The Rosenkrantz Tower.  Bergen was founded over 1000 years ago and in the 13th century was Norway’s capital city.  The oldest part of this tower, now part of the Bergenhus Fortress complex, dates to that era.

Mountains and fjords.  Bergen is nestled between its sheltered harbour off the Byfjorden fjord and the mountains surrounding it.  This view is from Mount Fløyen, the summit of which can be reached either by the Fløibanen funicular railway, or by hiking trails.

University of Bergen.  Founded in 1946, the university is based on several older scientific institutions, and is highly ranked worldwide (in the top 1%).  Its museum features outstanding natural history and cultural history collections, and is worth a full day’s visit.

Fantoft Stave church.  One of only a few dozen wooden churches remaining in Norway, the church was moved to Bergen, in pieces, from Fortun, about 300 km away, in the late 1800s.  The church was destroyed by arson in 1992, and was rebuilt using similar building methods as that of the original, which dated from the year 1150.

Fruits of the sea.  With the North Sea lapping at the city, seafood features on many restaurant menus.  At this harbourside restaurant, we enjoyed meals that included hake (left) and cod (right).

 Bryggen.  The cluster of wooden buildings known as Bryggen (the dock) is a UNESCO World Heritage Site.  The original buildings date back to Hanseatic League commercial activities in the 1300s, and were rebuilt in the early 1700s following a fire.

Travel note:  Many tourists arrive in Bergen on fjord-seeking cruise ships.  However, I recommend taking the 6-hour train journey from Oslo, which travels through and over scenic mountain passes.

While Barb Lehtiniemi has moved on, the Cities in Six series was an interesting way to include more image content in The Voice Magazine, as well as have a look at some tourist areas around the world from the viewpoint of a member of the AU Community.  It’s interesting to think that many of the areas may have students in them currently, and I was always hoping I’d get one of them writing in telling me about all the other things we should have mentioned.  It never happened, but the Cities in Six column really was a significant part of the Voice Magazine for 2024, so it makes sense that this article from February 23rd be included.

Like many others in Ontario who live in or near the “path of totality” for the April 8 solar eclipse, we made plans to view the event.  We live about 15 kilometres away from the northern limit of totality as it crosses eastern Ontario.  Why not make the short drive to experience the Whole Thing?

Using an online map, we identified some possible parking and viewing locations in a small community within the path of totality.  We drove there the day before the eclipse to scout out several parking options, depending on how busy eclipse day turned out to be.

We needn’t have worried about traffic.  When we drove south early afternoon on April 8, we encountered few vehicles on the road, and certainly not streams of traffic heading south.  The parking lot of a local community service group was empty, as was the public park next to it.

After setting up camp chairs in the park, we passed the time reading and writing and chatting.  We had arrived about 45 minutes before the beginning of the partial eclipse phase and during that time a couple dozen other people arrived at the park to view the eclipse.

Once the partial phase began, we used our eclipse glasses to periodically monitor the moon’s progress as it nibbled away at the sun.  The process seemed slow, and it took a long while before there was any noticeable change in the quality of light at ground level.  There was still daylight, just somewhat diffused.

But within ten minutes of totality, when the moon would completely block the sun, daylight dimmed quickly.  Automatic exterior lights at a nearby school came on, as did streetlights.  The blue of the sky deepened, much as it does around sunset.

Then the magnificent period of totality.  We had only one minute, from 3:25:54 to 3:26:57.  With no sun visible at all, we could remove our eclipse glasses and gaze at the spectacle of the black moon surrounded by rays of light from the hidden sun.  It’s a sight we wished would last longer—those lucky enough to be at the centre of the totality zone would get almost four minutes to view the total eclipse.

I spent part of our precious minute of totality gazing around at the landscape.  Despite the sun being obscured, it was not dark like night.  Everything in the landscape could be seen clearly, and objects still cast shadows on the ground—like they do under a full moon.  The sky was a dusky purple, and clouds still discernible.  Around the horizon’s perimeter the sky displayed the colours of sunset.  We could see two planets: Jupiter and Venus.

