Latest Posts by merpmonde - Page 6

Also in Portsmouth harbour in August 2012, also not powered by aircraft engines: the Italian Navy's training ship Amerigo Vespucci.

As explained in Oceanliner Designs' video on the ill-fated Kobenhavn, even after steam had become the prime mover of the world's warships, navies still valued sailors who could operate a fully-rigged sailing ship. Hence training vessels were still built with sail in mind, and are still in use in that capacity today, such as France's Belem, built in 1896, which recently carried the Olympic torch from Greece to Marseille, and Italy's Amerigo Vespucci, built in 1930, which also carried the Olympic torch for the Rome games in 1960, and is basically on a perpetual world tour.

Funnels are clearly visible on this side view, as, like most sailing ships today, other engines are provided, at least for safety when the wind cannot be used. In fact, the Amerigo Vespucci's Diesel engines received a serious upgrade not long after these photos were taken in 2012.

Speaking of 2012, that was the year the replica of the Bounty sank in a hurricane. It too was a sailing ship with Diesel back-ups, and Brick Immortar has a full video on the incident, which includes one of the daftest quotes I have ever heard - I struggle to believe the narrators could say it with a straight face -, with the captain claiming, in the context of sailing near a hurricane, that "a ship is safer at sea than in port."

"Take the aircraft engine out!" - the AP1-88 hovercraft

The Tim Traveller has just dropped a video about the massive SR.N4 car-carrying cross-channel hovercraft (which got a mention here) on display at Portsmouth, and he notes that there is still an active hovercraft service between Portsmouth and the Isle of Wight. That reminded me that I had a couple of pictures of that, and I thought I was primed for part 3 of "stick an aircraft engine in it". Two problems though.

First problem, the pictures aren't great. Taken in 2012 from the Mont Saint Michel ferry exiting Portsmouth harbour with my previous camera, which had a less powerful zoom and a lower resolution than my current one. It's still enough, in conjunction with the Wikipedia page on Hovertravel, the company that operates these vehicles, to narrow it down. The hovercraft can only be one of two vessels, the Freedom 90 or the Island Express (squinting at the bow it might be former), but the exact identity matters little. Both are of the same type: an AP1-88 built by the British Hovercraft Corporation, successor to Saunders-Roe who built the big cross-channel model.

And that's where the second problem arises: the AP1-88 is not powered by aircraft engines! It is powered by 4 Diesel engines, making it much quieter and more economical to run, while still capable of reaching 50 knots. It shows that passenger hovercraft transport is possible without gas turbines, and Hovertravel's current fleet consists of two Diesel hovercraft built in 2016 by Griffon.

Nonetheless, chalk up the hovercraft as something I have seen in action!

A ceux qui pensent "on n'a jamais essayé": si si, on a essayé. Et ceux qui en sortent nous laissent assez invariablement les mêmes messages.

Success for Aston Martin at the Spa 24 Hours courtesy of Comtoyou Racing! The British marque hadn't won the Belgian classic since 1948, and hadn't won a 24-hour race outright since 1959, which was the year the legendary Carroll Shelby won Le Mans with Roy Salvadori in a DBR1 (pictured above at Le Mans Classic in 2018).

Aston Martin have had success at Le Mans since, winning the GT class four times with the Prodrive-built DBR9 and Vantage GTE (pictured above at Le Mans in 2013, a tragic event for the team as Aston driver Allan Simonsen driver died in an accident early in the race). But in the races where GT3 cars are the headline, they have typically struggled to beat the powerhouse brands from Germany and Italy. Seen below is a predecessor of the new Spa winner: the 2013 V12 Vantage GT3, raced at the Nürburgring 24 Hours (pictured at Le Mans Classic in 2018).

July 1830: the Revolution I forgot

This is Bastille square in Paris. As anyone who's had history classes in France will know, this is Bastille as in Bastille day, 14 July 1789, when Parisians raided the Bastille prison to get weapons for their revolt against the king - the flashpoint of the French Revolution.

