This is Ludwigskirche, which is also called the Universitätskirche, here in Munich. Apparently, the English name is Catholic Parish and University Church St. Louis – that’s a mouthful, isn’t it?
Have recently been inspired by Stefan Salinas‘ book Catholic Churches Big and Small, and I realised I could easily take photos of dozens of churches that are in stumbling distance of where I live.
So, periodically I’ll be sharing some of these. This is certainly a good start.
There are already more photos of Palermo than one can shake the proverbial stick at, but I just can’t be bothered to sift through them yet and decide which are interesting to anyone other than me.
So, I’ll give you one ridiculous shot and a bit of a story. The handful of you who still come here are doing so for the narrative anyway, right? The photos are gravy, I’m assuming.
What’s with the title of this blogpost, you ask? Well, it comes thanks to Elaine (@elaine4queen), with whom I’m conquering Palermo. There was talk of cake, but we’ve not actually found any of that yet. In the process of our hunt for cake, however, we did find these Orange Balls.
We had both heard of these, but the billing didn’t quite do them justice. Nevertheless, until technology catches up and allows me to upload the taste of something on a blog, a description will have to suffice.
It’s a ball of some sort of corn breading with a variety of different fillings depending on the whims of whoever’s cooking. In this case, we were offered either Ham and Cheese or Meat. When I inquired about what sort of meat specifically was involved in the latter, the woman behind the counter looked at me incredulously and said with an odd finality, ‘Meat.’
Some might have balked, but now I was genuinely curious. The decision was snatched away from us, when the woman announced that they were, alas, out of the Ham and Cheese. We were having the Meat, and have it we did.
They were delicious. There’s a reason why numerous people, upon hearing we were going to Palermo, insisted we try the Orange Balls. There’s nothing remotely citrus about them, incidentally. Orange is a colour here, rather than a taste. Yet they were filling and somehow decadent, and even before we were halfway done, it was clear that there would be no room left for cake.
You could possibly be one of those folk who believes there’s always room for cake. To such a person, I’ll only say, ‘Have an Orange Ball in Palermo and get back to me on that one.‘
You’ll be very pleased to know that:
If I know any of you, and to be upfront I don’t think I’ve met many of you, I think you’ll be pleased to learn that Germany is on the road to making things right with the witches.
Now, if you couldn’t be bothered to actually click on the above link, then you might still believe that there are living, breathing witches swarming round the Fatherland either avoiding or willingly taking part in some form of rehabilitation. That’s not exactly the story, but maybe I should’ve left out the link and told that story instead.
No, that’s not what you want. The real story is actually even more surreal.
Here’s how the article describes what’s the buzz, tell me what’s a happenin’:
Tortured and burned at the stake by the tens of thousands, Germany’s alleged witches have been largely forgotten. But thanks to efforts by a small group of activists, a number of German cities have begun absolving women, men and children who were wrongly accused of causing plagues, storms and bad harvests.
Doesn’t that sound delightful? Tens of thousands, really? You’re asking, ‘Well, there were more people back then, weren’t there?’ Well, actually…no. There weren’t. Fewer people. More witches. ‘This was Germany. You know Germany!-there must’ve been more witches,’ you say? Well, that’s mighty xenophobic of you.
At some point, I should actually get around to mentioning here that one can’t see everything German through the lens of the National Socialists. It’s really easy to forget that there was a lot going on over here long before the little Austrian with the weird hair and funny moustache seized power.
Long before all that stuff that the History Channel makes its noise about, there was a very agrarian culture here in Germany. When crops failed or things generally went poorly, somebody had to be blamed. Enter stage right: the witches.
I was raised with the picture of the Salem Witch Trials, so it’d be rather easy for me to believe that this was a peculiarly American phenomenon. Nothing could be further from the truth. The old country didn’t let go of all of its fanatical religious bigots (actually, from what I understand German emigrants didn’t leave because of religious persecution-that was more of an English thing. You know? The Pilgrims and all).
It’s really quite convenient to have such an implausible scapegoat. The anti-social little girl who doesn’t play well with others? Must be a witch. What other explanation might there be. The woman in your village who has that weird cock-eyed smile. The only possibility? Witch, of course. Actually, come to think of it…I think I know a few witches that still live round here.
In comes our heroine Hartmut Hegeler (it’s a name that practically rolls off the tongue, doesn’t it?), who as a witch-trial expert has become active in returning the good names of those long ago persecuted. She states clearly what we see today as the blatantly obvious:
‘“Of course there were no witches, these were all invented crimes,” says Hegeler, who has written 17 books on Germany’s witch trials. “But in hard times it was a good tool for local authorities to place the blame on others for famines and other problems. The witches were a wonderful scapegoat for whenever things went wrong.”‘
And although I could point out the funny aspects of the story, such as the fact that some of the witches were stitched up for spoiling the production of beer (this is Germany, after all. Beer is important), but instead I’d like to pose a more uncomfortable question.
Who are our witches today? Who are we stringing up and ignoring? The people who watched their neighbours led away to be tried and killed for witch-like tendencies likely breathed a sigh of relief that it wasn’t them. ‘Whew, we dodged that bullet,’ you can almost hear them say.
I guess a better blogger would have a pat answer for you at this point, but I’m just not able.
I do know that we’re likely just as eager to cast somebody out of our realm of acceptability. It’s ok for you to have some relatively outlandish ideas as long as I deem you an acceptable member of my tribe. As soon as I can mentally cross you off my list, then as far as I’m concerned you can be led to the scaffolding just as quickly as they can take you. Good luck with that witch accusation.
I’m not accusing you personally. I’m actually wondering about myself.