All too soon, our minute had ticked away, and we donned our eclipse glasses to see the sun emerge from behind the moon.  The landscape brightened surprisingly quickly.  The main event over, we packed up our chairs and headed home.

Eclipse, part two.

We got home by 4pm.  While the partial eclipse continued for another half hour at our place, the quality of the light seemed little different than normal daylight.  I felt really chilled.  The temperature at our eclipse-viewing location had dropped from 21°C to 14°C in the half-hour before the total eclipse, so my chills didn’t surprise me.

Then I began to feel weirdly fatigued.  Had I gotten too much sun?  I’d worn a brimmed hat the whole two-and-a-half hours we spent outdoors, and I’d had my back to the sun for part of that time.  A look in the mirror showed my face didn’t appear sunburned at all.  But by early evening my fatigue was overwhelming, and I could barely hold up my head.  I didn’t feel particularly sleepy, just drained of all energy.  I collapsed on the sofa at 7pm.

At 8pm I staggered to bed and remained there for the next ten hours.  By then I had a fever.  Despite my fatigue, I woke every half hour or so, burning hot and parched for water.  I don’t remember if I dreamed, but during the foggy transitions from sleep to waking I experienced persistent vivid images and sensations.  They are impossible to describe and seem bizarre now, but at the time they felt normal, even comforting.

Waking again around 4am, just over twelve hours after the eclipse, I noticed the fever and all other sensations had eased.  When I got up later, I had only a lingering tiredness due to fractured sleep.  Otherwise, I felt fine again.

Curious if there was any possible connection between my symptoms and the eclipse, I searched online.  I discovered that some people report experiencing fatigue and fever in the 24 hours after a solar eclipse, but nobody knows why.  (Some scientists pooh-pooh the connection, scorn often being the refuge of scholars who have come up against something they can’t explain.)

Although it’s possible for anyone to exhibit psychosomatic symptoms, I can’t accept that mine were mental constructs.  I didn’t expect to feel any physical effects from the eclipse, and I’d never heard that such effects were possible.

I didn’t find the total eclipse exhilarating, exciting, or spiritual, as others have described it.  The one minute of totality was interesting, and I’m glad I experienced it.  But the experience of the post-event effects have, in a way, eclipsed the event itself.

Two days later, my post-eclipse symptoms have completely disappeared—now replaced with a renewed respect for the power and influence that the sun and moon wield over our puny selves.

This reader recommended article from April 12 was a bit of an odd one, but what stood out for me most was that it was a good read, taking a rare event and shining a different sort of light on it than you’d find anywhere else.  To me, this is part of the common denominator of the AU student. We’re a bit different from others, and occasionally it shows.  In this case, it’s also a good read, and I have to admit, I love the second picture.

You’re stuck in the back seat of a speeding cab, hands groping fruitlessly for your seatbelt (which is inevitably non-functional.)  The car careens wildly through some busy metropolitan area. The driver seems intent on beating his best time.  By the time you reach the airport, the groping of security staff seems almost comforting by comparison.

Now add cobblestones.

We did not feel in a particular hurry that day on Terceira, one of nine islands which make up the mid-Atlantic Azores archipelago.  It wasn’t a great distance from our hotel in the east-coast town of Praia de Vitória to the airport at Lajes.  Perhaps four kilometres.  We could have walked, except for those cobblestones.  Unkind to luggage wheels, you see.

After my husband negotiated a six-Euro fare with the driver (down from the standard eight-Euro flat-fare), we piled our luggage in the trunk.  The driver, a swaggering young fellow with minimal English, seemed anxious to show off his Mercedes to best advantage.  We were definitely going much too quickly down the narrow, winding streets on our way out of town.

But, when we reached the Estrada 25 de Abril, he really opened her up. Pastel-painted Azorean houses flashed by in a bouncing blur, as the car rattled over the cobbled road.

“Senhor,” he called over his shoulder, “I said six Euros?  It’s eight Euros.  The suitcases.  Two Euros more.  You understand?”

There’s an International Taxi School where they learn these ploys, isn’t there?  It’s not like we can change our minds now.  Not at this speed.

