Wandering into culture

Such an interesting and varied day on Saturday last, in company with Michele, my neighbour on the floor above. I call her The Oracle as She Knows Everything, especially about life in Brugge and about Brugge!

The weather blessed us as we wandered through empty, quiet streets towards the Guido Gezelle Museum, itself a serious oasis of peace. I think it has relatively few visitors, [most tourists don't find it and don't, I suspect, even look for it or know that it is there.] But G.G is a nationally important literary figure in Belgium and is considered one of the most important poets in Dutch literature. Born in Brugge [1830] and living most of his life in West Flanders, he worked as a teacher and Roman Catholic priest in Roeselare for many years before returning to Brugge, to the house where he was born, close to the English Convent on Carmerstraat where he became its official priest. As well as producing a huge canon of poetry and other writing, he translated the poetry and prose of others, for instance, Longfellow's Song of Hiawatha [1886]

His house, with its huge and splendid garden, is now a modern museum devoted to his memory with numerous photographs of the great man and his family, and also artefacts, some furniture and beautiful engraved window glass. There is also a striking extension constructed within what seems to have been a long barn during his lifetime. This provides a beautiful space for external exhibitions, presently one called Passe Compose showing a small part of the extensive collection of the Gruuthuse Museum. Gezelle had strong connections with that museum; the town archivist, Felix D'Hoop, an English art historian, James Weale who spent most of his life in Brugge, and G.G. set up the Archaeological Society of Brugge in 1865 and in 1876 the city of Brugge bought the Gruuthuse, an early mediaeval building constructed at the start of the fifteenth century, to house the rapidly-expanding collection of the Archaeological Society.

Passe Compose [ there should be an accent on each final 'e'. It means, as we all know, Past Perfect, a beautiful title] shows a range of exhibits but my absolutely favourite exhibits were the small stone figures, some mediaeval, some as late as the nineteenth century, originally gracing churches or grand houses, and depicting, predictably in this town of Mary, the Virgin, saints and including one stunning statue of Tristan and Isolde.

The personification of the mediaeval legend of romantic love.

 Between Tristan, the Cornish knight and Iseult, [Isolde] the Irish princess.

We went for a coffee break which turned into a beer break at the Cafe Vlissinghe, nearby, currently celebrating its unbroken 500 years of commercial activity! We sat outside where there is now a stylish terrace, a covered seating area and the updated but ever-present, petanque alley. When Eric and I first discovered it, the outside area was somewhat rougher! The interior remains the same however; old Brugge writ large I think; dark, beamed, dark wooden tables, chandelier. Really cosy and atmospheric in winter and now alas often crowded with tourists who have read about it on Trip Advisor. I remember Eric's oft-repeated cry, 'Bring back elitism darling', which used to appal me but which always pops irresistibly to mind in the Vlissinghe. When Michele and I went, however, it was blessedly almost empty.

For lunch we decided to grace 't Terrastje opposite the Carmerbrug at the end of Genthof and tucked neatly into a sheltered corner. Ian, English, and Patricia, Dutch, own it and though they work very hard, often helped by Patricia's parents, they never seem to take it all too seriously and often swan off on some holiday or other, leaving the locals without a nearby terrace to sit on, should the rain ever stop.

After which, more culture in the Volkskundemuseum which advertised a little exhibition on the Vlissinghe's 500 years, as well as its usual panoply of everyday life over the last hundred and fifty years. It is fascinating; schoolroom, apoteek, domestic interiors, grocery shop, saddlery; the list goes on. The Vlissinghe exhibition was unexpectedly small and disappointing and the man on the door, incredibly grumpy and disinterested but the saving grace was De Zwarte Kat, the little bar at one end of the museum, run by a hugely cheerful volunteer and popular with the punters. Until April, Aristide, the resident black cat, was an important part of the experience but sadly, Aristide has disappeared, now presumed to be strolling the meadows of the Elysian Fields as he contemplates his erstwhile fame. Down below there were several posters in the area pleading for his return. Only later did I discover that Aristide did a runner when news broke that the Museum was to close in the face of economic stringency. So the rather disillusioned chap on the door must have been a perhaps unwilling volunteer!

As we began to stroll homewards, we decided on impulse to go to Sint Jeruzalemkerk and to my delight, Veronique, whom I know, was the volunteer on duty there [and she is the example, par excellence, of the committed, engaged volunteer] and she allowed us to climb the tower and enjoy the marvellous view. It is my favourite church in Brugge, built by Anselm Adornes, business man, diplomat, aristocrat, knight. The church, really a little family chapel  was inspired by the St Sepulchre Church in Jerusalem, and was consecrated in 1429. It is small and utterly special. There is a mansion adjoining the church and an interesting museum behind in low buildings which were originally twelve Godshuizen, almshouses; six now remain. It is amazing that the whole complex is still owned by the same family today, the present seventeenth generation being the Count and Countess Maximilien de Limburg Stirum.

In all, our Saturday spanned nine hours and satisfied, par excellence, the cultural appetite. I suppose if your interests are for football or perhaps famous people, then Brugge might be found wanting but for anyone with even a little interest in the life historical, it is fascinating and never fails to engage this visitor. I am, in fact, after seven months, nearly a real resident, nearly the possessor of the much-needed ID card; the commune promised two to three weeks and that was about two weeks ago. And, oh yes, on the subject of football, there was some important match last evening HERE between Man United and Brugge. Didn't even know that Bruges had a proper football team. I have just checked the local news on the Internet and see, approvingly, that Sir Bobby Charlton was here to support and is pictured drinking the local brew, Brugse Zot, with the Burgemeester, in the Markt yesterday. Less approvingly, I read that three Man United fans beat up a Bruggeling, a young inhabitant of Brugge. Oh dear.

Exhibiting Interest.

