No one should grow old who isn't ready to appear ridiculous. John Mortimer

Hideous wind and rain here as I write, so not much different from the UK though, despite little road lakes, no floods. I check on the iPad each night on the weather in different parts of the UK where family live, and in Brugge. Thus have I discovered that Bruges is consistently very slightly warmer in comparison to the UK. Surprising as I expected the opposite. But now, on Sunday morning, snow and ice on the terrace first thing followed by the most glorious, sunny, wind-less, blue skied day imaginable.

Have now bought the splendid Dutch for Dummies and also found a little group which meets twice a week for a couple of hours of Dutch conversation. Bliss. Still can't understand the Dutch spoken by either natives or immigrants [you try understanding Nepalese Dutch!], but so enjoying it. One session's 'leader' [amazingly, no cost to me; all volunteers presiding] gave me one of those squares of letters in which are hidden words to find; the sort of grid beloved of many Primary age pupils! Took me fifty minutes to find them all and a lot of enjoyable effort. Also have to translate a short news paragraph and present that in my own words next Tuesday. Have found two I like, one on decreasing birth-rate in Belgium [OK but not world-shattering] but the other is thrilling for me to discover. The oldest illuminated Bible in the Benelux countries, the Codex Eyckensis, written in the scriptorium of the Abbey at Echternach in the eighth century, and now kept in Sint Catherinekerk

in Maaseik in the province of Limburg in Belgium, has been awarded finance to digitalise its contents and to promote it. This is the sort of news I love to read! I am going to find out where Maaseik is, and later this year, post the foot operation recovery probably, go and find the original which I hope is accessible to the non-scholar. Brilliant project! The illustrations I have seen, courtesy of Google, are just beautiful.

Almost every Wednesday, after the weekly slog to the Markt for the week's fruit and veg [hauled home in my old-lady-bag-on-wheels] I go to the Hotel Martin to meet other members of a group of English and English-speaking women who live in the area. I do enjoy it though a Belgian friend who went with me once or twice, was critical of the apparent lack of courtesy shown as we shout across the centre of the group, all talking at once! I love it more and more as I get to know different individuals. This week, after an early start, I left the flat a little late so, contrary to all my little rules, I hurried. I normally walk relatively slowly partly because of the quite heavy orthopaedic shoes I must now wear, and partly because of the often treacherous conditions underfoot. Wednesday, all was forgotten as I pressed on to the inevitable! In Jan Van Eyckplein, nearby, I tripped so hard that I fell full length, and hands and forehead [which re-bounded against the cobbles, such was my walking speed] took the brunt. Could not believe it as I surveyed the square from the prone position! Swift help came, especially from an elderly lady who had done the same in the Markt two weeks before, and a young man who hauled me to my feet, found me a chair, and, with impressive speed, located and applied a cold compress to the burgeoning lump on my forehead! I felt both silly and grateful and eventually tottered off to see Alice, in the nearby apoteek. [Pictured below, viewed from my guest bedroom. A handsome building.] She reminded me that her enforced weeks in a wheelchair last Autumn because of a broken ankle, had been the result of a similar contretemps with a projecting cobblestone! And she, like many other Bruggelingen, grumbled about the state of the roads here. Eventually, across the road to home, a day inside, coffee with friends,

missed, hot chicken from the Markt for lunch, missed, evening concert in the Concertgebouw, also missed! Though I did, by chance, enjoy that concert in a live broadcast on Radio Klara. Walking slowly is now reinforced as the grazed knee and the king-size, discoloured lump on the forehead gradually diminish.

