Some Amusing Art In Matsumoto

A potential unfulfilled: the Intercity 225

As I had some time to wander around before catching the Eurostar back to France, I checked out the trains at King's Cross station. To my slight disappointment, there wasn't a huge amount of variety on display: Azuma, Azuma, Azuma... They're nice trains, don't get me wrong (built by Hitachi, using the same base as JR Kyushu's 885 series), but that's all there was. Still, I decided to check out all the platforms, and, at the far end, hidden behind an Azuma, there it was.

The star in train books during my childhood was the Intercity 125 or High Speed Train (HST), a 125 mph-capable Diesel-powered set, which, I think, still holds the world record for the fastest Diesel passenger service. I would have loved to see one when visiting England, but this was just as good. In fact, I had seen it out of the window while riding into London, taken a crappy photo and thought "oh well, never mind", only to see it had followed us in.

In the early 90s, the Intercity 225 was touted as the next big thing: all-electric, capable of running at 225... km/h (that's 140 mph, using different units was admittedly a bit disingenuous), designed to receive a tilting mechanism later on, completing the Advanced Passenger Train's redemption arc. What could go wrong?

Not long after the introduction of the Intercity 225, Britain's railways were privatised, with the typical lack of ambition for service that it brings. No private company was going to invest in the infrastructure and upgrades to allow the train to reach its full potential; meanwhile France and Germany were expanding their 250-300 km/h networks. Instead, these trains were limited it to 125 mph - the same as the HST, just on electrified lines. Worse still, it was one of these sets that met with the consequences of the privatised rail maintenance's culture of corner-cutting and outsourcing, on a broken rail at Hatfield in 2000.

From the outside looking in, I'm left with a bitter sense of "what could have been" for this train. Perhaps a rail fan from the UK could say more about what they feel the Intercity 225's legacy would be. At least its successor, the Azuma, has the fact that it's bi-mode (Diesel and electric) to shout about.

Still great to see one and its "so 90s" design in the flesh! LNER have also given the trains their original livery back, except with a burgundy main body colour instead of the original graphite grey, while the locomotive was in a special commemorative livery for the Battle of Britain Memorial Flight.

For more on the Intercity 225: Ruairidh MacVeigh's video

"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.

The fortifications of Landau (Pfalz)

Like other towns on the edge of Louis XIV's Kingdom of France at its peak in the late 17th century, Landau, now in Germany, received the Vauban treatment, transforming the town into an up-to-date garrison and fortress: both the town's ramparts and fort, situated in the North-West corner, were built with in characteristic geometric star shape of the time.

Control of Landau alternated between France and the local lords affiliated with the Holy Roman Empire as battles and sieges between 1702 and 1713 went in favour of one then the other, and remained part of France for another century, as an enclave, until Napoleon's defeat of 1815, when it was handed to the Kingdom of Bavaria.

Today, there is little remaining of the town's ramparts, while some ruins of the fort still stand. Similarly to the Citadelle in Strasbourg, around the walls is a park, while inside is the university and a zoo. Visible in the above shot is a tower built much later than the walls, in 1910, to celebrate Otto von Bismarck - no defensive function whatsoever.

Fort National, Saint Malo

Work is starting to pile up on my end, so I have to make this a quick one.

This is Fort National, a building we saw in the post on MV Bretagne. It was built in the late 17th century by Vauban - one of many, many, many projects he designed for Louis XIV's grand plan to fortify the French border. It was called Fort Royal, a name which would stick for little more than a century, before the Revolution banished any mention of royalty. It became Fort Républicain, then Fort Impérial under Napoleon, and finally Fort National after Napoleon III's Empire was defeated by Prussia in 1870. This regular name changing was derided by a local nickname, "Fort Caméléon", but it also give a glimpse into France's political history.

The rock on which the fort sits, known as Îlette (the small island), has quite a sorry history. Before Vauban, it was apparently used as an execution ground by local lords, and during World War II, the occupying Nazis used it as a prison during Allied bombings - fully expecting the fort to be bombed.

Today, the fort is privately owned, but visits are allowed on occasions.

Nijô-jô

In my experience, Nijô Castle in Kyôto is one of the most unusual in the Japanese castle landscape, in that the main focus of the conservation and tourist attraction is on a palace, the Ni-no-maru Goten, rather than a dungeon (whether reconstructed or original). It is true that, as the Tokugawa shôgun's residence in the Emperor's back yard, it was a focal point of Edo-period politics.

