Travel Mechanics- Planes, Trains, Automobiles...

Planes, trains and automobiles; boats, buses and BlaBla

Getting from Point A to Point B these days is nothing like it used to be. When I had an international job, based in Amsterdam, I had a travel agent, a pile of miles for lounge access and upgrades. I have a whole village of ceramic Dutch houses, filled with genever (Dutch gin), a parting gift given by KLM to business class flyers as they de-plane. I used my generous luggage allowance to transport materials for my job.

Those days are gone.  I have not had a mile to burn in over a decade so trying to go to Europe and not go broke has required a lot of time on the internet. I wanted to recap the process we used in cobbling together this marathon. As I said in my last installment we had some tourist destinations (Venice; Split, Croatia; San Sebastian, Spain) and some friends to visit (Amsterdam; Mainvault, Belgium; Paris; Barcelona; Tenerife). The practicality of all this depended a lot on how we could order the cities and connect the dots.

For the transatlantic segment we decided to leave from the east coast for a few reasons. There are several new low-fare transatlantic options from the northeast, and my family is there, providing a chance to spend some time with my parents before and after the trip. Last year we flew from Hartford on Aer Lingus. A traditional legacy carrier, Aer Lingus was flying a 757 from Hartford to fill a niche in the market and connect my hometown directly to Europe. It remained a good deal but there was a new player, Norwegian. Another option you might here is WOW Air, an Icelandic newbie. If you poke around, you can find others, depending on where you are. XL, a French airline, just launched some affordable flights to Paris.

Norwegian is a regional airline that has, over the last few years, begun flying ultra-cheap flights across the Atlantic and elsewhere. This year they announced that would begin to fly from Hartford (and a few other smaller airports in the Northeast)  to Edinburgh for stupid low fares, as low as $99 one-way. Yep, that got my full attention. We booked that trip as soon as we could reasonably nail down dates. Adding bags, and seat selection and meals, we paid less than $500 each to go to Europe. We would begin and end of journey in Edinburgh, 5/8-6/19.

Norwegian flies from a few cities near us in Albuquerque, notably Denver, to London and Paris. It is a deal, though not as tantalizing as those trips from the east coast. A few friends have already taken advantage of those flights. But buyers beware. Norwegian has not been shy about abruptly starting and ending service. A couple of months after we booked Hartford to Edinburgh we got a message that our flight, three months away, had been cancelled. They offered options from another airport in New York State, 90 minutes away, on dates that did not synch with the rest of our travel arrangements. After a little cold sweat and some collaborative work with their call center in Oslo, we found suitable flights on Norwegian from Providence with a schedule that matched the Hartford flights exactly. So long as I could twist my sister's arm to get us to T.F. Green Airport, we could proceed as planned.

I like a travel planning challenge, but this trip never would have happened without  www.rome2rio.com. I don't recall how I found r2r, but it is amazing. You can plunk in any two places and r2r will give all of the different travel modalities you can  use to get between any two places on the planet. The site let me model all different combinations of dates, and ways of traveling.  Connecting Venice to Split seemed to involved an epic and pricey train ride through Lubjlanja and Zagreb and only one flight happened a week, r2r suggested the train-to-ferry combination we found magical. Google Flights also proved helpful, particularly with locating cheap airfare options.

R2r was big on offering intercity buses. Europe is full of cheap high-tech bus systems, the biggest of which at present is Flixbus. We used Flixbus from Amsterdam to Brussels. We ordered our tickets onto the Flixbus app on my phone and ubered over to Sloterdijk Station where the long-distance buses pull up. The drivers were the ticketing staff. Our bus was express to Brussels Gare du Nord, and arrived a little early, with a time better the Intercity train that day, and at less than half the price. You even got a an hour of free wifi. Getting from the bus platform into the BGdN station proved difficult, due to a lack of helpful signage as we made our way to our train to Ath.

We did trains in Italy from Venice to Ravenna, then Ravenna to Ancona, the starting point for our overnight ferry to Split, Croatia, then again in Belgium from Brussels to Ath to meet Gerard, and then from Lille to Paris.R2R gave us the idea, but the actual trips had to be booked through the various national rail companies. The Italian and Belgian tickets were easily bought same-day. The Lille-Paris trip was on the TGV, high speed, and required reservations. In that case it was easiest to download their app and buy the tickets. You could do this at home and print the tickets, as many people had.

There was some car rental here-- in Croatia and Spain, but that deserves its own discussion. As I write this we are in the middle of the second rental episode and we are mightily ambivalent-- we love the chance to see the countryside but the costs... more later. Another four-wheeled mode, a ride-share system called BlaBla Car got consulted, but those rides never have jibed with our desired schedules.

Much of the travel was to be done within Europe on planes. Hey, we had to get to and from Tenerife that only happens by plane... We did this by booking oh so early on the trinity of cheap airlines of Europe- Easyjet, Norwegian and Ryanair. As I monkeyed with the schedule and the order, a cheap flight on KLM popped up, from Split to Amsterdam.

These fares can be ridiculously low-- the lowest in this itinerary was $22 from Tenerife to Barcelona. The most was $120 from Edinburgh to Venice, and that had been lower, but I had lagged on buying that ticket. As both Mark and I had a checked bag, it was another 25-30 for that, but still, this was cheap. These airlines, particularly Ryanair, have lousy reps for customer service in general and on-time departures in particular. This can be nerve-racking when you have plans at the other end. I worked hard to ensure that a single airline screw up would not cause much in the way of knock-on failure. There are days between flights, in case Ryanair fails on Sunday, I have two days to sort out getting to Edinburgh for our trip home... for example. Still everything thus far has been hassle-free and on-time. I do tend to prefer early morning travel, as delays due to airport complications are fewer then. These airlines rarely fly these routes every day nor at the same time each day, so getting rebooked without your vacation suffering some major setback is a matter of luck and planning. As I said, so far, so good.

