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I am on the back of a bike. The metal bars meant to hold a package, purse or bag of groceries, is painfully digging into my rear end. I'm in a delicate state of balance. The tips of my toes are on the short bar that runs horizontally to connect to the axel of the back wheel. One slip and my toes will jam into the spokes. Even though I can't see what direction we're heading I anticipate the turns and stops by memory. In about half a minute we'll reach the end of the bridge and have to stop. The light at the intersection is rarely green whenever we pass through. I know we look completely absurd and when I'm not terrified about falling off, getting my toes stuck in the wheel, or loosing my balance, I'm giggling uncontrollably. Because I'm also balancing between two states of hysteria. I have a song stuck in my head and Annina explains to me, over her shoulder and she pedals us forward, the expression Germans use for such occurrences: earworm.
Taken August 2010, my adventure in Brussels. I took pictures of this couple being cute together on their bikes before walking past them later being street musicians near Manneken Pis. See that little rack on which the pack of water bottles sit? That is where I would perch when riding on Annina's bike.
That was last year. Sometime in the fall. In Amsterdam. With my dearest au pair friend. Only recently has a certain nostalgia for aspects of my life in the Netherlands begun to make an appearance. It usually materializes in my thoughts when I'm not really thinking. When I feel mindless. Going through the motions of something I could probably do with my eyes shut if I could. (But I wouldn't because most of those occasions are when I'm driving home from somewhere.)
My list-making self should probably start making a list of the things I realize I miss. But I probably won't and instead I have a trick that works much better than that. I save playlists. If I don't blog about something, take a picture, or make allusions in my journal, there isn't really a place for certain moments, experiences, or emotions to exist except in my memory. And memories fade, change, and sometimes disappear all together. I still remember learning about an earworm and in that memory lies the exposition of this post.
I make and save playlists for nearly everything. I have a playlist from when I read Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows for the first time. One song per chapter. If I run out of ideas for titles I'll just date it. So, the one titled "4-20" really refers to the fact that I happened to compile it on the 20th day of April and, despite what you might think, has no other association to the number arrangement. I have a playlist of songs I like listening to from back in the day when I was obsessed with playing The Sims. I have one that would be the soundtrack if I was a character in Skins. But mostly it goes by seasons, or months, and years. Here is collection of songs from the playlists I created in Holland. These are not all the songs that hold memories or were frequently blaring from my Macbook speakers or iPod headphones. These are just the ones that when I listen to now still have a overpowering orange flavor. Or an orange after taste. Or an orange spice, if even for just an instant. Orange for Holland, of course.
"Black River" by Amos Lee
When I visited Västerås I made it a point not to listen to music while I was there. (The train ride to/from Stockholm being the exception) so that the memories would seep into me and my soul in a different (and hopefully deeper) way. But when the week was over I found songs that somehow corresponded to my trips. The river that runs through Västerås, which I walked by a few times on Kulturnatt and after yoga in the castle, is called the Black River.
"Where Do My Bluebirds Fly" by The Tallest Man on Earth
The Tallest Man on Earth, aka: Kristian Matsson, is from Dalarna, Sweden. (Which is where the branches from my mother's side of the family and my father's side of the family originated at some point.) I downloaded all of his albums and EPs literally as soon as I got back to Holland from Sweden. And I listened to him every chance I got for something like two weeks straight. I don't want to say I was obsessed because that makes it seem like I'm crazy but maybe I am. I'm still pretty crazy about him. Have you ever discovered a musician and just felt so deeply connected to them and what they were singing that it was like you've known them and been listening to them your entire life? Yeah, that is how I feel about him in a nutshell. Like we were meant to be. Him, my headphones, and my heart. I listened to this particular song on repeat for hours one night while journaling about the transformation I felt happening in my soul.
