A Blogger's Prayer

It has been said, and wisely, that the last thing a writer wants to do is write. This is a funny way of putting it: any writer knows that when the muse strikes there is no stopping the flow of ideas and words, as if we no longer exist ourselves except as a conduit for some higher power or function. We tap into that special zone and cannot stop until the muse lets go. Then we look over what we have done, and the real work begins, ug, editing. Still, the process is one we often try to avoid starting: OMG, a leaf fell, I cannot possibly write today! Did you say there was a Castle marathon? Starting when? How long – 48 hours? Get the popcorn, no, let me make it. William Goldman, novelist and screenwriter who gave us Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid and The Princess Bride, once said (I am paraphrasing) that when it’s going badly, you could be in the most idyllic and quiet cottage by a pristine lake all by yourself, and the words still will not come. But when it’s going well, you can write in an elevator. Which prompts A BLOGGER’S PRAYER: To Whom It May Concern, who art in the ether, hallowed be thy muse. Thy elevators come, thine ideas be done. Give us this day our daily blog, and forgive us our procrastinations, as we forgive the put-off artist within us, and lead us not into writer’s block but deliver us from repetition, Amen.

Recommendations and Reviews

November 18, 2013: Recommendations and Reviews (Glacier Symphony, Rabbids, Ruby Sparks, Castle, and Free Birds) Sunday, 10 a. m. It is 42 degrees outside and the snow is already starting to melt. I am not sorry, because this afternoon we go into town to the Glacier Symphony performance with our good friend Joop, then return to his place for dinner and conversation. It will be a good day. Xander is running around the house this morning waiting for me to play cop and criminal with him. He likes to use one of Meg’s dog toys, a yellow donut shaped squeaky toy, as handcuffs – or, rather, fingercuffs. We take turns capturing the other and throwing him in jail, only to watch him escape again while Meg looks on, a bit forlorn, thinking, “What are you doing with my toy?” But life is hard, after all, and everyone has to make sacrifices. Monday, 1:30 p.m. The temperature outside is back to 42. we had a trace of snow overnight that started disappearing before we got up this morning. The concert was fantastic and fun – the Glacier Symphony, under the direction of Maestro John Zoltek, is a strong group of very talented musicians. I am always surprised at both their ability and their willingness to take on challenging works. Alan Hovhannes’ And God Created Great Whales is not ever going to be my favorite piece, but it is an interesting one that truly tests the orchestra. Glacier Symphony passed with flying colors. The guest soloist for Max Bruch’s famous First Violin Concerto, Kinga Augustyn, was brilliant and flawless. She is an up-and-comer who so far appears on only two recordings, but is one to watch for if you like violin. Finally, our dinner with Joop was a wonderful feast of friendship, good food, wine and Scotch, that did not get us home until 10:30 last evening. Speaking of great performances, I wanted to mention a couple of items that might slip under most people’s radar. The first is the Nickelodeon program, Rabbids. The premise is simple: alien beings, who look a good deal like rabbits, come to earth to explore and perhaps conquer the planet. They are curious about everything but not altogether bright, with the attention span of a puppy running to the bathroom. These intrepid adventurers find amusement and excitement in the most unlikely things. Their adventures remind me of Roadrunner cartoons on steroids. Very funny stuff, meant for kids but gut-bustingly funny for anyone. Highly recommended. Second is the 2012 movie, Ruby Sparks. If you haven’t seen it yet, give this one a try. It is about a writer who somehow – he never learns how – creates a real woman out of his imagination. He then has to deal with the aftermath. It is a funny story that at times gets necessarily a bit too real and uncomfortable. As in many good comedies, using an absurd premise to bring up very real issues and observations makes for compelling watching. Third is a single moment in the long-running mystery series, Castle. The improbable series just gets better and better. Episode 18 in Season Five, “The Wild Rover,” features an actress named Carla Buono as the owner of a pub in the Irish neighborhood where the main character Kevin Ryan once went undercover. Early in the episode, the detectives inform her that a particular character has died. Her face changes, on camera, showing remorse and fear in a subtle array of expressions. It is a magnificent piece of acting, akin to Kevin Spacey’s death scene in LA Confidential. If I taught acting I would show that scene and tell my students, “This is how it’s done.” Finally, for now at least, I bring up the new theater release Free Birds, an animated story about two modern day turkeys, who go back in time to try to change the tradition of cooking turkey at Thanksgiving. It is a bit long among animated films, and pretty intense, but it had our grandson and his cousins rapt. These kids range from three to ten years old, and all of them had a great time. The only question I have is how they will react on Thanksgiving Day when we do indeed serve turkey and they, collectively, will be asking, “Where’s the pizza?”

