6/6/1993 – darkness falls as the flames begin to lick the walls, the floors, the tower as the dark wood turns to ash. Built in 1150 in the magnificent Sognefjord, the Fantoft Stave Church was carried piece by piece to its current site near Bergen by a kind soul named Fredrik Georg Gade 1883 to save it from demolition. 100 years later, it was burned to the ground. What happened? In short, Norwegian Black Metal happened. A genre unfortunately synonymous with church burnings, this beautiful piece of history was lit afire by Varg Vikernes from the one-man-band, Burzum, who, in poor taste, later used a photo of the church’s burnt shell for his ‘Aske’ (Ashes) album. Convicted of 4 acts of arson (and other crimes), Varg is locked safely behind bars, though he apparently has ‘fans’ who applaud his crimes. Destroyed or not however, the Norwegians, much like the Poles after WWII, refused to give in, and instead painstakingly reconstructed the building to its original state. Today, the beautiful Fantoft Stave Church sails into its forest landing in all its original glory, one of the last remaining stave churches (many of which are UNESCO sites), or medieval wooden churches whose name comes from the pinewood support posts (stav in Norwegian). Fantoft has been through a lot, but for now, it rests in tranquility in the whispering woods below Bergen.
X marks the spot – or maybe it just marks a row of charming houses in Dijon, built in the infamous wattle-and-daub style. But what really is wattle-and-daub anyway? In use as a construction method for some 6,000 years (and still popular today due to it being low-impact technique), such buildings are created by weaving a braid of wooden strips called wattle, then daubing them with a sort of caulk made of soil, clay, sand, straw, and other ingredients. Thick wooden beams are then factored in as supports to the structure, and together, they form sturdy, isolated walls. Sustainable and relatively easy to do, houses erected in this style are also just so charming. Dijon, Strasbourg, Stratford-upon-Avon, many Germanic villages and more exude such charm because of the high predominance of wattle-and-daub structures. Charming and beautiful, it would seem that fairy tales are alive and well in Dijon – one can just imagine one of those windows popping open and Belle or Rapunzel smiling out!
Why are medieval villages so beautiful? For that matter—why is France so beautiful? Old—and ancient—things hold a charm that seems impossible to resist. Their nostalgia reminds us of a time that we perceive as “simpler” (despite the fact that disease was rampant, bathing was non-existent, food was plain, violence was everywhere and lifespans were short), we can’t help but see the vestiges left behind in the form of medieval towns as that “better, simpler” life. While that probably isn’t true, it is true that people in the Middle Ages spent a lot more time on the construction of things. As everything had to be done by hand and took years to accomplish, stone buildings were built with a care that we rarely see today. Whereas now when we may put up a building in 3 months, we often know that it’ll only be there 10-15 years before we pull it down and build something ‘more modern.’ It’s worth taking the time to appreciate the buildings that took so much blood, sweat, time and care to plan, build and maintain in villages such as Pérouges—a genuine member of “The Most Beautiful Towns in France”—before modern architecture has consumed them all.