The Soviet Union - The Evil Empire

Yesterday - my wife was out at the local gym session - I switched to the TV channel ARTE and saw the docu-fiction "Stalin-Molotov, the tyrant and his double".

The Soviet Union disappeared from the map in 1990 and nowadays it is nearly never mentioned anymore. But to me this state means a lot, the Soviet Union accompanied practically my entire life!




When I was born, the communist SU and Nazi Germany, The Third Reich, were mortal ennemies. Looking back on this I can't help thinking they hated each others guts so much because they had a lot of things in common.

I am born in Berlin and spent my youth there. At that time, after the Second World War, the city was divided. And this dividing line, The Wall, marked the border between the Communist East , sponsored and maintained by the Soviet Union and the Western World, as we called it at that time.

Like everybody else, everywhere, I lived my life. But the impression lingered on: we are being observed by a snake that waits patiently - and sometimes less patiently - to gobble us us, me included. Those who are older may remember those sayings "better red than dead" and the other one "better dead than red".

Years later, after my military service, I decided to take a break, have a sabbatical, and I went to India.

I had some money saved but not a big heap, so I hitchhiked and passed by cars or trucks through Yougoslavia, Greece, Turkey, Iran, Afghanistan and Pakistan. All countries I crossed - in Europe and Asia - had something in common: up north was the Soviet Union. I covered thousands of miles but up North was the big entity ready to rake me in, whenever possible.

In Afghanistan I even met Russians. At that time Afghanistan was still a kingdom but also something like a colony in waiting, ready to be gobbled up. The Russians there, in the Northern and Western part of the country were doing some development work there, kind of NGO's, probably with a hidden agenda, like all great powers.



That was the time of the Cold War and thus the US Americans were present in the Kandahar region. Looking back, thinking back, I wonder if those two ever met and talked it over............

Many, many years later, I lived in Paris and managed to pass a little holiday in Bruges/Belgium, one of the most beautiful town I have ever seen. In the street someone talked to me and said "The Berlin Wall has fallen". I could not believe it. This wall and the Soviet Union behind it seemed everlasting to me.

Now this is already twenty years in the past. The mighty Soviet Union, the nightmare of millions and millions of people, lasted only 70 years!

And what will remain of it in hundred or two hundred years: probably not much more than a footnote or some lines in history books.

Wikileaks and the national interests

Wikileaks: big hullabaloo about secrets of state, gone public. Thank you. We are being entertained by the US government, free of charge and at prime time. And not only this: many secondary choirs and solo singers give their best .

Sure, not everybody likes it. Some shit green or yellow. They stand there naked and exposed when - a moment before - everything looked so wonderful.

About 150 years ago, the German philosopher Friedrich Wilhelm Nitzsche said this: "State is the name of the coldest of all monsters. Coldly it tells lies and this crawls out of his mouth: I, the State, am the people".

Those in power, everywhere or nearly everywhere, tell us they are busy for the common good and acting in the national interest. That might be partly true but only partly.

When I hear the word "State" I am thinking not about a cold monster but about a huge bureaucracy that never sticks its head out but its members most certainly have interests. Permanent interests. Interests for soft life, money coming their way, influence and power and all this with as little responsibility as possible for their doings hence the need for secrecy, anonymity and hypocrisy to make it happen.

There is no such thing as an abstract body called STATE. There are only people who have chosen to hide their actions behind this word.

When we hear the "national entertainers" from here and there, let's think about this a moment before applauding those brilliant and convincing speeches.

The new aristocrats

On the left side: "we are fed up" and on the right side: "we are on strike"


A friend once said to me, France means three things to him: Paris, wine and strikes. Well, that's putting it into a nutshell. I have been living here now for over 25 years and I can testify there is more to it.

But there is no denying it: strikes are aplenty over here. What is less well known is the fact that it's always the same people who are on strike: the state employed teachers, the National Railway people and public transport in general. The public sector in general at all levels, state, cities, any kind of administration plus those companies that have at least strong ties with the public sector (the State being an important shareholder or so).

And when they have finished one of those stikes their speakers ask for compensation - meaning the salary paid in full - and if there is some hesitation to grant this, there is pronto another strike.

Good old Karl Marx's definition of strikers "people who have nothing to loose than their chains" is really an old hat.