Saturday morning, to my Mecca; Sarah Pacini on Zuidzandstraat, home of incredibly chic clothes which are barely affordable even in the sales now on. Added
impetus was given because son and wife had given me a generous S.P. voucher for Christmas. Regina, my favourite assistant and now friend, was on duty and nearly two blissful hours were spent in Retail Therapy before I left to go to Sint Paulus my bakery on Vlamingstraat near home. They had been closed for ten well-earned rest days but the lure of the black, seeded bread called Probody was insistent. It is a fab bakery with a huge variety of breads, cakes, croissants, brioches, plus other essentials like cheese, butter, jam and eggs, available. It is one of the lucky aspects of living where I do that the best bakery in town is a couple of minutes walk away. Location, location, location as someone used to say!

And to finish a perfect Saturday went to the Lumiere to see Carol with Cate Blanchett. Most surprised to see a queue as I approached and it took me ten minutes to reach the pay desk. I assume  that the publicity must have mentioned the word, Lesbian, or was it the possibility of an Oscar that
caused the Blue Room in the Lumiere to be almost full when I did arrive? Whatever, it was a superb film with a spare dialogue that spoke of a wonderful director and with excellent characterisation from the actors.                 

 

Disposable Lamps and an Angel

Ooh, a long hiatus between blogs while three whole weeks were spent in England over Christmas to enjoy family seasonal celebrations, catch up with other dear family members, participate in the funeral of my first husband and finish with a lovely flourish on the annual family theatre outing on Jan 3rd. The funeral, while sad, was also a joyful celebration, echoed and magnified afterwards at his spiritual home of nearly fifty years, the Golf Club. Crowded and full of reminiscences, the wake was a delightful goodbye to a much loved person and one of which he would have definitely approved.

After lunch in Covent Garden we went to see The Play That Went Wrong at the Duchess, a charming little Victorian or perhaps Edwardian, theatre. Garlanded with an Olivier award, the farce proved to be eye-wateringly, guffawingly funny so that our group, aged from 14 to 81, all loved it. It was slapstick at its most brilliant with impeccable timing and peerless performances. We lurched, wiping our eyes and resting our faces, into the dark for a final communal drink and fond reminiscence

of the play's finer moments, nearby. I had decided to stay in London overnight and to the unknown delights of the Great Northern Hotel at St Pancras, I wandered. As this isn't Trip Advisor, I shall restrict myself to saying that I have found another place where I could happily live out my declining years! I now find I LOVE too many mirrors, thick carpets, obsequious staff, free champagne and chocolate. By the time for my Final Exit, I am pretty sure I shall have cracked Life; that is to say, I will know Effortlessly what works for me [without perhaps the ability to access it!]

A whole week after returning to base, and still no completed blog; discipline lacking a little perhaps here. I went into the centre to pick up a book I had ordered: Dutch for Dummies, which may well be pitched at my level. I intend to try to learn the language solo, gradually and at my dining table thus escaping the two compulsory three and a half hours evening shifts of last Autumn, bookended by a half hour slog on foot through wind and rain and darkness [I exaggerate only slightly] I shall miss the delightful young immigrants, all bravely pursuing their destinies with such energy and light-hearted optimism but am grateful to escape the many, many games and the total incomprehension of their Dutch.

However, do need to learn to speak Dutch, quite a different thing. After a search I found a Praatgroep, fronted by the delightful Zuster Noella who acts as a sort of receptionist. Only ten minutes walk away and part of a voluntary organisation called Integraal I think. So far, on Friday, I attended and to my delight, found a really small group on which I shall report later.

Quite sad to see the last of the Christmas market being disassembled as I strode across the Markt; all the magical trees and the skating rink had gone and the horse-drawn carriages were safely back in place, queuing for tourists. I decided, on a whim, to sample the Sales; January sales are Big  here. And thus found a new shop. Tuyttens an old-established computer, camera, phone store had, to general consternation, closed last Autumn after yet another burglary and its huge space is now filled with Juttu [You too], a Finnish name for a Belgian store. Brugge is second only to Antwerp in having a Juttu which may be in the process of the colonisation of Belgium.
It is seriously gorgeous; expensive in its thick, woolly, suitable-for-really-cold-weather, up-to-the-minute clothes for sale with a few smart accoutrements for the home available. Frankly it is possibly the most achingly hip joint I have ever patronised and I enjoyed every viewing minute. I bought a few tiny things for almost 60 euros but I am [importantly] now on their database! Sad to see the aged pointlessly pursuing a tiny bit of electronic status.

