Strasbourg: Alsatians to Marie Antoinette

I think this was on my must visit list since we booked the cruise: Strasbourg, population just over 500,000, which I thought quite small for such a significant city.

Over the years, thanks to wars and other disagreements, it has belonged to either France, as it does now, or Germany. The city, at its founding by the Romans in 12BC was christened Argentoratum, which at that time saw off the Celts who, as we all know, were eventually pushed to the edges of the continent or, as it was back then, the known world. I think, if the Romans could have finished the job, they would have gladly pushed them into the Atlantic Ocean and seen them off for good.

Once, nearly all of the European mainland was populated by this pre-historic people, who became confined to the western fringes of the land mass, Portugal, Western Spain, Western France, Cornwall, Wales, Scotland and Ireland. England was overrun by the Germanic tribes forcing our Celtic predecessors to the less desirable areas of Britannia Magna and Britannia Parva. It subsequently took on the mantle as one of the most important cities in the Holy Roman Empire.

As we strolled the cobbled streets Jane observed that there was an epidemic of geraniums. She pointed out planters and pots full of them. It didn’t seem plausible that so many residents could be attracted to the same flower… or could it? The guide overheard her and butted in, in a nice way of course, informing us that the geranium was the best way of keeping mosquitoes at bay. Who knew? Certainly not me.

I wasn’t sure of its veracity, so I checked, and, I am afraid, I have to tell you that our source was not quite right. The general consensus, through dear old Google, is that the essential oils extracted from some geranium petals contain citronella, a basic ingredient for deterring the pestilence. Alas, though, simply planting them will not dissuade them from taking your blood. Most insect repellents, apparently, contain citronella. It appears that there are a number of plants above the, now maligned, geranium on the list, including lavender, rosemary and basil, that are more effective at keeping them away naturally.

I must confess, it is only since I have lost my sight, that I have taken more of an interest in the natural world, especially plants and birds, the feathered variety, so, I am sorry to say, I have no idea what most of these look like. Not sure why, but it seems that flower fans are divided when it comes to the attractiveness of the Pelargonium Citrosum, the citronella geranium. Who am I to judge? If it makes the Strasbourgeois and Strasbourgeoises, male and female residents happy, then who are we to question it?

What is it famous for? A number of things actually including, up until recently, it was the de facto capital of Europe, a position sanctioned by the Treaty of Amsterdam in 1997. It was chosen because of its turbulent history, it has been governed by Paris during most of its modern existence, although Germany took control on a couple of occasions during modern times, once after the Franco-Prussian War in 1861, and more recently, after the Nazis annexed the city in 1940. Not sure that either occupation was welcomed with open arms by the residents, and it reverted back to the French at the ends of both the First and Second World Wars. This is why it was chosen as the capital of Europe, it signifies the end of hostilities and remains an important symbol of peace throughout the continent.

I worked out pretty quick that we were in the historic French region of Alsace-Lorraine, someone, probably the guide, had mentioned that Strasbourg was the traditional capital of the area, although it has now been subsumed into the less catchingly named Grand Est region. Just sometimes I can put two and two together and come up with four!

Then, when she kept referring to the Alsatians that inhabit the town I was on the lookout for hairy four legged mutts around every corner. See, getting to four is an enormous achievement, it is far more likely that I will arrive at three or five. I know, of course Alsatians are what residents of Alsace are called, stands to reason, don’t it?

So, then, what is the difference between German Shepherds and Alsatians. I don’t suppose it is as life threatening as working out the differences between an alligator and a crocodile, but I still needed to know. The answer, wait for it, nothing. There you go! Basically, the GSDs were renamed during WW1 by British Tommys serving in the Alsace-Lorraine area. Why? Well, slightly understandable, I suppose, given that the squaddies didn’t want to give credit to anything German, they relabelled this beautiful dog the Alsatian. Its name was only officially changed back during the 1970s as anti-German sentiment waned.

I did, however, learn, during my “research” that the German Shepherd, or Alsatian if you still harbour a grudge, is, in actual fact, a mongrel. Although it is now recognised as a breed in its own right, it is a mongrel in the same sense as things like cockerpoo, labradoodle, and the like. I know, before my inbox is full of complaints and I am struck off Christmas card lists, or so I believe anyway, these are also recognised as breeds in their own rights now. Mix a little bit of that with a little bit of this and you can end up with really lovely canine cocktails.

