Versatile And Alluring.

My last post on the theme of Switzerland will include my recollection of our visit in pictures mainly.

In my opinion, the prevailing appeal of this landlocked country lies not just in its multilayered prosperity and aesthetic beauty, but also in in it's enormous diversity. Roughly, the North is Germanic, the West is French, the South is Italian and the East is Romansh; thus Switzerland acknowledges four national languages. This diversity is reflected not just in the population, but also in the appearance and attitude.

Traveling across the country is like traveling across a wast part of Europe, but somehow fitted into a narrow space. Within hours, moving either by highway or by train tracks, one can pass from one zone into the other with ease and efficiency, compliments of a well established and modern infrastructure.

The transition is smooth and tranquil, yet very distinctive, as one can very much sense when the internal borders are crossed. Signs appear in a different language, the architecture changes and even the weather; going from snow covered peaks to warm shores of lakes. Not to mention the scenery; anything from rolling hills, lake districts lined by palm trees, castles, meadows, mountains with rich forests and animal life, pristine villages, sleepy towns and international metropolis, bustling with life.

I dedicate this post to my sister and her family for making our stay an unforgettable one. The days we spend together will enter my recollection as one of the unforgettable moments of my life, due to the company that surrounded me, etching it forever into my memory as such.

(Please click images below for a larger view.)

"Le Château".

My sister would probably disagree with amusement, but in my opinion; she indeed lives in a real Château.
But let me start at the beginning.

As I have mentioned many times in the past; I am a nervous flier. Actually, I have been a non flier for the past six years. The reasons to my phobia are too illogical and too uninteresting to discuss here, but they are nevertheless very real to me. Over time though, I slowly began entertaining the thought of boarding a plane again and recently decided to try to conquer my fear of flying.

Thus, a few weeks ago I found myself at an airport, a place that used to haunt my dreams. After consuming a few drinks that helped me to loose a bit of that control I so indefinitely crave, I boarded (and survived) two flights that took me to Switzerland to see my sister and her family. I did almost crushed the hand of my companion at starts and landings, but eventually I made it through the flights. And what is even more amazing, I might consider to fly again.

My younger sister met and married a French-Swiss gentleman and today they reside in his hometown by Lake Geneva, or Lac Léman, as it is correctly called. The family, including three children, live in a tranquil Château, which used to house a line of family of a distant relative to my brother in law. My sister and her husband consider it only a big house, but to me it looks like a Château indeed, complete with towers, attic and maybe even a haunted cellar.

It is in any case a beautiful mansion, set in a park like garden with stunning views of the French Alps, surrounded by wine yards and meadows. Our room was situated on the top floor with breathtaking outlook across the lake over the mountains and the famous town of Évian, whose lights flickered reflecting in the water in the evenings. Every morning as I woke up to the sound of water fountain and cow bells (belonging to cows that would graze on the nearby meadows), I had to pinch myself to make sure I was indeed still not dreaming.

My sister, without a doubt, lives in one of the most beautiful parts of Europe. I enjoyed every second being in her company and that of her family. When we all sat at the dinner table I felt happiness to the extend I can not describe in words, as I was surrounded by people that mean so much to me. All in a beautiful setting, with a sensation of peace and security.

There is nothing stronger than a family bond. I have never appreciated my entire family more than I do now, when I get to see them once a year at the best. Still, not even the distance - geographical or in time - can erase the bond of blood, that is so very palpable when we are apart. And even more when we are together.

Flashback Friday: "Angel Si Ti".

Considering this is the Eurovision Song Contest week, I am going to make an exception with today's Flashback. Today I am not sharing an oldie, but a contemporary tune in the very beautiful and sensual Bulgarian language.

To those of you who are not European, the term Eurovision means nothing. But believe me, this is the only televised event that manages to unite (and divide) Europe like nothing else can. It has grown over the decades to become a massive undertaking, with 39 countries participating. In 2009, the show was watched by some 125 million people.
I have described the contest in details last year, thus I will not bore you with the facts today. Except to point out that once again, after two semifinals, the best songs did not even make it to tomorrows final.