I know I wrote about the Triennale some time ago but keep going back to single items as I pass them in transit, as it were, and find continual fascination. Eighteen international artists were asked to consider 'What if the five million tourists who visit Brugge every year, should decide to stay?' Bruges is represented as Urb-Egg [on a map, Brugge is egg-shaped within the outer canals] and the Triennale seeks to crack the Bruges 'egg' from the inside to reinvent the city. The installations and 'interventions' by the selected artists try to pose questions about the future of the city and its potential. They ask about urbanisation, citizenship, lifestyle, community, economics, energy, space, sound, and guiding values. The results of the artists' efforts are intended to cause reflection and wonder. And each little visit by me has done just that; it has made me stop and think about the ideas and questions posed.

The one illustrated below is in the Burg and is probably the one I notice most often as I pass by.

The explanation for this presentation, displayed nearby, is as follows:

The Burg is the geographical and metaphorical heart of Bruges. With the town hall and the administrative services on one side of the square and the Basilica of the Holy Blood on the other, it represents both a political and religious centre. The words above, picked out in lights, come from a radio interview with a New York resident who said that for the city to move forward after the 9/11 attacks, it would have to find a new way to think and to perceive that would lead to "a place beyond belief."

But now to matters more domestic. I have had Michael, my stepson, staying for a few days and so have taken him to a number of different places and sights in Brugge, chiefly on foot although on Tuesday 18 we went outside the city to Stock Americain Vermeersch to look for pots for the terrace. It turned out to be an astonishingly enormous place where different tradesmen go to buy the necessary, for maintenance and installation. The variety of pots stocked, proved also to be wide and the availability of a strong resident porter, who gave, in addition, advice and counsel, invaluable. After which, two more little chairs for the terrace, purchased and transported today, are now in place. Gradually getting to grips with that outside space at last though still trying to appreciate the terrace conditions; shadow for half the day; sun, when it comes, without any shade; cooler up here on the third floor at all times save when hot and breeze-less; no wind to a light breeze to the occasional spine-bending gale. Rather different from the small, sheltered garden and shady courtyard at No 1 in Wye! But how often I have wished I had brought a couple of statues and the fairly numerous small trees in large pots, with me to Brugge!

Seeing Bruges through a visitor's eyes is interesting; much of it is now chiefly familiar for me but there is a renewed sensation, with a companion, in breakfast at Le Pain Quotidien, or a wander around Astrid Park, or lunch at de Belegde Boterham. We saw a superb exhibition at Manna Art in Heilige-Geeststraat with one room full of large swirling portraits of African faces, impressionistic, powerful and penetrating in the way each 'spoke' to the observer. Yesterday, after the gardening pots expedition we went straight on to Lissewege where I wanted to see the 21st exhibition of sculptures, the  Beeldenroute. This year, there were many, many exhibits in the huge Knights Templar church, and dotted around the tiny 'white' village, het Witte Dorp.

Loved this one, outside the Church; reminiscent of Eric Gill

It seemed especially accommodating, creative and imaginative, of the Church authority to allow an exhibition of modern sculptures in the enormous, traditional and sacred cathedral-size space. It worked so well too; the soaring mediaeval space and the boundless light served to enhance the exhibition and at the same time, the venerable building was itself made more relevant, accessible and beautiful.

And then, about two kilometres outside the centre, [but still in Lissewege] up a long narrow lane, to Ter Doest, a little settlement where there used to be a mediaeval Abbey. Today there remains only the huge and magnificent abbey barn, a wooden cathedral of a space, stunning in its own right, and a couple of other ancient buildings, one the beautiful Hof Ter Doest, a restaurant and small hotel with its own sweeping terrace. Alas, it was a rainy day, and we compensated by going inside to warm up with a great fish soup and a beer, after wandering around the large green area in front of the barn, looking at the many, many sculptures on show. It is always a thought-provoking exhibition, but this year's exhibits seemed more numerous and interesting and riveting, sometimes literally.

To finish off a perfect day, despite the drizzle, we called in at Damme en route home where I had been to a Book Fair last Sunday [and bought a book in English on Mercator, a Belgian, a fact previously unknown to me.] Another little jewel of which West Flanders seems to have a box full. An interesting exhibition despite the lack of our Flemish, on the construction of the Napoleonic-era canal, with drawings, calculations, pictures and artifacts, in the Town Hall. I may have seen the largest pair of workman's sabots ever, there! Difficult to imagine life in Damme two hundred years ago, before the canal.

And here, the lovely little boat which takes passengers between Brugge and Damme and which I keep intending to take, but the fact that walking is quicker has, so far, managed to deter me! Incidentally, this is a lovely cycling mini-excursion, and picturesque too alongside the canal.

I went along to the Katelijnestraat celebrations the day before my guest arrived and couldn't resist a shot of this pretty old lace-maker. There were several others busy with their lace-craft, though hardly dressed for the part, in the Walplein area, with tourists snapping away but this old dear, in spite of her guileless charm, was totally on the ball. She held her hand in front of her face while gesturing to the little pot of money at the front edge of her table. When I had obeyed the mercantile command, only then did she smile so winningly.

Music & Friendship

Another blog gap I fear; my trip to England and since then, a steady minor flow of visitors plus the MA [Musica Antica] Festival from July 31 to August 9 for which I had bought tickets for every concert. In fact, my elder daughter and husband, four year old Genevieve and Charlie the black Labrador all arrived on the opening day of the Festival so I was too busy to go to the first two evening concerts. Later in the week I ducked out of two more because I was too tired. Obviously too much excitement for the old girl! In spite of which, it was a wonderful Festival with several

memorable concerts.

