Monday 28 August 2017

Pilgrimage to St Gallen

Cycling around Lake Konstanz had been a breeze. Flat paths, good signposting, fabulous views, regular watering holes...what more could we ask for? So it was with plenty of misplaced confidence (on my part) that we left the lake at Bregenz to begin the climb to St Gallen.
Watering hole exemplar. What's
 that in the sky? Is it a bird?
Is it a plane? No, it's a ....

Our departure route took us by the stunning floating stage, world renowned for hosting the Bregenz Festival, along with opera and orchestral performances. Apparently, we had missed Carmen by just a few days. What I didn't realise at the time was that the stage is rebuilt every two years. These images give some idea of previous versions of this marvellous performing arts venue; below is my pic of the current performance space.

St Gallen was our destination for a night before moving on to the giddy heights of the Appenzeller region, from where I'm writing this, surrounded by the constant tinkling of  cowbells. (Go, Mooloo!)

Back to St Gallen, or Sankt Gallen in German. This delightful town, founded by Irish monk Gallus circa 600AD, was also the recommendation of our dear friend and wise woman CEE who had made a memorable visit to the Abbey library some years ago. History (at least the Wikipedia version of it) is delightfully vague about what Gallus was doing so far from Ireland but it was here that he decided to establish his hermitage. Thankfully, he wasn't interested in building the world's first Irish-themed-pub-not-in-Ireland.
The man himself

It was a long, hot haul up the road, which became alarmingly vertical after leaving the lake at Rorschach (without spotting a single inkblot, btw, disappointing!). With panniers on, our bikes are heavy enough without having to fight gravity as well. And it doesn't help that Tour Leader is part-mountain goat.

Hypnotized by his legs whirring away in front of me, I began considering having a meltdown, or throwing a wobbly. My body beat me to it though. Suddenly, I melted into a heap by the side of the road and my legs achieved wobbly status all by themselves.
There are other ways of climbing
 uphill. Just saying.



But we eventually made it to Hotel Vadian, a stone's throw from the ancient, UNESCO World Heritage-protected Abbey.

At the time, I was just happy to stop fighting gravity.
With the perspective gained from an anniversary dinner and a good night's sleep in yet another feather duvet-encrusted Swiss bed, the ride to St Gallen took shape as something of a pilgrimage. I will explain.

But first, do admire this screenshot of that day's ride, courtesy of Strava. Thank you. Moving on...

It is difficult to convey the sense of awe experienced while touring the Abbey library. From the moment we donned our oversized felt slippers and shuffled into the vast baroque chamber, spoken words were superfluous. Here, the written word reigns. I could babble on for paragraphs about this most ancient, most holy and yet most relevant library - but other, wiser minds have done this already. If you feel you have any connection with the written word, as a reader or a writer, please investigate a little further. Here's a place to start.

Most relevant?


 Not only is the Abbey library a repository for texts dating from the 8th century, it still collects books today. More importantly, its collection is open to scholars, providing rare access to original texts. It is indeed a fount of knowledge.

The Editorial Committee, aka Tour Leader, has an agenda item, which I'm willing to pursue. He spends far too much time following US and world politics, and makes a point about the relationship between knowledge and leadership. "Those who fail to learn from history are doomed to repeat it," said philosopher George Santayana, a quote borrowed by Churchill some decades later. Our pilgrimage to St Gallen reinforced, for me, the importance of acquiring knowledge, learning from history. Not necessarily a popular idea in modern educational circles, but there you go.

"Places like this library have a whole reservoir of knowledge, and yet the world's most powerful leader relies on lies, innuendo and a lack of critical thinking." - Bruce Richards, 2017

Not to mention the hubris, the bluster, the sheer insensitivity of the Don.  Now there's a man in need of a pilgrimage.





Thursday 24 August 2017

Still rolling along


It took me a while to piece it together. We had spent a couple of days in Zurich, exploring the city, lake and surrounds by bike and public transport. Crossing the main thoroughfare, Seefeldstrasse, just metres from our apartment required a careful check of the road before stepping out (“look LEFT, then right!”) to avoid being hit by trams and bikes. The consequences of the former didn't bear thinking about.
Meet Maxi and Juli who just lurve going for a ride

But where were the cars? Why was I not thinking of looking out for them as well? The answer seems to be very simple. People in Zurich tend not to use their cars. This street was not a car-free zone. I'm not even sure if such things exist in the city. But trams and bikes owned the street, as they own much of central Zurich.

As touring cyclists (hehe, loved writing that!) we're always admiring other bikers on the road, especially if they're  loaded up with pannier bags like us. But after that day in Zurich, I began to pay more attention to how Europeans incorporate bikes into their daily living. Here's my take on it.

