Wildromantisch! (or what's in a word?)

   ...from a photographer's notebook

"Wildromantisch" - Zügenschlucht from Bärentritt, Canton Graubünden  ©Steve Ember

As someone who enjoys photographing wild, craggy, Alpine settings, there is a German word I really like – Wildromantisch.

 Wildromantisch!

Nothing more really than the German combination of “wild + romantic.” But, it’s so much more…evocative…than just one of those big, long German words made up of more than one component.

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A "Tender" Moment

...from a photographer's notebook

I love being behind a camera, whether the image the lens is capturing gets recorded on a digital sensor or a sprocketed strip of silver coated celluloid…whether I’m high up in the Alps or roaming about closer to home, trying out one of my “new” film cameras.

If there is one “frustration” in following my photographic muse, it is that I never seem to have enough time to edit all of my work when I return from a trip. At least, not all at once. But, as long as “Terabyte” and Poly-Sleeves and slide boxes are in the lexicon, I know the worthy images I do not deal with in short order will patiently await their turn for later discovery, sometimes with Christmas morning effects on the photographer.

There is a particular joy in “re-discovering” images that, in some ways, makes up for any frustrations of the “wish I had more time for this” variety. Sometimes, the “re-discovery” takes, er, decades. Such was the case when I bought my Nikon film scanner in the summer of 2009 so that I could bring my slide and negative images into a more modern workflow. Did I ever go on a tear that summer, diving into long-unopened boxes of slides and letting the ol’ Coolscan have its way with Kodachromes and Ektachromes and all-kinds-of-other-chromes, splashing their lovely little pixels on my screen for cataloging and tweaking. Oh, yes, and re-living the rich memories of travel (and other) experiences they embodied.

Sometimes, returning to a group of images can produce a genuine Eureka moment, leading to creating a new print for an exhibit, or perhaps a new Photo Note Card design. And sometimes, it’s just a smile-maker in seeing a detail I’d obviously overlooked in my first perusal of a set of images. That was the case here. Just a small detail, but I feel just a little Christmas-morning-ish as I look at it.

If you follow my work, especially on my Foto-Community pages, you are aware of my delight in shooting the trains of the Rhätische Bahn winding through the dramatic Alpine wonderland of Switzerland’s Canton Graubünden.

In early October 2011, during two glorious weeks of Alpine early autumn, I spent several days along the RhB, whether chasing trains or riding them and shooting out of open windows.

On this particular day, my Bündner-friends Beatrice and Ruedi and I were riding the vintage steam train on an all-day excursion from Landquart to Sumvitg, along the line to Disentis/Mustér. The trip was pulled by the RhB’s lovingly maintained steam locomotive No.107 “Albula” (named for a major route of the Rhätische Bahn system).

As much fun as it is to ride in vintage coaches behind a huffing, puffing Dampflok through such choice surroundings as the Vorderrhein Gorge (the Swiss Grand Canyon), for the photographer, the experience ratchets up well before stepping aboard the vintage carriages.

No.107, a Class G4/5 locomotive, was built in 1906. She remains spry and limber thanks to all the TLC she gets from her friends and, of course, the support of the Rhätische Bahn for these special excursions.

Here, the old gal makes a dramatic statement that is, I’m certain, the Bündner-Deutsch equivalent of “You ain’t seen nothing yet!” as she backs her train into the Landquart RhB station. Her coal tender is stacked high with a sufficient quantity of coal bags for the day- long adventure, and the steam issuing from her cylinders and the smoke and steam from her exhaust stack tell even the most casual trackside observer she “has what it takes!”

After returning from that Swiss visit in 2011, I posted several RhB images on my F-C pages (you can find them all in the “Rhätische Bahn” folder), including one capturing this same maneuver, from a Fujichrome transparency. 

But the reason this digital image jumped out at me when I returned this week to the folder containing that day’s shoot, has to do with that tender. And not the coal bags peeking out the top, either!