Snow, Symphony, Red Whine and Whales

The snow I mentioned yesterday has been falling, and falling, and falling. This morning we found about four inches of the glorious white stuff on our porch. We use our railing as a measure. Sometimes we clear away a section just to see how much falls after we get started. Then I shoveled the snow off the porches, both front and back. This snow is heavy, wet, but oh so pristine white. It makes great snowballs – as Diane can attest to, having taken the one I made for her and thrown it at me. I made a second one and threw it at her, so we are even, for now. Yesterday I whined about winter. I apologize. I mean it when I say that snow makes me nervous, particularly navigating through it. But there is something magical about being in the middle of snowfall – steady, flakey, and so very silent. Unless there is wind, or it is a blizzard, you don’t actually hear the snow falling. You just see it. So my best bet is to sit back and relax, with a cuppa or a glass of the house red, and watch. I can travel to far away places like Siberia, imagining myself to be on the train with Doctor Zhivago; or up on the mountains of Glacier National Park searching for wolverines, as in the Nature show I watched this week on PBS, only warmer. I do have to venture out, however. This afternoon the grandparents, both sets, are taking the grandkids to the movies and pizza. Xander is our one and only, but Claire Marie and Frank have several others as well, and Diane and I have been adopted by them as honorary Oma and Opa. We got the invite a few hours ago and feel honored to be invited. Besides, except for our very occasional major trips, we don’t get out much. Then, tomorrow, we go with our good friend Joop to the Glacier Symphony for a matinee concert. Two outings in two days! There remains nothing in the world like live performance, and our experience with this orchestra has been a continual surprise and delight. This concert includes an early piece by Edvard Grieg, a violin concerto by Max Bruch, Respighi’s Pines of Rome and Alan Hovhannes’ And God Created Great Whales. I have never heard the Grieg or Bruch, so am very excited about them. Pines is an old favorite, and Whales is one of those fascinating modern romantic pieces that always manages to please. Hovhannes uses actual whale song in the piece. I just wonder how on earth they’re going to get a whale up on the stage.

Staying Put with a Snow Shovel

November 15, 2013: Snow It’s snowing here in Montana. It has been snowing for the past two hours, but the ground has been too warm for the snow to stick. As the sun goes down, however, the ground is losing the battle and the relentless falling flakes are starting to whiten the yard just outside my window. As long as I am inside, it’s cozy to watch. But when I think about tomorrow, getting up at 2:30 am to go to work by three, trudging in below freezing temperatures and then driving on the first serious snow of the year, I get a little nervous. I have been here before, and I know that it’s not that big a deal – drive slowly, take your time, watch for black ice (which usually isn’t there at 2:30 AM), and hope the heater in the car revs up within a few minutes. It could be worse – it always can be worse. Ah – the snow is really sticking now. Nice, big, juicy flakes falling straight down. I took two days off, setting the blog aside and barely checking my emails on the computer. I did write a few poems during that time, playing with words and ideas as I always seem to do. Even on a day off, the work sometimes won’t let you go. If I can call writing poetry work – I have so much fun doing it that I sometimes want to crawl inside my own brain and just hibernate there. But humans do not hibernate. We weather through, so to speak. The weatherman predicted one to five inches will fall over the next 36 hours. With the accompanying cold, this means tomorrow late morning I will have to deploy my snow shovel for the first time this season as well. We will have Xander for an overnight. He likes to help, and I have a snow shovel just his size. This year I hope I can convince him to throw the snow away from the path. I don’t mean to complain. I have no cause. The winter is beautiful here. It’s just that I never had to deal with winter before we moved up here three years ago, so I am still not properly winterized. My idea of cold and snow was to go somewhere to visit it. Now I live in it, work in it, photograph it and write about it as if it were part of who I have become. This is because it is. And, really, it’s just a minor inconvenience that in the long run means plenty of water for the summer. The snow is really sticking now. I can always take myself far, far away from here by writing one of my travelblogs. I have been to a handful of amazing places, as you already may have noticed. So far this month I have been talking about places in Holland, but I have seen amazing things right here in the USA – in California and Indiana and Arizona and Oregon and Montana. In fact, my own front yard is an amazing place frequented by wild turkeys and white-tailed deer, a wondrous array of birds and the occasional squirrel. Two squirrels live right by. We call them Jumpy and JR – Jumpy Redux. They try to set up a seasonal retreat in our little outdoor shed. I try to evict them. It’s a dance we go through. It started last winter, and they won. This year the battle is on again. I get the feeling that they’re not that wild about winter, either, but, like me, they just want to get through it cozy and warm.

Travelblog 11: Blokker on Blokker's (no Relation)