By the way, before we continue, I would just like to apologise to Chester, Hazel, Nellie and Rosie-Jo for your owners just in case they have read this out loud and you have found this upsetting. Having your heritage questioned can, in some people’s minds, be considered a hate crime. Sorry! The GSD was created by Captain Max von Stephanitz, not in his own biblical sense of the word, you understand, when he started playing God with natural evolution to produce a highly intelligent, hardworking and powerful canine. Its antecedents include Horand von Grafrath, Thuringian Shepherds and Wurttemberg Shepherds, with the occasional piece of other DNA thrown in from time to time to perfect the mix. Did you know that one of the most popular GSD names since its development is Max. Wow, I wonder if that is a deliberate nod to Captain von Stephanitz or not?

Now back to the tour. One of the main attractions of this quite beautiful city, and its centre-point, is the Catholic Cathedrale de Notre-Dame de Strasbourg, Cathedral of Our Lady of Strasbourg, which for around 200 years held the record as the tallest building in the world until it was knocked off its perch by St Nikolai’s Church in Hamburg, there’s that Franco-German rivalry again.

One of the main features is that it is a combination between the Gothic and Romanesque styles, apparently, because there was a change of craftsmen during construction. Now, I have to say here, if I had been the Architect on this project I would have made them tear it down and start all over again. How dare they contradict my design. The cathedral is affectionately known as Mommy by the locals as she looks out over the good denizens of the city from on high, 142 metres, and was the highest human construction from 1647 until 1874. I find that remarkable in a time when the record seems to change hands every five minutes that it wasn’t surpassed in 227 years, don’t you?

Do you remember when we were in the Black Forest I mentioned that the inventor of cuckoo clocks took his inspiration from Strasbourg Cathedral? Well, this is absolutely true. Its astronomical clock is kitted out with a rooster, not a cuckoo, that on the hour makes an appearance, flaps its wings and crows to the delight of residents and tourists alike. I am not quite sure why but we were not lucky enough to witness this phenomenon, a real shame, but we get the picture.

Before we move onto the foody bit, there was one little test left to us. During the construction phase of the project, the contractor would select his workforce at the beginning of each working day by seeing if the applicants could pass between two columns, the fat test, getting wedged meant no work today. Bizarre? Yes, most definitely. The guide asked for a volunteer to try it. I don’t know what came over her, but Jane led me, like a camel to a needle, for me to test it out.

I will be quite open with you, my BMI is not what it should be, I’m not obese but am significantly overweight, stood me in line with the opening and told me to step forward, like going through a detection loop at an airport. Well, I passed through with tonnes of room to spare, so much so I seriously doubt anyone ever got turned down. Slightly disconcerting was the reaction of my fellow cruisers, who clapped enthusiastically when I completed my initiation, as if surprised by the accomplishment. Can you imagine the furore if businesses placed one of these at their door to test the validity of their workers to enter the workplace today?

Given that we were on a gastronomy tour I had better fill you in with the delicacy we were to suffer here. Whoops! I mean enjoy. Tarte Flambee, flame cake, is a flat bread topped with crème fraiche and thinly sliced onions and, occasionally, bacon; not sure where our bacon was? Maybe someone forgot to bring it home? I don’t wish to sound picky here but… This, I must emphasise, is my own opinion, it was like a pizza that lacked toppings and flavour, otherwise it was unbelievably tasty.

Given that we were strolling around Alsace-Lorraine, the clue is in the name, why on earth were we served up the poor relation of Quiche Lorraine? Whilst banging on, we also opted for a hot chocolate in which they forgot to put the hot. The best part of the food and drink experience was sitting outside a bar in one of their pretty squares and enjoying a locally brewed dark beer whilst waiting for the bus back to the ship. This was truly delicious.

Just before we leave the European administrative capital, I thought I would tell you a fairy story. We had heard the story attributed to two other locations along the Rhine, but having read up on it in a little more detail now, I am convinced that it happened in and around Strasbourg. It is a true story so, in effect, it shouldn’t be daubed a fairytale, should it. There is, however, no doubt that there is a moral to the story.

