Since your trampess does not write of her adventures at home (now split between London and Miami Beach as those who remember the tramp’s “simplification” of their life into 3 parts from one, the third being nomadic), you are unaware of the revolution that has gone on in the trampess’s choice of footwear. This is, I hasten to add, not a foot revolution that affects the finer shoes in life, which the trampess remains as much addicted to as any red blooded American or European female. No, no I speak of functional footwear (the kind that goes with wicking hiking clothes, or the latest running shorts). And just as there has been a revolution in athletic wear (merino wool notwithstanding), so has there been in footwear. It all comes down to Kenyans and barefoot running. It seems that it is unnatural for man (or any running animal) to run on anything but the forefront of the foot. But running shoes, which are bigger and bulkier than ever, have been building support and additional cushioning for the heels. Why? To reduce the impact of full weight landing on the heels which happens as runners try to increase speed by lengthening their stride. While all this additional shoe protects the heel, it doesn’t change the way the muscles and the joints work when the body lands heel first which is both hard on the joints and puts more strain on the small muscles (in front of the shin) instead of letting the big muscles of the calf and thigh absorb the landing. Result: shin splints and bad knees. The solution: run barefoot (try it, you can’t possibly run on your heels, you naturally run on the balls of your feet). Of course, running barefoot if you have delicate feet or don’t want to risk the dirt, broken glass and God only knows what else might be lurking on the ground, is not a very happy prospect. The solution? Five finger barefoot running shoes. And if you are hiking, five finger barefoot trekking shoes. Obvious, no?
Well, not really, but having seen the trainers at Canyon Ranch tripping around in their, it has to be said, very strange looking shoes precipitated the trampess’s curiosity and she attended the Running 101 class which explained the anatomy of running, and also put forward the case for barefoot running. After the trampess wrote up her notes and emailed them to the tramp (who was of course sitting only a few yards away such is the way communication in a modern family works), it was agreed that they would drive to south Miami in search of these miracle shoes. (It is possible to order them online but the fit is crucial and until one knows one’s size and has experimented a bit with the strange feel of multiple cloven feet, it is probably wiser to find a shop where one can try them on). The tramps came away with two pairs each (it’s a long drive and there is no point in making it twice): one for running and gym activities and one for hiking. It is important (very important) to learn to run again – slowly, by which I mean 100 yards jogging, 100 yards walking and eventually build up to sustained running. The trampess followed these instructions carefully on her first run (a morning run along the boardwalk with several other running enthusiasts and the trainer – your trampess and the trainer being the only five finger wearers in the group). Her second run was on New Year’s Day early in the morning (the tramps do not stay up on New Year’s eve and the tramp sons met up with friends who were in town for the Orange Bowl so no need for the trampess to celebrate en famille and break her early to bed routine). Not surprisingly, to the tramp sons, your trampess was the only one to turn up. So she and the trainer went together – in their barefoot shoes. The trainer, knowing that the trampess is not a wimp and had run a marathon not that long ago, decided to up the pace a bit. The trampess, not wishing to appear wimpish, gave it her all. (Tramp son 1 later pointed out, as only a Yale educated lawyer can, that 100% is not the same as 80% which is what the trainer had asked for). It was a wonderful bit of interval training for the first half hour but as we neared the end I felt a pain in my left foot. Not horrendous but definitely in the not very pleasant category. I mentioned this and we jogged slowly back. It seems I had strained the tendon. Not good. It would have healed more quickly if I had followed tramp son 4’s advice to RICE immediately (rest, ice, compress, elevate) – as all good rugby players know. Not being a good rugby player (or a rugby player at all), I thought a little ice and a little rest would be enough. Sigh, will mothers never learn to trust the wise advice of their children? Back to short intervals and a long build up!
Meanwhile back in the alps, the five finger barefoot trekking shoes do not require such careful breaking in, and your trampess assaulted her first mountain with ease, though the tramp insisted that she carry her very heavy, leather hiking boots in her backpack just in case. On the principle that the heavier the backpack is, the more calories one is likely to burn carrying it, the trampess agreed. Besides before the first hike she had not established empirically that the hiking shoes did not need a breaking in period (though the thought of changing shoes every 100 yards didn’t seem a plausible proposition and since hiking is not running it is hard to imagine what the breaking in would look like other than that). I continue to carry them just in case: coming down might be harder than going up (going uphill is a natural forefoot action, going down hill is definitely not); there could be snow at the top and the combination of socks and heavy shoes might be welcome etc etc, but so far, none of those has proved to be the case so I rely on burning extra calories as sufficient reason (of course you might argue that I am not carrying extra weight – if I were wearing the shoes I would simply be carrying the weight on my feet not on my back, but I think the fact that both shoes are on the back while one foot is always resting on the ground means that the weight of at least one shoe is extra). Psychologically of course, there is no doubt that the extra weight in the backpack surely means extra weight is being carried and is no doubt the cause of the trampess’s improving slenderness.