A week after they left, I can't remember everything we did that last day of July and the first August weekend but we certainly made the most of the terrace which I have, at last, started to populate with a plant or two and some furniture. Sian and Rob marvelled at the tranquillity on the terrace and at the beauty of the soaring roof-scape and enjoyed sneaking looks at the outdoor Jacuzzi party a few doors along Genthof and in plain view from the terrace. I had bought a splendid bright green metal chair/settee arrangement with Cait, my younger daughter, plus a super plant, a Japanese evergreen in a Cloud Tree formation, according to my knowledgeable sister, to add to the wisteria with climbing clematis already in situ. Here they are:

I know we went several times to Astrid Park for the delectation of Genevieve and Charlie; indeed it is also one of my favourite spots in Brugge, almost a grand estate in parts, and tranquil too when there isn't yet another of those free rock concerts happening!

 Here are two young women in search of the children's playground:

Think that was the occasion when Sian and I went shopping leaving Rob I/c the other two. The excuse, duly executed, was to buy each other's birthday present, but we also enjoyed rather more, including a visit to my Total Favourite Shop, Sarah Pacini, the object of desire for about ten years. It never fails and the end of the July sale month meant clothes were almost affordable!

At the MA Festival, generally for the first nine days or so of August, I meet people who have become old friends through our devotion to concert-going over the years. There is a large group of German 'boys', occasionally with German girls, with a core of regulars and others who appear one year and then not for another couple of years. This year, Anke, a lovely nurse and music lover, stayed with me which was a bonus as she was The Perfect Guest! The whole group meets up before each concert for a chat and then at the end for a drink and more conversation. This year, Thomas who runs the Graz Festival, brought two friends from Graz, and Carsten, one of the Cologne mafia as it were, an art historian who works for an art auctioneer, was here for a short time; he normally manages to appear, as does Matthias, a friend of Joachim's from infants school! There are also the stalwarts Greet and Wim from Holland and Patrick from Brugge, plus, for the last two years, the handsome Dutch conservationist, Edmond. Should mention the most important trio, Joachim, Michael and Christoph who never miss and who visit Brugge at least three times a year for the Flea Market in 't Zand. It is they who urge friends from Cologne to sample the Festival and join the fun. In addition to these special friends, there are faces I have seen annually for many years; I started to attend what is now the MA Festival and which was then the Festival van Vlanderen, in 1989 with Eric, a devotee of about twenty years' standing, so I now at least nod to familiar but unknown people and often chat. It really is the most sociable and gregarious event as festivals generally are and a fixed star in my annual firmament.

En route home from the final wonderful concert on Saturday evening, at about 11.30 pm, or 23.30 as I am learning to say, I came across Benenwerk, a Groot Gratis Festijn, in the Markt and the Burg. There were serious crowds in a slightly chaotic free-for-all all presumably having sampled dancing from the list of Latino, Modern Stage [Beauty Boudoir and Tattoo Parlour!], Folk, Ballroom, Clubbin, Burlesque, Tango and more. The music was loud but almost drowned by the noise of humans Having A Good Time. Quite intoxicating though, after a three hour concert opera, I was tired and my relatively recent acquisition, my arthritic club foot, which swells with the effort of walking when fatigued, kept me resolutely on the homeward path. In seconds after turning left in the Burg, and nearly home, the streets were blessedly dark, quiet and empty!

Today, Thursday 13^th August, I walked to my three-weekly nail appointment [oh yes, have learned to acquire extra, self-indulgent habits here] and en route, met Bob, sitting outside his lovely shop, Gouts et Couleurs, on Ezelstraat. He sells interesting and stylish things for the home and I have bought two of my favourite bits of furniture on my terrace from him. Had a quick chat because of the appointment with Sofie the manicurist, if that is the right word. She is brisk and efficient, full of energy and good humour and I do look forward to seeing her. She has just returned from her annual holiday in Spain, at her parents' place and when I enquired how it had gone, she almost exploded with pleasure. She had talked earlier, about her almost perfect life; one lovely partner, two lovely little ones, ditto house, successful own business, super parents and close siblings, but had confessed, to my surprise, that the one thing she wanted to achieve before she was 30 [Oct this year!] was a proposal of marriage from Thomas, her partner. She thought that perhaps, privately, he wasn't too interested in marriage in spite of their perfect little nuclear family.

Her explosion of delight this morning heralded an ecstatic account of what Thomas had planned meticulously, and then achieved, in Spain, after phone consultations with the organisers in Spain, in April. They had gone out with friends, to their favourite entertainment, a huge presentation with different styles of dancing and dances. She had gone to the Ladies and when she returned, Thomas was, untypically, On Stage; he called her up too, on the microphone, and then proceeded to go on one knee and propose to her in front of the hundreds of people in the audience. Her friends, apprised already, recorded the whole thing on their I-Phones and on hers. He had a beautiful and elegant ring all ready [proudly shown this morning] to place upon her finger; applause all round and joyful tears from Sofie.

It was such a delight to hear her story and to witness her huge pleasure; Sofie is already at the Making Lists stage and rather demonstrates that for many, in spite of contentedly living without, Marriage is still important, both as a public pronouncement, and in her case especially, as a private fulfillment.

Gap Fortnight

Oops, where have I been for two whole weeks? Living for sure but with a sadly-reduced time to spend in Brugge.

First, back to the UK on Thurs 16^th July for the graduations of two grandsons, brothers to boot and both now with good degrees in Economics. The subsequent celebrations for my son's family were held in London at a super restaurant, Santini's, in Victoria somewhere, I think. The ceremonies were in Brighton and in Leeds so London was a good place to meet to mark the double occasion and a jolly time was had. In fact, it was great. I took the opportunity to suggest that their youngest bruv, celebrating his 19th that very same day, and also reading Economics, could try to match their successes or even do better. However, I was out of touch as usual! He is Much More Interested as Social Secretary of something or other, with the huge responsibility for arranging a pub crawl for 500 students in Freshers' Week in late Sept or early October. Much more engrossed in that and his plan to go travelling after he graduates! I do like his ability to focus on what motivates him; it was often apparent during his sometimes dodgy, younger days and will surely be a great life skill for the future.

