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I have an intense love/hate relationship with Facebook. I've been using it frequently here in the Netherlands to stay in touch with those who don't have Skype. But it can get frustrating because it so impersonal. And all the information people can access about me is terrifying, even with privacy settings on high. Well, I have learned to ignore the negatives and appreciate the positives. One of which is the "social networking" aspect. Thanks to Facebook I was able to connect with another English speaking au pair in Amsterdam. I met her in the city on Saturday and I must say, it was so nice to actually be in the company of someone my age and in my "line of work".
She is from the UK so she isn't as far from home but we shared stories about watching the children and compared things we've noticed so far about Dutch culture. Then we went out into the rain, walked through the flea market at Waterloo Plein, and then stopped on the bridge by Rembranthuis to watch the Gay Pride parade moving slowly down the canal. Despite the weather there was a fair number of people out and those on the boats didn't seem to mind the wet too much. Most of them played loud music and danced with very few clothes on, probably chilled to the bone but clearly having a blast regardless.
Even though it was still early in the evening and we weren't particularly hungry we walked toward the city center to find a place to eat. Mostly we just wanted to get out of the rain. On one of the smaller streets just east of Rokin we found ourselves stuck in the midst of some Gay Pride street parties. No one likes being pushed between strangers, having their toes stepped on, and getting elbowed in the back but this is the one exception because everyone was happy and dancing and laughing. Clearly it was all about celebrating the love. I really like that a place can be so open and accepting as that. I really like Amsterdam.
The goal of this blog is to chronicle my experiences while in the Netherlands. The good, the bad, and the ridiculously embarrassing. What I am about to share with you is rather silly but it is a pretty significant part of my life here: staying connected with my friends and family. Especially the latter. It is very important for me to stay in touch with the special people in my life, even though my life has changed so much. Thanks to Skype I can talk and see them pretty frequently even though we are hundreds and hundred of miles away from each other.
Whether I'm watching while my twelve-year-old brother plays video games or listening to my mother ramble on about what she read in People magazine about The Real Housewives of New York City, it is so nice to spend time "together." Sometimes they like to tease me by enjoying a pan full of brownies between stories about their day. Holding each piece in front of the webcam just long enough to make my mouth water before they devour it. Sometimes they like to be sneaky and take screenshots of me making weird faces unknowingly and then send them to me unexpectedly.
Mother and said 12 year-old brother, Owen.
A French exchange student, Paul, has been staying with my family for the summer. In my room. I must admit it is a little weird and hard not to feel like he's filling up the space I left behind, especially since they're doing all sorts of fun things with him. Things that I've always wanted to do whenever I was home for the summer or holiday breaks. And then they took him to Harry Potter World and I contemplated giving them the silent treatment to convey how betrayed I felt. And then I noticed how perfect the whole situation actually is. Here I am living with another family in Holland. I was home barely two weeks after graduation and then I jetted off across the ocean. And there Paul is living with my family in America. It is great for my brothers to have another guy to hang out with instead of a sister who still thinks making them tag along to shop at Target is fun. And I'm sure he's a much better video game player than me.
The sign they held when they picked him up at the airport.
It is funny how things work out. Life is strange. And my family is really, really great. Excuse me for being overly sentimental but if it weren't for them I'd never have the courage and the drive to do something like live in another country. All that stuff about doing what makes you happy and following your dreams is something I totally believe in thanks to them. Especially my parents. Sorry, mom and dad, that it took me twenty-two years to figure that out.
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.
