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noreply@blogger.com (Steve) — Fri, 14 May 2004 12:37:00 +0000

Vignole Borbera is such an obscure little town that when most Italians hear the name they look at you with a puzzled expression, asking something like "Borbera? Are you sure you don't mean "Barbera?" The closest town that actually shows up on a map is Arquata Scrivia, which really isn't saying much. It's like saying that the town of Lonerock (in central Oregon, where my grandfather was born) is near Condon. People still look at you with bemusement. The town itself is tiny and fairly unimpressive except for a few old buildings and a picturesque religious refuge on top of a nearby hill. However, the reason this town was important to us is because it's where my great-grandfather was from. Although I don't think my mother has been able to identify any more or less direct relatives of ours who still live there, some relatives of old family friends of my grandmother do still live there, and they were who we went to visit. It was pleasant enough to visit with them, although it was fairly awkward because we ran out of things to talk about fairly quickly, which made for a longish evening punctuated by uncomfortable silences.

At least Gavi--the town where we stayed that night--was nice. There was a compact old town area full of narrow alleys and steep staircases, surrounded by an oxbow bend in the river. There was also an imposing set of crumbling fortifications high on a hilltop above the town, from which you could get a great view of the surrounding area. This was the Italian countryside of my imagination--green rolling hills with small towns nestled in little valleys, bell towers, the occasional defensive wall or fortification. It was a nice antidote to the disappointment I felt from Milano.

The next day we continued on to Genova, where we were going to drop off the car. The section of the Autostrada between Vignole Borbera and Genova was fantastic! The road wound its way through the Maritime Alps, and even though it was a major freeway with two lanes in each direction, it had a lot of steep ups and downs, sharp curves, and tunnels. There was a fair amount of traffic on it--all of them trying to go as fast as possible--and it was pouring down rain, so it was some very fun, very challenging driving. I'm sure it was a white-knuckle experience for my parents, but they were nice enough to keep quiet and let me drive (thank you for that, Mom and Dad!).

After we dropped off the car, we got on a train to Pisa, which passed through some beautiful scenery along the Italian Riviera. Once we got to Pisa, we got on another train that took us to the small, very nice town of Lucca.

Lucca is a beautiful old walled city set in a broad valley and surrounded by fairly rugged green hills, with some snow-capped mountains in the distance. The imposing 16th century city wall--which forms an unbroken 3 km ring around the old city--is now capped with a broad, tree-lined pathway that's perfect for walking, biking, or picnicking. Outside the walls where the moat used to be are large grassy fields, perfect for lying in the sun, kicking a soccer ball around, throwing a frisbee, or whatever. Within the walls, the medieval streets are just confusing enough that you can get pleasantly lost, but there are enough towers and open squares that you can usually regain your bearings if you want to, or you can just keep going in one direction long enough until you get to a wall, which you can get on top of to figure out where you are. One of the highlights of Lucca for me was climbing Guinigi Tower, a 130 foot tower with a tiny garden at the top and spectacular views in all directions of the town and the surrounding area. I stayed up there for about an hour, waiting for the sun to set behind the bell towers of the various churches, happy to be in such a gorgeous place. If you want to find out more about Lucca and see some nice pictures of the town, you can check it out by clicking here.

So we got to Lucca on a Saturday afternoon and stayed there until early afternoon on Sunday, and then headed to Florence. Once we got to Florence we went to meet up with our respective landlords and get ourselves set up in the residences where we were going to spend the next four weeks. I mentioned before in the Milano posting that we were spending a month in Florence studying Italian in order to be able to communicate better with the Italian relatives, and this phase of our adventure was about to begin. I'll talk a bit about Florence next time.

noreply@blogger.com (Steve) — Wed, 05 May 2004 10:00:00 +0000

After hearing from basically every person who's ever been to Italy that Italy is the world's most beautiful, most romantic, most friendly, most vibrant, most fashionable country, Milano was quite a letdown. Milano is usually described as being the heart of modern Italy or something like that, which more or less means that it's crowded, noisy, dirty, and pretty uninteresting architecturally, just like most modern big cities.

This doesn't mean that Milano doesn't have its positive side, though. It just means you have to look harder to find the hidden gems. The Duomo--Milano's cathedral--is in the heart of the old part of the city, and it's the most outrageously ornate cathedral I've seen anywhere during my travels. For starters, it's simply huge--the fourth largest cathedral in the world--so just the size is impressive (yes, size does matter). It was built over several centuries, and the exterior was finished in Flamboyent (flame-like) late-gothic style, with hundreds (maybe even thousands) of ornate statues, finials, spires, buttresses, etc. Another impressive thing about the Duomo is that the whole thing is built out of marble, instead of sandstone like pretty much every other cathedral I've seen here, so the exterior gleams bright white. The facade was completely covered up by scaffolding for restoration, so it was a bit disappointing to not be able to see the whole thing in all its glory, but at least I knew about the scaffolding ahead of time, so it wasn't such a huge disappointment.

The interior of the Duomo is equally impressive, with its white, green, and red marble flooring, its extensive stained glass, and its neck-achingly tall central aisle. Just the side aisles alone are taller than most cathedrals, and the vaulted ceiling of the central aisle seems to disappear in the gloom overhead. The roof of the central aisle is supported by massive, old-growth-fir-sized pillars. The cavernous interior is large enough to seat some 12,000 worshippers. The Duomo Museum, in a building right next door, is a dry but interesting look at many different aspects of the cathedral, from statuary to artwork to stained glass to building methods to restoration.

To the north of the Duomo is the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II, purportedly the world's first covered shopping mall, dedicated to Italy's first king and completed in the 1877 (in case you didn't know, Italy has only been a unified country since 1861, and Vittorio Emanuele II was its first ruler). The stores inside the Galleria are just as uninteresting as stores in any shopping mall anywhere else in the world, but the interior is very impressive with its steel-and-glass barrel-vaulted roof and its mosaic floors. Nearby is the world famous La Scala opera house, which was also undergoing extensive renovation, and which was, frankly, kind of boring architecturally--its neo-Classical facade could have belonged to a bank or government building.

Another noteworthy building is the central train station, a fascist monument built by Mussolini in a grandiose and overdone Art-Deco style (think of the Nazi monuments at Nurenburg). It's not exactly appealing in an esthetic sense, but it does impress with its over-the-top expression of nationalism.

There are some other places of interest in Milano. Da Vinci's Last Supper is at Santa Maria delle Grazie (we didn't see it because you have to make an appointment weeks in advance); Sforza Castle was home to the Milanese equivalent of the Medicis of Florence; and there are several churches and museums scattered here and there, but we didn't really have time for much, since we were only there for a couple of days.

One reason we didn't do a lot of the typical tourist things in Milano is that we met up with some of our Italian relatives there. We met Pier-Paolo Papis--who is first cousin to my grandmother (my mother's mother, who was born in Italy)--and his wife, Franca, in front of the Duomo on our first full day there. We climbed to the top of the Duomo to enjoy its spectacular views--it was clear enough that we could see all the way to the Alps--and went out to lunch with them, then met up with them later for dinner with their son Andrea.

It was interesting to meet up with "long lost relatives." (To be honest, though, my parents had gone to Italy twice before to meet up with relatives there, so they weren't really all that "long lost" anymore, but there was a period of 45 years during which there was no contact between our family and the relatives in the Old Country, so the first time my parents went to visit them in 1995 they really were "long lost.") It was fun to try to communicate with Paolo, Franca, and Andrea in our limited Italian and their limited English, but a lot of the time it was also tiring because of the level of concentration required to understand what was being said, and frustrating because we wanted to talk about a lot of things that were beyond our ability or our vocabulary. There were quite a few times where Paolo (especially) would be rattling along in Italian only to realize by our vacant expressions that we had no idea what he was talking about. Oh well, the reason the three of us were planning on spending a month in Florence studying Italian was so we could communicate better with the Italian relatives.