A "Tender" Moment on the Rhätische Bahn

While the vintage carriages of the Rhätische Bahn were dark green, as seen here, if you are familiar with present day RhB trains, you know they are a distinctive bright red (giving the railroad its sobriquet “Die Kleine Rote”). With such familiarity, one could draw the conclusion that, below the unglamorous coal bags in the tender was a vibrant, perhaps impressionistic, “mural” depicting those bright red trains, passing through a forest of evergreens, perhaps along the Albula Line, under the deep blue sky of a sunny day in the Graubünden Alps..

Nice thought, but you’d be wrong ;-)

What makes me really glad I poked around again in that folder is the serendipity created by the combination of lens angle, the ambient sunlight along the platform, and the fact that unseen across the platform from the vintage train, sat a conventional red consist of “Kleine Rote” carriages, just waiting to reflect along the flanks of the tender as ol’ 107 backed her train past.

Oh, heck, maybe I will call it a “kleine” Eureka-Moment.

©2013 Steve Ember

"A Tender Moment" is now available as a Photo Note Card. To see the design, and to see a higher definition image, please follow this link.

If Henry Higgins had horns...

Ahh, you’ve already guessed from the title that this post is going to be a far-ranging ramble, have you?

You’re correct, but if you come along, we’ll touch on such disparate (or not) elements as “My Fair Lady,” languages and dialects, ibexes, some recent photos, and a vignette or two dealing with some favorite places and experiences in Switzerland. 

It all started a couple of weeks ago, when I was editing some images from my October sojourn in the Swiss Alps – specifically when I posted the photo below on my pages on the European web site Foto-Community.

Normally, when I post a photo, especially a landscape, I tend to identify it by location, if not in the title, at least in my narrative. But this one was different, as it reminded me so vividly of a new word I learned on my trip…a term that immediately springs to mind when I remember the early autumn Graubünden afternoon in 2011 when I took the photo.

Patschifig

So…not a place, but a very special state of mind.

I first experienced it in 1989, in the autumn afternoon sunshine, high in the Bernina Range of Switzerland’s Canton Graubünden. I’d experience it again and again on future visits to my beloved Graubünden, in 1994 and 2010, whether riding the bright red trains of the Rhätische Bahn, hiking with my cameras in the Bündner Alps, strolling the cobblestone streets of ancient Chur, or reflecting on such activities at the end of the day, while dining on hearty Bündner Gerstensuppe (the regional barley soup) and other tasty fare.

I was certainly feeling “patschifig.” I just didn’t know it – yet!

Beatrice and Ruedi on the Heidsee

Until last October. Because, on that particular trip, I not only once again enjoyed my favorite region in Switzerland, but I got to do so, for the first time, with lifelong residents of Graubünden, my new Foto-Community friends, Beatrice and Ruedi. 
Beatrice decided it was time to "up the ante" on my rudimentary and somewhat rusty spoken German by coaching me not only in Schwyzerdütsch, but the Bündnerdialekt as well!

A Calandabräu or three in the shadow
of  the Calanda massif  chases away any
reserve trying out some Bündner-Sprache!

So, over heaping platters of Bündnerfleisch – along with ample amounts of Calandabräu (to chase away any last vestiges of reserve in trying out some of those initially intimidating “sounds”) – the classes in Bündner-Sprache took place.

And it was then that I finally learned the name for that easy-going, Gemütlich feeling of well-being I always experience the moment I arrive in Canton Graubünden -- Patschifig.

I’ve always had an ear for languages, and a facility for reasonably accurate pronunciation in the “foreign” varieties.  Helped me jump right into classical music radio as a young radio guy, as well as in my current occupation as an international broadcaster.

I also love getting into regional dialects – no surprise, perhaps, as I spent my impressionable youth in the city of Bawlmer, Murlin. So, yes, back before all-digit dialing, I actually spoke to Ma Bell teleph(a)one operators who provided numbers in the Mohawk exchange with dat-dere special Bawlmer pr(a)onunciation of “Melhawk.” Oh yes, if you’re wondering about th(a)ose “a’s” in parentheses, it’s simply ma ph(a)onetic way of explainin’ to yewse that certain denizens of the Queen City of the Patapsico drainage area, Baltimore, have a rather idiosyncratic diphthong-y way of pronouncing their o’s. And a uniquely glottal “fing” they dew wif dere “L’s,” tew, which defies a phonetic representation in print.