Having decided I should replace the side table lamps in the guest bedroom so that guests will be able actually to see to read, I ventured into D'Haenens, a mega lighting shop on four floors. From the enormous choice, sadly all not in any sale, I decided on two and just have to report the latest phenomenon to engage the ageing intellect. The assistant explained gently that the new concept 'made sense' and agreed that older customers were inclined to disbelief at this aforementioned good sense. I asked where I would buy a replacement bulb, after she had trumpeted the two year guarantee and the 50,000 LED hours available

and thus I learned that when the bulb [is it still called that?] dies, is finished, exists no more, there can be no replacement so the lamp itself is thrown away. Dear reader, I bought them after asking if any non-throwaway but similarly attractive lighting was around. It is, but  at around 500 euros each as opposed to the derisory 64 euros of my chosen ones. She didn't spell out  that, in a guest bedroom, the 50,000 hours of lighting before disposal, would probably see me out but I got the message from somewhere! There is something so vastly entertaining about the surrounding theatre of life that makes practically every day a Joy!

And the final triumphant note is sounded by my new musical Angel. He is something I didn't need but he now graces the top of my Georgian linen cupboard, once quite valuable, but now, in this IKEA world, worthless! I have bought him gradually, over several months, from income and thus got to know Lieven the interesting young man who owns the small shop crowded with statues, putti, crosses, candlesticks, wooden flourishes and generally fascinating old impedimenta, near the Burg. He showed me a recent addition to his stock; another recumbent wooden angel which I could have at one third reduction because of purchasing Number One. When I demurred, quoting lack of space he said loftily, 'There is always room for an angel'. And before I left, I was shown a shining, polished putto, magnificent in its 18th century glory but beyond reach at 5000 euros. My own may be late nineteenth century according to Lieven but kindness on his part probably means early twentieth

And finally, finally, the wonderful Blackbird [in Jan Van Eyckplein nearby] coffee shop with lunches and breakfasts and vast array of interesting teas thrown in, has won a  Hospitality Award for 2015 for the Best Coffee Shop in Belgium and the Most Friendly. I wrote about Blackbird soon after it opened in April because I was dazzled by its chic décor and then found what superb quality its coffee has, how yummy are the breakfasts, the apple pie, the iced teas .... I could go on. So, well done Blackbird.

 

 

Mini Blog

Must just do a mini post because I so enjoyed the time since the last blog a few days ago.

Met friends who were spending a few days in Gent to celebrate a birthday, to go out to lunch with them. Biting winds in Gent could not detract from the lovely feel of the place. I don't know Gent, and in a no doubt biassed way, I think it less pretty than Brugge. That said, it IS lovely with some splendid buildings and canals. What it does have which is less evident in Brugge, is a supremely youthful vitality; so many young people and trams crammed with them. The feel of a university town IS different; the energy is almost palpable and the speed of passers-by double that of citizens in an ordinary town! There's a joy, a light-heartedness around which is intoxicating. I had quite forgotten how much I love being around the young and can see how staid everyday life is here in Brugge. It being understood that Life is a trade-off, I still prefer at my age and stage, to live here. Damn! I meant never to become staid but staidness creeps up on a person unseen until some contrast throws a light and all is revealed!

 

The restaurant which my friends had found or rather been guided to find, was called Belga Queen, situated in a restored warehouse I think. The food was super but the atmosphere and the décor were very, very appealing.

