In Other Book News….

I wrote a Friday Snapshot for the book blog. It’s about a Friday I spent in Switzerland about a month ago – I wrote it then and they held it until there was a hole in the schedule.

I actually spent yesterday in Longyearbyen, on the Norwegian island of Svalbard. I’m up here at 78 degrees north for a story. It’s cold! And scenic! And wonderful! More details to follow when the story is published, later this year.

This sign on the way out of town tells you that the warning applies everywhere in Svalbard.

Posted in My Work | Tagged , | Leave a comment

Book Coming Soon!

Things are heating up for The Science Writers’ Handbook: Everything You Need to Pitch, Publish, and Prosper in the Digital Age. I contributed two sidebars to this book, and I think it’s excellent–full of good, solid, practical advice about how to be a science writer. (Particularly a freelancer, but it should be useful to everyone.)

The book comes out in a few weeks, which means the publicity machine is on the move. It’s sort of a homemade publicity machine–a few dozen people, all working together to get the word out.

Our fantastic web team has started a great website with new blog posts daily, and authors are hitting up conferences and events around the country to talk about it. Some attendees at the Association of Writers and Writing Programs meeting wrote about a panel featuring some of the book’s authors.

Preorder it now!

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged , | 1 Comment

Museum Tourist: Musée Saint-Raymond

People have been living in Toulouse for thousands of years. To learn about the slice of that history from a bit before the year 1 to a few hundred years after, I heartily recommend a stop at the Musée Saint-Raymond, the museum of antiquities.

This is an old, almost trite, observation, but it’s just crazy that I’m walking around every day atop ground that Romans lived and built on. Their forum was about a 10 minute walk south of my apartment; the city gate was just a minute north of here. But there’s nothing of the Roman time still standing, as far as I know. It’s been built on, buried, and heavily recycled. This glorious pair of marble feet was reused in a bit of masonry in the fourth century.

Toulouse is called the pink city because of its brick buildings. These bricks have been a bit of a mystery for me–why bricks and almost no stone? I have a partial answer. After a huge fire in 1463, people were encouraged to build with bricks instead of wood. That answers the question for regular buildings, but I still don’t understand why churches were built out of bricks. I suppose the answer probably has to do with how far away the nearest quarry is, but somehow every other European city I’ve ever visited has had massive cathedrals made of stone. Was Toulouse particularly poor in the Middle Ages? Or really attached to its pretty bricks? I don’t know.

In any case, the Romans were building in stone–marble and limestone, from what I saw. (I looked those words up in my dictionary. The signs are all in French, although you can rent an audio guide, which might come in an English version–I didn’t ask.)

The museum has a lot of these delightful little models of scenes from antiquity. Here’s the Roman forum being built.

Clay lamps are a mainstay of museums with old Roman stuff, and this one is no exception. I thought some of the decorations were particularly lovely, though. Check out these horses, which came from the tops of two lamps.

The second floor of the museum was entirely taken up with objects from one villa, Chiragan, outside of Toulouse. The owners must have been filthy rich. They had dozens of portrait busts, a whole lot of decorative carvings, and a really impressive set of slabs depicting the labors of Hercules. Here he is wrestling the hydra.

And, from that same villa, the head of emperor Septimius Severus.

He was the head of the Roman Empire from 193 to 211. Mostly I like his hair. Can you believe somebody did that with a block of marble and hand tools?

The museum’s building is from the 1500s; it’s a historic monument, one of the few pieces of medieval architecture left in Toulouse, according to their website. In the 1990s an excavation under the building found, among other things, a lime kiln that was used in the 5th and 6th centuries. It still had a bunch of chunks of marble sarcophagi in it, ready to be burned and turned into mortar.

There you go. Some of the Romans’ marble wound up between Toulouse’s pink bricks.

Posted in Museum Tourist, Museums | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

DotW: Berlitz French Compact Dictionary

You can’t buy a dictionary online, or you shouldn’t, anyway; you have to flip through the pages and see if it has the words you want. So, when I found out I was going to be spending several weeks in Toulouse, I got myself to Kramerbooks in Washington, D.C. I already owned a couple of dictionaries, but neither was small enough to carry in my bag every day. I ended up with this Berlitz French Compact Dictionary.

Now that I’m in France, I could use Google Translate. I have internet on my phone, thanks to Orange (and a lot of visits to the Orange store and calls to the Orange customer service people). But a dictionary is so much more satisfying. You can stumble across interesting entries, and get more than one possible definition for a word.