It's also rather well known in France that the Bastille prison was demolished shortly after, as Paris rid itself of symbols of the Old Regime. So it would make sense that this monument commemorates that, right? It's super famous, after all.

Wrong. This column commemorates the events of July 1830, some forty years later, the significance of which, I'll admit, I had forgotten.

So here's how it goes. Since 1789, France had oscillated between fragile compromises of constitutional monarchy, revolutionary fanaticism and the iron fist of Napoleon. Following the defeat of 1815, Paris entered a period of calm acceptance under King Louis XVIII, but his successor, Charles X, wanted to go back to the old ways.

So, in July 1830, Paris revolted again. Disposing of the king was a surprisingly quick affair, as in just three days, Charles X was gone. He was replaced by his cousin, Louis Philippe, who seemed more willing to placate the bourgeoisie. A new constitution was drawn up, known as the Monarchie de Juillet, or July Monarchy.

In this context, a monument to the victory of 1830 was commissioned, and this is it: the Colonne de Juillet (July Column), a 47 metre-tall column adorned with the names of the fallen revolutionaries, a mausoleum at the base and the Spirit of Freedom on the top - and is that camera surveilling the street below?

Louis Philippe had ascended to the throne after a revolution, but he would also descend from the throne after the next. In February 1848, Paris revolted for a third time, swiftly ending the July Monarchy and establishing the Second Republic... which, within just 4 years, would become the second Bonaparte dictatorship.

The things people write on clocks...

Craignez la dernière - Eglise Notre-Dame de Croaz-Batz, Roscoff

Literally, this means "fear the last". OK, but the last what? Well, you're looking at the sundial for the time, which here, in French, would be "12 heures", so the full saying is inferred to be "craignez la dernière heure" - "fear thy final hour". Reminding people of their own mortality was an important part of medieval-Renaissance Christian discourse, as we saw with the ages of Man passing before Death among the automatons on the Astronomical Clock in Strasbourg Cathedral, built around the same time as this church in Roscoff.

Die Zeit eilt, Die Zeit heilt - Rathaus St. Johann, Saarbrücken

I've only got a close-up of one, but the tower of the historic town hall in Saarbrücken has at least two clocks, each with a message. The meaning of "die Zeit eilt" is similar to "time flies", and could be linked to what we saw above: be aware of what time you may have left. The second clock cleverly adds one letter to that to make "die Zeit heilt": "time heals".

"How to use this sundial" - Piazza della Borsa, Trieste

In the ground in front of the Chamber of Commerce in Trieste is a sundial, but conspicuously, the hand is missing. That is because you are the hand! Taking astronomy into account, one should stand in a slightly different place depending on the season, and apply corrections to the minutes to get official time. It was cloudy when I saw this, so I'm afraid I don't have a nice picture of the sundial in action. The instructions are in Italian on the left side of the base.

The best timepiece in the world (IMO): Strasbourg Cathedral's Astronomical Clock

I could go on about this thing for ages. There's so much history, so many symbols to spot, and so much information on display... This is going to be a long one.

I guess I'll start with the artistic aspect on which I have the least to say because it's the least up my alley. There's loads of mythology and Christian symbolism going on on this 18-metre tall monument, and these are the main draw for the general public, because they move around.

Like cuckoo clocks in neighbouring Schwarzwald, this astronomical clock has automatons. Every quarter hour, the lower level of the photo above sees a change of "age": a child, a young man, an adult and an old man take turns to be in the presence of Death, whose bells toll on the hour. At high noon, the upper level also moves, with the 12 disciples passing before Christ, and the rooster at the very top crows.

Moving on to what really makes me tick: the amount of information on this clock is incredible. The time, obviously, but actually two times are on display on the clock at the bottom of the picture above: solar time and official time. Given Strasbourg's position in the time zone, there is a 30-minute discrepancy between the two. Then there's all the astronomical stuff, like the phase of the Moon (just visible at the top), the position of the planets relative to the Sun (middle of the picture), a celestial globe at the base (pictures below, on the right)...