There, you’ve just had a teaser course in Bawlmerese. (Raosetta Staone, ah’m available, anytahm yewse wanna add a Bawlmerese course.)

OK, now you were warned this would be a ramble…

Small wonder, given this love of dialects and the barely suppressible habit of trying to place a person geographically from his or her first words, that my all-time favorite musical is “My Fair Lady.” Not only the superb music of Frederick Loewe combined with the lyric genius of Alan Jay Lerner, and of course the literary wit of GB Shaw (on whose “Pygmalion” the musical was based)…but Henry Higgins, the irascible (not saying I’m always irascible, mind you) dialectician and grammarian and scholar of the English language, who can immediately place a person with GPS-like accuracy based on the first words he utters.

Now that interest of mine in regional dialects – including the non-stop desire to emulate them – extends to European languages, especially German.

There are probably as many sub-varieties of German as are found in English, as spoken in North America. Indeed, an East Frisian fisherman from northwest Germany might encounter the same comprehension barriers in sunny Bavaria as, say, a Michigander finding himself in deepest Louisiana. And vice-versa, you heah?

Cast your ears beyond the German border into Austria, and you can add even more. Switzerland? Well, there, you’ll hear another set of takes on German: Schwyzerdütsch. Ah, but it doesn’t stop there. Not surprisingly, for a nation that grew out of many isolated communities separated by formidable Alps, and with a history going back to Roman Empire times, there is an unbelievably rich set of regional variations of language.

And, as you might imagine, I’ve been enjoying my exposure to the Bündnerdialekt heard in Canton Graubünden.

Are you lost yet as to where we’re going with this?

Consider “My Fair Lady.” It has seen native language productions worldwide. One of my favorites was the Theater des Westens Berlin production starring Swiss Actor Paul Hubschmid (Johnny Vulkan in “Funeral in Berlin,” by the by) as Henry Higgins, Karin Hübner as Eliza, and Alfred Schieske as Alfred P. Doolittle. The cast recording (conducted, incidentally, by the great Franz Allers, Music Director for all of the Lerner and Loewe shows on Broadway) is a hoot to listen to, especially considering the challenges of finding a German equivalent to the Cockney English of Eliza and her father Alfred P.  And an autocratic, irascible Henry Higgins auf Deutsch? Bravo, Paul Hubschmid! „Himmel, welche ein Geräusch!“ ("Heavens, what a noise!") as he reacts to the sounds of Cockney-auf-Deutsch.

But how did this production do in equally cosmopolitan and German speaking Vienna? Well, as good as it was, it bombed. Why? It wasn’t the German that is exactly the “Music of the Spheres” to Viennese ears. The sounds clashed with the sensibilities, or as Herr Hubschmid derisively declaimed, „Himmel, welche ein Geräusch!“

The solution, obviously, was a Viennese version. And, of course, new challenges, as the down and dirty dustman Alfred P. Doolittle would now, more appropriately, speak in a lowly Viennese dialect. He’d be more a sort of Frosch, the deliciously lowly “Schligowitz”-chugging jailer in “Die Fledermaus.” Now, for a bit of delicious irony, my all-time favorite Frosch, the versatile Viennese comic actor Josef Meinrad, played not Alfred P. Doolittle in the Viennese production, but HH himself!

Like the Berlin cast recording, also delicious, aber ein bisschen mehr Gemütlich!

Or, as my Graubündner friends Beatrice and Ruedi might say, „Patschifig!“

OK, guess it’s time now to explain the reference to a “horned” Henry Higgins.

I can not, at the moment at least, tell you anything about what sort of German language production of “My Fair Lady” might fly in Switzerland, although by now I am convinced it would be wickedly delicious if performed in Bündersprache.

And the closest I can approximate the experience would be this wonderful TV commercial for tourism in Canton Graubünden. I mentioned ibex as we set out as one of the elements upon which this ramble would touch. In Bündnerland, one does not call these splendid creatures ibex.  Here, the animal is called a Steinbock. Indeed, the Steinbock is nothing less than Graubünden’s Wappentier – its heraldic animal symbol. It is part of the cantonal crest one sees on the locomotives of the Rhätische Bahn, indeed on buildings all over the canton.

