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A friend of ours needed to move house, and I opened my big mouth and suggested that I could drive a car-share van, thus saving him a lot of money compared to renting. Being totally unaware of my driving incompetence he agreed.
We arrived intact -after a minor detour in Tübingen and a tour of an old railway yard- and found his apartment in an old mill, down a narrow track alongside a stream, on the edge of a small village.
The sort of place which is just begging for a family like ours to come along and start a smallholding/arts centre, like we’ve been dreaming of doing for ages.
Our dream is becoming more practical as I’m going to be a fully fledged carpenter from 2015. This will give me the skills to build stuff, and a way of actually earning money*. Rather conveniently there is a shortage of carpenters in rural areas.
At which point lots of people feel the need to remind me that we couldn’t possibly do this with our lifestyle. The vast distances of the countryside are simply too much for us to rely on bicycles, and public transport as we know it doesn’t exist. Better, we are told, to stay near to the big city with all the convenience this brings. Or grow up and get a car.
This is the view from our friends new apartment.
In the time it takes to catch a bus to our local tram stop and wait for a tram, my friend could take this train right into Tübingen, and take his bike with him.
Or he could use the traffic-free cycle way through the fields behind which goes into the centre of the city.
To add insult to injury, our friend pays far less rent than we do, because of the ‘convenience’ of our public transport.
* A Theatre studies degree being as useful as a submarine in the Sahara when it comes to making a living.
The tower from the main railway station in Stuttgart from outside the Opera House. There really is a three-pointed star on the top of the tower. It is lit at night and it turns slowly.
The crane in the background is for a hideously controversial rebuilding project called ‘Stuttgart 21’ which is a multi-billion euro rebuild of the railway station that will cause chaos for about five years, and if completed will actually reduce the station capacity from what we have now.
On the last day at college we went to visit a machine factory. The reason for this escaped me, and it didn’t help that we were allowed out a bit too late for the train home and just as a massive storm began. Note to tutors: most of us don’t have cars, it does not gain you any friends if you decide you’d like to see “one more thing” and make us miss our train, then get in your car a and drive off past us as we are running towards the station in the rain*.
As we arrived at the station the rain really started properly so we waited for a soggy half hour, then caught the train which took exactly six minutes to the main station.
There were two trains coming. The first would trundle a down the line for seven minutes then stop in the middle of nowhere. I’d then have to change for another train to Esslingen, our ‘big town’, where I would have exactly one minute to catch a bus up the hill. The next train ran direct but would get me to Esslingen just in time to see my bus leave and sit another half hour waiting for the next one to turn up.
I got on the first train, changed, arrived in Esslingen on time. ran through the station, out to bus station and arrived at my stop with seconds to spare. Victory.
Except that the bus wasn’t there.
Half an hour later the bus after the bus that wasn’t there also wasn’t there and none of the staff knew anything and I abandoned all hope and went looking for any bus that may be going roughly the right direction. Thus it was that I had a tour of another town some distance from home, found to a tram to the next village, and then had to walk across Next Village to where my bike was thankfully still locked to a bike rack, and cycled home. Total travel time: three hours. For a twelve kilometre journey.
All because my tutor wanted to look at a saw.
On the other hand, our system allows me to use my travel card on all public transport, so it didn’t cost me anything, it took so long I’d dried off by the time I was home, and at least it gives me something to blog about.
Perhaps I need to get out more.
*The ‘information’ we were given about the venue gave a long detailed description of roads and options for car parks, including a map, then concluded “If you are coming by public transport, you’ll need to work out where the station is”. Thanks for that.
There’s a modern art scuplture at out college of two men hauling about a tonne of plumbline over the heads of visitors. This is the plumbline from below.
That’s year one of college finished. It’s been a good one too, with lots learned and a lot of good new friends. I’m now on the trade guild register as an apprentice carpenter, and I’ve got a licence to use all kinds of dangerous machines. Next year will be mostly in my employers workshop and dealing with customers, and then I get to make my final project and exams in a bit less than two years.
I doubt I’ll have got my act together by then, of course, but I can live in hope.