And here, at the risk of embarrassing the boys are pictures of our two from among the thousands of successful students around the UK. I have not included shots of adoring parents and grandparents but the Birthday Boy in pink shirt is shown and Dan's girl friend, Emily, who graduated in Economics with similar success, at Brighton.

Home after the celebrations and several days spent, visiting sick friends in different parts of the UK, with younger daughter and grand-daughter Niamh coming to stay a couple of days after my return. One of the lovely things which Niamh did was to go to have a professional make-up done as a birthday present, surely a dream for any teenager? To be totally fair-handed about the family's brief appearance on this blog, I supply one of the photographs of the finished result when she came back to the apartment.



One of the Triennale structures, pictured before on this blog, really took the fancy of Niamh and her mother so, after they had gone, I went back and took another photograph of it and of the information panel nearby, I  hadn't even noticed these panels when I first wrote about the Triennale and only realised their significance some time later.

This is the structure of which I write, probably my favourite too out of the whole group. However, it is MOST interesting to read the remarks of the architect responsible for it displayed nearby as a companion plaque. It is a Gothic step gable house and is installed in a lock in the north of the Bruges 'egg' close to where the city was linked to the sea in the Middle Ages. He points out that now, instead of the flow of goods and wealth along the canals, comes the inevitable endless stream of tourists who mainly seem to be interested in the frozen, timeless quality of Bruges. The architect suggests that by closing itself off behind the facade of history, the city is hindering its natural development. He suggests that there are forces at work behind the facade of the frozen city which will exact a price that Bruges will eventually pay on a social and cultural level.

The piece is entitled Cataract Gorge which is a nod to the turbulence in the water created by its presence, but can also refer to the cataracts that cloud the vision. The word, Gorge, also has two meanings: a narrow valley but also a self-indulgent action. All of this had escaped my earlier, rather cursory, look at the aesthetic impact only. Immensely interesting.

While I have been otherwise engaged I have missed lots of fun events, out-of-doors and therefore free to all. The City of Bruges really does give lots of free entertainment to its residents and the occasional passing tourist! In fact, it is estimated that around five million tourists visit Brugge every year and certain streets are irritatingly over-full of meandering visitors, some displaying the worst communal habit; eating on the hoof. However, rather like summer life in the Lakes in Britain, one has only to step a short distance, away from the most popular areas, to experience a delightful tranquillity.

The day after my return, it was Belgium's National Day [July 21^st] and there was a three day event
culminating on that day, on the Groote Markt involving music. I believe karaoke was going to be a feature but there were rock bands and various tribute bands, some playing 'pop with a raw edge' plus, no doubt, beer tents and food stalls. Someone I know had been and said it had been 'Great!'

Looks good.

The week before from the 18^th to the 20^th there had been an outdoor Circus Festival, Cirque Plus in a huge municipal garden, again open to all. I am frequently amazed at the amount of free, outdoor entertainment in Brugge which people who live here, simply take for granted. I mentioned to one man that taxes are higher here than in the UK and he said ruefully, 'Yeah!' But he then added, 'but still, we get a lot for it.' I must do a little more of a survey to discover if there are any depths of resentment about being quite a highly-taxed country but there IS a lot given back. I think of the rail travel for 65+; one can travel anywhere in Belgium by train for 6 euros. Capitalists might shudder at this state beneficence for all but rail travel is seriously popular with, and available to, all socio-economic groups. And certainly British train travellers must look on enviously at the amazingly low cost of tickets.

Meanwhile in the Burg, seat of local government and all things administrative for the City, plus, of course, the Chapel of the Holy Blood, there seems to have been a covered stage erected for quite a while. From Friday 24th July to Thursday 6th August there is an on-going event called Moods with different musicians most evenings; all gratis. Began last Friday with Flip Kowler + Roosbeef and ends on the 6th with the UK Villagers for which there IS a modest charge!

And to top it all, there is folk dancing for all who care to go to the Fish Market [Vismarkt] in Brugge, near the Burg, every Friday evening from 18.00 to 22.00 in July and August. I glean from the as yet impenetrable Dutch that this includes Salsa de Brujas and Argentijnse. It was crowded when I passed by last Saturday evening.

Records of War and Other Battles

Such an interesting experience on Monday. After having found the Archaeological Museum, I then discovered that it was not the right place to find more about the history of this building where I live. The go-to place was the Archives and these are in the Burg, centre of all things important in Brugge. I had read somewhere that No 9 Woensdagmarkt was once called the Oud Hof van Smyrna but after some time in the Archives with the experienced help of Jan Dhont, one of the archivists who specialises in house histories, no mention of that name was seen. The town records for houses in Brugge began only in 1580 and the van Smyrna name was probably much earlier than that. That being so, we also found no record of the actual age of the building, although it was referred to as one of the earliest brick-built houses in Brugge and is therefore an important building.

However, Jan found in the Land Registry 1580-1800, and printed off for me, the records since 1580 of transactions with the names involved, concerning 'my' house which was consistently referred to as Het Oorloge Mansschip. Jan could not explain the name; oorloge, occasionally spelled 'Oirloge; Orloige; Horlogie', could be from 'oorlog', war, or horloge, watch; mansschip might be a corruption of the German for a team of men. But 'schip' is a ship and there is a superb, large weather vane on top of the tall tower on the building and seems appropriate as a symbol for merchants whose trade probably came via ships. 

The building is referred to, after 1623, as two houses, a north and a south; reference is made to 'het noordelijk deel', the northern part sold separately from 'het zuidelijk deel'. One entry states that 'een minder huis', a small house, perhaps an apartment or a couple of rooms within, is to be rented out. Also, the building is described as 'het groot huis', the big house, and 'het hoekhuis', the corner house. The address was given as Woensdagmarkt with the 'oude straattnaam' given as Oosterlynghe Platse. The old name refers to the house being in the area of Brugge colonised by German merchants, the largest and most influential group of foreign merchants living and working in medieval Brugge. Although, the archivist said that it is possible that other nationalities like Russian or Turkish, might also have been living within that area.

