St. Ulrich’s Chapel & Healing Spring


Just outside the village of Eresing, near the Ammersee, there is a small chapel and a fountain house where people would come wash themselves devoutly, especially the eyes. This spring is said to have healing powers, is dedicated to St. Ulrich of Augsburg, the patron saint of the diocese, who once allegedly rested here and caused the spring to flow forth. This is supposed to have occurred immediately after Ulrich’s returning from the Battle of Lechfeld (TL;DR version: FC Holy Roman Empire versus visiting Hungary, the Germans won.) Interestingly, the road near the fountain house and the chapel is also the old Roman road known today as the Via Raetia – so it’s possible that the spring was already known during Bavaria’s Roman period, and that travellers drew water from it. I have heard it suggested – although without evidence proffered – that it may have been a holy spring for the Romans as well. The gentleman in the video posted below (warning: it’s in “Boarisch“) claims that this spring’s water is soft, in contrast to the hard water found everywhere else in the area (and I can attest to that, out tap water is quite hard), and so locals fill up jugs of the stuff to brew their coffee with it.


The figure of St. Ulrich in the fountain house dates from the 15th century. In the 17th century the Court Margrave of Eresingen, Franz von Füll, subsidized the construction of the fountain house, the red marble basin, and the Ulrich chapel with hermitage.

Posted in Bavaria, culture, Germany, history, Roman roads, travel | 1 Comment

A story of changing times

Once upon a time, there was a miller who lived in a small town. This miller was quite successful, and had expanded his business into a large commercial bakery. There had always been a mill by the river — in fact, the town’s chronicle listed there having been one first mentioned in written records in 1398. Imagine that; before Christopher Columbus had even been born, there had been a mill operating on this river, which flows from the mountains and into the Elbe, and then to the North Sea.

The miller wasn’t really a miller by this point; he was factory owner, a capitalist. He had a spacious, somewhat opulent mansion built on his property, situated on what was actually an island, as the water from the river courses around both sides of it. When he grew old and died, his son carried on with the business. This son was the adventurous type of businessman – he went bankrupt several times, but always dusted himself off and got back to some new scheme. When he grew old, his son took over the business. The new owner married a local girl, a saddle maker’s daughter, and had a daughter of his own. IMG_3609

He was called up to war, but lived through it and returned home. By that time parts of the bread factory had been destroyed by bombs, and the country had undergone considerable change. In fact, it wasn’t even the same country as it had been before the war – this was now the “Russian zone”, and shortly afterwards a new country was established, and the government insisted that no single family needed a mansion all to themselves. So the owner moved his family into a few rooms in the house, and other people began to take over other parts of it for themselves.
His daughter grew up and married a veterinarian in the hill country, 3 hours away. They had two sons, who enjoyed visiting their grandparents and playing with the neighbor children in the mansion’s expansive orchards and courtyards, where they would set up a tent under a chestnut tree. You would think that the children would have enjoyed playing by the river, but the river was polluted, and had an unpleasant smell. No one wanted to swim in it, although the boys’ mother recalled doing so as a child, which astonished them, as they couldn’t imagine that it had ever been clean, not knowing it any other way.
The owner’s wife fell ill and died, and the old widower married a somewhat younger spinster, the daughter of acquaintances who was happy to have a husband, even a frail one. When he died, she stayed on in the apartment but eventually began hoarding as the house began to fall into disrepair.IMG_3593

One year the grandsons, now young men, were sent to clean out some of the junk in the old villa. They found piles of C.A.R.E. packages in the house, Christmas shipments from relatives in the West. Their contents – soap, coffee, chocolate – had been unwrapped, dutifully admired, and put back in the boxes for safekeeping, until they were decades past their use dates. The two brothers laughed and shook their heads at this unintended waste, and tried to throw them out, but the old widow kept running out to the trash container and bringing things back inside.
Well, time passed. The Wall which divided the country in two fell a few years later, and the old widow passed away. No one in the family had any reason to visit that town anymore, as those relatives were all gone. The family tried to sell the decaying property, hoping that a speculator from the West might pay good money for prime riverfront land, but no one was interested and eventually it was bought by a developer, who tore down the old factory to make room for low-cost apartments, but saved the chimney and the old villa. Maybe he ran out of money before he could get around to the villa.