When traveling through the Netherlands, I found several constants that seemed to follow me on my journeys. In the countryside, for example, to find a town or village you only have to scan the horizon until you see a church spire pointing up to heaven. That spire is usually the tallest point in the community. Even where high rise apartment buildings loom like a threat to beauty itself, church spires let you know where the older, more quaint and friendly city centrums are. It is reassuring and welcoming. In those centers you will find another mainstay or two. Certain businesses pop up everywhere. In train stations you might find Burger King and Starbuck’s sitting side by side trying to seduce commuters. But Corporate America’s invasion of Holland has not fully encroached on the centrums. Instead, there is a constant there, Dutch stores you can count upon to be in or near. The grocery chain Albert Hein provides beautiful food in precise packaging and reasonable portions. The all-in-one Hema provides commercial grade selection of everyday sundries, kitchen gadgets, china, pubware, linens and cosmetics, and often includes a coffee shop for weary shoppers. In direct competition with Hema is another general store called Blokker’s. Blokker’s is one of the oldest chain stores in Holland. I decided that it would be fun to take a photograph of every Blokker’s I encountered, but I made that decision too late to take more than two. I missed the Blokker in Amsterdam and Arnhem and den Haag, getting only Tiel and Culemborg. The Culemborg Blokker’s is a particularly fond memory for me. On our very first trip to Holland, in December 2001, we arrived on the 27th of December with a list of things to look for and purchase for friends back home. With surprising energy, we walked into the centrum from the Rutgers home after lunch. The very first store we entered was Blokker’s. The very first item we bought was a tea cozy for a friend back in Salinas. The very first transaction we made was still in guilders, as the Euro did not become common currency until January 1. So Blokker’s became an integral part of my travel experience from the very start. Earlier that very morning, when we entered the country through Schiphol, we had to check through passport control. When I presented my passport to the young officer, he said, “Blokker – any relation?” Diane said, “Sadly, no.” Rumor has it that we might, indeed, be related in some shirttail way, but I have no evidence either way and no way to discover any. Still, it would be cool to be one of those Blokkers, even as just a poor cousin three times removed, once by slow boat to America. Perhaps I could spearhead a counter-invasion: Blokker’s of Kalispell.

Travelblog 10: Rotterdam, Part 2: Oldenbarnevelt

Heroes pop up in surprising ways. There are names that need to be remembered and honored in every country among every people in the world, for their bravery and their conviction. There are stories that demand telling and re-telling for the lessons that can be learned. These stories almost always center around great sacrifice. All too often, that sacrifice is the ultimate one, given for a cause far greater than the life that is lost. What makes a hero, living or dead, is courage under fire regardless of personal safety. This truism applies to both warriors and peacemakers, who should work hand in hand. On Veteran’s Day, it seems somehow fitting for me to briefly remind the world of one hero lost trying to secure peace. My brother once told me that no one hates war more than the soldier,. For the most part, I believe this to be true. But there are warriors who love war and the glory that comes with it. These zealots will crush anyone who stands in their way. One such warrior happened to be the leader of the Dutch Republic, the Statholder and Prince of Orange, Maurits (not to be confused with his younger cousin Maurits of Mauritshuis fame; for convenience we will call him Maurice). Prince Maurice had taken over the fight to liberate Holland from Spanish control after his father was murdered on orders from the Spanish King, Phillip II. Maurice had a knack for warfare, and liked it. Unfortunately, the best the Dutch could do was hold their own against the Spanish for 25 years, even after Phillip passed away. Both sides grew tired of the fighting. The Spanish were struggling to survive as a major power, while the Dutch were busily expanding an international commercial empire. A twelve year truce began in 1609, much to the objection and then sullen acceptance of the Prince. The main architect of the truce was Johan van Oldenbarnevelt. Oldenbarnevelt had become the leading statesman of the Republic while Maurice concentrated on military matters. While Oldenbarnevelt focused on what he thought best for the economic growth of the new country, Maurice built up and trained his forces, certain that the Spanish would do the same. This is an oversimplification of events, I know. Other issues came into play as well, causing in-fighting on both religious and political grounds. Maurice used all this as an excuse to build a case of treason against the statesman. Oldenbarnevelt hoped to negotiate a lasting peace while Maurice was anxious to resume the war. As the end of the truce approached, in late 1618 Oldenbarnevelt was arrested. In May of 1619 he was tried and sentenced to death. He was beheaded on the grounds of the Binnehof in den Haag the following day. He was 71 years old. A statue in his honor towers over the street in Rotterdam. As we walked from the da Vinci exhibit to the train station to make our way back home, we passed the statue. The face looked vaguely familiar to me, so, curious, I stopped to find out who was being so honored. Of course, it was Oldenbarnevelt. Our friend Hanneke took a picture of me in front of the statue, playing tourist, dwarfed by the great man. Incidentally, the truce expired in 1621, on schedule. In 1625, Maurice died and Frederick Henry became Statholder and Prince. Henry was more liberal and tolerant than his older brother, but the fighting with Spain resumed. In 1628 Piet Heijn captured a massive amount of Spanish silver en route from the New World to Spain, virtually destroying Spain’s ability to wage war. It would be twenty more years before hostilities finally ended, closing off what has become known as the Eighty Years’ War. Today, Oldenbarnevelt’s statue graces Rotterdam, and his bust appears on at least one silver commemorative coin. His name is honored and remembered, as a man of strength, conviction and skill who was martyred, basically, for doing his job.