These happy strikers are not the downtrodden poor, they are our aristrocrats and consequently, we have to feed them! As the aristocrats of old, they have prerogatives and special rights, like a secure job unless you kill father, mother and your boss, few hours of work, garanteed days of illness (oh yes, in some public sectors), 7 weeks of holidays per year at a minimum, pension at 55 or 58 at the latest with a monthly amount identical to the last salary.

When you talk to a civil servant, they always tell you how little they earn. But they never mention the numerous bonuses they get, for having children, for not working or living in the place where they have been engaged, three days of paid leave for one child that is ill and so on, and so on, paying less for their pensions than the private sector but getting more in the end.....

And there is another similarity with the pre-revolutionary aristocrats: they are not thankful for being fed by the taxpayer who pay their salary, their pension and their workplace.

I have been late at my job because of the railway strikes. I got sacked due to the railway strikes. The only solution for me is to die but even this I can't do because of the railway strikes!

The only exception to all this, as far as I know, is the police, they don't go on strike, they work long hours in frequently dangerous surroundings and they are grossly underpaid. The other exception is the people working in the public health sector, doctors, nurses etc. Long hours of work, unpaid overtime, stressful surroundings.

Here, the trade unions are very small compared to other countries. And their members are nearly exclusively "busy" in the public sector. Therefore, they have plenty of time to walk the streets shouting slogans and having a good time. When it rains they are less numerous. Nearly any reason is good for a strike here or there and when they are being asked you generally hear it's for the common good. Those striking teachers and public transport people see themselves as a kind of vanguard. They show us the way and do what we can't do. Thank you!

Small universe

September, 22, last day of a glorious Summer. Walking round the house, in the Sun, I thought what a happy life. No more city dwelling for me, surrounded by concrete, noise and bad air.



This is a big garden and I have the privilege to live there. Sure, I own the place but all the other inhabitants, the plants, birds, squirrels and so on happily ignore this. They live their own life and I try to have a light footprint.

The above apple tree is a tree baby. I planted it a year ago because the original tree was uprooted by a small cyclone. Thanks to global climate change, we had our first whirlwind ever over here, two years ago. Say hello to Oklahoma/USA.




The previous owner lodged his little dog in there. Now it is empty but I keep repairing it because of the roof. Those stone shingles are typical for the region. You need huge beams to support the weight of those stones. A normal roof would simply collapse under its weight.




Meet Mister Atlantic Cedar, cedrus atlantica. He is twice as big as the house but only slighly older. At least, that's what I suppose because hundred years ago this was grassy farmland for the cows. And peasants don't plant cedar trees! Let's hope he will never fall on the house. But in this area, the big storms always come from the South-West, never from the North-East...............




That's hard to believe, but they grew right here! These lepiota (in Latin macrolepiota procera - parasol mushroom) have a wonderful taste. Just put them in the frying pan like a steak if it is open. Add some butter. After frying, add some salt and pepper and then iam, iam.





Great to look at, don't know what happened when I made the second photo but I could not resist. Home-made abstract art, painting with light. And in this time of the year, the birds feast on them. End of October, the flowers are empty shells, not a single grain left.




Still life in a shady corner behind our "doll house". A good place to sit on a day with blazing sunshine, 40°C (or 104°Fahrenheit).




Same place as before, just another angle of view. Fuchsia flower. See the wooden door in the rear. I made it.





During the warm months, a frog is living there. And the second day I installed the little pond, some water fleas settled there. Where did they come from? Where did they live before? Another mystery.

A little excursion into paleobiology

I like science. I am interested in it. Any science, or nearly because there is science and science. You can study subjects at a university that may be worthwhile but only remotely related to science. So you can become a major in political science meaning you have got some coaching and training to con people into believing you will do something for them.

Or you can study theology so as to be mentally equipped to become a priest, a bishop, mullah, ayatollah, rabbi. Fully trained to speak convincingly about a specific eternal truth. However, you cannot study for a degree in animist religion, cargo cult (invented in Borneo), scientology, vodoo. Not yet. No, you cannot become a Science Major in Louisiana or Haitian Vodoo. That's a pity but so it is, for the time being!

No, the kind of science I am interested in are those branches where people try to find out, to understand, to improve.

Well, sorry, the stuff above is a digression. The subject right now is paleobiology, linked to evolution of animals and plants. People working in this field try to find out the evolutionary history of life.