It would appear that modern carpentry in Germany is not so much a traditional craft with old men handing down secrets of the trade to the next generation as (mostly) a high-tech industry based on fast, expensive and very complicated machines which manage to achieve an almost as perfect result in a fraction of the time. This presents some problems in my mind, like the resulting dependency on said very expensive and complex machines, loss of traditional skills, and perhaps most pressing, the very real danger of losing a thumb, finger or hand. Even if you manage to keep all digits intact, the machines have a nasty habit of firing bits of wood across the room fast enough that you just have time to think “oh ——–” before they hit you rather hard.
To prevent, or at least reduce, the number of future one-armed carpenters we all have to get a machine operators licence, which is why I just spent a couple of weeks hearing various stories about interesting ways people have managed to injure themselves (as if I wasn’t nervous enough around these things in the first place) and making random and often not terribly useful objects with these machines.
The second week was the week of the chair. This was much more fun because we were released from all the theorising and got to make a set of six dining chairs from ash wood. Even better, I landed in a group with two very competent, and more importantly patient students, so the week went by pretty well. Mind you, I say a week, it actually took a week and then another half week of rushing to the workshop after theory sessions because we hadn’t finished our chairs quite in time, but on the other hand we did manage to make all six without too many visible mistakes, despite someone (who shall remain nameless) putting various bits through the machine the wrong way up. Again.
There isn’t an exam for the machine course, thank goodness: we just had to attend it for three weeks without visiting the local emergency room*. It was a bit like learning to drive: the goal is that you are safe, rather than expert. I’m not sure I’ve achieved either, but I’m officially allowed (read: “insured”) to use the dangerous things in the workshop. This is Germany: I have a certificate, therefore I am.
And I’ve got a free chair into the bargain. Since it got home the boys decided it needed testing properly and used it as a climbing frame and dance floor.
*Is it coincidence that the local hospital is the regional centre for fixing amputations?
It was a warm day, so a couple of the class decided to go and get chocolate ice cream for everyone.
This sort of thing didn’t ever happen at my school in the UK, but there were many offers to flush your head down the toilet or throw your shoes on the roof: school just isn’t like it used to be.
Pencil sketch of a pencil, sketched during a break from annoyingly impossible maths problems at college. The pencil was a souvenir of our last visit to Japan: the Japanese seem to make these far better than we manage (see also: erasers, sketchbooks, notebooks, etc…) so whenever I go there I stock up on stationery. If you are wondering how I managed to do a sketch of a pencil using pencil, I always carry a spare. This is less because I’m organised, more that I have an incredible capacity to lose things.
House in Esslingen-am-Neckar. Esslingen is our local ‘big’ town and it emerged relatively unscathed from the war. Faced with an almost unparalleled stock of ancient wood-framed houses, the local council then bulldozed about two hundred of them to make a new ring road, which is now noisy, smelly, congested, and loathed by all who have to use it. Still, there are a lot of traditional, timber-framed buildings left, held together with wooden pegs like this one. There are also a few carpenters who make a living fixing them, because old buildings have to be maintained using traditional methods and hardly anyone is willing to learn the skills any more.
All the better for those of us who are, of course.
Esslingen railway station, where I change from train to bus every weekday. Usually this works but last Friday I arrived just in time to watch the bus leaving. Still, at least I had something to do while I waited for the next one.
More sketches may follow. depending on family, work and me not being caught while drawing at college…
The real practical exam is over, thank goodness: I can handle a lot of things, like making presentations to hundreds of people, and working in an emergency room, but ask me to do an exam and I seem to go to pieces. I don’t know why, but there it is.
The worst bit of today (apart from being faced with the mess I’d made yesterday) was the oral exam. I don’t do oral exams, as my teacher discovered. I managed to remember my name, but even stupidly simple questions were a bit too much for my stressed brain. Still, we muddled through.
In the end the result wasn’t quite as bad as I’d feared. I managed to hide most of my mistakes (it’s amazing what you can cover up with glue and sawdust) and I managed to finishe the whole piece, which not everyone did, and it even worked, by which I mean I could open the drawer and close it again, although I’m not telling how much fiddling about it took to get that to happen. It isn’t perfect, and I’m not sure I’ll bother bringing it home, but at least it isn’t instant firewood which was the most likely outcome after yesterdays comedy of errors.
For obvious reasons I can’t take any pictures of the finished result, but above is the state of my workbench after I finished the last mad dash to hand the box in by 1100.
Theory exam tomorrow.