For our last day in Belgium, Kendra and I knew we had to make it count. She'd outlined a great day following Rick Steve's city tour. Thanks to the excellent city bikes provided by our Bed & Bike accommodations, we were all set to take off and enjoy the sights.
We needed to fuel up for the trip, though, so we rode just a short distance down to the universally recommended Simon Says coffee shop. To make our way around the city, we were going to use the little 'current location' icon in Google Maps on our smart phone, which still holds onto the map if you open it while on wireless. Little did we know Google would release the exact product that we needed right after our trip.
So we rode down to Simon Says, bouncing awkwardly over a few cobblestone streets along the way. We each ordered a breakfast that comes with 3 mini pastries and a Lungo Belgian coffee. Kendra said, "you can have my coffee." My reply, "I've never loved you more."
Another patron used his powers of observation to determine we were tourists, and kindly recommended two apps: Useit.eu and Newplacestobe.eu. We used Useit and it was actually great- it lets you look up attractions, food, and places to stay on the app on an offline map all without internet access. The content is provided by locals so you get legit insight as well. Definitely recommended.
Our first stop was the aforementioned Castle of the Counts, moated castle in city center from the 10th century that has excellent exhibits on medieval weaponry and torture, along with beautiful views of the city from its upper reaches.
We then detoured back to check out a beautiful view of the patershol neighborhood (where we're staying) with some notable building facades. Taking pictures of bikes aligned in front of the photogenic canals remained a favorite pastime.
After that it was over to the Vrijdagmarkt ("Friday Market") square. Fortune would have it that the makeshift marketplace was set up, and we picked up some fritjes and wandered over to the statue of Jakob Van Artevelde, a 14th century businessman who saved the Belgian wool industry when the UK was going to cut them off.
Hopping back on our sweet rides, we made a few turns and found our way down graffiti street.
Ghent has gotten around the problem of tagging by encouraging graffiti to be done in only specified locations. Graffiti street was the most notable and was a crazy, long, narrow alley with murals up both sides from street artists.
On the other side was the old city hall. Ghent is rightly proud of its history of being ruled by the citizenry rather than nobility. This building is interesting because the facades are each distinct from the time period in which they were made. Humorously, after creating one aspect, a photograph was discovered and analysis showed the drain pipe should be colored white and blue. So, props to them, they did, and now locals call it the lollipop.
We then headed down to the piéce de résistance of our tour, the St Bavo's cathedral. A masterpiece in its own right, the 10th century Romanesque cathedral also houses the famous Ghent Altarpiece, known to its creators as the Adoration of the Mystic Lamb and to history as one of the most flippin stolen paintings of all time. This piece was featured in the phenomenal Monuments Men storyline. Reading about the history was insane. Stolen by the Germans in World War I, it was returned to Belgium. With the advent of WWII and concern that the Germans would act German again, it was going to move to Italy. Then Italy declared for the Axis. So it was moved to France, but France got taken over. Arts commissioners from several nations declared the painting could not be moved unless there was unanimous agreement, but then the Germans unanimously declared it should be moved to German territory. It was moved to the otherwordly Neuschwanstein castle, until bombing raids in the area put it at risk, and it was hidden in a mine of all places. There it was ultimately found by the Allied art recovery team, and returned to Belgium. Somewhat humorously, in a replacement ceremony attended by Belgian royalty, all of the allied nations were invited except the French... because it was lost on their watch.
We were able to have a private viewing of a smaller copy of the inspiring painting and able to view all of the subtleties, from Adam's realistic portrait to the incorporation of nobility from multiple cultures. It was beautiful, which is perhaps why the two brothers summarily described themselves in Latin as the best and second best painters of all time.
Having wandered around the beautiful cathedral, including the crypt that had been painted over by the Calvinists (bah!), we headed to the adjacent square to get that most important of Belgian souvenirs- chocolates.
The Chocolateries van Hoorebeke are run by a father and son duo along with their very charming wives. They hand craft phenomenal chocolates, and we had a blast selecting our own custom boxes. Not wanting to limit ourselves to just the work of the elders, we also had plans to visit the son and daughter's shop. En route, Kendra suffered a surprise fall and tragically crushed a few chocolates! Since we were going to stop into the shop anyway, we told the very charming Mrs van Hoorebeke of our misfortune and she replaced the crushed chocolate free of charge. A wonderful gesture from a fantastic chocolate shop.
Armed with chocolates, though, we weren't done seeing the sights. The St Bavo's cathedral is joined by its Belfry, the top of which was actually just created for a World's Fair in the 1900s. In a classy move, they topped it with architecture in the old style, which Kendra and I appreciated as it complemented the architecture of the cathedral and the stunning Saint Nicholas' Church perfectly.
Unlike the modern Stadshal public venue, which the locals humorously nicknamed the Sheep's Barn for its unfortunate appearance.
Walking into Saint Nicholas' church, we were thrilled to find they were holding a practice session on the organ. The cavernous church filled with music as we surveyed the architecture, appreciating how the church fades from gray to tan as it was built over time with an evolving change in stone. From outside, we went to the bridge over the canal and looked back down over the towers of the three monuments all in sight line. Certainly a wonderful send off shot from Belgium.
A late lunch was then taken in the adjacent Korenmarkt square at the Brasserie Borluut cafe. We were filled to the brim by a ham and cheese croquet, spaghetti bolognese, and a shared Gentse Tripel beer.
Quiet moments found us in Belgium and these were often the best. For a brief period we sat alongside the canal and took in the peaceful scenery. They were setting up for a music festival that would take place the next day which we'd tragically miss out on. It was back to the States for us...
But not yet! We had so much fun we did a second lap of the city tour, and then used the UseIt app to see a few other sites, including the humorously titled "Harmless Cannon."
Returning back along the canal later that night, I ordered a dinner of, that's right, a waffle topped with nutella gelate from a super cool waffle guy. Kendra and I then sat down at an outdoor restaurant to try to get a beer and wring every last drop out of our trip, but were thwarted by our lack of cash and unwillingness to over-purchase to use our credit card. With the rain starting up again - weather that we'd miraculously avoided during our two week stay - we were ultimately driven back home. It was an unceremonious end to an incredible two weeks in The Netherlands and Belgium, and we left with a deep appreciation for the culture and cuisine of both countries.
September 25, 2016
September 24, 2016
Getting to Ghent
Thurs Bruges / Ghent
Thursday found us on our last day in Bruges and second to last day in country, with an agenda to see the Groeningmuseum and then catch a train to Ghent.
We woke up with sunlight streaming into the our cozy attic room and headed down to breakfast. We'd known breakfast was included at Ter Duinn, but we didn't know it would be so great! It was my first taste of a proper European breakfast, since Kendra knows that if left to my own devices I'll eat chocolate croissants until I die).
Heading downstairs we passed through the central garden and the quiet reading room to reach the breakfast room, which was now replete with all sorts of fancy breakfast components. Grabbing a plate that was normal size, and by that I mean, the size of an American appetizer dish, we perused the variety of jams, breads, breakfast meats, pastries, and all sorts of toppings. Sunlight streamed through the adjacent window looking over one of the northern canals while we enjoyed coffee, tea, and fresh OJ. There were actually even a few types of breakfast chocolates (!), and, ever the addict, I sliced open a fresh, flaky croissant and placed a dark chocolate inside. Kendra, determined to see me become more cultured, taught me how to properly eat the delicate soft-boiled eggs were were served. I made a bit more of a mess than she did, to the surprise of no one, but was able to keep the lower shell intact while I scooped out the yolk and egg white mixture.
Since I'd declared that my new life goal was to read in the reading room, Kendra set about doing some useful stuff, as is her custom, while I lounged a little bit, as is mine. I was reading the autobiography for Bear Grylls, who, as an ex SAS (top British special forces) overcame a broken back to climb Everest, is a new personal hero. After reading through his adventures, we set about on a few of our own, and packed up our backpacks to drop off again at the very accomodating Hotel Academie before checking into the Groeningmuseum for a baptism into the Flemish primitives.
But not before saying goodby to Chez Albert!
We love you, Chez Albert waffles. You'll always be with us.
As in, literally with us, because you made us fat.
We also perused chocolates, because we'd given up on anything even resembling a normal diet. It seemed like a good price was ~1.60 Euro per 100g. We were seeing a lot of inflated prices though and attributed it to the prevalance of tourists, so we risked it in Ghent (and were very glad we did! See next post)
Having a morning to kill before our train in one of the best cities we've found for killing time, we headed over to the Groeninge museum. In addition to being difficult to spell without copying from Google, the Groeninge museum houses some famous artwork from the Flemish primitives and some very forgettable modern art. These painters coincided with advances in oil painting and gained worldwide fame in their lifetimes for their ultra-realistic portraits. Winding back through a courtyard into the museum - it's built on the site of an medieval abbey - we were immediately struck by a few particularly memorable pieces. The painting of Mars defeating ignorance was very intriguing, and I had a visceral reaction to the painting of the flaying of a corrupt judge (which was kept in the city hall as a reminder not to betray your post... it seems like we need to bring these paintings back, unfortunately). The Flemish Primitives are kind of the hipster Italian Renaissance - they were the best painters before it was cool, and it was eye-opening to see their work. The museum itself was fairly small, though, and it didn't take long to pass through, even for Kendra.
Finally we made a more responsible choice for food and grabbed lunch at the Manna and Co Italian shop. We picked up a margarita and pepperoni pizzas with a salad and took it to Minnewater Park for a picnic en route to train station.
We then caught our train to Ghent! We were excited to head there but were underwhelmed by having to be on transit. I tried to romanticize the trip in my classic optimist way and told Kendra, "Remember we're on a train through the Northern European countryside!" The train really is the best way to travel. We've run the gammut from miles-long walks, to bikes, to tuk tuk rides, to taxis and Ubers, to chicken buses, to city buses, to high speed buses, to trams, to trains, and planes, and trains are the way to go. Beautiful scenery, quiet surroundings, and the chance to sit in a spacious seat and read about Bear Grylls. Awesome.
Until it's not.
Google Maps did a stellar job giving us all of the info we needed. Unfortunately one of us, who will go unnamed - partially cause I'm writing this blog and don't want to self-incriminate- discovered literally all of the ways not not to find the tram north. Ultimately we did, and were glad we gave ourselves a thirty minute buffer to get to our Air BnB, the stellar Bed & Bike in a hip neighborhood just off the city's main attractions. To wit, we wandered off to find dinner and stumbled across a castle! We came around a corner and actually said, "Is... is that a frickin' castle?"
Little did I know we'd be able to walk around the turrets and dungeon and always the next morning. As it was we took in a pleasant dinner ordering the Flemish menu items from 'Tparadijs. I did order a beer, the Piraat, which was "only for real pirates," probably because it was an 11%). The Hotness got a local beer called Augustijn Ghents abdijbier. We had a great dinner together, until it finally rained on us, and we beat a hasty retreat back to the room, ready to rest up and take in the city the next day.
Thursday found us on our last day in Bruges and second to last day in country, with an agenda to see the Groeningmuseum and then catch a train to Ghent.
We woke up with sunlight streaming into the our cozy attic room and headed down to breakfast. We'd known breakfast was included at Ter Duinn, but we didn't know it would be so great! It was my first taste of a proper European breakfast, since Kendra knows that if left to my own devices I'll eat chocolate croissants until I die).
Heading downstairs we passed through the central garden and the quiet reading room to reach the breakfast room, which was now replete with all sorts of fancy breakfast components. Grabbing a plate that was normal size, and by that I mean, the size of an American appetizer dish, we perused the variety of jams, breads, breakfast meats, pastries, and all sorts of toppings. Sunlight streamed through the adjacent window looking over one of the northern canals while we enjoyed coffee, tea, and fresh OJ. There were actually even a few types of breakfast chocolates (!), and, ever the addict, I sliced open a fresh, flaky croissant and placed a dark chocolate inside. Kendra, determined to see me become more cultured, taught me how to properly eat the delicate soft-boiled eggs were were served. I made a bit more of a mess than she did, to the surprise of no one, but was able to keep the lower shell intact while I scooped out the yolk and egg white mixture.
Since I'd declared that my new life goal was to read in the reading room, Kendra set about doing some useful stuff, as is her custom, while I lounged a little bit, as is mine. I was reading the autobiography for Bear Grylls, who, as an ex SAS (top British special forces) overcame a broken back to climb Everest, is a new personal hero. After reading through his adventures, we set about on a few of our own, and packed up our backpacks to drop off again at the very accomodating Hotel Academie before checking into the Groeningmuseum for a baptism into the Flemish primitives.
But not before saying goodby to Chez Albert!
We love you, Chez Albert waffles. You'll always be with us.
As in, literally with us, because you made us fat.
We also perused chocolates, because we'd given up on anything even resembling a normal diet. It seemed like a good price was ~1.60 Euro per 100g. We were seeing a lot of inflated prices though and attributed it to the prevalance of tourists, so we risked it in Ghent (and were very glad we did! See next post)
Having a morning to kill before our train in one of the best cities we've found for killing time, we headed over to the Groeninge museum. In addition to being difficult to spell without copying from Google, the Groeninge museum houses some famous artwork from the Flemish primitives and some very forgettable modern art. These painters coincided with advances in oil painting and gained worldwide fame in their lifetimes for their ultra-realistic portraits. Winding back through a courtyard into the museum - it's built on the site of an medieval abbey - we were immediately struck by a few particularly memorable pieces. The painting of Mars defeating ignorance was very intriguing, and I had a visceral reaction to the painting of the flaying of a corrupt judge (which was kept in the city hall as a reminder not to betray your post... it seems like we need to bring these paintings back, unfortunately). The Flemish Primitives are kind of the hipster Italian Renaissance - they were the best painters before it was cool, and it was eye-opening to see their work. The museum itself was fairly small, though, and it didn't take long to pass through, even for Kendra.
Finally we made a more responsible choice for food and grabbed lunch at the Manna and Co Italian shop. We picked up a margarita and pepperoni pizzas with a salad and took it to Minnewater Park for a picnic en route to train station.