The point I am interested in is the extinction of the dinosaurs about 65 Million years ago. There was this big comet crashing somewhere on this unhappy planet and wham, all the dinos died. Those living on the land, on the ground and in the air and those living in and under the water.

In a nutshell: I don't believe it. Some must have survived. Why shouldn't they? The sharks exist for more than 400 Million years and they managed to stay with us. Same for the crocodiles that crawl around for about 200 Million years and they are still here. So why only the dinosaurs vanished totally in a very short time?

So my idea is that though most died when this killer planet made Mother Earth dive into a long Winter, some survived and carried on. I am even convinced the first humans must have met some of those last dinosaurs, the biggies, kind of Tyrannosaur, I suppose.

Why I think that? Because in all civilizations there is talk of dragons. And when you look at pictures of those dragons one frequently sees a kind of big, snake-like lizard with big claws.

Here, please look at this Chines bronze showing how these people imagined a dragon.




And this one is a German engraving showing Hercules slaying the Hydra, the ancient Greek mythological dragon.





This is the Klagenfurt Lindworm. Well, I don't think that proves anything but I show it nevertheless because this is a beautiful stature. However, if you have a look at the old coat of arms of that city, the dragon there looks very convincing.




This last sculpture shows a very impressive dragon on the Kaiserbrücke in Mains/Germany.


This is a bit out-of-the-way subject. I wonder if I have convinced anybody and some of my readers might think "I don't care". Sure, right or wrong, nothing changes either side. But the same is true for evolution vs. creation. However, the outcome of this little quarrel might have huge implications.

Lawyers - the scourge of our time

In the year 8 at the time of the Roman Emperor Augustus, Germanic tribes destroyed three Roman legions during a battle that lasted several days. Those tribal people must have had a red-hot hatred against lawyers, called "legal pleaders" at that time. Lucius Annaeus Florus tells the story thus: "They sewed up his mouth after first cutting out his tongue, shouting: at last, you viper, you have ceased to hiss".

Sorry to say that but I love that story. Two thousand years have passed but the quality of those millions of "legal pleaders" has not improved.


Do you believe in God? - Depends on the client

Nearly all Western parliaments are swamped with lawyers of all kind. Due to their efforts, nearly everything is complicated, they are churning out laws, orders, edicts, rulings, regulations.

Generally ambiguous, those laws have the merit to keep busy and well paid that army of legal experts, feeding on the people like leeches.



As to me, I cannot change this situation. But at least I have made a solemn private oath never to vote for anyone who has a legal profession. There are hands you cannot cut off but at least nobody can oblige you to kiss it.

I have been told that in the USA lawyers sometimes contact people after an operation just to find out if there is a possibility to sue someone for money. We are not yet there but will have the same situation within the next ten years.





Right now there is a shortage of engineers and scientists in many Western countries. On the other hand, students of law are aplenty, studying to become parasites of their own and hoping to haul it in big.

A country functioning without rule of Law and security makes life a misery for everybody with the exception of some strongmen. But this cancer-like proliferation of litigations could well be our undoing.

Behind this big screen of legal safeguards lurks the real lawlessness. Just listen to the news.

How to become a tree hugger

This is my new paraglider. Swiss made, called Epsilon 6 and I am eager to get my first flights under the belt.

Here I am in the Dordogne valley, about a fortnight ago. The wind was quite strong, a bit too strong to be honest. Look at the wind sack, filled like sausage.

There was another paraglider pilot and the chap didn't hesitate a moment to prepare for take-off. He had some difficulties to launch but finally he made it in the air. His example made me decide to go as well.

First, I managed to lift off in spite of the strong wind. Here, I have already gained the first foot of height. Just lifting off.




Unfortunately, I made a mistake. Instead of speeding up (hands up at head level) I was braking (hands at hip level). Consequence, I was flying backwards, and in no time, I was back on Mother Earth

have a look



Being on the ground, the canopy above and behind me, I could not do very much. Du to the wind I was dragged backwards. Two or three seconds later the glider wrapped itself around this young oak tree and I came to rest near its trunk.



My flight was over. All I had to do was to disentangle the canopy and this I did.
It took me about an hour of intense work. A little later another pilot came and helped me from below.