Abandoning the hunt for my seatbelt, I turned my attention to the houses flashing by.  Well, this was most curious.  There was a near-continuous wall between the road and the houses, punctuated by gateways to each dwelling.  The gateways were usually open.  But now I noticed each one was closed, and in the process of being barricaded with sheets of plywood.

And people were sitting on the walls, waiting expectantly.  For what?  A parade?  Or a festival!  The calendar in the Azores is sprinkled with festivals.  I appealed to the driver.  “Excuse me, senhor, is there a festival today?”

“No, it’s tourada à corda!  The bulls, you know?”

Oh. My. God.  In minutes, this street would be full of angry, charging bulls and daring/foolish/drunk (take your pick) young men.  And here we were, barely ahead of it, in a taxi.  No wonder the driver was speeding.  Soon this street, the most direct route to the airport, would close to all traffic – except bulls.  Our driver was intent on getting through, knowing he wouldn’t get paid extra if he had to take the longer route.

This was our seventh day on the Portuguese island of Terceira.  We’d seen repeated videos of street bullfighting misses and near-misses.  Almost every souvenir shop seemed to have a TV in the window showing bulls climbing over walls, trampling hapless young men, getting angrier by the minute.  Terceira must be the original home of the Raging Bull.

Now I was silently urging our driver on.  The crowds on the walls were getting thicker, as women and children jockeyed for vantage points.  The men, young and old, clustered in groups, smoking and (presumably) talking big.  I almost wished we could stay and watch.  Almost.  Our flight to Faial, another Azorean island, wouldn’t wait for us, bulls notwithstanding.

This brief but action-packed ride was dramatically different from one we’d had a few days earlier.  The first four days of our Azorean holiday were spent in the charming south-coast town of Angra do Heroísmo, a UNESCO World Heritage site on Terceira Island.  From there, we decided to spend a day touring the western part of the island.  Terceira is not very large, perhaps 30 by 16 kilometres.  Reluctant to navigate narrow, twisting and sometimes poorly marked roads in a rental car, we decided to engage a taxi.

We found a taxi stand and approached the first driver we came upon.  Unlike many other islanders, this one spoke little English.  He directed us to one of his colleagues, Francisco.

Francisco, or Frank, spoke a peculiar style of English. As a youth, he had worked as a caddy at a swanky golf course near the American Air Force Base next to Lajes airport.  He learned English from the American golfers who frequented the course.  Consequently, Frank had a swaggering drawl that made him sound like John Wayne.

For our island tour, we gave Frank a short list of places we particularly wanted to see and left the rest of the itinerary to him.  We settled into the back seat to enjoy a leisurely drive.  (The seatbelts in Frank’s cab worked just fine.)  In addition to his language skills, he was one of the most gentlemanly drivers we’d ever encountered.

It was an idyllic, sun-drenched day, more Mediterranean than mid-Atlantic.  The only clouds were those clinging to the peaks of the island’s volcanoes.  The loftiest of these, Santa Barbara, was our first major stop.  From the village of Santa Barbara itself, Frank followed winding roads ascending toward the invisible peak.  We climbed in altitude, stopping often to gaze back down over farmland to the diminishing village.  Each field on the slope was bordered with either black volcanic rock walls or massive hydrangea shrubs, heavy with mauve and blue blossoms.  From this elevation, other smaller volcanic cones were visible, sprinkled liberally through the lush landscape.

The road steepened sharply as we drove through the volcano’s forested flank.  Impenetrable cloud had stubbornly clung to the peak, and when we arrived, little could be discerned through the gloom.  We emerged from the car to find ourselves completely misted-in and buffeted by furious winds.  Strangely, the parking area was overflowing with cars—belonging to hikers groping around the trail that ringed the caldera.

After seeing all we possibly could (which wasn’t a great deal), Frank gingerly navigated the car out of the parking area.  Driving over a raised grate produced the unmistakable pop and hiss of a flat tire.  Frank astounded us with his impressive knowledge of English profanities.  (Those golfers, eh?)  Refusing our offers of assistance, he installed the spare tire himself.