We then caught our train to Ghent! We were excited to head there but were underwhelmed by having to be on transit. I tried to romanticize the trip in my classic optimist way and told Kendra, "Remember we're on a train through the Northern European countryside!" The train really is the best way to travel. We've run the gammut from miles-long walks, to bikes, to tuk tuk rides, to taxis and Ubers, to chicken buses, to city buses, to high speed buses, to trams, to trains, and planes, and trains are the way to go. Beautiful scenery, quiet surroundings, and the chance to sit in a spacious seat and read about Bear Grylls. Awesome.
Until it's not.
Google Maps did a stellar job giving us all of the info we needed. Unfortunately one of us, who will go unnamed - partially cause I'm writing this blog and don't want to self-incriminate- discovered literally all of the ways not not to find the tram north. Ultimately we did, and were glad we gave ourselves a thirty minute buffer to get to our Air BnB, the stellar Bed & Bike in a hip neighborhood just off the city's main attractions. To wit, we wandered off to find dinner and stumbled across a castle! We came around a corner and actually said, "Is... is that a frickin' castle?"
Little did I know we'd be able to walk around the turrets and dungeon and always the next morning. As it was we took in a pleasant dinner ordering the Flemish menu items from 'Tparadijs. I did order a beer, the Piraat, which was "only for real pirates," probably because it was an 11%). The Hotness got a local beer called Augustijn Ghents abdijbier. We had a great dinner together, until it finally rained on us, and we beat a hasty retreat back to the room, ready to rest up and take in the city the next day.
September 20, 2016
"Is this Real Life?" Beer, Lace, and Swans in Bruges
During our Amsterdam and Belgium trip, Kendra and I have unfortunately followed the Hobbit Diet Plan: First breakfast, Second breakfast, Elevensies, Luncheon, Supper, Afternoon tea (beer), and Dinner.
For First breakfast, we split a waffle from a roadside shop near Hotel Academie. It wasn't Chez Albert quality (what is...), but it got the job done. The Belgians have a saying that relates to their affinity to build, which says, "Belgians are born with a brick in their stomach." Well, Kendra and I think this 'brick in the stomach' actually refers to these super-dense waffles.
The saying actually alludes to their innate desire to put down roots and build a brick home. They have the most densely populated country in Europe, to the extent that NASA astronauts in the International Space Station flying over the continent at night call the brightly lit country, "the Belgian Window." So now you have a new fun opener when you meet people at parties...
Good to go with a half-waffle, we set about on our day's itinerary. We were going to photograph some of the city's monuments in the morning light before the throngs of tourists descend, but happily stumbled upon the sign for a boat canal tour. Though touristy, it's a must-do in the town and gives you a fun perspective of Bruges. The Canal tour with Boten Stael was the one we happened upon, and on the first boat ride of the day (~9:45am) we had just four other people on board and got a 2 Euro discount when she spotted our Rick Steves travel book. Epic win. A fat, 'so ugly it's cute' bulldog kept us company and soon we set off on the canal tour. We took lots of photos and video of the 30 minute trip, which showcased St. John's hospital, the park with all the swans, and went by the Church of Our Lady and over to the statue of Jan Van Eych before flipping a U-turn.
Kendra and I then went window shopping, and were able to address her lace addiction with a fancy ornament from the shop, Serena. Belgium is known for its lace - the lace industry almost resurrected Bruges after its economic downfall. Today, many artisans still keep the tradition alive and lace shops are peppered throughout the city. Unlike knitting, it's very time-intensive so the price is high but the quality is worth it (the prices make clear what is hand-made and what isn't). A full lace baptism gown would make a great heirloom but at $125 was way out of our price range. Also, we don't have any kids to wear it.
Before coming to Belgium we heard about how really cool pubs here would have a couple hundred types of beer, and each would be served in its own glass specific to that individual beer. Some of the shops sell the glasses, so for fun, we figured we'd find out which glasses we liked best and track down those beers so we could buy our favorite one. We liked the Tripel Karmeliet, Duvel, and the LaTrappe Trappist glasses. We thought "why wait?" and bought a Tripel Karmaliet beer right from the fridge and sipped it walking down the street, along with...
Second breakfast! We got waffles again from the roadside shop. Obviously Belgian waffles with Belgian beer is the breakfast of champions. The Tripel Karmaliet was solid. It's a blonde 3-grain brewed in Carmelite tradition with wheat, oat, and barley. We'd actually come across a Carmelite Monastery later on in the trip.
Now we were satiated for food but we needed to quench (Kendra's) museum lust. I was actually looking forward to seeing St John's hospital and Memling museum, along with its apothecary (pharmacy). The medieval hospital had displays throughout with different medical texts and descriptions of the evolving practices of physicians, surgeons, barbers, and midwives. At this time, medicine, well, could barely we called that, and physicians were still prescribing bloodletting, giving random herbs and sulfur, and treating the bad humors of the body. Surgeons were initially derived from barbers (yep, the hair-cutting kind) but then branched off into their own group and ultimately joined with physicians. That might be the reason why, on my medical license, I'm a " Physician and Surgeon" since they were historically separate professions. Barbers had razors and would deal with skin tags, abscesses, etc, and that practiced developed into surgery. It was fascinating to read through the evolution of the professions and how archaic the practice was in medieval times shouldn't have been surprising...but it was.
The Memling museum in St John's hospital honored the revered Flemish painter, Jan Van Eych. We weren't terribly overwhelmed by his work but he did advance the practice of Flemish painting with innovations in perspective and realism, while also memorializing Saint Ursula, who famously resisted the overtures of a Turkish royal and was summarily slaughtered along with a reported 11,000 virgins. Her remains were presumably found and reside in a fancy box in the museum. The attached apothecary was neat to see as well. It spoke to the medieval practice of pharmacy and providing herb-laden bandages for wounds and splints for fractures.
After the museum we decided that we still hadn't eaten enough food that was terrible for us, so we tracked down gelato from Gelatoria da Vinci. Their shop was bumping and had giant mounds of phenomenal gelato of all different flavors. We settled on Panna cotta and Rocher (like the crispy, fancy chocolate) and it blew our minds.
We then wandered through the square near the Half Moon Brewery. There were tourists everywhere! The prices matched. Not wanting to spend 50 Euros on lunch, and at least having a slight bit of dignity to avoid a third waffle or fries, we settled on the creatively named "Cafe Cafe" for lunch, and got a Brussels panini (meatball) and Nordic panini (salmon, dill) for only 5€ each.
Then I got to go on a beer tour through Half Moon Brewery (Brouwerij De Halve Maan)! Kendra took off to visit a lace shop and commune with the swans and ducks of the nearby park. It was a lot of fun for me to wander with the tour group through the brewery and learn about how the fine Belgian beers were crafted. Highlights included: actually understanding the basics of how beer is made (what are hops? What does the barley do?), seeing the massive copper floor that used to serve as the cooling tank, and looking out over Bruges from the rooftop. The brewery even pipes the beer underground to a nearby maturation and bottling facility to avoid jostling it in a truck. When getting permission for the pipeline from the city, locals had recommended installing a tap into the line every 200m so they could assist with "quality control." The Belgians do love their beer.
Kendra and I sat in the cafe of the brewery afterward and each had a Brugse Zot blonde (mine included with the tour price), then wandered through the very picturesque Minnewater Park. We then collected our backpacks from Hotel Academie and wandered up to our final hotel in Bruges, the lovely Hotel Ter Duinen. These fancy digs were like staying in a luxurious Bruge home turned into a boutique hotel, and we had our own attic style room with a separate staircase.
After using the wifi to reserve an AirBnb in Ghent because the hotels were literally sold out (every single hotel we could find online was booked), we went on a quest to find the infamous De Garr pub. De Garr is located down a nondescript alley on the street between the Markt and the Burg (right near Chez Albert). We found the narrow entrance and wandered down the dark, narrow alley, which has been said to serve the purpose of giving toasted patrons a place to hold onto after downing many glasses of their famous triple-strength beer! Heading down the narrow alley we found the door was open and we could go in! This was exciting because they have random hours and can often be found closed (as we'd unfortunately found the day before). Heading into the pub, we found a table for two on the upper floor, and a suave Irish barkeep gave us the lowdown on their brews. We ordered a plate of sausage, cheese, bread, and mustard to go with a shared Tripel Van de Garr, their own brew. It was by far the best beer we had in Belgium and we were almost as intoxicated by the taste as we were on the beer itself. We got tipsy just splitting the one beer. Still on our quest to buy a beer glass, we ordered a Duvel beer and were woefully disappointed. It was basically a watery palate cleanser compared to De Garr's home brew. So we ordered two of their glasses (we couldn't afford anymore than that...) as a treasured souvenir. They were cash-only, though, and we were low on Euros, so I drunkenly sprinted to a nearby ATM to withdraw the necessary funds.
While I was gone, Kendra, being Kendra, struck up a conversation with both adjacent tables. The Aussie couple knew about Salesforce and the gents from the States worked for the electronic medical record system Epic in Wisconsin, so they knew all about Mayo! When I showed up they said, "We have to meet the doctor!" It was good fun.
Needing to walk off the De Garr, we set off to walk through the cool streets of Bruges, and decided on Gelatoria da Vinci, round two! Our shame knows no bounds. The worker there even recognized us. We ordered Stracciatella and the After Dark mint chocolate, and they were awesome, although all flavors paled in comparison to the Panna cotta.
Finally wrapping up for the day, we headed back for the hotel, but we knew we had to see the nearby Cafe Vlissinghe. We'd learned about it on our night tour and it sounded really cool. The cafe just celebrated it's 500th anniversary last year, opening in 1515. It was awesome to read through the history of the pub and, if you weren't as tired and full as we were, you could even take up classic Flemish bowling in the backyard garden. As it was, we needed to head out, but I enjoyed a Brugse Zot bruin - a solid brown Belgian from the local brewery - before heading back. It was a full and amazing day.
Addendum: Notes from the Beer tour!
The Half Moon Brewery offers four brews with six finishes. The two additional finishes add wild yeast for a fruity flavor in Spring or hold the beer in oak casks for a year for a winter flavor.
First the water and malt is heated, then while boiling they add hops, and the mixture is separated and cooled. They put out 4 million liters of this golden stuff. Heading upstairs past giant water and malted barley containers, we went into a room and learned about the ingredients. The Barley is germinated in the oven to allow for more starches, leading to more sugars and flavor. The pale blend of malted barley is used to make the beer, and they mix in a black roasted malt for color and flavor (5% usual, up to 25% for browns). The Belgians then also like to add spices, herbs and fruit for flavor. This originated from the practice of adding fruit to preserve it for later, usually berries and cherries (not bananas, our tour guide told us. Those are for tourists). They then add hops, which are a climbing plant like ivy. The oil is used from the hops, works as a natural preservative. It also gives it bitterness, and the hop plant is apparently related to cannabis, so "that's why beer makes you happy" our tour guide joked. Hops were even used to treat depression in medieval times. Heading to the roof we checked out the view, looking at the cathedral and the Tower of the Church of Our Lady. Up there they have the 40,000 liter fermenting vessels. They then pipe beer miles away to a site where it's matured and bottled. As our tour guide said, "Beer can be trucked but de beer hates being in de truck. The beer is shaken and stirred all the time, just like when you go to the fridge and shake the beer when you do your special, happy beer dance, open it, and voila, now one third of beer spilled."
Until 1965, the beer was cooled from boiling temp over a copper surface. These were really cool to see. Belgian beer itself is known for high alcohol content , up to 14%! The cooled beer was then historically filtered down from upper copper floor to a second, vertical copper cooler. After being cooled it was piped into holding tanks. Apprenticing Lads would clean these large tanks but fumes and limited oxygen meant they could faint or even die. So they had to whistle a tune while in there, and when the whistling stopped you knew they passed out. Maybe the "Whistle While You Work" Snow White dwarfs were fans of Belgian beer! Belgians then kept their beer in cellars, and it was used for meat and fish stews. Finally, when you pour the beer in a 30 cL glass, you must leave 3 cm of foam, so you can admire your lovely date, and lovelier beer, while the foam subsides.
For First breakfast, we split a waffle from a roadside shop near Hotel Academie. It wasn't Chez Albert quality (what is...), but it got the job done. The Belgians have a saying that relates to their affinity to build, which says, "Belgians are born with a brick in their stomach." Well, Kendra and I think this 'brick in the stomach' actually refers to these super-dense waffles.
The saying actually alludes to their innate desire to put down roots and build a brick home. They have the most densely populated country in Europe, to the extent that NASA astronauts in the International Space Station flying over the continent at night call the brightly lit country, "the Belgian Window." So now you have a new fun opener when you meet people at parties...
Good to go with a half-waffle, we set about on our day's itinerary. We were going to photograph some of the city's monuments in the morning light before the throngs of tourists descend, but happily stumbled upon the sign for a boat canal tour. Though touristy, it's a must-do in the town and gives you a fun perspective of Bruges. The Canal tour with Boten Stael was the one we happened upon, and on the first boat ride of the day (~9:45am) we had just four other people on board and got a 2 Euro discount when she spotted our Rick Steves travel book. Epic win. A fat, 'so ugly it's cute' bulldog kept us company and soon we set off on the canal tour. We took lots of photos and video of the 30 minute trip, which showcased St. John's hospital, the park with all the swans, and went by the Church of Our Lady and over to the statue of Jan Van Eych before flipping a U-turn.
Kendra and I then went window shopping, and were able to address her lace addiction with a fancy ornament from the shop, Serena. Belgium is known for its lace - the lace industry almost resurrected Bruges after its economic downfall. Today, many artisans still keep the tradition alive and lace shops are peppered throughout the city. Unlike knitting, it's very time-intensive so the price is high but the quality is worth it (the prices make clear what is hand-made and what isn't). A full lace baptism gown would make a great heirloom but at $125 was way out of our price range. Also, we don't have any kids to wear it.
Before coming to Belgium we heard about how really cool pubs here would have a couple hundred types of beer, and each would be served in its own glass specific to that individual beer. Some of the shops sell the glasses, so for fun, we figured we'd find out which glasses we liked best and track down those beers so we could buy our favorite one. We liked the Tripel Karmeliet, Duvel, and the LaTrappe Trappist glasses. We thought "why wait?" and bought a Tripel Karmaliet beer right from the fridge and sipped it walking down the street, along with...
Second breakfast! We got waffles again from the roadside shop. Obviously Belgian waffles with Belgian beer is the breakfast of champions. The Tripel Karmaliet was solid. It's a blonde 3-grain brewed in Carmelite tradition with wheat, oat, and barley. We'd actually come across a Carmelite Monastery later on in the trip.