We in New Zealand are in the early stages of a hopefully long-term relationship with cycling. With all of the passion of a new-found love, many of us are giddy with cycling fervour. Belles on Bikes, anyone? Frocks on Bikes? Blokes on bikes? Mamils? You might need to google that last one, but it IS a thing.

And, as in any romance, there are ups and downs. Not all motorists see cyclists as human beings. Not all cyclists show consideration to other road users. For some, it's a clear ‘them and us’ divide. There is still work to be done on the relationship. Maybe even counselling is called for.


With the benefit of many hundreds of years of urban living, European cities have evolved. The relationship between citizen and bike has long since moved beyond passion and its attendant conflicts. A happily married couple, if you like. People and bikes seem to plod along together in their comfy slippers. It is what it is: A successful long-term relationship, one that benefits all. We saw so many instances of people using bikes as we would cars: picking up children from school, grocery shopping, commuting with coffee in one hand, taking the family for a picnic, even embarking on a family camping holiday.

Tricky work taking this pic while riding
There is also infrastructure in place to smooth any speedbumps in the relationship: cycle ‘no go’ zones, clear road marking for bike lanes, separated pathways, and bike stands galore. Cars often give way to cyclists, whether required to or not.





Zurich has a public bike sharing scheme, as many cities do nowadays. (And it is good to read that Auckland is looking at introducing such a scheme) .


What is different to others we have come across is the high level of trust implicit in its operation. The distinctly yellow bikes are scattered around the city, not tethered to any kind of electronic locking system as in Paris, for instance. Users scan the QR code on the bike’s rear mudguard which unlocks the rear wheel and charges a small amount of francs to their account. Then off they pedal. The bike can be returned to any of the velo parking spots around the city. So simple.

Meanwhile, le Tour de Richards continues. From the peloton, my daily view is that of the Tour Leader's rear end as we roll around Lake Konstanz. We're in Meersburg right now, a gorgeous German medieval town. Next, we head to Bregenz (crossing briefly into Austria) then St Gallen, back in Switzerland. As the Tour Leader is wont to remark, cycling is the ideal way to explore; too slow on foot, too fast in a car.

To stretch the metaphor just a wee bit further, we're also rolling towards a significant anniversary. By the time we reach Appenzell, we will be marking 40 years of wedded bliss. Talk about comfy slippers!


Friday 18 August 2017

Serendipity

 Hang on, this doesn't seem right. Have we stumbled onto the set of a reality tv cooking show?  

We were tiptoeing around Zurich's magnificent Grossmünster when a casually dressed bloke wandered up to the front clutching a yellow ceramic bowl. He threw in a coin and let it roll around until a ringing sound filled the church. Okay, he's not making a batch of scones then. With this tintinnabulation as the only accompaniment, Mr Ordinary and his sidekick Ms Clarinettist burst into glorious song, tenor and soprano. Before you could whip up a bowl of cream, they were joined by Piano Accordion Man and we were treated to 20 minutes of a folk music rehearsal in acoustic heaven. The pièce de résistance was the appearance of a l-o-n-g wooden instrument that looked like a didgeridoo (I missed the bell shape at the base on first glance) but sounded like a delicate brass instrument. It was an alphorn. Cue cows, flowers and lederhosen.

And that mixing bowl? Google tells me it was a talerschwingen, an early 1900s addition to the folk music scene. Brilliant. Have a scone.

This was indeed a serendipitous moment. We had gone into the Grossmünster to reconnect with the  fabulous stained glass windows  created by Chagall in the 1970s. It turns out that we were in the wrong Münster. We should have been tiptoeing around the Fraumünster, just across the river Limmat. But then, we would've missed the rehearsal. Serendipity.

To continue the day's musical theme, we enjoyed a lunchtime organ recital at the Fraumünster. This was a truly synaesthetic experience: Eyes on Marc Chagall's five stained glass panels. Ears happily engaging with the repertoire. Feet occasionally sensing the organ's bass notes. Bliss.

One of the works was by a French composer and organist, Jehan Alain (1911-1940). These dates hinted at a young talent lost to war, and so it turned out (thanks again, Google, the traveller's friend).

In Wikipedia's own words,
"Always interested in mechanics, Alain was a skilled motorcyclist and became a dispatch rider in the Eighth Motorised Armour Division of the French Army. On 20 June 1940, he was assigned to reconnoitre the German advance on the eastern side of Saumur, and encountered a group of German soldiers at Le Petit-Puy. Coming around a curve, and hearing the approaching tread of the Germans, he abandoned his motorcycle and engaged the enemy troops with his carbine, killing 16 of them before being killed himself. He was posthumously awarded the Croix de Guerre for his bravery, and ... was buried, by the Germans, with full military honours."

Music is such a powerful teller of stories.

Challenging ourselves in China

I'm home, finally. And, I have to admit, a little reluctantly. Tour Leader has been back in his happy place for the past fortnight, plan...