Those photos were made by the wife of the airborne pilot. Thanks to Odile's photographic skills this little incident is thoroughly documented for the posterity. She proposed to send me some pics and I gave her my e-mail address. And she kept her word.



A paraglider is a high-tech machine, made of cloth and lines. To disentangle the stuff from a tree requires patience, lots of it. Don't tear on the lines, don't tear on the canopy. Patience, patience. The idea was to roll the glider right in the tree before getting in down all together. Fortunately, someone was helping me.



I don't even know his name. But we met yesterday before yesterday at the same site and I thanked him again for his help. If I meet him a third time, I'll ask his name. It's useless to propose a glass of beer in a pub, there is absolutely nothing near Mound Mercou. Just trees.

Friendly people.

Number 2 - Escaping death by a hair breadth

It seems I feel like adding one more post on this subject. But not chronologically, let's jump to the 1945 event "The School Yard Slaughter". The last of my near death experiences that happened during the Second World War.

My mom could not stand those daily bombings any longer. My father had a weak heart and was thus not drafted into the armed forces. But in 1945, the last months of this war, they took everybody who was at least able to crawl and he left for the militia (Volkssturm).


Old people reading the announcement that they are being called into the militia

My father gone, she decided to go to Vienna his native town. She thought in Vienna everything was peaceful, no air raids day and night. In this she was totally wrong but she did not know. In Prague our train trip came to an abrupt end. We never made it to Vienna.


/> Beautiful Prague - in peaceful peacetime


I don't remember what happened then, I don't remember but I know there was an air raid, a big one, king size air raid, have a look at Wiki here in case someone wishes to know more about this one. Anyway, I see myself walking through the streets of Prague, the houses on fire to the right and to the left. It was so hot we had to walk in the middle of the street.

Then a army truck picked us up and soon Prague was behind us, we were passing through the country side. Suddenly the driver stopped and even to me, now an old war hand six years old, it was quite clear why. Ahead of us, to the right and to the left side of the road, there were burning cars of all kind, a flaming car cemetery. We all stepped out, our flight ended here.

We were herded by Czechoslovakian or Russian soldiers into a kind of garden park. I think we waited there quite a long time. A soldier came, took some chocolate out of his pocket and looked at me, quite a long time. Finally he made up his mind, ate the chocolate himself and strolled away.

Finally we left the place. A long line of civilians and a few wounded soldiers. After some time we reached a school built of red bricks. They parked us in the square school yard, surrounded on all sides by the school building. On first floor, running all around, was a colonnade.

The armed men who guarded us stood in this colonnade, looking upon us.

Suddenly they started to shoot. A panic brought out, people were running in all directions to escape the bullets. We, too. There was a nurse tending to a wounded soldier: her throat was half ripped away and she was standing there. Our eyes met.

In a corner right under the colonnade were cellar doors and windows. Someone smashed those windows and my mom and myself found refuge there. At least they could not reach us from above. Our cellar was packed to capacity. We were standing there like sardines in a tin.

At some distance from where we were standing I hear a whimper: "water, water, water please". And then some else answered: "no way, he'll die anyway". Some minutes later we were standing knee-deep in ice cold water.

So we left the cellar. The shooting had stopped............

----------------------------------------------

Yesterday, I had my first real flight with the new Swiss made paraglider. The wind was very strong, too strong. While starting, I was lifted up some meters, came down again and was dragged backwards on the ground. Then the canopy was stopped by a small oak tree wrapping itself around. I had nothing, not even a scratch. But it took me more than an hour to get the paraglider back to Mother Earth.

Escaping death by a hair breadth

Some weeks ago I saw at the television a show called "Incredible but true". The last video in this series was about a lady in the United States who had escaped death several times. She even had a near miss on Sept. 11, 2001. Instead of boarding one of those airplanes hijacked by Al-Qaida, she took one earlier or the next one. I don't remember. I think she had this kind of luck six or seven times.

That made me think about my own life. It's a fact, I have escaped death by a hair breadth at least six times. Just for entertainment an to continue filling this blog, here is what happened, chronologically.

1943 - Berlin: an incendiary bomb fell right near my bedside

1944 - Berlin: nearly roasted alive in a bomb shelter

1945 - Prague: the school yard slaughter

1976 - Brussels: near miss by 3 or 4 inches, stupid car accident

1986 - Granada/Spain, Serra Nevada: avoided falling down an iced over mountain slope

1993 - French Alps, Winter holiday, missed a frontal car accident on sludgy
road

1993 to 2010: over 520 flights in a paraglider: nothing. Life is great!