On the first of January 1580, the building belonged to Jan Telleboom but by July 1581 his widow had sold the house to Jan Breijdele and Joris Michiels. There is a mention in this entry of Sint Donaas with some benefit of the sale of the house going to the cathedral. The building was for sale by decree, probably to pay debts, and was bought by Wouter de Clercq for Sint Walberga Church and mystifyingly, with ground rent paid to the children of Pieter Lapostole.

The details of the vagaries of ownership and the multiplicity of owners continue till March 3^rd 1784 in the records I was given. It is an enticing glimpse of the partial history of one house during a two hundred year period of Bruggean merchant life. There are records of forced sales, debts, creditors, promissory notes, rentals, inheritance tax, legal decrees and of different people acting on behalf of the two churches mentioned and also of Sint Janshospitaal. A number of times, the court has ordered the seizure of the house and all its contents. There seem to be a number of widows and 'sons of …' plus 'bankiers uit Parijs' [bankers from Paris], guarantors, several different 'koopman', merchants or businessmen, and of one man, 'Pieter Gilliodts machtig over Jan Casson uit Alicante'; Pieter literally 'had power over' Jan. That probably indicates that Pieter had the power to act on behalf of Jan from Alicante.

One interesting long entry tells of a bailiff acting on behalf of the King to forbid Jaecques van Altere from taxing, selling or giving away this property associated with the German nation. And then, there is a story to be written about Guillaume Pollet, businessman, first mentioned in November 1759 and with a narrative which eventually includes Guillaume Pollet de jonger, which finished in March 1784 only with the end of the records. Guillaume Pollet de oudere seems to have had a hair-raising life, sometimes in debt with a forced sale of the house imminent, sometimes mysteriously assigned as guarantor for some other buyer. Guillaume, in June 1780 recklessly borrowed 8000 guilders at 4% and was repeatedly not managing to pay back very much with predictable results regarding his house. By October 1781 he still owed 3435 livres. The last entry for March 1784 has the Burgemeester, the Mayor, acting on behalf of Guillaume's creditors. What a story there. Intriguing and I must improve my Dutch though rather more than a step or three up from Level 1!! My neighbour, Michele, inadvertently caught up in solving this ancient mystery, then discovered, that dear Guillaume about whom I worried, was in fact a member of the Guild of Brokers so perhaps less sinned against than sinning!

An unexpected treat on Wednesday evening. Ode Aan de Last Post, a celebration of the 30,000^th rendition of the Last Post at the Menenpoort, took place in the Burg.

                                                                                    

Hundreds of spectators enjoyed the one and a half hour programme of period music from Belgium, France, Germany, the Commonwealth, played by the band of Koninklijke Scoutsharmonie Sint-Leo with a local tenor, Georges Bullynck, Tracey McRory from Ireland on the violin, Guido Smeyers a Belgian playing the bagpipes expertly in Scottish traditional costume; Frank Deleu, Stadsbeiaardier, the important musician who plays the carillon on the top of the Beffroi, Marc Mosar both introducing, commenting AND reading Wilfred Owen's Dulce et Decorum Est. Plus two buglers from the Household Division as it is now known, playing the mournful, spine-chilling Last Post, flanked by two torchbearers. [The Household Division was made up from the amalgamation of the Foot Guards, the Grenadier Guards, the Coldstream Guards, the Scots Guards, the Irish and the Welsh Guards]. The lone majestic piper in full Highland rig appeared twice, flanked by drummers, and turned out to be a Belgian, one Guido Smeyers.

Guido Smeyers, bagpiper resplendent.

In spite of a huge prolonged shower in the middle of the ceremony, spirits were high as were voices for the well-remembered marching songs of WW1; Mademoiselle from Armentieres, It's a Long, Long Way to Tipperary, Pack up Your Troubles, and so on. Jerusalem and the Londonderry Air were also greeted warmly by the crowd of spectators. It was a moving ceremonial remembering the war with music, words and images on the large screen; the violin solo as background to the reading of the Dutch version of Dulce et Decorum Est, was particularly moving, with the Last Post bugle call inducing haunting and melancholic feelings. I considered, as I walked home, if that ceremony might not have caused the anti-European sentiment in the UK to stop and marvel at the improbable length of the peace in Europe since 1945, improbable given the violence and atrocities committed in Europe between 1914 and 1945. And to wonder if the union of much of Europe had not contributed hugely to this blessed state.

What a week! On Friday with two friends to Waterloo. More war with that Battle still ranked as perhaps the bloodiest, most costly in terms of lives squandered, in modern history. My interest had been particularly aroused because of the recent two hundred year celebrations but I hadn't expected to feel so involved in the pity of it all. The various exhibitions and memorials are excellent. We first saw the extensive Wellington Museum in the village of Waterloo itself, housed in the building, opposite the church, where Wellington established his HQ and where he lived. Somehow, it seemed improbable that the great man had actually lived in a house in the main street of the village, Waterloo, and planned his army's manoeuvres there in this domestic setting.

 A bus ride away, was the purpose-built Panorama, quite an elderly building, still beautiful to see outside with the spectacular panorama within, still with the power to call up the tremendous human wave upon wave of soldiers involved and killed, and the immensity of the battlefield.

The Lion's Mound with its 226 steps surveying the vista of the battlefield as a memorial to peace and the famous Allied victory, is reputed to be built upon the fathomless remnants of war, the spent ammunition and discarded rifles, bayonets and cannons remaining after June 17^th/18^th 1815.This may be apocryphal but certainly earth from various parts of the enormous battlefield were incorporated.