Thus, let me present to you one of my absolute favorite entries this year. It might come across as flamboyant, processed and over the top, but this is exactly what a great pop song should be. It is music that makes us feel good.
The compilation below sounds good and looks good and appeals to all my senses. I enjoy it like a lavish desert. I love the catchy harmonies, that make me want to get up and dance, a sensation I have not felt for a very long time. I love the images and the sentiments and most of all, I simply love the language. To me, who has Slavic roots, the lyrics below (of which I understand some) appear as a combination of Slavic and Latin; a language match made in heaven.

"Angel Si Ti", meaning "You Are An Angel" preformed by Miro (Miroslav Kostadinov) is one of the best songs in this contest. Even though voted out in yesterdays semifinal, it has won my heart.
Well done Bulgaria.

Ghost Towns.

The title above has a certain uncomfortable feel to it. However, it doesn't refer to actual haunted towns, but rather to abandoned cities. They exist all across the world; eerie places that once flourished and functioned like any other settlement, but are now deserted and utterly devoid of any life.

The reasons why a town becomes a ghost town are numerous. It could be due to the collapse of its infrastructure, failing economic activity due to epidemics or relocation of its inhabitants, or due to natural or human-caused disasters such as a flood, government action, uncontrolled lawlessness, or war.

One ghost town that intrigues and haunts me more than any other has to be Pripyať. It is located in the zone of alienation, in northern Ukraine. The tragic story linked to this abandon city is well known.

Founded in 1970, Pripyať was to house the workers that were employed at Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant, located near the towns vicinity, then in the Ukrainian Soviet Socialist Republic. First officially proclaimed as a city in 1979, it was home to some 50,000 people, right until that fateful spring night almost 25 years ago.

On April 26, 1986, reactor number four at the Chernobyl plant had a meltdown. This incident is commonly referred to as the Chernobyl Disaster. The resulting fire sent a plume of radioactive fallout into the atmosphere, spreading radioactive material over an extensive geographical area, including large parts of the western Soviet Union, Eastern Europe, Western Europe, and Northern Europe. Large areas in Ukraine, Belarus, and Russia had to be evacuated, with over 336,000 people resettled. A complete abandonment of Pripyať took place first on the second day after the incident, severely effecting the health of its inhabitants. No one was ever allowed to return, thus the city is now a ghost town.

I remember that day very vividly. Or rather the few days after. They were beautiful spring days in Sweden, coinciding with a weekend and most Scandinavians were outside, enjoying the sun. Including my family, quite oblivious to the fact that we were being hit by radioactive dust.



There are several factors about Pripyať that move me in an uneasy way. The obvious is the extend of the terrible accident, that even today is not under control. The ultimate sacrifice by the many workers who gave their life when participating in the initial clean up and the horrid conditions they had to work in. The tragic fate of their families and the effects still seen today in their descendants.

But even more perhaps it is the town itself. It reminds me of my childhood. I grew up in towns in former East Bloc, in very similar housing conditions as those seen on the many famous photographs. Concrete ghettos, the only way we knew how to live. I attended similar schools as the one that remained until very recently in Pripyať , sitting in similar school benches, attending similar activities as the children of this former communist city. Seeing that famous Ferris wheel, that now stands abandon and withered like a silent witness to a life that once flourished, sends shivers down my spine. Never used by children, it was about to be opened a few days after the incident, yet it looks so ancient today.

They say that the Chernobyl Disaster was in a certain way a catalyst to the fall of communism, which came later that decade. Today most of the countries in the former East Bloc have changed beyond recognition. New generation is growing up, with no recollection of the past and the traces of the old regime can not be seen anywhere.

In some way, Pripyať is a snapshot of a moment in time. The only city preserved in a haunting way, showing us what once was. A ruin of a not so distant past, a sad memorial to innocent lives lost, a symbol of human imperfection, a political system gone wrong and a piece of European history; all in one...

The Ancient Water Supply.

I have always been fascinated by ancient Rome. I guess, foremost by the ancient engineering and the state of the Roman civilization, in regards to the infrastructure and the technology.

