Spuren der DDR: Denkmale

Freiberg is a pleasant small town in the state of Sachsen (Saxony), not far from Dresden. It has an old medieval wall and a pretty Altstadt, and a renowned Mining Academy. The locally made Nutcrackers, Christmas pyramids and other wooden figures are popular all over the world.
And, being within the former Deutsche Demokratische Republik, it has scars from both the Second World War and the Cold War, although they're not immediately obvious. During a walk around the outskirts of town on Christmas Day , we stumbled upon a few of them.

The monument above is in the center of the Russian Cemetery, the resting place of Soviet soldiers who fell in battle.
Not far from it we found a smaller monument in memory of concentration camp victims. The letters KZ in a triangle at the top is the short form for Konzentrationslager. The text reads, Euch unsterbliche Opfer des Faschismus nie zu vergessen sei unsere Pflicht (It is our duty never to forget you, the immortal victims of fascism.)
We Americans tend to think of German concentration camps being exclusively for Jews, and of course they were the special targets of the Nazis. However, and especially in the early years of the Third Reich, just about anyone who didn't fit into Hitler's plans — communists, homosexuals, protesting clergy, pacifists, gypsies, criminals, outsiders — was threatened with incarceration and eventual execution. East Germany's post-war government put special emphasis on the oppression of communists, obviously to keep their Soviet overlords happy, and also to help along the myth that there were no Nazis in the GDR.
One block further down the hill we came to another kind of memorial — for the ethnic Germans, forced out of their homes in the east after the war, who died in the refugee camps at Freiberg. This was the final stop for 1,375 men, women and children from East Prussia, Pomerania, Silesia and Sudetenland, and they died of the usual refugee-related causes: injuries, hunger, cold, exhaustion.
Again, I realize that the near-automatic response to this is often "They had it coming." It is important to remember, however, that these Germans had been settled in those far-off regions for hundreds of years, and many of them had no more political connection to the Fatherland than did the Pennsylvania Dutch . They ended up being just another group of people to suffer from Hitler's follies, if indirectly, but just as fatally.

I've been reading Anna Segher's "Transit", a novel set in Marseilles in 1940 and populated with all sorts of people fleeing the Nazi regime. Pushed to the coasts in front of the advancing German troops, they stand in all sorts of consular lines waiting for their visas — entry visas, exit visas, transit visas necessary for passing through one or more countries on route to another, places on board departing ships. One would wait for that last piece of paper with the official stamp from the proper authorities, only to get it after another had passed its expiration date.

Much of the book must have been taken from her own experiences and those of countless friends, as she fled Germany herself in 1933, first to France and then to Mexico. Much of what happened in her best-selling novel "The Seventh Cross" (later made into a film starring Spencer Tracey) came from information from camp escapees, as well pure speculation as to what was going on inside the Reich. Although she clearly didn't know about the extent of the Holocaust while she was writing, she conveys quite well the minute-to-minute anxiety of being on the run in a paranoid, fearful country.

A dedicated enthusiast to the cause of a "better Germany", Seghers moved to the East after the war and, like Brecht, was held up as an example of the literature of communist East Germany. "The Seventh Cross" was required reading in the schools. Naturally, I had never even heard of her.

Frohes Fest!

Off to spend the holiday in other mountain regions, offline for a about a week. If you're celebrating something, then have a happy one, and be careful out there on the roads. And if you're not celebrating, then be thankful for a day off and go to the movies. The days will be getting longer from here on in!

Kostümfreude

Now, this looks like an easy costume. Simple, classic ensemble, something from the professional women's section of any upscale department store.
What you don't know is that the blouse and skirt are made from such slippery material that they have to be fastened to each other in the back, and the blouse has been converted into a sort of leotard. Underneath are pantyhose, and under that a support undergarment which goes from my shoulders to my knees.

Which means, getting into and out of this simple thing requires assistance. Which means, going to the bathroom is pretty much out of the question. Ah, the glamour of the stage!

