Europe

Bergblatt

by

Das Bergblatt

Heute aus Oberstdorf

18. Juli 2025

Es ist angenehm warm hier, in den Bergen. Wolkenfelder ziehen hinüber, und die Sonne bricht von Zeit zu Zeit durch die Wolken. Ab und zu gesellt sich die Regentrude dazu, um dem Leben ein vollständiges Bild zu verleihen. Man freut sich über den Niederschlag, denn die Hitze- und Trockenzeit war unangenehm lang.

Die Berge reihen sich hier majestätisch aneinander. Sie sind eng ineinander geschachtelt, so als wollten sie sich gerne dem Besucher vorstellen. Ab und zu segelt ein Drachenflieger aus den Bergen, um dann sanft auf der großen Wiese zu landen. Zwei Kirchen hat man im Dorf gelassen, die protestantische läutet immer etwas früher als die katholische. Vielleicht will man nur auf sich aufmerksam machen, denn die Besucherzahl der Kirchen scheint nicht gerade berauschend zu sein.

Wanderer und noch mehr Wanderer sind zu sehen, hier in diesem Bergdorf. Sie haben ihre Rucksäcke fest auf dem Rücken geschnürt, die Wanderstücke in die Luft ragend, wohl mit der Bedeutung, dass es hoch hinaus gehen soll. Mit sicherem Schritt gehen sie durch Täler und Berge, bis sie einen Gasthof auf halber Berghöhe entdecken. Von Zeit zu Zeit sieht man auch eine Seilbahn, die den Aufstieg etwas erleichtern soll. Nach der Heimkehr kommt man noch am Kneippwasser vorbei – das eiskalte Wasser kühlt nicht nur die Beine, sondern auch den Kopf.

Im Ort herrscht weitgehend Ruhe, bis man sich zum Abendessen beim Wilden Männle einfindet. Dort spielen dann Musikanten im munteren Takt, bayrische Polkamusik steht wie jeden Abend auf dem Programm. Wenn man Glück hat, dann bleiben die Akkordeonspieler am Tische stehen und laden zum Spirituosenteilen ein. Die wilden Männle kommen alle fünf Jahre zusammen, um ihren keltischen Tanz zu zeigen. Dann tanzen sie im Kreis und in Pyramiden. Im Internet wird dieser älteste Tanz aber nicht zu finden sein.

Die Speisen sind immer noch bajuwarisch: Schweinsbraten, Krautsalat und natürlich Knödel. Die „Stärkeren“ trinken ein dunkleres Bier dazu, andere bleiben beim Hellen. Dass Allgäuer Kässpatzen ähnlich dem schwäbischem Käsespätzle sind, wird hier keinem verraten. Wenn man sich aber erkundigt, bekommt man das Hausrezept im Einzelnen beschrieben.

Die Geschäfte haben wenig Zulauf, da man hier aufs Laufen und nicht aufs Kaufen bedacht ist. Nur die Kässtube bekommet Gäste, die davon gehört haben, dass der heimische Käse zu empfehlen ist. Nur, wie kann man ihn bestellen? „Was für Käse haben sie? Ist er mild oder scharf? Welchen heimischen Käse gibt es?“ Die Verkäuferin wird ungeduldig. „Mögen Sie überhaupt Käse?“ fragt sie schließlich, um sich zu vergewissern, dass man nicht ihre kostbare Zeit verschwendet. Dann möchte sie nur noch wissen, ob der Käse vakuumiert werden soll. „Wie bitte?“ „Vakuumiert“, wiederholt sie etwas grimmig.

Der ältere Herr an der Theke beobachtet genau, wer hier aus- und eingeht. Platz machen sollen sie, damit die Gäste durchkommen können. Er beobachtet genau und sieht, wie ein Gast versucht ihre Brille zu säubern. In Blitzeseile kommt er dazu und bringt ein Papiertuch. „Kenne ich“, sagt der dann, „meine Brille ist auch immer schmutzig“. Die Eisverkäuferin erklärt gleich ihre ganze Lebensgeschichte. Aus Italien kommend, verkauft sie nur sechs Monate lang ihr Eis. Da sie den Rest des Jahres mit dem Gehalt auskommen muss, verbringt sie ihn dann in Thailand.