I give full marks to Easyjet for have a comfortable, professional product-- Norwegian as well. I am not looking forward to our date with Ryanair on Sunday, but I would be happy to be proven wrong.

When the dust settled the air, bus and train for the entire six weeks came in around $1200 each. The air was all spent by February 1st. All of it was non-refundable. Some people wouldn't like that but we thoroughly had discussed the parameters. We also knew that we could cut losses with refunds for the AirBnb and hotel nights being refunded.

Overall, this travel itinerary has worked like a gem, with just a few legs left. I would be happy to help anyone sort out this kind of travel, as the result, some great tourism and time with friends, has been so rewarding.

A Stroll in the City of Light

A Stroll in the City of Light

Stu, contemplating the Metro by the Louvre

We arrived at the train station and were picked by our friend Patrick. We met him years ago when we lived in Amsterdam.  Back then he was uncomfortable with English but the years of working for Air France created an Anglophone. (I can hear Patrick laughing.  His English sounds A-M-A-Z-I-N-G next to my high school French). We briefly discussed Brexit and chuckled at the state of Europe and the world.

We drove to his new home (that he moved to six years ago) slightly outside the city in his Beetle with an Automatic Transmission! (Everyone drives a stick here.) The car ride was memorable.  I think it gave me PTSD.  I heard on TV that Paris has one "stop" sign.  I believe it.  Years ago a bus ride went like this:  Drive as fast as you can in the right lane, cut off the traffic instead of running into a bridge.  Repeat, but let's try it at a higher speed.  Intersections are opportunities to go around people.  Who needs lanes?  Oddly, no one honks and it all works out. No one screams, Mange merde et morte!  Fortunately, we made it to his flat safely.

We only had two days in Paris this time. I remember wanting to see Europe as a child and thinking, My great grandparents crossed that ocean once.  Europe could be on the moon.  It (getting to Europe) was never going to happen to a boy from Youngstown, Ohio.  Not even Youngstown, Ohio, USA because isn't everyone you know in 'USA'?  I am blessed to be back in Europe again. I do not take it for granted.  I love Paris.  I am sure a lot of people say that. But I really love Paris.  When a security question like, "What's your mother's maiden name?", or "City you were born in?", or "What is your favorite city?", Paris jumps to mind. Stu loves me in Paris too. I am goofy, silly, and full of boundless energy.  Kiss me like an idiot.  Dance with me.  I'm going to lick you. You get the picture. Paris makes me happy.  To quote Dr. Evil, "What the French call,  I don't know what".

We decided to walk around the city one day and see the 20th century modern art museum, the Pompedieu Center the next.

Since we have been to the city a few times, we decided just to walk like a herd of two in any direction and at any moment.  Left? Sure.  Right here?  OK.  Part of what makes Paris so special is the mass transit and the ability to walk much of the city. You can pretty much walk until you drop. No block disappoints from the tiniest alley to the grandest boulevard, you can find something if you are willing to do the looking.  Stay in a strange neighborhood off the beaten path and explore open-air markets and shops then hop on the Metro to see the rest of the loud Americans in shorts.

I posted a picture on Facebook from the French part of Belgium and my aunt thought I was in France. I get a text something like "Get me something". What if I were in Martinique, then what?  I read about a fascinating Art Nouveau  building that happened to be across from the Eiffel Tower.  This was the perfect area to "get her something".  We started texting her the nastiest tourist "finds" we could locate and get her opinions. I would act sincerely interested in an object and we would take photos pretending to select the right item. See you in a bit! Be back later! A bientôt!   On a previous phone call my unnamed aunt said, If it fits Stu I can always alter it! Perhaps we will take her up on it instead of the beret and mime paint.

Shopping for Auntie

More shopping for Auntie

I found the ultimate Tour d'Eiffel. I called her and told her I didn't love her enough to buy her the WIFI one with 50 color settings standing at least a full foot tall.  Perhaps something pink with rhinestones would be more in order...

29 Avenue Rapp

The view from 29 Avenue Rapp

We walked around the Tower, then along the Seine, up the Champs-Élysées, and towards the Louvre.  At one point along the Champs-Élysées, we ran across a salsa dance party.  Stu salsa-ed as a bystander and I stood their like a white guy.

As an aside I crazily mispronounced something at Starbucks in Albuquerque and caught myself.  The cashier said, It must suck when are not Latin.  I loved her.

Men, splashing about near the Louvre

The Louvre, entering from the Tuilleries

How French... a Deux Chevaux... a baguette, a beret and a bottle of wine in the boot for sure

It was starting to get late so we headed to an Art Nouveau Metro station when I suggested we walk over to Notre Dame.  It was only three blocks away.  Can you see a medieval cathedral enough times?  One thing about old things made of stone.  They are always restoring them.  This time around, the work was being done near the back side of the church so we could actually see the front of the church.  In my opinion there is a much nicer chapel hidden on the island than Notre Dame but the chapel lacks the grand square.  After our pilgrimage, we headed to the Metro for our ride home--once we traversed the underground labyrinth to reach our train platform.

Got Any More Toads?

Got Any More Toads?

Chocolat and King Kong at petit dejeneur

Hopital Notre-Dame à la Rose

Did you know that an Android phone can translate text on the fly?  I had so much trouble with this feature that I have up on it. Mostly?

We went to a hospital that treated patients from the 13th to the 20th century in rural Belgium.  The fortress (more or less) was designed to keep the good air in, and the bad air out.  The place was designed to be fully self sufficient including a garden to grow food and medicine along side surgical theaters and recovery wards. Where else could you treat the humors of the body with therapies like blood letting?

