A record of a lovely shopping morning to begin this week's effort. Tuesday
last, set off to beat the imminent rain, to go to Kruidvat, a cheap
shop selling all manner of cosmetics and shampoos etc plus a ghastly
section of sweets. Boots it isn't [how occasionally I yearn for
Boots] but it is the ideal place to go to top up on certain heavy
items like John Frieda stuff, toothpaste etc. There is a phalanx of
private chemists here selling perfectly ordinary necessities like
Listerine at eye-watering prices. I had not noticed before I came to
live in Brugge, that private chemists are virtually non-existent in
the UK, Boots having, over the years, made that impossible, I
suppose. Life sans Boots certainly changes the landscape for the British shopper.
I strolled along Steenstraat, pulling the old-lady-bag-on-wheels, now
heavy with purchases, to try to remember which shop had sold me the
best shoes which I have worn for months. I now know that, despite the
picturesque quality of the cobblestones everywhere, they are
uncomfortable to walk on and my Maruti sneakers are cushioned to aid
the weary elderly totter across the same. Found the shop, with almost
no other shoes by the same Italian maker but I did find another
manufacturer's smart flat [important] black ankle boots though the
cushion within the soles is thinner. The dark grey/black animal print
at the toe end, was irresistible!
On
something of a shopping high I then bought some warm pyjamas which
can only be described as 'cute' [oh dear] and a fab black T shirt
which reads My Favourite Princess is ME in silver across the chest.
Intended for Genevieve who will applaud the sentiment but it was the
last one and is for an eight year old while she is four and a half,
or nearly five as she insists. As she has recently gone to California
to live and is big for her age, I am hoping it will be almost fine by
next February/March when I visit.
In
Etam, now French-owned apparently, the chirpy blonde who served me
was great; full of bounce and self-belief, she
insisted that the cartoon cat-face on my new pyjamas was NOT juvenile; 'It's joyful' she said, and confided that coming
to live in Brugge in 2000 with her husband, had awakened her soul as
she described it, and she now paints naif pictures. She has to work as a
sales assistant to contribute to the family budget, and paints when
she can, feeling sure that, in the future, she will sell and make a
living from her painting. One of Life's Enhancers, I decided as I
left, admiring, and cheered beyond belief.
This blog tends not to aim to be a diary but to highlight places and people I have come across who are interesting or eccentric or historically noteworthy in some way. It is an exercise in idiosyncratic self-indulgence I suppose. That written, the paragraphs above are slightly diary-like but no apologies for that!
Off to find Sint Janshospitaal last Wednesday, the hospital not the museum, and reflected on the bus, on the pluses of life in Bruges. Passing a crowd of swans on the canal along Gulden Vlieslaan, I admired and vowed again, to find out why there are so many here. There is bound to be some legend about, or even a reason for, their presence. They do add grace and elegance and somehow, an aura of permanence. The orthopaedic consultant enlightened me about my arthritic foot, which only appeared in May. It is called Lis-Franc arthritis, is the hardest to treat and the most painful to have. Ironically given my triumphant find of the chic black boots the day before, I discovered that I have to wear MBT shoes to restrict flexibility in the foot, thus reducing the pain. The doctor told me that ladies did not like them which I subsequently discover means that they are ugly and expensive. I go in search to Ghent next week!!
But the place itself was an amazing experience. First, it was unexpected to see the hundreds, perhaps thousands, of pilgrims, as it were, milling around, queueing, reading the many information boards. Once the guided tour [excellent] had begun,
it was the long, long room with the glass down
one long side, behind which was an extended mountain of shoes and boots, all worn, with a few more dainty, flirty pairs arranged along the front edge, which made one catch the breath. Similar silent testimonies to long-dead, long-murdered owners were evidenced in huge heaps of cooking pots and utensils, luggage marked with owners' names, children's shoes, hair, prayer shawls. It was not only the intimacy of the formerly treasured possessions which shocked, it was the countless numbers of these, the sheer multitudinous display bearing eloquent testimony to the barbaric fate of the owners. There were myriad photographs of a small proportion of the victims in striped uniforms, and information panels to further enlighten and depress. The sheer scale and ingenuity of the sustained attempt to kill all European Jewry, was unimaginable. It was a draining, but valuable experience.
I normally assume that virtually no one reads this blog. Even so, I received two comments last week; one offering information on Louis Reckelbus, the artist whose home I visited during the Open Monuments weekend recently, which I would love to have and the other commenting on a place featured in the blog several weeks ago. The second read: 'Frou Frou; seriously the best hat shop in Europe if not the whole planet'. I took a copy over today to Mardy who owns Frou Frou which is almost next door to me, and she was Seriously Thrilled, so thank you Mary! A copy of your most welcome comment is now in [another] window of Frou Frou!
it was the long, long room with the glass down
one long side, behind which was an extended mountain of shoes and boots, all worn, with a few more dainty, flirty pairs arranged along the front edge, which made one catch the breath. Similar silent testimonies to long-dead, long-murdered owners were evidenced in huge heaps of cooking pots and utensils, luggage marked with owners' names, children's shoes, hair, prayer shawls. It was not only the intimacy of the formerly treasured possessions which shocked, it was the countless numbers of these, the sheer multitudinous display bearing eloquent testimony to the barbaric fate of the owners. There were myriad photographs of a small proportion of the victims in striped uniforms, and information panels to further enlighten and depress. The sheer scale and ingenuity of the sustained attempt to kill all European Jewry, was unimaginable. It was a draining, but valuable experience.
I normally assume that virtually no one reads this blog. Even so, I received two comments last week; one offering information on Louis Reckelbus, the artist whose home I visited during the Open Monuments weekend recently, which I would love to have and the other commenting on a place featured in the blog several weeks ago. The second read: 'Frou Frou; seriously the best hat shop in Europe if not the whole planet'. I took a copy over today to Mardy who owns Frou Frou which is almost next door to me, and she was Seriously Thrilled, so thank you Mary! A copy of your most welcome comment is now in [another] window of Frou Frou!
In case anyone from Brugge happens to read this, Frou Frou needs new premises; fairly central, inexpensive, if such be available, attractive windows awaiting fabulous displays!