Manche Wanderer bereiten sich auf die große Alpenüberquerung vor, wenngleich Elefanten, wie einst zu Hannibals Zeiten, schwer zu finden sein dürften. Konditionstraining und Krafttraining ist angesagt. Kniebeugen, Ellbogenstützen und Bodenpaddeln gehören dazu. In der letzten Woche darf man sich ausruhen, um dann mit voller Kraft die Berge zu erstürmen. Hannibal hatte es schon schwieriger, den richtigen Weg über die Alpen zu finden, aber letztlich hat er es mit seinen Elefanten und seinen Truppen geschafft. Noch heute suchen Forscher den genauen Weg, den er über die Alpen genommen hat. Dies lässt sich gut mit einem Bakterientest in der Tiefe des Bodens nachweisen, denn Elefanten hinterlassen deutliche Spuren.

Es ist ein ruhiger Ort, ein Ort für Wandernde, hier in den Bergen, wo die Wolken irgendwie näher erscheinen, wo Musikanten noch Heimatmusik pflegen, und wo die Einheimischen nur dann ihren Bergkäse verkaufen, wenn man weiß, wie man danach fragt.

Präriepost

by

Präriepost

Today from Sagres and Lisbon

June 22, 2016

It is windy, very, very windy here in the city on the Southwestern corner of the continent. The sun fights with the wind for attention, a sunburn could easily be masked by a windburn. Clouds move quickly from East to West but they evaporate as soon as they reach the Atlantic. Up high, the golden sphere pales against deep blue skies.

They call it “the end of the world” here, where towering cliffs sink deep down into the sea. Sandy beaches are nestled between cliffs, and only a few people enjoy their good fortune. Mothers and grandparents play with their children and grandchildren. Red, yellow, and purple flowers abound and question the end of the world.

The food they eat is no end-of-the world food. They know how to eat. Home-made cakes already for breakfast, long leisurely lunches, late dinners. They eat white pork, black pork, and boar. They know how to eat. And they know how to prepare fish, fish, and fish. Maceral and sardines, swordfish, sea bass and dorado. Grilled sardines are in high season. Small bones, large bones, bones everywhere. “They tell me that they come here to relax,” says the waiter, “not to work on fish bones all night.”  Finishing with port wine, bica and pastéis de nata. Obrigado, obrigado. They know how to eat.

As they drive across this beautiful land, they leave behind white cities on a hill. The cities are separated from each other by fields of olive trees, eucalyptus trees, and half-shaved cork oaks. Then they move further north: Lisbon, the city of spenders and Porto, the city of workers and of port wine, of course. Here small, steep alleys that wind their way to the top dominated by castles and cathedrals. Cobblestone, cobblestone, and cobblestone. Beautiful colored houses as a backdrop to the river. Eiffel’s bridge, or was it the one by his apprentice’s, dominating over the river. Cosmopolitan. Cobblestone, cobblestone, and cobblestone. Big city life unlike the rural existence only a few miles away.

They work hard to transform the poverty-stricken neighborhoods in the cities to clean and attractive shopping and tourist areas. Not too long ago, the rent was fixed at very low monthly rates here, now real estate agents can set their own rental price. The building industry is booming.

Perhaps it is because of the rooster of Barcelos who brought good luck to this country. Years ago, a Galician came to town and was given the death sentence because he allegedly stole silver. “Oh no,” he said, “I did not do it,” proclaiming his innocence. And when he had a chicken for his last supper, he said, “It is as certain that I am innocent as it is certain that this rooster will crow when you hang me.” He did not finish his meal and indeed, while the pilgrim was about to be hanged, the roasted rooster stood up on the table and crowed as the Galician predicted. The man was immediately freed and sent off in peace. Still today, the rooster brings good luck to all families in this country, everybody must have a colorful copy at home.