If you were a daughter from a rich family (and were perhaps the ugly one?), you had the great honor of becoming a bride of Christ.  Along with a life-long devotion of curing for the infectious was a dowry. Remember the bride of Christ expression?  A good catch for Christ could mean a handsome dowry for the hospital.  The much-needed cash brought prestige to the family and a much needed infusion of cash to take care of the sick and very poor.

The garden is a fascinating collection of plants and herbs designed to treat the ill.  I wonder how much of this stuff actually works?  We paid for the audio guide to the garden and entrance to the museum. As I feared, pretty much everything , including the audio guide were in French or Dutch.  She said we could always listen to the pretty music.

Anywho... Each plant had one of those signs with a name--but only much larger and in French and Latin-ie. Medical terms can be pretty easy to understand with my French, Stu's Latin, and half of each of our brains made the task do-able.  (We recognized that the Goggle translate feature actually worked---after we already finished the tour).  My favorite plants had WARNING written on them with the text stating the plant was toxic thus no longer used.  My favorite is probably oleander.  It is so toxic the internet says to keep a second set of clippers and disposable gloves when handling it.  Those nervous Nellies for some reason discontinued using the plant.  Some said by prescription only.  I figured those had efficacy. They had a plant to cure just about anything but the common theme was This plant will likely give you the sh*ts.

Part of the covert NATO stockpile

Inside the hospital the audio guide was in English with waaay too much chanting.  It felt like the introductory music was longer than the description of the rooms.  In addition, I would have like to have known what each item did what?  Which one for for trepanning (drilling a hole in the head)?  Which saw do you use to amputate the arm? Along the way were modern art exhibits as well.  This only made the tour more confusing.  Why did they attach cables to a head piece to have a patient sit up?  Oh, that was just art.

We think that this was a piece of art, amid the medical exhibition

Plague doctor- Mark got the mask in Venice

One room described common medical cures. There was a great one about placing a toad under one's armpit, chest, or abdomen.  I asked Stu to remember the cures.  He forgot. I tried to find them on the internet but failed but I did find these goodies.

Remedies you might not want to try

rheumatism – wear a donkey skin
deafness – mix the gall of a hare with the grease of a fox. Warm the mixture and place it in the ear
baldness – shave head and smear it with the grease of a fox or bear. Or, smear the head with beetles’ juice
jaundice – swallow nine lice mixed with ale each morning, for a week
asthma – swallow young frogs
for a swelling – take a knife and cut out the infected part
gout – boil a red-haired dog in oil, add worms, pig’s marrow, and herbs. Make a mixture and rub it into the affected area
ringworm – wash hair in a male’s urine
internal bleeding – wear a dried toad in a bag around the neck

If you were too squeamish to try any of these techniques, you could always go on a pilgrimage. Many medieval people believed that diseases were punishments from God, and could only be cured through faith and prayer.

Post a comment with your own fun treatment.  Who knows?  The earth is still flat.

St.Elsewhere, Wallonia

Notice the Eyes for "Checking Up" on the Sisters

Packing back into the car to head back to Ath we discussed the experience.  One of us only spoke French so the conversation felt like a game of charades with no cheating at times.

Mainvault

Our friend Gerard lives in a small village in the Belgian countryside, Mainvault, outside Ath. He knows everyone from the butcher to the baker.  This year he has a room mate, Florent, who has really made a big difference in his life.  Florent helps with tasks around the house and is great company for Gerard.  Florent also is able to laugh at Gerard's rude risque gay comments meant to tease him. (Florent is straight.) The night before our arrival we heard one of his Newfoundlands, Chocolat, was dying.  Chocolat and King Kong (the black one shaved like a lion) are both ten years old. That is very old for the breed.  Like Christ with Lazarus, the Vet (this time) brought Chocolat back from the dead. He went from being unable to stand to certain something on your plate belonged to him as you ate next to his nose.

Gerard's country house is idyllic. He was an architect in a previous life and his touch is visible throughout the house.  There is roofed porch to the side of the kitchen that looks out over the countryside.  The view is from a table that abuts a large fish tank with goldfish.  Around the yard are figs, berries, grapes, chickens, and empty (and full) bottles of Moinette. Bier is serious stuff in Belgium.  The Germans have purity laws but the Belgians make the best beer. Each village has its own favorite.  Ath is Moinette country, the local tipple. A beer, it comes corked like champagne and you must fend off every new bottle. I can't and don't drink so partaking is out of the questions.  Besides, the stuff is strong yet they guzzle it like water.  Life, she is a good with a nice bottle.

We get to mix it up with the characters in Gerard's life while in Mainvault. Of course, we speak no discernible French and, other than Gerard, few spoke any English. If we intend to return here, which we do, we will have to begin to speak and listen French. Michel and Nadine are an octogenarian couple down the Rue du Calvaire. Our confusing tee-totaling aside, we have spent some lovely afternoons together, stammering through French and English respectively, and occasionally singing. Nadine makes a mean mousse au chocolat and an elderflower liqueur. This year's new characters included Chocolat's vet, who was stopping by for a beer while looking in on his convalescing patient and Eric, the proprietor of The Clandestine Barbershop, a tiny house trailer barber shop in the next town over. Of course we will be back, and we will work on our French.

Belgian steer

King Kong, the big mooch

Michel, Nadine and Gerard, with flowers from G's garden

The Clandestine Barbershop- Eric, the barber, and Gerard

Travel mechanics I

Travel Mechancis I

Oooooo-la-la

This post (and a few more that will follow) will recap a few lessons we have learned in the course of planning and executing this six-week European adventure. It has a large number of moving parts- eight countries, eleven cities, five different types of intercity travel, plus local transit and uber. We have taken full advantage of ultra-low fare options and are using Airbnb at four different stops. It has been super-affordable but it did require planning and investment early in the process. I thought that I would share it.