And, when it came time for a television ad campaign for this special region, they decided to use “spokesBocks,” as I call them. Most of their spots involve two seasoned male Steinböcke, Gian und Giachem, carrying on their conversations – in Bündnersprache, natürlich, high in the Bündner Alps.

But, perhaps my favorite, for the resonance it provides with “My Fair Lady” and the German language “differences” we’ve been tripping merrily around, is this one. Imagine an impatient Henry Higgins, als Steinbock – oops, Staibock – only his “student” is not Cockney Eliza learning her English vowels, but a young Steinbock from Zürich, who, try as he might, cannot master the Bündner way of speaking.

And I thought Bawlmerese was rich ;-)


If you'd like to view more of the Graubünden Travel spots with talking "Staiböcke" Gian and Giachem, check the links under my Patschifig photo on F-C.


Last October, I enjoyed a pleasant surprise of being able to shoot a group of young Steinböcke at an altitude of 10,000 feet on the Gornergrat. Of course, they were Valais (Walliser) Steinböcke, so I'm sure ol' Henry would have terrorized them with his lessons in Bündner-Sprache!

And If you’d like to see these magnificent furry mountain climbers in their natural habitat, check out this great video.


©2012 Steve Ember

A Misty (but vivid) Memory...

  ...from a photographer's notebook

Church and Evening Mists, Lower Engadin

When it comes to my beloved Canton Graubünden in southeastern Switzerland, looking at or rediscovering one of my images from years past often encourages the process of writing those “thousand words” a picture is said to be worth. 

Oh, you’re asking, “If it’s worth a thousand words, why do both?” Well, because the photo has a “back story” that informs much of my enthusiasm for Switzerland, Graubünden, the Alps...and if said image should receive gallery honors or other special notice, there's all the more desire to share it, as well as some memories relating to the visit that made for its creation.  

So, without regard to meeting, or exceeding, those “thousand words,” here are some memories from my very first visit to Graubünden – specifically, the region known as the Engadin. To be accurate, the Engadin is really two distinctly different regions – the Oberengadin (Upper Engadin) and the Unterengadin (Lower Engadin).  What is common to the Upper and Lower Engadin is the river that runs through both, and which gives both regions the “En” part of their names. That would be the River Inn. Yes, the same river that flows into Austria on its way to the Danube, and which gives Innsbrück (“Inn bridge”) its name. The Inn also meanders through portions of Bavaria on its scenic travels to the Danube.

Inn? En? Well, it makes perfect sense if you consider the oldest language spoken in the Engadin, to say nothing of greater Graubünden: Romansch.  Romansch can certainly make for some seemingly tongue-twisting place names along the routes of the Rhätische Bahn and the Post buses, but some Romansch is just enchanting.  For example Engiadina (Engadin is the German name) means “Garden of the En.” Er, Inn… 

I mentioned Upper and Lower Engadin being distinctively different. I’ll leave culture, customs, village pride, and other considerations to those with a more scholarly approach. But, as a photographer, a distinction that I relish is the variety of weather conditions and the different kinds of light one encounters and what they do for the Alpine panorama.  The Upper Engadin, typified by such places as St. Moritz, Pontresina, and Samedan, prides itself in its “Champagne Climate.” The south-facing slopes of the Alps benefit from mainly sunny and dry conditions – I believe the boast is that such conditions prevail over more than three hundred days of the year. 

On the other hand, one is more likely to find a greater incidence of mountain-moody weather when journeying into the Lower Engadin. And that has its own attraction to a mountain-loving photographer. 

“Church and Evening Mists, Lower Engadin” is special to me for the memories it brings. I mentioned it was taken during my very first visit to Graubünden. That is special in and of itself, as it started a tradition which (even though it did include a sixteen year interruption) I intend to keep up now with regularity. 

I’ve often written – in connection with Switzerland, especially – of the beneficial effects of serendipity, those unexpected confluences of fate or simple happenstance that can make for delightfully memorable travel experiences. 