Now we were satiated for food but we needed to quench (Kendra's) museum lust. I was actually looking forward to seeing St John's hospital and Memling museum, along with its apothecary (pharmacy). The medieval hospital had displays throughout with different medical texts and descriptions of the evolving practices of physicians, surgeons, barbers, and midwives. At this time, medicine, well, could barely we called that, and physicians were still prescribing bloodletting, giving random herbs and sulfur, and treating the bad humors of the body. Surgeons were initially derived from barbers (yep, the hair-cutting kind) but then branched off into their own group and ultimately joined with physicians. That might be the reason why, on my medical license, I'm a " Physician and Surgeon" since they were historically separate professions. Barbers had razors and would deal with skin tags, abscesses, etc, and that practiced developed into surgery. It was fascinating to read through the evolution of the professions and how archaic the practice was in medieval times shouldn't have been surprising...but it was.
The Memling museum in St John's hospital honored the revered Flemish painter, Jan Van Eych. We weren't terribly overwhelmed by his work but he did advance the practice of Flemish painting with innovations in perspective and realism, while also memorializing Saint Ursula, who famously resisted the overtures of a Turkish royal and was summarily slaughtered along with a reported 11,000 virgins. Her remains were presumably found and reside in a fancy box in the museum. The attached apothecary was neat to see as well. It spoke to the medieval practice of pharmacy and providing herb-laden bandages for wounds and splints for fractures.
After the museum we decided that we still hadn't eaten enough food that was terrible for us, so we tracked down gelato from Gelatoria da Vinci. Their shop was bumping and had giant mounds of phenomenal gelato of all different flavors. We settled on Panna cotta and Rocher (like the crispy, fancy chocolate) and it blew our minds.
We then wandered through the square near the Half Moon Brewery. There were tourists everywhere! The prices matched. Not wanting to spend 50 Euros on lunch, and at least having a slight bit of dignity to avoid a third waffle or fries, we settled on the creatively named "Cafe Cafe" for lunch, and got a Brussels panini (meatball) and Nordic panini (salmon, dill) for only 5€ each.
Then I got to go on a beer tour through Half Moon Brewery (Brouwerij De Halve Maan)! Kendra took off to visit a lace shop and commune with the swans and ducks of the nearby park. It was a lot of fun for me to wander with the tour group through the brewery and learn about how the fine Belgian beers were crafted. Highlights included: actually understanding the basics of how beer is made (what are hops? What does the barley do?), seeing the massive copper floor that used to serve as the cooling tank, and looking out over Bruges from the rooftop. The brewery even pipes the beer underground to a nearby maturation and bottling facility to avoid jostling it in a truck. When getting permission for the pipeline from the city, locals had recommended installing a tap into the line every 200m so they could assist with "quality control." The Belgians do love their beer.
Kendra and I sat in the cafe of the brewery afterward and each had a Brugse Zot blonde (mine included with the tour price), then wandered through the very picturesque Minnewater Park. We then collected our backpacks from Hotel Academie and wandered up to our final hotel in Bruges, the lovely Hotel Ter Duinen. These fancy digs were like staying in a luxurious Bruge home turned into a boutique hotel, and we had our own attic style room with a separate staircase.
After using the wifi to reserve an AirBnb in Ghent because the hotels were literally sold out (every single hotel we could find online was booked), we went on a quest to find the infamous De Garr pub. De Garr is located down a nondescript alley on the street between the Markt and the Burg (right near Chez Albert). We found the narrow entrance and wandered down the dark, narrow alley, which has been said to serve the purpose of giving toasted patrons a place to hold onto after downing many glasses of their famous triple-strength beer! Heading down the narrow alley we found the door was open and we could go in! This was exciting because they have random hours and can often be found closed (as we'd unfortunately found the day before). Heading into the pub, we found a table for two on the upper floor, and a suave Irish barkeep gave us the lowdown on their brews. We ordered a plate of sausage, cheese, bread, and mustard to go with a shared Tripel Van de Garr, their own brew. It was by far the best beer we had in Belgium and we were almost as intoxicated by the taste as we were on the beer itself. We got tipsy just splitting the one beer. Still on our quest to buy a beer glass, we ordered a Duvel beer and were woefully disappointed. It was basically a watery palate cleanser compared to De Garr's home brew. So we ordered two of their glasses (we couldn't afford anymore than that...) as a treasured souvenir. They were cash-only, though, and we were low on Euros, so I drunkenly sprinted to a nearby ATM to withdraw the necessary funds.
While I was gone, Kendra, being Kendra, struck up a conversation with both adjacent tables. The Aussie couple knew about Salesforce and the gents from the States worked for the electronic medical record system Epic in Wisconsin, so they knew all about Mayo! When I showed up they said, "We have to meet the doctor!" It was good fun.
Needing to walk off the De Garr, we set off to walk through the cool streets of Bruges, and decided on Gelatoria da Vinci, round two! Our shame knows no bounds. The worker there even recognized us. We ordered Stracciatella and the After Dark mint chocolate, and they were awesome, although all flavors paled in comparison to the Panna cotta.
Finally wrapping up for the day, we headed back for the hotel, but we knew we had to see the nearby Cafe Vlissinghe. We'd learned about it on our night tour and it sounded really cool. The cafe just celebrated it's 500th anniversary last year, opening in 1515. It was awesome to read through the history of the pub and, if you weren't as tired and full as we were, you could even take up classic Flemish bowling in the backyard garden. As it was, we needed to head out, but I enjoyed a Brugse Zot bruin - a solid brown Belgian from the local brewery - before heading back. It was a full and amazing day.
Addendum: Notes from the Beer tour!
The Half Moon Brewery offers four brews with six finishes. The two additional finishes add wild yeast for a fruity flavor in Spring or hold the beer in oak casks for a year for a winter flavor.
First the water and malt is heated, then while boiling they add hops, and the mixture is separated and cooled. They put out 4 million liters of this golden stuff. Heading upstairs past giant water and malted barley containers, we went into a room and learned about the ingredients. The Barley is germinated in the oven to allow for more starches, leading to more sugars and flavor. The pale blend of malted barley is used to make the beer, and they mix in a black roasted malt for color and flavor (5% usual, up to 25% for browns). The Belgians then also like to add spices, herbs and fruit for flavor. This originated from the practice of adding fruit to preserve it for later, usually berries and cherries (not bananas, our tour guide told us. Those are for tourists). They then add hops, which are a climbing plant like ivy. The oil is used from the hops, works as a natural preservative. It also gives it bitterness, and the hop plant is apparently related to cannabis, so "that's why beer makes you happy" our tour guide joked. Hops were even used to treat depression in medieval times. Heading to the roof we checked out the view, looking at the cathedral and the Tower of the Church of Our Lady. Up there they have the 40,000 liter fermenting vessels. They then pipe beer miles away to a site where it's matured and bottled. As our tour guide said, "Beer can be trucked but de beer hates being in de truck. The beer is shaken and stirred all the time, just like when you go to the fridge and shake the beer when you do your special, happy beer dance, open it, and voila, now one third of beer spilled."
Until 1965, the beer was cooled from boiling temp over a copper surface. These were really cool to see. Belgian beer itself is known for high alcohol content , up to 14%! The cooled beer was then historically filtered down from upper copper floor to a second, vertical copper cooler. After being cooled it was piped into holding tanks. Apprenticing Lads would clean these large tanks but fumes and limited oxygen meant they could faint or even die. So they had to whistle a tune while in there, and when the whistling stopped you knew they passed out. Maybe the "Whistle While You Work" Snow White dwarfs were fans of Belgian beer! Belgians then kept their beer in cellars, and it was used for meat and fish stews. Finally, when you pour the beer in a 30 cL glass, you must leave 3 cm of foam, so you can admire your lovely date, and lovelier beer, while the foam subsides.
"In Bruges"
Our first full day in Bruges started off with a lazy morning in our hotel room. I [Derek] had a coughing fit overnight after taking too many cough drops on the train and having the audacity to try to speak. So I woke up some 13 odd times overnight and felt poorly in the morning. There's nothing better than the anticipation of a day with your beautiful wife in an other-wordly beautiful city, and the promise of Chez Albert waffles, to get you in the mood to go exploring, though! Soon we were off.
Hitting the streets, we soon realized perhaps the only true downside of Bruges... there were tourists everywhere! The Lanyard Herds (as Kendra hilariously dubbed lanyard-wearing tourist tour groups) were migrating in mass to Bruges and we immediately learned that early mornings for tourist sights were a necessity. At many instances it was hard to even walk along the sidewalk, such were the throngs of elderly sight-seers. Fortunately, we were barely noticing as the stunning towers of the Church of Our Lady, the Cathedral, and the Belfry stole our attention.
First things first, we headed to the beautiful street connecting the main market, or Markt, with the Burg square. Along this road is Chez Albert, which is really the Louvre of waffle making, only you get to eat the art! Kendra demonstrated her class by tastefully ordering an original plain waffle, while I surprised no one in ordering the chocolate. My waffle was presented doused in liquid Belgian chocolate, and complete with a Belgian flag. I was quickly considering changing nationalities and defecting to Belgium after my first bite. The Belgian waffle is a different beast altogether. It should be served hot (take note, Amsterdam bakeries). We ate our waffles and we wept, wept for joy that something so delicious exists in the world, and for sadness, that our family could not share in this deliciousness.
Wandering back over to the Markt, we went into the courtyard of the Belfry, or Bell tower for the Cathedral, so that we could check it out. We like to joke that Bruges is free to enter, but everything costs 10 Euro in the city, and the Belfry was no exception. The Belfry in Bruges is the second tallest in Europe and presents a commanding view of the city. Kendra boldly made the trek up the 366 steps to the top. She was able to take video of the winding, narrow staircase, record images of the massive music drum that orchestrates the +30 bells up top, and take in a beautiful view. If you go, remember to get there early as locals told us not to wait in line (it takes forever) but to merely circle back another day. I waited in the courtyard and it was easy to pass the time studying the exquisite tower. Three nice Spanish ladies were losing a battle to take a group selfie, and I spoke with them in Spanish and got a nice group shot, told them the tower's name in Spanish, and was called "a youth," so that was a personal win. I taught them the Kendra/Craig technique of taking a portrait photo in the dark in front of a brightly lit monument by focusing on the monument in the background then using the flash (a Kendra pro tip; traveling with a photography enthusiast has its perks!), but they merely asked me to switch the camera back to automatic flash. Tragic.
Wandering around the city, you'll be enthralled by the architecture only to be briefly accosted by the random smell of sewage. The open drains beneath the roads (alongside the lanyard herds) are the only sensory offenses of this gorgeous city.
Undeterred by the sewage smell, and with Kendra having worked off her waffle climbing the Belfry, we wandered for a lunch of beer and fries. We found a "ontbijt lunch tearoom" cafe by the statue of famous Flemish primitive painter Jan Van Eyck and received lovely service and a tasty meal. I got an omeletten met ham and kaas (ham and cheese omelette) with huisgemaakte frietjes (homemade fries) while Kendra enjoyed some fancy gehaktbalen (Flemish style meatballs) with a salad. We decided to try our hand at being beer snobs and assessed our palate for fine Belgian beer. I ordered my little brother's favorite beer, Hoegaarden, and in an homage to his reputation as a connoisseur, described it as a beer, "for the discerning Belgian beer enthusiast; a smooth, easy drinking beer that's heavy on flavor." Kendra ordered the town favorite Brugse Zot, which she poetically described as tasting, "like September covered in lemons," but it wasn't her favorite.
For the rest of the very warm afternoon (it was something like 32C/90F heat!), we wandered around the city and saw the Church of Our Lady, St John's Hospital and Chapel, and walked around the outside of the Cathedral as well as the beautiful Burg building. We'd explore most of these monuments in more detail later.
Wandering around for dinner, we found a packed pub with 400 beers! The Cambrinus Bierbrasserie, named after the false god of beers (hey, if you're going to be a false god of something that's not a bad pick). To the disdain of our waitresses, we requested to split a Beer Sampler and a three course menu. This was a phenomenal way to try multiple beers without getting smashed (like the British soccer fans visiting Bruges) and have an appropriate amount of food. While delicious and a lot of fun, it felt like we were blacklisted by the initially friendly and extremely busy waitresses. We enjoyed our exile, though, slowly sipping our multiple beers! The Beer sampler included a cactus beer (green and very sweet), a blonde (lemony), a brown (dark in color but not in taste), and a triple (pleasantly bitter, with a flavor that's difficult to describe.... ). The sampler was great, and our three course meal impressed as well, with a fried cheese appetizer, delicious Flemish stew main course, and a beer-infused creme brulee for desert.
Hitting the streets, we soon realized perhaps the only true downside of Bruges... there were tourists everywhere! The Lanyard Herds (as Kendra hilariously dubbed lanyard-wearing tourist tour groups) were migrating in mass to Bruges and we immediately learned that early mornings for tourist sights were a necessity. At many instances it was hard to even walk along the sidewalk, such were the throngs of elderly sight-seers. Fortunately, we were barely noticing as the stunning towers of the Church of Our Lady, the Cathedral, and the Belfry stole our attention.
First things first, we headed to the beautiful street connecting the main market, or Markt, with the Burg square. Along this road is Chez Albert, which is really the Louvre of waffle making, only you get to eat the art! Kendra demonstrated her class by tastefully ordering an original plain waffle, while I surprised no one in ordering the chocolate. My waffle was presented doused in liquid Belgian chocolate, and complete with a Belgian flag. I was quickly considering changing nationalities and defecting to Belgium after my first bite. The Belgian waffle is a different beast altogether. It should be served hot (take note, Amsterdam bakeries). We ate our waffles and we wept, wept for joy that something so delicious exists in the world, and for sadness, that our family could not share in this deliciousness.