"Cocaine Lights" by Phosphorescent
I listened to this song as the train back to Purmerend pulled away from Centraal Station at 12:09am on October 17th. The first two stanzas seemed perfectly timed for how I felt then. I was thinking of how much I missed BFF Brandy. The line "to be less of meat and stone / And more of feather" especially because I will never forget the time she asked me when we were probably only 14 what it would be like if we had feathers instead of skin. And Pablo Neruda's (a poet we both fell in love with on the same day in a book store in Kansas when we were again probably about 14) "Love, We're Going Home Now" is one of our favorites because we often feel like two blind birds about two blind birds searching for our homes. That October night one of the fellow au pairs I had become friends with was going home to Spain and I realized then that I would eventually being saying good bye to all the girls I spent every weekend with and almost every day Facebooking. Somehow, that night was when it finally set-in that the places in my life were not the only factors that shaped me but the people as well. It made me realize that there are so many people who you encounter and befriend. They mean something to you at some point in your life. And then life goes on. People are constantly passing through our lives. Annina walked me to the train station that night, all the way up to my platform, because that is what we do. We always walked each other to our departure points. Leaving goodbye-until-next-time for the very last moment. That was also the night I rode my bike back to the village in the dark for the first time and the cocaine lights kept me warm.
"Little Lion Man" by Mumford and Sons
I had downloaded a free Tap Tap Revenge app on my iPod and played it to pass the time away while waiting for the train. This was the only free song on there that I liked. I think I played it at least 100 times and got all the way up to the most difficult level. I can't listen to this song now and not twitch my fingers to the guitar chords.
"Big Bird in a Small Cage" by Patrick Watson
This goes a long with the bird stuff in the explanation of "Cocaine Lights." I also feel like it belongs in the soundtrack to my entire life, not just my life in Holland. The meaning is fairly easy to grasp.
Last night I got down to business and started packing. Right now I have designated areas for each suitcase, which means my room is messier than usual. I found a pile of used train tickets and some cash in three different currencies. That made me laugh. I also went through all the letters, cards, and postcards people have sent me. That made me smile.
I'm making lists again. I have two sets: an inventory of gifts for people and things to-do/pack. They're hanging from one of the desk shelves, right below the National Geographic picture-a-day calender. Botswana, Bermuda, Sicily, and other places around the world. It has been on July 1st this whole time because it is a picture of Minnesota.
My original plan for today was to go to Den Haag but Holland was hit with some major snow yesterday. So, not all the trains are running today. Plan B - continue packing, fill out applications online, update Shutterfly, clean out iTunes, and make a music playlist for the plane ride home. In the meantime, here are a few videos from my two most recent adventures in Amsterdam.
I've had some more adventures in Amsterdam since my visit to Sweden but mostly I just meet up with friends to eat or go shopping and then stay the night watching movies. I had this Friday off as my host family was going to the Dolfinarium in Harderwijk, so I took my time at the house getting ready for a long weekend with friends. I took the train to Amsterdam in the late afternoon to go to a few shops and compare prices on the things I needed to buy for my Halloween costume. Then I had to wait a few hours for everyone to show up, which was fine since there was a carnival in Dam Square.
I got a coffee, sat outside the cafe, and called my parents. I don't call them often on my cell phone because it is expensive but I love calling them when I'm in Amsterdam. It doesn't make me feel so far away from home when I talk to them on my phone instead of Skype. "I'm standing in Dam Square right now." I told them. My mom was worried about me being alone in the city after dark and my dad had to ask what he always asks, "Now, we haven't done any body modifications, have we?" He is concerned that I'm going to get a tattoo or something strange. But maybe he is just teasing me. Sometimes I never really know if he is serious or not.
Two weekends ago I noticed that Christmas lights were already up in the city center and stores had their Holiday merchandise out. It seemed pretty early, at the beginning of October, to already be getting in that spirit but I realized that Halloween here isn't like what it is in the US and there isn't Thanksgiving either. Although dressing in costumes and going to parties for Halloween has become more popular in recent years children don't go trick-or-treating on the 31st.