The main feature behind the celestial globe is another clock displaying solar time, with the position of the Sun and Moon (with phases) relative to the Earth, sunrise and sunset times, surrounded by a yearly calendar dial. These have remarkable features, such as the Moon hand that extends and retracts, making eclipses noticeable, and the calendar has a small dial that automatically turns to place the date of Easter at the start of each year. This sounds easy, but look up the definition of Easter and note that this clock is mechanical, no electronic calculating power involved! Either side of the base, the "Ecclesiastic Computer" and the "Solar and Lunar Equations" modules work the gears behind these features.

The accuracy of this clock and its ambition for durability are truly remarkable. Relative to modern atomic time, it would only need adjusting by 1 second every 160 years, and it correctly manages leap years (which is not as simple as "every 4 years"). It just needs winding up once a week.

Finally, the history. The monumental clock was built in the 16th century, and used the calendar dial above, now an exhibit in Strasbourg's city history museum. It slowly degraded until the mid-19th century, when Jean-Baptiste Schwilgué restored the base and upgraded the mechanisms. The "dartboard" on the old dial contained information like the date of Easter, whether it is a leap year, which day of the week the 1st January is... - all of which had to be calculated by hand before the dial was installed! - and was replaced by the Ecclesiastic Computer, which freed up the centre space for the big 24-hour clock, complete with Solar and Lunar Equations.

As you may have gathered, I am a massive fan of this clock. Of course, nowadays, all the imagery and information would easily fit into a smart watch, but a smart watch isn't 18 metres tall and powered by gravity and gears!

Now that @fredomotophoto is back from Alsace and Germany, I can do a piece on Black Forest clocks without spoiling his trip! The area has a lot of clock-making history, and to this day, typical tourist shops like the one above - TriBär, a play on the town of Triberg and the word Bär which... you can guess, a.k.a the House of 1000 Clocks - are full of cuckoo clocks ticking and going off all the time. It probably gets quite weird working in one of those places...

Triberg is host to the most extreme cuckoo clocks. The world's smallest are housed in the Schwarzwaldmuseum in the town centre. Wall camera on the right for scale.

Further up into the hills, on the edge of Schonach, is the opposite: this is world's first largest cuckoo clock, referenced in this previous post. As it was closed on the day I visited, I don't know much about the history of this clock, but it's housed in a building the size of a small house (gate on the right for scale)... and it isn't the biggest one any more.

The current biggest one is on the other side of Triberg, and located at the base of a big climb on the Schwarzwald Railway Adventure Trail. Gate on the right for scale. The whole building doesn't count as the clock itself (that would be too easy), only the mechanism does, and it is 4.5 m wide, with an 8 m pendulum. It took 5 years to build and its cost is estimated in the millions of euros, so you know what you're in for if you want to beat it. For a small fee, it is possible to visit the interior, but I was a bit pressed for time as I didn't want to miss the next train at the next viewpoint. I just took a break in the shop and caught the 5 o'clock cuckoo before moving on.

Bonus clock from the museum:

A quick post in response to Ferrari's second consecutive overall win at Le Mans, with a few sights from the manufacturer's home town, Maranello. Everything here is Ferrari: their road car factory with the classic entrance gate (above), the more modern F1 team base, the Fiorano test track, the Scuderia museum, the statues to founder Enzo Ferrari and the Prancing Horse, a park featuring Ferrari's most famous road car models...

Yep, everything is Ferrari here. Except, well, this store front apparently. It's rather gutsy to show off a Lambo badge here, but then again, historically, middle fingers to Ferrari was what Ferrucio Lamborghini was all about!

381 series: the last of the JNR-era electric express trains

We mentioned the upcoming withdrawal of the Doctor Yellow Shinkansen track inspection trains, but there is another retirement I've wanted to talk about as it's just happened, and it's a train I had the chance to ride last summer.