On our second day in Milano, Andrea and Franca drove us to Pavia, an allegedly interesting university town south of Milano. We didn't really spend much time there, and the time that we did spend there mostly involved wandering aimlessly around. It was a bit frustrating for me, because it seemed like a long way to go to look at a couple of small, moderately interesting Romanesque churches and a mildly diverting old town. On the way back to Milano, we took a side trip to the town of Vigevano, which has a nice central square surrounded by Renaissance-style arcades. There was also a nice Baroque church and a bell tower that had a great view of the town and surrounding countryside, but again it seemed like a long way to go for something that was fairly unspectacular.

We managed to get back to Milano right in the middle of rush hour, which was pretty unnerving because Andrea started getting more and more frustrated by the lack of progress he was making and started making all kinds of sketchy passes and turns from the wrong lane, shooting through impossibly narrow gaps in traffic--basically driving like an Italian, although even more so than any of the other drivers. Andrea's driving was made even more nerve-jangling by Franca's incessant back-seat driving, giving him all kinds of unnecessary and unwanted advice on which road he should be taking, which direction he should be going, how fast he should be driving, etc. It was obvious that her kibbitzing was adding to his frustration, but that didn't stop her from doing it. I was pretty drained from the experience.

The next day we picked up a rental car at the train station and set off toward Vignole Borbera, a small town on the way to Genova where my great-grandfather was born. I was looking forward to leaving Milano and getting to some more interesting parts of Italy; I was also pretty excited about getting to drive on Italy's famed Autostrada. But enough for now. I'll cover more of my Italian adventures in my next posting.

noreply@blogger.com (Steve) — Thu, 22 Apr 2004 10:06:00 +0000

Matthias Gruenewald's Issenheim Altarpiece is without doubt the most amazing and emotionally gripping piece of art I've ever seen, anywhere. If I had to choose only one piece of art to see anywhere in the world, this would be it, period. I'm not exaggerating at all when I say that I spent a minimum of three hours gazing at it, studying its every detail, mesmerized by it, awed by it.

Like I mentioned earlier, I first learned about this work in Art History when we were studying Mannerism, which is the style of art that followed the Renaissance style. Mannerism is characterized by the use of exaggeration and stylization of the human form and manipulation of perspective for maximum emotional effect. The Issenheim Altarpiece--which was painted from 1510 to 1515--is pretty much textbook Mannerism, and the emotional effect is absolutely devastating.

The Altarpiece was designed with panels that could be opened or closed to display different scenes in accordance with the liturgical calendar. Because it's pretty much impossible to try to describe what it looks like, I've provided some handy links to pictures of the Altarpiece with the panels in all the different positions, along with plenty of close-ups of many of the details. While looking at these images, pay attention to how the figures are exaggerated with abnormally long limbs; how the heaviness of Christ's body is emphasized in the Crucifixion and Entombment panels, and contrasted with the lightness of his body in the Resurrection panel; and how the poses are highly stylized for emotional effect (especially Mary Magdalene and the Virgin Mary in the Crucifixion panel). One thing that struck me about this work is that it can be hard to fully appreciate the technical brilliance of the painting because of its emotional impact. Even if you're not particularly interested in religious art, it's worth it to at least take a look at the Crucifixion panel.

When all the panels are closed, it shows the Crucifixion in the center, flanked by St. Sebastian and St. Anthony (click here). When the first set of panels are open, it shows (from left to right) the Annunciation, the Angel Concert, the Nativity, and the Resurrection (click here). And when the second set of panels are open, it shows the meeting of St. Paul and St. Anthony in the desert, and the Temptation of St. Anthony (click here). The predella, or long bottom panel showing the Entombment, looks like this.

It may be hard to get much out of the pictures in the links, but it hopefully gives a good idea of the raw emotional power that this work conveys. If you were moved at all by these images, imagine seeing them on a large scale from only a few inches away.

Although the Issenheim Altarpiece was my primary reason for going to Colmar, there are plenty of other reasons for going there. For one thing, it's one of the stops along the Route du Vin, a well-traveled road that connects quite a few towns together in this wine growing region of eastern France and western Germany. Another reason is the town itself. The heart of the old town is a maze of stunningly beautiful half-timbered houses painted every shade of pastel (see Kevin's pictures from Alsace here). I spent many happy hours wandering down the narrow, winding alleys lined with centuries-old houses (some dating from the 1300s), silently thanking the Allied commanders who decided not to bomb this lovely old city during World War II, even though it occupied a strategically important area between France and Germany. If only they had done the same for Dresden, which was one of Europe's most beautiful cities and had no strategic importance whatsoever (so it goes).

So after a couple of wonderful days in this amazing place, I set out on Tuesday the 23rd for Milano, where I was to meet up with my parents. The train went through Switzerland, giving me some great mountain views along the way. It was so wonderful to see honest-to-god mountains and flowing rivers after such a long time in the Low Countries. It was also great to see the parents again after five weeks away from the US. But I'll talk about Milano and beyond next time. Ciao for now.

noreply@blogger.com (Steve) — Wed, 21 Apr 2004 11:34:00 +0000

I took another day off on the Friday after I returned from Amsterdam to plan my next adventures. That evening Kevin and Angie and I went to La Maison des Brasseurs, a local cafè, to meet up with some of their coworkers and have another go at a farewell get-together cum end-of-the-workweek celebration. This one ended up being a much greater success than the previous feeble attempt, mainly because people actually showed up. There was much imbibing of delicious Belgian brews, followed by an evening of red wine and singing with a select group of friends at Kevin and Angie's. Altogether an extremely enjoyable and memorable evening.

On the Saturday following this bacchanalia, Kevin, Angie, and I went back to downtown Brussels for a wonderful meal and beers on the Grand Place, followed by a minor pub crawl to a couple of really amazing cafès. It was a very nice way to say goodbye to a city I had grown to love.

On the next day I reluctantly packed my bags, left the incredible hospitality of Kevin and Angie behind, and boarded a train in the early afternoon for Colmar, France. Although I was sad to be leaving Brussels, I was looking forward to Colmar, which is where Matthias Gruenewald's Issenheim Altarpiece is on display. We studied this work in my art history class at the University of Oregon, and it was the most powerful piece of art I've ever set eyes upon. I vowed to myself that if I ever had the opportunity to see it "in person" I would do whatever it took to see it. Colmar also happens to be the most beautiful town in the Alsace region of France, so it was an irresistable combination. I'll talk all about in my next post, so stay tuned.

noreply@blogger.com (Steve) — Tue, 20 Apr 2004 12:34:00 +0000

After the Van Gogh Museum I went to the fascinating Amstelkring Museum, also known as Ons' Lieve Heer op Solder ("Our Lord in the Attic"). Amsterdam is a city that's peculiar in a lot of ways, and Our Lord in the Attic is one of those things that makes this city, well, different. From 1578 to about 1800 it was illegal for Catholics to worship in public in the Netherlands because of the Reformation, and this led to a proliferation of hidden Catholic churches, especially in Amsterdam where wealthy merchants could afford to transform their residences into places of worship. The existence of these churches is uniquely Dutch in a couple of ways, because on one hand there were anti-Catholic laws, but on the other hand the Dutch--who are famously tolerent people--allowed Catholics to worship in private without persecution.