One of the grandsons, now in middle age, was passing through the area with his wife, and decided to swing by and see the old homestead, that expanse of small town property which, his grandmother used to tell him and his brother, would be theirs someday. It filled him with memories and emotions: happy memories of childhood summers spent there, sadness in seeing the old place in such a state of ruin. There is a new developer who, two years ago, said he wanted to build apartments there and save the old original facade. Maybe he will, someday.


Posted in Germany, history, lives of others, memory, travel | 2 Comments

Seeking Fortunatus

After posting my most recent entry I began to look more seriously for the “Vita S. Martini” by Venantius Fortunatus in translation. It hasn’t brought much to light. I cannot read medieval Latin, but there is an Italian translation available in book form, which might be my only option. There is also a German version available but which costs an arm and a leg (and really, I don’t want to spend that much on a hobby). There are plenty of English-language academic papers about aspects of the text, but I don’t believe that an English translation exists. If any buffs of early medieval literature can prove me wrong, please have at it, as I would love to know!

Posted in Bavaria, culture, Germany, history, Italy, literature, translation, travel

“If the Baiuvarii on the Lech don’t block your way”*

My husband knows that I have this fascination with local maps and roads and routes from long ago. In a recent acquisition of used books he stumbled across something he knew I’d like — “Die Alpen in Frühzeit und Mittelalter” (The Alps during Antiquity and the Middle Ages) by Ludwig Pauli, C. H. Beck, 1980. I skipped ahead to the chapter on Alpine crossings and Roman Roads, and lo, look what I have learned:
It’s about 565 C.E., the Romans have retreated back to the Italian peninsula, and Rhaetia has gone through a few centuries of bloodbaths. The people who buried their silver coins in the hopes of recollecting them “when things died back down” are long dead and their stashes will remain buried for another 1,600 years or so. There’s no upkeep of infrastructure, but the roads are still there, more or less. Against this backdrop, a 25-year-old named Venantius Fortunatus has set off from Aquilea, on the Adriatic coast, for a long journey to Tours to pay respect at the grave of St. Martin of Tours. He wrote about his travels later**, and so we also know the route he took — over the Plöcken Pass (at the Italian border to Carinthia in Austria), then westward to the Brenner Pass, north to the “Seefelder Sattel” and on to Augsburg and beyond. What this means is that he took the (later named) Via Rhaetia, “our” Roman Road, which passes right through our area here between the Ammersee and the Lech River. Fortunatus passed through here — which means he is the earliest person of later world renown*** to have traveled in our area, all those years ago.

I must admit that I was unfamiliar with the name, but a check with Wikipedia revealed something quite interesting — I was already somewhat familiar with his works, musical versions of which are in the Episcopal Hymnal (it wouldn’t be much of a stretch to say that most classical singers in America, no matter what religion or denomination they grew up in, know hymns from the Episcopal Hymnal, because the Episcopal churches, unlike their R.C. counterparts, pay well for professional choirs.)

One of his greatest hits is Pange lingua gloriosi, Corporis mysterium.


*Venantius Fortunatus, advising a traveler about conditions on the Via.

** “The Life of St. Martin”, which of course I need to hunt down.

*** Hannibal and his elephants crossed further west.

Posted in Bavaria, culture, Germany, history, literature, lives of others, Mountains, reading list, Roman roads, travel

Best of all creatures, faultless in spite of all her faults*

The philosopher and mathematician Bertrand Russell (1872–1970) said that “one of the painful things about our time is that those who feel certainty are stupid, and those with any imagination and understanding are filled with doubt and indecision.

