Here is Now

The trouble with the gorgeous hot weather is that it is ….SO hot. At least two days this week have been around 32 degrees, unbearable for me though I love to see sunlit mediaeval buildings, the sun-dappled squares and streets, and the terrace nodding gently in the unaccustomed heat. So walks are early where practical and outings as near to Woensdagmarkt as is possible!

Jeruzalemkerk
 

Thus I thought of Jeruzalemkerk, feeling guilty that it is over a year since I last visited this little gem, my favourite ecclesiastical spot in Brugge. There is the added attraction of a current exhibition by Aleksandar Avramovic, a Serbian artist who lives in Brussels. Along the canyons, half in bright sun, half in welcome shadow, I wandered towards Jerusalemstraat and the welcome cool of the beautiful old interior of the small chapel, the floor space dominated by the memorial to Anselm Adornes and his wife, Margareta van der Banck.

The chapel was built in 1428 by the grandfather of Anselm in imitation of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem, but its subsequent fame sprang from Anselm himself. Born in 1424, he became a diplomat, patron, politician, merchant, the fifth generation of his family, originally from Genoa, to live in Brugge. In 1468, he travelled to Scotland at the head of a mission to negotiate the return of Scottish merchants to Bruges after their withdrawal by King James 111 the previous year. His negotiations with King and Parliament were successful and so began a strong friendship between Adornes and James, one which subsequently favoured the Belgian with lands, finance and honours, including Knight of the Order of the Unicorn and a Baronetcy. A journey to the Holy Land by Adornes in 1470 was supported by both Kings of Scotland and of England, and he represented the Scottish Crown in Rome and ‘among the Muslems of the East’.




Memorial plaque to Anselm Adornes
in Linlithgow

Adornes made a number of diplomatic trips to Scotland over the next ten years and in 1482 commanded a military expedition to Linlithgow on behalf of King James. A subsequent pilgrimage saw him lodging in a monastery at Linlithgow where he was murdered by a marauding gang. He is buried there and his heart eventually returned to Jeruzalemkerk and his family. An extraordinary life.




Equally extraordinary is the fact that, seventeen generations after Anselm Adornes’ death, his descendants, the Limburg Stirum family, still own the Adornes’ domain and are dedicated to keeping the estate alive through public access and a variety of cultural events like the Avramovic exhibition, entitled, 'Here is Now'.  The work is interesting with the emphasis on moments in the present, experienced Now. I liked several immensely; two especially of older people together sharing a moment of tenderness, another of mutual support. There are bold sweeping strokes visible in some painting while others are almost photographic in their minute accuracy. I liked the swimmer in mid-dive; the old man descending from a mountain bent with age or fatigue, violin carefully held in one hand; a man shushing someone unseen, perhaps you, the viewer.



 Chuut by Aleksandar Avramovic

Oostende voor Anker

The day after Ascension Day, to Ostend to visit the 'boat girls' from the Wednesday morning coffee at Hotel Martin's. They live on their boats, with their husbands, in Brugge, on the Coupure, from

 The Giants of Dendermonde

October to May and then depart to travel the waterways of Europe. Except that this year, Sandy and Brett are retiring from what can be a strenuous life, to Woodbridge for a permanent berth. Both boats left a week ago and are still in Oostende hence our little visit which also coincided happily with an annual celebration called Oostende Voor Anker, Ostend at Anchor.

 Mercator

The superb weather provided a perfect backdrop as we boarded a train for the coast, packed with holiday-makers. First, to the zeilschip Mercator only just returned from extensive renovation. Mercator is the last training ship for officers and seamen of the Belgian merchant fleet; between 1932 and 1960, this was where cadets were initiated into life at sea. Since 1964, Mercator has been at anchor in Ostend; it is described as a three masted barquantine and now serves as a splendid museum run by volunteers. The very recent renovation was paid by Belgium and the E.U. but the finance only covered the external work which was extensive; the equally comprehensive interior up-date has been done by a group of volunteers and done brilliantly. A visit to Mercator gives an amazing insight into earlier maritime life.