Weihnachtsblogging

Christmas trees for sale in front of the museum. Like walking to work through a small forest.

It's Kiachl time again!

This is a Kiachl, as delicious as it is unpronounceable. This particular Kiachl is filled with Preislbeeren, a kind of cranberry and with a similar taste. It can also be filled with sauerkraut, and I am told this is equally delicious.

It's a bit of a tradition to hit the Christmas market at least once in the season, to enjoy a Glühwein or a Punsch (the latter with or without rum) with friends. We did this yesterday a few hours before a dress rehearsal, so we all had to go easy on the alcohol. Soon five more friends joined us, and there there wasn't enough room on that little table anymore for all our mugs.
The stalls behind us were filled with sweets, jewelry, alpine scarves and gloves, slippers, candles, tree ornaments, you name it. At five each day, a brass quartet appears up in the balcony under the Golden Roof overlooking the square, and plays Christmas songs. It's a nice way to spend a dark, cold afternoon.

UPDATE: You'll find a recipe for Tirolean Kiachl in the right hand sidebar.

Es ist was es ist

I recently heard someone say, "It is what it is", which made me think of this Erich Fried poem. Translated from the original German:

Was es ist

It is nonsense
said Sense
It is what it is
said Love.

It is a disaster,
said Accountability
It's nothing but pain
said Fear
It is hopeless
said Insight
It is what it is
said Love

It is ridiculous
said Pride
It is reckless
said Caution
It is impossible
said Experience
It is what it is
said Love

Erich Fried was born to Jewish parents in Vienna, and fled with his mother to England after his father was murdered by the Nazis. In addition to his poems he translated works by Shakespeare, T.S. Eliot and Dylan Thomas into German, and worked as a political commentator for the BBC German Service.
The song-cycle "Voices" by Hans Werner Henze contains two of Fried's poems.

Santa's switched to an Opel.

An Opel fire truck, to be precise. Note all the funky hose attachments in the front. It's parked as decoration in front of a local hotel.

Weekend Mountain Blogging

I never get tired of this view from the Bergstation on the Hungerburgbahn. Like an alpine roller coaster. Of course, the actual ride is much slower.
Innsbruck, with the Inn River cutting through it.

Reschensee (Lago di Resia): II

I was looking — unsuccessfully — for an image of the actual village on the internet for the post below. Today I found (buried among other papers, of course) a postcard that we picked up when we had visited the area, which shows photographs of Graun before the dam was built. The 14th-century bell tower is easily recognizable in the top right and bottom left photos (also in the top left photo but I was unable to get a clear image from photographing a postcard.)

Things like this — ghost towns, abandoned railroads, sunken villages — fascinate us, don't they? I find myself particularly fascinated by what one finds under the water's surface. The rivers and lakes of Europe have claimed millennia of artifacts, from pre-historic jewelry to medieval swords, and on through to Third Reich memorabilia. This online article about diving for artifacts in the Salzkammergut region gives one a good idea of what's down there.

Reschensee (Lago di Resia)

The Reschensee is an artificial lake on the Italian side of Tirol, or South Tirol. When the dam was finished in 1950, the waters rose over several evacuated villages, including Graun (in Italian, Curon), where 163 houses were destroyed. The 14th-century bell tower was left standing , having been designated an historical monument, and if you drive along the coast, that is all that you will see of the village that was once there.
I first learned of this bell tower from a photograph in a cycling guidebook, and so, several years later, when the beau and I were looking for some day-trip destinations, I said that I had always wanted to see it myself.
Special thanks to Brenden Gunnell for the excellent photos, taken with his mobile phone.