From the outside, this place looks like any other row house anywhere in Amsterdam, and the bottom two floors were used as a normal residence. The top two floors and the attic, however, contain a small but elaborate church complete with a small pipe organ, Baroque altarpiece, statues, paintings, and two balconies to make the best use of the long and narrow but tall space. This place is really ingenious. If you want to get more information and see what the place looks like, you can go to their webste by clicking here. Unfortunately for all you non-Dutch speakers out there, almost all of the information is only available in Dutch, but if you click on the "Rondleiding" button ("guided tour") and follow the arrows marked "verder" and then "doorgaan met tour," you can get a pretty good idea. You can get even more details by clicking on the text in the pictures on the guided tour.

I went to a couple more mildly interesting museums during my time in Amsterdam, but mostly I did lots more wandering around. Of the lesser museums, the Museum of Hemp, Hash, and Marijuana was the best in my opinion. It was a completely straight-faced look at the many uses of hemp and related products by pretty much every society throughout the world. For people who already believe in the usefulness of hemp (which I do), this museum is preaching to the choir, although there are many uses I learned about at this museum that I didn't already know about. For those who don't think that hemp has any valid uses, this place gives plenty of examples, from paper to rope to cloth to plastics. They do a very good job of using historical examples to further the cause of decrimilization of hemp, from pointing out that the Declaration of Independence was written on hemp paper to displaying a patriotic poster from World War II encouraging Americans to grow hemp for the war effort. A great deal of this sort of argument in favor of hemp is squarely aimed at the US, because the US government uses its considerable influence to keep the growing of hemp illegal in most countries throughout the world.

The funny thing about this museum is that it attracts legions of pot-heads, who are only interested in marijuana because they can smoke it. A lot of these people come to Amsterdam specifically to be able to smoke pot legally in any of the dozens of "coffeeshops" throughout the city, and seeing these people wandering around this museum looking somewhat vacantly at the display cases was a crack-up. (For those of you who don't know, marijuana and hash are sold legally in Amsterdam in licensed "coffeeshops"--if you want to order a cup of coffee, you go to a cafè, not a coffeeshop) But make no mistake about it: this museum makes a powerful argument in favor of legalizing hemp production, but they're also definitely in favor of legalization of marijuana and hash. The display cases are full of information about hemp, but they also contain a lot of information about smoking or ingesting the stuff, with displays showing how hash is made, real samples of marijuana and hash in case you don't know what they look like, different sorts of pipes from throughout the world, different methods for rolling joints, techniques that people have used to smuggle it, religious uses, and much more. There's even a high-tech grow room, with sun lamps and a hydroponic set-up, which is pretty interesting. I would definitely recommend this museum for anyone who's interested in learning more about hemp and marijuana, but if you're just interested in getting stoned, you're probably better off just going to a coffeeshop (although the museum was giving out free samples).

Unfortunately, one of the most memorable parts of my trip to Amsterdam was the return trip to Brussels, which was really frustrating. It should only take about two and a half hours to get from Amsterdam to Brussels, but that day it ended up taking about seven and a half, and all of it because of one city that nobody has ever heard of.

The problem was caused by a break in the electrical transmission lines between Dordrecht and Roosendaal in the southern part of the country. Instead of having diesel locomotives like in much of the US, these trains run on electricity provided by overhead wires. The weakness of this system is that when one of these lines gets broken, all train travel in the area of the break becomes impossible. The location of the break in the transmission line was especially inconvenient, because it happened south of the Hague and Rotterdam. This affected train travel for most of the country, because a great deal of train traffic starts in Amsterdam, goes through the Hague and Rotterdam, and then goes from there to most of the rest of Europe. It was also very inconvenient that the recommended route around the problem area went through a town that proved very difficult to find.

I won't go into all the details of the dead ends and wild goose chases that ensued, because it would be pretty boring and require knowledge of Dutch geography, so I'll just cut to the chase. The crux of the matter was that the way around the problem required a change of trains in the town of Hertogenbosch, which unbeknownst to me is shortened by Dutch people to "den Bosch" or something very close to that. The conductors were telling us non-Dutch types that the way to get south of Dordrecht and thence to the rest of Europe involved changing trains at Duivendrecht, then at a city that sounded like "Bos" (rhymes with "close"), and then once again at Roosendaal; but try as I might, I just couldn't find a train that went to "Bos." I looked at a map that showed all the cities and towns served by train, and I couldn't find a town in the index that was even close to "Bos." Had somebody just bothered to tell me that "den Bosch" was short for "Hertogenbosch" it would have saved me literally hours of fruitless running around. As it turned out, I was given lots of conflicting information and advice before I finally figured out where the problem lay. So after leaving Amsterdam for the first time that day at 4:30 in the afternoon, I finally arrived at Kevin and Angie's house a little after midnight. It was definitely an example of type 2 humor, the kind of humor that's only funny afterwards.

noreply@blogger.com (Steve) — Fri, 09 Apr 2004 13:39:00 +0000

So I left off at the Anne Frank House. I wandered around a bit before I went back and enjoyed dinner with Isabelle, David, and Sarah. After dinner I did a lot more wandering, which I really enjoyed. Amsterdam is a great town for wandering aimlessly, especially along the canals that are in concentric rings around the old town area. I also really liked the Jordaan neighborhood west of the old town, which was such a nice change after dealing with the crowded pedestrian areas in the center. The Jordaan is so peaceful, with 17th century gable-fronted row houses along the tree-lined canals, and very little traffic (let op! drempels). This area is definitely off the tourist radar, which is one of the reasons I liked it so much.

That night I also made the obligatory visit to the world famous red light district, which I found to be quite a bit creepy but mostly kind of boring, although I guess it was interesting in a sociological context. (I'm not going to get graphic or anything, but if you're easily offended, you may not want to read the rest of this paragraph) For those of you who don't know, the red light district in Amsterdam features bikini-clad hookers in stiletto heels behind plate glass windows so that the tourists can go window shopping. To me, the sight of silicon enhanced boobs, fake tans, and bleached blonde hair isn't even remotely interesting, but the tourons can't seem to get enough of it. Although mostly the red light district is crowded with just normal tourists (often middle-aged couples, interestingly enough), there's no shortage of frat boy types tapping each other's arms and talking excitedly amongst themselves, usually saying something really intelligent like "dude, she's totally looking at me!" or "dude, she's so hot--we should check and see how much it is." I didn't do a whole lot of looking around while I was in this area, mainly because of the sex shops everywhere selling dildos and porn flicks, or the window displays, which I wasn't really interested in, as I said earlier. I've heard other people talk about how sad they find the whole thing, because apparently there are alot of eastern European women who go to Amsterdam to try to earn some money and end up here. I don't know. I find the whole thing a bit sad too, because I'm unable to look at these prostitutes as merely objects that serve a purpose, which I suppose is how you must have to do it if you're going to use their services. For example, on the few occasions that I've found myself in a strip club, I usually just see the women as people who have parents who would be disappointed if they knew what their daughters were doing. I also find it a bit sad that there's even a necessity for prostitutes, that people have to pay to have their needs taken care of. Maybe I'm just being patronizing, because I've also heard that alot of the prostitutes are perfectly happy with what they're doing. It's all above board, by the way--they even fill out tax returns--and I guess they get paid very well. What I'm saying is that it's not my thing, and I chose not to hang out there.