We will leave the spectacular textbook example of the Dunning-Kruger effect, operating at the highest level of government in my home country, to the real experts (W.S. Gilbert lives!) I want to talk about the second bit of that quote, the “doubt and indecision” part. Because if incompetent people can’t realize they are incompetent, is the reverse then also true, i.e., do competent people know there’s room for improvement?

You’re coasting along for a few weeks, doing your work, some of in interesting, some of it boring, feeling pretty good about everything. Then you’re told that something you’ve done is unsatisfactory. The client is unhappy. Please fix it. You get right on it, apologize,  and now all is right again and everyone has moved on – except you. The shame of having been called to the carpet for your work (possibly something done in haste and utter confidence) is gnawing at your feelings of self-worth.

I could probably do a year’s worth of posts about how being a professional translator is similar to being in the performing arts – interpreting the works of others, the debate on the need for academic credentials (and the psychological impact of having – or not having – them), being a sometimes invisible cog in a large machine (take a look at opera reviews, where four fifths of the article consists of discussion of the composition, the concept, the stage director, the set designer. The conductor usually gets a mention and a few of the singers, at the end, but they are actually interchangeable in many reviewers’ opinions.) Perhaps being able to process criticism in a constructive manner is something everyone grapples with at times. Performers, however, have the added aspect of their talents being on display, where they can be judged. So do writers, and, by extension, translators. Neither group particularly enjoys looking at their own past work, even while many others out there are doing just that, if the work has been made public.

You need a thick skin to accept criticism, even the constructive kind, and learn from it. This may well be some kind of man/woman thing – it seems like a lot of men I know are able to brush off criticism with flair, while a lot of women I know internalize it. There are cultural aspects to it as well. I remember, many years ago when I sang in an opera chorus, a particular day when the chorus master rehearsed each voice section separately. There were, then, just eight of us altos being led through some difficult passages from an upcoming opera. One of my colleagues made a small mistake and, after we stopped, she said “That was me!”, basically in order to assure the chorus master that we didn’t need to rehearse that bit again, as she knew what she’d done. Immediately, two other colleagues jumped on her: “Don’t ever admit that! Never say that you made a mistake!” This stumped a few of the others – why wouldn’t you admit to a mistake? And yet there are people out there who simply cannot or will not.

Well, where am I going with this, actually? That healthy balance of accepting blame and only dwelling on it to the extent that you work on bettering your abilities, but not so much that it cripples you. I suppose that’s what we are all aiming for. Well, at least those of us who can admit we’re wrong.

*Jane Austen. She also wrote “Self-knowledge is the first step to maturity” and “Vanity working on a weak head, produces every sort of mischief.”




Posted in Uncategorized

Discovering Curt Bois

We happened to be surfing around TV stations this evening and stumbled over a 1980s comedy series called Kir Royale, which had been filmed in Munich. Tonight’s episode was “Adieu Claire”, about a fictitious famous composer named Friedrich Danziger, very old and near death. Something about him looked familiar, and it wasn’t until about three-quarters of the way through that it dawned on me.

Curt Bois, a successful German Jewish character actor, left Germany in the 1930s, eventually came to the USA, and appeared in supporting roles in many Hollywood films through the 40s. He returned to Germany in 1950 and resumed regular work there in film and on the stage. Perhaps you remember the old man in “Wings of Desire” (1987), looking for Potsdamer Platz, reading in the library. Bois lived to see reunification, but he would probably not recognize Potsdamer Platz today, (nor would he probably like it, but who am I to say).

You’ve probably seen him in at least a dozen films, if you like the old stuff. His most famous film, however, might be Casablanca. Who did he play? The charming pickpocket.