Krampuslauf

The 6th of December is St. Nicholas' Day, and that means Krampus is out and about. The Krampus is actually a devil who accompanies the good saint on his rounds — good children get a nice present from Nicholas, and naughty children just might get a switching from the devil (which is the Alpine equivalent of a lump of coal in your stocking, and probably occurs just as often, meaning never.) On the evening of the 5th, some regions have a Krampuslauf, a sort of "running of the devils", where at least a dozen of them show up with their giant cowbells, drums and smoke, and do a sort of pagan dance for the kids.
It is traditional that the Krampus figure wear some sort of animal pelts or straw, and carved wooden masks with real animal horns. Many of these masks have been passed down through generations, although these days one occasionally sees rubber store-bought masks, especially on the teenage devils who roam the streets looking for juvenile victims and pretty girls to bother. Although, in those suits with those oversized cowbells on their butts, it's impossible to sneak up on anyone.

Weekend Rooftop Blogging

Although there's always snow to be found if you're high enough (I speak of altitude, people), the first snowfall of winter here seems to be when the Schneegrenze (snow line) dips under 1000 meters. If the clouds should then part and let in sunshine and blue sky, you have some pretty dramatic scenery. Below one can make out the snow line pretty easily, at the very bottom of the photo. With such steep mountains all around, it's something we are used to noticing and commenting on, much like other people talk about the "lake effect" or other local weather occurrences.

"Einspringen": The Show Must Go On.

View from a sound-check.

Every theater with a repertory season has gone though the drama of last-minute cancellations due to sickness. The larger houses employ covers, singers who are contracted to know the part and be ready to go on at a moment's notice (even in the second act), and are required to be in the general vicinity of the theater during the performance. The Met does this. Smaller houses do not have official covers but often roles are double cast, so that both singers are "on call" for each other should one be sick on the day of his or her performance. But this is not always the case, and sometimes a production is centered around one or two particular personalities who sing every performance. It's a risk, but generally it works out fine.

However, yesterday I got a call — the leading lady's voice is gone, she'll come to the show and speak her lines, but she doesn't think she can sing. I know this feeling quite well — the chords are not approximating in the morning but maybe, just maybe they'll be better by showtime. Sometimes this is the case, sometimes it's just wishful thinking. As the star didn't really know yet, I was put on stand-by status to sing her pieces from the orchestra pit if need be. This is actually not all that uncommon, although it doesn't happen often — in certain works, one can "jump in", as it's called, without knowing too much of the stage direction — you're told to go here, then go there on this line, and there's an assistant in the wings whispering "Go to the Countess and take her gloves!!!!!" The more complicated the piece, however, the less likely one can get away with that. Last March I sang a role from the pit, a role I had even done in another production, but the part in this one involved walking forwards and backwards on a conveyer belt onstage during her long aria. There was just no time to acquaint me with the stage.

Well, I did in fact sing last night, concentrating solely on the unfamiliar lyrics and the conductor (he was the personification of calm), and, well, saved the performance. I even got to bow onstage at the curtain call. Lots of applause, warm compliments from colleagues, and then it's over. Back to work!

Holiday Baking: Black Cake

Several years ago I was introduced to the excellent book Home Cooking by the late Laurie Colwin, in which she spoke about several experiences in her life involving food and cooking, and included the recipes for each dish. While many of the recipes are interesting and easy (the creamed spinach with jalapeño peppers recipe is worth the price of the book, easily), the most fascinating recipe is that for West Indian black cake, involving chopped fruits marinated for two weeks in wine and dark rum, and an elusive ingredient known as burnt sugar essence, which I have never been able to either buy or successfully replicate.
Nigella Lawson gives an adaptation of this recipe in How To Be A Domestic Goddess: Baking And The Art Of Comfort Cooking, and while this made a perfectly delicious cake, it came out a light golden brown, and nowhere near black. Therefor, having finally obtained a small cast iron frying pan, I'm going to attempt the original recipe again. Tonight I'll be chopping fruits — raisins, prunes, currants, cherries and mixed citrus peels, then mixing them together in Madeira and our locally produced Stroh Rum. By Christmas it'll be ready to use.

UPDATE: For ql and anyone else mad enough to want to try, here's the Nigella version.