Wandering back over to the Markt, we went into the courtyard of the Belfry, or Bell tower for the Cathedral, so that we could check it out. We like to joke that Bruges is free to enter, but everything costs 10 Euro in the city, and the Belfry was no exception. The Belfry in Bruges is the second tallest in Europe and presents a commanding view of the city. Kendra boldly made the trek up the 366 steps to the top. She was able to take video of the winding, narrow staircase, record images of the massive music drum that orchestrates the +30 bells up top, and take in a beautiful view. If you go, remember to get there early as locals told us not to wait in line (it takes forever) but to merely circle back another day. I waited in the courtyard and it was easy to pass the time studying the exquisite tower. Three nice Spanish ladies were losing a battle to take a group selfie, and I spoke with them in Spanish and got a nice group shot, told them the tower's name in Spanish, and was called "a youth," so that was a personal win. I taught them the Kendra/Craig technique of taking a portrait photo in the dark in front of a brightly lit monument by focusing on the monument in the background then using the flash (a Kendra pro tip; traveling with a photography enthusiast has its perks!), but they merely asked me to switch the camera back to automatic flash. Tragic.
Wandering around the city, you'll be enthralled by the architecture only to be briefly accosted by the random smell of sewage. The open drains beneath the roads (alongside the lanyard herds) are the only sensory offenses of this gorgeous city.
Undeterred by the sewage smell, and with Kendra having worked off her waffle climbing the Belfry, we wandered for a lunch of beer and fries. We found a "ontbijt lunch tearoom" cafe by the statue of famous Flemish primitive painter Jan Van Eyck and received lovely service and a tasty meal. I got an omeletten met ham and kaas (ham and cheese omelette) with huisgemaakte frietjes (homemade fries) while Kendra enjoyed some fancy gehaktbalen (Flemish style meatballs) with a salad. We decided to try our hand at being beer snobs and assessed our palate for fine Belgian beer. I ordered my little brother's favorite beer, Hoegaarden, and in an homage to his reputation as a connoisseur, described it as a beer, "for the discerning Belgian beer enthusiast; a smooth, easy drinking beer that's heavy on flavor." Kendra ordered the town favorite Brugse Zot, which she poetically described as tasting, "like September covered in lemons," but it wasn't her favorite.
For the rest of the very warm afternoon (it was something like 32C/90F heat!), we wandered around the city and saw the Church of Our Lady, St John's Hospital and Chapel, and walked around the outside of the Cathedral as well as the beautiful Burg building. We'd explore most of these monuments in more detail later.
Wandering around for dinner, we found a packed pub with 400 beers! The Cambrinus Bierbrasserie, named after the false god of beers (hey, if you're going to be a false god of something that's not a bad pick). To the disdain of our waitresses, we requested to split a Beer Sampler and a three course menu. This was a phenomenal way to try multiple beers without getting smashed (like the British soccer fans visiting Bruges) and have an appropriate amount of food. While delicious and a lot of fun, it felt like we were blacklisted by the initially friendly and extremely busy waitresses. We enjoyed our exile, though, slowly sipping our multiple beers! The Beer sampler included a cactus beer (green and very sweet), a blonde (lemony), a brown (dark in color but not in taste), and a triple (pleasantly bitter, with a flavor that's difficult to describe.... ). The sampler was great, and our three course meal impressed as well, with a fried cheese appetizer, delicious Flemish stew main course, and a beer-infused creme brulee for desert.
September 15, 2016
Train Game
Ok, time to move on from Amsterdam! We had a great time!
Today, we said good-bye to my parents and polished off the last of the homemade cookies my mom baked just for us back in Colorado the morning they left. We're catching an early train to Belgium. I booked our tickets in advance online and found a killer deal through NS International for both of us to travel all the way to Bruges for only 38 euros. The morning of our trip, however, we received a notification that one of the legs was canceled.
Originally, the plan ways Amsterdam > Rotterdam > Antwerp > Ghent > Bruges. Now there was a problem with the train tracks from Rotterdam to Antwerp, so we'd need to be re-routed. No big deal.
We get to the train station and walk through the open gates without scanning our tickets - because we don't know we have them. Our tickets are on the NS International App, and they're separate from our schedule. They're also a QR code instead of a chip card, which everyone else is using, so we figure we'll be checked on the train...
We got on our train, leaving right on time, unable to sort out the issue with the second leg before our departure. Once in Rotterdam, we had to scan our tickets (which we've now located in the app) to get out to the service center, and when I scanned mine, Derek quickly ran behind me, not realizing he had a separate ticket to scan. We're hot messes, for sure.
So a nice lady asks us if we want to wait for 2 hours for them to finish fixing the tracks, or if we want to change trains a few times to leave now - we opt for the latter, because waiting around doesn't work for either of us. So, she sends us next to a tiny place called Breda. In Breda, we see we're supposed to wait for the 12:10 train to Roosendaal, according to our schedule, but here's one now, 30 minutes earlier. Do we get on it? Yep. Now we're on the "wrong" train going to the right place - we wonder if that will be a problem for anyone checking our tickets, then we realize it's a disaster already, so what harm could it do?
Roosendaal is confusing, and it takes us a bit to find the right platform. Our schedule hadn't listed a number as it had for the other stations, and the one we found on the board was different than the one we eventually got from a conductor (and consequently we have to lug our bags to the other side of the platform again to get there). Brilliantly, we're early on this one (thanks to our jump ahead on the last train) and we have time to go to the bathroom before we take off. The bathrooms are majestic, large and clean with the neatest door I've seen. I don't know what they mean by "second class" - this is first class enough for me! You want REAL second class? Take a train in India.
They DID check our tickets on the train, finally. I was beginning to wonder why I paid at all ;-)
We have only 4 minutes to make our connection once we arrive in Noord Brussels, but we are behind slow people with tons of luggage, and have to run with our bags down and up stairs to get to the right platform. We get to the train just as the doors closed, and bless the Dutch, they wouldn't open them for anything. I've been pretty cool til now, but missing a connection by 15 seconds is one of those under-your-skin irritants that's hard to ignore.
You know the best travel advice anyone has ever given me? Keep your expectations low. Not, like, I know Applebees isn't great but I'm going anyway low. Through the floorboards low. If you always expect things to fail and be frustrating, and then suddenly they do (and they will, I don't care where you travel), you can't be disappointed, because you genuinely never expected it to work out. Bottom line - when we travel, we're in someone else's space. Don't go putting your expectations on them and then be pissed off when they don't meet them - you'll spend your vacation yelling at your companions and sulking. No thanks.
So, I checked my expectations, took a breath, and got over it. Now instead of catching a train that went through Ghent on to Bruges, we'd have to make yet another connection. A nice man pointed us to the right platform, and onward to Ghent. They checked our tickets on this train too. A smiling man in a little conductor hat and a striped tie (all coordinated in orange and red colors) came with his QR scanner. Thankfully, no one ever asked how we got so off from our original itinerary...they probably took one look at us and thought, "No wonder!"
That one track problem = Amsterdam > Rotterdam > Breda > Roosendaal > Noord Brussels > Ghent > Bruges.
Train change in Ghent to Bruges, no issues. We arrive in Bruges, and this part always sucks...getting oriented, finding the bus, understanding where the heck you're going and how to do it cheaply. We bought bus tickets at a little shack that looked like a construction temporary housing unit because we read they'd be cheaper than buying them on the bus. The bus numbers we planned to use never came, but another bus, the 12, showed up with an indication that it was going to the center, so we get on, but have no idea where to get off. We guess, and hop off at the gigantic market square. Then, we finally realize that frickin' Google maps had us take a bus when we could have walked 5 minutes to our hotel instead, and now we're on the other side of town. It has no imagination, and apparently doesn't recognize walking bridges as able to get you to your destination. Just great. Did I mention it's 90 degrees? And that we haven't eaten since 8 am? Lower. My. Expectations.
Neither of us can make up our damned minds - do we get back on the bus going the other way to avoid more walking? Do we sit to eat? But if we do that, our hour-long bus pass will expire...ugh. We decide to avoid the coordination and just suck it up and walk. Our hotel, Hotel Academie, is lovely. It's like stepping into a cool, dark lounge with little mints and chairs and promises of rest. We crash in our rooms, shower, change, and head out to eat.
We find what my mother-in-law would call a "darling" restaurant nearby, Gruuthuse Hoff, with outdoor seating with one of the best views ever, and we order a three course tourist special, with minestrone soup and bread, salmon and dessert - I opt for the cream-filled profiteroles (because I'm sophisticated), and Derek went for the ice cream (because duh!). We had beer too, choosing a local brewer called De Halve Man. Their Brugze Zot is wonderful, and as usual, I chose the blond and Derek went for the brown. I say "as usual" casually, since we're not beer drinkers, but we've dabbled from time to time and know generally what we like, and both of us believe strongly that you should do as the locals do if it won't cause you actual physical harm.
We wandered down the streets, my mouth hanging open with the coming dusk, marveling at the sunlight on the incredible church steeples, quiet homes and quaint canals. I must have taken a hundred photos. We were reveling in the beauty of the main Markt when we heard a free night walking tour starting right where we sat and spontaneously decided to join them. For the next hour and a half, we wandered the streets, listening to legends of the city and learning its history. Derek soaked up so many facts that at the end when we were quizzed, he earned himself a free beer (and slipped me an answer so that I could "earn" one too). We tipped the guide, who dropped us at the Bauhaus, where we enjoyed our beer, this time trying the Jupiler lager.
We wandered back in the dark, picking our way through the unfamiliar streets (but feeling extraordinarily safe) to our cozy hotel, where we hopped online and booked ourselves another night. It took about 5 minutes to figure out that leaving here too early would be a big mistake. We'll stay 3 nights.
Today, we said good-bye to my parents and polished off the last of the homemade cookies my mom baked just for us back in Colorado the morning they left. We're catching an early train to Belgium. I booked our tickets in advance online and found a killer deal through NS International for both of us to travel all the way to Bruges for only 38 euros. The morning of our trip, however, we received a notification that one of the legs was canceled.
Originally, the plan ways Amsterdam > Rotterdam > Antwerp > Ghent > Bruges. Now there was a problem with the train tracks from Rotterdam to Antwerp, so we'd need to be re-routed. No big deal.
We get to the train station and walk through the open gates without scanning our tickets - because we don't know we have them. Our tickets are on the NS International App, and they're separate from our schedule. They're also a QR code instead of a chip card, which everyone else is using, so we figure we'll be checked on the train...
We got on our train, leaving right on time, unable to sort out the issue with the second leg before our departure. Once in Rotterdam, we had to scan our tickets (which we've now located in the app) to get out to the service center, and when I scanned mine, Derek quickly ran behind me, not realizing he had a separate ticket to scan. We're hot messes, for sure.
So a nice lady asks us if we want to wait for 2 hours for them to finish fixing the tracks, or if we want to change trains a few times to leave now - we opt for the latter, because waiting around doesn't work for either of us. So, she sends us next to a tiny place called Breda. In Breda, we see we're supposed to wait for the 12:10 train to Roosendaal, according to our schedule, but here's one now, 30 minutes earlier. Do we get on it? Yep. Now we're on the "wrong" train going to the right place - we wonder if that will be a problem for anyone checking our tickets, then we realize it's a disaster already, so what harm could it do?
Roosendaal is confusing, and it takes us a bit to find the right platform. Our schedule hadn't listed a number as it had for the other stations, and the one we found on the board was different than the one we eventually got from a conductor (and consequently we have to lug our bags to the other side of the platform again to get there). Brilliantly, we're early on this one (thanks to our jump ahead on the last train) and we have time to go to the bathroom before we take off. The bathrooms are majestic, large and clean with the neatest door I've seen. I don't know what they mean by "second class" - this is first class enough for me! You want REAL second class? Take a train in India.
They DID check our tickets on the train, finally. I was beginning to wonder why I paid at all ;-)
We have only 4 minutes to make our connection once we arrive in Noord Brussels, but we are behind slow people with tons of luggage, and have to run with our bags down and up stairs to get to the right platform. We get to the train just as the doors closed, and bless the Dutch, they wouldn't open them for anything. I've been pretty cool til now, but missing a connection by 15 seconds is one of those under-your-skin irritants that's hard to ignore.
You know the best travel advice anyone has ever given me? Keep your expectations low. Not, like, I know Applebees isn't great but I'm going anyway low. Through the floorboards low. If you always expect things to fail and be frustrating, and then suddenly they do (and they will, I don't care where you travel), you can't be disappointed, because you genuinely never expected it to work out. Bottom line - when we travel, we're in someone else's space. Don't go putting your expectations on them and then be pissed off when they don't meet them - you'll spend your vacation yelling at your companions and sulking. No thanks.
So, I checked my expectations, took a breath, and got over it. Now instead of catching a train that went through Ghent on to Bruges, we'd have to make yet another connection. A nice man pointed us to the right platform, and onward to Ghent. They checked our tickets on this train too. A smiling man in a little conductor hat and a striped tie (all coordinated in orange and red colors) came with his QR scanner. Thankfully, no one ever asked how we got so off from our original itinerary...they probably took one look at us and thought, "No wonder!"
That one track problem = Amsterdam > Rotterdam > Breda > Roosendaal > Noord Brussels > Ghent > Bruges.
Train change in Ghent to Bruges, no issues. We arrive in Bruges, and this part always sucks...getting oriented, finding the bus, understanding where the heck you're going and how to do it cheaply. We bought bus tickets at a little shack that looked like a construction temporary housing unit because we read they'd be cheaper than buying them on the bus. The bus numbers we planned to use never came, but another bus, the 12, showed up with an indication that it was going to the center, so we get on, but have no idea where to get off. We guess, and hop off at the gigantic market square. Then, we finally realize that frickin' Google maps had us take a bus when we could have walked 5 minutes to our hotel instead, and now we're on the other side of town. It has no imagination, and apparently doesn't recognize walking bridges as able to get you to your destination. Just great. Did I mention it's 90 degrees? And that we haven't eaten since 8 am? Lower. My. Expectations.
Neither of us can make up our damned minds - do we get back on the bus going the other way to avoid more walking? Do we sit to eat? But if we do that, our hour-long bus pass will expire...ugh. We decide to avoid the coordination and just suck it up and walk. Our hotel, Hotel Academie, is lovely. It's like stepping into a cool, dark lounge with little mints and chairs and promises of rest. We crash in our rooms, shower, change, and head out to eat.