Posted in America, culture, Germany, history, lives of others, theater, Uncategorized

2017 Round Up

2017 was a year of hard work and progress, and although it did have some very enjoyable moments, I’m really glad we’re moving on.
For the first half of the year, I was constantly traveling to and from a town 2.5 hours away, to sing roles in two shows at the theater there. Sometimes those shows would be held in a town just 1.5 hours away, and then I would drive there and back in the same evening. They were fun, my colleagues were terrific, it was a great experience, and it reinforced just how much of a homebody I really am. Seriously, travel is lovely, just not every week, please.
In the second half of the year I knuckled down on my translation work, got serious about figuring out Microsoft Word (instead of exporting Pages documents into Word and risking formatting errors) and Trados, which I had bought with a small windfall and had never really warmed up to. (Creating and using term bases, for instance. I couldn’t have done it without Jayne Fox’s perfectly clear instructions. Now I use it every week, if not for every job.) I had a lot of work too, and found myself a new, friendly agency and a new direct client.
And then there were the preparations for the ATA certification exam in Washington. It was a busy time – and somehow, I forgot to celebrate the blog’s 10 year anniversary in September. 10 years! Well, maybe we’ll hold off until next September and do a Spinal-Tap-inspired “goes to eleven” celebration.

Posted in current events, Uncategorized


I’m going to let you in on a little secret — at the end of October I traveled to Washington D.C., where the American Translators Association was holding their annual conference, not to attend the conference but to take the association’s certification exam.
I’d first heard of the ATA after I began to translate for money (“professionally” may be a little premature for that time). I pored over every mention of it that I could find online. It’s very, very hard, everyone said. There’s only a 20% pass rate. Bring a suitcase of dictionaries. I took consolation in knowing that one could have a perfectly nice career without certification, but the idea of it hung in the air, like a benign Sword of Damocles, influencing everything I considered doing with my future. Business cards? Wait a bit, they’d look better with certification. Rates? Well, what can I demand, with neither a degree in translation nor certification?

This all being in the back of my head, I was planning a trip home to the states to see my family when I saw that the ATA conference would be in D.C. — just a few hours’ drive from where I would be. I have friends living just outside of town, and they were happy to put me up. So I made plans to take it, knowing all along that I should think of this as my “first attempt”, and not get my hopes up. I passed the practice test. I studied all the recommended materials. It was all systems go.

Now, I have to back up a bit to explain something that happened at the exam. I have been a loyal Mac user since the 90s, and only started to learn how to work with Windows in the past two years. Last summer, my Mac started acting up, and certain keys were not working properly. Not being able to get it repaired in time, I outfitted my second laptop, a new and little-used Asus, for the exam. And brought home a big German to English dictionary, just in case.
I arrived at the exam site, a room in the lower levels of the D.C. Hilton, and set up my little workstation like everyone else. So far so good. I knew how to open Word Pad, I had my bookmarks where I needed them. About 15 minutes before we begin, it suddenly dawns on me that although I know how to make m-dashes and n-dashes in Word, I don’t know if they work the same way in Word Pad. I start tinkering with key combinations –- and inadvertently set my German keyboard into U.S. mode. This meant that suddenly I had no m-dashes, no n-dashes, no parentheses, no apostrophes, no semi-colons… all gone. Those keys all suddenly started giving me different symbols! But, as necessity is the mother of invention, I quickly surfed the internet for these punctuation marks and copied/pasted them into a Word page, and copied those every single time that I needed them.

I won’t give details about the exam (why spoil the mystery?) but I left with a pretty good gut feeling that I had done pretty well, even with the punctuation issue. About a month later I was overtaken by a sudden dread that perhaps I had inadvertently left something out — a word, a phrase, whole sentences, who could say?
Although ATA says not to expect results before 16 weeks, mine arrived in less than 7. I don’t think there is any meaning to read into that, outside of the likelihood that, if my language pair were, say, Spanish to English, I might still be waiting.

The result? I passed!

(Three days after the exam, the Asus broke down. And a week after that, the Mac gave up the ghost as well.)

Now I have a newly-repaired Asus (thanks to it still being under warranty), a brand new Mac Air (I love you, Mom!) and a certificate to hang on my wall to remind me that where there’s a will, there’s a way.

