Early this evening I was lingering late in the maths building, which was quiet, and dark, and had almost emptied for the weekend. And then suddenly I heard singing -- three or four voices, perfectly together, perfectly in harmony. I went exploring, and tracked it as far as a closed door, and listened for a while, and then went back to work.
Half an hour later, the singing stopped. A couple of girls and a couple of guys emerged -- one or two of them I knew by sight -- and ran downstairs, whistling.
It wasn't the first time I'd heard of a university with a sweet little maths-department a capella group. But my mind started wandering, and I thought back to the large and excellent village choir I'd heard in 2000-inhabitant St. Märgen just before Christmas. Then I remembered that at least a couple of the not-too-many people I know well here sing in small semi-organised choirs -- one of them I discovered one day during a particularly boring differential geometry class, quietly skimming the score and (Russian) words for a new song. And then I thought of the brilliant YouTube video of a University of Mannheim lecture hall breaking into song:
and of buskers in the Freiburg town centre, and realised -- well, that I was altogether very impressed with the local grassroots choir action.
Germany's known for its proliferation of superb music schools and orchestras, or so I'm told. But it seems that the national enthusiasm that supports them starts deep down.
The weather at the moment is weird. On Wednesday it was brilliantly sunny. Yesterday was nice too, and at night the wind started to blow in whooshing big gusts. I felt it, cycling home, and with my Christchurch-trained instincts assumed it'd be dry and hot for the next few days. Then it started to hail . . . .
Germans' opinions on the general situation vary. Someone said joyfully, it's spring! But someone else gloomily predicted a relapse.
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