The big reason this trip doesn't look like a standard European vacation is... friends. In the course of our residency in Amsterdam 2000-2005 we made some good friends, scattered across Europe. They visited us in Amsterdam. We visited them. Until last year we had only returned once since moving away. The internet often was how we had first met, and kept us connected, but it was time to reconnect in time and place. When we lived in Amsterdam we were delighted when friends took us up on our offers to host them (including a few of these guys). Early on I started to reach out, and they, gratefully were up for an American invasion, at least in concept.

When did this planning begin? A year ago, during our last trip. Our return to the Netherlands and Belgium last year, after eleven years away, reconnecting with friends, was very satisfying. We wanted to make it happen again. Last year's trip, which also included a swing through Central Europe, gave us some confidence in navigating in strange cities and using new gig services like uber and Airbnb. That is all well-and-good, but it is our buddies all over western Europe that made this year's excursion even remotely conceivable. We are so grateful.

Six weeks? Really? Who has that kind of time? We do-- this year. Mark is currently in school and has a semester break. I am retired, with a decent pension. When Mark returns to full time work in the next year or so, big 'Grand Tour' travel will once again become more elusive. Getting from Albuquerque to Europe is fundamentally different from the East Coast in terms of cost and time. As this trip unfolded, the notion of adding one more place, a few days to see somebody else and not postponing for one more year became our guidepost. I finally checked the last possible super-cheap return flight and worked backward from there-- 19 June.

How much time to spend in each place? This trip has a few components- pent-up curiosity about unknown parts of Europe (Venice, Split, and San Sebastian) for tourism, and stretches of less-directed, more relaxed visits everywhere else, with more of a focus on the people we know and enjoying their cities. We really resist staying anywhere for just a night and did that only once this trip, in Ravenna. It really worked there, as it was a tourist visit in a small, walkable city with well-marked sites- a gem. Ravenna also made sense as we figured out how to get from Venice to Split.

Five or six days is our starting point for a location. Anywhere we go we like settling in, a feeling like a local, hitting the supermarket and grabbing breakfast and lunch foods. Having a good fridge, if not a kitchen, makes a difference, so getting an Airbnb apartment works for us for tourism. (We save money by eating there and then dropping money on a few special meals.) Having a few days someplace means that we can adjust plans if it rains. We also get to really drop the bags and relax. Transitions are stressy and, by scheduling the way we do, we compartmentalize the drama. We also don't plan much for our first day in Europe, and, often our first day in any new city, leaving some time to reconnoiter.

Timing- We departed for Europe this year and last on May 8th. Last year we had a good fare from Hartford on Aer Lingus. This year we left from Providence on Norwegian. That was as early as we felt comfortable planning our departure, given Mark had to finish his semester at school, then we had to get east. (More about that choice later.) Each year we had a big Italian tourist destination planned (Florence, Venice). We know that summers in tourist Italy can be crowded and stinking hot, so it was imperative that, if possible, we began there, to beat the crowds and the weather. Both cities were still crowded but the weather was OK, and we could navigate amid the throngs.

OK- that's a start. Next time I do this I will address the discounted world of European travel, and the various ways that we are connecting the dots this trip- more than just panes, trains, and automobiles.

Van Gogh

The Van Gogh Museum

Is it Van Gock?  (Ask a Brit.)  is it Van Go? (Ask a Yank).  Or is it Fahn -- ?    (We don't make that sound in English unless there is something stuck in your throat.)  If you picked the third choice, you may be correct.  It is funny when you hear the actual names of paintings and artists in their native tongues.  it never occurs to you there is another name for that.

The last time I was there, the Van Gogh Museum was being renovated so the admission was half price.  (If you are Dutch, you can understand my excitement.)  It is a common joke that the Dutch are cheap.  In reality, it is part stereotype, part badge of honor. This time there was a huge pretty building with a small collection.   Believe it or not, it enhanced the experience. You could forget the nagging urge to see everything and take your time.  You were also not allowed to take photos.  My illegal pics look like shite.

My greatest complaint about Van Gogh is his stupid ear.  Tabloids sell.  Everyone loves to talk about his ear and there is an entire exhibit devoted to the incident. He became popular after at self-inflicted gun wound that took his life at 37.  If guns down kill people, perhaps sunflowers do?  I promise, no more politics here.  Message me in private.  I seldom share this, but I am dealing with depression and a few other niceties. Van Gogh's life evokes introspection.  Who would he have been without his illness?  Who would Stephen Hawking have been without all the down time?  We are creations of our blessings and our demons.  I often think, If I had only done that when I was younger and realize I would have never met Stu. Life does not work that way.  You don't get your cake and eat it too. Well, maybe a couple pieces but not the whole cake.

Van Gogh early pieces included The Potato Eaters.  I think it refers to the miners closer to where I an currently sitting in Belgium's coal country.  (My posts are never really up to date.)  Originally he was a fire and brimstone preacher before he became an artist.  The Potato Eaters is dark and gloomy with stylized faces huddled around a small light eating well, you already know.  He decided/was told he needed more training.  I look at the picture and think, Wow he just needed more exposure.  It was all there already.  David Gregar comes to mind.  The guy was brilliant in my kindergarten.  I still recall a drawing of two orange snakes intertwined. To my knowledge, David still has two intact ears.

There is an episode in the new Doctor Who! where the Doctor sees a sign that he needs to visit Vincent.  The episode does a great job of describing the man I've read about.  He is a pariah because he tries to constantly sell his unwelcome art for more drink and is unstable.  The episode adds the sci fi element that he is haunted by a monster than only he can see.  The man is vulnerable in a way we seldom get to see people.  You want to hug him.   In a cute plot twist, the Doctor's companion keeps filling the apartment with sunflowers as a less than subtle hint that she wants a painting.  From what I learned about Vincent, I can call him Vincent, can't I? Sunflowers were a religious expression for the man rather than just pretty paintings.  Personally, I prefer his irises which have apparently turned color over the years.  New paint creations did not always age as expected.