One such instance of serendipity occurred in the autumn of 1989.  After riding the Glacier Express from Zermatt (in Canton Valais/Wallis) to St. Moritz and spending the first couple of nights there, I moved on to the village of Pontresina to spend the next few days. The Rhätische Bahn station at Pontresina is an inviting departure point for trips into the Bernina Range, even going as far as Tirano in Italy if one so desires. 

My plan on this quintessentially “Champagne Climate” day was to ride the Bernina Line to Diavolezza, there to embark on a photo hike on its snowy glacier. Actually, I wouldn’t enjoy Diavolezza’s dramatic vistas until the autumn of 2010, a visit during which I intended to celebrate my remaining stash of Kodachrome-25 slide film with the very best Alpine motifs I could arrange, while such film could still be processed. 

So, Diavolezza in ’89, nein; but Serendipity, jawohl! 

Doesn’t take reading too many of these rambles to know that your correspondent, in addition to being a camera-toter, is a train lover. Funny how such interests so often come together… 

So, there I am, aboard a Rhätische Bahn train, soon to depart Pontresina. Another bit of serendipity: I got distracted walking from my hotel down to the RhB station. Easily done in the Upper Engadin, where so many photo motifs beckon. So, this particular train will not connect with the photo hike group I was planning to hook up with.  But, well and good.  A travel credo of mine, which usually serves me well,  is that what I don’t see this time, I’ll certainly catch up with on a future visit.  Diavolezza, case in point! 

This RhB train had a make-up typical of the period. The lead car was actually also its “locomotive.” Thus, at the front of the car is the driver’s compartment. So, the irresistible urge to go up front and look at the controls, while waiting for the driver. 

As my Nikon-bedecked self is checking out the control cab of this Rhätische Bahn rail car, I become aware of another Nikon-bedecked presence on my left. “Do you like trains?” a friendly German-tinged voice has asked.  His name is Tom, obviously a kindred spirit in terms of trains and photography.  I’d quickly learn, a kindred spirit, as well, in terms of the Alpine lure of Graubünden. Tom is down from Germany, on vacation, with his wife Ello, and their dog Felix.

Tom asks where I’m headed, and I confess to having missed the train I’d planned to catch, and thus undecided as to destination. In that case, Tom asks, why not join him, Ello, and Felix for a hike. 

Rhätische Bahn Bernina Line train, including open "Aussichtswagen" cars, along Lago Bianco. Kodachrome ©1989 Steve Ember

Turns out, Tom is extremely well versed in the scenic delights along the Bernina Line, as well as this entire region of Switzerland. The three of us, along with our energetic four-legged companion, left the train at Ospizio Bernina, the highest station on the steeply climbing narrow gauge line and hiked along Lago Bianco ("White Lake," but actually an inviting shade of glacial moraine turquoise, nicely setting off the red trains, this day also carrying yellow "Aussichtswagen" open cars, of the RhB Bernina Line). From there, we make our way across the ridge line, taking in the mighty Bernina Range peaks and glaciers all around, to Alp Grüm. 

Hotel Belvedere, Alp Grüm - Kodachrome ©Steve Ember

There, on the sun terrace of the Hotel Restaurant Belvedere, in the inviting high altitude sunshine, we enjoyed a lunch of Bündnerfleisch, the Graubünden specialty of air dried meats, lots of hearty Swiss cheeses and bread, and toasted the scenery with a beer or three. Then, after looking down on the model train-like spiral curve leading up to Alp Grüm’s station, we boarded one of those open-air cars on a Rhätische Bahn train for the trip back to Pontresina. 

Tom and Ello had their car and invited me along for more Graubünden-exploration over the next few days. One such trip carried us over the Flüela Pass, at 7,818 feet/2,383 meters, connecting Susch in the Lower Engadin with Davos. An October blizzard on the Passhöhe added to the adventure.  Points of interest after the “early winter” on the pass included a charming little Unterengadin hotel restaurant in Zernez (where I remember enjoying my  very first Tiramisu (yummy start to another “tradition”) and the Inn village of Scuol. 