Travelbog 9: More to Holland: Rotterdam and Leonardo

The city of Rotterdam surrounds the busiest port in the world. Several miles upstream from the point where the Waal River meets the North Sea, Rotterdam is a jumping off point for cargo shipping up through the rivers of Western Europe. The Waal is a major tributary of the Rhine, making Rotterdam a key port city and industrial center for the Netherlands. Rotterdam held such strategic importance that, on May 14, 1940, the German Luftwaffe made a carpet bombing run against the city that leveled over twenty-eight thousand buildings in the medieval centrum and outlying residential area, and killed nearly a thousand civilians. The death toll would have been much higher, but the city officials enacted a thorough evacuation, anticipating the oncoming German army in an assault that did not happen. Instead, the Germans made an ultimatum. Seeing the horror they had inflicted, the Germans told the Dutch to surrender, or the Luftwaffe would attack and level Utrecht. The Dutch capitulated after five days of fighting, on May 15, to avoid any more civilian deaths. Rotterdam rebuilt itself. It is, perhaps, the most modern major city in the Netherlands, at least by appearance. Its harbor is breath-taking. We toured the harbor by boat on an earlier trip to Holland. My nephew took a photo then that graces my office wall. It lines up the old Holland-America Shipping Line office building, which is now a restaurant, the adjacent pier from which the Blokker family embarked for America in 1952 when I was just two years old; a modern circular office building that rises up like a glass tube; and the Erasmus Bridge, a Bascule (drawbridge) using a single asymmetrical pylon. The bridge is affectionately called “the Swan.” The three features combine old and new, and link me to my own history is a unique way. On this trip, however, we had a different goal in mind: a rotating museum exhibit in the old Postkantoor (Post Office) that focused on the career and achievements of Leonardo da Vinci. Erik does not do museums, so our friend Hanneke joined Diane, Annemieke and me for this adventure. In fact, Hanneke organized the trip and Annemieke arranged the train fare. It’s good to have friends to rely upon where you travel! The train ride from Utrecht to Rotterdam was wonderful and relatively quick. It is amazing how much building is going on throughout the Netherlands. Utrecht central station, called the Hoog Catharijne, is being virtually doubled in size to accommodate the growing train traffic. Along with the trains come commuters, of course, and once again shopping opportunities are rampant, and increasing. The Winkelcentrum Hoog Catharijne (High Catherine Shopping Center) is a city unto itself, and expanding along with the station. The Rotterdam central station is already well established. Both are bigger and busier than Schiphol International, I suspect. Before we went to the exhibit, we went to a mystic shop and restaurant. Mystic shops are always interesting and fun, even when everything is in Dutch. They are filled with books, Tarot cards, statues, rocks and jewelry. This one was perhaps the largest and best organized I had ever seen. We had both a wonderful lunch and a good long look. Then we went to meet Leonardo. The exhibit encapsulated his entire career in copies of original materials plus mock-ups of what his inventions would have looked like. The most interesting part was a long room dedicated to the Mona Lisa, with detailed blow-ups and a series leading us backward to what the painting probably looked like originally. Using a sophisticated spectrograph camera with something like a quarter million pixels, scientists photographed the original and then subjected the images to a long process of analysis. The results decorated the walls around us, and brought us close to truly understanding the mind of the genius who created the Mona Lisa. I lingered at this exhibit for a long time. I then went to find my three lovely companions. I found them huddled together, and as I approached them, they moved toward me as one. It seems that they all had left their wallets in the lockers provided before we entered, but everyone wanted coffee. Did I have my wallet? Yes. Did I have any cash in it? Yes. Could we all get some coffee – and carrot cake? Of course. As nice as it is to have guides who happen to love you, it’s equally nice to be needed by them, in turn, even in a small way, and no one can ever dispute the crucial nature of a cuppa after exhaustive touring.