There is an intimate exhibit with letters between he and his brother Theo. None of them are in English but are in fine print.  I couldn't make out the characters. Fortunately, the exhibit had phones with narrators reading the letters.  His brother so deeply loved his brother.  Theo was his greatest fan. (My mother was mine.)  Theo believed in Vincent, cared for Vincent, and completely got Vincent.  Vincent's letters to Theo had a child-like quality about them.  For a man struggling with such deep and dark demons, the letters possessed a kind innocence that is replaced by cynicism as we age.  He was so excited about everything he was learning from color and light to his new friends in Paris including the misfits Toulouse Lautrec and Paul Gauguin.  Sidetrack.  Stu had an ex whom I dislike.  The man passed away before I met Stu. Stu never has had a harsh or unkind thing to say about the man. I dislike him for my impression of the way he treated Stu. I feel the same way about Gauguin.  To me, the man feels like he found a meal ticket in Theo's generosity.  I don't even like his Art. So there, Paul!

The other obnoxious thing about Vincent is the endless bantering about how he never sold a painting.  I heard this several times out of people trying to sound interesting.  Who cares? His art brought a suffering man great joy and his brother got to vicariously experience his brother's joie de vivre.  The story does not end there. Theo died soon after Vincent.  Theo's wife believed in his husband's brother.  She shrewdly marketed Vincent and created a persona and cache or cachet about the artist.  She is responsible for the artist we know today. Johanna van Gogh-Bonger, is the interesting story of Van Gogh, not some stupid ear.

I dedicate this post to spell check for without its help, nothing would have been typed correctly. 

The Potato Eaters

 Pink Peach Tree

Pieta Based upon Delecroix's

My Favorite Vincent Painting. Google thought it was Stu!

Musings on Amsterdam

Musings on Amsterdam

Oude Kerk

When you mention Amsterdam, inevitably people bring up drugs, the red light district, and 'the homosexual'.  People often confuse tolerance with acceptance. The true Dutch axiom is just because you can doesn't mean you should. And while we are at it, I won't say anything but I certainly will draw my own conclusion.

If this is all you think about when you consider Amsterdam, you are missing a lot. A whole lot.  Amsterdam invented the game Frogger with endless crowds of clueless and lost pedestrians looking for the Anne Frank House.  You also have to watch for wicked-witch-of-the-west raggedy-ass bikes that can give you tetanus on contact.  You were standing on a bike path.  Worse, a tour of bicyclists have circled you.

It can feel like that but it is not a fair description.  Cross a canal and look at the fresh flowers. Cross a canal at night at look at the cafes and lit bridges as you wander along on the cobblestones on streets with crazy names--even when translated.  (Nieuwezijds Voorburgwal, for example means, New Side Front Bastion Wall). Listen to the bells of a clock tower. Marvel at gingerbread houses.  Find a street with a crazier name.  As the rings of the city grew, they needed a name for the ever newer outside the new city wall and so on.  As a tourist, you would never notice some of these streets are written in old Dutch.  We used to stop on one canal, hug, and say, "We live here." with the lights reflecting off a nearby bridge.

When we were getting ready to move back to the States, we noticed the city was trying to make our street, the Warmoesstraat, more upscale.  The Warmoesstraat was infamously known for its cruise and fetish bars.  For added color, there were shops like Chiquita's Sex Paradijs with a bouncing golden male sex toy.  We found it odd that people took static pictures of a bouncing organ.  We truly noticed the window when Stu's niece was coming to visit.  Time for birds and bees--201. The pragmatic Dutch would herd the crazy, the drugged, and the drug selling to our street close to the Red Light District.  From motels that reeked of stale Crisco to piles of stoners (and puke) who couldn't handle the strength of the pot in Amsterdam, it was never a dull moment.  You would inevitably have your conversation interrupted by someone getting in your face and whispering COKE-X-CHARLEY.  I remember Stu yelling at the top of his lungs something to the effect of, Are you trying to sell drugs to me? I don't want any of your drugs! or telling the one-eyed woman, Look at the face, look at it.  You will never get any money from me! Ever! We looked American.  We were targets for the beggars and the entrepreneurs. Before we moved back, a smart vodka bar had opened at the end of the street and a few gay businesses had lost their licenses. Fast forward, the street now has a candy shop, a Dolce and Grabbana, a Dunkin' Donuts, and a hostel in the building where the oldest gay fetish bar in Europe had once stood.  I felt hurt and upset.  Look what they did to my street, I thought.  Stu told me it was ten years later but we came to the conclusion that it just did not feel as safe for our crowd with drunken Irish pubs surrounding our bars as it had in its colorful past. The big-ass sign for Chiquita's was also gone as was the vomit, the crazies, the junkies, the dealers, and crumbled bodies.  Around the corner, our green grocer and butcher were missing too.

All our gay friends go to these bars often to escape the cologne, the fancy, the 'doos, and the hopelessly pretty and fabulous.  They would not be caught dead in our bars.  We are the dirty, the scruffy, the old.  Basically, we are lil scary.  I will take that as a compliment.  We are a community onto itself.  I saw Stu at an event in Houston, met him at a party in Vermont through friends. We met a man in Cologne, Germany; saw him in Cape Town, South Africa; and are now staying with him in Belgium.  We met our Paris host in Amsterdam and the host after that, in Tenerife also in Amsterdam and then Berlin with the friends from Vermont.  If we were a family, it would be inbred.  I guess it is a good thing we don't breed.  My favorite line screamed at us while we were jay walking. Dressed in leather.  In Hamburg at 2 am.  Denk aan de Kinderen!  We hadn't waited for the crosswalk.  See? We are not a good influence.