One of the most intriguing Roman structures must be the Aqueduct. Although these are very much associated with the Romans, aqueducts were devised much earlier in the Near East and Indian subcontinent. The fact that Romans often get away with the credit is that all across Europe, in the parts of the former Roman Empire, one can find very well preserved remains of these spectacular architectural achievements. Some Roman aqueducts are actually still in use, although I found conflicting information about which ones indeed are. The two millenia old aqueduct in Segovia, Spain was at least still in use fifty years ago, supplying the city with water. And the renowned Fontana di Trevi in Rome does receive today water from a modernized ancient aqueduct called Aqua Virgo.

One of the most beautifully preserved and famous is Pont du Gard in France. It was built circa 19 BC and is today a World Heritage Site. Although it is by now suffering from the tides of time and is unfortunately in a great danger of collapsing in the near future.

Roman aqueducts were extremely sophisticated constructions. They were built to transport water inside the arches, within small channels across the Roman Empire, supplying city fountains and baths with fresh water. The principle is very simple - the aqueduct is constructed in such a way that it is titling or leaning in a very shallow gradient of remarkably fine tolerances. For example, at the Pont du Gard, this gradient accounts of only 34 cm per km, descending only 17 m vertically in its entire length of 50 km (31 miles). This is absolutely incredible, as to the naked eye the structure appears completely horizontal. The challenge of an aqueduct was to get this gradient right, because it would overflow or clot if not. Powered entirely by gravity, it could carry large amounts of water very efficiently. The Pont du Gard could transport up to 20,000 cubic meters — nearly 6 million gallons — a day, and the combined aqueducts of the city of Rome supplied around 1 million cubic meters (300 million gallons) a day.

Considering the absolute simplicity behind the concept of the construction, combined with an impeccable building precision, these structures are to me as astounding as any of the seven wonders of the ancient world.

The Beginning Of The End.

When we (my family) found ourselves as political refugees in Sweden in 1980, we assumed never to set foot in the former East Bloc again. Never. This was it. We escaped and considered ourselves lucky to be free and the idea of ever returning home was absurd and unreal. The years that followed were the years that any refugee or immigrant would understand. The consuming feeling of never to belong anywhere. Never to feel home anywhere again and yet being home everywhere to a certain degree. While something, somewhere deep inside, would never be complete again.

Therefore the chain of events that unraveled later that decade and brought eventually the end of the Cold War holds a very important place in my heart and soul.
Today is the official twenty years anniversary of the fall of The Berlin Wall. I think we all can remember November 1989, when our television screens were filled with images of joyful Germans, climbing over the Berlin Wall and rushing through the open borders to celebrate freedom. And some would finally be reunited with family members they might have not seen for what must have felt like eternity.
This force to end the decades of oppression spread through out the eastern Europe, even into Czechoslovakia where the Velvet Revolution saw the overthrow of the Communist government later that same year.

And so that, which once seemed impossible, came to pass.
In the spring of 1990, only months after the fall of communism, my family drove into Czech republic for the first time since our escape. I can still recall the chills running down my spine as we crossed the borders. As the guards at the checkpoints required our passports, the look in their eyes and the way they scrutinized our faces brought back memories of times, when these borders used to confine us. Later, I often used to wonder what they really did think of us and people like us; did they think us to be traitors or did they think us to be brave (stupid) enough to venture back? The guard handed us the passports at one point in a aloof manner, confusing my parents. As my father asked is we could continue across the border, the man in the uniform gave us one last look, waving his hand, uttering with a sting of nonchalance "If you really wish..." For a split second, as the gates closed behind us, an eerie feeling enveloped my heart and as we drove quietly onto the soil of my former home, an absurd thought of fear crossed my mind, instigating the feel of being trapped once again...

However, when we reached Prague, the onset of freedom was palpable in every corner of the city. To this day this first visit home was the most significant visit of them all. It was bittersweet in every way and reinforced the fact that one can go home, but one can never ever go back.