I have attended two more events at the weekend of 12/13; Gastronomia in the prestigious Belfort and Dance by Jan Fabre. Gastronomia, a food festival, looked great; some super stalls with champagne, wine, beer, pate, sausages and hams, cheeses, pasta, oysters, Natural foods, jams and liqueurs. I had a great time and bought a number of products as well as sampling a new beer from a brewery set to open in central Brugge in April. All quality products but surprisingly poorly supported on the Saturday when I was there. Perhaps lacking sufficient publicity? It was certainly a delightful festival though chiefly unsung.

Later the same day, to the Concertgebouw to see a work by Jan Fabre, a famous European sculptor and choreographer. I did not enjoy it at all. Jan, co-creator, is keen on nudity and that was fine for me; one soon grows accustomed to breasts and penises moving rhythmically with the communal march. The nudity, the lack of narrative, perhaps the repetition, are all part of a certain rebelliousness against convention; the imagination, it is claimed, reigns supreme and the choreography is presented as the individual bravery of the performers who defy convention and scorn the need for a story. The first 45 minutes consisted just of lines marching and counter-marching; so boring that I had difficulty in the warm concert hall keeping awake. The accompanying thud of an insistent drum added to the drama in a way but became much more distracting as the volume increased and other huge and discordant sounds and instruments were added. For the last hour or so, my ears hurt and I felt a little nauseous; I concentrated on trying to reduce the impact of the noise while promising myself that I would never go to experimental dance performance again. I did appreciate that the pace of the action increased and changed but the huge and painful distraction of the accompanying sound took over, rather pushing any creative on-stage movement to the side-lines. I sprinted off as soon as the lights went up, amazed at the audience reaction; a standing ovation, cries of 'Bravo' and general joy unconfined expressed through wild applause. SO the good burghers of Brugge are not so staid after all and Jan Fabre's December Dance, with its 'warriors of beauty' was a success. Meanwhile, as an unelected, unknowing representative of the Old and Out Of Touch, I hurried off gratefully into the cool, quiet night to savour the joys of a solitary and silent walk home.

 

 



Looking back.

Funny old week, early part spent grappling with the mysteries of the Dutch tongue, for the last written test of this Level. I am still dumb in Dutch but the written is progressing sloooowly. This was relieved by a trip to the Lumiere to see Suffragettes which I much enjoyed. It reminded me forcefully of the poverty and deprivation of working class life a hundred years ago, endured as inevitable by my parents and grandparents. And it caused me yet again, to mourn the lack of interest in political voting by many, many young women today. Young men too no doubt, but the women's vote was won at such great cost by the bravery, foresight and endurance of the relatively few. Upper class suffragettes were chiefly regarded as a dotty embarrassment; working class girls were regarded as insane and morally unrespectable. Both layers experienced considerable societal disdain and exclusion and were treated as traitors by the police and Government. An enjoyable coda to the film was the long list of countries with the dates when each allowed the vote for women. The two most memorable were Switzerland, 1971 and Saudi Arabia 2015.

But, chiefly my mind has been on more superficial things, like illuminations! I love the 'trees' at the skating rink in the Markt and the way the real trees in Simon Stevinplein are graced with light. The Christmas market is a selling opportunity primarily but the expense and imagination involved in decking the already beautiful streets of Brugge with light, is breathtaking and imaginative. Apart from the occasional Gluhwein, I have bought nothing from the many little chalet/stalls but to walk through and among the crowds, experience the fun of so many and see the lights and sights, gives a very real sense of involvement and shared pleasure. It almost seeps in through the skin, and I return home, smiling.

 



On Friday morning, returning from a scalping by a master cutter on Gentpoortstraat to whom I had patiently and unsuccessfully explained again, exactly what 'trim' meant, I saw quite a sight. Next to the Vismarkt sat a man clad entirely in white, at a little round cloth-covered table on which sat an old-fashioned red telephone into which he was talking. There was no card of explanation nor begging bowl so he wasn't a first cousin of the living statues so beloved of tourists everywhere. Shortly after the picture below was taken, a fluttering, twittering flock of Japanese tourists descended delightedly on him, kissing him, stroking his cheek, taking off his hat and ruffling his hair while taking innumerable selfies and other photos. He seemed very happy indeed with the warm attention; his smile grew broader and his conversation into the red phone, more animated. It mattered not that the phone was unconnected. Passers-by were smiling and a grey morning was lifted.
 