I’ve been carrying this dictionary around for a couple of weeks now. At the Chateau de Puilaurens, a castle perched atop a crag in the Pyrenees, I learned that sentier means “path.” I thought it was going to mean “ladder” or “zipline” or something, because the place where there was supposed to be a path looked darn near vertical to me. At the Musée Saint-Raymond, Toulouse’s museum of antiquities, I learned that calcaire means “limestone,” an autel is an altar, and “archaeological dig” can be communicated with one word: fouilles. Reading a used Tintin book I picked up at a market, I learned several words related to crime (unregistered, handcuffs) and got to use sentier again.

It’s just a compact dictionary, so it can’t do everything. In the tea aisle at the supermarket, it could tell me reglisse was anise and tilleul was lime, but it could not tell me anything about verveine. With no signal in the store, my phone was no use.

Google translate tells me that vervaine is “verbena.” I ended up buying a tasty blend of chamomile, orange, and lime.

Bonus: You can’t store postcard stamps in a smartphone.

Dictionary Stats: Berlitz French Compact Dictionary

date: 2012
publisher: Berlitz Publishing (but it says it’s edited by the Langenscheidt editorial staff)
length:
672 pp.
guide words on p. 192/193: mordant, mordante biting; fig biting, scathing. musclé, musclée muscular; politique tough.
Reference section:
Includes games and puzzles to help you learn how to use the dictionary and practice French, like a word search where you have to look up each word, then find the headword from that page in the word search. Sounds like a lot of trouble to me.
obscenities: Yup.

Posted in Dictionaries, DotW | 1 Comment

Museum Tourist: Zeppelin Museum

A little earlier this year, I was in Switzerland for a couple of weeks. It wasn’t totally planned. Long story. Sometimes, in one’s life, one just ends up in Switzerland. (This was my sixth time there. Doesn’t that seem like a lot? Anyway.)

I stayed with some friends in Thurgau, up in the north, and one Saturday, they proposed an outing: the Zeppelin Museum. It’s just across Lake Constance, in Friedrichshafen, Germany. And it is wonderful.

Count Ferdinand von Zeppelin was a German with a plan. In the late 19th century, he thought airships seemed like a good idea. So he founded a company with his name. The airships were so good that the brand name came to mean this particular kind of airship, with a rigid structure.

The first Zeppelin flight was in 1900; over 100 airships followed. In 1929, the Graf Zeppelin LZ127 made a round-the-world trip, showing off the effectiveness of this mode of transportation.

This is a duplicate of a plate that was given to Emperor Hirohito in commemoration of the ship’s stop in Japan.

In the 1930s, airships ran regular service between Germany, Brazil, and the U.S. If you needed to cross the ocean and you had a lot of money, airships were faster than ships–and, remember, airplanes were still in their infancy.

The Zeppelin company’s most famous product was the Hindenburg, which started flying in 1936. It was the pinnacle of Zeppelin production, in both size and luxury. Everything on the Hindenburg was both fancy and lightweight. They had an aluminum piano on some flights. The walls were covered in hand-painted balloon silk. I mean, check out the drinking glasses.

The “DZR” is for Deutsche Zeppelin-Reederei, the company that was created in 1935 to operate the airships.

The Hindenburg even had a smoking lounge – that’s how luxurious it was. Yes, that seems ridiculous in a ship lifted by hydrogen. That’s why none of the earlier airships allowed smoking. But they’d thought it through pretty carefully; the smoking lounge was under higher air pressure, so that hydrogen leaks couldn’t get in. The only lighter on board was kept by the bartender, who also made sure nobody left with a lit cigarette. And, besides, if you think about it, there are plenty of other sources of ignition on board an airship. Like, you know, the diesel engines.

It wasn’t guaranteed that the Hindenburg would fly with hydrogen. It was actually designed to use helium as the lifting gas. But the U.S. controlled most of the world’s helium, and in 1936, the U.S. was like, um, right, thanks for the offer, Nazi Germany, but we’re actually not going to sell you this gas to lift your ships with useful military applications. Zeppelins had bombed London in 1915. So the ship used hydrogen instead.

The biggest part of the museum is devoted to the Hindenburg, with artifacts and a full-size mockup of one section of the ship. It’s hard to get your head around how big it was. A handy display compares it to an Airbus A-380 (which is even bigger than a 747)–the Zeppelin is about four times as long, and with a much fatter body.

On the left, you can see some of the structure of the airship. I’d never thought about this, but the Hindenburg wasn’t a giant sausage of hydrogen; it had gas bags inside a structure, with a cover on the outside. You can even go inside this model and see cabins and lounges.