From the delights of Mercator, we went to visit Clair and Andy on their boat. Access involved

 A temporary taste of the high life.

clambering over five boats at anchor, sides touching, in the harbour after which we were rewarded with cooling drinks and shade from the merciless sun on a very hospitable boat. We then reversed our scrambles to find Sandy’s boat at anchor alongside the pontoon, and once aboard, silently acknowledging in my case that I am not now up to living easily on a boat, clambered up to a little top deck with large parasol, and table with chairs. We sat there, talking and drinking, for ages, luxuriating in the breeze and enjoying the panorama of boats and flags, set against tranquil water and summer skies. Perfection.


 

 

But we had also come to see the Reuzen van Dendermonde, yet another procession, a major folk event listed since 2005 in the UNESCO World Heritage sites. The giants, Indiaan, Mars and Goliath, proved, indeed, to be gigantic, propelled by unseen gymnasts on stilts, hidden beneath colourful costumes. There was a uniformed handsome band and lots of children in costume dashing about. The Belgians do love their ancient processions, and tourists and visitors alike, are all caught up in admiration as they soak up the atmosphere.

 The George Stephenson on the Thames

When the procession had passed, our temporarily-resident guide, Clair, suggested we walk on to visit the George Stephenson steamship which happened to be berthed briefly in Ostend, en route to the Chatham Dockyard [for a visit by Prince Charles, no less!]. I had never heard of this particular vessel but visiting it turned out to be such an unexpected treat. The interior is incredibly beautiful with many pipes, plates, handles, hooks, wheels, taps made of copper and brass and polished to within an inch of their lives. The cumulative patina on view is dazzling! I particularly loved the radiators which were little works of art. The entire vessel spoke volumes of the love and care of the staff and the owner, Faas [Servaas] Strik, who sat in some state in the main dining, bar area, answering queries from visitors. From him we learned a little about the boat and, intrigued, I subsequently went online and discovered the astonishing short history of the boat with its historical components.
 

 The wheelhouse, buffed to perfection

The keel for the George Stephenson was laid in 2006 but it took until early 2014 for the ship to be completed as it is now and owner, Faas Strik, continues to further perfect it. Although the
apparently historic ship is, in fact new, its interior and exterior contain all kinds of historic treasures. Some examples culled from the SWZ Maritime magazine published in November 2014 after its editors had been invited aboard to view the ship prior to its initial launch:

• The cabin has a radiator that dates back to 1920 and which stems from a French fishing vessel.
• The wooden floors come from an English passenger vessel that was scrapped in 1935 in Hendrik-Ido-Ambacht, the Netherlands.
• The timber on the walls come from the doors of the former Defence department building in Paris.
• The solid wood interior doors stem from the ships, the Kenya Castle and Windsor, of the Union-Castle Line and the Norway.
  The round door knobs were acquired from the US navy and twist both ways for safety reasons.
• The ship's sanitary fittings, such as the sink and toilet, are originals made by the important English inventor Thomas Crapper (1836-1910).
• The bronze anchor chain stems from an English mine sweeper of the HAM class from 1952.
• The steel bow anchor was acquired from the British navy.
• The steam whistle come from a steam tug from New York.
• The teak decks come from a school building that was built in 1888 in Bombay.
• There is no new wood on board this ship.
  

  

   Radiator as work of art

  So, the George Stephenson is the determined product of one man’s maritime obsession and when the result is so incredibly beautiful and interesting, a unique piece of floating history, we may salute obsession in its finest form!

 Elderly replicas, one from Portugal, one from Spain,
of the boats which set off to explore the New World.
They were anchored next to Andy and Clair's boat.
They are astonishingly tiny to have taken on a mighty ocean!

Holy Days and Processions

I must stop buying plants to beautify my terrace; I am not really a gardener for I treat my terrace as I did my Kentish garden; as an outside room to be made as decorative as possible while retaining basic functionality. That said, a sunny Wednesday [May 24th], a crowded market transferred to the Burg temporarily to make way for the seating for tomorrow's Holy Blood Procession and a wealth of flowers and plants on stalls beneath the trees and around the huge bronze statue, Les Amoureux.
Et voila! I bought flowers as usual [this week, luscious paeonies] AND a splendid plant. Soon there will be no room for people!