At first I was feeling really down about missing Halloween with my friends in the States. I mean, I miss my friends all the time here but I knew I was going to miss them even more on Halloween. I love Halloween. Growing up my mom always made the best costumes by hand. Rainbow Brite. Tinkerbell. Alice in Wonderland. Ect. But I have been very lucky to have made some wonderful friends here. They are also au pairs. We're all scattered in different cities and village throughout Holland but we get together on the weekends in Amsterdam. I'm the only American in the group as they hail from all over - Mexico, Spain, Italy, and Germany. But I'll tell you all about them and "us" in another post. So, this weekend we all agreed that we'd celebrate Halloween in Amsterdam together and gave a great time. And we did. I haven't laugh so hard and so much in a long time. I didn't bring my camera so I stole some pictures from Facebook.
Germany and me.
The whole gang: Italy, Mexico, Germany, and me.
Killing time at McDonald's before the station opens at 5am.
The 6:40am train back after a whole night out in A'dam.
When traveling it is always best to not have any expectations. Expectations risk disappointment and they close your mind to the full experience. There were a few places I was interested in seeing when Siv and Suzanne took me via train from Västerås to Stockholm, but I was more excited simply to just be there. Since I had no real expectations I enjoyed every moment, even when we were walking down seemingly unremarkable streets. And after the first few hours on the first day of two I think I had already decided that Stockholm is my new favorite European city, despite the fact that my heart is still so full of Florence that there are always echoes from Italy no matter how far north I go.
Before setting off on the train to Delft, about an hour's journey time, I ran a quick errand in Amsterdam. Just a few minutes after 10am, when most museums open, I stopped by Nieuwe Kerk to buy an museumkaart. Since I am under 24 I was able to purchase it for the student's price - €22.50. With the card one has free access to something like 400 participating museums throughout the Netherlands. In just one day my card was nearly half paid off. This was my first time in Amsterdam in the morning. Shops were just preparing to open and the tourists were just beginning to emerge. I bought a coffee right by Nieuwe Kerk and drank it on a bench in Dam Square where the pigeons were scarce and a man was playing the bag pipes outside the visitor's entrance to the Royal Palace.
I bought a sandwich at the station and ate it on the train. After arriving and stepping off the platform I followed some young but well-dressed businessmen who said they were going to the Town Hall and I could find my way to all the sights and museums from there. But I got distracted along the way when I came upon a street-lined canal full of stands selling antiques. Of course I found something to buy to remember my day in Delft before it had even begun.
Vermeer Centrum
Sadly no paintings by Johannes Vermeer remain in his home city of Delft. However, the Vermeer Centrum is still worth a visit. I love his paintings but I knew very little about him aside from the story presented in the film Girl With a Pearl Earring (which I highly recommend.) Over the course of about an hour here I discovered that I'm not the only one to know so little about him. There are no letters by his hand left to study so his "voice" is only accessible through his paintings, which are rather difficult to study even for art scholars. He only created between 40-60 in his lifetime which is an usually small body of work.
The Centrum was built on the same spot where the Guildhouse of St. Luke once stood. All artists and craftsmen (including glassmakers, potters, and booksellers) in Delft were required to join this guild, which was established to protect their trade but also provided a network of influence and friendship for its members. The exterior of the Centrum is a recreation of the guildhouse's original exterior for which no expense was spared. Outside the building the arms of the city and the bust of the Classical painter Apelles stood as symbols of the guild's purpose. Cornelis de Mar and Leonart Bramer (who I will discuss later) were commissioned to decorate the boardroom. Vermeer's father was a weaver, inn owner, and art dealer so he was also a member of the guild. Inns and taverns were common places for artists to meet. Thus, it is believed that the time spent in his father's inns (The Flying Fox and Mechelen) was how Vermeer was first exposed to the art world.
One of the biggest unsolved mysteries concerning Vermeer is the identity of his mentor. The Centrum listed sixteen candidates and provided evidence for the three most likely: Leonert Bramer, Christiaen van Couwenbergh, and Gerard ter Borch. Bramer caught my interest since he spent seven years in Italy where he was known as "Leonardo delle Notte" because his paintings were almost always set in the dark and only lit with artificial light. He was an important member of the guild and was head several times. He was a teacher when Vermeer received his training. He was a regular visitor to Mechelen and was probably a family friend of Vermeer's wife. His paintings were set in Classical antiquity or told Biblical stories. The Museum Het Prinsenhof, which you will read about further on in this entry, has a few of his works.