The red light district is also a bit incongruous, because if it weren't for the window diplays and sex shops everywhere it would look like pretty much any other neighborhood in Amsterdam, with 17th century houses along canals. In fact, it's located in the oldest part of town that dates back to the 12th century when the first settlers built the first dam on the Amstel River (which is where the city gets its name, incidentally: "Amstel dam" became "Amsterdam." Seriously). It's nothing like the sort of seedy area that most Americans would associate with a red light district: dark, dirty, crime-ridden streets with pimps dressed in garish outfits (there are no pimps in Amsterdam anyway, just paid security), sultry saxophone music playing (the saxophone was invented by a Belgian named Adolph Sax--just thought you might be interested). It can be a bit surprising and disconcerting to find oneself wandering through what seems like a perfectly lovely neighborhood only to find oneself confronted by in-your-face sex-vending.

The following day I went to the Rijksmuseum and the Van Gogh Museum. The Rijksmuseum is undergoing renovations right now, so only one wing is open, but the curators were nice enough to move only the best pieces of art into this small wing, so you don't have to walk through miles of corridors to find the masterpieces. I have to admit, though, that I'm not a big fan of Dutch art, although the dark, moody paintings by Rembrandt were great, as well as the serene, peaceful Vermeers. Mostly, though, it just seemed like a bunch of still lifes and landscapes, which, though beautifully done in a technical sense, don't really do it for me emotionally.

The Van Gogh Museum, on the other hand, was amazing. The curators did a great job of arranging the paintings in chronological order, so you could follow his output from his early Realist period through to his nearly abstract late works. I just love the amazing energy in his paintings, and the vibrant, swirling colors are mesmerizing. They have around 200 of his paintings, which is the largest collection in the world, and I could have looked at 200 more of these amazing works by this brilliant, tragic artist.

noreply@blogger.com (Steve) — Tue, 06 Apr 2004 14:48:00 +0000

Ah, Amsterdam. What a nice relaxing city, even though the crowds of tourons sometimes made me a bit crazy (by the way, I'm not sure if "touron" is a contraction of "tourist" and "moron" or "tourist" and "automaton," although either one seems apt). For me, Amsterdam wasn't full of must-see sites like Paris--it was more just a very pleasant and lovely place to spend a few days. The only places that I really didn't want to miss were the Anne Frank House, the Rijksmuseum, and the Van Gogh Museum. Anything beyond these three places was just icing on the cake.

I got to Amsterdam at about 2:00 in the afternoon on Tuesday the 16th and went to drop off my bag at the house where I was staying. My good friend Jacomijn--who co-owns Wet Planet Rafting (where I work in the summer), and whom I work with at Stevens Pass (where I work in the winter)--is from the Netherlands and arranged for me to stay with her cousin Isabelle, who lives in a beautiful house near the Concertgebouw with her American husband David and their adorable daughter Sarah (thanks again for the hook-up, Jaco!).

Right after I dropped off my bag I went straight to the Anne Frank House Museum, which was one of the most heart-rending, emotionally gripping places I've been to anywhere. It was so unbelieveable, and really quite eerie, to be walking around in the storerooms and the Secret Annex where the Frank family (and four others) hid for over two years during the Nazi occupation. While there were many things that brought tears to my eyes, probably the the one that affected me most was seeing the pencil marks on the wall charting Anne and her sister Margot's growth during the time they spent in the Secret Annex, which stopped abruptly in March of 1944 for obvious and tragic reasons. It was so incredible and horrible to see the actual 3-by-5 index cards that were typed up when the Frank family and the others were processed for deportation to Nazi death camps, with the handwritten notes on the cards saying where and when each of them died (except for Anne's father Otto, who was the only one who survived). Also on display were the actual diaries, as well as the letters written by Otto after he had returned to Amsterdam after the war and was searching--at first hopefully, then with resignation--for any surviving family members. This museum was definitely the highlight of my trip to Amsterdam.

noreply@blogger.com (Steve) — Fri, 02 Apr 2004 14:34:00 +0000

Man, I knew if I didn't work hard on keeping my blog updated I would start to forget when things happened and what exactly I did and saw. Let's see, I left off on Friday the 12th of March when I returned to Brussels from Paris.

The day after that Kevin and I went to the Autoworld museum near the Parc Cinquantenaire. This place has everything from the first commercially made cars from the late 19th century to the newest Smart car model. [For those of you who don't know about Smart cars, check out their ubiquitous Smart For-Two Coupè model by clicking here (click on the "smart range" button, then the "cars" button, and then the "smart fortwo coupè" button). I've seen these cars everywhere I've been in Europe, and just like the name says, they're perfect for in-city use for one or two people. They're silly-short, just over 8 feet long. For comparison, the old model of the Mini Cooper (not the new one) is about 12 feet long.] One of the coolest things about this museum is that it focused primarily on European models--many of which Americans have never heard of--but there were also many familiar names like Opel, Peugeot, Citroen, Fiat, and Renault that have been made for a hundred years or more. It was funny that both Kevin and I had similar taste in cars. We were both absolutely drooling over the classic Citroen DS on display, as well as a couple of classics from Ferrari and Jaguar.

There was also an exhibition of comic strip art there featuring the character Le Chat (The Cat). Belgians just go crazy for Le Chat, but Americans are usually just really puzzled by the "humor." Even when a Belgian explains the captions and the context (when they're able because of tears of laughter), it still doesn't make sense. This exhibition was hugely popular--with fliers all around town and in practically every city I went to--but try as we might, Kevin and I just didn't seem to be getting it. (If you want to check out Le Chat, you can go to the official website (in French) by clicking here) Another thing we don't get is the Belgian obsession in general with comic strips. It definitely isn't just for kids, with many comic strips with adult subject matter, and it isn't some sort of underground sub-genre like it is in the US. Everywhere you go in Belgium there are stores selling comic books, and the artists are nationally-known celebrities, with people lining up to get autographs at book signings. One of the pubs Kevin and I went to in Brussels had hundreds and hundreds of issues of all different comic books available for customers' reading peasure. The sentimental favorite in Belgium definitely has to be Tin-Tin. Heard of him? Me neither. The Belgian creation most familiar to Americans would have to be the Smurfs, which are known in Belgium and Holland as "Les Schtroumpfs" (don't even ask me how to pronounce it). Alot of Belgian beer labels feature super-cheesy cartoon art, which makes them a success in Belgium, but definitely turns off most non-Belgians. I know I sound like I'm being very critical of Belgians, and maybe it sounds like I'm saying they have child-like sensibilities, but what I really mean is that their sense of humor and their sensibilities are just different from most Americans'.

On Sunday we had a little going away get together for me combined with a birthday celebration for one of Kevin and Angie's coworkers, which was a resounding failure. Almost nobody showed because they had done too much partying in Amsterdam the previous few days. It was pretty anticlimactic. On Monday I didn't do much of anything except work on corresopndence. Oh yeah, and I went up to Kevin and Angie's school to get in a little piano practice time. Man, my techinique sure goes to shit in a hurry when I don't practice very often. I only practiced two times during my month in Brussels, and I sure could tell the difference. Oh well, I'm willing to let my technique slip a little bit in exchange for some travel time in Europe.

That's all for now. The next installment will cover my trip to Amsterdam, and maybe more if I have the time. Hope all is well with everyone.

noreply@blogger.com (Steve) — Mon, 29 Mar 2004 11:35:00 +0000

How to describe my visit to Paris without resorting to tired old clichès. That's been my challenge while I've been waiting to write this entry. To describe Paris as "amazing" or "historic" or "beautiful" is just stating the obvious. There are so many unbelievable things to do there, but, you know, duh. What are the things that set Paris apart from all other cities? What is it about Paris that makes it a world capital?