I think I heard the city was 20% queer when we lived there?  A lesbian friend told us, the city is not so gay now.  On the flip side, the city is dealing with its own success.  Tourism has skyrocketed and is projected to continue to grow out of control.  The city is much cleaner and has been cleverly upgraded with nicer public spaces but it all comes with a cost.  Amsterdam is so protected, our friends had trouble relocating a gutter to prevent flooding.  The council decided the spouting must be consistent with the period of the dwelling.  The only problem was that spouting wasn't even introduced to the city yet.  In the city center (where all the tourists go), you can't build up and you cant build down.  Businesses that can make the most money per square meter have cropped up.  This is a true failure of the free market model.  The quality of life for residents has been strained by the decrease in day-to-day living establishments.  As a result, the city is putting its foot down on certain shops.  Perhaps its another gay shop, a cheese shop, or head shop.  Call it growing pains.

What is striking when you walk around the town is the explosion of growth wherever it is possible.  Amsterdam is a giant half-ring with Central Station at the center.  Behind the train station is a ferry that takes you to "North".  North is exploding.  Soon their will be an entire skyline of skyscrapers if the growth continues!  We walked around and marveled at the changes in the city.  It was already safe but even your bicycles are a bit safer now.

Not only gay or sex-related shops have been targeted.  I gather there are fewer windows in the Red Light District and the indoor smoking and building ordinances have forced coffee bars to move around the city.

We got to see some friends while in the city but we really wanted to spend time with Tim and Peter, our gracious hosts.  I hope we didn't disrupt their life too much.  Wherever, whenever you visit, there is never enough time.  Meeting people often means a coffee juggled around schedules. I am so grateful that we got to have a quick bite with our previous host, Julian.  Stu had worked with him in the past.  I can honestly say he is one of the most interesting people in the world. He is as colourful as he is intelligent.  Always the bobby-dazzler, his smile just lights me up.  Another visit was to see an old friend, Tineke.  Stu had lead seminars with her when we lived in the city.  There is a subtle charm about her where you just want to grab her and hug her.  I'm sure her wife does.  If not (Dutch people don't do that--spoken from her lips) she should. We were fortunate to be in Town for Sjur's partner Andrew's 60th birthday.  We had an amazing dinner with new friends and family.  I had met Sjur's mother about 15 years ago--at a birthday party,  She is absolutely delightful but a little soft spoken for a crowd of twenty or so.  It was so nice to see her again.  I also got to meet Andrew's mother.  She instantly reminds you of the Queen's Mum.  She is charming and great conversation.  I told Andrew that I wanted to take her out for high tea.  I know just the place where they have the best scones and clotted cream.  I'm sure they could find some cucumber sandwiches or something.  Good company is always better than good food--and the food was amazing.  We had Rijsttafel, an Indonesian Colonial meal where you get to taste everything.  Spoiler alert. The English and Norwegian mothers were both pushing the fish. Of course they were. We also sat around Andrew's family and friends.   Everyone was so nice.  I hope we get to spend a good amount of time with the two of them on a future trip.  And now back to our hosts.  We had brough ground Caribe chile with us on our last trip.  Although Tim had made wonderful, if not unusual, ;) tacos earlier in the week, we decided to make burritos with the chile. We gathered all the ingredients and simmered the sauce...........of death.  It wasn't that bad but I'm pretty sure Tim was politely suffering.

OK, I had to get some of that out of me.  Are you still considering going to Amsterdam?  I hope so.  We do have some advice.  Don't go for the weather. It will be hot, cold, rainy, or both.  Expect sunlight, mosquitos, high air fares, and too many people in the Summer and Darkness and rain in the Winter.  Go in the Spring, preferably the King's Birthday on the 27th of April.  Flowers will be in bloom and air fares are still cheap. You will see a crowded but Dutch country enjoying one big party from border-to-border.  The Fall is also a good time since the fares should be reasonable.  Stu will tell you more at some point...

Our Hosts' House

A Favorite Restaurant's Menu

Crest of the City Reimagined

Lovely Store Front

Canal at Night

Every Market Needs One of These

Because it's fun to say quickly!  (SOW'KER BAWK'R STAYG)  Sugar Baker's Alley

The Golden Age

De Gouden Eeuw, The Golden Age

The 17th Century in the Netherlands is known as the Golden Age.  Trade was booming and the city was rapidly expanding with riches coming and going to and from ports from all over the world. During this period, merchants had enough money to commission paintings of and for themselves.  Previously, patronage of the brush was almost exclusively of the Church. Collecting paintings became the rage and a sign of wealth.  The new wealth was a crucible for creativity in a country full of artists and wealthy patrons.  To say it succinctly, it was the perfect storm. In my opinion (only to stop anyone suggesting otherwise), the Dutch per head were the most prolific painters of masterpieces for the age.

We had not been to the Rijksmuseum in over 15 years so it was time to take another look.  The museum had had some major renovations since our past visits.  The entire courtyard of the museum had been converted into an atrium complete with a bigger gift shop (duh) and restaurant.  The museum had a free app download featuring the highlights of the collection.  The museum had decided to display its best works in the Great Hall.  Apparently everyone had downloaded the same free app. I could see the same information on everyone's phone. Together with the tours, we constantly ran into traffic jams as people went from the same paintings to the next.