17th century Delft had a busy art market where ordinary citizens, not the Catholic church, were the customers and patrons. Paintings could be bought in an open market and it is estimated that each house had around seven paintings hanging on the walls. Artists began to leave Delft after 1650 because the market became attractive elsewhere but the atmosphere and appreciation is still present to this day. The city reminded me a bit of Florence, so I felt a certain affinity the more I learned about it's Golden Age.
Since Delft has direct access to the sea it was an affluent city dependent on trade. The Dutch East Indies and West Indies companies both had establishments in the city. Mapmakers were regarded as painters for their craft was just as important and required just as much skill. The maps of Joan Blaeu and Pieter Gross, famous cartographers, appear in some of Vermeer's paintings. The presence of globes and maps were key elements in the development of Delft's unique worldview.
So, I learned all of that on just the main floor of the Centrum. The scene was set for the next floor, which was a recreation of his studio and focused on analyzing his technique and style.
Nearly all painters of the Golden Age used Emblemata, a text which described hundreds of emblems and their symbolism, to include messages, morals, or stories in their works. Vermeer is described as "a painter of quiet encounters" who "tempts the observer to join him in being inquisitive." He didn't use such emblems. Therefore, as I have already mentioned, there is a lot of guesswork involved in interpretating his paintings. His figures always fill the center space of his paintings but they are never in the foreground. There is always something in the way. This is called répoussoir. Infrared technology has enabled scientists and scholars to view the paint layers beneath the visible surface. For example, "A Maid Asleep" was first a man with a hat and a small dog. Another common element of paintings were tronies, specific types of figures that appear again and again in various paintings: the virgin girl, the comforting mother, the warrior, ect. Vermeer, however, created photographic portraits of real people who appear exactly as they are: maids, noblemen, noblewomen, ect.
Aside from specific paintings, Vermeer is recognized for his use of light and color. The light source is always natural and comes from one side through a window in his studio. It doesn't simply have a direction but it emits the feeling that it is falling. The figures and objects in the room are all softly effected. In this way Vermeer evokes a sense that the light itself is being emitted from the painting.
Even though the Centrum doesn't have any of his originals, I walked out feeling much wiser and more connected to him and his Delft. As I moved away hazingly I realized that I was inadvertently wearing the precise shades of blue and yellow which he used frequently.
Musuem Het Prinsenhof
With a deepening understand of Delft and Vermeer I made my way towards a history museum which I wasn't particularly interested in visiting but my love for museums drew me onwards. And I am glad it did because my historical perspective of Holland blossomed here. I took notes at the Vermeer Centrum but there were so many rooms here that it would have taken me hours to write everything down.
The museum is in the same building that was used as a convent and as William the Silent's residence during the second half of the 16th century. He was a nobleman who led the Dutch resistance against the Spanish rule over the Netherlands, which at the time was a collection of provinces. The revolt began with the Beeldenstorm, where severe iconoclasm swept through the Low Countries as a protest to King Phillip II of Spain's devout Catholicism and his attempts to suppress the spread of Protestantism. What is now known as the Eighty Years War began. In 1584 William was assassinated by a Catholic Frenchman when he was descending the stairs of his home. Over the centuries there have been multiple re-modelings of the staircase but the museum has attempted to recreate it as best as possible according to various drawings and references. The bullet holes are still visible in the wall.
The rooms on the upper floors were organized according to the different aspects of daily life, society, art, and history of Delft's Golden Age. There were paintings by Leonart Bramer. Paintings which appear hanging on the wall in Vermeer's paintings. Paintings of Delft's "anatomy theater" which included such details as peeled back skin, exposed intestines, an open ribcage, and fascinatingly calm facial expressions on all the observers surrounding the surgical table.