The Hindenburg went up in flames in Lakehurst, New Jersey in 1937, as it arrived from Frankfurt. Nobody actually knows how the hydrogen caught fire–there are lots of hypotheses, and plenty of sabotage-related conspiracy theories. The Hindenburg wasn’t even the first airship disaster, but it was the first one to happen in front of newsreel cameras. However it started, that fire ended the age of the airship.

Airships.net is a great source on the Hindenburg and other airships.

photos: me

Posted in Museum Tourist, Museums | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

Happy Pi Day

As I am writing this, it is March 15, 2012. That’s right. I’m posting from a whole year in the past. And on the Ides of March! Awwooooooooohhh! <–(spooky sound).

March 15 is also remarkable because it is the day after Pi Day. Get it? Pi Day? 3/14? Like Pi? 3.14? Ha ha ha!

In honor of Pi Day, I wanted to post a link to the pi quiz I wrote for the Science Channel for Pi Day 2009. But I forgot yesterday. And I have enough news dignity not to post an item one day after the only day of the year when people would care about it.

So that means, right now, in 2012, I am using a handy feature that allows me to schedule a blog post for future publication. This means it is actually impossible for me to forget to honor Pi Day 2013.

Take the quiz, people of the future! And enjoy some pie!

Posted in My Work | Tagged | 1 Comment

Pretty Carving

This doesn’t have anything to do with my normal blog topics, but it’s so pretty, I wanted to post anyway. Toulouse’s Basilica of St. Sernin is a gorgeous medieval church, a short walk from where I’m staying. Today I stopped by and was particularly impressed by a series of carved marble reliefs, around the back side of the altar.

They’re from the late 11th century. This website says they’re like “ivory carvings blown up to life size,” which I think is a nice description and part of why they’re so captivating.

Thing I learned today: some churches on pilgrimage routes, like this one–it’s on one of the routes that medieval pilgrims took to the Santiago de Compostela in northwestern Spain–have this kind of walkway around the back of the altar, known as an ambulatory, so that pilgrims could walk around the church without disturbing the service.

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged | Leave a comment

Museum Tourist: Muséum de Toulouse

On Saturday I went to the Museum of Toulouse. The name might lead you to expect a museum about Toulouse, but you’d be wrong–it’s the natural history museum. It’s got lots of taxidermied animals and some rocks. It proves it is a natural history museum by having trilobites. There’s a whale skeleton suspended from a ceiling–another natural history museum standby. A bunch of skeletons were very prettily displayed in a wall of windows. And the big central space has an elephant.

Just like home! But with a difference: the elephant at the Smithsonian’s natural history museum is an African elephant, while this is one an Asian elephant. The label draws attention to the excellent work of the local taxidermists and says that Henry F. Osborn, of the American Museum in Natural History in New York, declared he had never seen such a dynamic piece of taxidermy.

That is my own weak translation of the French label. The museum is oriented to French-speakers. I mean, fair enough, since it’s in France, and the people working there were perfectly friendly and welcoming. Occasional signs were in English, but the majority of the information was only in French.

From the stuffed animals, I’d say the highlight was this bird. I don’t actually know anything about it, but it looks like a bird with personality.

The label says it’s an Acryllium vulturinum, which my extensive research [coughwikipediacough] tells me is a Vulturine Guineafowl, from the Ethiopia-Kenya-Tanzania region.

My favorite exhibit was one with very few actual artifacts in it. In the evening of April 10, 1812, a meteorite lit the sky over Toulouse–much like the one that blazed to ground in Russia last month. It broke up as it fell and peasants picked up pieces. Toulouse’s Academy of Sciences, which had dissolved during the revolution and reformed just a few years before the meteorite’s arrived, appointed a commission to study the meteorite.

This pretty book is a volume from the Toulouse Academy of Sciences in the early 19th century.

The commission agreed that the rocks had fallen from the sky, but debate continued to rage about their origin: some kind of condensation from the atmosphere? Volcanoes on the moon? At the time, nobody knew. (The answer, in case you aren’t up on meteorite science, is that they mostly come from the asteroids that orbit the Sun between Mars and Jupiter.)

The exhibit traced the story of the meteorite, including how chunks of it ended up in museums around the world, from Paris to Tempe–but, somehow, not one piece stayed in Toulouse. The permanent secretary of the Academy of Sciences had a piece in his collection. After he died, his son gave the collection to the University of Toulouse, but the piece of meteorite wasn’t there and has never reappeared.

