Category: fun things

Well, it’s Valentine’s Day, and I’m sure you’ll be getting your main squeeze all kinds of romantic goodies, very likely including books (assuming your true love is a reader, and if not, you need to reexamine your life choices). But today is also International Book Giving Day, and that’s not about romance but rather about promoting literacy for children, especially in places where books are hard to come by. Celebrate by giving books to kids who need them, or by donating (books or money) to a library or a charity that will distribute books to needy children.

Image credit: Sutherland Shire Libraries [CC BY-SA 2.0], via Flickr

Symbol of Sweden

I confess that I am something of a fan of the Swedish home furnishings store IKEA, having spent countless hours wandering its shiny showrooms in three different countries (Canada, the United States, and France). As evidence of this, you need only stand in the middle of my house and look around; you can’t help but see an IKEA product anywhere you look.

Although some may decry its mass marketing approach, I like that there is a consistency to the IKEA shopping experience. Whether I visit a store in central France or the suburbs of Vancouver, I know that I will see the same kinds of products, laid out in the same way, according to the same floor plan. This sameness might bother me in other settings, but there is a quirky charm to the world of IKEA that counterbalances the monotony. From its amusing product names to the ubiquity of kitschy Swedish foodstuffs, I always feel like I’ve found a tiny corner of Sweden wherever I happen to be in the world.

Whether this experience is authentically Swedish or not, Swedish design is everywhere to be seen, and in ways that are not always obvious. For years I had noticed that horses, and red horses in particular, were a common decorative motif in IKEA products, whether appearing two-dimensionally on pillows or rugs, or as carved decorative figures gracing elegant bookshelves. I later learned there was great significance to these tiny horses, and about the centuries of history they represent. I thought IKEA was a popular symbol of Sweden, but the Dalahäst (also known as a Dala horse or Dalecarlian horse) is a much more ancient and enduring one. Created in the Swedish province of Dalarna (Dalecarlia in English), the painted wooden horse has become a potent icon of Swedish culture.

Horse Mythology

Horses are an integral part of the history of Sweden, having deep cultural and religious significance. It is believed that horses were first introduced to Sweden around 2000 BCE, when Russian nomads invaded the area, overpowering the local inhabitants with their superior military capabilities—including their horsemanship. Horses soon became a valuable asset in farming and forestry for the region.

The religious symbolism of the horse is long-standing in Sweden; not only was the horse the sacred animal of the As religion of the Vikings, but it was celebrated in Norse mythology as well. Horses were associated with the gods, most notably with Odin, who was said to have an eight-legged horse named Sleipner, given to him by the trickster figure Loki.

When Christianity was introduced to Sweden in the 11th century, church leaders worked to discourage horse worship among the people, teaching that the horse was unclean, as were the practices associated with it: ritual slaughter and the eating of horsemeat. Although the church’s efforts were mostly successful, the people of northern Dalarna, particularly those living around Lake Siljan, retained their ancient connection to the horse, refusing to demonize an animal so essential to their daily lives.

The ongoing struggle between the church and local custom can be seen in two separate incidents from the 17th century. In 1624, Bishop Johannes Rudbeckius of Västerås, the diocese city of Dalarna, gave a sermon denouncing the selling of certain “articles of destruction” in the market, a list that included wooden horses. Forty years later, during a witchcraft trial in Dalarna, the parish priest accused those on trial of using a “baror,” a magic wooden object in the shape of an animal (possibly a horse), to advance the work of the devil. At the same trial, the county constable claimed that the devil himself gave wooden horses to the local children to lead them astray.

Horse Trading

Despite these negative reactions to wooden horses, they seemed only to grow in popularity in the following years. In the 18th century, men working in the forests of Dalarna would carve wooden horses as a leisure activity and give them to children back in the village. By the 19th century, painted wooden horses were a common item of trade, often used by traveling salesmen as payment for room and board on their journeys. Created primarily in the villages around the town of Mora, these horses were painted with a floral design, reflecting the general decorative style of the time. This pattern of decoration eventually developed into the kurbits (or ripple) style of painting, which continues to this day.