 But the one memorial that a visitor could particularly relate to was le Chateau d'Hougoumont, often referred to as the farm. It is at the bottom of an escarpment at Braine-l'Alleud, near Waterloo and was where Wellingon and his allies faced the Napoleonic Army in what was effectively the Battle of Waterloo. Perhaps it is the intimacy of the farm area, quite a rustic self-contained settlement before Waterloo but transformed during the battle to the strategically important pivot about which, Wellington, when asked what he wanted done if he was killed during the fighting, replied, 'Keep Hougoumont'. The fighting there raged over the two days, with ferocious hand-to-hand combat and thousands of deaths and mutilations, and both commanders desperate to retain or gain it. Now it is a tranquil, sanitised area restored over the bones of countless thousands of bodies below the soil. In one small barn there is a beautiful exhibition on Time, the vitally important ingredient of the battle; would Blucher manage to arrive in time to aid Wellington? But perhaps the most stunning is a media presentation [it is more than a film] in the great mediaeval barn; it is on three screens using close-ups, shadows, silent, snarling actors in uniform, weaponry and buildings on fire. It is difficult to describe but incredibly moving to watch in the very barn where so many died. 

 

Interesting to note that Hougoumont had been very dilapidated but was completely restored for the recent 200th anniversary celebrations and only opened, in fact, on June 18th 2015.

  

Le Nozze di Figaro and Taptoe

On my walk to school one morning recently, I noticed a small brass plaque on the street wall of an old building. It caught my eye because it contained a name of one of my historical heroes.

Translated it reads: Thomas More, Sainted patron of our association – visitor to these premises several times in the 16^th century. In fact, heilige means holy or sacred but can also mean Saint. It probably refers to Thomas after 1935 when he was canonised and it is therefore, presumably, a mid-to-late twentieth century plaque.

I was thrilled. Of course, it made some sense when one considers More's history. Amusingly, as I cannot at this minute locate my biography of More to check what I think I know, I found the following in an article of Aug 12^th 2009 in the unlikely place of Vremya Novostei, The News Time, a Moscow newspaper! 

Erasmus, the philosopher, lawyer and great friend of Thomas More, wrote his famous 'In Praise of Folly' [which he dedicated to Thomas] in one week while staying at Thomas's home in London. Each night they discussed matters philosophical in Latin, their common tongue, trying to understand and suggest improvements for, European religious, academic and political institutions. In the foreword to his famous book, Erasmus extolled the virtues of Thomas's wit, erudition and integrity and this [the Folly ran to almost 40 editions] amplified abroad the reputation of this wise and subtle man. Thomas eventually reached the highest position in the land, below the monarch , by becoming Lord Chancellor of England and a leading politician in Europe. In 1515 he certainly spent time in Brugge and also in Antwerp, Brussels and Mechelen and may well have visited again when he subsequently led several diplomatic missions in Europe.

Interestingly, a friend mentioned that Sister Mary More, a descendant of Thomas, had been Prioress at the English Convent here in Brugge, on Carmerstraat, and I dismissed the idea! I now find that indeed she was the ninth and last lineal descendant of Thomas and had been sent to Brugge to be educated at the Convent of Nazareth [as it was then known], was there made a Canoness in 1753 and elected in 1766 to be the seventh Prioress of the Convent. In 1791 Brugge was over-run by French Revolutionary forces and though the community, with Mother Mary as its leader, remained at the Convent for a time, it eventually fled to England in 1794. They were offered sanctuary by Sir Thomas Gage, a recusant, at Hengrave Hall near Bury St Edmunds where they stayed until 1802 when they returned to Brugge. Mother Mary More died in 1807 and is buried in Brugge.

At some point Mary More presented what is described as a portrait of Sir Thomas More, painted by Hans Holbein the Younger and which she had inherited, to the English Convent. There are two Holbein portraits of her illustrious ancestor, one is in New York and one in Zagreb so the Brugge version may well be a contemporaneous copy. It is presently undergoing restoration and one of the sisters has promised to let me know when it is in situ once more when I shall go to see both it and the inside of, the Convent. She referred to it as 'the Holbein portrait'.

The Holbein Portrait

  

On Tuesday evening I had a surprise treat from a friend, and not only a friend, but a friend with tickets and a car! He had two tickets for Le Nozze di Figaro at Gent Opera one of which his wife couldn't use so an early birthday treat was offered and rapidly accepted. It was an inspiring production which we eventually saw but first we strolled in a small area near to the Opera House and one could quickly get the feel of Gent. Much more urban, more sophisticated, more relaxed really than in Brugge; hadn't suspected the difference was there, but it immediately hit me. Interesting indeed.

The Royal Opera House itself was stunning; gilded mirrors, extravagant spaces, and, despite its relatively older age, with a fin de siecle feel to the whole place including the entrance we used which was a huge covered, cobbled area originally used for coach and horse arrivals and departures. The Opera House was built in the first half of the nineteenth century by rich Gent industrialists who sought status, wealth and power through the erection of this prestigious cultural totem. It is still extraordinarily impressive as a venue but also for its existence in a relatively modest-sized [though beautiful] city. 

The production itself was superb in every way; range and quality of voices, costumes, scenery, the entire communal effort with a superb orchestra and a feeling of verve and involvement on stage, which enveloped the large audience. At the end, there were repeated standing ovations and one could fancy the huge regret as the company of players prepared to disperse after the final curtain, following many many weeks of working so productively together. I noticed next day from the programme of book-length proportions, that the Musical Director was Paul McCreesh, famous in the UK for his extensive Early Music knowledge and activities. Impressive;  

I had no idea that he was also involved importantly in opera. The image above is from the Paul McCreesh online archive taken during a recording session. It was impossible to take any shot on the evening as he worked away, in a dark suit in an even darker, deeper orchestra pit.

Both my companion and I were also most intrigued by the way in which the area on the stage was manipulated. The audience's first sight of the stage showed a normal space where Figaro and Susanna are preparing the new apartment with the new bed presented by the Count. Later however, the space looked of almost hangar-like proportions. The perspective was shaped skilfully by both scenery and props, with the only slightly odd dimension being the fact that people, as they moved upstage, became comparatively bigger, huge in fact! I have occasionally been aware of this jeu des yeux in other plays but it was used to stunning effect onstage in Gent Opera House!