1943 - at that far-away time, my parents and yours truly were living in an outer Berlin suburb, more trees than houses. Nevertheless, bombs were falling nearly every night. Thus we took part in the war, potential collateral. Going to bed, prior to sleeping, meant that my grandma was reading a story to me. She was a bit deaf and did not hear the sirens warning of a new air raid and the signal to run for the bunker. Ours was in the garden. But I didn't tell her because I wanted to hear the end of the story. Then the bombers came, I still hear the overhead drone but I continued to keep mum.

Then it happened: a big black bomb landed right near my bed, between me and my grandma. It must have crossed the roof, then the first floor and last not least the roof of my room without exploding. A man living upstairs burst in, grabbed the heavy bomb and threw it out of the window. Without opening it! It exploded outside, yellow flames of a phosphor bomb. It burned a large part of our hedge, mostly wild roses.




This is the first of those unhealthy happenings and one of my first childhood souvenirs. I cannot help thinking that I remember this mostly because this unknown hero who saved us did not open the window prior to throwing the bomb out. I still see this today as if it was yesterday.

Those other events? Maybe another time. This one is already long enough and most people don't appreciate reading long text on the screen. Me, too.

Sports journalists - masters of empty talk

As I said in my post about the Olympics, I finished to dislike those journalists who talk and talk and talk without saying anything worthwhile.

As I could not stop them I thought it might be fun to copy this stuff. Those comments I have captured were originally given in French or German. Here is the English translation. It's up to you to compare this to the homegrown verbiage in the English speaking countries.

- He is the first: mission accomplished

- He has hatred and rage: he must get a medal

- Damned: he has been denied a good starting gate

- That's the Dark Lord

- Our Rock and Roll skier

- He is the little nervous one

- Enormous, enormous, enormous

- I am struck with shock

- this is monstrous, monstrous. Monstrous I am saying

- Monstrous, he is skiing on the roof of the world

- the guy is an alien

- push the accelerator, damn it

- Yelling: enormous, immense, monstrous, a genious

- She took over the controls. (A little later): she has been disqualified

- one gold medal is not enough for her

- Let's concentrate on the competitors

- He has got a problem in his head

- She is flying away and the others remain nailed down.

- You made us dream

- The guy advances as if he had been stung by a scorpion

- He was completely flat

- She got gold, I cannot believe it

- And now, suddenly, she is back in business

- It had to be done, he looks disgusted, but it is good anyway

- The greatest skier on planet Earth

- The Italian curse continues now for 18 years

- They have a monstrous female squad

- She is 19th, well, we have to look how the others are doing

- The public is totally charmed

Olympic Winter Games

Being a couch potato means, it seems, relaxing in front of the telly while others run around. Well, right now, I am potatoing quite a lot, looking at sports activities I rarely see in real life.

The vast majority of the athletes have friendly, open faces, a pleasure to look at. In this they differ markedly from other people in show business like singers, artists, celebs or fashion workers who feature several layers of paint to hide wrinkle inducing life style......

The time lag between Vancouver and here is terrible. When they start to get going, let's say around 10 a.m. it is 7 o'clock over here, supper time. Thus I record the events on tape and look at it next day.

I am German though living in France and this gives me a split personality, these days. I like to see the French win against anyone except against the Germans. When my wife feels differently I have to make a mental effort to understand. That's particularly strong and irritating like in Biathlon/Nordic skiing where athletes from the two countries compete against each other.

Unlike F1 car racing or professional football (soccer) where the players feature brazenly brand names like Samsung, Siemens, Toyota etc. etc. on their clothes, the olympic athletes are probably forbidden to do so. But all is not lost. Their gloves come from somewhere, someone made them and thus I see with pleasure the camera dwelling for some seconds on those gloves to show the manufacturer's name printed on them in huge black letters. Same for the shoes and helmets, the lower parts of skate boards the riders insist on showing.

Downhill racing is one of my favorites. Maria Riesch and Lindsay Vonn. You need tremendous courage to do this at over 100 km/h (70 miles/h), especially when the slope is partially iced over. Normal people hesitate even to hit the side walk when some snow is falling.............