Launched in 1973, the 381 series was the Japanese National Railways (JNR) first tilting electric express train, designed to speed up the Shinano limited express services on the winding mountainous route between Nagoya and Nagano. The tilting compensates for G-forces inside the carriages, allowing the train to take curves up to 25 km/h faster without creating passenger discomfort. As such, it is already a significant piece of railway history, with JR Tokai preserving one lead car at its SC Maglev Railway Park museum in Nagoya.

Over the next 50 years, the 381s would be moved around whenever they were superseded on specific routes, but soldier on nonetheless. Their last services would be JR West's Yakumo limited express between Okayama and Izumo, another route with lots of hills and curves. Now, it is replaced by brand new 273 series sets, based on JR West's current express train design, still with tilt.

The 381 series lived through the entire L-tokkyû period, in which many limited express services were marketed with an L symbol signifying higher levels of convenience. This logo was phased out in the 2000s and 2010s largely due to all JR limited expresses running to L-tokkyû standards, and as far as I can tell, the 381s are likely the last trains to wear the L badge, as well as the classic JNR express chevron seen above, on a regular basis.

さようなら381系

I saw it once! Kind of.

After Gion Matsuri in Kyoto last summer, I was catching a train back to Nagoya and noticed lots of people on the opposite platform. I thought nothing more of it, but when I boarded my train, the windows were... yellowed out. I figured out what was happening fairly quickly, but I probably wouldn't have had time to get back out and take a good picture.

Hopefully one will be preserved either at JR West's museum in Kyoto, or at JR Tokai's SC Maglev Railway Park in Nagoya next to its predecessor.

ドクターイエロー。

The CFTR's steam train

In a serious rain shower, the Chemin de Fer Touristique du Rhin's train stops at Volgelsheim station, where the association that maintains the line has its museum. The train itself is made up of former Austrian carriages built in the 1920s with what I suspect were 2nd and 3rd class seating.

The locomotive is a T3 tender built around 1900 at Graffenstaden, just South of Strasbourg, for the Alsace-Lorraine Railways. At the time, the region was under Imperial German control, hence the Eagle logo and German inscription "Elsaß-Lothringen" above the number. The association has two of these, nicknamed Berthold and Theodor. These are supported by small Diesel engines; on our trip, one of these hauled the train to the depot, where the extent of the association's work is on display. The active engines are maintained here, while others are being restored.

Peut-être un jour? - To run again one day?

The town of Breisach, on the other side of the Rhine and therefore in Germany, is visible, and a boat carries passengers across the river from near the depot.

I can't remember riding a steam train before, though deep inside, I feel I probably had. Anyway, now I'm sure! This is the Chemin de Fer Touristique du Rhin, a short line near Colmar which runs steam engines and a set of old Austrian carriages, of which I'll say more in another post. Meanwhile, it's been a busy time for me recently, so this is just a few photos from the ride while I wind down.

"Stick an aircraft engine in it" part 2b - the TGV

"Wait, the TGV's electric, right?", I hear you say. You're not wrong: all TGVs in commercial service since 1981 have been electric. But this is the 1972 prototype TGV, and back then, those initials stood for Turbotrain à Grande Vitesse, continuing the development cycle of trains with helicopter engines that had already been introduced on intercity services with the RTG.

This prototype would set the standard of what French high speed rail would become: articulated units of carriages between two power cars, and the distinctive, iconic orange livery I wish they would have kept around in some capacity. The train regularly ran over 300 km/h, peaking at 318 km/h in Southwestern France in December 1972. The difference, of course, is that TGV 001 was equipped with four helicopter-derived gas turbines, two in each power car. As the oil crises hit before the production TGV was properly defined, SNCF were able to redesign the project around electric power in time for the 1980s.