Later that day, we stopped by a store in Toulouse that sells actual pieces of meteorites. Of course, I wanted the one that costs over a thousand euros. Sigh. Pallasites are pretty.

Posted in Museum Tourist, Museums | Tagged , , , | 1 Comment

Museum Tourist: Postmuseum Liechtenstein

In 1992, I did a summer exchange in Thurgau, in northern Switzerland. One weekend as we drove south to a family member’s birthday party, my host father pointed out Liechtenstein from the highway. For 21 years, I’ve regretted being too shy to ask if we could take a detour so I could collect a new country. On Saturday, I crossed that river.

The teensy principality of Liechenstein takes up an area less than the size of the District of Columbia, between Switzerland and Austria. I imagine it would be somewhat larger than D.C. if you smushed it flat, because it’s got a lot of mountains. Most of the people are in the flat bits along the Rhine, which forms the western border of the country.

Now that I’ve been there, I can report that Liechtenstein looks a lot like Switzerland. It’s got mountains and yellow “Wanderweg” signs showing the foot paths. The people speak German and use Swiss Francs. My lunch was a plate of delectable goulash (made, the menu assured me, from Swiss or Liechtensteinisch meat) and spätzle, a true gift of the Alpine peoples to our world’s cuisine.

But here’s one way to know you’re not in Switzerland: buy a stamp. This country of 37,000 has been issuing its own since 1912. Buying stamps is one of the major tourist events in Liechtenstein. As is the postal museum.

The museum is about the size of a postage stamp. (Sorry, couldn’t help myself.) It’s so tiny, it closes for an hour at lunchtime. The permanent exhibit has, as you’d imagine, a lot of stamps, mounted on vertical drawers that you can pull out to survey all of Liechtenstein’s 101-year postal history, from the stamps of the 1910s that just had the head of the prince, to later ones with beautiful portraits of local wildlife.

I particularly enjoyed this envelope that was sent to Brazil by airship. I learned recently in an exhibit at the Smithsonian’s National Postal Museum that airships once seemed like a good way to travel, and they paid their costs in part by carrying mail. The Hindenburg, which was featured in that exhibit, was the largest flying post office ever.

This letter traveled on a somewhat less dramatic airship, the Graf Zeppelin. It flew regular flights between Germany and Brazil in the 1930s. It stopped running after the Hindenburg exploded and everyone freaked out about using hydrogen to lift airships. And rightly so, if you ask me.

Also, I learned the background of a symbol I’d known for years but never thought about. The post offices in Switzerland and thereabouts are associated with a curly little horn, like this.

See, for example, the logo of Austria’s postal service. Well, now I know: Postal carriers used those horns to let people in remote, rural, mountainous communities know that now would be a good time to bring out the letters.

That rural mountain bus service evolved into the incredible rural bus network that Switzerland and Liechtenstein have now. It’s as punctual as the stereotypes would lead one to expect in this part of the world and it integrates with the train system. In fact, I used it to get to Liechtenstein myself. I bought a ticket from Zurich to Vaduz, the capital of Liechtenstein. I got off the train at Buchs, in Switzerland. After a few minutes, a very bright green Liechtenstein Postbus pulled up, and a few minutes after that I was standing in the main plaza of Vaduz. (In two hours of travel, I should note, no one checked my ticket.)

Also totally charming, by the way, was a collection of postcards from the early years of the postal service (and some from earlier–before 1912, I believe Liechtenstein’s post was handled by Austria). I love the pig, which is wishing you luck. In French.

One note: If you do visit, it may be somewhat less informative if you don’t speak (or, more importantly, read) German. I asked if there was anything written in English, but the woman working that day said the English materials were being printed. At least, I think that’s what she said.

Posted in Museum Tourist, Museums | Tagged , , | Leave a comment

What is Engineering, Anyway?

My second story from the Broadcom MASTERS competition last fall has gone online at the Science News for Kids website. It’s about engineering. I learned a lot doing the story–I felt like I didn’t have a super firm handle on what engineering was myself, so I had to learn before I could explain it to kids.

I mean, I knew what engineering was. I’m not a complete idiot. But, as I mentioned when my first story was posted, knowing what something is and knowing to the point where you can explain it to a kid are two very different levels of understanding.

Speaking of which, there’s a blog post about writing for kids over at the website of The Science Writers’ Handbook, including a bit of what I learned from doing these two stories.

Read the new story.

Posted in My Work | Tagged , | Leave a comment