter.

The early part of my hike was on the path beside the train tracks from Herdern to Zaehringen; this was because I initially meant to revisit Heuweiler. But at a T-intersection, a road veering east beckoned, and I headed through Wildtal instead. This turned out to be quite worthwhile, because otherwise I never would have gotten to see the American Saloon and Buffalo Ranch located in the figurative middle of nowhere deeper in the valley.

Where the paved road ended, the forest trails began, and I headed to the top of the nearest ridge, the Wildtalereck, and then on to the next highest point, the Hasenkopf (608m).

I had phoned Stefan from Wildtal to make sure that if I ended up on the wrong side of a ridge or broke a leg or something, he could be home in time to meet Elias after school. I was passing a sign that mentioned St. Peter and half seriously/half jokingly suggested we meet there for lunch; but Stefan said he needed to work. Oh well. Then, past the Hasenkopf, as the first Kandelhöhenweg sign appeared on the trail, Stefan called back and suggested we meet in St. Peter after all.

But St. Peter wasn't on my map, and I hadn't been following any signs toward St. Peter since Wildtal. Stefan googled "Kandelhöhenweg," looked up my GPS coordinates in Google Earth, and got me headed in the right direction. After that, I was able to follow trail signs the rest of the way.

A fascinating feature about trail signs in the Black Forest is that the distances they indicate have very little to do with the distances you actually traverse. For example, a sign might say that St. Peter is 8km away. A mile later, the next sign will tell you St. Peter is still 8km away. Half a kilometer further on, your destination might have drifted an additional kilometer away or leapt a few kilometers closer. It is encouraging to find a sign that tells you St. Peter is a mere 2.4km away, but somewhat disheartening, after you emerge from the woods and walk an additional twenty minutes down the road, to encounter a sign that tells you that you are no closer--or that St. Peter would be equally close if you went back the way you just came.

As I approached St. Peter, the forest gave way to verdant meadows dotted with horses, cows, and sheep. At last, the two towers of St. Peter's baroque church poked out over a hill, and the town gradually came into view down below.

It was a lovely day for a hike. All morning, the weather alternated between rain and commendable efforts at sunshine, and the trail varied beautifully, ranging through grass covered meadows, along rocky leaf-strewn ridges, through evergreen and deciduous forests, and along muddy logging roads, with occasional vistas of the valleys down below.

I waited for Stefan near the Kloster square. He drove up, looking debonair in his spiffy biking duds and with his road bike in the back seat of the car. After lunch, I drove home and he went for a 62km ride through the Schwarzwald. There's a lot to be said for being on sabbatical.

Roßkopf

The four windmills atop the Roßkopf, a mountain above the east side of Freiburg, are a convenient landmark. Visible from assorted freeways and Suedschwarzwald peaks, they help us orient ourselves in the direction of the city wherever we are.

This afternoon I headed northward into the hills. Three miles later, I unintentionally arrived at the windmills, having followed the simple prescription "immer aufwaerts" ("ever upward").

The windmills are very, very big. Really impressively big. The spinning blades cast gigantic shadows and make a quietly eerie humming sound.

A short distance away from the windmills is a diminutive 10-story high viewing tower that was erected by the Schwarzwald Verein in 1889. I didn't make it to the top to admire the curlicue wrought iron filigree, as the rickety wooden steps and the larger-than-usual "climb at your own risk" sign made me content to stop at the second floor.

On my hike down, I came across the St. Wendelin Kapelle, an isolated chapel basically in the middle of nowhere. The current stone chapel dates from 1895 and replaced a wooden chapel built in 1713. The original chapel was used as a shelter against storms and as a stopping off point for pilgrims travelling between Freiburg and St. Peter. St. Wendelin is very, very small. Really impressively small. If you had an interest in doing such things, you could probably pack a dozen or so St. Wendelin chapels into each windmill tower.

