Belgium

Pissing in Belgium (Xmas 2004-5) Alter spending three delightful days with my niece Katie, and her boyfriend Mike, we headed out for 16 days in the car (4500 kms). After two nights in San Sebastian, we blitzed through France in 12 hours and arrived in Brussels. Then Ghent, Bruges, and Antwerp. We had planned to go to Amsterdam, but we found ourselves having such a good time in Belgium that we decided to save Holland for later. We then headed for Germany, where we visited our dear friends Manfred and Barbara. Then back via Luxembourg and France to Barcelona. We passed by the house in Alcántara and ended up with two days left to relax before Blanca´s return to work. December 23, Thursday. We got on the road about 9:30, and drove north. On the way, near Zaragoza, we stopped at the bodegas Morte in Cariñena, where I bought two cases of my favourite “Abuelo Benito” (reserva 1993), one for Manfred and one for the road. It´s a very strong red, which, by the case, costs €2.30 a bottle!

In San Sebastian, we stayed at the Hotel Parma (tel. 943-4288, 93), where we had a superb view of the river and the ocean. It´s right at the edge of the old quarter (“casco antiguo”) and cost €92 a night. After getting settled in, we went out bar hopping. The tapas in S.S. are the best in Spain.

For my money, S.S. is the most beautiful of Spanish cities. One side begins with a half-moon beach (La Concha), and the other, separated by the river, ends in another beach (Gros). The setting, the buildings, and the people, are extremely elegant. December 24, Friday. What a pleasure to awake and look out the window at the waves from the Mar Cantábrica breaking against the sea-wall and entering the mouth of the River Urumea!

Blanca went to a beauty-parlour appointment, and I spent several hours walking around the warren of narrow streets, dominated by Monte Urgul, of the old quarter.

We met for lunch with our friends Sandra and Ana. Ana brought her son Eneko, who is now 20 and about 6 ft. tall. I last saw him when he was six. I vividly remember carrying him up a ladder to a fishing boat; I have a wonderful picture of him on my shoulders. We had connected immediately during that visit many years ago, and I was touched that he wanted to come to lunch to see me.

The restaurant, Casa Urola, had typically excellent Basque food. It was also typically very expensive (€171 + 20 tip). We said goodbye to Ana and Eneko, and Blanca walked Sandra back to her house. I returned to the hotel and had a pleasant siesta. December 25, Saturday. When we woke up at 8:00, it was still dark. The sea was rough, and it was sprinkling. We hit the road.

We drove through France quickly: Bordeaux, Tours, Paris, Lille. It took about 12 hours to reach the Belgian border. Our little Toyota “yerno” can do 180kph when stroked We got to Brussels about 10:00, and parked the car in a public garage. We were lucky quickly to find a very nice hotel (La Légende, Rue du Lombard 35; €90 per night) in a great location: about a half block from the Manneken-Pis and two from the Grand Place, the city’s center.

The Manneken-Pis is a small statue of a young, cherubic boy peeing. For some bizarre reason, it has become the symbol of Brussels. And it has been such a popular attraction that other Belgian cities have erected their own versions.[1] There are various legends about M-P, including one that credits him with peeing on a fuse that was about to detonate an explosion that would have destroyed the city. Another facet of the M-P culture is that he has hundreds of different outfits, stored and displayed in the City Museum, and he gets to be dressed up on various festive occasions. Just as Maine has its moose and Cape Cod its lobsters, Brussels is filled with tourist paraphernalia featuring M-P. In any case, to be lodged in close proximity to a cultural icon of such importance was a coup! December 26, Sunday. La Gran Placed is the hub of Brussels. This square is one of the most impressive collections of architecture in Europe. It is a huge rectangular space, bordered by amazing, mostly restored gothic buildings: town hall, various guild houses, cafes, and bars. We popped into a restaurant (El Rey De España) situated in the Baker´s Hall for an obligatory hot chocolate.

On the down side, American style Christmas pollution, both visual and auditory, is ubiquitous in the Belgian cities we visited. What kind of a mind would cover beautiful medieval facades with blinking pink lights? I sometimes felt that if I had to be subjected to another huge plastic Santa Claus singing “Jingle Bells” I’d go postal. December 27, Monday. We had a pleasant breakfast and got moving. The plan was to pass through Ghent and then finish the day in Bruges.