 Les Amoureux spooning beneath the chestnut spires
in the Burg.

To coffee with the girls this morning at Hotel Martin's in Oude Burg and the town is at its best; young foliage, chestnut spires, bright sunshine and thousands of bewitched tourists. The flower and plant display in the Burg markt is the prettiest ever; stalls overflow with strawberries, raspberries, blueberries, blackberries, nectarines, peaches. May, the loveliest month, presents a visual feast but the news from Britain with the deaths of so many young people in Manchester is unbearably sad, wretchedly nihilistic, utterly wasteful of young life and potential. The young terrorist was, perhaps, also among the victims of a mystifying, anarchic, destructive ideology. And it is still May. Read a lovely quote recently about the month of May by Samuel Scoville in his Wild Folk. Not a major writer, one might assume; sounds American, folksy, a minor rural writer one might say. But his lyricism about the most special of months, arrests the attention:
Honey-sweet May, when the birds come back and the flowers come out and the air is full of the sunrise scents and songs of the dawning year.
Simple and inspiring.

 Paul van Abeele, he of the Dumery bell, playing a portable
klokkenspiel in the procession.



And early this morning [Thurs 25th] walking back from swimming in the Crowne Plaza pool, I was struck by the absolute silence in the streets; it is Ascension Day, a Feestdag, and as a Belgian friend observed yesterday, a Holy Day. This last thought had never occurred to me and I doubt there are many English people who would describe it as such. But this is still a Roman Catholic country though active church-going I hear, is on the decrease. However, a Feestdag so, deserted, waking, sunlit streets lacked buses, cars and people at 6.00 and again at 7.00 this morning and it was magical.

 Rounding a tight corner from Oude Burg into
Wollastraat.

For the Procession of the Holy Blood, I chose not to occupy my seat in the Markt; the bank of seating was in the full sun and untenable for me. Much better, in fact, to roam the streets and photograph and view from the shadows of tall buildings. I had not expected anything so major; the whole production is massive and impressive with often glorious costumes and seemingly no expense spared. Now can't remember how many donkeys were taking part, six at least, four dromedaries, maybe a dozen Shire Horses [not sure of the Belgian equivalent], a little flock of sheep and scores of compliant, happy children in mediaeval garb.

One of the donkeys displaying its customary sang-froid

The centrepiece is the Relic, a cloth with  the alleged blood of Jesus Christ, brought to the city by Thierry of Alsace after the 12th century Second Crusade. The Procession of the Holy Blood seems to have emerged as a civic ceremony by the late thirteenth century. Instituted in 1303, the ceremonial procession commemorates the deliverance of the city, by the national heroes Jan Breydel and Pieter de Conynck from French tyranny in May of the previous year, and which takes place on Ascension Day. Bruges residents of the area perform an historical re-enactment of the phial's arrival together with similar dramatizations of Biblical events. For this secular spectator, the stunning historical continuity is the most impressive with splendid costumes and wigs, coming a close second.

 A masterly touch; Himself with baby

A Beautiful Cake

Things have slipped, as my mother might have said. It must be two weeks since my last blog partly due to being occupied elsewhere; partly due to age-related sloth and procrastination ! It was lovely going for four days to Cologne for a 50^th birthday party with the opportunity to stay in a tasteful, calm minimalist apartment, white and spare, but with lots of time in the flat of the birthday boy and his husband which closely resembles an over-the-top Victorian melodrama set. Almost every inch of wall adorned with pictures, many of Brugge [at least 30]; a positive 'fishes and loaves' crowd of Jesus statues and statuettes, [at least a hundred] on surfaces already crowded with ceramics, objets d'art, photographs, books, figurines, mementoes; lots of interesting furniture including at least two harmoniums [harmonia?] clamouring to be noticed; swags and bows and sweeping curtains adorning doorways, all adding to a busy but authentic and dramatic whole. I could add, politically incorrectly, those suffering from excess weight, and those suffering from claustrophobia, abandon hope! Enter not despite the very warm welcome awaiting.

