A panda-grizzly peers from between the shoots of the bamboo grove in Jardin des Deux Rives.

 

 The Jardin des Deux Rives (“Garden of the Two Banks”) sprawls along the French side of the Rhine, its counterpart of the same name mirroring it across the water on the German side. Two countries, separated by a thin ribbon of water and decades of bad blood, now united by the joint artistic effort of constructing twin pleasure gardens, each of which still maintains its own regional flair.  

The Strasbourg “jardin” is threaded with fantasy, a storybook element that guides the casual wanderer through a series of playground scenes and allows him or her to fill in the imaginative details. At the park’s entrance, two standard paths flank a rolling grass lane, with signs illustrating the planets set up at scaled distances in the turf. A knee-high hedge maze curves at the end of the lane, with giant wooden statues of the Tortoise and the Hare racing among the greenery.  

 The paths diverge here: the left walkway leads towards a bamboo grove, where white panda-grizzlies growl from among red pagoda-style posts. The Asian-inspired garden is about both order and discovery: animals and architecture appear suddenly, unexpectedly, but there is a clean simplicity to the design that exudes an air of tranquility, even of sacred space. Beyond the grove lies  a pavilion of wired vines, the plant life woven sinuously into curving trellises, beautiful even without a trace of green.  

Multicolored pillars spiral inward before shooting up in a forest of color. Its purpose? Unknown--but the fanciful arrangement is definitely interesting.

 

If you go right at the end of the entrance lane, you will wind through a variety of similarly small gardens: a wooden playground with a variety of swings and a miniature merry-go-round, enormous multicolored pinwheels sprouting along the fence like ludicrous flowers; a rectangular jungle gym, its steel frame webbed with taut ropes for climbing; a series of low orange pillars spiraling inward before sprouting up in a variety of colors, like long crayons stripped of their paper. The atmosphere of the entire park is one of fancy and play.  

In addition to the imaginative visual aspect, the park has another interesting function to explore. The park’s architect not only wanted to provide a treat for the eyes, but he wanted to provide a treat for the ears as well. To enhance the park’s auditory aspect, the garden was constructed so that it opens up wide at the end of entrance lane, with two waterfalls coursing down the concrete walls that curve away on either side, amphitheater-style.  

Let’s take a walk down the entrance lane again. Approaching the path’s end, you can see the back side of the water-walls, smooth white slabs couched by hills that otherwise do not draw attention. Reaching the very end of the lane however, the sound explodes: one moment it is silent, and the next the sound of rushing water is all around you, the waterfalls suddenly visible. You can’t hear them up until the very moment of entry into the park, and the surprise is a delightful one.  

The graceful line of the stone pathway curves between the walls of the sound sculpture.

 

Following this theme, the park also houses what is known as a “sound sculpture,” a piece designed to distort and amplify different aspects of sound as the viewer moves through it. Standing starkly on the left lawn, the sculpture appears to be a solid wall of tan brick when faced head on, the illusion betrayed only by the slight shadow which reveals that one wall is actually aligned behind the other.  

Approaching the sculpture’s “entrance,” you can see a narrow stone pathway curving in between the walls. A pair of ears is stamped into the first path-stone, indicating where you should stand. At this first marker, the hiss of the waterfalls fills the space, even though the falls themselves are some distance away. The next marker lies in between the two walls; the falls disappear from view and their sound cuts out entirely, while the gurgle of the Rhine and the voices of the people along its banks are amplified, again defying distance. At the final marker, the river sounds fade and the waterfalls resound again, but this time they are blocked from view by the wall, giving the listener the impression of being surrounded by the rush of invisible water. This simple structure makes the often ignored auditory sense seem startling and new.  

The pedestrian bridge spans the gap between "The Two Banks," a sign of solidarity between the French and German nations.

 

The German version of the Jardin des Deux Rives is no less interesting, but I’ll stick to the Strasbourg side for now. The Jardin’s counterpart is easily reached thanks to the white pedestrian bridge that spans the Rhine, providing effortless access between the two countries, no passport required. A stroll through a garden in France followed by a nice lunch in Germany, or vice versa, is a matter of course now, although half a century ago this would have been impossible due to cultural tensions.  

Pristine against the sky, the bridge resembles a massive white ship, supports spread like sails or wings across the river. Take whatever metaphor from this image that you wish; suffice it to say that the bridge is a gesture of brotherhood and goodwill between two nations who chose to take the past and bury it, cultivating color and imagination from the refuse.

Architecture tells a story. It is a story entirely dependent on context, on the time during which a building was built, the place in which it was purposefully constructed, and the generations who came before us to live there. In Strasbourg, you can’t walk through the streets without feeling the weight of the city’s architectural history. 

Let me see if I can give you an impression of what that history might look like. In Strasbourg, buildings that might be preserved as priceless historic landmarks, centuries old, are used and reused here as a matter of course. The French feel no need to tear down the old and erect the new in its place; why use energy and resources to construct glass buildings when the old plaster and beams work just fine? Instead, people focus on renovation and careful maintenance to keep their antique edifices as functional as when they were built. 

As a result of this architectural mindset, Strasbourg, it is needless to say, is old. Very old. After some inital settlement by prehistoric peoples and the Celts, a military base was constructed here by the Romans around 12 BC. After centuries of Roman activity, the budding town was invaded by a series of early European ethnic groups and settled more permanently into the city as it is seen today. The name “Strazburg” first began appearing in the ninth century. The rest, as they say, is history. The city would grow and flourish during its adoption into the Holy Roman Empire, throughout the Medieval period, the Renaissance, both World Wars, and up to the present day. 