The image below is of the one of the numerous ecstatic curtain calls.

And here we have a theatre-goer [not sure if the phrase, 'opera-goer' exists] enjoying an innocent glass of water before finishing her wine.

It is now Sunday and I have just returned from a most enjoyable morning at 't Zand at the first of the season's three outdoor, open-air Flea Markets. As usual, crowds attending and what seems like acres of stalls selling... everything almost. As experiences go, it is addictive especially so on a warm and sunny morning, so I had admonished myself as I arrived, Not To Buy. I wandered for a short time then met two friends, by chance, from the Wednesday morning coffee club, and joined up with them for a time, until, John, a member of the Thursday English-speaking group, spoke to me and I stopped to chat which marked the last time I saw the first two friends! Shortly afterwards, I found the stall manned by Debbie and Ellie who do Brocantes and similar as a hobby; their double stall was great but I couldn't buy because I no longer need such decorations!  Off I wandered enjoying the crowd, the sunshine, and viewing what Eric would have called, the rubbish on view.

I investigated a lovely stall with brass and copper and various interesting objects including a lovely steamer trunk which I thought might well serve as a coffee table much needed for the large empty space in the living room. I have been searching for something but dithered over the trunk, so the price dropped. But it wasn't the price which was significant but the suitability and the subsequent transport, were I to buy. I wandered off to consider and over a coffee decided to buy and made a number of phone calls to taxi firms, eventually settling on one willing to do the job of transporting me and trunk and arranging a meeting point. Neither negotiation was easy but settled it was and the eventual deal done. The seller helped enormously by finding a porter from a nearby stall inclined to carry the trunk to the bus station quite nearby and even tipping the man to do the job. The burly porter impressed me no end by carrying the trunk on his head! I was too slow to get a photo! After a quarter of an hour in the bus area, and two taxi sightings on the wrong side of the wide road where the buses drop off and pick up, I contacted the taxi firm again to discover that the driver hadn't seen me and had picked up another fare. The phone manager suggested I cross the wide, wide road and go to the entrance of the Concertgebouw; not a big distance but I had two other bags and couldn't possibly move the trunk anyway.  Suffice it to say, that eventually a woman driver arrived, saw me because she was looking out for me, stopped and shouted that she wasn't allowed on that side of the road anyway. In the end, about forty minutes after the whole transport exercise had begun, I had cornered a young man to assist, crossed the wide road with the luggage and gained custody of the taxi. The girl driver was wonderful and I sent up a silent vote of thanks that I had been spared a male driver; she was SO sympatica and we had a lovely chat and giggle about the whole thing before she helped me carry it to the lift here. Trunk now in situ and I am still not sure.

  

                   

Last evening my friend from this building and I went to the Burg for the enchantingly-named Taptoe. I had thought it was Tattoo from the pronunciation but not so. There was seating for many in the Burg but we went to Tom Pouce for a meal on the terrace there which forms one side, virtually, of the space. Disappointment and irritation, shared by restaurant and other diners, to discover that the whole view had been obscured by black sheeting, the sole purpose of which seemed to be to stop people viewing from outside the arena's expensive seating. Outrage at the pettifogging meanness of spirit, but little to be done; for us, salvation; the waiter allowed us upstairs and so we had a super over-view of the whole proceedings. The Taptoe consisted entirely of marching bands, chiefly, though not exclusively, brass bands, from Belgium and Holland. I had assumed they were village or town bands but the level of professionalism was so high that we decided that they were entirely non-amateur. The standard of musicianship was superb but the particular joy in watching was to see the intricate choreography of the marching movements. Plus, of course, the splendid uniforms. I don't think they were military bands but they were certainly militaristic in their precision and commands. 

The music covered a variety of areas adapted for the instruments [lots and lots of drums as well as a vast range of brass] and marching rhythms. It was a delight to watch and hear; one group was quite different from the rest. Most dress was military style but based on ornate frock coats, traditional military jackets or folk costume adaptations but one Belgian group had cleverly adapted soldiers' khaki to echo their theme of Flanders' Fields and World War One. They rolled out a huge plastic cloth emblazoned with a single red poppy and their marching routines on the poppy ground, were staccato, echoing the theme of warfare, underlined by insistent drumming to suggest gunfire, with drumsticks used to evoke rifles. Magnificent and moving.

Below is an image of the temporary seating inside the Burg which the organisers seemed so keen to protect. In the event, more seats than this were taken but at least one third of the seats remained unoccupied. SO sad. Perhaps the 35 euro seat price was too high for some; the entire event would have been enhanced by the removal of the black curtain, mostly off camera along the front edge where lots of spectators, many unaware that Taptoe was happening until they had stumbled on the event or were lured by the music, were perforce kept offstage and unable to view what is a public space. Meanwhile the restaurant had a relatively disastrous evening; diners really didn't want to be blacked out! The organisation of the whole evening was superb [blackout notwithstanding] with one band marching out of one exit as the next was alert and ready at another entrance. For me, an evening with a difference and as thrilling in its way as the Gent Opera earlier in the week.

Learning Can Take Many Forms

  

There is a feeling of freedom, nay abandonment, chez moi as the Dutch lessons finish. Will really miss Sophie, the fab teacher, and my young fellow students who have been delightful. Earlier, I counted the number of different countries from which we came and now am not sure but it was around sixteen I think. We have been able to learn so much from each other in addition to the beginnings of Dutch from Sophie pursuing a mega-task of imparting some of the foundations of her language.  In spite of protestations of intent to keep in touch, undoubtedly we won't, or at least, they won't with me, nor I with them, as we are generations apart. I have come to love and admire them as they pursue their different journeys which chiefly cluster under the heading of Dreams for The Future. Whether they be for their children's better education and lives; their own professional advancement via university/college; jobs, now, to live independently; a restaurant to open, a degree to pursue whatever, they all need to speak Dutch and most pursue this objective with verve! Some, with an admirable and steely determination; others with a slightly less demotic devotion; yet more [but only a few] with a careless and carefree attitude which belies the real need and their possibly vain hope that, somehow, without working too hard, they will end up with some fluency in the language and so Fit In and Get On.