Because it really is a world capital. That much is obvious the moment you get to the heart of the city. This is one of the only cities I've been to where everything seems eerily familiar, but at the same time you can't believe you're actually experiencing it first-hand. I've had this feeling every time I've been to New York City, where I feel like I've somehow stepped into a movie (The Purple Rose of Cairo-style, although the guy in that movie stepped out of the screen, not in), because everything is just as you would expect it to be--from the bums on the sidewalk to the trash on the streets to the taxis everywhere to the crazy-huge crowds of pedestrians at rush hour--and everything looks just like you imagined it would. I found myself wandering around Paris saying to myself "oh my GOD!! I can't believe I'm actually in the Notre Dame cathedral," or "oh my GOD!! I can't believe I'm actually seeing the Eiffel Tower." It seemed like everywhere I went I felt this way ("oh my GOD!! I can't believe I'm actually in the Louvre looking at the Mona Lisa.").

So sure, I did alot of the things on the normal tourist itinerary. I mean, it would be pretty silly not to. On the first day I went to Notre Dame and walked around the Ile de la Cité, went to the Louvre, spent 7 hours there and saw all the big names, walked along the Champs-Elysées at night to the Arch de Triomphe, climbed it and enjoyed the view, and took the Metro back to my hostel. The second day I walked around Ile de la Cité and Ile St. Louis, visited Sainte Chapelle (incredible stained glass windows), climbed to the top of Notre Dame's tower, visited the nearby Deportation Memorial (a powerful memorial for the tens of thousands who were deported to Nazi death camps), walked through the Latin Quarter and the Left Bank neighborhood to the Musée d'Orsay, spent 4 hours there and saw all the big names, walked to Les Invalides, then walked to the Eiffel Tower through the Champ de Mars, then took the Metro back to my hostel. The third day I walked to Place Bastille, then through the Marais neighborhood and the Jewish Quarter to the Picasso Museum, then went to the museum at the Pompidou Center. After that I went back to Brussels.

So there you have it: a record of my three days in Paris. It really is a remarkable city, and I came away with quite a few impressions, as you can probably imagine. The thing that struck me the most about Paris is the grand scale of everything. The palaces are huge, the museums are huge, the grand boulevards are huge, and because of this, it felt very impersonal, and I felt pretty small and insignificant in the face of it all. I mean, I knew that the Louvre was a gigantic museum, but if you've never been there then nothing can prepare you for the sheer size of the thing. It's absolutely monumental, and the Louvre is just one of the massive former royal palaces in and around Paris, and not even the largest. When I saw how lavish these buildings were, each of which must have cost mountains of money, it was easy for me to see why the peasants revolted against the royalty. Another thing that struck me was how most of the architecture in Paris was pretty uniform and, frankly, boring. Death by Neoclassical and Second Empire. I felt that if I had to look at another domed building with classical columns and a triangular pediment I was going to be forced to gouge my eyes out with a fork.

OK, enough negative stuff. I was really glad I had the opportunity to go, and I would go again to see all the other amazing things I didn't have time for. But to be perfectly honest, I was really looking forward to being back in Brussels again, with its smaller, more intimate streets, its greater variety of architecture, and its wonderful beers.

noreply@blogger.com (Steve) — Fri, 26 Mar 2004 08:05:00 +0000

One of the other reasons I came to Belgium, besides the great friends, great beer, great cities, central location, etc. was to look into the possibility of doing what Kevin and Angie are doing; that is, to see if teaching at American schools abroad is something that I would want to do. Kevin's parents have been teaching at American schools abroad since before he was born--he was born in Singapore and grew up in such places as Islamabad and Cairo--and ever since I've been friends with him (14 or so years) the idea of teaching abroad has intrigued me. So to this end, on the day after I got back from Ghent I "shadowed" Kevin as he went through a typical day at school. I sat in on three science classes, a video editing class, and a yearbook class. It was very interesting, and even though science and technology classes aren't the sort of classes I would be teaching, it still gave me a pretty good feel for what it would be like. I think it would be something I could do and do well; I'm going to start pursuing the possibilities when I get back to the US.

The following day was one of the highlights of my time in Belgium. Kevin and I went to the Cantillon Brewery just west of downtown Brussels for the once-a-year public brew day. It was really lucky that I just happened to be there at the right time. Normally the Cantillon Brewery gives tours of the brewery every Saturday (I think), but this is the only day in the year that the public can be there while they're actually brewing. Cantillon is one of the very few remaining lambic breweries in Brussels, so getting to watch how they make this enigmatic style of beer was great. This tour was definitely better than either the Vapeur public brew day or the tour of the Halve Maan (Half Moon) Brewery in Bruges.

I'll spare all the non beer geeks most of the details of the brewery, because it would make for some pretty uninteresting reading; all the beer geeks out there probably already know a bunch about how lambic is made anyway. It was really cool just to see the process, the facilities, the equipment, and of course to try their remarkable beers. It was also interesting to note that the brewing equipment they used--which dated from 1900--was almost identical to the equipment that Vapeur used; about the only difference was that Cantillon doesn't use steam power. The best part of the whole tour was the huge, dank, dark, beer-smelling, cobweb-filled room stacked high with decades-old oak casks that they use for the fermentation and aging of their beer. It was awesome to see a couple of the casks with actively fermenting beer in them, with foam spooging out of the bungholes (that's what they're actually called--seriously!). If you're interested in reading a bit more about our visits to Cantillon, Pipaix, and Tournai (and to see another point of view), Kevin posted a few entries about them on his beer blog, which you can get to by clicking on the link to the left. You can also learn more about Cantillon and lambic beers by going to their website (click here).

The next day we went to Leuven, a well-known university town northwest of Brussels, which has a nice cathedral and an absolutely out-of-control Gothic town hall (15th century). Pretty much all the buildings in Leuven except for the town hall and the cathedral were flattened during World War I, so most buildings date from the early 20s. Many of the buildings were rebuilt in the old style, though, so the town still has a medieval feel to it. It's strange how these town halls in Belgium are able to withstand massive bombardments, by the way. In 1695 the armies of Louis XIV shelled the central square in Brussels specifically to destroy the town hall, and they managed to destroy everything except the town hall, which is why all the other buildings in the central square date from the last few years of the 17th century.

The next day (Monday the 8th of March, I think) I took another day off, and on Tuesday I went back to downtown Brussels to see the rest of the Fine Arts Museum and the Musical Instruments Museum. The Musical Instruments Museum is in the Old England building, a gorgeous Art Nouveau building that used to be a department store. (Just as a quick aside, why is it that Art Nouveau hasn't had a revival yet? I think it's one of the coolest styles of architecture and design.) Anyway, the Musical Instruments Museum is definitely worth a couple hours of exploration, although my experience there was negatively affected somewhat by the huge crowds of school kids. Actually, that's one of the biggest drawbacks to travelling in the "off season" and going to museums only on weekdays--I'm able to avoid most of the tourist hordes, but there are almost invariably school field trips. Oh well, I'd rather have the school groups because they move on pretty quickly and they stay in pretty cohesive groups, whereas the normal tourist hordes are always in the way.

The following day I left for Paris for three days, which was great, but enough cool stuff happened that I'll make my Paris adventures the subject of another post. Until then, safe travels.

noreply@blogger.com (Steve) — Fri, 19 Mar 2004 08:49:00 +0000

Ahhh...back in Brussels again. I just got back from three days in Amsterdam, which was great, but the train trip back was an exercise in frustration (stay tuned for more details). I'm going to take a couple more days off before my next big adventure, which involves going to Colmar for a day or two, then I'm somehow going to get from there to Milano to meet my parents. It sure is great to be able to take days off whenever I need to--let's hear it for long-term travels without a set itinerary!