In 1939, a large Dala horse was displayed outside the Swedish pavilion at the World Exposition in New York, sparking international awareness and interest in this traditional Swedish craft. Demand for Dala horses has continued, and it has become a popular souvenir for tourists coming to Sweden, and an enduring cultural icon. Much of the demand for Dala horses is fulfilled by two companies in the town of Nusnäs: Nils Olsson and Grannas A. Olsson. Crafted from premium pine timber found in the forests surrounding Lake Siljan, the horses undergo a multi-step process, from felling the tree through hand carving, various stages of hand-painting, sanding, and varnishing. The finished product is stunning, a beautiful tribute to the long and intimate relationship between horses and humans in Sweden.

Note: This is an updated version of an article that originally appeared on Interesting Thing of the Day on September 25, 2006.

Image credit: Creative Tools from Halmstad, Sweden [CC BY 2.0], via Wikimedia Commons

I’ve eaten tortellini countless times. It’s certainly among my top two or three favorite filled Italian pastas. Until today, however, I was unaware that the ringlike shape was intended to represent the navel of the goddess Venus. Or so legend has it, anyway. I’m not sure whether that knowledge will enhance or diminish my future enjoyment of tortellini, but I am certain that I’ll never be able to get that image out of my head. Anyway! If you were undecided about which filled Italian pasta to eat today, contemplate your belly button and see what answer…pops out?

Image credit: Algont at Dutch Wikipedia [CC BY-SA 3.0]

The great southern frontier

Several months before my wife, Morgen, turned 30 (that would be… let’s see… mumble mumble years ago), she decided that she wanted to celebrate that milestone by taking a grand trip that would be, in a sense, a sort of pilgrimage. No one has to twist my arm to talk me into going on vacation, especially if it’s to some exotic, faraway place. But I told Morgen that the decision where to go should be hers alone: my only input in the process would be smiling and nodding. “You tell me where you want to go,” I said, “and I’ll be there.” For a while she was thinking seriously about going to Spain and doing the pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela. Then she started talking about Rome. After that, it was Australia, and for many weeks I thought she was leaning strongly in that direction. Then one day that summer she announced that she’d reached a final, irrevocable decision. “Where are we going?” I asked. She replied, matter-of-factly, “Patagonia.” I smiled and nodded and said, “Great!” And then I thought for a moment and added, “Where’s Patagonia?”

For a great while thereafter, virtually every time I told friends or family about our two-week trip, they had the same reaction. “Patagonia? Oh yeah, the clothing brand. You mean it’s an actual place too? Where is it?” Had I myself not been entirely ignorant about Patagonia just a few months before embarking on our trip, I would be incredulous that such a huge place—and one so full of stories—could be unknown to so many otherwise intelligent, educated North Americans and Europeans. Patagonia is in fact chock-full of interesting things—people, animals, plants, customs, natural wonders, and amazing stories—and having had a small taste of it in person, I’m delighted to be able to share some bits of that here on Interesting Thing of the Day.

Where Patagonia Is

Patagonia is the southernmost portion of South America. Its exact northern boundary is somewhat vague, but it begins somewhere in the vicinity of 40° south latitude, or roughly where the Rio Colorado cuts diagonally across the continent. Patagonia extends all the way to the tip of the continent—encompassing, by most accounts, Tierra del Fuego and the many smaller islands up to and including Cape Horn. The western quarter or so of Patagonia is in Chile; the rest, to the east of the Andes mountains, is in Argentina.

Patagonia is an immense region; its area of about 400,000 square miles (1,000,000 sq. km) makes it well over twice the size of California. And trying to describe Patagonia is very much like trying to describe California—do you want to hear about the deserts, the mountains, the valleys, or the coast? The cities or the rural areas? The wildlife or the politics? With so much to describe, generalizations become difficult. One thing you can say with certainty, though, is that Patagonia is sparsely populated—it has a total of roughly 1.5 million inhabitants (compared to California’s 34 million), of which the vast majority live in large towns. Depending on whose estimates you believe, sheep outnumber humans by at least 5 to 1, and perhaps as many as 20 to 1. And one of those sheep contributed the wool for that Patagonia-brand sweater you have in your closet.

