From my sitting room, today.
An antidote to the following first two paragraphs,
which are melancholy and grey.
 |
David Brooks
New York Times journalist |
After
last week's delightful wander in the garden of illuminated
manuscripts while assiduously ignoring American Trumpery, this week
after the xenophobic and shoddy election, one just has to wonder
aloud at what has happened to cause this tectonic shift in the
culture of the U.S. echoing, as it does, the ugliness of the far
Right parties in France, Spain, Germany, Scandinavia, Eastern Europe.
I have fairly recently discovered the marvel that is the New York
International Times and I read it two or three times a week. It has
become my political bible on American politics, with its incisive
comment pieces in particular. I discover, from a super piece by David
Brooks at the weekend that populism [against which I have been
ranting since the Brexit campaign] is always a warning sign that
there is some deeper dysfunction in a country's economic, social and
cultural systems. Globalisation, unfettered capitalism, and weak
governments which do not seek to mitigate the worst effects of the
first two, contribute. The arrogance of the rich, the bankers,
capitalists, in accepting the relatively recent huge increases in
their wealth and their apparent disregard of the very real
adversity faced by the majority, have become insupportable. And
the disconnected, the powerless, have struck back and to electrifying
effect.
So
welcome to the prospect of terrible people as Supreme Court judges;
States implicitly encouraged to indulge in even more 'voter
suppression'; Jim Crow barely concealed. Oh dear, Europe might add,
N.A.T.O. David Brooks hopefully suggests that Trump's main problems
will be his own attention span, ignorance and incompetence while
blithely and cheerfully guessing that the man will probably resign or
be impeached within a year. A cheerful, possibly over-optimistic,
note on which to end this depressing little soliloquy.
 |
One example of Nov 15th activity in putting away terraces till
next year. Hotel Craenenburg in the Markt, a more
traditional café than most in that area. |
And now
back to Brugge and the thankfulness of acknowledging that I do not want
to know too much about the labyrinthine politics of Belgium. Today,
November 15, important things are happening here. Christmas
decorations are up in Genthof; the wooden chalets for the Christmas
Market were in the Markt this afternoon and everywhere, cafe terraces
had disappeared or were disappearing. November 15 is
obviously deemed Disappear Day and I remember last year being shocked
when I noticed that all the terraces had vanished, virtually
overnight. Now I realise it is timed to coincide with the Christmas
Market celebrations even if not all the aforementioned terraces are
anywhere near the Christmas Market locations. Certainly pavements are
roomier and the November weather today, very Bruges La Morte, with
misty, moisty, dim greyness, doesn't invite anyone to sit over a
coffee at a little table on the cobblestones. I was surprised though
this afternoon to see that the spanking new, expensive glass-sided
terrace outside Tom Pouce in the Burg came under the heading of
temporary [though it did look expensively permanent] because it, too,
had disappeared since yesterday almost entirely.
 |
| En route through Astrid Park earlier this week. |
We have
had an abundance of glorious sunny early Autumn weather but this
morning's foggy vapour, through which the Belfort was barely visible
though it normally almost knocks on my windows, was strangely
welcome. As I said, it is very Bruges la Morte; very reminiscent of
the Georges Rodenbach 1892 mournful elegy to his dead love and so poetically
evocative. I almost love the dim wetness, the slimy, russet leaves
dying beneath one's feet, the emerging skeletons of the many trees, dripping moisture,
guarding squares and corners beside grey, silent canals, more than the
bright and shining summer days. These late, quiet, hazy days
encourage a blessed anonymity; give a melancholy space for recollection
and memory and alone-ness in the often crowded streets. This
face of Autumn encourages introspection and a public privacy that is
as mysterious as it is compelling.
 |
| They also serve ....... |