So I left off in Ghent which, like Antwerp, is another gem of a city that's not very well known on the tourist circuit. Whereas Bruges gets packed with tourists, Ghent and Antwerp are refreshingly uncrowded. Here's what Lonely Planet has to say about Ghent: "It's much bigger than Bruges and is not as picturesque, but ultimately it feels more real..." This sums it up really well. Bruges can feel a bit like an outdoor museum, where everything looks perfect, and the medieval core of the city is very self-consciously preserved; Ghent, on the other hand, has an amazingly beautiful medieval core that exists despite the fact that it's surrounded by a bustling city of 225,000.

One of Ghent's signature buildings is Het Gravensteen, a 12th century fortress that served as its military stronghold, then a prison, and finally a cotton mill before undergoing extensive renovation in the early 20th century to turn it into a museum. Unlike the picturesque castle at Beersel that I mentioned before, Het Gravensteen is a serious fortress, with thick walls that could withstand artillery and a very forbidding appearance. The highlights--besides being able to wander all around the fortifications and enjoy the awesome views of the city--were the room full of historic weapons and armor (there were a couple of two-handed long swords that were absolutely outrageous, each over six feet long) and the room with instruments of justice (read "torture"). There was a guillotine; a large collection of thumbscrews; a straightjacket and gags; a rack; execution swords; branding irons; and a two-tined pitchfork that the executioner used when burning someone at the stake to pile on straw and brush, and to keep the victim from trying to escape. Just in case you had difficulty imagining all these horrible things, there were woodblock prints and etchings showing how these instruments were used. Two particularly grisly items: a very realistic etching showing what someone looked like after being burned at the stake; and the knife that was used by Ghent's last executioner to chop off the hands, feet, and sometimes heads of prisoners. This knife is like a large, heavy kitchen knife, and the blade was all rusty and notched. It reminded me of Gilbert and Sullivan (I think this is how it goes):

"To sit in solemn silence in the dull, dark dock
Of a pestilential prison with a lifelong lock
With the cold anticipation of a swift, sharp shock
Of a cheap and chippy chopper on a big black block"

The displays in this room were actually pretty sickening, because they were the real deal, not just recreations of what would have been used. They were pretty up-front about the brutal reality of the treatment of prisoners, showing the dungeon where most of the torturing was done so as not to disturb the local residents with the screaming.

After Het Gravensteen, I visited the much less disturbing but equally interesting Museum of Decorative Arts, which featured furniture and interior design from the 1600s to the present. Baroque through Neoclassical pieces were definitely the main focus, although there was a great section on Art Nouveau design, and a really interesting and pretty funny selection of Postmodern furniture and design.

After this I mostly wandered around, stopping to visit the awe-inspiring St. Baafskathedral, probably the most impressive cathedral I've seen since I've been here. In the crypt were two more works by Bosch, including the arresting Bearing of the Cross, an up-close view showing just the grotesque, mocking faces of the crowd surrounding a suffering but resigned Jesus on his march to Calvary. This was another of Bosch's mesmerizing works that looked like it could have been painted in the 20th century. I could hardly take my eyes off it.

I left Ghent amazed that Belgium has so many gorgeous but relatively unknown cities. I'm really glad that I've had the opportunity for so much exploration of this underrated country.

noreply@blogger.com (Steve) — Mon, 15 Mar 2004 08:05:00 +0000

The day after I went to the art museum I took off for an overnight trip to Bruges, in order to go to the museums that I hadn't been able to go to before and to wander the little streets and alleys that had beckoned me on my previous visit.

I got there around 11:30 and went straight for the Basilica of the Holy Blood (which closed at noon), where there is a small phial of Christ's blood that was brought to Bruges by Derrick of Alsace, who received the relic in 1150 from the patriarch of Jerusalem during the Second Crusade. The relic is only on display on Fridays, so I didn't get to actually see it, but the Basilica was a really nice little Gothic church, with very intricate and colorful stained glass windows and beautifully painted walls, ceilings, and columns.

Next, I went to the Groeninge Museum, which has an impressive collection of mostly Flemish artists. I made an effort to move a little bit faster in this museum than I had at the Royal Museum so that I would have time to do something else. I wasn't rushing through, but I didn't spend as much time dwelling on less important works. In the first room were two really mesmerizing paintings: one was another wonderfully bizarre tryptich by Hieronymus Bosch, this time dealing with the Last Judgment; and the other was a rather gruesome and realistic work by Gerard David from 1498 showing a man getting skinned alive. There was one whole room in this museum dedicated to expressionism and surrealism, and this was where I spent most of my time, awed at works by Frits van den Berghe, Constant Permeke, Gustave de Smet, Paul Delvaux, and Rene Magritte.

This museum was quite a bit smaller than the Royal Museum in Brussels, so I got through it with enough time to see the nearby Gruuthuse Museum, which is a 15th century mansion that is full of all kinds of everyday items from the 15th through 19th centuries, everything from tapestries to pottery to coins to gold- and silver-work to period furniture to musical instruments, etc. There was one room that had instruments of justice and warfare, including a guillotine that had been bought from France and used a couple times in Bruges, some branding irons, a chopping block and ax that were used for lopping off hands and feet, and a few other disturbing things. My favorite part of this museum, though, was the small addition that bridged the narrow gap between the mansion and the Church of Our Lady next door (the huge cathedral with the Michelangelo statue), allowing the family to have their own private box seat above the altar. The family that lived here didn't even need to leave home to go to church!

After this, I spent the next four or five hours wandering the lovely old town, ducking down narrow alleys and following little side canals just to see where they would lead me. There are so many cool buildings everywhere, and it was great to have the time to just explore.

The next morning I did a little more wandering around, and then I climbed the 366 steps up the 290 foot 14th century belltower that dominates the Market Square. Even though it was cold and drizzly, the view from the top was incredible. The bell tower has a carillon loft near the top, where the 47 bells can be played by a carillonneur on a sort of keyboard (imagine a pipe organ keyboard where the player pounds and stomps on the keys with fists and feet), or played mechanically by a huge rotating drum (imagine a giant music box). The bells chime briefly every quarter hour, but at the top of each hour the carillon plays for a few minutes. When I was at the top at 10:00, it played the opening of Mozart's Eine Kleine Nachtmusik for about five minutes. It was both deafening and exhilerating! It was amazing to have all those bells--some only about a foot across, some as big as five feet across--ringing all around me. After that I went back to the train station and hopped on a train heading back to Brussels. I had arranged a stopover in Ghent, which is yet another beautiful medieval city and the subject of my next posting. Ciao!

noreply@blogger.com (Steve) — Sun, 14 Mar 2004 15:52:00 +0000

I took a couple more days off after our trip to Pipaix and Tournai, and on Tuesday morning (I think this was March 3rd) I was ready for some more sightseeing. I went to downtown Brussels with the intention of seeing the Royal Museum of Fine Arts, the Musical Instruments Museum, and if I had time, the Brussels City Museum. I ended up spending so much time in the Museum of Fine Arts that I didn't have time to see the other two, and I only made it through a little more than half of the huge collection there. The focus is definitely on Flemish artists, although there are plenty of French, Dutch, and German paintings on display as well. My favorite work was a tryptich by Hieronymus Bosch dealing with the temptation of St. Anthony. Bosch's works are so full of nightmarish, bizarre imagery that it's hard to believe that they were painted in the early 16th century; to me they look more like the work of 20th century surrealists. I spent alot of time looking at the different panels of this striking work, and I found myself compelled to return to it several times to look at it again, to see if there was some small detail of it I had overlooked. I also enjoyed the large collection of 20th century works, especially the sections devoted to home-grown surrealists Paul Delvaux and Rene Magritte. I vowed to return to this museum to finish looking at the works I didn't have time for that day, and to make time for the Musical Instruments Museum.

noreply@blogger.com (Steve) — Sun, 14 Mar 2004 08:39:00 +0000

Here are a few random facts, thoughts, and observances....