At Scuol, the road crosses a high bridge over the rushing, churning Inn. On a high bluff, overlooking the old town and the river is a church with a Romanesque stone tower . While we had left the snow on the Flüela Pass, traces of the storm were with us at the lower elevations, creating an evocative misterioso mood.  Indeed, the mists were swirling about the church on its commanding perch above the village. 

The image was captured on Agfachrome-100 slide film. I’ve written elsewhere of how purchasing my Nikon slide scanner in 2009 led to an ongoing rediscovery of my legacy film images.  This was one of them, and it came packed with memories. Thanks for indulging me and allowing me to share some here. 

My printer made a lovely 14x20 giclée capturing the atmospheric palette of this Lower Engadin moment from 1989. It has been selected for inclusion in the January 2012 exhibit at the Art League Gallery in Old Town Alexandria. If you are in the area, I’d like to invite you to the Artists Reception next Thursday evening, January 12. For more information, please phone the gallery at 703-683-1780. 

Oh, yes, that serendipitous meeting in the control cab of that Rhätische Bahn train started  an ongoing friendship – as well as solidifying my love for Graubünden, reaffirmed on many a repeat visit.   

Tom and I remain in touch, twenty three years later. On most of my succeeding trips,  whether to Switzerland or Germany, we’ve managed to link up to chase and shoot trains and the landscape, drink good beer, eat hearty meals, and raise our glasses to Graubünden, and, of course, the bright red trains of the Rhätische Bahn.

If you'd like to see more of my photos of the Engadin (Upper and Lower), other parts of Canton Graubünden, the trains of the Rhätische Bahn, and other aspects of Switzerland, please visit my work on FotoCommunity Once there, go to "To the Photos of..." and navigate the folders: Engadin, Swiss Alps, Rhätische Bahn, and Kodachrome!

Photos + Narrative ©2012 Steve Ember

A New Card Design, in time for the Holidays

    from a photographer's notebook...

During my Autumn 2010 visit to Switzerland's Canton Graubünden, I engaged in one of my favorite photographic pursuits - shooting the bright red trains of my favorite railway, the Rhätische Bahn amidst the stunning Alpine landscapes through which they run. I returned to Graubünden (and other regions of Switzerland) this past October for another wonderful stay, but time has been a precious commodity of late, so my photos might be a while in coming - and this little post is about honors for a particular image from last year's visit...

A  high point during the 2010 trip was shooting these trains on the magnificent Landwasser Viadukt, along the Albula Line of the Rhaetian Railway, incidentally a UNESCO World Heritage Site. The weather could not have been more cooperative, allowing me to shoot under consistently fine conditions on several days, whether from a high viewpoint overlooking the Landwasser or from the train.

One of my favorite views, especially from the standpoint of lighting and color was taken from the open window of a Rhätische Bahn Regio Express bound for St. Moritz, looking ahead to the Landwasser as we crossed another magnificent stone viaduct that spans the Schmittentobel.  There was something so satisfying in seeing  the Landwasser up ahead of us, and knowing that the changeable weather conditions along the Albula Line were, once again, going to cooperate as we crossed it.

The image being a favorite, I had a large display print made. I was delighted in learning this evening that "Approaching the Landwasser" was selected for the December All Media show at the Art League Gallery in Old Town Alexandria. It can be seen through the end of December in a large archival 24 x 16 inch print. If you're free this Thursday evening, please stop by for the Artists Reception and say hello (or Grüezi Wohl or Allegra if you prefer!) and I'll tell you everything you've ever wanted to know about my beloved Graubünden and the Rhätische Bahn!

Oh, and with "Approaching the Landwasser" being honored, I decided to add it to my line of custom printed Photo Note Cards.  So, if you're looking for an appropriate Holiday gift for the Alps and/or train lover on your list, do be in touch! The image above shows the card design.

And if you'd like to see a higher definition image, as well as other photos of the trains of the Rhätische Bahn in their wonderful Alpine milieu, and read about some of my adventures in shooting these images, please follow this link to my pages on Foto-Community. Once there, navigate the Rhätische Bahn, Engadin, Swiss Alps, and Kodachrome! folders.

©2011 Steve Ember