Travelblog 8 - More to Holland: Tiel and Flipje

Apparently, there is a saying in Holland: “Never be caught dead in Tiel.” The implication, as far as I understand it, is that Tiel is a very dull place. Therefore, it was amusing and interesting that Erik, who told me the saying, and Annemieke wanted to take us there one afternoon. Mostly, I think, it was to experience the bus ride through the back country around their home in Culemborg. Secondly, I think they really wanted us to see Tiel – but I don’t know why. Perhaps it was the statue. And yet, and yet – I like Tiel. We packed up the dog, Daan, a long-haired dachshund. In Holland, dogs are welcome almost everywhere, even inside many stores and restaurants, and certainly on rapid transit. The bus ride over was fun and casual, along the dike and then through small towns and villages. Tiel is about half an hour away from Culemborg in the Riverland. We crossed no major rivers to get there, but left on the southern bank of one, the Lek, and finished on the northern bank of another, the all important Waal. Tiel is one of several major cities along the Waal River. The Waal is the main tributary that leads from Rotterdam up to the Rhine and its gateways to Europe. As such, the Waal is one of the most heavily trafficked rivers in the world. Tiel is quaint. No other word gives the city justice. Apart from the sprawl common to the outlying areas of most Dutch towns, there is much charm and there are many shopping opportunities in the centrum. Like so many Dutch and European towns, Tiel was all but destroyed during World War Two, to be rebuilt carefully with an eye to its past and a mind to its future. The area around Tiel is surrounded by orchards, and Tiel was the home of the jam company de Betuwe until 1993. A cartoon character called Flipje graced the company’s advertising since the 1930’s. A statue of the raspberry-based humanoid Flipje is one of the modest highlights of Tiel’s central district. As with most centers in Holland, forget your car and visit on foot. Tiel’s main street runs parallel to the Waal until it reaches a distinct V. One branch of the V leads away from the shops and into a more open area where street venders ply their trade, then past them toward the old city gate and wall. Pass through the open gate and you find the river beyond, with a large parking area for water sport enthusiasts between the wall and the Waal, so to speak. Large transport barges head up the river and down, covered with pods. You can tell if the pods are full or empty by how low the barge rides in the water. Going back through the gate, you enter a large square with a playful fountain that sprays according to a modest computer program. This part of the square is dominated by restaurants and their requisite sidewalk seating. On our visit, no one was busy yet. We made our way down a side street lined with more shops, including a fair trade store whose owner, as it turns out, has family in Mesa, Arizona. It IS a small world. Later, we had a cup of coffee on the second floor of the local Hema department store. The window overlooked the V from the first juncture. Prominent in the plaza below stood Flipje, smiling from every inch of his four foot stature. Daan sat at our feet while I snapped a couple of pictures. As we were leaving the waitress came over to Annemieke to explain to her that the dog was actually not permitted in the eating area of Hema, for future reference. I was impressed by the consideration to wait until we were done rather than stop us altogether. Of course, it could have been economics. The best part of Tiel, though, was the very new adventure it offered Diane and me. On two occasions, in two separate stores along the first street, we saw women’s clothes on sale on outside racks. Both times, we found something we liked for Di. Both times, we went for it and bought outfits at a price that would make any Dutchman or Scotsman proud. But the best thing was that we bought them without Di trying them on first, with total confidence that they would fit. And they did! It added to the depth of our experience to know that Di could find something beautiful to wear right off the rack. So, maybe you should never be caught dead in Tiel, but if you are at least you can be well dressed when you go.

Travelblog 7: More to Holland: den Haag

Travelblog 7: There’s More to Holland than Amsterdam: den Haag When most people think of the Netherlands they see images of tulips and windmills. Then they think about Amsterdam, one of the most cosmopolitan cities in the world. Most visitors to Holland concentrate a good amount of their energies on that fabulous city, but there is more to Holland than Amsterdam, or windmills, or tulips. A prime example is the seat of government, den Haag (the Hague). Den Haag not only houses the Dutch parliament in the Binnehof, it also serves as home for the World Court of the United Nations. Beyond that, the city is a treasure trove of Dutch history and art. In an earlier blog I talked about the Grote Kerk (Great Church), where three of the Huygens family are buried. The building is a masterpiece of engineering and construction on a par with every major church in every major city in Europe. Having been allowed inside when the church was totally empty, not just of people but of pews, I had the chance to see how really huge the building is. The Mauritshuis would fit inside it, I think. The Mauritshuis is one of the most enjoyable art museums in the world. Three stories tall, the Mauritshuis was build in the 1630’s by Jacob van Campen for Johan Maurits of Nassau, cousin to Prince of Orange Frederick Henry. Constantijn Huygens oversaw the building while Maurits was on expedition to Brazil. Huygens built his own house right next door, but that home no longer stands. The Mauritshuis is the permanent home for Vermeer’s “Girl with the Pearl Earring.,” plus a treasure trove of great works in an up close and personal setting seldom possible in larger museums. The Mauritshuis serves as a focal point for the city. The Binnehof (Parliament Building) is right next door. The central shopping district is a short walk away. Den Haag’s centrum is as nice as any in Holland. A large plaza stretches from the back of the Mauritshuis to the first street of the central area. Restaurants line the plaza, with outdoor seating in good weather. The plaza itself is often crowded with some sort of fair or event. On this last trip the square was covered with book dealers selling old books. At one corner of the plaza, the centrum really begins. From pizza to Surinamese food, from the latest fashion to the most expensive fountain pen, den Haag has it all, right there, right now. Not far away, Constantijn Huygens built a summer home, a retreat from the rigors of court. He designed it to look like a man when seen from above. The small house sits on the edge of a large pond, forming a head and hair. Carefully positioned groves of trees make up the rest of the shape – neck, torso, arms and legs. Unfortunately, half the land has given way to city growth, but the home, called Hofwijck, remains. The word “Hofwijck” translates as “Avoid Court.” Huygens, a composer and poet as well as diplomat and art patron, obviously had a sense of humor. His second son, Christiaan, was one of the greatest scientists of the age. A working model of his pendulum clock ticks away on the second floor at Hofwijck. Two other tourist-friendly vacation destinations are within minutes of central den Haag. The beach resort Scheveningen is den Haag’s summer playhouse, with long beaches and a pier that juts out a goodly distance into the North Sea. There is a yearly sand castle contest that tests the limits of what sand can build. The theme for the one we saw was “The Lion King.” The castles were actually statues, including one of a grinning Elton John replete with very wide sunglasses playing and singing wildly at the piano. Then there is another major attraction, Madurodam, nothing less than a miniature of Holland itself. The artists of Madurodam are so precise that their buildings will reflect any ongoing re-construction on the actual building in real time. From windmills to Schiphol Airport to tiny masterworks inside the halls of a minute Rijksmuseum, the highlights of the Netherlands are right there in precise detail. It is amazing to me that there is so much to see and enjoy in one municipality, let alone so small a country. My brother likes to point out that there is much more to Europe than just the Netherlands. I know he’s right, but I haven’t seen all of the Netherlands yet.