We wandered about blindly, hoping for a break in the cloud.  Beyond a sign describing the physical features of the volcano we caught a brief breathtaking glimpse of the volcano’s enormous caldera before the cloudy curtain closed in on the view.

With the spare tire in place, we retraced our route back down the mountain.  Below the peak-obscuring cloud, it was a maddeningly clear day.  Frank, subdued by the unexpected expense of a punctured tire, drove in brooding silence.  We wisely followed suit in the back seat.

For lunch, Frank deposited us at a roadside picnic area at Mata da Serreta.  The park was typical of the Azores:  bubbling fountains, verdant trees, meandering paths, stone tables and benches.  Frank drove off to smoke and sulk in private.  We laid out our feast:  fresh Portuguese bread, sharp Azorean cheese, and a bottle of local wine.  Unlike Canada, nobody bats an eyelash at alcohol in public here (driving after drinking, however, is strictly a no-no.)

Thankfully, the break lifted Frank’s mood, and we resumed our adventures.  He took us to the natural swimming pools at Ponta dos Biscoitos so we could see what a beach with no sand looks like.  Although there are several fine sandy beaches on the island, the north coast is edged with black, skin-shredding lava.  The lava, frozen in place after some not-too-ancient eruption, created a network of natural pools next to the ocean.  Concrete pathways lead from parking area to pools to ocean.  Here and there were smooth concrete patches – improvised “beaches” for sunbathing.

The pools were crowded with swimmers and soakers.  Braver souls plunged directly into the ocean, where thundering waves crashed just beyond the marked swimming area.  The whole set-up was ingenious and would never be permitted in safety-obsessed North America.

Having toured the western half of Terceira, Frank drove us across the heart of the island back to Angra.  Along the way, we passed a number of small fields with menacing-looking bulls.  Frank informed us that the bulls would be teased to anger before they participated in the popular local custom of street bullfighting known as touradas à corda (literally, bulls on a rope).  The bulls did look surly, and I was happy to be in a taxi, passing by in safety.

We could not have imagined that, a few days later, we’d be uncomfortably close to the rage of bulls, as we bounced along in our final taxi journey.  During that ride, I braved a glance behind us.

I felt both relief and disappointment not to see steaming bulls trailing behind.

Faial island was settled by Portuguese farmers in the 15th century.  The city of Horta was founded later that century by Flemish nobleman Josse van Huerter (a friend of a friend to Portuguese royalty).  We visited Horta during a multi-island trip to the Azores in September 2010.

Volcanoes old and new.  Horta sprawls across a slope along a broad, sheltered bay on Faial’s east side.  The extinct volcanic cone of Monte da Guia is to the left in this photo.  At the other (western) end of the island, the relatively recent Capelinhos volcanic eruption lasted 13 months during 1957 and 1958.

Pico view.  Horta provides the best view of Mount Pico, on the neighbouring island of Pico.  Mount Pico, a dormant volcano, rises over 2300 metres from sea level.  It is the tallest mountain on the Azores islands.

Historic windmills.  On a hill overlooking Horta, one of a pair of restored windmills stands ready for iconic photos.  Faial has several dozen windmills, the design of which display both Portuguese and Flemish influences.  The windmills date from the 19th century, and were used for grinding grain.

Our Lady of Anguish.  The 19th-century church of Nossa Senhora das Angústias was built on the site of the 15th-century Santa Cruz chapel.  That chapel was built by Horta’s founder, Josse Van Huerter.  The site of the chapel is said to be the location where the first mass was said on the island of Faial.  Like most buildings of Horta, the church is constructed of volcanic basalt, some of which is smoothed over with plaster and paint.  Nossa Senhora das Angústias (Our Lady of Anguish) is the patron saint of Faial.

Peter’s Café Sport.  Horta is a popular stopping point for vessels sailing across the Atlantic.  Its marina is full of bobbing sailboat masts, and its concrete wharf sports paintings made by visitors from all over the world.  Directly across from the marina, Peter’s Café Sport is a de rigueur stop for travellers.  The walls and ceiling of the bar are covered with mementos left by visitors over many decades. The bar, which originally served coffee, is now known for its gin (its own brand is Gin do Mar.)