The party itself was a jolly affair including a two or three hour concert with individual friends singing or playing the piano and several groups including fine singing from the Church choir organised by the birthday boy himself. Plus a great buffet and a most artistic cake. The Master of Ceremonies, a friend who organises important musical festivals as his day job, performed a dramatic excerpt from The Magic Flute though he is not a singer. He also wore a pair of Chris Vos shoes from Brugge pictured nearby. Not a shy man you will deduce!

Further work has been done on my terrace, especially when son and his wife were here for a few days till yesterday, Sunday. We visited Damme for coffee where I took the opportunity to buy a beautiful top from the Very Chic Indigo. We were actually en route to Bomberna near Maldeghem, a superb garden centre where one could spend at least half a day, sustained both by the cafe and the huge range and display of plants. It is a place where the whisper of a regret at the willing loss of a little garden can be heard. But I restrained myself and bought only a gorgeous white hortensia, to replace the loss of the two which died of drought in my Californian absence. Plus a fancy fern, and two huge pots, one of which will await use [in the fietsenhok off the entrance hall] in the Autumn when the tricky job of potting on the wisteria and its companion, twining clematis will occur. The other pot was for the vine and my son, fortunately, grappled with its pot-bound steadfastness and eventually we transplanted it. I am coming to terms with my singular inability to deal with very large pots efficiently or even, inefficiently; quite a lot of strength is needed.

Then, Sunday afternoon, strolling in the sun to the Crowne Plaza hotel in the Burg, a friend and I heard a brass band and thus did I discover Open-air Lucht Concerten, performed by various youth brands, and the Navy, mainly in the Burg but also in the Markt and Koningin Astridpark, between April and September. I had always thought of brass bands as a chiefly British tradition, especially in the North of the UK and often associated with coal miners and pit villages. But from the marching bands from Holland and Belgium which perform once a year in Brugge, clearly there is a strong Nederlands' brass band tradition too. These concerts are free, part of a most generous cornucopia provided gratis every year, courtesy of the Stad.

..." and all the chestnut spires are out ..."

Terrace BEFORE I left.

Lovely to see the chestnut trees in the Burg in flower on my return; blooming good!. And, days later, saw many, many more chestnut spires in majestic trees in the Station area. Remembering the line above in the blog title, from the dimly-remembered 'At Kew, at Kew in lilac time' [Alfred Noyes] I am searching for sweet lilacs too and saw several, again in the station area. Do hope to find some lilac to buy on the Wednesday market; it reminds me of a lovely elderly woman in Wye who used to give me a bunch of lilac blooms from her garden every year. The trees in my own square, with foliage just peeping before I left, are now in young green leaf hiding part of the buildings opposite and shading the benches below their thick canopy. I have spent hours on my terrace today, rescuing pots from plants which died in my absence, sweeping up the carpet of decayed leaves and dead flowers. Either frost or drought have killed two hortensia, one hellebore and caused a litter of dead, half-open flowers from the camellia. Is there ever a right time to leave potted plants for several weeks?  I do hear there was much cold and snow during April and insufficient rain. Small comfort!

Part of the back garden
indicating the hilliness of
Emerald Hills.
My daily walk was Slow.

However, SO enjoyed my stay with elder daughter and her little family in Emerald Hills, Redwood City, California but great to be back in beautiful Brugge. After the first day back which passed in a zombie-like state as I washed and ironed my way back to Belgium time, came a few days with a dear old friend from New Hampshire here to stay as part of his annual pilgrimage to the UK and Germany and now, Brugge. He is, at nearly 90, a role model par excellence as he travels determinedly across the world; he left yesterday on a six hour train trip to Karlsruhe to see other old friends before a flight to Britain to catch up with family and friends. Ageing gracefully while continuing to enjoy Life is, I suppose, Not Giving In to the diminishing of stamina, strength and mental agility. A sunny disposition and an inquisitive nature also help! Whatever it is, he has it in spades!