The palace sits behind a grand gate, decorated with lots of gold and colours. And as all noble residences from the Edo period go, there's a vast, carefully crafted garden on the side, complete with tea houses.

But all this is part of the Ni-no-maru, the area around the Hon-maru main keep. Given that the mountains around Kyôto are largely occupied by temples and shrines, there's not much of a height advantage to be gained in the city, to the point where, when the Hon-maru burned down in the 1780s, nothing was rebuilt, it was left bare!

Eerily, the Tokugawa shôgun's Kyôto castle has a similar story to the one in Edo: there was a keep, but it was destroyed during the Edo period and wasn't rebuilt, and both castle grounds were transferred to the Imperial Estate at the start of the Meiji era. It was in the 1880s that the Hon-maru palace was built, in the space the Tokugawas had left vacant.

How early is too early?

Christmas markets have been a staple of the month of December in Alsace and Germany, and the concept of local specialities and gifts being sold in chalets has spread far and wide. Most are open for around a month, ending on Christmas Eve, maybe pushing a couple of days more.

Japan also has a few markets, and, considering how differently the date is celebrated (New Year is the family holiday), you'd think a Christmas market would be a little something to bring some cosy European atmos to wandering couples in the week or two running up to it.

Holy cow, the 5th of November! That is by a long way the earliest Christmas market I've ever seen! This was the one in Ebisu in 2016, just outside the Skywalk from the station (nowhere near as spectacular as the Mishima Skywalk), opposite a big mall. It was very calm, much less busy than the big shops nearby, which were also already decorated.

"Those red cars were the bane of my existence" - 2000-2004 Ferraris

When Aidan Millward said something along those lines in a recent video, I felt it, because as a Häkkinen fan in the late 90s and early 2000s, Ferrari and Schumacher were the adversary. And like Aidan does in his videos, I have to admit that, looking back, they were only that insufferable because they were that good. The ultimate adversary of sorts, with generational talents in driving, managing and engineering under one roof: Michael Schumacher, Jean Todt, Ross Brawn, Rory Byrne, Nigel Stepney...

It took a few years and a few attempts, but in 1999, Ferrari won their first Constructors' championship since the early 80s, with Schumacher's first Drivers' title in red, and the first for Ferrari in 21 years, came a year later, with the F1-2000 pictured on the left. The momentum had built up, and for the next four years, the well-oiled machine that was the Scuderia with the aforementioned people in charge, were consistent contenders, always in the conversation to win races and championships... though more often that not, they were the only ones in the conversation. 2001, 2002 and 2004 were write-offs if you weren't Michael Schumacher. 2003 (F2003-GA on the right) was a closer affair, as a tyre war allowed McLaren and Williams to get close to breaking the streak.

But it didn't happen, and Ferrari won Drivers' and Constructors' doubles for five straight years, something no-one had done before, and only an equally dominant Mercedes has done since. All five cars were on display together at the Museo Ferrari in Maranello - the set-up may have changed, but I expect all five to still be shown in some capacity. After all, 2000 to 2004 were Ferrari's best years, even though, as someone who wasn't a Ferrari fan, they didn't feel like F1's best years.

Burg Stahleck, Bacharach

The Mittelrhein, valley of the Rhine between Mainz and Köln, is one of the most spectacular geographic and historic locations in Germany. It is lined by medieval forts like we've seen closer to where I live (exhibits A, B, C...), castles usually destroyed or ruined during or following the Thirty-Years War. Except that in this part of Germany, many of these castles were restored or rebuilt in the 19th to 20th centuries for new purposes. As such, Burg Stahleck, the castle above the town of Bacharach, was redeveloped into a youth hostel!

The architect in charge was told to use the existing walls as much as possible, and, I'd argue rather tastefully, added storeys for the hostel. I had considered staying here, but by the time I had made my decision, it was full. That said, in a case of sour grapes perhaps, I reasoned that I wouldn't have enjoyed climbing up to the castle from the station with luggage, however light. Nonetheless, noting that the hostel has drinks for sale, I decided to enjoy a lemonade with this view of the river!

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.

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!