 

Almost inadvertently, today I visited the Ice Sculptures near the Station. There was a long wait for a bus, Sundays being leisurely here, bus-wise, and so I took the opportunity to cross the few metres of cobblestones to go and look at Snow and Ice. Apparently forty artists have been involved in its creation, even more impressive given that the temperature is -5 Celsius. 300 tonnes of ice and 400 tonnes of snow were used to make the display and I have not the imagination to begin to understand how it was all accomplished. The thermal wooden tent, as it were, was full of excited families and even the ice bar in the middle of the coldest trail ever, had crowds around it. I hit a slack time I think as I only queued to enter for about then minutes and ....

 

then possibly achieved the fastest observer status as I sped through, desperate to exit for a large coffee in the station. It was seriously cold. The exhibition was and is, impressive.... but difficult to photograph! I have reduced the size of the two pics here as they look so unspeakably lurid though I don't think the original sculptures did! To be fair, my photographs don't do them justice. The time I spent in ice-gazing was so short that I was especially pleased that I now have my ID card and am old. These two attractive features reduced the entrance fee considerably, rather more in line with the time I spent in refrigerated viewing.

But I have been looking back also over earlier days after a significant death in the family a few days ago. It is good to live, as children do, in the here-and-now but memories, when stirred, also offer joys and reassurance as well as regret and pleasure. I have spoken to people, some of whom I hadn't spoken to for several years; distant relatives and near, reminiscing and laughing, sighing and reflecting, swapping memories redolent of the past with added resolutions to stay in future touch. But soon enough, the ripples on the water will widen and vanish, and the memories will be put back in store for occasional private reflection again.

So no blog for a few weeks; back, earlier than intended, to the UK on December 15th for the funeral and nearly three weeks in Britain, without my computer. I won't be going Ipad-less into that good night but don't think I can blog on that!

Robin Hood in Italy?

Went, as part of the Dutch course I am attending, to see Brabanconne, on Wednesday evening. It is a 'feel good' kind of film, not a great one but funny, slightly laughing at the Belgians [ the eternal Flemish v Walloon rivalry] and with a light-hearted script which slopes off into song from time to time. Charming. SNT, the educational group which organises lots of different language courses, plus special interests like photography, funds an annual week's film festival at the Lumiere cinema in town and a visit to one film is part of the Dutch course. Tried to understand the almost impenetrable Dutch dialogue but the French, spoken by the Walloon characters, plus sub-titles in both languages, were a great help.


While standing around waiting for the group to assemble to walk to the cinema some distance away, I was totally amused to spot a flyer labelled Robin Hood. As I was born in Robin Hood country and indeed, lived in Notts for about the first 34 years of my life, I have a certain proprietorial attitude towards this noble outlaw.  The flyer was entitled: Una Leggenda Veneziana: Robin Hood. I didn't recognise many of the cast but yes, there were Marianna, Frate Tuck and Zanni il Piccolo who, just possibly, might be Little John. A magical evening to remember is promised with ironia, gioia and musicalita. In the narrative on the reverse side of the publicity material, I see that Robin is described as 'nacque a Venezia' [born in Venice] and as Principe dei Ladri [Chief of the Robbers] but also as Il Salvatore dei Poveri, the Saviour of the Poor. The show [Lo Spettacolo], by Teatroimmagine will be in the Commedia dell'Arte style. Possibly this production is the result of some Italian course at SNT because its name is on the publicity but there are also the names of L'Incontro [the meeting], a group of 'amici dell'Italia a Bruges' plus 'Teatro Immagine'. I love the idea of the whole thing; so many little Italian eccentricities are endearingly dotty and it is a bonusissimo to find this in Beloved Bruges of all places! The images above show the Italian interpretation and the statue outside Nottingham Castle which depicts the more traditional view of the Outlaw in Lincoln Green who Did Good unto the Poor and frequently did battle with Alan Rickman, the evil Sheriff of Nottingham.