What I have not yet mentioned is the reaction of the natives to five finger barefoot shoes and how wearing them has improved my German and increased the number of my hiking acquaintances. (Nor have I mentioned the excitement of trying to get each toe into a separate compartment – it’s a little like trying to get babies feet into over the ankle shoes: it was always my experience that they curled up their toes and you just couldn’t get their feet into the shoes! One had to be very fast or very clever to outwit the babe. These are a little the same: one has the advantage of wanting to put the shoe on, but not necessarily the cooperation of each toe. Still after about 5 minutes of hiking the toes spread out into the shoes as though they had always wanted to be in that sort of a shoe and not any other).
People do stare; sometimes they even jump in astonishment (this usually happens in the lift down the mountain when they are idly staring at the ground and suddenly notice 10 grey toes staring at them); most ask, any shyness overcome by extreme curiosity. The universal question is (after all any shoe that dares call itself barefoot – an oxymoron if there ever was one – has to be very light: stretchy technical fabric on top, a light rubber sole with noughts and crosses on the bottom with a bit of rubber curling over up and over each toe – useful if one trips – not that one would in shoes which must be not unlike moccasins that the Indians wore – in fact I often imagine myself now in a James Fennimore Cooper novel as I hike through the woods up a mountain): but what about stones? Don’t you feel the stones? Well, as I explain in my best German, one does feel them but not in a bad way just in a sort of I know you are there but it doesn’t hurt way. Unless of course, unwittingly, one steps on a rather pointed stone just in the middle of one’s arch. (You can hear my vocabulary increasing already, can’t you?) Not pleasant but worthy of no more than a mild expletive. Of course, it is not enough to explain that stones are not the problem one might think, one has to explain why one is wearing just ostensibly crazy shoes.
The two most exciting encounters occurred at the two opposite ends of the age spectrum. On the first occasion as I was racing to make it to the lift on time (the tramp and I thought we could starting at the same time wind up on the same lift down with him going to the middle station and me to the top – while I am faster I am not that much faster – but I try at least to be only one lift, ie 30 minutes, behind) and just as I over took a mother and two children (having given a polite Gruess Gott! as I passed) I was called – plaintively even – to come back. The mother begged me to show and explain my shoes to her astonished children (who perhaps thought I was the devil or some equally forbidding modern monster). What could I do? One cannot leave children in the dark. I missed the lift (and had an espresso as a reward while waiting for the next one) but had a most engaging conversation with two very curious children. The second occasion was waiting for the lift. An older couple were occupying the bench while also waiting. The woman looked down at my shoes and exclaimed the usual, what kind of shoes are those???? As I started talking she reached down and touched my toes (not typical Germanic behaviour – I mean one expects people who speak German to behave with a certain – uh – formality which does not include touching another person’s toes!). I laughed and explained that the rubber of the soles (which I showed her – also not done in some cultures but we had clearly broken all taboos here) curves over the top of the toes no doubt to protect from stubbing in case of a stumble. By this time others arrived (the lift was due) and the whole group was now engaged in lively five finger shoe conversation (and my vocabulary increased yet again geometrically!).
The only totally po-faced encounter occurred when your trampess was walking past one of the high pasture farmers. He looked at my feet; I repeated my now oft used refrain “Funf Finger Barfuss wandern Schue” and he replied, “ja wie Tiere” and went on working. So there you have it, I am simply walking like the average animal – which is, as the five finger barefoot shoe website will tell you, exactly how I should be. Never underestimate a simple farmer’s ability to cut through to the core of a matter!
Tuesday, 17 May 2011
Thursday, 12 May 2011
A Sleeper in Cologne and at Long Last – the Alps!
The original plan was to go back to the Ludwig Museum (outstanding building, important German expressionist paintings) but your trampess read in her guide book that it was only recently that the collections of the Ludwig family and Ferdinand Franz Wallraf had been separated that that each was now in its own museum. The Wallraf-Richartz-Musuem (Richartz having funded the first building) was in a new building finished in 2001. If the Ludwig Museum merits a visit the WRM merits a dedicated journey - quite possibly the best museum of its kind your trampess has ever been to. The tramps spent a full 4 hours in the museum (with a break for lunch) – while the trampess has a higher tolerance, the tramp’s normal preferred time span in a museum is 1 hour on the basis of maximum concentration, maximum benefit, and no visual fatigue. He is more than willing to return, but unlikely to stay much longer. Four hours is a statement. The hanging is superb, the explanations are interesting and on different levels (both historical and technical), the paintings are clean and well lit, the composition of each room is well conceived, the path through each floor is clear and the sequence of floors makes sense (well it is Germany – but after the gross disappointment of Hamburg . . .). Oh, and by the way every room is a different colour selected perfectly to match the period and the paintings in the room.
