Views From Ôwakudani

Moissac: home to the world's best grapes (IMO)

Located on the river Tarn in southwestern France, Moissac is most famous for its grapes, specifically Chasselas. This green, sweet and thin-skinned grape is just marvellous, my personal favourite, and Chasselas de Moissac season is a sure sign that Autumn is nearly here.

When I saw that Moissac wasn't too far from where I was living at the time, of course I had to visit, and as the photos demonstrate, it was well worth the trip on a sunny, unseasonably warm early November day (I ate lunch on the terrace at the restaurant, that's insane for November!).

The heart of the town is its 11th-century Romanesque abbey. The monks there had a vineyard to tend to (what else?), and as the railways and tourism developed in the 19th century, Moissac envisioned becoming a "uval resort", in the same vein as thermal or seaside resorts, only with grapes as the centre theme. A full uval complex didn't come to fruition, but the local grapes began to be transported out of the region for the rest of France to appreciate. Cheers!

We've seen these trains before, quite recently in fact, but they're back, on a much brighter day to really make their colours pop, and in a different border station between France and Germany.

This is Lauterbourg, the easternmost town in France, in the North-East corner of Alsace, and it shows the contrast between the line on the left-hand side of the Rhine, and the one on the right-hand side. The line from Strasbourg to Wörth am Rhein is not electrified to this day, and only sees local regional traffic. Nonetheless, Lauterbourg appeared to have a massive yard back in the day, now just a flat expanse of disused rails.

At the North end of Lauterbourg station, we find some old German mechanical signals, still in use!

Finally, like in the previous post on these trains, I have an amusing place name to share. It's more funny to pronounce with an English accent than anything else, but it also looks like a game of Countdown gone horribly wrong!

Coot chicks in Schaffhausen and herons in flight at Konstanz. That is all for today.

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.

Strasbourg's Christkindelsmärik

One of Europe's oldest Christmas market, and likely the most famous in France, is Strasbourg's. Its existence is attested as far back as 1570, appearing in the years following Protestant Reformation. Today it is a sprawling event, covering all the main squares of the central island of Strasbourg, and it's very busy, especially in the evenings and on weekends.

The traditional Alsatian name of the market is Christkindelsmärik, "the market of baby Jesus", while the city's more recent branding (since the 1990s) proclaims the town as "Capital of Christmas".

Pictures from 2018 - I haven't been to this year's market yet, but I plan to once my workload deflates - I get my annual stock of jams from the local producer's market!

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!

Sangaku Sunday Bonus - what about the other problems?

In the sangaku series, we've solved two of the four problems on this tablet, the middle two, which I believe were the easiest to work on in terms of geometric arguments - we hardly ever used more than Pythagoras's theorem, though the second one needed some more advanced algebra to finish off.

Here's a quick look at the problems at each end of the tablet, and the main ideas I had to solve them.

On the far left, we have two circles tangent to one another (with centres A and B), inside a larger circle (with centre O) so that their diameters add up to the diameter of the largest. The radii of these three circles, respectively p, q and p+q, are known. The unknown is the radius r of the circle with centre C, which must be tangent to all three original circles (it has a twin on the right-hand side with the same radius).

This is quite quick to solve. Remember that tangent circles mean that the distances between centres is equal to the sum of the radii, e.g. AC = p+r, BC = q+r... Al-Kashi's theorem, which is a general version of Pythagoras's theorem, links the lengths of three sides of a triangle with one of the triangle's angles, and the triangles CAO and CAB have an angle in common, which yields the equation for r by isolating this angle in each application of Al-Kashi's theorem. The result is:

The problem on the far right seems to start in a similar fashion: two circles with fixed radii are offset by a fixed distance. A third circle has its diameter equal to the remainder of the diameter of one of the large circles: this radius can be calculated with little difficulty. What we want to do next is construct circles which are tangent to the two large ones, and the one previously constructed.

The radius of the circle with centre C1 can be obtained as above, but this method does not seem to extend to the subsequent circles, as O, D and C1 are no longer aligned, and there no longer appears to be a common angle in the triangles we want to work with. So I went for a parametric approach, understanding the curves that contain points that are equidistant from two circles. The red curve (which looks like a circle but isn't one) is the set of points at equal distance from the two largest circles, and we seek to intersect this with the set of points that are at equal distance from one large circle and the smaller one, the green curve. The intersection is equidistant from all three circles, so it is the centre of the circle we want to construct. Rotate and repeat for subsequent circles.

The general formulas are horrible and not worth showing, but this is another problem where I have been able to read the results on the tablet. The large circles have radii 61 and 72, and the offset is 23. The radii of the smaller circles, starting with the one in the middle and working outwards are:

17, 15.55, 12.292, 8.832 and 6.038 (I see 八, but I'll give the authors the benefit of the doubt as the top of the character 六 may have been erased by time)

The results with our exact formulas are:

17, 15.58, 12.795, 9.076 and 6.444

Rather close! As with the "three circles in a triangle", I do not know how the authors originally solved this problem.

Been a busy bee today, so here are some animals from the Expo 70 Commemoration Park.

Contrasted sunset on Shinji-ko

On the south side of Matsue, there is a famous sunset-viewing spot, overseeing the "great lake" mentioned by Kitty-chan on the train, which would be Shinji-ko, and a small island inhabited only by a torii, called Yomegajima.

It's so famous, that there's a sign to tell you where to stand to get the Sun over the island depending on the season!

While the sunset was gorgeous on the evening I was there (last year to the day), there was also something ominous. To the left in the top photo, one can make out some rain hiding the horizon... and to the South, a thunderstorm was active in the hills.

Still, the showers were kind enough to hold back for us to see the Sun set between the cloud layer and the mountains. But they soon caught up - as soon as I stepped off the bus at Matsue station, it chucked it down!

Hashigui-iwa

Since the news took us back to Kushimoto, it's worth looking at another of the town's attractions, besides the southernmost point of Honshû and the nearby lighthouse. Up the coast is a remarkable rock formation known as Hashigui-iwa, which one could translate as "bridge column rocks", as if a viaduct used to settle on top of them.

These aren't standing stones in the archaeological sense of the term like Stonehenge (a popular spot for the winter solstice that also just happened), they weren't moved into a line and raised. Instead, they were originally an incrustation of magma in an otherwise less hard soil. The magma cooled off before becoming lava, and the ocean eroded the sediment around it. This would have created a wall of igneous rock, up to 15 m high and nearly a kilometre long. The wall was then smashed by a tsunami, leaving these tall rocks behind, and a beach of debris.

In the background of this photo, we see the bridge between the Shionomisaki peninsula and the island of Ôshima, where another lighthouse and monument to Japanese-Turkish friendship is located. There's a story behind that (the wreck of the Ertugrul), and I wish that was a segue, but I didn't visit Ôshima. On a hot day, energy isn't limitless so I had to choose...