Travelblog 7: More to Holland than Amsterdam: den Haag

When most people think of the Netherlands they see images of tulips and windmills. Then they think about Amsterdam, one of the most cosmopolitan cities in the world. Most visitors to Holland concentrate a good amount of their energies on that fabulous city, but there is more to Holland than Amsterdam, or windmills, or tulips. A prime example is the seat of government, den Haag (the Hague). Den Haag not only houses the Dutch parliament in the Binnehof, it also serves as home for the World Court of the United Nations. Beyond that, the city is a treasure trove of Dutch history and art. In an earlier blog I talked about the Grote Kerk (Great Church), where three of the Huygens family are buried. The building is a masterpiece of engineering and construction on a par with every major church in every major city in Europe. Having been allowed inside when the church was totally empty, not just of people but of pews, I had the chance to see how really huge the building is. The Mauritshuis would fit inside it, I think. The Mauritshuis is one of the most enjoyable art museums in the world. Three stories tall, the Mauritshuis was build in the 1630’s by Jacob van Campen for Johan Maurits of Nassau, cousin to Prince of Orange Frederick Henry. Constantijn Huygens oversaw the building while Maurits was on expedition to Brazil. Huygens built his own house right next door, but that home no longer stands. The Mauritshuis is the permanent home for Vermeer’s “Girl with the Pearl Earring.,” plus a treasure trove of great works in an up close and personal setting seldom possible in larger museums. The Mauritshuis serves as a focal point for the city. The Binnehof (Parliament Building) is right next door. The central shopping district is a short walk away. Den Haag’s centrum is as nice as any in Holland. A large plaza stretches from the back of the Mauritshuis to the first street of the central area. Restaurants line the plaza, with outdoor seating in good weather. The plaza itself is often crowded with some sort of fair or event. On this last trip the square was covered with book dealers selling old books. At one corner of the plaza, the centrum really begins. From pizza to Surinamese food, from the latest fashion to the most expensive fountain pen, den Haag has it all, right there, right now. Not far away, Constantijn Huygens built a summer home, a retreat from the rigors of court. He designed it to look like a man when seen from above. The small house sits on the edge of a large pond, forming a head and hair. Carefully positioned groves of trees make up the rest of the shape – neck, torso, arms and legs. Unfortunately, half the land has given way to city growth, but the home, called Hofwijck, remains. The word “Hofwijck” translates as “Avoid Court.” Huygens, a composer and poet as well as diplomat and art patron, obviously had a sense of humor. His second son, Christiaan, was one of the greatest scientists of the age. A working model of his pendulum clock ticks away on the second floor at Hofwijck. Two other tourist-friendly vacation destinations are within minutes of central den Haag. The beach resort Scheveningen is den Haag’s summer playhouse, with long beaches and a pier that juts out a goodly distance into the North Sea. There is a yearly sand castle contest that tests the limits of what sand can build. The theme for the one we saw was “The Lion King.” The castles were actually statues, including one of a grinning Elton John replete with very wide sunglasses playing and singing wildly at the piano. Then there is another major attraction, Madurodam, nothing less than a miniature of Holland itself. The artists of Madurodam are so precise that their buildings will reflect any ongoing re-construction on the actual building in real time. From windmills to Schiphol Airport to tiny masterworks inside the halls of a minute Rijksmuseum, the highlights of the Netherlands are right there in precise detail. It is amazing to me that there is so much to see and enjoy in one municipality, let alone so small a country. My brother likes to point out that there is much more to Europe than just the Netherlands. I know he’s right, but I haven’t seen all of the Netherlands yet.