After 15 years of service as a test mule, the train was due to be scrapped, but fortunately the two power cars avoided that fate. Their interiors were gutted, but the cars were saved and put on display as monuments to their builders, Alsthom, at Belfort and Bischheim (North suburb of Strasbourg). UNfortunately, they've been put by the motorway of all places, at both sites, so visiting them isn't very pleasant. At least at Bischheim, there is a footpath on the bridge over the motorway and railway yard, so it's possible to take one's time and get some decent views of the machine that started it all.

Climbing Toba Hinoyama

The road (and I guess that is the only downside: it is a road all the way) to the top of Hinoyama starts with the welcoming entrance to Jôan-ji temple.

After some 800 m uphill, past a rather large resort hotel, a chance for a break appears: a viewpoint with a camera stand (which may have been the first time I noticed one! very handy for group shots, though I was alone of course), and an art garden called Medaka no Gakkô, or the school of rice fish. Not knowing that at the time (I looked it up for this piece!), I didn't notice the fish, but I did notice the art and the wisteria in full bloom.

Most of the climbing is done at this point, and it's only another 300 m to the entrance to the shrines at the top of Hinoyama. Shrines, plural, and of various sizes, as the modest Hakuryû Inari-jinja sits next to the grander Toba branch of Kotohira-gû.

On the right, at the bottom of the stairs of Kotohira-gû, one finds the donors' board, and an inviting path... to the views shown in the previous post.

I promised more impressive views from the hills above Toba, and here they are. They're not very hard to reach: the Hiyoriyama circuit is only a couple of kilometres long around the station and involves climbing around 50 m. Hinoyama is further away, further South and a little higher.

The views of the coastline at Toba were good enough for Hiroshige to use in his Famous Views from the Sixty-Odd Provinces to illustrate Shima province (though there wasn't much else, I presume, Shima province was tiny, it was just Toba and the neighbouring town of Shima - also Shima is 志摩 and not 島 "island").

Beyond the islands near Toba, lies the mainland again, the Southern part of Aichi prefecture across the Ise Bay (Minamichita and Tahara), which the car ferry in the above picture traverses.

Toba Castle ruins

After Hikone Sawayama and Numazu Nagahama, a final entry in my mini-series of castles that are outside the Top 100 and Next 100 lists - until I get to see more! - is Toba Castle, located on the glorious Shima coast, and of which little beyond a few walls and foundations are left.

Now a park, the top level offers some good views of the coastline, only a short climb up some stairs from Toba's attractions sea level. Admittedly, the best views require a longer hike, and when I visited, Shiroyama Park was at the end of quite a long day's walk!

"Stick an aircraft engine in it" part 2a - SNCF Turbotrains

Developed in the late 1960s and introduced in the early 1970s, Turbotrains were France's attempt at higher speed rail. Equipped with lightweight and powerful helicopter-based gas turbines, they were capable of 160 km/h service.

However, that introduction date spelled rapid doom for the ETG (Élément à Turbine à Gaz) and RTG (Rame à Turbine à Gaz) types. They were built so they had to be used, the noise and the 430 L/h consumption rate be damned (3 times the consumption of an equivalent Diesel train, and that's just for the prime mover, add another 150 L/h for the generators), but they were constantly moved away from more prestigious routes as soon as those were electrified.

This 1981 photo by Yves Broncard is one of my favourite "so 1970s" pictures: a gas turbine train at Boulogne Aéroglisseurs station, with a massive SR.N4 car-carrying hovercraft arriving in the background - "stick an aircraft engine in it" mentality taken to the max, on land and sea, a combination that seems irrational today.

The last RTGs were withdrawn in the mid-2000s, and one car, T2057, is preserved at the Cité du Train museum in Mulhouse (top photo). But there is another gas turbine train we need to talk about, the one that first bore the letters TGV...

The destination on that sweltering day I saw the Jetfoil was Jizôzaki and Mihonoseki lighthouse. It's just a 2 km walk from the village, but gosh it was difficult that day! Still, the views of the coastline were, as always, well worth the effort.