We find what my mother-in-law would call a "darling" restaurant nearby, Gruuthuse Hoff, with outdoor seating with one of the best views ever, and we order a three course tourist special, with minestrone soup and bread, salmon and dessert - I opt for the cream-filled profiteroles (because I'm sophisticated), and Derek went for the ice cream (because duh!). We had beer too, choosing a local brewer called De Halve Man. Their Brugze Zot is wonderful, and as usual, I chose the blond and Derek went for the brown. I say "as usual" casually, since we're not beer drinkers, but we've dabbled from time to time and know generally what we like, and both of us believe strongly that you should do as the locals do if it won't cause you actual physical harm.
We wandered down the streets, my mouth hanging open with the coming dusk, marveling at the sunlight on the incredible church steeples, quiet homes and quaint canals. I must have taken a hundred photos. We were reveling in the beauty of the main Markt when we heard a free night walking tour starting right where we sat and spontaneously decided to join them. For the next hour and a half, we wandered the streets, listening to legends of the city and learning its history. Derek soaked up so many facts that at the end when we were quizzed, he earned himself a free beer (and slipped me an answer so that I could "earn" one too). We tipped the guide, who dropped us at the Bauhaus, where we enjoyed our beer, this time trying the Jupiler lager.
We wandered back in the dark, picking our way through the unfamiliar streets (but feeling extraordinarily safe) to our cozy hotel, where we hopped online and booked ourselves another night. It took about 5 minutes to figure out that leaving here too early would be a big mistake. We'll stay 3 nights.
September 14, 2016
The Rijksmuseum and Lanyard Herds
There are two things you should know about how I travel.
The first thing is that I despise giant crowds - people seem to become more obnoxious and stupid when they're all together. Individuals are smart, kind, usually pleasant. Not groups. Groups are horrible, unless, of course, you're in the group - then somehow you tend not to notice that you're part of the loud, irritating body of people, but you are. And they are obnoxious, even when they're quiet, just for the sheer volume. The only time crowds are acceptable to me is at state fairs, and then only because the place would look sad and deserted without the masses.
The second thing is that I love art museums, and I can stand for hours in front of my favorite paintings and sculptures, until my back aches like I'm 90 years old and I have to curl into a ball on the nearest bench to be able to walk again. And then I do it again. I do it until anyone I'm with is practically pulling my arm off, trying to move me to the next room.
So today, we got up early and went to the Rijksmuseum, and the two things you now know about me collided. We had breakfast in our apartment, fresh squeezed orange juice (literally, I filled a bottle from an orange cutting and juicing machine in the store) and bananas from Albert Hein, a popular grocery store here, and caught an early tram to museumplein, the museum plaza. This is the home of the Van Gogh museum, the I amsterdam sign, and the Rijksmuseum along with a very large green where people like to picnic and smoke. We managed to get pictures in front of the sign with only a person or two in the frame, unable to clear everyone out like we wanted to.
Have you noticed that? Doesn't it seem that every time you try to get a picture of something with no other people in it, that there is constantly someone walking into the frame? Or walking SO SLOWLY YOU COULD DIE so that you just stand there, wasting your camera battery and your valuable time waiting for them to finally move out of range, and then just as they're about to, another person decides they want to climb between the letters? This is my life.
Hoards of lanyard-laden retirees in giant groups moved towards the museum door, like different sheep led by their own flag-carrying shepherd. When I was a kid, it was the People to People children always showing up everywhere in their bright red shirts, jumping and running over everything. They were like red smurfs that someone let loose at every major site in England, and Germany, and France...and now, no children to be found, the groups of white-haired tourists, grouped together for safety, are led by a guide who spoke loudly in the otherwise quiet galleries in English, then in Dutch or Spanish, relaying the importance of the most well-known paintings.
Side note - I love white-haired retirees. I went to the museum with two of my own. I also love that people are not sitting at home, wasting away in front of the TV - it's amazing that they're here, traveling, socializing, learning. It's groups. Any groups. THAT GET IN THE WAY OF MY MUSEUM LUST. There's literally nothing worse.
Actually, that's not true. You know what's even worse than that? Segway tours. If you've been on one, I'm sorry - I still like you as a person, but I. just. can't. Do you know what you look like wearing an electric yellow vest and a helmet, riding at 3 mph down a cobble stone street, blocking traffic, a dozen other people (inconveniently and evenly spaced out) behind and before you?
I digress. So, we're here early, to (as best we can) avoid the crowds, but not only is there no time where that is apparently possible in a museum like this, it's also impossible to see what you actually paid to see, thanks to these groups. I'm straining to see paintings with 40 some people packed around them, or the ones next to them, all with their cameras out. Or I'd jump ahead of the crowd, being forced to skip whole sections of incredible artwork, to find a quiet gallery where I can sit and look in peace, and not a minute later, in troop six dozen people with green lanyards, led by a slender blonde who wouldn't know the word "tranquility" if it bit her in her size 2 arse, booming through the echoing chamber to inform her followers. The rest of us didn't ask for the information, but we're getting it whether we like it or not. Didn't catch it the first time? She's happy to repeat herself now in your preferred language.
"Follow my hand to the next gallery," she says, waving one hand in the air as she walks, her sheep following along with their clunky shoes to disturb the people looking at ancient silverware.
Did you think this blog was meant to help you plan your own trip? Or consider doing things we've done yourself? Yes, it does that, usually. But today, it's so I can vent and get over myself :-) And so that you can either be mad at me for my opinions (you bring your own segway on each vacation in your luggage, you love it so much) or nod along, knowing you're not the only one yelling at people in your head while you smile at them, moving them aside (gently) with your elbow to get to the front of a painting you've been waiting to see for a half hour.
There are incredible works at the museum - the place is massive. My father's favorite (and I tend to agree) is The Night Watch by Rembrandt. My mother has a favorite in every room - usually she writes down which ones she likes and takes pictures of all of them, including the plaque (I got my organizational skills from her, and my propensity to take too many pictures). Derek slipped away to the naval ships area (he loves paintings of the sea and impressionist paintings), and I dealt with the crowds, fighting to see all of the best works until I was lost in the middle of them. Really, actually lost. Wifi isn't reliable in this place, probably because it can't work itself through the masses of people to reach your phone.
We rented bikes in the afternoon from Scooter Rent Amsterdam (don't rent from them). It was an unbelievably poor service experience, which included having to return one bike that was released to us broken and being put off for an hour by the child who ran the shop (I swear he was 13). He was nursing a pack of Marlboro Golds with a black warning label accompanied by a photo of a neck with a hole in the trachea. We hooked up my dad's GoPro and rode through Vondell Park and around the canals and neighborhoods. We stopped at the Bloemenmarkt to pick up our final souvenirs, and to get a demonstration of a fresh stroopwafel by a very entertaining store owner (find this place if you can - it's maybe half way up the market, though I can't remember the name. They advertise the fresh stroopwafel on a sign out front, which are practically impossible to find here).
Cyclists have their own street lights separate from the pedestrian and motor traffic lights. They're lower down on the pole at a different angle, and the lights are only green or red. You only get three quick green flashes before they turn red, and then you'd better get your arse out of the street immediately, because the motorists won't wait.
Streets are usually laid out as follows - sidewalk, bike path, car lane, tram lane (x2), car lane, bike path, sidewalk. You can be hit from either direction at any point, so crossing the street can cause mini mental breakdowns if you're walking. And don't drive if you don't have to.
We finished up the day at a nice restaurant called Fier, where we traded the outdoor smokers for unstable tables, but were very happy to find that they served unlimited flat water WITH ICE, which made my mother very happy. I had a salad, so that made me proud of myself...I prefer to each waffles all day long but was told I can't stay alive if I keep that up. Derek ran to a grocery store to find cough drops because he isn't able to talk anymore. Just like with crowds, illness when you travel is a b*tch.
The first thing is that I despise giant crowds - people seem to become more obnoxious and stupid when they're all together. Individuals are smart, kind, usually pleasant. Not groups. Groups are horrible, unless, of course, you're in the group - then somehow you tend not to notice that you're part of the loud, irritating body of people, but you are. And they are obnoxious, even when they're quiet, just for the sheer volume. The only time crowds are acceptable to me is at state fairs, and then only because the place would look sad and deserted without the masses.
The second thing is that I love art museums, and I can stand for hours in front of my favorite paintings and sculptures, until my back aches like I'm 90 years old and I have to curl into a ball on the nearest bench to be able to walk again. And then I do it again. I do it until anyone I'm with is practically pulling my arm off, trying to move me to the next room.
So today, we got up early and went to the Rijksmuseum, and the two things you now know about me collided. We had breakfast in our apartment, fresh squeezed orange juice (literally, I filled a bottle from an orange cutting and juicing machine in the store) and bananas from Albert Hein, a popular grocery store here, and caught an early tram to museumplein, the museum plaza. This is the home of the Van Gogh museum, the I amsterdam sign, and the Rijksmuseum along with a very large green where people like to picnic and smoke. We managed to get pictures in front of the sign with only a person or two in the frame, unable to clear everyone out like we wanted to.
Have you noticed that? Doesn't it seem that every time you try to get a picture of something with no other people in it, that there is constantly someone walking into the frame? Or walking SO SLOWLY YOU COULD DIE so that you just stand there, wasting your camera battery and your valuable time waiting for them to finally move out of range, and then just as they're about to, another person decides they want to climb between the letters? This is my life.
Hoards of lanyard-laden retirees in giant groups moved towards the museum door, like different sheep led by their own flag-carrying shepherd. When I was a kid, it was the People to People children always showing up everywhere in their bright red shirts, jumping and running over everything. They were like red smurfs that someone let loose at every major site in England, and Germany, and France...and now, no children to be found, the groups of white-haired tourists, grouped together for safety, are led by a guide who spoke loudly in the otherwise quiet galleries in English, then in Dutch or Spanish, relaying the importance of the most well-known paintings.
Side note - I love white-haired retirees. I went to the museum with two of my own. I also love that people are not sitting at home, wasting away in front of the TV - it's amazing that they're here, traveling, socializing, learning. It's groups. Any groups. THAT GET IN THE WAY OF MY MUSEUM LUST. There's literally nothing worse.
Actually, that's not true. You know what's even worse than that? Segway tours. If you've been on one, I'm sorry - I still like you as a person, but I. just. can't. Do you know what you look like wearing an electric yellow vest and a helmet, riding at 3 mph down a cobble stone street, blocking traffic, a dozen other people (inconveniently and evenly spaced out) behind and before you?
I digress. So, we're here early, to (as best we can) avoid the crowds, but not only is there no time where that is apparently possible in a museum like this, it's also impossible to see what you actually paid to see, thanks to these groups. I'm straining to see paintings with 40 some people packed around them, or the ones next to them, all with their cameras out. Or I'd jump ahead of the crowd, being forced to skip whole sections of incredible artwork, to find a quiet gallery where I can sit and look in peace, and not a minute later, in troop six dozen people with green lanyards, led by a slender blonde who wouldn't know the word "tranquility" if it bit her in her size 2 arse, booming through the echoing chamber to inform her followers. The rest of us didn't ask for the information, but we're getting it whether we like it or not. Didn't catch it the first time? She's happy to repeat herself now in your preferred language.
"Follow my hand to the next gallery," she says, waving one hand in the air as she walks, her sheep following along with their clunky shoes to disturb the people looking at ancient silverware.
Did you think this blog was meant to help you plan your own trip? Or consider doing things we've done yourself? Yes, it does that, usually. But today, it's so I can vent and get over myself :-) And so that you can either be mad at me for my opinions (you bring your own segway on each vacation in your luggage, you love it so much) or nod along, knowing you're not the only one yelling at people in your head while you smile at them, moving them aside (gently) with your elbow to get to the front of a painting you've been waiting to see for a half hour.
There are incredible works at the museum - the place is massive. My father's favorite (and I tend to agree) is The Night Watch by Rembrandt. My mother has a favorite in every room - usually she writes down which ones she likes and takes pictures of all of them, including the plaque (I got my organizational skills from her, and my propensity to take too many pictures). Derek slipped away to the naval ships area (he loves paintings of the sea and impressionist paintings), and I dealt with the crowds, fighting to see all of the best works until I was lost in the middle of them. Really, actually lost. Wifi isn't reliable in this place, probably because it can't work itself through the masses of people to reach your phone.
We rented bikes in the afternoon from Scooter Rent Amsterdam (don't rent from them). It was an unbelievably poor service experience, which included having to return one bike that was released to us broken and being put off for an hour by the child who ran the shop (I swear he was 13). He was nursing a pack of Marlboro Golds with a black warning label accompanied by a photo of a neck with a hole in the trachea. We hooked up my dad's GoPro and rode through Vondell Park and around the canals and neighborhoods. We stopped at the Bloemenmarkt to pick up our final souvenirs, and to get a demonstration of a fresh stroopwafel by a very entertaining store owner (find this place if you can - it's maybe half way up the market, though I can't remember the name. They advertise the fresh stroopwafel on a sign out front, which are practically impossible to find here).
Cyclists have their own street lights separate from the pedestrian and motor traffic lights. They're lower down on the pole at a different angle, and the lights are only green or red. You only get three quick green flashes before they turn red, and then you'd better get your arse out of the street immediately, because the motorists won't wait.
Streets are usually laid out as follows - sidewalk, bike path, car lane, tram lane (x2), car lane, bike path, sidewalk. You can be hit from either direction at any point, so crossing the street can cause mini mental breakdowns if you're walking. And don't drive if you don't have to.
We finished up the day at a nice restaurant called Fier, where we traded the outdoor smokers for unstable tables, but were very happy to find that they served unlimited flat water WITH ICE, which made my mother very happy. I had a salad, so that made me proud of myself...I prefer to each waffles all day long but was told I can't stay alive if I keep that up. Derek ran to a grocery store to find cough drops because he isn't able to talk anymore. Just like with crowds, illness when you travel is a b*tch.
September 13, 2016
It's Gogh Time
Derek is sick, again. The long days and sneezing tourists caught up with him, and today we slept in, bumping our visit to the famous Rijksmuseum to tomorrow. It's Saturday, and after our well-rested morning, we took a tram to the Jordaan neighborhood to walk around.