Ghent was about a half hour west. We parked and went for an Italian lunch at the Ponte Vecchio (€50).

The highlight of the town is the St. Baafskathedraal, which is sumptuous in the extreme. It star attraction is a multi (20)-panel work by Van Eyck: “Adoration of the Mystic Lamb” (“De Aanbidding van het Lams God”) (1432). A great treat was the exhibition of selected Old Masters in the crypt, temporarily housed there during the reconstruction of the Museum of Fine Arts. St. Nicolas Church is another impressive cathedral.

Bruges is about an hour away. We parked in a central parking garage and headed out to find lodging. We lucked out immediately. Salvators Hotel (€75, breakfast included) is 10 meters from St. Salvators Church and about three blocks from the two main squares, Markt and Burg. From our window, we had a beautiful view of the illuminated towers of both St. Salvadors and Our Lady Church. The hotel is friendly and cosy. It features a large salon with a roaring fire, where breakfast is served, and a computer is available for guests. December 28, Tuesday. Bruges is a quaint, charming medieval city, laced with canals. It´s a treat just to wander around in it, although the main areas are often filled with tourists and shoppers.

We started with the museums. (We bought a pass, for €15, that gave us entry into 5 of our choice.)

The Groeningmuseum is the most significant, with its famous collection of 15th-century “Flemish Primitives” (Van Eyck, Van der Weyden, Gerard David, and Membling) My favourite was the haunting “Death and the Miser” by Jan Provoost (1465-1529); it evoked several remarks about Blanca´s elderly rich aunt. I also was impressed by Gerard David’s “Judgement of Cambyses” (1498), which shows a corrupt judge being skinned alive. The surgical precision of the removal of the culprit’s epidermis as well as his apparent indifference to the proceedings, are striking. I’ve always liked Bosch (1450-1516), and his “Last Judgement” is a haunting phantasmagoria of medieval eschatological imagery.[2] “Fake/Not Fake” is a temporary exhibit dealing with the methods experts use to detect forgeries and establish authorship.

The Membling Museum is located in St. John´s Hospital, a medieval municipal facility that cared for the poor, the sick, and the homeless. There´s an interesting collection of medical instruments and an anonymous 18th-century painting of a surgeon, Fransiscus de Wulf, Dean of the Surgeons´Guild of Bruges, 1709-12, doing a cataract operation. The patient, standing upright and apparently unrestrained, shows no signs of pain, and the doctor’s face is impassive. It made me think of my recent cataract operation with Dr. Kenyon. In the chapel there are a number of fine pieces by Membling, such as the famous triptych “Mystic Marriage of St. Catherine.”

The Gruuthusemuseum has a rich collection of tapestries, paintings, household furnishings, etc., from a 15th century mansion.

Lunch, Riva Del Sole (€55). December 29, Wednesday. There were a number of specific things we wanted to see. We first went across the street and into the imposing St. Salvadors Church, the oldest parish church in Bruges.

On Markt Square is the Belfry (Belfort), whose 366 narrow steps we climbed. The views of the city were breathtaking, although when the huge bells right next to us started to ring, I felt like my head was going to burst.

Arentshuis is a small museum, which features the work of Frank Brangwyn (1867-1957), who was born in Bruges. On the first floor are some modern paintings.

The most spiritually exciting event of the day occurred in a small church on the Burg, the Heilig-Bloedbasiliek (Basilica of the Holy Blood), which houses one of the most venerated relics in Belgium: a flask, brought to Bruges from the Crusades, allegedly containing drops of Christ´s blood. On entering the church, I noticed a sign saying that there would be an official adoration at 11:00, ten minutes hence. I decided to wait, and Blanca agreed, although she looked at me with suspicion. When the ceremony got rolling, I was overcome by perverse desire; I got in line behind a number of black-clad old ladies. When it was my turn, I touched the box containing the relic, which the priest then cleaned off with his scared cloth. He gave me a little card on which was printed a “Litany of the Most Precious Blood,” and a short blurb about the relic. The priest didn´t give Blanca, who followed me in line, a copy of the card, doubtless annoyed when we failed to give him his tip.

It was a bizarre experience. I felt I´d been catapulted into the world of the National Enquirer, where science and reason have been put on hold and everything is up for grabs. I felt queasy. Holy Hume! I was very relieved to emerge into the chilled clear air outside. We walked around, enjoying the beautiful houses and picturesque canals. Near the “Lover´s Lake” (Minnewater), we ate a luxurious lunch at Restaurant Maximiliano. December 30, Thursday.