Posted in America, language, translation, travel | 5 Comments

Romans in Bavaria: comparing two online archeology maps for one specific area

Zeitspringer has a post up (in German) about the Roman road which ran between Augsburg and Salzburg, an important salt route referred to today as the “Via Julia”. Evidently there is a bit of uncertainty about the point where the road crossed the Isar River south of Munich. In his post, Zeitspringer mentions the site, which I hadn’t known about before. Like the Bavarian Monuments Atlas (also in German), this site superimposes archeological sites—as well as presumed routes of Roman roads—onto satellite maps. I love these kinds of maps, and they have been an enormous help in finding things when you’re on the ground and need landmarks for orientation (with these maps, even a lone tree in a field—something you won’t find on a conventional map—can tell you something).

Well, most of what is known about the routes of these Roman roads north of the Alps comes primarily from 1) ancient (but still after-the-fact) maps, 2) excavated finds and 3) common geographical sense, particularly over the passes where there really wasn’t much choice about where to travel (see Scharnitz, in Tyrol). But as far as where-exactly, to the meter precision, it’s really only 2) that can provide any kind of accuracy, and only then at those points. The lines between those two points often must be assumed (unless they come up out of the ground, making for excellent aerial photography).


Anyway, I was curious as to what had to say about my Roman road, the Via Raetia, which runs along part of the western shore of the Ammersee. Knowing that these things can’t be anywhere near 100% accurate, I was still a bit surprised to see where they put the line.


The aerial photo above is of the area west of Utting, south of Achselschwang. We know this area well because we often take walks here; it’s hilly terrain, unlike the flat fields in the photo above it. The Roman road, according to Vici, is the red line through the picture. However, can you make out that faint quadrilateral shape intersected by the line, with trees at three of its corners? That’s an old Celtic Viereckschanze, a four-sided earthwork that pre-dates the Roman road, and I have difficulty believing that the Romans would have simply built a road through it (although I suppose anything is possible, theoretically).


Above is a screen grab of the same area (the Viereckschanze is in the center, marked in red). Here, the Via Raetia runs a good 200 meters further west, and, knowing the terrain quite well there, I am more likely to believe this. What’s more, it joins the present road at Achselschwang. That means little on its own, and I am certainly no expert, but Achselschwang first gets a mention in records in the year 760. Its beginnings might go back to an old straight(-ish) track that had been used for hundreds of years, why not? When the Romans retreated from the regions north of the Alps, they left behind quite a few “Romanized” locals whose descendants would have kept using the paths, just as they  pulled out Roman gravestones for early stone churches (like the one in nearby Leutstetten, a place discussed here before). Those roads carried pilgrims to Rome, and traders, and early travelers like Albrecht Dürer (who visited Italy twice), and some parts of the old Via Raetia are still part of the national road network, albeit under lots of asphalt. In other words, they left traces.

Posted in archaeology, Bavaria, culture, Germany, Roman roads, travel | 4 Comments

The MS Utting

The Ammersee in southern Bavaria has summer passenger boat service provided by two paddle steamers, the Dießen and the Herrsching, the smaller motor-powered MS Augsburg and, until recently, the MS Utting. Because we have connections to Utting, I was always especially pleased to see it in service (which didn’t seem very often, if at all, in the last year). Then in early March we were stunned read that it was being retired, and taken off to a new life as some kind of performing space shell in Munich. Ah well, that’s that, we thought.

Until just a few weeks ago, when it was announced that the new MS Utting was on its way to the docks on the northern shore, and so we stopped by to see the new addition.


By the time we arrived it had already been welded together (it had arrived in two pieces via the Autobahn during the wee morning hours) and was sitting in the water. Masts, upper deck facilities, windows and the interiors all had yet to be installed.


Those are some impressive cranes.

The new MS Utting is 50.80 meters long and 9.60 meters wide, and will hold up to 500 passengers. It will be barrier-free (with an elevator to the upper deck for wheelchair users) and have a slide for children. The Free State of Bavaria is investing a cool 5.4 million euros in the new vessel.

 The first test ride is planned for the end of June. If all goes well, the MS Utting will have its maiden voyage in the second half of July. Maybe we’ll be on it!


Posted in Bavaria, current events, Germany, tech, travel | 2 Comments
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