The tramps spent 2 hours on the first floor alone and began to wonder if they would have time to see the whole collection. On the other hand if the rest was anything like the first floor there was no question that they would stay til closing time (or later if the guards didn’t forcibly throw us out). Instead of being numbered (though they are that as well), the rooms are each titled, and while at first blush the titles may seem a little more like advertising headlines, they are in fact very apposite and enticing. The first floor (there are three) covers the Middle Ages (we spent 2 hours there!) and begins with The Invention of Art and proceeds onward. For example, the 4th gallery is Beauty as Style and has a number of crucifixions (with sub-headings such as Multimedia in the Middle Ages, and the Lead and the Extras – explaining how a great number of people, not necessarily from the period, come to surround the crucifixion, and what they represent). And on to the Baroque floor and then the 19th century floor.
The tramp was sent at the end of his 4 hours to the museum shop to find suitable gifts for the young children of the family we stay with in Austria (a really good museum almost always has a really good gift shop and this on was no exception), while the trampess dashed down to the special exhibition in the basement: Alexandre Cabanel – The Tradition of Beauty – with exhibition architecture by Christian Lacroix. What, one has to ask oneself, is exhibition architecture and what is a dress designer doing in a serious museum? Cabanel, it turns out, was the Alma Tadema of France – sumptuous paintings in a pre-Raphaelite style of ancient myths and contemporary heroes and great beauties from all ages (including, of course, Cleopatra). I raced through knowing that the tramp would be chomping at the bit. As I was about to dash out, the guard grabbed me (not the normal sort of behaviour from a museum guard, but then this is no ordinary museum) and told me I had missed a room. OMG how could I (I had hoped he hadn’t timed my whiz ‘round as he surely would have thought me the Philistine of Philistines, not realising I was beginning my fifth hour)??? I thanked him and dutifully went in the direction he pointed. I am still not sure why Lacroix was necessary (maybe he helped fund the exhibition?) but what was clear was that this was every bit as fantastic in every way as the rest of the museum, basement exhibition or no. What is impressive about the whole WRM is the total quality of content, description, and display. As the tramp related over supper that night, he looked (but really looked) at every single painting. Have you ever said that about any museum?? So it was not totally surprising that the tramp, proud of the presents he had found, also asked, somewhat sheepishly, since he is opposed to buying any books any more (as opposed to books on Kindle which he has the trampess order with abandon) if it was, please, all right to buy the catalogue - explaining that it had every picture and every wall text (all of which are in both German and perfect, literate English). Since it is not the trampess that has banned book buying, it was pretty easy to say yes especially since he wanted the English version. So all in all a stunning experience. And so stunning that there was no time for much else – some shopping was squeezed in (Cologne is an easy place to spend money and it was good that our shopping time was severely curtailed by our cultural dedication) before heading back to the WLW.
The next morning after an early breakfast, the WLW headed in total confidence torward Mellau. If there is one village we know how to reach without 5 maps, both GPS systems geared up, and the trampess on the verge of a nervous breakdown, it is Mellau. So with Parsifal in our headphones we set off. (Please note the perfect choice of music for the pre-Easter rush to the mountains.) The arrival was as easy and happy as anticipated. Presents were pulled out the bag from the WRM for the children (which they immediately – and most satisfyingly – began to play with) and a bottle of wine was handed over to our friends; another was opened and the prospect of long days in the mountains and no more struggles with maps or GPS systems or unplanned factory visits lay before us. Of course, nothing but nothing ever goes as smoothly as one hopes and the first small obstacle thrown in our path (others were to follow) was that the local lift does not begin to operate until the 1st of June. But happily, the new lift (which last summer was closed for much needed refurbishment) in Bezau is already zooming up and down the mountain (what determines the different opening dates for the spring season of two villages approximately 2 miles apart? Do they have different ski seasons as well??? Did they simply agree that the new lift in Bezau was so expensive that it should have a clear 2 months of revenue before neighbouring villages with higher peaks started to compete in the supply of lifts????). While the lift was running in Bezau it was not yet the official spring season – so a trip from the top of Baumgarten down to the parking lot (my daily hike is to the top station) is 10 euros!!! From the middle station, the cost is a mere (!) 5 euros (the tramp’s preferred hike). Since a season ticket is 40 euros and goes until October, this is clearly hiking robbery! A family of about 10 (from grandparents to grandchildren) were a little stunned when they got on at the middle station and said they wanted to ride to the top, but were told they had to ride down to the bottom to buy full tickets for the journey (so much for encouraging exercise in the great outdoors! Or maybe it is designed to encourage exercise – hike up, hike down, attain total fatigue and maximum calorie outlay.) Luckily extravagance was mitigated by a 10 point ticket (effectively giving a 20% discount) and a long weekend in Zurich for a family wedding! But not before a few adventures.