Longevity researchers come to town as strangers, and they head toward one of the oldest universities in the world: the Universitdade de Coimbra – since 1290 they teach medicine, religion, and law here – the university library alone would tempt any student to call this home. “At night, bats fly around in the library to take care of any insects that would harm the old books,” explains the librarian.

The second oldest university is the next stop for the academics. Here, at the Universidade de Évora every professor can talk from an elevated lectern, one of the professors (doteur) appears to have quite a few students. All the lecture halls have thematic blue tiles, blue tiles, of course, blue painted tiles.

The scientists move further to the remote area town of the Douro River. The resort offers spectacular views from the top, but they prefer to lock themselves in and ponder recent longevity recipes. Does choosing the right doctor make the difference? Should variability be more appreciated? Can we separate maintainers from decliners 15 years before death? There are discussions about dementia, how to measure it, about a clear diagnosis and about exceptions. Depression in very late life, is it really depression, is it affect, or is it fatigue? They will continue their quest for answering longevity queries.

During break time the nagging, repeated questions: How can an important country in the West name such an unfit candidate for president? Can this really be a serious election? An Italian neuropathologist appears to know the answer: Problems in the frontal lobe make people react very, very strangely. Perhaps Fado songs help cope with the dire mood of the country – singing about fate and destiny of those who feel they will have no hope and nothing to expect.

As they sing their songs in the back alleys of the Alfama, it would be best for visitors to walk the streets of this metropolitan city. Shakespeare may serve as their guide, “If you don’t know where you want to go, you will go the farthest.” So they walk on cobblestone, and they walk, and they walk in this beautiful country, where the wind wails around the end of the world, where the people eat, and eat, and eat, and where history and art is captured on blue, blue tile.

Präriepost

by

Präriepost

June 15, 2015

Today from Cagliari

It is sunny, here, in this capital city of Sardinia, but the humidity dampens some of the impulsive activity displayed by the residents. From time to time, clouds cover up the intense sunlight and a brief shower may ensue in the late afternoon. At night, the weather is very comfortable for enjoying an elaborate outdoor dinner in the core of the city.

It is a bit cooler in the mountains and along the Mediterranean Sea. The golden beaches are reachable after steering over steep mountains and over long-winding dirt roads.  Finally, the sea is discernable far back – without it, one might imagine oneself driving through desert territory.

The Sardinian mentality is inimitable. People appear somber here, they show few emotions. Their long faces, high contours and bushy eye brows suggest mysterious characters. Older men gather in public places, typically under a tree or on the corner bench. They view travelers with strong-minded indifference, determined not answer silly questions. “If you can’t find your way, why did you not stay at home,” is what they seem to suggest. You know better not to ask the next time.

The food is decidedly non-vegetarian. Meat is an important part of the longevity diet here, and everybody lets you know it. There is prosciutto, there is pork or lamb, and there is donkey and boar for those who are more adventurous. Served with red wine, of course, dried shepherd bread, and local cheese – everything appears to be in good order.

Driving through the mountains is always an experience. Somewhere there is a rally today, starting in Southern Sardinia, but the real rally occurs every day on the long-winding mountain roads. Shift before the curve, accelerate, shift after the curve, accelerate and then shift again before the next curve. Timing is everything. In the meantime, gas is needed even for the most fuel-efficient car here on the island. It is Sunday, however, and the gas stations are closed. After a while, you may spot a self-service station, machine operated only. No problem, just add cash and choose the right button to get started. However, there are six options and all say “Diesel” underneath the button. While contemplating the least wrong choice, the line of local Sardinians who also need to operate the same contraption is getting longer, and they gesticulate, they point and suggest, they try to assist. Finally, the 2nd Diesel button is pushed. It works, even for the non-Diesel fuel – or so one would hope.

The tour continues alongside roads decorated with white and red blooming oleander. The upcoming city could not be more beautiful. Bosa, carved right out of a Paul Klee picture with its shimmering shapes! Terraces filled with intriguing dwellings built right into the mountain, all somewhat angled and in bright colors of blues, and greens, and yellows – above it all: the old castle seemingly protecting the quarters below. Who would not love it here?