I went to see Brussels Jazz Orchestra on Friday evening not knowing what to expect. Was stunned by the size of the outfit; I don't think ALL the members of the orchestra were on stage but there must have been between 80 and 90 musicians; there were, for instance, at least eight of the listed ten cellists playing. The energy and expertise were impressive and the music, by

Ades, Ravel and Peter Maxwell Davies, was vigorous but [ did you feel a 'but' coming on?] it was just too overwhelmingly loud and not my [conservative] idea of Jazz. The music was described as being between Klassiek and Jazz and the audience certainly loved it. For the first time ever, I left in the interval, feeling a bit of a
Philistine.

The photograph above from the BJO website is chosen, not for its close-up clarity but in an endeavour to suggest the sheer size of the outfit!

The following evening, back to the super Concertgebouw to hear Le Banquet Celeste, unknown to me but impeccably Early Music. The leader of the group, Damian Guillon, is a counter-tenor and he and the guest soprano, Celine Scheen, were delightful. There was Vivaldi and Scarlatti and in the second half came Pergolesi's Stabat Mater which was exquisite. The Pergolesi was recently voted top of the
 favourites list by the audience of Radio Klara pushing aside Bach, the perennial choice.

It was a wonderful performance and my evening was made when I bumped into friends in the interval who also gave me a lift home. Rare treat to be in a car these days and able to escape the longish walk home in the cold and rain. I had done that the previous evening, thoroughly enjoying the Christmas lights and stopping off in the Markt, to buy a Gluhwein. The Markt was crowded but less than normal as sadly, many tourists have cancelled bookings for late November and December because of the Paris attacks and the strong Brussels connection and subsequent four day lock-down there. A friend who rang this week from Wye said the British papers all say how dangerous Belgium is. Such absurdity; it is no more dangerous than the UK and less so than London of course. Bruges in particular always feels so intimate a space and so safe; nothing has changed since the dreadful carnage in Paris.

Many thanks for this lovely photograph sent by my grandson Dan, taken when he was here last weekend. The three of us had been wandering among stalls of the Christmas market and were having a drink of Gluhwein I think, when he spotted an impeccable gentleman walking his equally dazzlingly sartorial dogs in the rain. He quickly photographed them with the ever-ready phone, my efforts with camera being much too slow. The dainty doglets were dressed with superb colour co-ordination and care and were quite unaware of the impact they had on the observer!

Turkey; the country not the Christmas

Lovely, just great, to be back home again; such a pleasure to enter the apartment last Thursday Nov 12th after the journey back from Antalya. Unlike the rest of the holiday group it took me longer to return. An overnighter in London where I found a modest but really good hotel near Paddington, traditional area for the weary traveller, dipping in and out of the metropolis. The price was reasonable for London and the breakfast was extravagantly generous; the one drawback was no lift and I was on the top floor. I was so tired on arrival that when I realised, I had a mini-strop and fell back [this is a first!] on my great age. Really could not have carried the small case up three flights. Result! Charming Chinese boy on reception took it up for me thus enabling me to retain enough energy to go out to the nearby Mughals, an Indian restaurant on London Road where I ate food fit for a nabob.

I just loved Turkey with all its differences and must go back. As other people's holiday stories and photographs are always, as a matter of principle, best avoided, I will only foist two pics on you; both taken on a memorable balloon flight above Cappadocia.