Later that summer we drove back to Prague again. We took the night ferry from Sweden and arrived in West Germany on an early summer morning, watching the sun rise as we disembarked the ship. Our plan was to visit Berlin on our way down and gaze at the remains of the Berlin Wall. I recall the drive very vividly. Barely a year after the fall of the wall, the signs of the old regime could still be perceived as we passed the empty border controls at one of the checkpoints that led the autobahn through a sort of no-man zone into the city. The deserted border buildings stood as silent witnesses to an era that has ended, yet was still very much present. On the pictures below that I took out of the car, one can still see the old Trabants, the undying symbols of the former DDR, driving ahead of us on the highway. Seeing one today is considered a rarity.
As we arrived in Berlin early on a Sunday morning, the city was still asleep. We reached the Brandenburg Gate which was empty, completely devoid of people or animals, cars or any kind of sound. I think what I recall the most was the unusual feeling of the place. It was filled with a sense of nostalgia and even a certain sadness. I felt as if we were walking through a deserted city. As we strolled around for almost an hour in complete silence and without meeting a soul, we passed the Reichstag Building and finally reached the wall. This was the first time that I stood face to face with this important structure in our history. I remember touching it and trying to envision the years of oppression and the shed of blood and tears that it symbolized. My parents can be seen on the pictures I post here. My mother stands at the lonely wall in one of them, while my father is seen walking. I wonder to this day what my parents were thinking. Their body language and their silence is maybe an answer in itself. The solitude and the melancholy of the pictures is hauntingly symbolic of what these are all about...

We all took a piece of the wall. I do no longer have mine, as it has disappeared through all the relocating that took place in my life over the years. But it doesn't matter. It was just a piece of concrete. The most important souvenir is the one that I carried away from this place in my mind. The idea that nothing is written in stone. Nothing is ever final and that history, although brutal and cruel in most parts also carries moments of monumental victories.

(Please click the below to enlarge).

Eurovision.

Today is a very rainy Saturday, but I find it somehow relaxing to be inside, curled up on my red sofa with Batcat, reading a good book, while we await an evening of a famous European tradition; the broadcast of the annual Eurovision Song Contest. Most likely unknown to anyone outside Europe, this years contest is held in Moscow. As the name implies, it is a singing contest with entries from a multitude of European countries, which compete for the best song - some performed in the original language.

I think Europe might be divided into two camps in this respect; those who watch it and are great fans and those who couldn't care less and consider this broadcast to be a nuisance. I am not sure to which part I belong, but I have been definitely fan for many years; however as time passes, I find myself switching sides.

The song contest was first held on 24th of May 1956 in Lugano, Switzerland. Much has changed since its first concept. In the eighties, it was a broadcast that use to unite Sweden, where I grew up and the following Monday everyone would scrutinize the contest and would discus whether the "right song won". Although the winners would most of the time be soon forgotten, the competition still held some consequences for the participants. It launched the carrier of Abba that won with Waterloo in 1974 and also helped to jump-start the success of Celine Dion who competed and won for Switzerland in 1988.

I did not know much about the contest in the nineties, as I lived in the US, but upon my return I noticed a great change. It has become bigger, encompassing almost the whole former east bloc including many small countries in the former Soviet Union. In fact it is such a large an event today, that it is split over several days with two semi-finals. Today the competition is additionally surrounded by much controversy, in respect to for how the winners are decided and how the votes are counted.

I will watch the contest tonight more with amusement than anything else. Denmark has qualified through the semi-finals and will compete in this evenings final, making the event slightly more exciting. I do not have favourites, but I like the Norwegian entry. However, the Danish contribution entitled "Believe Again", performed by Brinck is actually not bad either.

I guess most of all this broadcast holds another sentiment for me and that is the sentiment of the European Broadcasting Union with it's particular signature melody and logo, which usually proceeds any European broadcasts. This means televised programs, that are send simultaneously in many countries. There is a feeling of a connection with other countries, when the so very familiar melody comes streaming from the TV set. Many know it so well, but very few are aware of the fact that this musical piece is "The prelude to Marc-Antoine Charpentier's Te Deum, H. 146, a rondeau".

Every time I hear this unique tune, which has not changed for decades, it will always make me feel as if I am part of a united Europe.