The name “Patagonia” was once thought to have been derived from a Spanish expression for “big feet”—a supposed reference to the proportions of the area’s original inhabitants, described by early European explorers as “giants.” But the generally accepted etymology is that the word Patagonia actually comes from Patagon, the name of a giant in a Spanish novel called Primaleon—apparently a favorite of Ferdinand Magellan’s.

The Stuff of Legend

Magellan, of course, lent his name to the strait that separates mainland South America from Tierra del Fuego; he discovered the long-sought passage between the Atlantic Ocean and the Pacific in 1520. Even three centuries later, though, when Charles Darwin set out on H.M.S. Beagle (under command of Captain FitzRoy), Europeans knew very little of Patagonia or its inhabitants; it was more of an inconvenient obstacle to sea travel than a place one might actually want to visit. The exotic descriptions Darwin brought back—especially his confirmation that the inhabitants were savage giants—reinforced in the minds of many Europeans the notion of Patagonia as being a desolate and forbidding place, far from (and perhaps unworthy of) civilization.

Partly because of its remoteness, Patagonia attracted its fair share of outlaws. Following a major heist in the United States, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid hid out in Patagonia for several years in the early 1900s. Pirates, too, found the busy shipping channels near Patagonia a lucrative source of business. (And, you remember correctly: the Dread Pirate Roberts himself was said to have retired there.)

As recently as the 1970s, English-speaking people in the northern hemisphere knew little of Patagonia. British author Bruce Chatwin almost single-handedly brought Patagonia into the popular consciousness with his best-selling 1977 book In Patagonia, a travelogue of sorts that is part autobiography, part fiction. Two years later his friend, travel writer Paul Theroux, wrote The Old Patagonian Express, detailing his attempt to travel by train from Boston all the way to the heart of Patagonia. These two books have inspired generations of travelers to discover Patagonia for themselves.

Far and Away

Today, Patagonia is a favorite destination for ecotourists and adventure travelers. Some go to see the vast expanses of steppes—desert-like plains that are constantly buffeted by strong winds and support only the hardiest plant, animal, and human life. Some are interested in the impressive glaciers descending from the Andes, or in the millions of nesting penguins along the coast. Still others are interested in the cultural anomalies, such as the Welsh colony of Gaiman, where you can always get a proper tea. And many tourists stop briefly in Patagonia on their way to Antarctica—a mere 600 miles (1,000km) or so south across the Drake Passage. But one of the biggest reasons to go to Patagonia, even for residents of northern Argentina, is its sheer remoteness: it is one of the last places on Earth that can still be called “one of the last places on Earth.”

Note: This is an updated version of an article that originally appeared on Interesting Thing of the Day on January 23, 2005.

Image credit: Justin Vidamo [CC BY 2.0], via Flickr

Charles Darwin was born on February 12, 1809, making today his 210th birthday. Coincidentally, Abraham Lincoln was born on the very same day. So happy birthday to both of you, Chuck and Abe! But Lincoln’s birthday, along with George Washington’s, is celebrated on Presidents’ Day (next week), so today we observe International Darwin Day. Darwin, of course, was responsible for developing the modern theory of evolution and coining the expression natural selection. His contribution to science was of inestimable significance, and as for the religious literalists who still revile him, well…they need to evolve.

Image credit: Julia Margaret Cameron [Public domain]

Computer from ancient Greece

The ancient Greeks were responsible for such marvels as the catapult and the camera obscura. They invented the astrolabe, a forerunner of the sextant, which aided marine navigation by (among other things) measuring the angle between the horizon and the sun or other celestial bodies. By the end of the first century BCE, they had even invented the odometer, which measured the distance a cart or carriage traveled. So when it comes to engineering, they were no slouches. When it comes to preserving their most advanced inventions for posterity…well, that’s another story. At the beginning of the 20th century, historians were shocked to learn that Greek thinkers had built a rather sophisticated analog computer in the neighborhood of 82 BCE and then, astonishingly, left no record of its existence.