I can understand why these particular paintings were in the same hall but it had some irony.  The celebrated master painter Vermeer had fallen out of fashion before being re-discovered with the invention of the camera.  Some of his works were attributed to Jan Steen even though Vermeer's signature was clearly visible on the canvas. Many of Steen's works hang next to Vermeers' masterpieces.  You can compare and contrast the artist kis but it still feels a bit odd to an art nerd to see Vermeer's work plagiarized.  If you know nothing about Vermeer, consider this.  He had enough children to have his own cable reality show and he sold paintings in exchange for bread.  How the man had time, peace, or even money for supplies is a mystery.  He had so many kids, we don't know all their names.  Ok, so I think they know 10 of 12 or so.  Vermeer is thought to have painted about 40 pictures.  We have quite a few in the US--as many as 13.  (Some are disputed, one is sadly missing.)  I often feel like the world's paintings should be redistributed to their homes.  Vermeer often falls into the category.  No picture can capture the brilliance of the Milk Maiden.  The yellow is intensely lemon and the blue is so pure, the kind rarely seen on the Virgin Mary.  The details of cracks on the walls and tiles only adds to the mesmerizing view.  It appears Vermeer may have taken a shortcut with his works.  There was an early version of the camera that captured images.  Imagine a master tracer and master painter creating a masterpiece.  All is forgiven.  She is worth the ordeal of flying KLM or maybe Ryanair.

Vermeer's The Love Letter

Also in the Great Hall is Rembrandt. Unlike many artists, he was popular in his day.  At the end of the great hall is his finest work, The Nightwatch. It is massive.  In fact, it was so big they chopped the end off to make it fit.  Fortunately? there is a maquette on the planned piece next to the finished work.  Paintings like this were commissioned to show everyone how rich you were with pomp and circumstance as honorary members of the city guard.  These were all posers, pun intended.  Many of the patrons--the people footing the bill were pissed off annoyed they were not prominently visible. The painting was not considered 'very good' and was relegated to a less desirable location.

What the hell were they thinking?  You know instantly this is one of the greatest paintings ever done. The lighting is dazzling, the composition looks like it is marching towards you. The colors come alive.  To be honest (blasphemy coming), I'm not a big fan of Rembrandt but it is virtually impossible to cast any doubt on this painting.  By itself, it is also worth a trip to Amsterdam.

Once you are done with the Great Hall, you can look around at the rest of the 'lesser works'  (HAH!).  There are recreations of boats and many examples of Delftware of glassware but my favorite curiosity are the doll houses.  Money was no object for some of these children.  Girls could play for hours on rainy days (about 217 per year!).  They are embarrassingly detailed snapshots of wealth.  In addition to the endless details, are ephemeral objects that no longer exist. Malibu Barbie never had it this good.

On a final note, The Netherlands is the densest country in Europe.  During the Protestant Reformation,  the country went cray.  People destroyed Catholic images.  It became illegal to be Papist so hidden churches were created from common houses (They are cool, seek them out.) in the city.  When the Spanish came to town, it was a balancing act to be Protestant yet not with too much enthusiasm.  Basically, they have lived through a holy war.  You can imagine why the people are tolerant today.

Die, Picture of a rich person pretending to be the image of a holy person during the Iconoclasm.

Ghent Altarpiece

The Ghent Altarpiece

Click on the Image to See a Massive Detailed View

Today we went to Ghent/Gent/Gand depending on your language preference.  As any Dutchman will tell you, Belgium is weird (To be honest, they say the same thing about the Dutch.).  Let me clarify a bit. Perhaps you are going to Liege.  You see signs for Liège.  No problem, you got this.  You make a wrong turn and see signs for Luik or if you really lost, Lüttich.  This city is called three different things in the three official languages.  Maybe you are driving to Antwerp and see a sign for Antwerpen and turn links. What the hell is Anvers?  Time to turn droit and head back to Antwerpen to see Antwerp. Some other great examples are De Haan – Le Coq, Zoutleeuw – Léau, or Soignies – Zinnik.

Ghent is the second largest city in Flanders.  Driving into the city, it looked like a regular city. Dull. Boring. Modern.  We parked in a garage and walked towards the center. TA DAH!  There was a old town and square.  Actually, it was an entire old village complete with a castle, canals, old houses, and churches.  To be honest, we went to Ghent for one thing: St.-Baafskathedral!  I can understand why you may not notice the name.  The church in English is called The Cathedral of Sint Baaf (or St. Bavo- it is Belgium, right?) Still blinking your eyes?  This church contains the polyptych, The Adoration of the Lamb of God completed in 1431.  It is a multi-panel scene painted by Jan and Hubert Van Eyck.  We walked around the church and discovered it was...being restored.  I checked the Google and every site said it was in the church.  I noticed the church was musty and we walked around taking verboden pictures of the amazing cathedral.  Builders of gothic cathedrals pride themselves on high ceilings.  This cathedral reached the heavens.  I was more impressed with the scale of the building than the artwork. I have been in a few gothic cathedrals where they have lighting akin to catacombs.  This church had a nice mix of light, incredible stained glass, and vertical lines.  Most of the paintings had old varnish and were quite dark.  The pulpit consisted of over-expressed rococo design.  By definition, rococo is waaay over the top.  It was a sight onto itself (I’m being kind. Jesus lives here.).  I started to notice the mustiness. On our way out, we decided to pay to see the stand-in faux masterpiece.  The guy at the ticket booth said the real painting was being restored behind him for about 5$!   Over the years, the painting has had a colorful past.  One of the panel of the painting has been stolen and never recovered. Many were sold to different owners and thus dispersed. During the iconoclasm, the period of time when Protestants were destroying graven images, the painting was under threat. Once, part of it caught on fire. On the eve of World War II, the painting was sent to the Vatican for safe keeping.  And then the Italians joined the Axis so Hitler got the panels anyway.  The reunion of the panels alone is a miracle in itself.

Why am I going on and on about this painting?  It is such an incredible masterpiece.   What is not obvious to most is that art often springs from technology.  Watchmaker-quality lenses appeared in Northern Europe.  The brushstrokes on the painting are finer than you can see with your nose seemingly touching the painting.  There is a Van Eyck in DC. To view closely, I lock my arms behind me and touch my eyelashes to the canvas. I still can’t see the brushstrokes. (Guards get uncomfortable when you get too close to a painting.)  Lapis lazuli had also arrived in Northern Europe.  It is an incredibly expensive blue rock from Afghanistan. The patrons through trade had the money to acquire it and the artists had the technology to apply it. 