I wonder if the winter games are being shown in Muslim countries like Egypt, Yemen, Iran or Pakistan. I'll try to find out. In these hot countries women are frequently dressed in black curtain stuff (obituary quality) with a piece of cloth hanging over her nose. There is a slit for the eyes: they must have a vision similar to a tank driver or a submarine operator in WWII, looking through the snorkel.....

As the days pass by I come to dislike journalists more and more. They talk and talk and talk, say what I see anyway, make corny jokes and have a marked tendency to fake turning hysterical with high-speed talking when a beloved national approaches the finishing line.

Sometimes, assisting those know-everything-journalists, there is a person who has done the activity herself or himself. What a difference: more facts, more humility, no digressions, no lame-brain language.




When the Games started, there was a lot of talking about the "First Nation" people, meaning those Indians who lived in the Americas before Christobal Columbo (ha, ha, ha) hit the place five hundred years ago. Well, I don't like this First Nation word. Must have been coined by some communications wizard because it sounds like a publicity stunt.

Anyway, looking at some of these FN-people being interviewed is was somehow flabbergasted; they look like people over here in Central France, like you and me. I remember well those black and white photos made in the second part of the 19th Century showing Indians in North America. They looked like Mongols, people from Central Asia. Nothing to do with those Sally this and Johnny that, McDo-fed European looking people. Maybe there is some relation to the US habit who call everyone black who is not rosy-white. Or the Chinese, Koreans, Japanese who are called yellow though they have exactly the same skin color as I have. Another interesting riddle to humanity to find out. Some explaining comments from my readers would be welcome.

ON THE DOWNWARD SLOPE

Last weekend we have been invited for dinner by a couple living in a nearby village. He is a farmer and his wife works as a medical secretary in the next town. Three children under ten.

I don't really remember what we were eating but what he told me left his mark. Pierre's wife is a city girl but his family were peasants in this area since the end of the 16th Century.

That's a huge span of time. In AD 1588 Queen Elisabeth I defeated the Spanish Armada and Pierre's ancestor was the first to make his mark in the local church at his wedding.

Pierre is a dairy farmer, meaning he has around 50 cows and he makes his living by selling the milk to the local processing plant at a price fixed by the Agricultural department of European Union.

The cows over here, Salers breed, look splendid. See this website in English

When Pierre's father retired his elder brother took over the farm, the cows and the fields. He told me "you must have the farming job in your blood, working with animals. Otherwise you do something else".

Pierre has the professional qualifications, he had been at a farmer's college, but this job needs a lot of land, some cows to start with, machinery, a barn. When he started "peasenting" in 1981 the price of milk was such that he considered to be able to make a decent living.

So he rented the land and bought some fields whenever he make some extra profit. There are no lazy farmers. They get up at dawn and come back from work after sunset. And in Summer they work frequently late at night, to make hay or cut the corn.

Sometimes, during glorious warm Summer evenings, I see the headlights of their tractors and hear the distant rumble of the machinery. Sometimes till 11 pm! A lazy farmer becomes a has-been in no time. And they always work alone, sometimes with their wife, but never, never, I have seen a peasant here employing a paid farm hand.

Over the years the price of milk decreased, slowly but steadily. For a year now he sells his milk for less money than he needs to produce it.

He is covered in debt, about 20,000 Euro (about 30,000 US Dollar). Last year, we had a splendid Spring and Summer but for him that meant not enough rain. The maize (corn) was withering on the stem and he had to buy additional food.

This year 2010 might be his last one as a farmer. The price of milk does not and will not go up, he can work 18 hours per day, this would not clean up his debt, only add to it. His wife has to work, it has become vital.

Quitting farming means the debts have to be serviced and he dreads that moment of truth. He fears that their house - not yet fully paid - might get lost, too.

It should be said Pierre's situation is in no way extraordinary. There are thousands of farmers in many UE countries facing the same situation. They work and work and it is not good enough. And they produce food, there is not enough of it worldwide, but they cannot meet ends and many of them will go under.

When the earth quake hit Haiti, hours after it the governments worldwide sent airplanes with all sorts of help. And hundreds of NGO's and other professional do-gooders were crowding the place. But in this case I am talking about, nobody seems to be concerned. They face silent death.