Literary note: Mark Twain visited Horta in 1867 (before Peter’s Café Sport was founded, alas), and wrote about it in his book The Innocents Abroad.

A tail of a whale.  Horta is a base for many whale-watching outfitters.  Whale hunting used to be important to the Azorean economy, but has now been replaced by whale watching.  Many species of whales migrate to or through the waters off Faial.  This tail belongs to a sperm whale.  We used a whale-watching service run by researchers, who identify individual whales by markings on their tails.

Travel note:  The Horta Airport is 9 kilometres from the city of Horta, and serves destinations within the Azores as well as mainland Portugal.  International flights generally use the airports on the islands of São Miguel and Terceira.  Frequent ferry services run between Horta’s waterfront and the nearby islands of Pico and São Jorge.

This concludes (for now? forever?) my Cities in Six series.  To view the previous twenty-three articles in the series, click on my name at the top of this article.  Even better, get out and explore some cities yourself.  The world is waiting for you!

Bruges’ medieval city centre is a UNESCO World Heritage Site.  The city has attracted tourists since the 1800s and now hosts around 8 million visitors per year.  We visited Bruges on a day-trip from nearby Ghent, in August 2019.

Markt.  The central square in Bruges is surrounded by many prominent buildings, including the Provincial Court, the Post building, and the Belfort.  The series of step-gabled buildings in this photo are fronted with canopied restaurant patios.

“Fucking Bruges!”  On the south side of the Markt square soars the Belfort, or bell tower.  If you have watched the 2008 dark comedy-drama In Bruges with Colin Farrell and Brendan Gleeson (and if you haven’t, you really should), this is THAT tower.  Tourists can climb the 366 steps to the top of the 83-metre tower; entrance fee applies.

Venice of the North.  Fleets of tour boats navigate Bruges’ network of canals, providing tourists with a relaxing way to see much of the historic city centre.  Unlike the bridge in this photo, some of the bridges over the canals are low enough that tourists need to duck their heads when their boat passes beneath them.  (Bruges, or Brugge is Old Dutch for bridge.)

Christ’s blood.  Jammed between the 14th-century city hall and a chocolate shop is the Basilica of the Holy Blood.  Originally a private chapel for the Duke of Flanders, the 12th-century chapel holds a vial containing a cloth said to be soaked with the blood of Jesus Christ.  The bloody cloth was preserved by Joseph of Arimathea, and brought from Jerusalem to Bruges during the Second Crusade of 1147-49.

Madonna of Bruges.  Our Lady of Bruges Roman Catholic church was constructed in stages from the 13th to 15th centuries.  The church houses a famous marble sculpture of the Madonna and Child.  That sculpture by Michelangelo was completed in 1506 and is the only one of his sculptures to leave Italy during Michelangelo’s lifetime.  This photo is of the church’s nave (the sculpture is in a chapel in the southern aisle.)

The Golden Carp.  A bowl of hearty fish soup at the Gouden Karpel.  The restaurant and its attached fresh-fish market are on Vismarkt (fish market) square.  Our decision to eat lunch early proved to be a wise one—by the time we left the restaurant, there was a line-up of would-be diners waiting for a table.

Travel note:  The Bruges train station provides frequent rail service to and from Brussels, Ghent, Ostend, and Lille (France.)  Local buses run between the train station and the centre of Bruges; it is only 20 minutes by foot.   Brussels Airport is the nearest major international airport, and is about an hour away by train.  Bruges is a major tourist magnet— arrive early in the day if making a day trip to the city, and book well in advance if staying overnight.

Much of the medieval centre of Ghent has been preserved, and most streets in the city’s centre are pedestrian only.  We spent a full week exploring Ghent in early August, 2019.

Grass Quay.  The Graslei, along the Leie River, is one of the medieval quays in the port area of Ghent.  The modern port area is now north of the city, and the Graslei district is a culture and tourist hub.  The name, Graslei (Grass Quay in English), harkens back to its importance in the wheat trade in Flanders.  The equally well-preserved Corn Quay (Korenlei) is directly across the river.