A narrow, cobbled street winding away between closely packed shops, cafes, and apartments.

 

But you don’t need to know all of that in order to appreciate the sense of age and beauty that the city holds. The architecture will tell its own story, one that will invite the casual explorer to fill in the blanks. 

In Strasbourg, the buildings are crammed together side by side, long strings of edifices curving along the streets, wedged in wherever there is room. Built over centuries, the architecture varies: narrow buildings, two or three windows wide, will soar up alongside broad, multilevel structures whose floors and gables jut out over the street. 

Despite the differences in size and style, the buildings have similar features, giving the haphazard views a common theme. Facades are often plaster etched with geometric designs of crisscrossing wooden beams, giving each building a fascinating and artful texture. Buildings are painted in fanciful pastels: mint greens and muted yellows, soft pinks and periwinkle blues, all interspersed between the more frequent, dignified white. Windows are everywhere, complete with decorative sills and faded shutters. The roofs are steep, peaked, and shingled, sometimes bowed with weight and time. The streets, even the more modern ones that have been recently seamed by tram rails (the city’s favorite form of public transportation), are cobbled, creating a quaint but bruise-inducing surface for walking or biking. Larger thoroughfares are spidered by narrow side streets and back alleys. You’ll search hard to find a street that goes straight for any significant period of time; the roads twist and connect at random, forming circular patterns rather than standard city blocks. If there are two roads that pass on either side of a building, chances are that neither will lead you to the same place. 

Downtown Strasbourg has been compared to an island because of the canal that circles the inner-city area. Bridges of steel and stone, no two alike, span the canal at regular intervals; to stand on one bridge is to see three more in either direction. Walkways and bikeways have been constructed both above and alongside the canal, and the brickwork is studded with thick iron rings from the days when commercial ships (rather than touristic guide boats) would glide through the city in search of trade. Swans and ducks frequent the water, and at night the orange lanterns spray light over the surface in ripples that would rival any Monet painting. 

Water churns between the buildings that line the canal.

 

What else to say about the city? The cathedral, the “Notre Dame de Strasbourg,” is unquestionably the city center; it’s spire can be seen from most parts of the city, and is a great point of reference if you get lost in the winding alleyways. More on the cathedral, and other churches of Strasbourg, later. Parks and public courtyards are everywhere; the Orangerie, an estate-turned-park complete with manor house and a free zoo, is a prime example of art fused with history. More on that later as well. With all of the museums, biking and hiking paths, and other public places in Strasbourg, there will be plenty to talk about in the weeks to come. 

The story of Strasbourg is ongoing; the city, for all of its antique architecture, is a modern one with contemporary interests. The European Council, a feat of modernity, is located here, and the architecture of the University of Strasbourg is stark with glass and steel. But thanks to the city’s age and preservation, its layers of history create an interesting narrative for the explorer: how many steps has this eroded cobbled pathway endured? How many generations of families have occupied that flat over the bakery? What did they wear? What did they eat? How did they live? 

The answers, sketched in history, might be better left to the imagination. The imagination, in turn, is easily fueled by the architecture of Strasbourg.

Lounging in a tree on the way down the slippery winter slope of Mont Sainte-Odile

 

The Art of Travel.     

The book arrived in my hands months before my actual departure date. A slim blue volume, the title stamped in block letters over a gold-leaf pattern framed by the image of a cloud: required reading for all students planning on making the trip from our small liberal arts college in Kentucky to our school’s satellite campus in Strasbourg, France. I studied the author’s name at the bottom of the cover: Alain de Botton. A French-sounding name for a French-sounding place. Appropriate.     

I had nine months to read the book. I wouldn’t actually reach the last page until I was flying somewhere over the Atlantic, en route to France.     

My procrastination was probably for the best. De Botton’s insights into the “art” of the traveling lifestyle seemed more applicable in a crowded airplane than they did at the outset of a long and drowsy summer. Witty and eloquent, de Botton breaks down the idea of travel into five easily digestible parts, exploring the mindset, the motives, and the expectations of the would-be traveler. He advocates acute attention to detail over digital snapshots as a means of making memories,  and reminds his readers that worries and petty inconveniences may persist no matter what one’s location may be.     

It was an interesting read, that posed an even more interesting question: can there be an “art” to travel? What does the word “travel” really mean in the first place? De Botton begins his book by recounting  lengthy vacations to Barbados and other exotic locations, but ends by citing the example of Xavier de Maistre, whose carefully prepared trip around the confines of his bedroom inspired his published 1790 work, Journey around My Bedroom. Can such a journey–described in careful and avid detail–really constitute “travel?”     

And then there is the art. Art, the ultimate means of human expression, the unhindered flow of thought and emotion into an inexhaustible variety of mediums: drawing, painting, sculpture, architecture, music, dance, words–the list of creative endeavors goes on, and might be endless. How is art expressed in society–namely, the picturesque society of Strasbourg, France? What is its purpose? Why is it important?     

Broad questions with broad answers, but worth exploring in an abroad context, I think. I’m not an arts expert, but I do have a healthy appreciation for all things artistic. During my travels here in France, I’ll have some assistance in my exploration of the art found in Strasbourg thanks to a couple of the classes that I’ll be taking here: my Art History course will delve into the socio-economic and historical contexts of the local art and architecture here, while my Art of Walking course will combine discussions about Kant’s analysis of the beautiful with walks around the city.     

Art of Travel. Art History. Art of Walking. Art is just cropping up everywhere.     

And the city of Strasbourg is bursting with it. So I hope that you’ll come with me as I spend the next three months experiencing the art of travel firsthand, as well as traveling to find the art of Strasbourg.     

It should be an interesting trip.