Feldberg

Yesterday, Stefan and I drove southeast to the Feldberg, the highest mountain in the Black Forest, and the highest point in Germany outside of the Alps. Being high means being cold. As we rose in altitude, we went from rain to hail to snow. On the peak, dense fog alternated with bright sunlight. Temperatures hovered around freezing.

Until the Middle Ages, the Schwarzwald was a rugged forest, difficult to penetrate. By the 18th century, large areas had been systematically clear cut to create grazing land and to harvest wood for the charcoal, glass making, and mineral mining industries.

The top of the Feldberg has been barren for over two centuries; in the winter, it's one of Germany's most popular skiing areas outside of the Alps. In addition to weather stations, a radio tower, a ski lift, and a Bismarck Denkmal (memorial) currently undergoing renovations, there's a tall viewing tower that looms atop the grassy peak like a lighthouse. Given the wind, the lack of trees, and the flat terrain, we half expected to see the salt spray of an ocean behind it.

On the way back to the parking area, we hiked past a truck advertising saunas and garages by a company named Brückner. "That's quite a downfall," I observed, "to go from epic symphonies to saunas"; Stefan rolled his eyes and replied, "it doesn't say Bruckner, it says Brückner!" What a world of difference an umlaut makes.

School and a field trip

Elias headed off this morning for a two-night field trip to the Landschulheim ("country school home") in Bonndorf (in the Schwarzwald) with his 3rd-grade class. This trip highlights all sorts of ways school here is different from school in the U.S.

Consider:

* Third graders here go for extended overnight field trips, without parent chaperones. The 24 students will be supervised by their teacher and four trained teaching assistants. The kids will go hiking, play games outside, build kites, and learn how to safely whittle with pocket knives. Parents are advised to chill out and trust their kids are in good hands.

* We first heard about the trip two and a half weeks ago, when Elias's teacher sent home a xeroxed hand-written note: "In the flurry of school starting up, I forgot to tell you the class will be taking a two-night trip to Bonndorf Oct. 13-15. Details to follow at the parents' meeting later this week."

* Instead of weeks of permission slip requests and reminders and final warnings, a permission slip came home a week ago, along with a finalized list of things to bring (sheets, hiking boots, warm clothes, a flashlight) and not to bring (iPods, Handys, Gameboys), and instructions for paying the 70 Euro fee by Ueberweisung (bank money transfer). Asking parents to pay 70 Euros for a field trip is possible here because most of the kids live in Herdern, a relatively well off neighborhood. The government will subsidize the trip for families who need financial assistance.

* Meals will be provided, and vegetarians will be accommodated. Elias said that when his teacher asked the class who else besides him doesn't eat meat, everyone raised their hands; when she asked who else can't eat meat, all but one of the hands went down.

Field trip aside, there are other observable differences between school here and school back home in Durham, NC.

Elias attends 22.5 hours of school per week here; at home, 32.5 hours per week (or if you subtract lunch, 30.5 hours per week). He claims that kids at home are much better behaved, but that he's learning more here.

At the parents meeting, the teacher described the class as "almost completely homogenous"--meaning almost all of the kids are performing at the same academic level.

Several people told us kids don't learn multiplication here until after third grade. It turns out that "multiplication" in Germany means "multiplying numbers greater than 11." Kids learn "Das kleine Einmaleins"--"the small one-times-ones," a.k.a. multiplication from 0-10--in second grade. Third grade covers addition and subtraction of numbers up to 1,000.

Religion--a choice between Katholisch and Evangelisch Christianity--is taught at school twice a week. Children can opt out of these lessons, although no other lessons are provided during that time. Elias is hanging with the Protestants, but it continues to grate on my U.S. sensibilities that in a country where millions of people not so long ago were slaughtered for their religion, government-run institutions are asking children to self-identify as being outside the mainstream. The folks I've talked with here about this have reassured me, saying that even Christian kids are opting out more often these days. Hmm.

"Sport" is taught three times a week. Kids bring and change into gym clothes on those days. After they get all sweaty, the kids either change clothes again or go for the layered look and put their regular school clothes on on top.