Tower Row.  From Sint-Michielsbrug (Saint Michael’s Bridge), one photo can capture a line of towers.  In the middle distance is Sint-Niklaaskerk (St Nicholas Church); to the right and behind is the Belfort (the Belfry).  The third medieval tower of Sint-Baafs (St Bavo’s) Cathedral is just out of sight.  (The towered building at left is a former post office.)

St Bavo’s.  The Roman-Catholic cathedral of St Bavo’s is named for Ghent’s patron saint (known as Sint Baaf in Dutch.)  Construction of the church began in 1274 with the church replacing a 10th-century wood chapel.  The cathedral houses many notable works of art, including the Ghent Altarpiece (formally known as the Adoration of the Mystic Lamb) by Hubert and Jan van Eyck.  That polyptych (multi-panelled) painting was unveiled in 1432, and is considered a masterpiece of European art.  The Ghent Altarpiece, in whole or in part, has been stolen seven times.  One panel remains missing after a 1934 theft.

The Gravensteen.  This 12th-century castle was the residence of the Count of Flanders (“Gravensteen” means “the Count’s rock”.)  In 1949 this was the site of the locally-infamous “The Battle of Gravensteen Castle”, when students from the University of Ghent occupied the castle to protest a large increase to the price of beer.  The castle has been restored and is open to the public.

De Krook.  Two rivers, the Scheldt and Leie, plus several canals, criss-cross Ghent.  The waterways are often busy with pleasure craft.  Hovering over a bend in the river Scheldt is the newly-built library, media centre, and research hub, “De Krook”.  The library provides moorings for patrons arriving by water, as well as ample parking space for bicycles.

Ride & Park & Ride.  Seen through the windows of the Gent-Sint-Pieters train station, rows and rows of bicycles wait in the commuter parking lot.  The morning and afternoon rush hours in Ghent are dominated by commuters riding their bicycles to work, or to the train station (where many commuters catch trains to Brussels.)  Tourists can rent bikes at the train station, or in the city’s centre.

Travel note:  Brussels Airport, around 60 kilometres southeast of Ghent, is the nearest international airport.  There is a direct 1-hour rail link from Brussels Airport to Ghent’s Gent-Sint-Pieters railway station.  There is rail access to many other European cities from Ghent, including Bruges, Antwerp, and Luxembourg.  Ghent has extensive public transportation, and tourists can purchase day passes providing unlimited use of busses and trams.

Luxembourg’s site on a plateau has given it strategic importance since Roman times.  The city has, at times, fallen under the control of the Spanish, the French, the Austrians, the Prussians, the Burgundians, the Dutch, and the Germans.  We invaded the city ourselves on a pleasant morning in August 2019.

Castles in the sky.  Much of Luxembourg is perched on a plateau high above the two rivers that have cut deep gorges through the area.  Here, the Adolphe Bridge spans the Pétrusse River.  The castle-like buildings on the far side of the gorge are both banks—Luxembourg is a noted centre of banking in Europe.

The Grund.  Nestled along the banks of the Alzette River, the Grund quarter sits around 70 metres below the upper level of the city.  The Grund area is accessed via a few steep roads; pedestrians can take the Plateau St Esprit Grund elevator, which descends through the rock from the terrace of the cité judicaire complex.

Bock casemates.  The rocky sheer-sided cliffs above the Alzette River were once riddled with tunnels and defensive fortifications.  From many places in the old Grund district you can still see openings from where the barrels of cannon formerly poked out.  Most of the fortifications were removed in the late 1800s.

Greenery and gardens.  Luxembourg’s population is only around 140,000.  Its low population density leaves plenty of space for parks, paths, and gardens.  This is Nation Square, which is adjacent to extensive park areas along the Pétrusse River.

Cité judicaire.  A complex of judicial buildings on a promontory overlooking the Grund quarter.  Luxembourg is also home to several institutions of the European Union.