The lighthouse itself is a nice little building, built at the end of the 19th century, and nicely kept (if you can spot the ladies raking in front of the entrance in the picture). It's circled by a short walking trail.

The tower doesn't need to be too high as it stands on a cliff, while the former residence now houses a shop and a tea room with a view out to sea.

Like Shionomisaki I covered some time ago, Mihonoseki lighthouse has a "Guardian of Light" character designed for it! This one looks somewhat more confident than the pensive guardian of the South!

"Stick an aircraft engine in it" part 1 - Boeing Jetfoil

In the late 60s and early 70s, all branches of transport were hoping for an increase in performance similar to what the jet airliner brought to aviation, and the solution was invariably to use similar gas turbine technology, with invariably identical career trajectories when the oil crises hit, as, apart from in aviation, far more economical engine options were available. So I was very surprised to see this still active in Japan last summer:

This is a hydrofoil which uses gas turbines to power a pump-jet. Once it is going fast enough, it takes off and runs on foils, greatly reducing water resistance and achieving speeds up to 45 knots, over 80 km/h (which, on water, is very fast). I remember seeing exactly this type of vessel in ferry brochures when I was a child; Oostende Lines operated some between England and Belgium. The advent of the SeaCat, a class of huge Diesel-powered car-carrying catamarans, got the better of the hydrofoils and the hovercraft, which was incidentally another case of "stick an aircraft engine in it".

This specific class of hydrofoil takes the mantra to another level, as it was designed by Boeing, which named it the 929 Jetfoil. Production was licensed to Kawasaki Heavy Industries in Japan, which made boats for the domestic market. The Rainbow Jet is one of these, running between Sakaiminato on the San'in coast and the Oki Islands. I saw more of them at Atami in Eastern Shizuoka, providing transport to the Izu Islands. So, despite the astronomical 2150 L/h consumption (though to be fair, I can't find consumption numbers for equivalent foot passenger-only catamarans), Japan still runs them...

I know that a Doge is something else in Venetian history, and I knew it back in 2015 too (though I didn't look into what it was exactly).

But at the time, the meme was in full swing, and I couldn't resist picturing this sign. I don't know if it's a good hotel though, the reviews aren't rave...

ありがとうかぼす！

A few views of the Saar and Mosel rivers in Germany, which recently burst their banks due to heavy rain. The lower levels of the multi-lane motorway through Saarbrucken (second picture) were underwater, and the historic towns of Trier (top) and Cochem (below), which I have fond memories of, were flooded too.

Hoping that the communities can recover soon.

I had to do Eckwersheim village justice on the way to the canal and the memorial shown yesterday, and took the time to walk through it. As it is part of the Strasbourg Metropolitan Area, buses go there, and it's a rather nice ride through several villages, nearly all of which end in 'heim. And all these villages, within easy reach of the city, have at least a few streets with charming, timber-framed buildings, some richly decorated, with flowers and ornaments like the one above. An Alsatian village in rose season is quite the treat.

This building is evidently a restaurant, with the menus chalked up on the gate! I was there on a Monday morning but no menu on display - maybe it was too early, or maybe they weren't going to open because it was a national holiday - kind of. Pentecost in France got weird after 2003 and I don't fully understand it. Let's enjoy that door some more instead.

And it wouldn't be a lovely day in Alsace without storks!

Eckwersheim rail accident memorial

On the northern edge of the Strasbourg Metropolitan Area, the high-speed railway line crosses the Marne-to-Rhine Canal (of which I've said quite a lot recently) and curves to the South to join the trunk line into Strasbourg. It was here, on 14 November 2015, in the months prior to this section opening, that a test train derailed catastrophically, killing 11 and injuring 42.

The immediate cause of the derailment was over-speed: the crew had failed to brake in advance of the curve and headed into it 90 km/h faster than they should have. The reasons for this failure are a point of contention; as far as I have understood, the accident report hasn't managed to clearly identify them as there was no voice recorder in the driver's cab. The accident has been in the news recently as the trial of the driving crew and the companies involved has just taken place, with the verdict due to be returned in October.