There was a wedding reception in the courtyard just outside and at one point, I believe in the room about Delft Blue (the famous handpainted blue porcelein), one could hear Michael Jackson's "I'm Bad" being played for the guests. Ironically appropriate for a museum about a Dutch rebel who is also sometimes credited as the "father of the country."
Museum Lambert van Meerten
I did not pick up a brochure here (I am not even sure there were any) and there weren't any placcards in English. So, basically I just walked through this house with very little idea about the family who owned it other than the fact that Lambert was a rich art collector.
Oude Kerk (Old Church)
Although the official date of creation for this church is 1246, it is said there was a wooden church on this spot as early as 1050. The church's patron saint is St. Bartholomew, after the name of the original builder, Bartholomew van der Made. The tower, which is 75 meters high and consists of five spires, is reminiscent of Flemish architecture. It was last restored in 1995 but it is still sagging and doesn't stand completely up right. Sort of like the leaning tower in Pisa. The church was a victim to the aforementioned iconoclasm so it was never expanded to create a cross basilica shape. In 1654 Delft's gunpowder magazine exploded and the original stained glass windows were destroyed in the blast. The windows currently sitting in the frames were installed between 1949-1961. All windows, except two, display Biblical subjects. The windows flanking the tower show William the Silent and Queen Wilhelmina. Vermeer was buried in the floor of the Oude Kerk.
Nieuwe Kerk (New Church)
In 1351 a beggar claimed to see a vision of the Virgin Mary and a wooden church was built where she supposedly appeared. In 1420 it was taken down to be replaced with a brick basilica. Not even fifty years after construction was complete, in 1536, the tower was struck by lightening and the roof collapsed. In 1566 iconoclasm stripped the interior of its original furnishings and Catholic decor. The roof collapsed again in 1654 with city's gunpowder explosion.
However, the church is still in use today. It holds the tombs of William the Silent, because at the time of his death Breda, where the burial vaults for the House of Orange were located, was still in the hands of the Spaniards.
I'm trying something different this time. Instead of writing out my adventure as it went, from one moment to the next, I've organized my trip according to the places and tastes I enjoyed. No matter which format I use, it is impossible to tell you everything. So, forget about whatever you did this weekend and imagine me in Brussels. Allons-y!
Musée du Costume et de la Dentelle (Costume and Lace Museum)
This was at the top of my list of planned destinations during my weekend away. According to the internet it boasts a collection of clothing pieces from the 16th to the 19th centuries, but it does not have an official website so I really had no idea what would be on display until I arrived at the front desk: The Sixties. Although it is a small museum and only 3€ for entrance, I thought the exhibit to be very well designed and the free catalog a very handy guide while pacing between Dior, Givenchy, Yves Saint Laurent, Lanvin, Balmain, and many others. The two fashion/costume history classes I've taken were organized by century or decade, so it was easy for me to mentally situate myself before walking down the carpeted corridor leading to the first floor of display cases.
After the austere silhouettes and fabrics women wore during WWII, Christian Dior brought fashion into a new era during the 1950's with his "New Look." These garments used luxurious amounts of fabric for the mid-calf length skirts whose shape emphasized women's hips, while the fitted tops and jackets cinched the waist and broadened the shoulders. Women became impeccable, glamourous, pearl-wearing, glove-fingered images of perfection. Not a single hair was ever out of place. Not a fingernail with chipped polish. No wrist ever went without perfume. Then, as the introduction to the exhibit declares, "during the Sixties, women turned away from pencil skirts, tightly constricted waists, girdles and suspenders. Some of them even burned their bras in public. They won the right to wear trousers at any time of the day and in any circumstances, giving them the freedom to uncross their legs, take long strides, or sprawl back in comfortable sofas without worrying about it, as well as the right to show their knees and thighs, clad in multicolored tights, items of clothing which until then had been reserved for winter sports. This upsurge of freedom in clothing is perhaps the most immediately visible expression of a deep and irreversible movement in the evolution of the feminine condition in our western society."