The tramps spent 2 hours on the first floor alone and began to wonder if they would have time to see the whole collection. On the other hand if the rest was anything like the first floor there was no question that they would stay til closing time (or later if the guards didn’t forcibly throw us out). Instead of being numbered (though they are that as well), the rooms are each titled, and while at first blush the titles may seem a little more like advertising headlines, they are in fact very apposite and enticing. The first floor (there are three) covers the Middle Ages (we spent 2 hours there!) and begins with The Invention of Art and proceeds onward. For example, the 4th gallery is Beauty as Style and has a number of crucifixions (with sub-headings such as Multimedia in the Middle Ages, and the Lead and the Extras – explaining how a great number of people, not necessarily from the period, come to surround the crucifixion, and what they represent). And on to the Baroque floor and then the 19th century floor.
The tramp was sent at the end of his 4 hours to the museum shop to find suitable gifts for the young children of the family we stay with in Austria (a really good museum almost always has a really good gift shop and this on was no exception), while the trampess dashed down to the special exhibition in the basement: Alexandre Cabanel – The Tradition of Beauty – with exhibition architecture by Christian Lacroix. What, one has to ask oneself, is exhibition architecture and what is a dress designer doing in a serious museum? Cabanel, it turns out, was the Alma Tadema of France – sumptuous paintings in a pre-Raphaelite style of ancient myths and contemporary heroes and great beauties from all ages (including, of course, Cleopatra). I raced through knowing that the tramp would be chomping at the bit. As I was about to dash out, the guard grabbed me (not the normal sort of behaviour from a museum guard, but then this is no ordinary museum) and told me I had missed a room. OMG how could I (I had hoped he hadn’t timed my whiz ‘round as he surely would have thought me the Philistine of Philistines, not realising I was beginning my fifth hour)??? I thanked him and dutifully went in the direction he pointed. I am still not sure why Lacroix was necessary (maybe he helped fund the exhibition?) but what was clear was that this was every bit as fantastic in every way as the rest of the museum, basement exhibition or no. What is impressive about the whole WRM is the total quality of content, description, and display. As the tramp related over supper that night, he looked (but really looked) at every single painting. Have you ever said that about any museum?? So it was not totally surprising that the tramp, proud of the presents he had found, also asked, somewhat sheepishly, since he is opposed to buying any books any more (as opposed to books on Kindle which he has the trampess order with abandon) if it was, please, all right to buy the catalogue - explaining that it had every picture and every wall text (all of which are in both German and perfect, literate English). Since it is not the trampess that has banned book buying, it was pretty easy to say yes especially since he wanted the English version. So all in all a stunning experience. And so stunning that there was no time for much else – some shopping was squeezed in (Cologne is an easy place to spend money and it was good that our shopping time was severely curtailed by our cultural dedication) before heading back to the WLW.
The next morning after an early breakfast, the WLW headed in total confidence torward Mellau. If there is one village we know how to reach without 5 maps, both GPS systems geared up, and the trampess on the verge of a nervous breakdown, it is Mellau. So with Parsifal in our headphones we set off. (Please note the perfect choice of music for the pre-Easter rush to the mountains.) The arrival was as easy and happy as anticipated. Presents were pulled out the bag from the WRM for the children (which they immediately – and most satisfyingly – began to play with) and a bottle of wine was handed over to our friends; another was opened and the prospect of long days in the mountains and no more struggles with maps or GPS systems or unplanned factory visits lay before us. Of course, nothing but nothing ever goes as smoothly as one hopes and the first small obstacle thrown in our path (others were to follow) was that the local lift does not begin to operate until the 1st of June. But happily, the new lift (which last summer was closed for much needed refurbishment) in Bezau is already zooming up and down the mountain (what determines the different opening dates for the spring season of two villages approximately 2 miles apart? Do they have different ski seasons as well??? Did they simply agree that the new lift in Bezau was so expensive that it should have a clear 2 months of revenue before neighbouring villages with higher peaks started to compete in the supply of lifts????). While the lift was running in Bezau it was not yet the official spring season – so a trip from the top of Baumgarten down to the parking lot (my daily hike is to the top station) is 10 euros!!! From the middle station, the cost is a mere (!) 5 euros (the tramp’s preferred hike). Since a season ticket is 40 euros and goes until October, this is clearly hiking robbery! A family of about 10 (from grandparents to grandchildren) were a little stunned when they got on at the middle station and said they wanted to ride to the top, but were told they had to ride down to the bottom to buy full tickets for the journey (so much for encouraging exercise in the great outdoors! Or maybe it is designed to encourage exercise – hike up, hike down, attain total fatigue and maximum calorie outlay.) Luckily extravagance was mitigated by a 10 point ticket (effectively giving a 20% discount) and a long weekend in Zurich for a family wedding! But not before a few adventures.
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