We ventured into Westerkerk (Western Church), on the Prinsengracht canal, now that it was open. The Dutch Protestant reformed church is white with brown wood, with very little ornamentation. Its high ceilings give way to an impressive organ, and below its stone floors many are buried. Rembrandt and his son, Titus, are buried here, though no one knows where the graves are exactly. A pauper on his deathbed, the once wealthy and famed painter was buried in an unmarked grave with others, unable to afford his own space. A seal on the wall commemorates his entombment in the church floors. The tower is beautiful at almost 260 feet high, but to climb it, you have to pay 7.50 euros, and though I'm sure you'd see impressive views, I wasn't going to fork over the money. Inside the main church sanctuary is a shop selling post cards and other trinkets - apparently they haven't read Matthew 21.
I showed my parents where the Anne Frank house was, so they could get pictures, and so that my dad could let me know how when he visited in the 70's, he didn't have to wait in line or pay to get in. Yes, the good old days, indeed, but as I don't get to benefit from the 70's directly (with the possible exception of flared-bottom jeans), it's just more frustrating to hear how easy everything was then.
We walked down to the Pancake Bakery, where I ate on my first morning, and I got (and LOVED) the sugar with lemon pannekoeken (flat dutch pancake), my father had one with chicken (he would recommend adding cheese), and Derek and my mom went for the Nutella with banana option. Then we came across a lovely farmer's market, the Noordermarkt, which has been providing fresh, local goods to the neighborhood on Saturday mornings since 1987. We walked through and nearly got lost among the cheese and bread shops, people selling lotions and honey and fabric, clothes, fruit and vegetables, oils and nuts...anything and everything you could want. We watched one man whom we were envious of load the basket on his beautiful leather-bound bike and ride off with his treasures. We watched an older man "sample" a handful of olives and sun-dried tomatoes that were NOT for sampling, then come back a second time for more. I wanted to buy the oysters and the eggs and all of the bottles of milk, but hauling the stuff with us for the next week wasn't an option, so we watched the locals crowd around for the best items.
We walked down another street market nearby, this time with people selling items at booths in front of open shops, playing live music and drinking coffee on the street. A man pulled me into his shop by giving me a soap sample and buffing my nails. I've got his card if you're interested! But alas, I wasn't.
Further on to the Oude Kerk in the Red Light District, it had been on our list of places to see. It isn't an active church, and it is MASSIVE, its heavenly symbolism contrasting strongly with the sin-soaked area that encompasses it. It's odd to see the red lights up the alleyways leading to the church (or from the church, depending on your perspective). But, once again we were met with a 10 euro price tag to go inside, and with everything adding up, it didn't seem worth it. Onward to Van Gogh.
You can get discounted tickets in advance, but we hadn't been sure we'd do this museum today, so we paid full price at the door (17 euros, and they do have a senior discount, which my dad failed to ask for, and my mother never let him forget). We arrived around 3 pm, to try and miss the morning crowds. We walked through the self portrait area first - he painted himself a LOT (36 times in 10 years, to be precise, more than almost any other artist - not surpassing Rembrandt, however, but Rembrandt's career lasted significantly longer).
Up one level, we saw his early work, a focus on the lives and work of peasants. Van Gogh praised their hard work and envied the unharried nature of their rough lifestyle. He painted them honestly, reflecting their unrefined features and uncomfortable surroundings. His oil painting The Potato Eaters (1885) is remarkable to see in person, and seeing the sketches and models he used to set it up helped the viewer to better understand his perspective and thought process while building the idea of the painting. His early work reflects refinement and talent that looks quite different from his later work with color and bold strokes - you may never be able to recognize these paintings as his unless you know this part of his style well, and I personally had never seen this side of Van Gogh.
Moving to his later works, you see proclaimed masterpieces such as The Bedroom (1888) and the very thoroughly yellow Sunflowers (1889) are posted. My mother told me that she read (through throngs of people who were gathered around Sunflowers as though it were the Mona Lisa) that it was painted with only three shades of yellow...and basically nothing else. I told her that didn't surprise me at all - it looked it. I'm personally not a big fan of this type of his artwork, but the beauty of Van Gogh is that he had several distinct styles, and I was drawn more towards his Almond Blossom (1890) and Small Pear Tree in Blossom (1888). I also loved A Crab on its Back (1887), Shoes (1886), and The Hill at Montmartre with Stone Quarry (1886). Derek liked The Langlois Bridge (1888).
His letters to his brother, with whom he was very close, are on display, and the paintings of his colleagues from Paris, as well as paintings from those inspired by him, are shown on the top floor.
The Van Gogh museum is doing a special exhibition now on Vincent's descent into insanity, following his illness through his paintings, and various letters, notes and newspapers that outlined his decline leading up to, and including, his suicide in 1890. The most interesting part of this to me was his final painting - of bright blue tree roots - which they say was left unfinished. I'm not sure how they can tell it wasn't finished - it looked finished to me. And who's to say whether it wasn't?
After he shot himself in the chest, it took him two days to die, during which time his brother was able to visit. It was odd to me that they found a partially completed letter he had started to his brother in his pocket, but perhaps his inclination to end his life wasn't dependent on finishing the correspondence....perhaps that wasn't something he felt compelled to finish, or even could.
You can see all of the paintings I've mentioned for yourself here. Vincent painted 210 of the paintings housed here, and there are many more of his works abroad - there are even 3 right down the street at the Rijksmuseum, which I saw the very next day.
We needed water (it is severely lacking - very rare to find a water fountain, or a restaurant that will give you tap water, and if they do, most will either charge you for a tiny bottle, or give you a small glass and never refill it), so we tracked down an Aldi (Aunt Jeannie would be proud!) and managed to grab a few (tragically sparkling mineral) water bottles before they closed the doors on us. We sat on a bench outside of the grocery store, eating a chocolate bar and doing our best to change the color of our future urine to not so closely resemble Van Gogh's sunflower painting.
That night, we ate at the fantastic bar across the street from the Heineken Experience, called Cafe Berkhout. The food was GREAT, sophisticated beyond any bar food I've ever had. We walked to find a liquor store (Maslow's hierarchy definitely has room for Cranberry Disaronno drinks after all this walking!) and outside of it found a tiny, ridiculous car, parked with the bike rack. It looked like a Smart Car's baby - like a tiny tiny covered golf cart. Then we went home to enjoy our drinks and work on our plans for our adventure in Belgium, which was quickly approaching.
We ventured into Westerkerk (Western Church), on the Prinsengracht canal, now that it was open. The Dutch Protestant reformed church is white with brown wood, with very little ornamentation. Its high ceilings give way to an impressive organ, and below its stone floors many are buried. Rembrandt and his son, Titus, are buried here, though no one knows where the graves are exactly. A pauper on his deathbed, the once wealthy and famed painter was buried in an unmarked grave with others, unable to afford his own space. A seal on the wall commemorates his entombment in the church floors. The tower is beautiful at almost 260 feet high, but to climb it, you have to pay 7.50 euros, and though I'm sure you'd see impressive views, I wasn't going to fork over the money. Inside the main church sanctuary is a shop selling post cards and other trinkets - apparently they haven't read Matthew 21.
I showed my parents where the Anne Frank house was, so they could get pictures, and so that my dad could let me know how when he visited in the 70's, he didn't have to wait in line or pay to get in. Yes, the good old days, indeed, but as I don't get to benefit from the 70's directly (with the possible exception of flared-bottom jeans), it's just more frustrating to hear how easy everything was then.
We walked down to the Pancake Bakery, where I ate on my first morning, and I got (and LOVED) the sugar with lemon pannekoeken (flat dutch pancake), my father had one with chicken (he would recommend adding cheese), and Derek and my mom went for the Nutella with banana option. Then we came across a lovely farmer's market, the Noordermarkt, which has been providing fresh, local goods to the neighborhood on Saturday mornings since 1987. We walked through and nearly got lost among the cheese and bread shops, people selling lotions and honey and fabric, clothes, fruit and vegetables, oils and nuts...anything and everything you could want. We watched one man whom we were envious of load the basket on his beautiful leather-bound bike and ride off with his treasures. We watched an older man "sample" a handful of olives and sun-dried tomatoes that were NOT for sampling, then come back a second time for more. I wanted to buy the oysters and the eggs and all of the bottles of milk, but hauling the stuff with us for the next week wasn't an option, so we watched the locals crowd around for the best items.
We walked down another street market nearby, this time with people selling items at booths in front of open shops, playing live music and drinking coffee on the street. A man pulled me into his shop by giving me a soap sample and buffing my nails. I've got his card if you're interested! But alas, I wasn't.
Further on to the Oude Kerk in the Red Light District, it had been on our list of places to see. It isn't an active church, and it is MASSIVE, its heavenly symbolism contrasting strongly with the sin-soaked area that encompasses it. It's odd to see the red lights up the alleyways leading to the church (or from the church, depending on your perspective). But, once again we were met with a 10 euro price tag to go inside, and with everything adding up, it didn't seem worth it. Onward to Van Gogh.
You can get discounted tickets in advance, but we hadn't been sure we'd do this museum today, so we paid full price at the door (17 euros, and they do have a senior discount, which my dad failed to ask for, and my mother never let him forget). We arrived around 3 pm, to try and miss the morning crowds. We walked through the self portrait area first - he painted himself a LOT (36 times in 10 years, to be precise, more than almost any other artist - not surpassing Rembrandt, however, but Rembrandt's career lasted significantly longer).
The Van Gogh museum from the adjacent park
Up one level, we saw his early work, a focus on the lives and work of peasants. Van Gogh praised their hard work and envied the unharried nature of their rough lifestyle. He painted them honestly, reflecting their unrefined features and uncomfortable surroundings. His oil painting The Potato Eaters (1885) is remarkable to see in person, and seeing the sketches and models he used to set it up helped the viewer to better understand his perspective and thought process while building the idea of the painting. His early work reflects refinement and talent that looks quite different from his later work with color and bold strokes - you may never be able to recognize these paintings as his unless you know this part of his style well, and I personally had never seen this side of Van Gogh.
Moving to his later works, you see proclaimed masterpieces such as The Bedroom (1888) and the very thoroughly yellow Sunflowers (1889) are posted. My mother told me that she read (through throngs of people who were gathered around Sunflowers as though it were the Mona Lisa) that it was painted with only three shades of yellow...and basically nothing else. I told her that didn't surprise me at all - it looked it. I'm personally not a big fan of this type of his artwork, but the beauty of Van Gogh is that he had several distinct styles, and I was drawn more towards his Almond Blossom (1890) and Small Pear Tree in Blossom (1888). I also loved A Crab on its Back (1887), Shoes (1886), and The Hill at Montmartre with Stone Quarry (1886). Derek liked The Langlois Bridge (1888).
His letters to his brother, with whom he was very close, are on display, and the paintings of his colleagues from Paris, as well as paintings from those inspired by him, are shown on the top floor.
The Van Gogh museum is doing a special exhibition now on Vincent's descent into insanity, following his illness through his paintings, and various letters, notes and newspapers that outlined his decline leading up to, and including, his suicide in 1890. The most interesting part of this to me was his final painting - of bright blue tree roots - which they say was left unfinished. I'm not sure how they can tell it wasn't finished - it looked finished to me. And who's to say whether it wasn't?
After he shot himself in the chest, it took him two days to die, during which time his brother was able to visit. It was odd to me that they found a partially completed letter he had started to his brother in his pocket, but perhaps his inclination to end his life wasn't dependent on finishing the correspondence....perhaps that wasn't something he felt compelled to finish, or even could.
You can see all of the paintings I've mentioned for yourself here. Vincent painted 210 of the paintings housed here, and there are many more of his works abroad - there are even 3 right down the street at the Rijksmuseum, which I saw the very next day.
We needed water (it is severely lacking - very rare to find a water fountain, or a restaurant that will give you tap water, and if they do, most will either charge you for a tiny bottle, or give you a small glass and never refill it), so we tracked down an Aldi (Aunt Jeannie would be proud!) and managed to grab a few (tragically sparkling mineral) water bottles before they closed the doors on us. We sat on a bench outside of the grocery store, eating a chocolate bar and doing our best to change the color of our future urine to not so closely resemble Van Gogh's sunflower painting.
That night, we ate at the fantastic bar across the street from the Heineken Experience, called Cafe Berkhout. The food was GREAT, sophisticated beyond any bar food I've ever had. We walked to find a liquor store (Maslow's hierarchy definitely has room for Cranberry Disaronno drinks after all this walking!) and outside of it found a tiny, ridiculous car, parked with the bike rack. It looked like a Smart Car's baby - like a tiny tiny covered golf cart. Then we went home to enjoy our drinks and work on our plans for our adventure in Belgium, which was quickly approaching.
September 11, 2016
Leiden and Zaanse Schans
It's rent-a-car day! Derek and my dad left early to pick up our rental car, and we all piled in to head out of the city...that is, once we figured out how to reverse! My mom, always a fan of asking people around us for help, pulled a wayward gentleman practically into our car to tell us that you have to pull UP on the gear shift if you want to back up. Then, a slew of cursewords followed as we navigated the narrow streets between parked and moving cars, bikes, pedestrians and trams.
We drove south to Leiden, the sleepy (literally) town of 122 thousand people is tightly situated inside a canal loop. We struggled to pay for our parking, with my mother (once again) pulling a stranger off the sidewalk to help (and who was painfully useless, not that I expected otherwise). We crossed over the canal and went looking for food.
Maslow's hierarchy of needs is always in full effect when traveling. If you aren't hungry, you have to go to the bathroom, and if you don't need either of those things, you have to sit, or drink, or sleep. A decent amount of the time, you get laser focused on whatever it is that you need the moment, and traveling enhances those needs tenfold. So, I wasn't just hungry - I was starving. To death. And I had to "pee like a Bohemian racehorse" (my mother's charming phrase).
Nothing was open. It was half past 9 and no one is awake. Our interest in the charming town is clouded by our need for food, so once again, my mother pulls a security guard off the street and asks him to point us to breakfast. He leads us all over town, finally landing at VanderWerff, a charming restaurant with patio seating and a bang for your buck breakfast. I set my bags down and tucked into my croissant and toast with eggs, ham and cheese, complete with tiny jars of jam, butter and mice (puffy multicolored sugar sprinkles).