Rue de la Violette 12
Expectedly, pictures were forbidden but I scribbled notes about my favorite pieces in the margins of the catalog, which also conveniently includes a short paragraph describing each garment and lists it's designer or creator.
On the top floor, in a low lit corner without windows, is the portion of the museum dedicated to the history of Belgian lace. I spent just as much time here, pulling out each display drawer and examining the sample lace spread neatly beneath a pane of protective glass, as I did observing the three floors of clothing and accessories.
Grand Place
This is the heart of Brussels and a must-see for anyone visiting the city. It is a square surrounded by a series of historically important buildings. The City Hall was built during the first half of the fifteenth century and is guarded by a statue of Saint Micheal slaying a dragon at the top of the tower. Directly across from the seat of municipal power is the Maison du Roi, built by the Duke of Brabant one hundreed years after the City Hall. On the other sides of the square the most powerful guilds of Brussels established their headquarters in lines now collectively called the Guild Houses. The large space in between was used as a market place until 1959. Naturally, it was full of tourists no matter what time of day I walked through. At night the atmosphere was more genuine as everyone was charged with energy, waiting around for the lights to turn on. Some people sat on blankets while others (like me) perched on the front ledge of the Maison du Roi smoking cigarettes or (like me) devouring Belgian waffles soft with chocolate sauce.
A parade in Grand Place.
Grand Place at night.
Maison du Roi.
Guild Houses
City Hall
Manneken Pis
After Grand Place, this little fountain is Brussel's next iconic site. The name probably gives it away and any assumption you have was probably right. It is a small fountain with a statue of a little peeing boy. It was put into place around 1618 and now on certain days of the year petit Julien, as he is called in French, is dressed in various costumes according to certain holidays or cultural events. I'm sure up close he is adorable but it is hard to want to look at him very long since he very openly doing his business right in your direction.
There are a handful of legends surrounding the historical significance of the boy. The most exciting is that as foreign invaders prepared to enter Brussels and besiege it, a little boy was spying on them from the bushes on the outskirts of the city. As soon as he saw them light the fuse for the opening attack he ran up and peed on it to put it out, thus saving Brussels from destruction. The more sentimental story is that a wealthy merchant let his son go missing. Once he realized the result of his carelessness he sent out troops of men to scour the city for his beloved heir. The young boy was found safe and sound, peeing happily in a small garden.
Galeries de Saint-Hubert
Just north of Grand Place is a glass covered shopping gallery of luxury shops. I only walked down the long, chilly corridor twice which was enough for me. The window displays were too enticing and the price tags too steep.
There is a craft market outside and a touch east of the Galeries. I made my way from stand to stand in the hope of finding something to buy and take back home for my mom and godmother but instead I bought something for myself. There was an old man and his slightly-younger-than-middle-age son selling perfume. I really only intended to smell one or two then move on but the owner (which is the son - his dad just helps out) was so nice and undemanding that I let myself linger. It was refreshing to meet a salesman who was not intent on striking a deal with me by trying to convince me to buy whatever ridiculously over-priced items he so persuasively shoves in anyone's face. The perfumer simply explained how he puts together scents, the differences between an eu de toilette and a perfume, and the oil-alcohol ratio of his recipe. He had a diagram of his 100 blends which listed each scent's primary components. I like lily and sandalwood so I looked up which perfumes had those in the mix and then chose one from there. I walked away with 10€ less in my purse but a charming heart shaped bottle of perfume from Brussels. I'll just have to find something for my dear mother and godmother in some other city.
Musées royaux d'art et d'histoire (Museum of Art and History)
After checking out of my hotel on Sunday, I hopped on the metro in the direction of Parc du Cinquetenaire. It is only a handful of stops away from Grand Place but my feet were far too sore for me to even consider walking. I strolled through the entire park before noon, then turned back to find the entrance to the museum. I wasn't as excited as I was for the costume museum but when I turned the corner to the open front doors my breath caught in my throat. All because of one word: MEDICI.