To the left, sunrise over Cappadocia and below, dozens of balloons blooming in the Cappadocian sky-garden. Both were unforgettable sights and the flowering of the numerous hot air balloons reminded one that the man-made visual spectacles which occur without an aesthetic intention can be superb in their choreography and impact.

More than one third of our travelling group did not take up this hot air invitation; perhaps the 4.30 alarm call was too much; perhaps the thought of ascending to 1500 metres with no parachute or engine or joystick as it were, was uncomfortable. Whatever, those who did go up, perhaps with limited imaginations, or carefully controlled fears, were repaid a hundredfold for their mid-night efforts. One of the best bits was to be in the wicker basket below the huge balloon as it landed, ever so carefully, on the back of a truck! Impressive or what?!

It is about a week since I rhapsodised above about balloons and alarm calls and I have just not finished this post. Cannot believe my tardiness but somehow I have been either too tired or too busy. Dutch klas test for me on the Monday after my return as I had missed  an exam because of Turkey. Another tomorrow for us all so must spend precious time learning irregular perfect participles. And I now know that I have become sloooooow in the memorising department. Sat next to Arieta last week, a super Albanian girl who defies all the Western stereotypes about her country; she is slender, beautiful, happily married with a toddler and a baby girl due to emerge in April; clever; conscientious; kind. My complaint about her is that she learns new grammar effortlessly thus pointing up my deficiencies which I am reluctant to accept. I forgive her as she is so delightful and thoughtful. Meanwhile my Monday must be spent largely in whipping the brain into activity. Cheering note is that this sort of language-learning is Good For The Aged Brain, [ I read it somewhere] though it doesn't feel like that!!

I noticed with a shock as I approached the Crowne Plaza hotel earlier this week, that its large terrace of smart black and red tables and chairs had disappeared. Concerned enquiry elicited the news that by City diktat, all terraces in the centre must go by November 15th. Astounding but true as I gradually observed in the Markt, at Tom Pouce in the Burg etc. All stripped of their inviting terraces, many under awnings. The Christmas Market has opened this weekend and certainly space is needed in the Markt for the dozens of little shed-like structures housing commercial enterprises selling cheese, Gluhwein, beer, sweetmeats, sausages and so on. My middle grandson and his girl are here this weekend and we were exploring yesterday in spite of cold and rain. The Gluhwein was great and I was astonished to discover a new little ice rink in the Markt, almost at the foot of the Belfort tower. There are stalls filling Simon Stevinplein too and, as yet unexplored, a display of ice sculptures in front of the station I hear. This is my first time here in the Christmas season and it looks great fun.
To the right, an example of the ice sculpture show, this year entitled Land of the Hobbits with over 40 artists involved. As I mentioned, as yet unvisited by me, but the fact that the ambient temperature is kept at -5 Celsius, does not invite. The Ice Sculpture Festival is obviously timed to coincide with the Christmas Market but appears to be completely separate from it. It is, I hear, really, really popular so I will be braving the temperature, despite aged disinclination, to explore!


Dan, Emily and I went to see the Michelangelo in Onze Lieve Vrouw, at Dan's request. I was delighted and intrigued that a 21 year old, not, I think, especially into art, should suggest that. Turns out it is thanks to the George Clooney film, Monuments Man, in which the Bruges Madonna and Child featured as stolen by the Nazis etc. Great, and also yet another tick in the G. Clooney box though presumably he didn't write the script! Nice too for me to be able to swan into the museums here, free of charge now that I have my ID card. Definitely each time I produce my card, there is a tiny frisson of satisfaction at this state of affairs.

Just this moment, Sunday 21st November, have seen through the glass door to the terrace; it is covered with snow I think. The square in front of the building is just wet with sniw on top of some cars but definitely the terrace on the third floor has visible snow cloaking it. And it's still November. I heard somewhere it was to be a hard winter!

European culture and Belgian beer and canals!

Marvellous skies from my windows and I do try NOT to keep photographing them compulsively as they are so delicious. Instead, an image of a lovely Renoir seen at the Picasso exhibition; see below!