We finished the course, after more exercises and test results, early and then went as a group around a nearby part of Brugge, the beloved Beguinage area, unknown to most of the young students. Sophie led and spoke of course in Dutch so it was learning continued . We wandered round and finished at a restaurant in the Walplein where Hardeep's husband is a chef, for drinks and more chat. A delightful way to complete Level One. We had earlier presented Sophie with a super Passion Flower plant and a bouquet, both of which I had bought earlier [with money collected from the class] and both of which I had to carry/drag to school in my bag-on-wheels earlier. The result after a journey of 30 minutes on foot, was a hot and slightly weary but triumphant, porter!

Some of the party on our perambulations

I have worked quite hard on the course, but the hours necessary to attend, over a four day week, are frankly too much for me now to have the energy to spare for the other stuff I want to do. Important tasks like finding the Archaeological Museum to see if I can locate more about the discovery of the buried remains, and subsequent restoration of Sint Donaas Kathedral or the history of the building where I live which has the intriguing old name of Oud Hof van Smyrna. However, I do want to learn Dutch and hope to find a class for fewer hours a week in the Autumn. Sensibly, all classes stop for the important vacances now and I already have details of a Dutch conversation group which will re-start in September, though I can offer only a tiny basis on which to begin any conversation! Still, got a decent grade to finish, with my lowest mark in speaking; no surprise but private irritation nonetheless!

What else have I done or seen this week? Relatively little overall; a second trip to the chic hairdresser on Gentpoortstraat where the highlights in my hair worked after all my anxiety, but the cut, though superb, is still Too Short [these things matter!] AND the visit was an unbelievable three and a half hours long. There is always an opportunity inside every problem, the Chinese suggest, and the plus for me was finding a fellow traveller there. She had also been Head of a school and had to retire early because of ill health. We swapped e-mail addresses as she was borne off to await the decisions and skill of the Master and I settled down to await my turn as I read the New Statesman. When I eventually reached the cutting stage and the Boss, I took the opportunity to say that no one had spoken to me from the staff when I arrived or during my unexpectedly long wait and that was not good enough. He is the sweetest man and he thanked me but I shall be interested to see if anything alters next time I visit. I have since decided that the real, day to day capo is the stately blonde in shiny clothes who seems to be i/c colouring and reception and it is she who should be training the girls in the minute-to-minute courtesies and practices.

Saturday was Feest in 't Park, in the area round Minnewater to be precise. There is a seemingly endless succession of events in Brugge in the summer months and I now receive the Brugge Stads magazine giving the zommeragenda. [even I can translate that!]. From there I gather news such as the fact that members of the Canal Swimmers' Club can swim in the Langerei canal near me, every weekend from 13.00 to 18.00 in July and August. Must pop down there to view the way bolder swimmers than I, disport themselves so fearlessly. Imagine the temperature of the water, AND the grime!

But thus, from the Brugge Inspraak mag, did I discover that Feest in 't Park, a free 'mondial festival' for young and old, was taking place yesterday, Saturday. Had to go and have a look; marvellous weather and free entrance, and no doubt the wealth of activities on offer, drew thousands. I doubt that there were many tourists there in fact; they might well not have heard of it. Hundreds and hundreds of young local families were there, meeting up with friends, trying out foods, supervising children, loving it all. Prepare ye for an avalanche of pictures; there were some enchanting sights in fact. My favourite bit was the arena where a young authoritative Western man, dressed in black gear and slung around with huge African drum, sticks etc was directing a large circle of youngsters, each with a drum, in the art of making rhythm, African style. The children were incredibly involved, totally and un-self consciously absorbed; a joy to see.

And here, my absolute fav example of concentration from a potential drummer-of-the-future:

And talking of concentration, I snapped this young man engrossed in solving some puzzle while sitting in his stylish transport.

The many activities included various painting opportunities on paper, card, objects, faces, for little ones and bigger ones; mini rock climbing; exploring over solid versions of cartoon objects like the one below: investigations in diverse tents;

Selling stalls were there a-plenty with African, Indian and perhaps Oriental jewellery attracting eager customers and in addition, there were lots of seating and eating areas with many, many stalls selling hot food from all over the globe!

Regional bodies were clearly involved and among the publicity tents I noticed Oxfam [one of the organisers of the event]; Plan Belgie [a charity which I already support in the form of Plan UK, providing help and education in the Third World]; UNICEF; Side-by-side India and numerous other charities. The identity of the organisers explains the worldwide nature of the stalls on offer and all sounds Good but Earnest; the event in fact was stimulating and Fun for the mainly young families there with the implicit message of We Are One World. Oh dear; difficult to explain; sounds so Worthy but impressive to see.

I have looked back at this blog and despite best efforts, CANNOT arrange the photographs as I would like; thus a big space adjacent to the tent where the picture below could go, but won't. SO annoying and any advice, welcome.

I went to the baker's at half past eight this Sunday morning, and was musing, as I walked back, at the reassuring nature of the whole experience, short though it was. First, a queue on the street from the bakery which had been on holiday for a week; a vote of confidence I thought. As I gradually edged forward and was looking at the goodies on offer other than the super breads, a quite new neighbour in my building saw me and remembered who I was though not the name so a short conversation later [in English schoolgirl French and Belgian French] we parted amicably; man who served me, remembered that I have a black Probody bread, sliced and that I live in Woensdagmarkt nearby, and as I waited, homeward-bound, at the zebra crossing, a large car stopped to allow me to walk. Reminded me that this is the norm here and that, as a permanent pedestrian, I really appreciate the courtesy.