I have been travelling on the accident tracks for years, and possibly since the first time I took the TGV to Strasbourg in 2017, I have made a note of this particular curve, recognising the red bridges from those terrible pictures from the news, not out of anxiety, but out of awareness of what had taken place. Knowing that a memorial garden sits there, and with the court case wrapping up, I decided to go out and see it in person.

Quite isolated from outside noise by the two elevated train tracks either side, and with the canal and paths ahead, the atmosphere there is indeed very peaceful. A large plaque recalls the event, while 11 stones are scattered around the site for the deceased.

"En hommage aux victimes et aux personnes profondément touchées par l'accident de la rame d'essais du 14 novembre 2015, à celles et ceux qui nous ont quittés"

Nagahama Castle Ruins

Like Hikone Sawayama, Nagahama Castle is not on the list of Japan's 100 Famous Castles, nor on the list of Japan's Next 100 Famous Castles. Like Hikone Sawayama, it was a pre-Edo period fort which was owned by clans which at some point landed on the wrong side of the unifiers of Japan. Little is left, and short posts mark where buildings would have been. It's a short climb from the base, and the view of Uchiura from this location is pretty good.

This part of Numazu, and the island in the middle of this shot, Awashima, is most famous for being featured in the anime Love Live! Sunshine!!, which I know nothing about but saw some hints of (train for another day). It's possible to see Mount Fuji from here on a good day. And... well, I could see some it...

It's a considerable distance from a train station, though there appears to be a bus stop at the base, but I was driven there by a friend so I don't know how frequent the buses are. We were also lucky to get on a quick boat tour out to Awashima and back, with the chance to see the castle from a the sea, against the hilly backdrop of Izu Peninsula.

Hikawa Maru at sunset

Moored permanently at Yokohama as part of a park and seafront promenade, is the ocean liner Hikawa Maru, built in 1928-1930. After life as a passenger ship and a hospital ship during World War II, it survives in impeccable condition - the paint is vibrant and there's hardly any rust to notice.

It is a museum ship and a protected monument, as evidenced by the banners:

(happy captain face) 船内を見学できます: you can take a tour inside the ship

重要文化財 日本郵船 「氷川丸」: Important Cultural Property, Nippon Yûsen ship Hikawa Maru

Obviously, I was too late to be able to visit the ship. I had arrived at Shinagawa late afternoon and was hopping over to Yokohama for a sunset walk-around and dinner.

I'm bringing it up because Mike Brady featured the Hikawa Maru on a recent episode of Oceanliner Designs about ships that avoided destruction and that still survive.

The tri-national S-Bahn of Basel

Due to its location, Basel attracts people from three countries, and the rail network reflects that. On top of lines within Switzerland, one line arrives from France at Basel Central station, and several arrive from Germany at the Badischer Bahnhof on the North side of the Rhine. My trip to Augst via Basel and Wyhlen was a chance to ride on this suburban network of three companies in three countries.

Starting after lunch with the Hochrheinbahn which runs from Basel Bad., along the Northern side of the Rhine in Germany. This is the only line out of Basel that isn't electrified, so Baureihe 641 Diesel railcars run the route. We have this type of railcar in France too, it was designed as a response to a joint French-German tender for regional trains. Designed by De Dietrich and Linke-Hofmann-Busch, which were both bought by Alstom shortly after, it is the first example of what would become the Coradia platform.

On the Swiss side, the S-Bahn sees RABe 521 commuter trains run between Basel Central and Frick. This type of train is made by the Swiss company Stadler and is marketed as... the FLIRT. Stadler does this a lot, they also have the KISS and SMILE platforms, and each is the result of a convoluted acronym in German, though this one translated very nicely into English: Fast Light Intercity and Regional Train.