Old is new again.  The cornerstone for what became the Notre-Dame Cathedral in Luxembourg was laid in 1613.  The west tower, on the left of this photo, dates to the 1600s and is the oldest of the three towers.  The west tower was heavily damaged by fire in early 1985 but was quickly repaired.

Travel note:  The Luxembourg Airport is 6 kilometres from the city centre, and is accessible by bus and tram.  Frequent train service runs between Luxembourg and cities in France, Belgium, Germany, and Switzerland.  Public transportation in Luxembourg City, including rail, bus, and tram, is free.

The city’s first historical mention was in 12 BC, when it was the site of a Roman military outpost called Argentoratum.  By the 6th century AD, the city was known as Strasbourg, a Germanic name it retained even when the city was claimed by France in the 17th century.  Strasbourg is saturated in history, and deserving of far more than the brief visit we made there in August 2019.

Petite France.  The River Ill once provided water for mills and tanneries in the historic centre of Strasbourg.  Today the river and its several channels provide reflection for the quaint buildings of the Petite France quarter.

Ponts Couverts.  The bridges and two of the four towers that form a 13th century defensive barrier to the heart of the city.  The bridges were originally covered with wooden roofs (hence the name “Ponts Couverts”, or Covered Bridges).  The roofs were removed in 1784.  This view is from the roof terrace of the Barrage Vauban.

Barrage Vauban.  Originally built as a bridge and defensive structure in the 17th century, the 120-metre-long Barrage Vauban nowadays contains displays of sculptures and provides tourists with views from its roof terrace toward the Ponts Couverts opposite.

Architectural mélange.  With Strasbourg’s complex history, plus control of the city ping-ponging between Germany and France, the variety of architectural styles is a delightful blend of old, new, Germanic, and French.

Lacy spire.  The spire of the Strasbourg Cathedral towers 142 metres over the city.  The cathedral was completed in 1439, and its delicate-looking spire is currently the sixth-tallest church tower in the world.

Council of Europe.  Strasbourg is the seat of many international organizations, including the Council of Europe and the European Parliament.  The Council of Europe occupies a cluster of buildings in the European District about four kilometres northeast of the city’s core, and includes the European Court of Human Rights, shown here.

Travel note:  Strasbourg’s International Airport offers flights to and from other European destinations, but not North America.  Train services offer routes to Paris, Basel, and Zurich, as well as other destinations.  Local public transportation includes trams and buses.  There is a bike-sharing operation in Strasbourg called Vélhop, and 500 kilometres of biking paths.

We were surprised, therefore, to see someone swimming in the river.  Not actually swimming but bobbing along with the current.  It was a sweltering August day, so I can’t blame anyone for wanting to drift in the cool current, but I wondered at the wisdom of being a small person amidst the constant traffic of big boats.

Then we noticed another person in the water.  And another.  The more we looked, the more we saw.  There was a steady stream of bobbing heads drifting downstream.  How intriguing!

Our being in Basel at all was a bit of a fluke.  Basel was never on our bucket list of places to visit.  I may have heard of Basel before we planned our Summer 2019 trip to Europe, but I wouldn’t have been able to tell you where it was.

Basel is in north-west Switzerland, nestled hard up against the intersection of borders with Germany and France.  The Basel airport is actually located on the French side of the border.

Since we’d be winding up a two-week trip near Freiburg, Germany, we originally planned to fly back to Canada from the nearest international airport, at Basel.  After researching Basel itself, we decided it would be worthwhile to spend a few days there before heading home.  Although we later changed our flight plans to depart from Zurich’s airport, we retained a visit to enchanting Basel on our itinerary.

So, there we were.  Basel was lovely.  We had both done research before our trip, and were armed with things we wanted to see.  We visited the old town centre and the cathedral.  We prowled around cobbled streets.  We browsed through museums, churches, and shops.  We toured the Roman ruins of nearby Augusta Raurica, and we took an evening cruise on the Rhine.