At this point we’d made the decision that we’d stay a while more in Bruges, rather than head for Amsterdam, as planned. There are often times when sensory and intellectual overload dictate that the prudent traveller slow down.

Out on another walk, we headed up to Van Ecyk Square and then towards the old city gate, near which there are several picturesque windmills.

We ate at a simple restaurant near the outskirts of town and continued our rambling, exploring back streets, churches, and canals. When Blanca decided—true to the ¨When in Rome . . .” rule—that she needed to pee, I scouted out a deserted construction site and beckoned her to follow. As we entered a side street, we passed a dumpster filled with rubbish. Blanca took a peek at its contents. “Look,” she squealed with delight! She fished out a not-half-bad vase. Then more stuff: jars, dishes, candlesticks, masques, little boxes with lids, and other assorted pieces of ceramic work. Many were broken, but some were in good shape. We excavated for a short while, and soon we had about 20 items. Now none of this stuff will ever end up in a National Geographic special, but it was O.K. for a street find, and the quality could easily compete with that of a Fairhaven yard sale. Blanca was overjoyed, lamenting only that her scavenging pal, Tziporah, was not there to enjoy the serendipity. We loaded our arms with as many pieces as we could carry. Then we walked back across half of Bruges toward the garage where the car was parked. We were covered with dust and must have looked like street urchins. The sober Belgians looked at us with suspicion; they did not seem amused. Once back at the car, we unloaded our haul and headed back to the hotel. December 31, Friday. I had little doubt what the next day had in store for me. There was no way we were not going to return to the junk pile for more loot. I resigned myself to my fate without much whining, and Blanca selected a number of garbage bags and a tote. Back we went and packed up the remaining treasures we’d hidden under the container the day before. I could barely get all the stuff in the car, which now looked like it belonged to a bunch of rednecks on a two-year vacation.

Later that day, after a well earned lunch, we enjoyed Michelangelo’s pietá “Madonna and Child, ” in Onze Lieve Vrouwekerk (Our Lady Church). January 1, Saturday. After breakfast and loading up the car, we headed toward Antwerp, about an hour’s drive east. We stayed at the very pleasant and excellently located Hotel Antigone (€85), right on the bank of the river opposite a medieval fort and the ship museum. Wonderful view.

We wandered around the Grot Markt (Central Plaza) and adjoining streets and, after lunch, visited the Cathedral, yet another medieval extravaganza. January 2, Sunday.

We walked to the beautiful Central Station, via the main shopping street, the Meer. We passed through the famous diamond district, which is also the Jewish Quarter, where we saw a number of Orthodox figures clad in their customary black garb.

About noon, we got on the road and headed to Germany, where Barbara and Manfred would be expecting us the next day.

After three hours of driving, we were in the Rhine valley. We stopped at Kolbe, a delightful city built at the intersection of the Rhine and Mosel rivers. It´s pure fairyland. We found a nice family-run hotel (Gasthau ´Zum Anker´ ; Maistrasse 2, Koblenz-Lay, €65, breakfast included) on the bank of the Mosel, and we had a fine view of the river from our room. January 3, Monday. When we woke up, we popped our heads out the window and watched the barges going down the river, beneath the castles that dotted the hillsides. It was pure Wagner. Then we headed off to Koisdorf, near Sinzig.

It was great to be with Barbara and Manfred, whom we hadn’t seen since they visited us in West Island four summers ago. We spent the day hanging out, eating and drinking pretty much non-stop until it was time for bed.

One of the many pleasures of being around Manfred is listening to the incredible music his amazing talent produces. I was showing him my Ipod, and I played Ahmad Jamal´s version of “Stolen Moments.” After listening for a moment, Manfred sat down at the piano and perfectly reproduced the chord pattern, adding his own distinctive right-hand improvisation. On another occasion he sat down and played a complex Keith Jarrett style medley. He’s equally impressive with the guitar. And he does wonderful imitations, using all sorts of accents. January 4, Tuesday. After a hearty breakfast of bacon and eggs (“ when in Rome . . . ”) we headed out with B&M in the car.

Manfred teaches at a gymnasium in Linz, and Blanca wanted him to take us for a short visit. After crossing the Rhine on a ferry (one minute), we explored this delightful, if somewhat touristy, picture book village.