Children bring slippers or houseshoes to wear in the classroom. Street shoes stay outside by the door.

In Grundschule, the same group of kids typically has the same teacher from the first day of first grade through last day of fourth grade. Each classroom operates as an independent entity: while Elias's class mingles with the other third grade classes during recess, they don't mingle academically.

Kids practice spelling and handwriting with regular "Diktat" (dictation) exercises. As in the U.S., when German kids compose their own texts, the pedagogical emphasis is on expression rather than spelling and grammar.

German kids are just as reticent as U.S. kids when their parents grill them about what they did at school on any given day. The one-word highlight of the school day in here is virtually identical to the one-word highlight of the school day in the U.S.: "Pause" ("recess").

Schwarzwald Kloester

Our Best-of-the-Schwarzwald-Accessible-by-Car Tour (my dad has bum knees) continued today, taking us over Schauinsland and down into picturesque Todtnau. The name Todtnau has nothing to do with death (Tod), but rather was the last in a long line of variants starting with Toutenouua, presumably meaning "all new"--which perhaps it still was when written records first mentioned it ~1025 A.D. We stopped there because it was pretty. Little did we know that Todtnau was the birthplace of Karl Ludwig Nessler, inventor of the permanent wave, a historically interesting tidbit that we saw no evidence of at the little Italian cafe where we had lunch.

From Todtnau it was on to the town St. Blasien. St. Blasien has been the site of a monestary since the 9th century. After a fire in 1768, architect Pierre Michel d'Ixnard designed a new church. At its completion in 1781, the early neoclassical dome was the third largest in Europe: 36m wide and 62m high. The interior white marble glows in the light that pours through the windows, even on cloudy days like today.

After pausing for some gelato with odd bits of unidentifiable papery stuff in it, we piled back into the car and headed over to the Kloster St. Trudpert in the next valley over, the Muenstertal. Nestled on a hill, the abbey is surrounded by beautifully tended gardens, with an array of flowers still in bloom even this late in the season.

St. Trudpert was an Irish missionary who arrived in the southern Schwarzwald in the mid-7th century to start a hermitage. A knight who was supposed to help him instead murdered him while he slept under a pine tree. A lovely Baroque onion-domed church now stands (so the story goes) over the site of his murder, and a healing spring bubbles forth below one of the Kloster's chapels.

Having grown up near the University of Illinois's experimental farms (now the site of their veterinary medicine school), I couldn't help but notice the earnest winged cow inside the church. Poised to gallop into the air, she and her heavenly animal kin pull a golden chariot. Riding in the chariot, left arm raised, is someone we did not have time to identify before the church closed.

Tip of the day, offered by my wise mother high atop Schauinsland: You're destined to make many mistakes in your life, so you might as well get started now.

Wutachschlucht

From the plateau above the Wutach river in the southern Schwarzwald, it's hard to tell the river has gouged out a gorge ~200 meters deep. This morning we parked at the end of a subsidiary gorge, the Lotenbachklamm, hiked in a mile until it met up with the Wutachschlucht, and continued another 9 miles along the gorge. We made a brief but disappointing detour to see some ruins--oh, how they beckon!--that turned out to be closed off due the threat of falling rocks. At the end of our hike, we took the plush touristy shuttle bus back to our car.

I have now hiked enough in the Schwarzwald to know that when trail signs urge you to wear "sturdy footgear," they really mean "wear shoes, but not sandals or high heels." Maybe we're choosing weenie trails, but I have yet to encounter a maintained hiking trail outside of the Alps that requires anything more than sneakers.

After dinner, Elias soaked his weary 8-year-old bones in the bathtub. Helping him out of the tub, Stefan noticed the water was still clear and soothingly toasty. Stefan asked, "How dirty is this water? If it's basically clean, I might just use it to take a bath too." Elias replied helpfully, "it's still pretty clean. I only licked it twice."