Review: The Nature Museum

The Augustiner Museum, Freiburg's gem, contains works by Hans Baldung Grien, Matthias Grünewald, and Lucas Cranach the Elder, among other significant artists. We have not visited the museum because it has been closed for renovations our entire time here. It will reopen in February 2010.

Freiburg's Naturmuseum similarly has been closed for renovations, but following 20 months of work, it reopened on Friday. We walked to the Altstadt this afternoon to enjoy the results.

It was probably worth the couple of Euros admission price to experience one of the most puzzlingly nonsensically designed exhibits ever. The best parts of the museum were a small room on mineralogy and a larger room with fossils on the Erdgeschoss (ground floor), and the front doorknob. The erste Stock (second floor) houses a temporary exhibit on Evolution, comprised mostly of a couple hundred clear plastic boxes representing multiple evolutionary timelines. The boxes contain occasional fossils and pieces of wood. Every once in a while, to represent periods of mass extinction, an entire column of boxes is filled to capacity with small pink plush-toy hippopotamuses. In one hands-on area, you get to lift the lids of the boxes to gaze through a second protective plastic lid at the items displayed underneath (e.g. a cotton ball, a stalk of wheat, a shirt).

When we got home, I looked up the Badische Zeitung's review online and learned the museum is a significantly pared down revision of an earlier natural history and ethnography museum. It is still very much a work in progress: while the ground floor exhibits are permanent, the upper floors are awaiting additional funding. Thankfully, the plastic boxes will be moving on.

Perhaps the most interesting aspect of the BZ review was the readers' comments section, as it proved that Germans can pontificate just as annoyingly, illogically, and self-righteously as Americans. Nobody mentioned the plastic boxes, or criticized an educational system that had produced such curatorial mediocrity. Indeed, no one mentioned the museum at all. Instead, the polarized debate was over Evolution ("That's why they call it a THEORY!") and Creationism ("You religious fanatics always ignore science!!"). Why I expected a higher level of discourse just because the language is German rather than English is beyond me.

After our museum visit, we walked through the Weihnachtsmarkt, along with the entire populations of Switzerland, France, and Italy, who arrived by bus this afternoon.

Chilling out

After I made fun of the God Copy Shop yesterday, the Copies were displeased and frowned upon our efforts to go for one last long mountain hike today. When we checked the weather forecast this morning, we abandoned all hope of hiking the wet, windy Belchen. We decided instead to aim for something closer and lower, and drove to the base of the Hoernleberg, near Waldkirch. As soon as we got out of the car, the sleet began.

With no sign that the weather would let up, we got back in the car and headed home the long way, over the Kandel, figuring at least we might encounter a little snow. From the top of the mountain, we gazed longingly across the Rhine valley at bright, sunny France. The dark roiling clouds above the Schwarzwald ended precisely over the international border. The Copies were obviously pleased with themselves and laughing heartily.

We don't remember whose idea it was, or how it popped into whomever's head, but at some point on this cold, wet, gray day, we realized we should go find out what the Romans thought was so great about this part of Germany. Late this afternoon, we drove toward the southern end of the Tuniberg, to Freiburg's Eugen Keidel Themal Mineralbad. There, we immersed ourselves in soothing baths filled with natural spring water.

According to the literature, the water emerges from its source at 45^oC; the pool temperatures we enjoyed ranged from 34 to 38^oC. The water fizzes gently; it's chock full of minerals and trace amounts of heavy metals, with sulfate, hydrogen carbonate, calcium, sodium, magnesium, chloride, and potassium taking the starring roles.

We began our visit in the well heated changing rooms, went through the well heated showers, and emerged in the well heated indoor pool room. We spent much of our time swimming in the "Movement Pool" and appreciating the remarkably strong water jets that line half its circumference. Each pump is marked with a sign identifying the part of the body that will receive the theraputic water massage: feet and ankles; lower leg; knees; upper leg; buttocks; lower back; upper back/neck; and then the cycle repeats. You settle in front of one of the spouts, and when an innocuous chime sounds a few minutes later, you and the entire semi-circle of fellow water-massage recipients along the pool wall shift one jet counter-clockwise.

Another indoor pool is a gateway to the outdoor pools. You step in, walk between the strips of plastic hanging over the egress, and then you're outside with your head in near-freezing air and your body in stimulatingly hot water. The first pool leads into a cooler one that opens, in turn, into a larger circular one. Pumps along the latter's wall create a swift current that people ride in sweeping circles around a cental, walled bubble pool. Lights in the water illuminate the huge clouds of steam that billow into the dark night sky.

We left the baths feeling well-exercised, refreshed, and toasty, and glad in the end for the cruddy weather that drove us to discover this winter oasis.

God Copy Shop

I saw this store yesterday near the bridge that connects the Altstadt to the Hauptbahnhof. I didn't go in to ask what their tagline is, but the imagination reels:

"Serving Freiburg's polytheists from time immemorial."

"Perfect copies every time!"

"Services from alpha to omega."

"Bring us your smallest rib and we'll turn it into a presentation you can be proud of."

Help me out here, folks...

Six-pack abs

It is lovely having a child who gets out of the bathtub, sees his reflection in the mirror, and gasps, "Look! I have abs!," and who, when he learns he'll need to put a special cream on his peeling toes, observes with satisfaction, "cool, I have an athlete's foot."