Low Gear

In 1900, a ship carrying Greek sponge divers was blown off course in a storm. They anchored near the small island of Antikythera, and decided that as long as they were there, they might as well dive and look for sponges. What they found instead was a shipwreck, under about 42 meters (140 feet) of water. Returning later with a navy ship, the divers recovered many artifacts from the sunken vessel, including marble and bronze statues. Archeologists who examined the pieces and other evidence reliably dated the shipwreck at around 65 BCE (give or take 15 years). But one of the archeologists noticed that a clump of bronze contained what appeared to be gears—an astonishing discovery, since that would make it the world’s oldest surviving geared mechanism. Further examination showed that the object was originally a wooden case holding about 32 bronze gears, with several dials on the outside. Over the centuries, the bronze had corroded, the wood had deteriorated, and the whole mass had accumulated heavy calcium deposits. But some inscriptions on bronze plates were still legible, and researchers began the painstaking task of reconstructing what the device must have looked like when it was made.

The first thorough description of the device—based solely on visual inspection and measurements—was published in 1959. Later evaluations included crucial additional details from X-ray and gamma-ray analysis, among other techniques. And eventually, in 2008, researchers were able to build a complete, working replica of the device. It turned out to be a clockwork-like mechanism designed to display the progress and positions of the sun, moon, and all five of the other planets known at the time (Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn) over a period of 19 years, along with solar and lunar eclipses and the years of the Olympic games. In other words: it’s an analog astronomical computer. It had apparently been built several years before the shipwreck—most likely in 87–82 BCE, though some believe it could be as old as 205 BCE.

It’s All About Us

That’s cool, but it gets even better. At the time the Antikythera mechanism was built, the Greeks still believed the entire universe revolved around the Earth. This caused tremendous problems for predicting the orbits of the planets, which from our perspective do not follow nice elliptical paths. So in order to make this mechanism account for the data, its designer had to invent entirely new arrangements of gears. One of these was the differential (a primitive version of what is found in modern cars)—which, until the discovery of the Antikythera mechanism, was believed to have been invented in the 13th century. As for the overall device, nothing similar is known to have existed until about 1000 CE.

One reason historians find all this so interesting is that previously (in the absence of any reliable evidence to the contrary), the ancient Greeks were believed to have terrific theoretical knowledge when it came to astronomy, physics, and math, but little skill in the way of practical application. Sure, there were occasional remarks about an actual device. Cicero, for example, mentioned (at about the time the Antikythera mechanism was created) a device “recently constructed by our friend Poseidonius, which at each revolution reproduces the same motions of the sun, the moon and the five planets.” But since there was no evidence of these devices, few people took such claims literally. The discovery of the Antikythera mechanism changed all that.

We do not know for certain who created the device. The biggest mystery surrounding the Antikythera Mechanism, though, is why and how all records of this technology disappeared. Surely this could not have been the only such device ever created. If technology this important was in use at the time, it stands to reason that there would have been many other similar devices in existence, and that some of those would have survived to this day. But not only is this the only one, it’s a fluke that we even know about this one at all. What other ancient technologies may have existed that we don’t know about? The answers are probably lying out there—right where you’d least expect them.

Note: This is an updated version of an article that originally appeared on Interesting Thing of the Day on April 28, 2005.

Image credit: Joyofmuseums [CC BY-SA 4.0], from Wikimedia Commons

Today we celebrate the contributions inventors have made to the world. Every February 11 since 1983 has been National Inventors’ Day in the United States, as proclaimed by President Ronald Reagan. It’s just coincidentally Thomas Edison’s birthday, too! He’d be 172 today. So hug your favorite inventor today. (Or, I mean, if you’re an inventor, you should totally use that automatic hugging machine you built for yourself!)

Image credit: Louis Bachrach, Bachrach Studios, restored by Michel Vuijlsteke [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Ghosts, vampires, and history

The first time I visited New Orleans, I didn’t know anything about the city except that it was legendary for its Mardi Gras celebrations. But the more I learned about New Orleans, the more I came to love it. The history of the city is immensely colorful and complex. New Orleans has some of the most distinctive cuisine in the United States, a well-earned reputation as a center of music and culture, and a vibrant nightlife. But what I find most interesting about the city is its rich collection of legends and myths. The best way to learn about them is to take one of numerous walking tours of the French Quarter.