The currency used in most of western Europe (except England, Switzerland, Sweden, and a few others) is called the Euro. The Euro is divided into 100 "Eurocent." Right now, one Euro is worth about $1.23 The plural of Euro is "Euro," because there would be so many different ways of making it plural, depending on which language you're speaking.

Brussels is home of the legislative branch--called the European Parliament--and the executive branch--called the European Commission--of the European Union. There's a large complex of buildings here where the public can observe meetings and debates among the representatives from different countries. This kind of makes Brussels the capital of the "United States of Europe." Just in case you were wondering, the judicial branch is located in Luxembourg City.

Beer has been brewed in Belgium since the Roman conquest of Gaul in 57 BC. At the beginning of the 20th century there were somewhere around 3000 breweries. Now there are about 100 breweries that produce about 600 different types of beer (this is in a country slightly larger than Maryland!). In the three and a half weeks since I've been here, I've sampled at least 200 different beers, most of which I had never tried before. One of the reasons it's so easy to sample lots of different beers here--besides the mind-boggling array of choices--is because beer is so ridiculously cheap. A 25cl bottle of Hoegaarden white beer that would cost you $1.50 in a grocery store or $4 in a pub in the US (if you could find it) costs 50 Eurocent in a grocery store (4 Euro for an 8-pack!) or 1.50 Euro in a pub. Champagne-style bottles of Gueuze (blended and refermented lambic) or kriek (cherry) lambic that would cost $5-15 in a specialty beer store in the US sell for between 1 and 4 Euro in a grocery store here.

Belgium is where gin was first distilled. It has been made here since the Middle Ages, and there are somwhere between 150 and 250 different kinds available.

Belgians love dogs. People bring their dogs onto subways and buses, into restaurants, grocery stores--everywhere. There was a dog wandering freely in and out of the kitchen at one pub that Kevin and I went to in Brussels. Most of the cathedrals I've gone to visit in this country have signs posted saying that dogs aren't allowed. Dog shit litters the sidewalks everywhere you go (they love their dogs, but apparently don't love cleaning up after them), so sightseeing involves constant vigilance.

noreply@blogger.com (Steve) — Sat, 13 Mar 2004 11:24:00 +0000

Well, I had good intentions for keeping my blog updated, but that was before I decided to go to Paris. I just got back from three very busy days there, and I'm ready to start again, so here goes.

The day after we went to Bruges, Kevin and I did some wandering around the area where he lives, checking out some of the many miles of trails that go through the extensive forested area here, enjoying the couple of inches of fresh snow that had fallen overnight.

The following day, Kevin and I headed out to the very small and virtually unknown town of Pipaix to check out the monthly public brew day at Brasserie a Vapeur, which is the last remaining steam-powered brewery in the world.

Just getting there was a minor adventure, but a fun and pleasant way to spend a Saturday morning. We took the train to Leuze, which is the closest town to Pipaix where trains actually stop. We were going to take a bus the rest of the way, but there's no bus service on Saturdays, so we ended up walking the rest of the way. It was only about three or four kilometers along a country road, and after a couple of wrong turns, we were there.

By the time we got there they had already mashed in, so there wasn't a whole lot going on (for you non-brewers out there, mashing in is where you mix the crushed barley with hot water and allow the mixture to steep for a while in order to convert the starch to sugar). After a while, though, they fired up the steam engine, and things started to get much more interesting. In the corner of the small, dark, steamy brewhouse were a couple of small boilers which powered the little steam engine, which in turn spun a large pulley that was connected by a belt to a drive shaft that ran the length of the brewhouse. This drive shaft was connect by other pulleys that operated the mash stirrer, the grist mill, and the pump. Most of the time, these pulleys just spun without doing anything, but when the brewer needed to stir the mash, for example, he pulled on a handle that was connected by a chain to some sort of a clutch, and the stirrer would start stirring. They also used the steam to maintain or raise the temperature of the mash, which is important for the development of certain proteins, sugars, and other components that are essential for the finished product. If you haven't checked them out yet, you can see pictures of the brewery and the road from Leuze at the photo link. If you're interested, you can go to their website by clicking here.

We hung around there for a little while longer, and after a short visit to their tasting room, Kevin and I continued on to the town of Tournai, the oldest city in Wallonia (dating from Roman times), with a cool central square and an amazing cathedral, which was completed in the 12th century. This cathedral is interesting because of its odd mixture of styles--it starts out Romanesque (round arches and smaller windows), but makes the transition to Gothic (pointed arches, flying buttresses, and much larger windows) at the transept. The signature feature of this cathedral is the five huge square towers that rise up from the transept, and at least one of these towers starts out Romanesque at the base and makes the transition to Gothic halfway up. This change in styles is understandable, however, because so many of these cathedrals took centuries to build (Notre Dame de Paris took 182 years, the Duomo in Milan took 424 years). Architectural styles obviously changed over time, and the builders would often change the design to reflect the latest fashion, because after all, who wants to worship in a church that's built in an outdated style?

In the photo link that has pictures of Tournai, the picture from the main sqaure features the cathedral towers to the left and the oldest belfry in Belgium (also from the 12th century) on the right. Tournai was an interesting city to visit because it's so far off the tourist radar screen. There are lots of cool medieval buildings like you would find in Bruges, but no tourists. Kevin and I were there on a Saturday afternoon, and whereas Bruges would be teeming with tourists, it seemed like we were the only tourists in Tournai.

So that's it for this installation. Hope you liked it, and talk to you again soon. Cheers!

noreply@blogger.com (Steve) — Mon, 08 Mar 2004 09:06:00 +0000

OK, so after a couple of false starts, I'm finally in blogger mode. I'm taking another day off (travelling is hard work!) to catch up on correspondence and to plan for future travels. It's been about a week and a half or so since I sent out my first mass emailing and I've done some cool stuff during that time, so I'll go ahead and get to it. I'll probably spread things out over a few postings so you don't have to read one super-long post in order to do a little catching up. I'm also going to try to write more often after this so I don't have to try to remember things that happened a week or more ago. Enough rambling....

On the Thursday following Ash Wednesday Kevin and I went on a day trip to Bruges, which is one of the most beautiful and well-preserved cities in Belgium, or in all of Europe for that matter (or so I'm told--again, I'll just have to judge for myself). The fact that it's hugely and increasingly popular with tourists speaks to the fact that, even in a continent crammed full of beautiful and historic cities, it's definitely out of the ordinary. Apparently it's now one of the top ten European destinations, right up there with London, Paris, Amsterdam, Vienna, Rome, Florence, and Venice. If you visit (and you should) you'll see why. The old town is ringed and criss-srossed by a network of canals, which are lined with lovely old buildings. It's easy to see why Bruges is called the "Venice of the North."

We spent most of our time there just wandering around the winding cobblestone streets and open squares, reveling in the gorgeous late Gothic and early Renaissance architecture. Bruges was one of the largest and wealthiest cities in Europe in the 15th century, with a population of 200,000 in 1500--twice that of London. One of the main reasons the city is so well preserved is because the waterway that linked Bruges to the North Sea, and hence to international trade, silted up in the 16th century, and most international trade moved to Antwerp, and then later to Amsterdam. After the merchants and most of the population moved elsewhere in the 16th century, Bruges went through a long period of decline, and the city languished more or less unchanged for centuries. It was "rediscovered" in the 19th century by British tourists, many of whom moved there and set about preserving the city as a medieval showpiece. Actually, though, alot of the more fantastical Gothic architectural features such as the pointy spires, cupolas, and ornamental towers were added in the late 19th century to make the city more appealing to tourists, and, well, it worked. The city is very appealing. The fact that its old link to the North Sea was silted up ended up saving the city during both world wars, because the city didn't have strategic importance.

