Getting France and Germany to agree on anything is no mean feat. The fact that one nation is guided by a dour, PhD-toting, Russian-speaking, quantum physicist whilst the other follows a mercurial charmer whose greatest claim to fame is a supermodel on his arm says it all really. Which probably explains why Strasbourg, seat of the European Parliament, has always had something of an identity crisis. In a good way. Straddling the German-French border, Strasbourg is the kind of place where a hearty schnitzel goes down nicely with a fine Bordeaux red.
Nice digs. Since the building in this town count their age in centuries, finding a way to squeeze modern comforts into an ancient attic nook takes a few nifty folds of the space-time continuum. That's where that quantum PhD comes in handy. And this comfy bed is where the supermodel comes in handy. See, that's what I mean when I say fusion at its best.
Time for a bit of exploration. Which is easy seeing as the city fits nicely onto a little island. The hard bit is deciding whether breakfast is going to come from the boulangerie or the bäckerei.
With magnificent early spring weather like this, why bother bailing out those pesky southern neighbors and their annoyingly nice beaches.
Towering 142m (the church that is, not the individual who is lucky to make 1.42m in a good pair of heels), the Strasbourg Cathedral was actually the tallest building in the world for over 200 years. Even today, it still ranks as the 6th tallest church in the world.
Magnifique!
Prachtvollen!
And now that the novelty of Google Translate has worn off, back to the rollicking color commentary for which this blog is famed. In a Charlie Sheen kind of way. Judging by the prevailing architecture, this could be the German part of town. The best way to find out is to take a seat in a cafe and see if the menu takes 40 minutes or 40 seconds to arrive.
Inside the cathedral is as impressive as the outside. Given Rock's lack of fine ISO skills, you'll have to take it on faith. Hey, it's a cathedral after all.
This snazzy astronomical clock comes pre-loaded with all the hottest apps. Solar eclipses? There's an app for that. Planetary orbits? There's an app for that. Procession of Christ and 12 Apostles on the dot at 12.30pm every day? Darn right, there's an app for that.
Notwithstanding the advanced horology on display, this is a church after all and it's always worth remembering who winds the big clock.
Probably not the place for Rock to revisit his stalled career as an organist.
It's hard to project a worldly air when everyone and their dog speaks a minimum of three languages.
Easter in Europe is a big deal, and not in a Walmart-ish "let's cover a whole aisle with garish cardboard cutouts and blocks of congealed high fructose corn syrup" kind of way. Here every display is lovingly crafted with real eggs and fresh flowers.
Spring is in the air, and apple strudel is in the stomach. Quite an agreeable combination.
Euro chic! Hang on, better check to make sure this is the French side of town first.
Georges Bruck does good duck.
They call this part of town Petite France. Mei used to fit right in, before she downed that pork knuckle with sauerkraut.
One of the many bridges that connects the island of the old town with the mainland of the almost as old town.
Things seem to move slower in Europe. Must have something to do with the fact they put a patisserie on every corner, and in every patisserie they load the window up with a must-stop-and-try selection of goodies.
If you look very carefully, you can see someone up there below the flagpole with a can of blue paint, just in case those CDS spreads widen a little further and it comes time to cast a few of the more tarnished gold stars loose.
There's that useless mono-lingual dude again. Luckily for him, European education policy factors Anglo-Saxon stupidity into the curriculum and ensures the entire populace speaks flawless English.
French-style pizza looks suspiciously like Italian-style pizza. Fortunately, it looks nothing like Pizza Hut-style pizza.
Turn right for bratwurst, left for coq au vin. Go straight ahead and then circle the block again if you're like Rock and can't decide.
The quaint canals weave their way between the timber-clad houses, a scene that has been unchanged for centuries. Much like this blog really.
It never seems to matter what time of day it is, the cafes are always buzzing. This is, after all, the home of the University of Strasbourg, the biggest in all of France. Doesn't matter which of your many languages you choose, skipping lectures on a fine spring day translates pretty easily into any of them.
In a town like this, it's easy to forget which century you're in. Until someone parks a garish pink Hello Kitty Mobile right smack bang in the middle of the picturesque cobblestone street. Good one.
As the sun sets, the whole city flocks to the outdoor eateries that line every street. Following the crowd never looked so good.
Bicycles are the primary mode of transport in a city that wasn't really designed with the latest Mercedes e-class in mind.
A rustic tartine shop is the perfect place to get a taste of the region. It's also the perfect place for Rock to practice his German: ein Coka-Cola, danke. And his French: deux Coka-Cola, merci. And his English: let's just make it three dude.
The mighty cathedral is even more spectacular at night. Thank goodness no one could agree whether this is a German part of France, or a French part of Germany; hard to blow it up if you think it might be on your side of the trenches.
The locals get ready for a big night on the town.
Parlez vous Deutsche?
Standards in Europe are a little more, shall we say, lofty than those back home. Here two stars gets you an immaculate loft room complete with LCD tv and a city views, back there it gets you a decrepit Motel 6 tucked between I-80 and a parking lot.
Next stop, the lake towns of Meersburg and Lindau, assuming Rock is man enough to handle a stick shift at 160 km/h. And that's just the slow lane...
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