The Spanish French Quarter

The French Quarter—the focal point of the city for most tourists—is a well-defined area of about 13 blocks by 7 blocks, bordered by the Mississippi River on the south. This was the original city of New Orleans, established by French settlers in 1718 and controlled by France until 1762, when it was given to Spain. The city remained under Spanish rule until the early 1800s, when it was secretly returned to France, only to be immediately turned over to the United States as part of the Louisiana Purchase. The French Quarter is so named because for many years it was the district in which the majority of the French-speaking population lived. However, much of the original city was destroyed by massive fires in 1788 and 1794. Since Spain was in control during that time, the new buildings for the most part reflected Spanish architecture, and that is what survives today as the French Quarter. Most buildings are only three or four stories high. Wrought-iron balconies extend over sidewalks in the business district, and louvered shutters cover most windows and doors. The French Quarter has the feeling of being very old—for a North American city—largely because of strict construction rules designed to protect the historical character of the buildings.

But it’s not just the old buildings that give the French Quarter its unique vibe. The traffic usually consists more of pedestrians and horses than cars. Every other door seems to lead to a restaurant or bar, and people walking down the street without a beer or margarita in their hands seem out of place. You never have to walk more than a few blocks to find a voodoo shop, antique store, or “gentlemen’s” club.

As I was wandering around the French Quarter during my first visit to New Orleans, I kept seeing signs and brochures for walking tours—particularly “ghost” tours. I thought a tour might be a good way to get to know a bit about the city, and I was curious about the whole ghost angle. So I showed up at the designated location one evening, paid my US$15, and set out with a guide and about a dozen other tourists to see what mysteries we could uncover.

We visited a number of historical sites and heard about the many groups of people who shaped the city’s culture: the French and Spanish, Cajuns, Creoles, and free people of color. But New Orleans has also been a hangout for pirates, slave traders, and rogues of all stripes. As a result, a great many gruesome murders have taken place in the city, not to mention infamous suicides, executions, and deaths caused by the great fires. So it’s little surprise that many of the buildings in the French Quarter are said to be haunted.

Spirits and Spooks

The typical tour guide spiel includes a heavily embellished history of a building’s former owner, the events leading up to the significant deaths, and anecdotes about recent sightings of ghosts, mysterious sounds, or curses that have supposedly kept buildings uninhabited for decades. The stories are all entertaining, even though it’s sometimes difficult to tell at what point the history becomes myth. But not all the tales are apocryphal, and some are quite chilling. At one point, our tour guide stopped us and said, “Notice that blood-red house across the street. This building was once home to one of the most notorious characters in New Orleans history: Richard Simmons.”

Plenty of companies offer walking tours of the French Quarter, each with its own twist. Some are highly theatrical, with tour guides dressed as pirates or vampires; others offer a more conservative approach that emphasizes historical accuracy. There are ghost tours, vampire tours, witchcraft and voodoo tours, cemetery tours, and so on. There are also walking tours of the city’s Garden District across town, where the main attractions are lavish houses and beautiful landscaping. I’ve taken perhaps half a dozen different walking tours in New Orleans. Some were better than others, and there were certainly instances of overlap and contradiction. But judging by the number of interesting things encountered per hour (or per dollar), walking tours are the perfect way to combine education and entertainment as you explore New Orleans.>NewOrleansOnline.

Note: This is an updated version of an article that originally appeared on Interesting Thing of the Day on May 17, 2003, and again in a slightly revised form on November 16, 2004.

Image credit: Chris Brooks [CC BY-ND 2.0], via Flickr

It seems like just yesterday we were celebrating National Seersucker Day, and who can forget the wild revelry of World Terrycloth Week? Of course, every fabric has its day, but today, in the middle of winter (in the Northern Hemisphere), we celebrate the comfy, cozy warmth and softness of flannel. I have a few flannel shirts that I just love, and I’ll be wearing one of them today. I’m afraid I have to draw the line at flannel sheets, which are too warm for my liking, but if that’s your thing, hey, go for it today.