Another busy week but a free weekend in which to catch up though this morning, Saturday 31st October, a member of the English-speaking group which meets nearby on a Thursday evening for a few Bruggelings taking the opportunity to practise their English while drinking the occasional Belgian beer, did me a great favour. One of the the group had recounted details of a new beer he had tried and which he warmly recommended; a map was drawn for me as a dedicated beer lover, especially of the Belgian kind. The only sale point he knew was in the garden and pet shop belonging to the mother of the boy wonder who had created the beer and really, a car was needed if one were to purchase the box of 24 bottles. And why would one make the effort to go there [to Sint Kruis, a suburb of Brugge] just to buy six? So John did the great favour by offering to run me there this morning.

I found the whole experience delightful; John commented on various parts of the city en route, often pointing to boyhood houses, and scenes, and the shop proved to be really large and full of garden, pet and household stuff so that we wondered if this were the right place for a beer outlet. Indeed it was and the proud mother pointed to the large display near the entrance. Her son designs brewery installations and is passionate about beer; his aunt suggested he think of creating one for her to sell in her B & B and voila, after some long months in the act of creation, the blonde Spijker bier [ pronounced Speyka beer] was born. Bless him, there is even a Spijker bier glass, in the honourable Belgian tradition. Most impressive and the beer I had, in the special glass, with lunch, later, proved to be excellent. I just love these unexpected little trails which lead to good things!

With friends who were staying, yesterday to my favourite chocolate shop in Simon Stevinplein, Dumon, which combines its chocolate sales with four smart tables and chic stools where customers can order a hot chocolate from a number of chocolate varieties, or, indeed, coffee. A made-in-Heaven combination and incidentally, good commercial practice because it is difficult indeed to resist buying something from the sumptuous chocolates on display after having sampled the free chocolates that accompanies the drinks.

And this was after a lovely hour or two at the permanent Picasso exhibition which boasts 100 wonderful Picasso drawings, engravings, lithographs and some ceramics. There is one early room with a continuous loop showing a film of Picasso at work. The huge exhibition begins with a pleasing display of Impressionist prints, engravings,  drawings, letters and photos by Corot, Renoir, Degas, Rodin, Toulouse-Lautrec and goes on to display works by Chagall, Braque and Matisse with a large corridor of work by the Surrealist artist, Joan Miro before the splendid richness of the Picasso section which deals with Picasso’s beginnings, the Spanish tradition, cubism, the African influence, surrealism, ceramics, portraits, simplicity and his commitment to Peace.

 As one left, exhausted, but also exhilarated, the feeling of delight underlined a feeling of being part of Europe, with these marvellous artists, of different nationalities, all belonging to the greater Europe. Their works were highly individual and their nationalities had shaped their development but as artists, they were, and are, also important pieces in the European cultural patchwork. The wonderful Picasso drawing to the right, is somewhat marred by the reflection of light blighting one eye. One could no doubt airbrush that imperfection out if one only knew how to use Photoshop!

Today, Sunday, a blissful 'do nothing' day which took in a visit to Sint Paulus, the bakery, coffee and a pink grapefruit pastry break at the newly-reopened patisserie on Vlamingstraat nearby; e-mailing; and a long walk to take advantage of the wonderful warm weather this afternoon. I followed the canals from Jan Van Eyckplein and walked for an hour and a half, enjoying being part of the throng, on foot and bike, doing the same. The Autumn leaves carpeting the paths and grass along the route enhanced the beauty of the day and the experience. I finished by returning home to sit on the terrace and read yesterday's Telegraph. Perfection!

I think I must also try to stop photographing reflections in canals; surely a world-wide cliche of Brugge. But, hard to desist from so doing when the results are seriously enchanting.!

A short blog this time; I leave for a holiday in Turkey in a couple of days and lots to do before then!