Here goes, are you sitting comfortably, then I shall begin. Once upon a time, a long time ago, there was a young and beautiful Archduchess. She was the last daughter of Holy Roman Emperor Francz I and Princess Maria Theresa of Austria. At the same time, a young prince was living in his palace in France. Now, the prince’s advisers thought it about time the young man married, after all he was fifteen by now and the shelf was beginning to beckon.

They scoured the known world for a suitable bride and, in the end, found one lurking in an Austrian palace. To start with it was not exactly a marriage made in Heaven, the French were very distrusting of the Austrians and the Austrians had their suspicions of the French. Indeed, they were two of the greatest powers around at the time, although the British appeared to be a bit miffed at this claim, so it was about time the two great lineages were brought together in a union of convenience.

And so it was, the marriage date was set, I daresay the Archduchess and her mother went out to buy a dress, appointed a confectioner to bake the cake, asked the Archbishop’s wife if she would be good enough to do the flowers, and setting out the table plan, who on earth shall we have sitting next to that randy old grandfather of the groom, God if only we could get away without inviting him. Never mind, needs must, and world domination could be dependent on this.

In the end there was no need to worry, the French nominated a proxy. Hold on a minute, run that one past me again, please? A proxy? You mean Louis couldn’t be bothered to make the effort himself? Now, bearing in mind these two had never actually met each other, all they had seen were portraits. I don’t know about you, but it seems that with modern accoutrements such as Photoshop or whatever it’s called, one might be able to pull the wool; I am not convinced that portraits were any more trustworthy.

Well, the deed was done, Archduke Ferdinand, no less than the bride’s brother stood in for Louis. Nobody ever said that this was an option when we got married? Had I known, I might have been able to fit a final cricket match in before the nuptials! Now it was off to meet one another for the first time. Fingers crossed! The Dauphin waited on the French side of the Rhine, not wishing to contaminate his shoes on Austrian soil, for his new bride to cross. The Archduchess rocked up in the German town of Kehl, opposite bank to Strasbourg, before she was rowed across to a mutually agreeable neutral island. Here, it was a little bit like “Stars in Their Eyes.”

“Tonight, Matthew, I’m going to be French.”

If you are younger than me and have no idea what I’m talking about go and ask your grandparents.

Before she could step onto French land she was required to strip away her entire Austrian identity and dump it in the trash, including all clothing, all jewellery, and everything else about her person that was of that smelly German origin. She had even dropped her Austrian title, she was no longer a Habsburg Archduchess but a French Dauphine. She even had to change her name, she was no longer permitted to use the moniker, Maria Antonia, but had to change it to its French equivalent. If you hadn’t quite got it from the earlier clues, I’m sure you’ve got it now: yep, it is the future King and Queen of France, Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette.

I really am not sure what the great rush was, they didn’t consummate the marriage for at least another seven years. Despite Louis’s dirty old Grandad trying to show his grandson what to do, and I don’t think it involved diagrams, the bridal bed remained unused, at least by Louis. It appears that the poor old boy suffered from a condition known as phimosis, not uncommon among boys and young men. I am a little embarrassed here, so will let you look that one up yourself. I’m getting out of my depth!

No it didn’t end well. It looks like she didn’t really help herself either. After all, or so it is reputed anyway, when one of her ministers approached her and pointed out that her subjects couldn’t afford to eat bread, she is said to have responded with the immortal words, “Why don’t they eat cake?”

Not sure where she went to school, but it is somewhere I fear some of our agriculturally ignorant people today went as well. At the end of the day, if we can’t afford bread, at least we know we can go to the supermarket and get cake. I don’t see what was wrong with what she said, do you?

Having studied this tale over the past few days it is beyond my comprehension why Marie didn’t call her Dad to come and get her? As we look back now from the 21st century there are so many things wrong with this on so many levels.

A note of caution: as we stepped down from the bus in downtown Strasbourg, we were warned to keep a close eye on our purses and wallets, and shun any advances from flower sellers as they are really pickpockets in disguise, who can become extremely violent. I was either blissfully unaware of this or it didn’t happen. I would love to think it was the latter, but just be careful.

I must admit, I would, most definitely, visit Strasbourg again. I believe a city break is called for.

Find Out More
Strasbourg: www.visitstrasbourg.fr
Cathedral: www.cathedrale-strasbourg.fr

White Cane Ratings
City Centre: quite accessible; good - * * *(3)
Tarte Flambee: didn’t see the point!