In case you didn't know, I have a great love for the Italian Renaissance. Specifically in Florence. And specifically concerning the Medici family. The museum was hosting a temporary exhibit created by the artist Isabelle de Borchgrave who creates clothing out of paper. Her latest venture was a recreation of some of the garments the most famous members of the Medici family wore. Botticelli's Minerva and Primavera figures were a bonus. Again, pictures were forbidden but this video from the exhibit's website provides a fair visual.
Just like the time in Amsterdam when I wandered into a museum with an exhibit about ancient Roman sea ports, I felt fated to find the Medici in Brussels the same time as me. I've been thinking a lot lately about going back to Florence. But I think it would break my heart again to have to leave it again. So for a little less than an hour, with Isabelle's crafted gowns around me, I let myself pretend I was back there again.
After saying goodbye to my beloved Lorenzo I shuffled up, down, and around the museum's other wings. The guide at the front of the museum who greeted me explained everything in French. He must have mistaken me for a French woman, which was perfectly fine with me. But even though I made shortly sweet replies of "oui", "bonne", and "Je comprends," I really didn't understand much of what he was telling me. I couldn't find the ancient Greek and Roman artifacts. I think it was closed because all the stairs to the third floor were roped off. I got lost in the European decorative arts section. (Going in circles gets old after the second lap.) And then I crossed through the museum shop to the Non-European area knowing I wouldn't be able to last much longer without food. It was probably a good thing though that I saw all the South American shrunken heads and their terrifying statues on an empty stomach. By the time I had finally moved through India and China I decided to skip North America and Canada. It was time for the sunshine again. And food.
Beer, Chocolate, and Other Delicacies
Usually when I'm traveling alone I avoid eating at sit-down restaurants. But in Brussels I felt better about sitting down by myself and enjoying a meal. For an early dinner on Saturday I had a green salad, quatro fromaggio penne, and a few glasses of table wine for less than 20€ at an Italian place on a street near Saint-Hubert. Then a slice of New York style pizza in Grand Place later that night after tasting some beer, which is one of Belgium's specialties. Lindeman's blueberry was my favorite.
De Bier Tempel - only a block above Grand Place with beers half the price of the other shops.
My first purchase in the city, not even an hour after checking into my hotel, was some chocolate: a 250 grams sample box, a bar of white, and a package of individually wrapped mini-bars. I devoured the box in my hotel room Saturday evening while resting up before setting out again to see the lights of Grand Place.
On Sunday, after the history museum, I sat down for some steak frites, a popular Belgian dish. Just in case you didn't already know, french fries actually originated from Belgium. The ones I tried were something like ten times the size and thickness of fries in the States. And they actually tasted like they were made from potatoes. Sauce cost extra.
Traveling by Train
I love trains, train stations, and riding trains. There is something about it that still feels somewhat old fashioned. Even though it takes longer than flying and can sometimes be more expensive depending on the circumstances I think it is one of the best ways to get somewhere. To make my train out of Amsterdam on time I had to be up and out the door by 6:30am to ride my bike to Purmerend and take the 7:10 train to the city.
The platform was already overflowing with people when I arrived about 20 minutes prior to departure time. It was a free for all for seats and I'm glad I only had a purse and an overnight bag because the people with larger luggage had to haul themselves up and into the train last. So while I was already snuggled into a window seat they were still struggling to get up off the platform.
The train back was a whole other story. It was an older train with, as you can see in the picture below, outdated interior and a strange musty smell. It was not as crowded as the other train - I had to share a car with four other people at most. Only one of which actually rode all the way to Amsterdam like me and didn't get off on any of the stops in between. And then by the time I got to Amsterdam Centraal I still had to take another train to Zandaam and exchange there for Purmerend. All of this wore me down even more than I was already, so by the time I got onto my bike I was peddling like a cripple all the way back to the house.
Taken August 2010, my adventure in Brussels. I took pictures of this couple being cute together on their bikes before walking past them later being street musicians near Manneken Pis. See that little rack on which the pack of water bottles sit? That is where I would perch when riding on Annina's bike.