The Rhine is quite broad as it flows through Basel.  Basel’s medieval city is perched on the higher west bank, while the newer sections of the city are on the east bank, which is much closer to water level.  Several bridges span the river, and there are also several small ferries that transport passengers across the Rhine.  The ferries are curiosities themselves as they, tethered to a cable that spans the river, use only the power of the current to make the crossing.

But these bathers bobbing in the river were the most curious of all.  We noticed that they stayed close to the lower east bank, along which were many access points to the water.  Each person had a brightly-coloured float tethered to them.  We surmised the floats were waterproof containers for clothes and a towel, as well as serving as visibility markers to the passing boats.

People bobbed down the river variously in family groupings, in chatty pairs of friends, or on their own.  At times, there was almost a continuous parade of people drifting with the current, like a line of colourful flotsam.

We observed some bathers getting out and disappearing up stairs to the streets beyond.  We wondered how they made it back to their starting points.  Did they don dry clothes and hop on the tram?  Or had they left bicycles so they could pedal back home or to their car?  Basel, like many European cities was full of bicycles and pedestrians and public transit.

The day after we returned to Canada, an article was published online by The Guardian:  “City swimming, Swiss-style:  a ride down the Rhine in Basel.”  From that article, we learned that this river swimming has only been possible since the 1980s, when wastewater was diverted from the river.  River swimming is also popular in Berne, Zurich, and Geneva.  And, although it looks like a gentle activity, the article’s writer (who is from England,) reported she found the current surprisingly strong.

The floating pouches the swimmers toted, we learned from the article, are fish-shaped waterproof bags called “Wickelfisch”.  Swimmers tuck their clothes, shoes, towels, phones, and even laptops into the bags to keep them dry during their leisurely float down the Rhine.

We have often found truth in the adage, “travel broadens the mind.”  We learn something (often, many things) new every place we visit.  Even—and perhaps especially—places we discover by chance.

With its abundance of museums, including the first public art museum in the world (1661), Basel is considered the cultural capital of Switzerland.  In 2023 it was ranked the 10th-most liveable city in the world.  The University of Basel was founded in 1460, making it Switzerland’s oldest university.  We spent several days exploring Basel in mid-August, 2019.  My camera’s battery died during our visit, and several of these photos are courtesy of my husband.

History and heritage.  Much of Basel was badly damaged in a major earthquake in 1356.  Most of the buildings in the city’s older sections date from the 14th and 15th century.  Recent restorations make Basel an attractive and interesting place to explore.

Reaction ferries.  People on foot can cross the wide Rhine River on current-powered reaction ferries.  The ferry is tethered to a cable and, by angling the boat into the current, the ferryman steers the boat to the opposite shore.  Although the Rhine is still a busy river for transport, it is nowadays clean enough that locals float down the river on hot days.

Greater and Lesser.  Basel Minster, built between 1019 and 1500, dominates the skyline of Greater Basel.  Five bridges connect the higher shore of Greater Basel with the lower shore of Lesser Basel.  Pictured is the Wettsteinbrücke (Wettstein Bridge.)

St Alban-Tor.  The restored gate and tower of St Alban’s marks one of the original access points to the walled city of Basel.  Dating back to 1400, the gate now leads to a charming older section of Basel.  Visitors can climb the many steps and ladders to the belfry, where the bells mark the hour (very loudly, as we found.)

City walls.  A short but impressive stretch of the only remaining section of the original walls that once surrounded the city.  The walls are among many of Switzerland’s heritage sites of national significance that are located in Basel.

Roman ruins.  The open-air museum of Augusta Raurica contains the excavated remains of a 2nd-century BC Roman town.  In addition to the theatre (shown here while being set up for an event), visitors can see the remains of a temple, an aqueduct, several commercial buildings, an arena, and more.  Augusta Raurica is 20 kilometres east of the centre of Basel and can be reached using public transport.

Travel note:  The Basel-Mulhouse-Freiburg Airport is just across the border in France, while the larger Zurich Airport is 90 kilometres east of Basel; there is a direct train link to either airport from Basel.  Locally, Basel has an extensive public transportation system of trams.  Hotel guests are provided with a Basel Card, which gives visitors free use of public transportation.