Correction: Wadlstrümpfe

This just in: I sent Helen a postcard of Kandinsky wearing Wadlstrümpfe, and she sent back a note saying Wadlstrümpfe are regular knee socks, and that the footless calf-warmers are called Loferl. Naturally, this has thrown the editors of this blog into a whirlwind of surfing activity.

It appears that the term Wadlstrümpfe most often refers to Tracht knee socks (as opposed to everyday knee socks*, which would be Kniestrümpfe or Wadenstrümpfe), occasionally to Loferl alone, and occasionally to the combination of Loferl plus matching footie or short sock. An online Bavarian dictionary that is thorough enough to spell "Bairisch" four different ways (Bairisch, Bayerisch, Bayrisch, Boarisch) defines Lofal/Loferl/Loifal/Loiferl as Wadlstrümpfe zur Lederhose. An essential part of the Chiemgauer (vs. Huosigauer) Tracht, Loferl are thus a specific subset of a more general category of calf stockings, and the socks in the photograph I posted in July would correctly be referred to as Wadlstrümpfe.

The editors apologize for any confusion this error may have caused.

*Unless, of course, one wears Tracht every day.

More on Linzer Torte

During dinner last night with our neighbors W., C., and T., while we were eating a sorry excuse for brownies (you just can't make brownies using German Backpulver and an uncontrollably hot electric oven), I mentioned the Sunday Edeka advertising supplement's claim to Linzer Torte. W. said the idea that the cake originated in Baden isn't so far fetched: there's a region in Baden-Wuerttemberg, near the Bodensee, called the Linzgau ("Linz region"). Technically, a torte from this region would be a Linzgauer Torte, not a Linzer Torte. Nonetheless, I want to do right by both Baden and Linzer Torte, so I did a little fact checking.

According to the Upper Austrian State Museums' extensive online discussion of the history of Linzer Torte, the oldest known recipe for the delectable treat dates to 1653 and is in a cookbook known as Codex 35/31 at the Stiftsarchiv Admont, in the Austrian state Steiermark. The recipes therein were collected with "great industriousness" and "over many years" by "Frau Anna Margarita Sagramosin, born the Countess Paradeiserin." The Paradeisers were members of the nobility of Krain in Innerösterreich (Inner Austria).* [Linz was part of not-so-distant Oberösterreich (upper Austria), while Linzgau was far, far away in Vorderösterreich (the Austrian borderlands).] The countess had recipes for Linzer/Lintzer/Linser/Linzerischen Tortten/Turdten/Taig, but none for Linzgauer Torte.

In case you want to make some Linzer dough, here's one of the four oldest known recipes:

Daß Linser Täg

Nimb 1 fihrtl mehl 3 fierting zukher 3 vierting Butter ain halb lb gestossene mandl Reibs unter ein ander ab das der Butter woll zerriben würdt hernach schlag 3 ayr Khlar undt 2 Dutter ist er zu fest so schlage noch eins mach den täg geschwündt zusamb, walge ihn ein halben finger dikh auß lege ihn auf die schißl lege dariber schön gewirztes giter bachs gar khill.

*To our delight, Google Translate thinks this bit of information should read, "The sex of the 'tomato' was part of the inner-Austrian nobility, it was established in Krain" ("Das Geschlecht der „Paradeiser“ gehörte zum innerösterreichischen Adel, es war ansässig in Krain"). For entertainment value, Google Translate is almost as good as Schlager.

Restmüll

Check it out, folks. Pictured here alongside two very impressed German chickens and a pair of women's size 40 feet is the sum total of all the Restmüll we've accumulated since August 1.

Restmüll is garbage--what's left over after all the paper goes into the paper recycling bin, all the non-Pfand glass bottles go into the glass recycling bins, all the food scraps go into the compost bin, and all the packing materials go into the wondrous gelbe Sack, the catch-all for packing materials (plastic containers, butter wrappers, bubble pack, milk cartons, styrofoam, toothpaste tubes, you name it).

Our Restmüll consists mainly of bicycle handlebar tape, dryer lint, an old polyester shirt, used razor blades, bike-grease infused rags, my hair, and a full vacuum cleaner bag we inherited from the previous tenants.

When we registered with the city of Freiburg a few months ago, we received a form for Restmüll collection. Garbage service for one year would have cost us well over 100 Euros, a hefty price to pay for about one cubic foot of trash over a six-month stay. Maverick Americans that we are, we didn't pay.

We considered driving our sack all the way back to Steinebach at the end of this month and combining it with Helen's garbage, but she doesn't pay for Restmüll service either, and we didn't want to have to, oh, I don't know, leave it in one of the trash receptacles at the local train station or something--not that we've ever even thought about doing such a thing for Helen before, let alone done it this past summer, of course. We considered sneaking it over to Elias's elementary school under cover of darkness and hefting it into one of their industrial trash containers--a method clearly used by other system abusers on our street--but taking advantage of young children's designated garbage space just seems so wrong.

We figured we'd wait until we moved out of our apartment to see how the situation panned out, but this evening, our new neighbors (HW's brother's family) came over for dinner, and they kindly invited us to cram our Restmüll on top of theirs for pickup tomorrow. Thus tonight, at long last, we bid adieu to four months worth of accumulated garbage.