Only the grotto is perhaps more magical, a few hundred miles south and reachable only by walking down 615 steps vertically toward the sea. If you want to enter the hidden fairy tale land you need to step down, and down, and down – but what a reward awaits at the very end of the short but arduous journey: enchanting stalagmites and stalactites lit from all sites building an astonishing world of imagination.  If only there were not 615 steps to climb up again.

Finally, strangers to this island reach the longevity region, high up in the mountains, where the nonagenarian shepherds live. Centenarian women speak of their conviction: honesty, honesty, just keep up honesty and you will live a long life. The rest is up to the power above. Longevity here is a way of life, it is part of this community that supports prolonged existence. If you have tomatoes, I will trade cheese. If you need assistance, I will take time for you.

Longevity experts from 13 centenarian research teams have gathered here to exchange their ideas and findings. FOXO3 or BNDF appear to be secret biological markers. The attendees discuss vision and loneliness, activity, resilience, the impact of longevity on caregivers, and the importance of mental health and well-being. They provide evidence that new generations of centenarians are better off than earlier generations, and they compare results from their longevity regions: strong social support and low stress levels appear to be commonalities.

The members of the community in this longevity region listens attentively to these researchers, they tell their stories regardless of the questions being asked, and they feel honored to be hosting the event. They celebrate with music, folk dances, and with local food. Slow-cooked pork, cheese pockets with honey, and red wine appear to be the favorites, here in this land of longevity, where shepherds meet in tight-lipped fashion, where food is on everyone’s mind and where mountains and beaches exist together in seemingly perfect congruence.

Prairie Post (today from Lausanne, Switzerland)

by

Prairie Post

9-07-13

(today from Lausanne, Switzerland)

It’s a beautiful day, here, in the city overlooking Lac Léman.  Bievenue in Lausanne! The mountains on the other side of the lake are partially covered by fair-weather clouds; thunder had cleared the air over night.  It is a late-summer day, the people of Lausanne enjoy a few more hours of sun and warmth, they spend time outside, they meet at the Lake, they suspect that autumn is just on the other side of the mountain. Bievenue in Lausanne!

How international this city must be with French, German, and Italian as their official languages, and with English as an additional bonus language to learn! But perhaps this town is too close to the French border, there are no signs of other languages, no German, no Italian, perhaps some English, mostly French, all French, just French, yes French is the language of choice.  No signs or interpretations in German or Italian, all just in French, français, français, and français.  Bievenue in Lausanne, bievenue to the Swiss French-only culture.

Indeed, they speak French, they live French, they eat French.  Kidneys, and pork shanks, and horse meat, and tarte flambé; croissants as petit dejeuner with café noire, the usual… the menu in French, no German, no Italian, am I still in Switzerland?  Oh yes, they do serve Rösti here, these wonderful Swiss potato pancakes, but they offer IPA beer with it. IPA here, in Switzerland?  Really?

It is easy to travel through town with the metro system, free for all tourists and convenient to use.  The 13th century cathedral on top of the hill purports to protect the city, there are stairs and stairs and stairs, there is a lot of up-and-down in this town.  Let’s walk, ok, let’s walk… the young generation has its own quarter in town, with blasting music only identified by the young, with a “beach” restaurant in midst of concrete pedestrian zones, plenty of places to hang out.  Why do I feel that I might not belong?

I do belong to the other side of town where they placed the university, separate from the rest of the city.  The campus is nicely located right next to the Lake.  Quite a few psychologists are walking around, talking, speculating, listening.  They wonder what children “think,” children who are confused why adults don’t seem to know the answers to questions they are asking.  How do children conceptualize the world?  Is it really round?  If so, why don’t we fall off?  Perhaps because we live in the middle or on top of the earth…  How do children think?  How do adults become resilient in the face of adversity?  And more discussion on gene-environment interactions:  the same gene can have a positive effect if the environment is positive, it can have a negative effect, if the environment is negative – differential susceptibility is the clever word somebody coined.  They talk, and they talk and they talk – perhaps the fresh air here makes their thoughts come loose, here in this mountain city next to Lac Léman, where people speak French, and only French, all the time, where the food is notably French and where the coffee is either “noir” or au lait. Bievenue in Lausanne!