About the only tourist attraction we went to was the Church of Our Lady, a very large cathedral that dominates the skyline with Belgium's tallest spire. One of the main reasons to visit the cathedral is to see a Michelangelo statue of Madonna and Child, purportedly the only statue to leave Italy during his lifetime. The church is huge, but the interior isn't as impressive as many of the other cathedrals I'd been to. Mostly, though, we just wandered the streets, which is one of the most enjoyable things to do in Bruges. We ended our visit there at the Brugs Beertje, which the "Good Beer Guide to Belgium and Holland" describes as "one of maybe a dozen beer bars anywhere in the world that you have to visit before you die." It has a tremendous selection of some of the more obscure Belgian beers, a few of which we tried. Bruges, like Antwerp, was one of those places that I knew I was going to have to visit again before I left. There were so many appealing alleyways and streets that begged to be explored, not to mention a few world class museums, and we just didn't have enough time to do everything. All in all, it was an extremely enjoyable day.

noreply@blogger.com (Steve) — Mon, 08 Mar 2004 08:12:00 +0000

The following is a mass emailing (with a few minor editorial changes) I sent out to a bunch of people after about a week in Belgium. If you've already read it, then you can skip it or reread it or whatever.

(Originally written and sent out on or around February 27th)
Greetings to all,
I'm in Brussels right now at the beginning of a three-month trip to Europe. Last summer, my very good friend Kevin and his wife Angie got hired to teach at the International School of Brussels, a pretty well known preschool-through-highschool that teaches American-style Advanced Placement and International Baccalaureate curriculum to the children of businesspeople and diplomats living in Brussels. I've been wanting to go to Europe for quite some time now, and having friends to stay with seemed like a great excuse. Belgium also happens to produce the world's best beer, so the combination of great friends and great beer proved irresistable.

I had planned to go to visit Kevin and Angie during their week long mid-winter break from school at the end of February, spending only about three weeks in and around Belgium, but I was able to extend my travels to three months by combining it with a seven-week vacation to Italy that my parents were planning for the end of March. My parents re-established contact with our Italian relatives in the mid-90s, and this is the third time they've gone there to visit. It seemed like a no-brainer to stay in Europe a little longer, meet up with my parents in Italy, and visit the long-lost relatives there.

So I've been in Belgium for about a week now and have done a few things worth reporting, so without further ado....

After spending a day and a half relaxing, adjusting to the new time zone, and sampling some of the wonders of Kevin's beer cellar, Kevin, Angie, and I went into the old town to wander around the Grand Place (grand square) and have the obligatory and quintessential Brussels meal of moules (mussels) and frites ("French" fries--although here they're known as Flemish fries--served with mayonnaise). The Grand Place is one of the most beautiful town squares in Europe (or so I'm told--I'll just have to see for myself), with cobblestone pavement surrounded by the late-Gothic Hotel de Ville (town hall) which dates from the early 15th century and the Flemish baroque guild houses that date from the late 17th and early 18th centuries. The square is an absolute marvel of excessive ornamentation, with pointed arches and arabesques and pointy spires and ornamental gables and gilded statues everywhere you look. Spectacular!

The next day Kevin and I went to Antwerp, which has a spectacular Flemish and Italian renaissance old town area, featuring another over-the-top central square and the largest Gothic cathedral in Belgium. We wandered the crooked cobblestone streets for a while, enjoying more crazy fairyland architecture like the Vleeshuis, a tall narrow building with lots of pointed spires and decorative gables and dormers, built by the Butcher's Guild in the early 16th century, and featuring alternating layers of red brick and white stone made to look like well-marbled meat. We ended our evening by visiting The Kulminator, a tavern that's renowned for its unbelievable selection of Belgian beers, especially aged vintage beers.

The day after that, Kevin and I rode bicycles out to the town of Beersel in the Pajottenland, a rural area just west of Brussels that's well-known in the beer world as the area where lambic is produced. Lambic is a medium strength light-colored wheat beer that's allowed to spontaneously ferment; that is, instead of using a pure strain of yeast like pretty much every other beer in the world, lambic is fermented by wild yeasts and other bacteria that occur naturally in the air. In most places in the world, the result would be so vile as to be undrinkable, but in the Pajottenland, it just so happens that the wild yeasts and bacteria produce an amazingly complex, though very sour beer. Some people still may find lambic beers to be undrinkable because of the sourness and strange flavors--most people either love them or hate them--but to people who enjoy the wild character of these beers, visiting the only place in the world where it's produced is a form of pilgrimage. The bike ride out to this area was very pleasant, and it's amazing that we only had to go about six miles away from where Kevin and Angie live (Watermael-Boitsfort, southeast of downtown Brussels, for those of you following on a map) to find ourselves in a picturesque little village that probably never sees tourists outside the occasional beer geeks like Kevin and me. There's even a small, late-Gothic, Disneyesque castle (built in 1617) near the town. It was amazing to be able to explore this old place, from the store-rooms in the basement and the cobblestone central square surrounded by brick walls and towers, up stone spiral staircases, through the small halls with open beamed ceilings and huge fireplaces, around the battlements with the arrow loops and openings for pouring boiling oil onto would-be invaders. Even though the moat was drained and a bit of restoration seemed to be happening, the place looked like it has just been allowed to fall into a picturesque state of decay for the past few centuries. We were pretty much the only ones there and it was a grey, rainy day. Very evocative.

The next day we went back to the old town in the center of Brussels for more exploration--mostly just wandering around the lovely winding streets--looking at the many historic buildings like the ornate 15th and 16th century cathedrals, the beautiful Art Nouveau buildings, and the Palais de Justice (Justice Center), which was the largest building in the world when it was completed in 1883 (it's ridiculously huge), and enjoying the old world atmosphere of the place.

The next day we went to a Mardi Gras parade in the small town of Binche (rhymes with "branch") in Wallonia, the French-speaking area of Belgium. Binche is fairly unremarkable except for the fact that it has this huge celebration in the three days leading up to Fat Tuesday that apparently was so well known for its hedonism that it gave the English language the word "binge." The whole scene was pretty fascinating, with the narrow city streets jammed full of tens of thousands of people and small groups of men in crazy medieval-looking costumes marching around in wooden clogs. The parade itself took place on the main street and ended in the main square in front of the city hall. The parade featured wave after wave of men in bizarre costumes with huge ostrich plume headdresses, each group with its own marching band. The participants in the parade throw oranges into the crowd on either side, while the crowd tries to collect as many oranges as possible for good luck. These European religious festivals seem so odd to we Americans who don't happen to live in New Orleans, but have been a very important part of these people's lives for centuries. It was so strange, but really fun at the same time. Kevin and I managed to come home with about 35 oranges, so I suppose this means we'll have plenty of good luck for the rest of the year.

Kevin and I spent Ash Wednesday relaxing and enjoying the companionship of a few delicious Belgian beers. I've decided I'm going to give up temperence for Lent.

I'll leave it at that for the time being. I hope everyone enjoyed the update, and if you want to contact me or have any further questions for me, I'll be happy to respond individually whenever I find the time. Hope all is well with everybody. Cheers, Steve