The Adoration of the Lamb of God is securely kept behind glass with dim lighting.  It is displayed so you can see the back as well as the front of the panels.  At four feet, you can’t put your eyeballs on the canvas.  It was frustrating.  The painting is so valuable I can understand the security. I wish I had brought binoculars to study the panels.  If you choose to see the panels, consider them.  Remember I mentioned the musty smell?  A couple months ago, I was tested for a mold allergy.   I get very sick when I am around old stuff.  I cannot go into records shops for more than a couple minutes or spend anytime around documents, or the worst, touch cloth.  You know those Pentecostal scenes where people collapse when they touch the good book?  That was me when I ran across my dad’s yearbook. The mold tests came back negative. My doctor however described me as the canary in the coal mine.  No one should be around those things. You just notice it sooner.  Back to the painting.  I could not finish the audio tour.  I was just too sick.  I get cold sweats and my knees buckle.  It was time to go.  We walked around a few hours and I partially got my constitution back.  Would I do it again?  Hell yeah...but with a long sleeve shirt and one of those masks that you seen asians wearing in public.  As I am writing this hours later, I still feel run down.

After the church we walked around the old center of the town.  It has a mix of buildings spanning the ages. Some of the building hide their age by mimicking older designs while others have cake-iced tops worn down over the centuries. On the way back to the car, we stopped for coffee and cake.  I had a piece of hazelnut and dark chocolate cake.  Every bite tasted like eating a selection from a fancy box.  It was incredibly rich, dark, and smooth and made of Belgian chocolate.  If you do not know about Belgians and their chocolate, I’ll assume you are Swiss...

Everybody Poops

The WC AKA, the Water Closet

When Ya Gotta Go...

In French, toilette is feminine but the lingua franca word WC, or water closet is masculine in French.  In Spanish, bathrooms of all types seem to be masculine.  In Dutch, I believe WCs have gender (as opposed to not having gender) period.

Why am i subjecting your Puritan ears to talk of porcelain?  Everybody poops.  Actually, there is more to the subject that that.  ‘WC’ is a term devised so anyone from anywhere can recognize where to go.  Oddly, toilette always seems to work as well.  Perhaps Napoleon, like introducing the metric system, introduced the term ‘toilette’, and since the Brits are leaving the EU, adios to the term ‘WC’.

Why am I harping on bodily functions?  I’m told this is quite rude to do in French culture.  If you recall, I described the pissoir, an outdoor urinal, earlier.  Oddly, the Dutch still have a problem with wild pissing; whipping it out anywhere--including our old mail slot.  I thought about it in Venice but there are no quiet alleys.  You can be noticed from any angle. How to do you scream PERVERT in Italian.  I’m sure they have a word for it.

If you need a bathroom book (ironic) and are travelling to Holland, you should buy yourself a copy of The Undutchables.  It describes all the bizarre, frustrating, and downright lovable things about the Dutch.  I believe there is an entire chapter devoted to using a toilet.  Common ways to use the device include, pulling a cord up high or low, lifting a knob on the tank, pushing a small or large button on top of the toilette.  Pushing a panel on the wall.  And if you are lucky, the (traditional) American-thingy-on the side.  Our great friends, Tim and Peter, have a fabulous house with a fashionable bathroom.  You go to home depot and the choices of toilet seats are long or short, expensive or cheap, and perhaps a color.  Toilets I recall in the States can be white, white, white, off white, goldenrod, avocado, black, and our favorites, red and mushroom.  We had a mushroom colored toilet when we moved into our house.  Lord that color was hideous.  Fortunately, we broke the toilet (don’t ask) and the landlord replaced it with a white toilet from Big Lots and a seat from The Dollar Tree.  Anyways, our friends in Amsterdam opted for a square toilet.  It is chic and tres modern.  Pretty cool place to hold court, huh?  At some point, the cat broke the seat.  Square seats are not exactly ‘off the rack’.  I think it might cost more than a few kilos of cheese, pairs of wooden shoes, or tulips to find and replace one.

Why would I bring up such a personal subject? We are currently in Belgium.  Our host has a fashionable round toilet.  Same problem. Where do you exactly find a round seat for a Phillipe Starck designer toilet?  Mon Dieu.  I can only imagine how much lace, chocolate, and mussels he will forgo to replace the seat.

In Ravenna, we had a bidet and a room made for Leave It to Beaver or I love Lucy.  The room had two single beds to prevent any premarital hanky panky or cool off married lovers for a night.  At our stop in Ancona, we decided to eat at a sandwich shop before it was time to board The Love Boat. The bathroom had a standard toilet but no toilet paper.  Now I’m a seasoned traveler but the community spray-your-ass hose was a bit off putting if not downright disturbing.  Prissy Americans.  In one bathroom in Croatia, I found a squatting Turkish toilet that flushed.  How civilized. Turkish toilets are generally characterized by plates to denote where to  place your feet and good aim.

Unlike America, it is common to pay for a bathroom in Europe.  Carry change.  Prices and participation may vary.  Prices in Iceland and Finland may be higher.  At the Brussels North Station (le dump de train stations), there was an old lady collecting money but certainly not cleaning anything.  It brought back fond memories of the pissoir in Amsterdam for the cost of 50 Euro cents.  The smell was positively intoxicating.

In large American cities, you pretend to be interested in spending time in a cafe, use the bathroom, and then bolt.  The bathroom costs 2 cups of coffee and a danish.  In Amsterdam it makes sense to use the words, “I’ll pay ya!”, or do the danish thing.  Maneuvering the most common of daily rituals can be a thing in Europe.  On an bad day it can even be a little too exciting.  Isn’t going part of the adventure?