Prairie Post (today from Villagrande, Sardinia)

by

Prairie Post

6-17-13

(today from Villagrande, Sardinia)

It’s a beautiful day, here, in this small village of Villagrande. The air is clear, the sky is dark blue, the temperature just right. They say that the lake they built some years ago has changed the weather, more fog and more rain than ever, but there is no evidence of this today. A cool, sunny morning brings out the good in everybody.

Three strangers have arrived from elsewhere, they clearly are not from here. They are just a bit too overdressed, their hurried walk gives them away, and they seem to be talking all the time. People here prefer a much simpler life. They hang out at the local bar, they sit around tables in cafés , they take a break, and there is no need to constantly analyze their own well-being. Life is much simpler here, in Villagrande.

Even though it is apparent that these strangers do not belong here, they are welcome into a dense social web of relationships. It is lunchtime – a time spent together, time for a good meal. They bring prosciutto and sausages, and their own special bread soaked in water. They bring pasta and parmesan and their own local red wine. They bring boar, pork, lamb, and beef.  They bring fresh fruit, their own peaches, cherries and apricots, they bring cheeses and tomatoes, and risotto with mushrooms, they bring tiramisu and coffee, and you must finish with their local digestives.  There is nothing simple about the meals they offer to visitors coming through town.

It is the atmosphere that is most remarkable around the long tables where people share a meal.  They relax in togetherness, without a loud word, there is simply social togetherness. There is no rush, not hurry, no mission to fulfill.  There is an exchange of a few words, enjoyment of the day with others, being there for each other.

It is not only their social togetherness that is striking, there is also a composed, relaxed personality noticeable among the people of Villagrande. No stern reaction to others, a faint smile every now and then, a no-worry attitude. After all, what is all the fuzz about?  They are used to protect their sheep, and so they are used to protect each other.  Their self reliance must be coming from many hours and days on the mountainside.  They call it the “pastoral life.” A given responsibility is a taken responsibility. They are pastoral to each other as much as they are pastoral to themselves.

And they are active here, in this small community, walking up and down these hills, stairs, everywhere stairs, they are headed toward their own garden built into the hillsides of the village. They walk their sheep, and tend their goats.  They are outside and walk, stairs and stairs and stairs, they are outside and breathe. There is nothing complicated about this philosophy, it is very down-to-earth way living, down-to earth relating, down-to-earth introspecting.

And they have a good sense of humor. They laugh or smile, they like to be with other people even if they don’t need to talk all the time.  They like to create a mess but then bring things back to order, they like ideas, so long as they are not too abstract. They have family, and family is at their inner core.  They say it’s a hard life, but a good life. Roberta is asking all the questions, she is engaged, she enjoys the interaction. And they enjoy her, because they know her.

Today they celebrate St. Basilio, the patron of the city.  The only road through town is blocked off and the street vendors bring in their food, their crafts, their antiques.  The church is too small today, so there are additional chairs outside, neatly ordered in rows.  There is a procession with a statue of the saint in front, the whole town will follow with music and prayer. Afterwards, the extended family gets together for another feast.  More than fifty people have come, and there are these strangers again.  Of course, they are also welcome. There is food, food, and food. A piglet, lamb and chicken are roasting on a large grill. “You should never run out of food,” says Marcus, the father, “it would be bad luck.”  Marcus stands up and leans over the tables to make his point.  He always smiles when he gets excited, his short hair frames a bronze taint that he develops when he is out in the forest.  Marcus is in charge here, in his quiet way.  Because he is proud to share his experiences, he pours another glass of local liquor for everybody, because it is time to celebrate life.

They live in a blue zone, a longevity hot spot. They live a good life and a long life, here, where the sun is always shining on top of these beautiful hills and in the hearts of these humble people, where the food is local and plentiful, and where everybody puts issues aside to enjoy the simple life.