I have lots of memories of my Californian stay; some unsurprising. No Trump fans; lovely to enjoy

Genevieve setting up a lemonade-stand to raise money for a
dog charity in San Francisco. Evidence of a philanthropic
spirit which emerges now and then.

‘family time’; middle class courtesy is the same the world over. Surprises included the discovery that my six year old grand-daughter can play, solo, SO long with her Barbie dolls and even longer with her multiplicity of Lego kits which now contain myriad tiny pieces, figures, animals and not only the countless bricks which slot together, familiar from the sixties and seventies of my children’s childhoods. The sheer size of homes in the area where I stayed, also amazed so that my own quite large flat struck me as small and overcrowded when I eventually returned home. The considerable difficulty

A bedroom!

of going anywhere without a car was experienced anew; public transport, when available, is only O.K. For me, Uber was generally all that was available though on my penultimate day out to the de Young Museum situated towards the Ocean end of San Francisco, after going there by Uber [35 dollars; astonishingly cheap!], I decided to return by public transport. Bus from quite near the de Young across town; Bart to one end of the small network to Millbrae; fruitless search for bus, followed by advice to take the Cal train from Millbrae to San Carlos where son-in-law met me for the ten minute drive home. In its entirety [with much waiting around] my homeward journey took three and a half hours! The Uber to go there took around 25 minutes! I was tempted, after descending from the Bart, to take an Uber but was outraged to discover the price for a much shorter journey than earlier in the day, would have been 81 dollars! Uber is apparently time-sensitive and I had staggered into commuter-time. Think that is capitalism at work! I wondered aloud why the Bart train and the Caltrain systems weren’t unified and indeed, why there was no extensive train network; the unions stopped it apparently, a sixteen year old fellow traveller told me wearily as he despaired of the U.S. public transport system.



The former Post Office is the redbrick building
to the right. Built in 1924, it was not only beautiful but
conveniently in the Markt i.e. the centre of town.

I remembered that today as I walked out to try to catch the main Post Office before it closed; the P.O. was moved last year from the Markt [five minutes walk away] to the far end of Smedenstraat [at least 25/30 minutes walk] so a bus was essential down to ‘t Zand. I hurried towards Jan Van Eyckplein, waving desperately at the driver of the Number 14 as it overtook me. Miraculously, he waited and in about ten minutes I had arrived at ‘t Zand with the Pinkster [Whitsun] Fair in full swing perched along the edges of the huge square, itself still resembling a mini-Somme from the make-over still in progress after months. Within minutes I was entering the Post Office with ten whole minutes before closure to spare. I am not sure if Bruggelingen actually appreciate fully the little miracle that is the bus service here but I do. And even more so after California! And the drivers are incredibly kind and patient too, explaining to, and advising, countless tourists; accommodating wheelchair users; threading through frequent road-works and taking different routes as yet another straat is suddenly closed to through traffic.

Bye, bye Brugge for now ...

Just as the Spring is settling sunnily in, I am going tomorrow [April 6th[ to visit my eldest and her family in California. In Silicon Valley to be precise, to see them and their new house in Emerald Hills which sounds beautiful! And to spend time with six year old Genevieve who Likes To Be In Charge and who, indeed, may offer more sense than the present occupant of the White House.

 Sunday's walk, past the windmills, with tree-sentinels
still ungreened, biding their time for May to arrive.

I was walking home a few days ago after collecting an item from Mustafa, the Afghan who has a shop on Gentpoortstraat offering to do alterations and remodelling of clothes. He is from a family of tailors in Kabul and has a beautiful wife and family. As I strolled through Astridpark, I could see already that some trees were beginning to awaken and I was struck with the sight of groups of people already sitting on the grass enjoying the weak sunshine. It is, I have learned, one of the first signs of Spring in Brugge. Couples and families luxuriating on the grass while leaves are bursting into early bud above them. That and the ever-earlier dawn chorus; now tuning up as I leave the flat at 6.05 for the early swim. As Chaucer has it, “And after winter folweth grene May.” For, by the time I return home from America at the beginning of May, all will be serenely warm and light at both ends of the day and May, that loveliest of months, will be mine to savour. Indeed, all things seem possible in honey-sweet May and the grass in Astridpark looks greener than grene in my photo. 