Travelblog 6:Crossing Borders 2: Nordham, Germany

A few kilometers over the border between Holland and Germany is a small city called Nordham. It is not a very important town, apparently. I could not find it by search engine. I barely spotted it on one map of Germany after painstaking search. The search engines all wanted to direct me to Northheim, a city much much farther to the south (500 kilometers, to be exact). Perhaps this is a good thing for Nordham. The city can remain a bit sleepy, a sort of oasis for the farmers in the region. It is plenty big to entertain a lovely centrum with many shopping opportunities, plus a very large Costco-like single building shopping arena that does not require a membership card to get in. There is little to make Nordham special in my memory. A river runs through it, a very small and narrow river that branches off and makes the centrum virtually an island. I never learned the name of the river. Ducks, however, love it. There is a very large and impressive church on one side of the centrum, and the center itself is lined with stores, a bakery, and a few nice places to eat. We stopped for coffee at one, sitting outside along one branch of the river. The waitress was very pleasant, but all she spoke was German. She did not speak English, or even a little Dutch. At that moment I felt far removed from the world I know, like a real tourist out of water. It was a refreshing experience. There was one remarkable thing about Nordham that I will always remember. In two separate places there were plaques to show where synagogues stood before the War. The synagogues did not return in peacetime, but the people of Nordham decided that it was important to remember where they stood. It was another example of holding onto memory, even horrible ones. Perhaps it demonstrates that level of cultural maturity that seems to run through Europe at present, the same sort of maturity that has allowed the nations on that continent to form the European Union. War may not be completely a thing of the past for the Europeans within that union, but they want it to be. Honoring the memory of the victims of past wars is an excellent way to promote peaceful cooperation among generations who otherwise might never know about events like the Holocaust. These people do not forget their history; they embrace it, even in small places that Google cannot find, like Nordham.

Travelblog 5: Crossing Borders

I don’t know what I expected. While we were “camping” in Dinkelland, we were only a few kilometers from the Dutch-German border. One afternoon, we decided to cross over into Germany just to see what we could see. Part of our motivation, I have to admit, was to able to report to family and friends that Diane and I saw something besides the Netherlands. Part of us was curious how different Germany would be. Mostly, though, it was something to do. It didn’t take long before we had left Holland and slipped into German territory. You would never have known it except for the signs, “Leaving Dinkleland,” and “Welcome to Germany,” the first in Dutch and the second, peculiarly enough, in German. Otherwise, everything seemed pretty much the same. The farmhouses looked similar; the terrain was just an extension of what we had left. The roads were pretty much the same, too – no autobahn out there. I felt cheated, somehow. I wondered at the openness, as if I was crossing from Idaho into Montana, not one whole country into another. I don’t know what I expected: barbed wire and armed guards patrolling? Checkpoints with officious border guards checking papers? We had our passports with us, just in case. But there was no barbed wire. There was no check point. There were no patrols or guards. It was, just, simple, easy, welcoming. I admit to a certain inherent prejudice against Germany, a certain expectation. My image is born of stories from a terrible time long ago, before I was even born. I have fought all my life to control those feelings, knowing they have no relevance in the modern world. And on that late September afternoon, I could see for myself how much the world, or at least Europe, had changed from the place my parents knew. It was refreshing. And yet, I hovered over a different memory, from 2004. We crossed a border then, and were stopped by a border patrol several kilometers in from the border on the main road. The soldiers were polite but grim. We noticed that there were men in the tall grass on either side of the road with heavy machine guns pointed at us. We asked the young soldier who approached us what was going on and he answered, in sparkling English, “Just routine, Sir.” He then looked us over and apparently decided that two middle aged Americans and an Englishwoman (our friend Candida) were no threat. He waved us through. That was in Northern Ireland, crossing over from the Irish Republic on our way to Belleek. The soldiers were Irish in the British military. Nine years later I puzzled over the fact that the Germans felt safer at their border than the Northern Irish did at theirs. In 1922, Hendrick Wilhelm van Loon wrote that change does come. It can be painfully slow, but it does come. Just crossing a border, I saw that he was right, and I began to feel a change within myself.

Travelblog 4: Bikes, Trains and Automobiles

Getting around in Holland is amazingly easy and efficient. Trains can take you almost anywhere, and where they don’t go you can always find a bus or tram that will. The road system is both immaculate and brilliantly planned, so if you are fortunate enough to own an automobile, or share one like Erik and Annemieke do, using a car is also very easy. But cars cannot beat the rapid transit system for going to the centers of larger towns like Amsterdam, Arnhem, den Bosch, den Haag, or Rotterdam. Between the cost of gas to get there and the cost of parking to be close to the center, you probably will pay less if you travel by train and/or bus. On top of that, if you buy a transportation card for a set amount, you get ticket discounts and a very convenient scan in-scan out system that keeps track of what you have spent. Travel guru Rick Steves swears by such cards, and I’m with him. Because we could not afford to rent a car this trip, and because Annemieke now has a driver’s license and part-time access to a car, we spent much of our vacation on the rails. Each trip was a comfortable and delightful experience. The trains are clean and well maintained, with roomy seating. If you travel during commuter hours seats might be a bit hard to find, but as a visitor you can pick less crowded times to go longer distances. If your destination is a larger city, you will be stunned by the bustle of activity in the central stations. Most have major shopping opportunities right there, from Starbuck’s to Albert Hein Express, and just off the main area stores selling just about anything you could want. It’s like airports, only better (Sorry, no duty-free for international travelers). The most amazing thing to me wherever I go is that there is so much stuff available to buy, and there are so many people dependent on our desire and ability to buy. I keep wondering how we all can afford all that stuff. But we do. And if you are a commuter in Holland, merchants of all sorts have made certain that you can find them while en route to work or home. The train system connects the country with remarkable ease and speed. Once in a city, using the trams or buses is just as easy, and the same travel card can be used to pay for it as long as you have enough credit on the card. And it’s fun – I love being able to sit back and watch the city roll by me while somebody else has the responsibility of driving. With my Dutch relatives along, I don’t even have to worry about watching for my stop! We used the train to get to all those cities mentioned above. We took the bus from the central station to the rock show in den Bosch. We took the tram in Amsterdam. We took a bus ride through the country from Culemborg to Tiel, where Diane found an outfit on a sale rack outside a lady’s store and could buy it with utter confidence that it could fit and would be stylin’ in America. Erik and I took a bus and tram, the slow way, through the fields around Culemborg to Viannen and then on to Utrecht, then took the regular train line back. We determined that a car was not a necessity in Holland, like it is here in Montana. Here rapid transit is a 70 MPH speed limit. In Holland, all you need is the trains and buses and trams and a good pair of walking shoes, or a bike. Bikes are still big in Holland. Wherever you go, there are bikes parked along bridge rails, store fronts, and train stations. Bicycle parking lots are always full. This trip, we experienced that first hand as well. For me, it was the first time I had been on a bike since 2007. For Di it was the first time since she was 17 years old.. And we survived. Not only did we survive, we enjoyed it. Erik and I shopped for groceries, splitting the load between us. Then we biked out into the country. Di and Annemieke biked on the trails around Ootmarsum in Dinkelland, and even crossed the border into Germany on their bikes. I think it safe to say that, as closely as possible, on this trip Diane and I went native and lived to tell about it.