There was a large windmill near our breakfast place, so we wandered up to it. A large flour mill in its day, the Molen De Valk (the Falcon) windmill, originally built from wood, was replaced by a brick structure in 1743. Two families lived in this large home, with a kitchen, living areas, bedrooms and storage rooms. We stepped out on the miller's work space, a giant platform where you needed to walk carefully to avoid being knocked off by the huge turning sails. Not normally one to be afraid of heights, it made me nervous being out there with the quick-turning sails and impressive height. We climbed the 6 ladders to the top of the windmill where we could see the gears and grinding stones that made the mill operational. Check out their website to see details on each floor. Cost is 4 euros to visit.
Our time already up, we rushed back to the car and after several stressful minutes getting our car out of the parking spot, being tightly packed in by the cars around us, and figuring out how to get ourselves to the next city with the navigation system (I miss 3G!), we were on the highway, heading towards a famed windmill city.
After missing a turnoff, sitting in traffic, and agonizing over the incredibly slow speed limit on Holland's highways, we arrived in Zaanse Schans, seeing the half dozen windmills over the bridge we crossed. Then I reached for my mirror and realized it wasn't there. But I knew where it was...on the chair of the VanderWerff restaurant, all the way back in Leiden.
So, we turned around, and did the whole ridiculous drive again. I was dropped off and rushed to the restaurant, people staring at my awkward running as I went. They had it behind their bar, and my video camera was still in it. On the drive out, we noticed all the people that had finally come out of hiding, filling the parks, bars and restaurants which had all decided to open (don't expect things to open until at least 10 am, unless you're royalty and have an advance reservation). The town was beautiful in the midday light - for a second, I wasn't sorry we had come back. But then, we had lost an hour and a half on my mistake, and we had windmills to see.
We paid a ridiculous amount (9 euros) to park at the Zaans Museum and wandered towards the 5 windmills along the Zaans River. My dad purchased a guide ("best euro I ever spent") and I finally found a fresh stroopwafel! I rejoiced in the warm gooey snack. We saw women dressed traditionally, complete with thick wool socks and wooden shoes. My dad told us about how he had worked on a sugarbeet farm northeast of here in Biddinghuizen in 1973, and he wore the socks and wooden shoes in the fields. There were sawmills, oilmills, a mustardmill and a dyemill, with the river in front and fields full of cows behind. Tourists walked the narrow pathway connecting them, taking pictures at the best angles they could manage with the setting sun.
Derek took "senior pictures" on a tree near the river. And he befriended a fancy duck with a purple feather.
We walked among the village buildings and saw a couple taking wedding photos by the river. We found worn wooden shoes hanging in the backyards of people who had used them well in their yards, and sheep and swans in the farm land behind them.
We returned the car and wandered through Vondel Park, watching people enjoy their Friday evenings with food, drinks, music, and plenty of pot. There's no reason to buy the stuff yourself - you can get a contact high just by walking through. Beautiful ponds and statues within and impressive buildings just outside make the walk very pleasant, but avoiding the constant traffic of bikes is difficult.
A large Heineken Bar provided us with refreshment. My parents tried Bitterballen, and my mother's surprise at the inside of the ball was followed immediately with her laughing and spitting out the part she had attempted to consume. We got it on film, don't worry! She wasn't happy with the consistency of the meat, which, as I mentioned in a previous post, is very mushy - not recognizable as meat.
They had been craving the fancy chocolate covered waffles, so we stopped at the first place we found, a chain Ice Bakery, where they quickly became disappointed with the cold, hard waffles. Derek managed to spend an incredible amount of money, completely accidentally, on one of those self-serve yogurt bars...they get you every time!
Sauntering down to the Red Light district, we wandered among the sex, seed, and bong shops, and doorways rimmed in red and lit from within with black lights. Girls in electric white lingerie and bikinis wink from behind their doors, while closed curtains indicate a busy bed, or someone who is still straightening her hair. We're early - things don't get started usually until 10 pm, but we got the feel of the area just fine. Live porno shows complete with photos line the canal, and each alleyway boasts more red light options for the throngs of people who have arrived to gawk. A group of Chinese tourists arrive, following a leader with a flag, and they look...out of place. But then, so are we, and as my dad tells us all the ways that this area is different from when he visited (when he and is friends had a "favorite girl" and they used to time the other men going to visit her - 7 minutes!), when the women were all in prominent windows along the canal, we wonder how many of these visitors are here to pay, and how many are just here to try and see another way of life.
We paid a ridiculous amount (9 euros) to park at the Zaans Museum and wandered towards the 5 windmills along the Zaans River. My dad purchased a guide ("best euro I ever spent") and I finally found a fresh stroopwafel! I rejoiced in the warm gooey snack. We saw women dressed traditionally, complete with thick wool socks and wooden shoes. My dad told us about how he had worked on a sugarbeet farm northeast of here in Biddinghuizen in 1973, and he wore the socks and wooden shoes in the fields. There were sawmills, oilmills, a mustardmill and a dyemill, with the river in front and fields full of cows behind. Tourists walked the narrow pathway connecting them, taking pictures at the best angles they could manage with the setting sun.
Derek took "senior pictures" on a tree near the river. And he befriended a fancy duck with a purple feather.
We walked among the village buildings and saw a couple taking wedding photos by the river. We found worn wooden shoes hanging in the backyards of people who had used them well in their yards, and sheep and swans in the farm land behind them.
We returned the car and wandered through Vondel Park, watching people enjoy their Friday evenings with food, drinks, music, and plenty of pot. There's no reason to buy the stuff yourself - you can get a contact high just by walking through. Beautiful ponds and statues within and impressive buildings just outside make the walk very pleasant, but avoiding the constant traffic of bikes is difficult.
A large Heineken Bar provided us with refreshment. My parents tried Bitterballen, and my mother's surprise at the inside of the ball was followed immediately with her laughing and spitting out the part she had attempted to consume. We got it on film, don't worry! She wasn't happy with the consistency of the meat, which, as I mentioned in a previous post, is very mushy - not recognizable as meat.
They had been craving the fancy chocolate covered waffles, so we stopped at the first place we found, a chain Ice Bakery, where they quickly became disappointed with the cold, hard waffles. Derek managed to spend an incredible amount of money, completely accidentally, on one of those self-serve yogurt bars...they get you every time!
Sauntering down to the Red Light district, we wandered among the sex, seed, and bong shops, and doorways rimmed in red and lit from within with black lights. Girls in electric white lingerie and bikinis wink from behind their doors, while closed curtains indicate a busy bed, or someone who is still straightening her hair. We're early - things don't get started usually until 10 pm, but we got the feel of the area just fine. Live porno shows complete with photos line the canal, and each alleyway boasts more red light options for the throngs of people who have arrived to gawk. A group of Chinese tourists arrive, following a leader with a flag, and they look...out of place. But then, so are we, and as my dad tells us all the ways that this area is different from when he visited (when he and is friends had a "favorite girl" and they used to time the other men going to visit her - 7 minutes!), when the women were all in prominent windows along the canal, we wonder how many of these visitors are here to pay, and how many are just here to try and see another way of life.
Family reunion over kipsticks and kaassouffle
Today, my parents are coming to town. Totally coincidentally, they were going to overlap with a separate trip for a few days, so we coordinated to spend time together during their stay. Derek and I left our cozy B&B and hopped on a tram to West Amsterdam, where we've rented an apartment on Geuzenkade road.
When my parents arrived, shocked from the warm weather, they traded out their long pants and sweaters for shorts and short sleeves. They were met with cold Heineken and stroopwafels before we headed downtown. We took them by Central Station where we encouraged them to get food from the hot vending machines. At Smullers fast food joint below ground, we had a kipstick (gehakstaaf), which was like a chicken nugget rod, and my parents shared a kaassouffle, a cheese pocket. I had my mother put the change in and extract the snacks.
We wandered around the canals, taking pictures and visiting places we've already seen, showing my parents around. They tried the frites and visited the Cheese Inn. We had dinner once again at Cafe de Jaren, but the breeze made it a little too chilly sitting on the terrace. We came across Rembrandtplein (square) where a dozen soldiers from Rembrandt's famous Night Watch painting are frozen in time around his statue.
When my parents arrived, shocked from the warm weather, they traded out their long pants and sweaters for shorts and short sleeves. They were met with cold Heineken and stroopwafels before we headed downtown. We took them by Central Station where we encouraged them to get food from the hot vending machines. At Smullers fast food joint below ground, we had a kipstick (gehakstaaf), which was like a chicken nugget rod, and my parents shared a kaassouffle, a cheese pocket. I had my mother put the change in and extract the snacks.
We wandered around the canals, taking pictures and visiting places we've already seen, showing my parents around. They tried the frites and visited the Cheese Inn. We had dinner once again at Cafe de Jaren, but the breeze made it a little too chilly sitting on the terrace. We came across Rembrandtplein (square) where a dozen soldiers from Rembrandt's famous Night Watch painting are frozen in time around his statue.
September 08, 2016
Rembrandt
Today, I decided to visit Rembrandt's house, which has been turned into a museum. There are other museums that I could see for free today, but this one is a favorite of mine, especially to do on my own. I have a tendency to dawdle over things like art and antiques, so usually people with me get tired of it long before I do. The house is massive, worth 13,000 guilders (6,400 Euro) at the time, and is in great condition. I watched an hour long film by the BBC called Late Rembrandt before beginning my tour. The host clearly loved Rembrandt, and his incredible descriptions of the man and the meaning behind his paintings was mesmerizing.
The first floor has the entryway and his sales room, filled with paintings by the artist who trained Rembrandt, Rembrandt's pupils and other artists. A short bed, inside a giant cabinet, was where guests stayed. The marble doorways and mantle aren't actually marble - they were painted to look like marble, and it's quite convincing. The kitchen was large, with a small sink and water pump, a large area for the fire, and another short cabinet bed.
A tight, winding staircase took you to the second floor, where I watched an etching demonstration in his print shop. Rembrandt made 290 etching plates in his life, and made some estimated 15,000 prints. The demonstration showed how to create one, scratching the image into a copper plate coated in wax, pressing the black paint into the plate with a paddle covered in dog skin, all while making sure the plate is kept warm to ensure the paint doesn't clot and dry. Then you clean the excess paint off, add moist cotton paper to the press, and physically turn the wheel to roll it through the press. Voila!
His studio was very large and brightly lit, with hand-stretched canvas and an area for creating paint from powder found in different natural sources all over Europe, and linseed oil. Only small amounts were made at a time, but if any needed to keep overnight, they were placed in a pig bladder. He had another room full of various curiosities used to study texture, weight, color, etc. Busts of historical leaders, bright feathers, dead reptiles, shells, spears and giant books abound. This type of collection wasn't typical of artists of the time - blowfish seemed to be a favorite.
Rembrandt's bedroom had a lovely fireplace, complete with male and female figures propping up the mantle, and another short cabinet bed. The walls were covered in paintings, including a particularly striking one of his late wife. In his bankruptcy, he had been forced to sell the real painting to a wealthy art collector, so he had one of his apprentices make a convincing copy for him to keep.
He had a teaching studio at the top of the home, partitioned off by wooden walls. Each section has a little triangular stool and an easel. Half a dozen or so of his students went on to be famous painters themselves, and many cannot tell their work apart from his own. Rembrandt went bankrupt in 1658 and moved into a nearby rental home for the last 12 years of his life. I left the house feeling like I knew the man personally, and had even greater respect for his work, if not for his life choices.
I swung by Van Kerkwijk for some dutch food, but it was too late for lunch and too early for dinner, so I had a salad and fresh bread, then headed home. I read on the rooftop with a Heineken until Derek finished with his conference and could officially start vacation. Then we went on a food tour of the city.
First, we got Pofferjus (finally!) from the Pancake Steakhouse and ate them while we had a drink sitting by the canal at Rock Hard. Then, we wandered until we came across the De Laastste Kruimel Bakery (the last crumb bakery), where we had mushroom quiche with hazelnut pesto, and a french toast croissant. We sat on their porch overlooking the canal on tiny stools topped with worn, flat pillows. The place is quaint and quiet, and the view was wonderful.
Then, we went in search of Stamppot, a traditional dutch food with kale and sausage, which I had been searching for for days. We stumbled on Petit-Restaurant de Rozenboom and ate outside on the street. The food didn't have much flavor, but it was reasonably priced and delivered quickly, and the ambiance outdoors was exactly what we were hoping for. We wandered around the Red Light district once we were finished, and had to help ourselves to a dessert waffle from Metropolitan. Derek had his covered in chocolate, and I took mine with powdered sugar. The giant crystallized sugar pieces inside are surprising to find at first. The thick, sweet way they make their waffles doesn't compare to any waffle I've ever had. These aren't American waffles - this is like a cake donut in a waffle iron with crunchy sugar pockets. It's never a bad idea.
Should we go to a club? It's only 9:40. We're stuffed, and looking forward to sleep. The food and walking have a way of really bringing the day to a quick end, and tonight, we're not sorry about that.
The first floor has the entryway and his sales room, filled with paintings by the artist who trained Rembrandt, Rembrandt's pupils and other artists. A short bed, inside a giant cabinet, was where guests stayed. The marble doorways and mantle aren't actually marble - they were painted to look like marble, and it's quite convincing. The kitchen was large, with a small sink and water pump, a large area for the fire, and another short cabinet bed.
A tight, winding staircase took you to the second floor, where I watched an etching demonstration in his print shop. Rembrandt made 290 etching plates in his life, and made some estimated 15,000 prints. The demonstration showed how to create one, scratching the image into a copper plate coated in wax, pressing the black paint into the plate with a paddle covered in dog skin, all while making sure the plate is kept warm to ensure the paint doesn't clot and dry. Then you clean the excess paint off, add moist cotton paper to the press, and physically turn the wheel to roll it through the press. Voila!
His studio was very large and brightly lit, with hand-stretched canvas and an area for creating paint from powder found in different natural sources all over Europe, and linseed oil. Only small amounts were made at a time, but if any needed to keep overnight, they were placed in a pig bladder. He had another room full of various curiosities used to study texture, weight, color, etc. Busts of historical leaders, bright feathers, dead reptiles, shells, spears and giant books abound. This type of collection wasn't typical of artists of the time - blowfish seemed to be a favorite.
Rembrandt's bedroom had a lovely fireplace, complete with male and female figures propping up the mantle, and another short cabinet bed. The walls were covered in paintings, including a particularly striking one of his late wife. In his bankruptcy, he had been forced to sell the real painting to a wealthy art collector, so he had one of his apprentices make a convincing copy for him to keep.