 

Short note this time; still check-in to do and final packing to complete. Bye bye beautiful terrace for now, with its camellia in bloom and multi-coloured polyanthuses offering their petals to the sun. And the bright pink rhododendron bursting forth. Is this the right time to go away, even to somewhere as beautiful as California?!

 

Falling masonry and fine architecture

As my sister does not read my blog .......
this is included to show the Beguinage at its most beguiling.

 Fell in love with the boy but .....

 ...also loved the face of his companion
even though her head is too big for her body!

Having a sister to stay is a Full Time Job but also an opportunity for great fun. We did lots; going out for coffee and patisseries to two separate friends, one of whom had only recently moved so giving us the chance to see a super apartment in Academiestraat nearby; out for lovely meals; to shops; to the Saturday market for plants and flowers; to hear Luc Vanlaere and his harps again [gentle, interesting, innovative music in Oud Sint Jan]; to my English group to hear an English friend speak on the subject of his dissertation currently under-way; to whit, the deliberate Ijzer flooding in the Autumn of 1914 which temporarily halted the German advance. We sampled the uplifting April show of daffodils at the Beguinage; took a friend to breakfast at Blackbird and spent a most productive time at Bomberna at Maldegem for extra pots and compost ready for the imminent arrival of Spring. En route home from the latter, to a fab architectural salvage place where, temporarily ignoring post-Brexit poverty, I bought a pair of charming statues of a boy and girl for the terrace. AND  later in the week, a Louis Reckelbus, bought but unwanted by a friend at an auction. Fortunate indeed that I shall spend no euros during April when I visit my daughter and her family in California. A period of restraint is called for, both impulse and fiscal restraint!!

En route home from the station after H’s departure on Wednesday morning I wandered into the Markt, busy with the weekly mixed market but with a difference. In front of the Belfort were two fire engines and many helmeted firemen plus two men in a raised basket on the ladder extending from one of the engines. Spectators galore gazed upwards as did I but nothing seemed changed or happening. I eventually discovered that one huge crenellation had fallen intact from high up, narrowly missing the friet van that is usually there. It must have weighed an extraordinary amount but the gods were kind and no one was hurt. I immediately assumed the cub reporter role [is this a redundant expression now?]and busily photographed events/objects for this blog such is the importance I place on this timeless record!!

 Voila!

To the funeral of a dear friend and member of my English group, near Antwerp on Friday. My first visit but not my last; we saw only a relative glimpse of the splendid centre of Antwerp but we left from the glorious and stately central station where we had time to sit and toast our late friend’s memory. I was told that Delacenserie was the architect of Antwerp Centraal and it is a magnificent structure for a memorial to a fine architect. In tribute to the saying that one can take the girl out of teaching but not the teaching out of the girl, I have gone on to look up a little about the background of the Centraal. Really interesting stuff! It was indeed Louis Delacenserie who was the architect between 1895 and 1905 and on the 1905 opening, it was regarded as the finest example of railway architecture anywhere. In 2014 it was confirmed as the most beautiful station in the world by the British/U.S. magazine, Mashable. In the preceding hundred years it had had a chequered history; the Centraal suffered huge damage to the train hall from V2 rockets during WW2 though it was subsequently considered to be safe, structurally. However it was closed as unsafe on January 31st 1986 for restoration between March and September of that year when it safely re-opened. In 1998 reconstruction began, to enable the through passage of high speed trains, and was completed in 2007. In 2011 Antwerpen Centraal was awarded the Grand Prix in the European Union Prize for Cultural Heritage. Until now I had thought of St Pancras, in London, as the most beautiful railway station I had seen but now, it is easily surpassed by the majesty of Antwerp!

Antwerpen Centraal in all its glory.