Finally, the French line of the S-Bahn goes out as far as Mulhouse, and is currently operated by electric AGC (Automotrice Grande Capacité - high-capacity unit) regional trains built by Bombardier (also since bought out by Alstom). 200 km/h express trains from Strasbourg also reach Basel Central, with the push-pull sets we already presented. The line from Mulhouse to Basel Central is electrified with French voltage (25 kV 50 Hz AC), which is different to the rest of the Swiss network (15 kV 16.7 Hz AC), hence the SNCF can run their trains into Basel with few adaptations (mainly comms).

And that's it for my tri-national tri-trip over the April-May break! Back to some older material next, it's time to look at Japan again.

Augusta Raurica

Founded in the 1st century by Lucius Munatius Plancus (which sounds a bit like a joke name but he also founded what is now Lyon), the Roman city of Augusta Raurica had all the amenities you'd expect: a drama theatre, temples, a gladiatorial amphitheatre, baths by the Rhine, and, in the 4th century, a Christian church.

And like all Roman cities, it largely fell into disrepair, the stones reused for other constructions. Restoration was carried out in the last century or two, and... maybe "reconstruction" is a more accurate term?

As such, the theatre is now used for outdoor shows. Along with the foundations of the temple opposite, it's basically become the town park. Same goes for the amphitheatre on the outskirts of the town, now equipped with barbecues and benches, and was hosting an event on the afternoon I went there (I can't find what).

Some underground remains are also open, consisting of basement levels of the baths and 4th-century church, where the heating and water systems were located. The least touched outdoor ruin seems to be this temple, of which little is known.

All in all, the reconstructions and atmosphere make Augusta Raurica less of a geeky history spot and more of a park with a backstory. Not my favourite Roman site, but a leisurely visit, particularly suited for families I'd say.

Two crossings of the Rhine

The Swiss city of Basel lies on the border with France and Germany, and, as it's Switzerland, it hasn't changed hands or been attacked much (though the French did use Basel as target practice for a new cannon from their fort at Huningue once). It has a well-preserved historic centre, and, with the Rhine's current being consistently strong, it has a rare form of transportation.

This little ferry has no motor. It is tethered to a wire that crosses the river, and a lever at one end of the tether on the boat is all that's needed to turn the boat into the current which does the rest.

It's incredibly simple and easy! For a more engaging version of the story, here's a video by The Tim Traveller.

While I rode the boat with my sister, I continued upstream alone to another crossing, a bridge which doubles up as a dam for hydro-electric power stations on either side - or Kraftwerk as it's known in German.

Unlike in Basel, the Rhine at this point is an international border: Germany on the right-hand side, and Switzerland on the left-hand side. But with Germany and Switzerland being signatories of the Schengen agreement, this is what the border looks like:

The Rhine sees some impressive barges navigate roughly between Schaffhausen and Rotterdam, so there is a rather impressive lock next to this dam and the Kraftwerken. This is the view downstream from the top of the lock, with what I suspect was a border post on the right? I don't know, but I seem to remember that black and white stripes had some significance.

The abandoned Arzviller station

The old canal we followed yesterday is flanked by the Zorn river and the Strasbourg to Sarrebourg railway. Trains call at Lutzelbourg and/or Réding, while, half-way in between and opposite lock n°6, sits Arzviller station - actually located on the territory of Saint-Louis - closed. Shockingly, I can't find when it was closed (one source suggests the 1980s, though in my mind it was more recent).

Going from the canal to the station requires dropping down to the level of the Zorn river, crossing it, and going under the railway and road. There is a very dark underpass, but if you look closely and sport the light switch... Club Vosgien, the association which manages hiking trails in the Vosges mountains, literally shines through with this installation!

Given that Arzviller station is closed, and not wanting to tread the same ground twice, I decided to walk from one station to the next, Réding to Lutzelbourg, and I can't recommend the part from Réding to Arzviller: not signposted for hikers, really requiring a map if you're trying to avoid roads... and the only real highlight is the chance to glimpse the twin canal & railway tunnels: boats and trains enter and exit together at the West end (no boats on the day I visited though).