He had a teaching studio at the top of the home, partitioned off by wooden walls. Each section has a little triangular stool and an easel. Half a dozen or so of his students went on to be famous painters themselves, and many cannot tell their work apart from his own. Rembrandt went bankrupt in 1658 and moved into a nearby rental home for the last 12 years of his life. I left the house feeling like I knew the man personally, and had even greater respect for his work, if not for his life choices.
I swung by Van Kerkwijk for some dutch food, but it was too late for lunch and too early for dinner, so I had a salad and fresh bread, then headed home. I read on the rooftop with a Heineken until Derek finished with his conference and could officially start vacation. Then we went on a food tour of the city.
First, we got Pofferjus (finally!) from the Pancake Steakhouse and ate them while we had a drink sitting by the canal at Rock Hard. Then, we wandered until we came across the De Laastste Kruimel Bakery (the last crumb bakery), where we had mushroom quiche with hazelnut pesto, and a french toast croissant. We sat on their porch overlooking the canal on tiny stools topped with worn, flat pillows. The place is quaint and quiet, and the view was wonderful.
Then, we went in search of Stamppot, a traditional dutch food with kale and sausage, which I had been searching for for days. We stumbled on Petit-Restaurant de Rozenboom and ate outside on the street. The food didn't have much flavor, but it was reasonably priced and delivered quickly, and the ambiance outdoors was exactly what we were hoping for. We wandered around the Red Light district once we were finished, and had to help ourselves to a dessert waffle from Metropolitan. Derek had his covered in chocolate, and I took mine with powdered sugar. The giant crystallized sugar pieces inside are surprising to find at first. The thick, sweet way they make their waffles doesn't compare to any waffle I've ever had. These aren't American waffles - this is like a cake donut in a waffle iron with crunchy sugar pockets. It's never a bad idea.
Should we go to a club? It's only 9:40. We're stuffed, and looking forward to sleep. The food and walking have a way of really bringing the day to a quick end, and tonight, we're not sorry about that.
Discovering Amsterdam
This morning, I wandered around the canals, taking pictures of the quaint bikes and looking for pofferjus for breakfast - little flat dutch pancakes with butter and powdered sugar (they're not as easy to find as you'd think in the mornings in the Jordaan neighborhood). I spotted a giant grey heron perched on someone's handrail along the canal, and tiny shops that were barely awake themselves.
I stopped into the Westkerk (West Church, where Rembrandt was buried) but they were closed. They had blocked off the street shortly afterwards to carry a huge painted panel from a truck through the doors (it was probably returning from restoration).
I found a Delft shop for new and antique pottery. Delft is a town in the Netherlands known for manufacturing a blue and white hand-painted pottery which they learned from the Chinese. The shop was small, but packed to the gills with plates, vases, and ornaments. Everything was very expensive, but I finally settled on two Christmas ornaments, discounted for having past year's etched in their sides, but gave up trying to buy them after I stood behind a group of women trying to work out an exchange with the shop keeper, which was slow going and painful, given neither of them spoke the other's language, and neither group had mastered English, the language chosen for the negotiations.
At 11 am, we moved out of our sketchy Airbnb apartment on Spuistraat to a sweet little room near Dam Square - a place called Boogaard B&B. Derek met me and we walked our things to the new site, and when we entered our room, we were so excited to find it clean, airy and welcoming, complete with a SHOWER! (The last place we were didn't have one onsite - you had to bike 9 minutes away and go during certain hours to shower, so we hadn't been truly clean since we left the US). Derek went back to the Vaccine conference, and I wandered the streets.
I found what Rick Steves had referred to in his walking guide that we had tried to follow the day before, and got hopelessly off track from - the Bloemenmarkt (Flower Market). Stall after stall were filled with boxes of tulip bulbs, dried flowers, little printed faux delft souvenirs, and battery-operated buzzing bees and fluttering butterflies that circled the flowers and plants (complete with Do Not Touch signs). Near to the market was the Munttoren, or Mint Tower. The guard house on the side of the tower was used to mint coin in the 17th Century, until it was replaced by a new building in 1885. The tower has a Carillon on top which chimes every fifteen minutes, and it's 38 bells are a beautiful sound to hear.
Right below the tower is the Delft Blue shop. I learned from asking the shop owner how to differentiate the cheap tourist delft items from the real deal, and found some items that were discounted (I love a good sale). Down the street, I found the restaurant my friend, who lives locally, recommended - Cafe de Jaren (Jaren means "Years"). I got a small table on the balcony overlooking the canals. The food is amazing and the view was incredible - so much so that I got Derek and we returned here for dinner too!
I needed to round out my meal, so I went in search of the famous Van Stapele cookie. The tiny shop, located in a small alleyway in a bustling shopping area, serves just one kind of cookie. The dark chocolate cookie has a soft white chocolate center, and they bake them all day long, sealing your purchase in a wax bag with a gold seal sticker. I was especially excited to find this on my own since several tours offer to take you to these special cookies but won't tell you the name of the shop (you have to do the tour to find out). Thank goodness for my friend Ashton and her infinite wisdom!
I had been debating whether I should spend time trying to get into the Anne Frank house. When we had tried to purchase tickets online in advance, they were sold out for months, and I had heard the line could reach epic proportions, the likes of which would make parents at Disney World cry. But, at 2:45, there wasn't anything else pressing on my agenda, so I decided to give it a try. I sat on the curb behind several hundred people, a whole 45 minutes before they'd even open. I spent the time chatting with a mother and daughter from Denmark and the time went quickly - it took about an hour and 15 min to get in.
The museum is well laid out. It didn't feel rushed or crowded, and each display moved you along without too much pause. Anne's room affected me the most. The pictures she had stuck on the wall to make the cold, dark, small room more "cheerful" made me very sad. She had a picture of strawberries that reminded me that she never could go outside, and that the photo of the plant was the closest she would get to the outdoors in the two years she was there. The original bookcase was still there, blocking the entrance to the hiding space - it was neat, and tragic, to experience going into the very empty rooms. Imagining 8 people living here, keeping quiet all day long, with curtains closed tight and their very lives dependent on it all staying a secret was sobering. At the end, in a temporary exhibit, they had her 3rd grade class' school picture. Of the 30 students, 15 were Jewish, and 9 didn't survive the war. Looking at the numbered labels for such tiny, innocent people, knowing that they'd be killed for something that had nothing to do with them at all, was so depressing, even more so that it still happens today. This wasn't a history lesson - it was a mirror, reflecting our choices today, and how policy and governments and economics affect real people. It was worth the entry fee and the wait.
On our walk back for Cafe de Jaren that night, we found a castle that had been turned into a restaurant, and I pulled Derek into dark alleyways to track down the steeple of a church that was under construction. Then, we suddenly found ourselves in the middle of the red light district. We might have had a clue when a woman in a bikini behind a glass door was lit by the red lamp light above her, and another half dozen others followed. Then, we hit the main canal road, and my goodness - it's hard to describe. Immediately I had concerns about seeing this area with my parents, who planned on visiting it with us when they join us in a few days. Not sure I'm in love with that idea....
September 07, 2016
Biking, Beer and Bitterballen
On our second day here, I went with our site host to find the showers (I won't get into why...) on our bikes. My bike is a green "fixie" - there are no hand brakes, you pedal backwards to stop. He showed me how to lock and unlock the bike, and I followed him to a spa a "two minute ride away" - for the sweating I did, we rode all the way to Belgium (it was more like 10 minutes). It was closed for renovations on the days we're here. So we rode to another one. It was closed too, but only because the Dutch, apparently, don't open anything in this city until at least 10 am. They must be related to the French ;-)
Biking here is not for the faint of heart...or any nubes. I never bike and it's questionable whether I should have. You have to be concerned with your speed, cars, motorized scooters, people walking, cyclists in giant sightseeing groups, cyclists on their phones (don't text and bike should be a bumper sticker here), trams, brick roads that shake you violently when you ride over them, construction blocks, paths that suddenly disappear, bike traffic lights, idiot tourists who don't recognize that the sidewalk and bike paths aren't the same thing. Basically, it's mostly a stressful nightmare the first day. And your arse is killing you because no one invested in the seat on your bike, and your sit bones decry the day you decided not to just walk.
I dropped off my bike, still not having showered, and walked a few canals over to The Pancake Bakery, famous for the dutch pancake, the Pannenkoeken. Savory or sweet, these thick, eggy crepe-like pancakes are the best way to start my culinary trip. I had mine with banana and Nutella, alongside a glass of fresh squeezed OJ. They gave me a little coffee-flavored candy with my bill, and I wandered back home to sleep my meal off. FIVE hours later, I woke up. Finally recovered from my jet lag and bitter that sleep had "wasted" my vacation time (anyone who knows me knows this is just the way I think - don't judge), I jumped on my bike and headed to the edge of town where the Central Library sits. The inside is very modern, reminiscent of an Ikea, including lights that look like the lava in lava lamps. I went up the 6 levels to the terrace and read my book at a table while I watched the weather debate itself about what it would do next - rain and sun trade on and off throughout the day.
Amsterdam Centraal Station is next, and I'm here for one reason - to get food out of the vending machines. I read you can get hot food from these sweet looking vending machine walls, and after getting change and debating what to get for nearly 15 minutes, I settled on whatever the thing was second from the right. It was long and rounded like a bratwurst shape, very crispy on the outside, and very mushy and brown on the inside (like baby food consistency). I couldn't tell if it was meat, or vegetable, or...mineral? I still don't know. They had hamburgers too, but what's the fun in that?!
After I found my bike (a seriously difficult task, I can assure you) among the sea of locked and abandoned bikes at the station, I went back to the flat to meet Derek, who was done with his conference. We took our bikes on the Rick Steves walking tour, which I totally messed up at some point along the way, but not before we stopped to eat the infamous Flemmish fries with mayo that is a requirement of your visit (I despise mayonnaise, but I'll tolerate spicy mayo. It is my opinion that if you visit a place and their quintessential local treat is something you don't think you'll like that you eat it anyway, unless you're straight allergic). We got them at Maoz Vegetarian on Damrak street next to the super touristy "Manneken pis" fry joint (that name needs to stay where it belongs, in Brussels). The pigeons are feisty there. You eat the fries with a forked wooden dowel.
Then we drooled all over the floors in the Cheese Inn, a crazy cheese shop with a full size cow figure and wheels of cheese the size of tires lining the walls. We had enough samples to have eaten a wheel ourselves (they had a lavender flavored cheese that was a bold blue color - my mind didn't know how to reconcile this experience), then followed the tour south, finally landing at Reynders where we grabbed two 8%+ alcohol beers and Bitterballen, a "meatball" with the same consistency as my treat from the train station, but so hot that it burned the roof of my mouth. They were good!
We finished our day off at Trattoria Caprese, where a young gentleman from Italy took our order, and both of us enjoyed our Italian risotto and pasta until we couldn't stay awake any longer.
Biking here is not for the faint of heart...or any nubes. I never bike and it's questionable whether I should have. You have to be concerned with your speed, cars, motorized scooters, people walking, cyclists in giant sightseeing groups, cyclists on their phones (don't text and bike should be a bumper sticker here), trams, brick roads that shake you violently when you ride over them, construction blocks, paths that suddenly disappear, bike traffic lights, idiot tourists who don't recognize that the sidewalk and bike paths aren't the same thing. Basically, it's mostly a stressful nightmare the first day. And your arse is killing you because no one invested in the seat on your bike, and your sit bones decry the day you decided not to just walk.
Nutella and Banana Panekoeken
Canal de Panekoeken in the Jordaan neighborhood
I dropped off my bike, still not having showered, and walked a few canals over to The Pancake Bakery, famous for the dutch pancake, the Pannenkoeken. Savory or sweet, these thick, eggy crepe-like pancakes are the best way to start my culinary trip. I had mine with banana and Nutella, alongside a glass of fresh squeezed OJ. They gave me a little coffee-flavored candy with my bill, and I wandered back home to sleep my meal off. FIVE hours later, I woke up. Finally recovered from my jet lag and bitter that sleep had "wasted" my vacation time (anyone who knows me knows this is just the way I think - don't judge), I jumped on my bike and headed to the edge of town where the Central Library sits. The inside is very modern, reminiscent of an Ikea, including lights that look like the lava in lava lamps. I went up the 6 levels to the terrace and read my book at a table while I watched the weather debate itself about what it would do next - rain and sun trade on and off throughout the day.
Amsterdam Centraal Station is next, and I'm here for one reason - to get food out of the vending machines. I read you can get hot food from these sweet looking vending machine walls, and after getting change and debating what to get for nearly 15 minutes, I settled on whatever the thing was second from the right. It was long and rounded like a bratwurst shape, very crispy on the outside, and very mushy and brown on the inside (like baby food consistency). I couldn't tell if it was meat, or vegetable, or...mineral? I still don't know. They had hamburgers too, but what's the fun in that?!
After I found my bike (a seriously difficult task, I can assure you) among the sea of locked and abandoned bikes at the station, I went back to the flat to meet Derek, who was done with his conference. We took our bikes on the Rick Steves walking tour, which I totally messed up at some point along the way, but not before we stopped to eat the infamous Flemmish fries with mayo that is a requirement of your visit (I despise mayonnaise, but I'll tolerate spicy mayo. It is my opinion that if you visit a place and their quintessential local treat is something you don't think you'll like that you eat it anyway, unless you're straight allergic). We got them at Maoz Vegetarian on Damrak street next to the super touristy "Manneken pis" fry joint (that name needs to stay where it belongs, in Brussels). The pigeons are feisty there. You eat the fries with a forked wooden dowel.
Then we drooled all over the floors in the Cheese Inn, a crazy cheese shop with a full size cow figure and wheels of cheese the size of tires lining the walls. We had enough samples to have eaten a wheel ourselves (they had a lavender flavored cheese that was a bold blue color - my mind didn't know how to reconcile this experience), then followed the tour south, finally landing at Reynders where we grabbed two 8%+ alcohol beers and Bitterballen, a "meatball" with the same consistency as my treat from the train station, but so hot that it burned the roof of my mouth. They were good!
Canal shot while riding off the bitterballen
We finished our day off at Trattoria Caprese, where a young gentleman from Italy took our order, and both of us enjoyed our Italian risotto and pasta until we couldn't stay awake any longer.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)