Travelblog 3: Arnhem, Market Garden and Living Art

Sixty-nine tears ago, the Allies began a military campaign designed to liberate the Netherlands from German occupation. On June 6, they had successfully landed in Normandy and by August they had liberated the city of Paris. Now they turned their attention to freeing another ally controlled and oppressed by the German war machine since May 1940. The operation was called Market Garden. Key to the plan was capturing the primary bridge at Arnhem. This operation was the subject of Cornelius Ryan’s book (later a film) A Bridge Too Far. The fighting that took place in and around Arnhem, as well as other places throughout the region, was intense and bloody. Near Overloon, for example, the biggest tank battle to ever take place on Dutch soil occurred. Now a magnificent museum sits on that battle site, called Liberty Park. My brother Ted, who is visiting this weekend, and our good friend Joop, who lives here on Flathead Lake, were very young men in Holland during the occupation. They both remember Market Garden and the sudden wonderful hope that Holland’s war soon would be over. The operation failed and the Allied forces had to pull back. A good part of Holland remained under German control until the very end of the war seven months later. For me, the connection to those events is strong and palpable, partly through these two fine people close to my heart, partly because of my own empathy for people caught up in combat, partly because of my affinity for all things Dutch, good and bad. Yet, in our several previous trips to Holland I had never gone to Arnhem. This trip gave me my first chance in a roundabout way. Erik and Annemieke arranged a “camping” trip to the east of Holland in an area called Dinkelland (gotta love it), where we stayed for six days in a very comfortable cottage. We arrived on Saturday, September 28. On Sunday, in Arnhem, dozens of street artists and actor-performers were scheduled to set themselves up as living statues for a four hour outdoor exhibit that covered most of downtown Arnhem. Erik wanted to go. With his deep love for and talent with photography, this was an ideal opportunity, hopefully, to get some great pictures. As it turned out, a very large crush of like-minded people had the same idea. In fact, over one hundred thousand people came to see the Living Art exhibit. The performers were wonderful, the costuming and subjects imaginatively and meticulously presented, and each “display” was stationed far enough from the previous one on a pre-determined course that none were lost in the journey. There was one woman posing as Vermeer’s, The Kitchen Maid, her entire tableau looking like it was made of chocolate, including her. There were statues of Beethoven, Joan of Arc, Mary Poppins, Don Quixote, a frontiersman, a pirate captain, and many, many others. My favorite was a young boy seated on a toilet reading a book. I watched him for several minutes, admiring the fact that he never moved an eyelash. The city embraced the moment with delight and well-organized chaos. The crush of spectators and photographers were having a wonderful time. And yet, my thoughts returned again and again to those terrible days sixty-nine years before. The scars of that battle have all but disappeared. I doubt that anyone could find the areas that were shot to pieces without a proper and very knowledgeable guide. Before the Living Art exhibit began, Erik and I had lunch in La Place, inside the largest bookstore in Arnhem. Looking around at the buildings surrounding the dining room, I kept reflecting on that combat and on the war that was so horrific it should have ended all wars for good. It did, within the confines of Western Europe. Yet there was not one shred of evidence to be seen. But the historians knew. On the display tables in the bookstore, not fifty feet from where we dined, were at least two dozen books on some aspect of Market Garden and the fighting in Arnhem. At least half a dozen were written specifically for the youth market. It made me take pause. It seems to me that the Dutch have long memories, and that they want to make sure that future generations mark and remember as well. If they can do that, if they can reach beyond the living memories of people like my brother and my friend, perhaps they can keep memory alive for future generations. Mark the terror that struck Arnhem 69 years ago. Remember what war can do. Then go out and make living art.