Blanca´s second wish of the day was to buy a German featherbed, and she enlisted Barbara as the appropriate local maven. The deal was done at an emporium named “Big Bett,” after what seemed to me interminable discussion over the relative merits of down and feathers, Canadian geese and Artic geese, 3 cm and 5 cm squares, etc. The enthusiastic store owner did just about everything but offer us mint tea and a hookah.

We then went to the town of Reinbeck, to visit B&M´s daughter and son-in-law, Tina and Axel. We’d been to their wedding four years ago. They now have two children. We finished up the excursion with a typical Rheinish dinner at Zum Weissen Ross, in Bad Bresig. January 5, Wednesday. Manfred and Barbara had organized an expedition to Cologne, with friends Liz, Rich, Moni, Petra, and Rheinhart. We met at the Sinzig train station and took the hour trip into town. The first stop for any visit to Cologne must be the Cathedral (Dom), the largest and most impressive in Germany. Started in 1248, it was finished only in the 19th century. Its spider-web of steeples and flying buttresses exemplify the culmination of the Gothic style. Both inside and out, it is mind-bogglingly opulent.

Liz is an art historian, and she provided learned commentary as we entered the Dom. The church contains innumerable treasures, dazzlingly enveloped by the light from the banks of huge stained glass windows. One of the most famous treasures is the pure gold chest that contains the relics of the Three Kings, brought from Milan in the 15th century. As luck would have it, since it was King’s Day, the relics were displayed instead of being hidden away, as is usually the case. As I gazed, mesmerized, at the gleaming, jewel-encrusted, coffer. I kept thinking of Eça de Queirós´ The Relic.

And the miracles just kept coming. Blanca had bought two purple hats in Bruges, with which she was mightily pleased. Imagine her fallen spirits when she discovered—halfway through the visit to the Cathedral—that she´d lost her beret. All 8 people in the party fanned out to look for it. And after diligent searching, we discovered it hanging from a wall. Where? Right next to the statue of St. Anthony, the finder of lost objects!

Now I consider myself rather well informed about St. Anthony. He’s a particular favourite of Blanca’s mother’s, and she had once given me a long lecture about him. And over the course of the years, many of my students have regaled me with tales about how St. Anthony had helped to find Aunt Ana’s wedding ring or Maria’s favourite ballpoint pen. One somewhat confused girl had even appealed to St. Anthony when she lost her virginity. So I guess I was pretty blasé in my reaction: so what else is new?

The Cathedral overwhelms. It´s too much: the sumptuous multiplying itself into the vulgar. It´s like a woman trying to wear five mink coats at the same time.

I was relieved when we all headed for the Früh am Dom to drink Kölsch, the local beer. After passing by the Town Hall, we repaired to St. Gerion´s Church, one of Cologne’s many Romanesque gems that had partially survived the war. Again, Liz supplied art-historical commentary.

We ate at a typical beergarten. The food was heavy enough to kill a horse, but luckily, I escaped with some breaded salmon. We drank round after round of “Kölsch,” served in smallish glasses called “Stangen.” The waiter was very funny, and, apart from the sickening cigarette smoke, we had a fun time. January 6, Thursday. We were on the road at 12:30. The route took us through about 150 kms of Germany, Luxembourg, through France to Perpignan. We stopped at 1:30 A.M. at the “Hotel Du Village Catalan” near the Spanish border. The place was a rip-off, but Blanca insisted that we call it quits after 13 hours in the car. January 7, Friday. It took about five hours to get to Alcantara, via Barcelona. We found Vicente working on the house. They’d made progress, although there’s still a whole lot to be done. I’m very glad that we are not in a rush.

We were home in Polop at 7:30. My head was swimming, and I needed to provide, as they say, “closure” for the experience. After a moment’s reflection, I headed to the bathroom.

[1] Note for the distaff side. The Belgians are pretty good on gender issues. So it’s natural that they added (1985) a female counterpart of Mennekin-Pis: the squatting Jeanneke-Pis (Impasse de la Fidélité). We never did get to see this, nor the canine entry, complete with raised hind-leg. [2] It´s amazing the nonsense that gets written about art. Commenting on the Bosch painting, Irene Smets says: “This pessimistic vision may have been influenced by the spirit of the times” (Groeninge Museum & Arenthuis, Bruges, Ludion, 2000). Well, yes, maybe.