Spring | Fotoeins Fotografie

Posts from the ‘Spring’ category

Christian Doppler, Doppler birth house, Dopplers Geburtshaus, Salzburg, Austria, Oesterreich, fotoeins.com

My Salzburg: Christian Doppler’s birth house

In crossing the pedestrian bridge over the Salzach river, every step takes me away from the famous view of the fortress over Old Town classics of steeples and baroque in Salzburg. Before I get to where I want to be, I have to cross a busy street in the afternoon rush which has come to a halt. Wailing sirens approach and recede as red and white “Rettungswagen” race to the emergency situation somewhere in the city. The cyclical lights are in my favour, and upon turning the corner, I see the sign that tells me I’ve arrived.

One self-assigned goal during three weeks of travel within Austria was the search for places associated with physicists and mathematicians of my youth. And by youth, I mean the tender twenties when all I cared about was a succinct explanation of the natural world through various equations¹. In Alpbach, I found Erwin and Annemarie Schrödinger’s grave. In Vienna, I found Ludwig Boltzmann’s grave. Here in Salzburg across the street from the Mozart family house, I found Christian Doppler after whom the Doppler effect is named.

( Click here for more )

Ludwig Boltzmann, Wiener Zentralfriedhof, Vienna Central Cemetery, Vienna, Wien, Austria, fotoeins.com

Vienna: Ludwig Boltzmann in spring

I’m neither tragic nor hip, but I know a little bit about Canadian icon and band, The Tragically Hip, and specifically, a song of theirs called “Springtime in Vienna.”

I can’t play a musical instrument, but I especially liked listening to a performance of Johann Strauss II’s “An der schönen blauen Donau” (The Blue Danube) on an intercity river catamaran between Vienna and Bratislava.

What I’m totally convinced is when spring comes calling, I’m allergic to nature. I’m a living example to irritation and inflammation, and living consequence to nature’s response to spring.

( Click here for more )

Erwin Schroedinger, Annemarie Schroedinger, Alpbach Cemetery, Heiliger Oswald, Pfarrkirche Alpbach, Alpbach, Tirol, Tyrol, Austria, fotoeins.com

Alpbach, Austria: finding Erwin Schrödinger

Localizing his final wavefunction in Alpbach

It took a little effort: a train out from Innsbruck to Brixlegg, followed by a regional bus into another valley of countless valleys, accompanied by the illumination of sharp morning light, in a blanket of meadows and buttercups, under a deep ocean of impossibly blue skies. And on both sides of this river valley are an endless series of mountains, these peaks the smaller cousins to larger Austrian Alps nearby.

In Alpbach, the weekday morning is quiet, as the town begins to stir with people starting their work day. The bank has just opened, fresh baked bread and pastry and roasted coffee emanate from the cafe from around the corner, a couple of trucks rumble into town with deliveries. An older couple walks by, and there are mutual sunny greets of “Grüss Gott”. The church steeple glows yellow at this hour, and it’s easy to imagine with its bell the church is an aural and visual beacon for miles.

I’m drawn to the church because that was always the plan, to look for someone who’s buried in the church cemetery. Ordered rows of headstones lie as you would expect, but by the northwest gate, I find a single plaque on the bordering stone wall. The plaque reads: “Erwin Schrödinger, Nobelpreis für Physik, 1933”, and next to the plaque is Erwin and Annemarie Schrödinger’s final resting spot^%. Another academic pilgrimage completed.

( Click here for more )

Tulips alight, Skagit Valley Tulip Festival (2017)

I was skeptical of a visit to tulip gardens.

“They’re just flowers after all.”

When I lived in Heidelberg, Germany, my friends wanted to travel to the Netherlands before their first-born kicked into full swing. They wanted to visit Keukenhof and Amsterdam. I was excited about Amsterdam; I was unsure about Keukenhof. But one step inside the tulip gardens in Keukenhof was enough to turn my head, and my opinion about tulip fields spun completely around.

That was 2002, and this is 2017. Travelling from the Canadian southwest, I’m on highway I-5 into western Washington State to see some tulips.

During the annual tulip festival in April, the Skagit river valley is populated by fields of daffodils and tulips, in eye-popping yellows, reds, oranges, purples, and whites. The overcast skies with diffuse grey light provides ideal light conditions with no strong shadows. The explosion of colours seem to blend into an extensive painting of the fields.

( Click here for images and more )

Wochenmarkt, Saturday farmers market, Neuenheimer Markt, Markplatz, Neuenheim, Heidelberg, Germany, fotoeins.com

My Heidelberg: Saturday farmers’ market in Neuenheim

In Heidelberg, the farmers’ markets are held regularly throughout the week at a number of locations throughout the city and region. One of six Saturday markets takes place across the Neckar river in Neuenheim. Most visitors in town will visit the Saturday market in Heidelberg’s Marktplatz, which leaves the other five Saturday markets pretty much “clear and free” to residents. And as I arrive at the market square in Neuenheim, it’s clear I’m in the minority, literally and figuratively. This is not criticism and it’s not a negative, as I used to come here occasionally when I lived here. I say as much to the various vendors, when I buy a cup of coffee, some cherry tomatoes, a piece of cake, and three empanadas.

Fresh fruit and vegetables, grown locally and imported from around Europe. Fresh bread and baked goods from a regional bakery. Fresh herbs, grown locally; fresh flowers, grown locally. Honey harvested from bees at a regional apiary. “Empanadas Argentinas”, by a woman from Córdoba who’s lived in Germany for over ten years. And there are fresh cuts of meat, tubs of olives, and glorious varieties of cheese from around Europe.

It’s time to stop eating and leave, when the vendors begin to pack. Another market, another day.

When I leave Heidelberg, no small measure of wistful longing remains; these are my streets, and this is one of my markets.

( Click here for more )