Image credit: Louis Beche [CC BY 2.0], via Wikimedia Commons

The Folly of Sir Clough Williams-Ellis

World-famous architects like Frank Gehry, Renzo Piano, and Rem Koolhaas often make headlines for their daring and creative buildings, but the vast majority of architects spend their time on more down-to-earth projects, like schools and fire houses. Their work is dictated by the needs of their clients, and their creativity is in service to solving any problems these needs might entail. But what happens when architects are given free rein? What do architects do for fun?

It is easy to imagine that Julia Morgan, the architect who designed Hearst Castle, enjoyed creating that fantastical world to Hearst’s specifications, or that Eduard Riedel, the architect of King Ludwig II of Bavaria’s Neuschwanstein Castle, found some pleasure in recreating a medieval castle in the 19th century. But these architects were still limited by the wishes and whims of their employers, unable to express themselves fully.

In comparison, the English-born Welsh architect Sir Clough Williams-Ellis (1883–1978) found a way to realize his dearest architectural dreams on his own terms. After purchasing a particularly beautiful piece of property on the northern Welsh coast in 1925, Clough set out to create a wonderland of architectural whimsy that he called Portmeirion (after the coastal setting and the Welsh name of the local county, Merioneth). The result of Clough’s work is a colorful Italianate village of cottages, towers, fountains, and cobbled streets that has drawn comparisons to the medieval hill towns of Tuscany and the world-renowned Italian coastal town of Portofino.

It Takes a Village

When Clough bought the Portmeirion site in 1925, his vision was not simply to construct individual buildings, but to create an entire town. As The Architects Journal noted of the project in 1926, the “results of his [Clough’s] scheme will be significant and should do much to shake the current notion that although houses must be designed with due care, towns may grow up by chance.” Over the next 50 years, this vision of Portmeirion began to take shape under Clough’s leadership, with construction occurring in two phases: from 1925 to 1939, and from 1954 to 1976.

Another part of Clough’s vision for Portmeirion was that it help to prove that beautiful natural spaces could be developed for commercial use without ruining their beauty, what he referred to as “that strange necessity.” His choice of this particular site, a peninsula in the Snowdonia region of Wales, was no accident. He wanted to draw visitors to the area, and the balmy microclimate and coastal views of Portmeirion proved attractive even when the town had not been fully developed. In fact, early on Clough raised money for the construction costs by operating a hotel out of an existing building.

In this respect, it could be argued that Clough was a forerunner to the modern pursuit of sustainable development, the attempt to provide economic benefit while preserving natural resources. Clough cared deeply about environmental protection; he not only served on various councils related to this goal, but was also a strong advocate for the creation of national parks in England and Wales, most especially for Snowdonia National Park in Wales.

Clough’s architectural credo, “Cherish the Past, Adorn the Present, Construct for the Future,” is in keeping with his passion for sustainability. At Portmeirion, Clough honored the past by salvaging old structures from demolition sites, relocating and renovating them to become part of what he called his “home for fallen buildings.” The vivid colors and enchanting streets of the town show Clough’s obvious love for “adorning the present,” while his larger vision of preserving the environment by pursuing limited economic development gives meaning to “constructing for the future.”

Escape to Portmeirion

Portmeirion has become a prime tourist destination for visitors to North Wales; visitors can see the town during the day, or may opt to stay the night in the main hotel, in serviced rooms located in the village, in self-catering individual cottages, or at the Castell Deudraeth, a Victorian castellated mansion on the estate. Tourists are drawn by the town’s legendary beauty, but it does have another claim to fame.

In 1966, Portmeirion was the setting for the filming of the British TV show The Prisoner, starring the popular stage and screen actor Patrick McGoohan. Although the show ran for only 17 episodes in 1967 and 1968, it became an enormous hit, and fans continue to be interested in every aspect of its production, including where it was filmed. As part of this interest, the official fan club of The Prisoner, Six of One, holds a convention in Portmeirion every year.

In these and other ways, the popularity of the town Sir Clough Williams-Ellis built lives on, over 40 years after his death. Although he may have created Portmeirion to satisfy his own architectural visions, he succeeded in bringing these dreams to life for the benefit of countless others.

Note: This is an updated version of an article that originally appeared on Interesting Thing of the Day on December 15, 2006.