A Gentleman in Moscow

Moscow, 1922.

I have just read A Gentleman in Moscow by Amor Towles, recommended by my elder daughter. It has proved to be an absorbing, elegantly-written and sophisticated narrative which I have loved. It is a beautifully-observed novel, written with an eighteenth century delicacy of phrase and nuance despite being set in Bolshevik Moscow in 1922.

It tells the story of a Russian aristocrat, deemed to be a totally unrepentant representative of his class by a Bolshevik tribunal and therefore sentenced to house arrest and demoted to the status of Former Person. He has lived for years in the best suite in the Hotel Metropol in Theatre Square, containing 'a grand salon with eight foot windows overlooking the lindens of Theatre Square' but he is summarily moved to the mountaineering heights of the dusty, unloved attics and given a tiny former storeroom
without space, views or beauty, reminiscent of a monastic cell, for his house arrest. Allowed to take only a few items to the Great Upstairs, Count Alexander Ilyich Rostov chooses to take all his books and a few iconic possessions, and somehow sails on for the next thirty years, indomitable, erudite, witty, admired, working as Head Waiter, extending his experiences to family and to a web of emotionally-important friendships and memories. Throughout, the Count remains calmly accepting of his fate; apparently wholly compliant with the will of his Soviet masters while quietly, subversively, pursuing his own agenda and enjoying, in many ways, a most enviable way of life.

The Count's world: the Hotel Metropol in

Theatre Square, Moscow.

Of course I recommend this superb book but I am including it in my blog simply to give me the excuse to quote Montaigne, or put more precisely, to enable me to lift a quote in the Amor Towles book from Montaigne. In a list of two important pieces of parental advice, the Count quotes Montaigne's maxim:

“that the surest sign of wisdom is constant cheerfulness”.

And his story demonstrates the exemplary power of such positive good humour in the face of a total loss of liberty and possessions, and reminds us of its virtues.

This Montaigne quote appealed to me because, almost entirely and certainly effortlessly, I enjoy the benefits of a sunny disposition. I would be flattered to hear that described as wisdom; it is a wisdom, if so, of a totally accidental kind acquired by the unwitting random harvest of birth rather than the more sober and disciplined acquisition of knowledge and the gradual development of enlightenment. Constant cheerfulness seems to be more down to chance; good luck; beneficent fortune and perhaps the determination not to let the bastards grind one down. And none the worse for that!

Currently, the physical demands of travelling twice a week to and from the Nederlands classes plus the unseemly length of each lesson resulting in a real weariness which impacts on my week, reducing the daily pleasures in many small ways, have challenged my normal bonhomie! It is still there, chiefly buoyant though, to mix the metaphors, maintained through gritted teeth! My constant cheerfulness seems therefore sensitive to undue external weight and therefore lacking in Montaigne’s sureness and wisdom. And I am trying to remember which of my friends once remarked that constant cheerfulness was a drag for others; something to be borne rather than admired.

Well-heeled ladies playing

Mah Jong, probably around the time that 

Count Rostov became a Former Person.

But there ARE many reasons to be cheerful.

Part One: See right. A reminder of the joys of weekly Mah Jong sessions with other mature females of similar ability [low] and spirits [high]

Snowy, snowy blog

Earlier date but identical view on Friday 2nd March

Looks like the Siberian cold, prolonged and intense, is departing today. Friday’s snow is disappearing, huge swathes of ice on the canals have disappeared, the sun continues cheerfully as it has throughout the cold spell, and spirits are lifting. March 2nd saw the 61st anniversary of my first marriage and in two weeks it will be the sixteenth anniversary of my second husband’s death, impossibly distant in spite of its comparative closeness in time. And while I am ruminating on the unlikely speed of time travel, the fact that in the summer will come my 84th birthday, again a highly unbelievable event in my head, leads me to propose the excuse I am using, to myself, to give me permission to do something which is normally not allowed! I returned home yesterday from the written Dutch class, frozen from waiting for two buses, so tired from four and a half hours of class work, and realised that it was six hours since I had left home to go to class that morning. The sheer physical effort is considerable and that has to do with age so, untypically as claimed, I have decided not to progress to Niveau Fijf, Level 5.

This means only two more exams and four more lessons to go and the feeling of a burden, freely assumed, lifting, is strong. I normally Never Give Up but the effort to do the class and even more, the effort to remember vocabulary and achieve well in the tests, plus the bus travel at each end, has reached the stage when the efforts far outweigh the rewards!! So, some free time to come soon when the pressure will lift. And I still won’t be able to read De Standaard, my original goal!

This is at Party One but several of these were at Mah  Jong

the following day.

But a super week in spite of all. Wednesday morning to meet the girls for the usual coffee morning at Hotel Martin’s and Wednesday afternoon to a friend’s flat to celebrate Noreen’s 80th birthday with an English tea party; there were even cucumber sandwiches! It was such fun, all cakes and champagne; candles and conviviality, that the intense cold without was as nought. While there I discovered that one of those present had her own birthday the following day, so leftover delights [of which there were many] were commandeered, more bubbly donated and a little surprise celebration for our friend’s birthday the next morning organised when several of us were at my flat for Mah Jong. Toasts were proposed and drunk; delicious cakes eaten and the Chinese tiles expertly played. The feeling of friendship from both gatherings was strong and we reminded ourselves how very important, in later years, become friends. For those interested in anti-Alzheimer’s manoeuvres [all of this group] those boxes were also ticked; the importance of supportive friends; social activities; intellectual pursuits and challenges. Yup, we’re trying!

I was photographing her while she was ....

Following the wholly unreasonable tax demand from Brugge tax office, I saw an accountant this week. I knew that the method of the tax people’s accounting is allowed under the terms of the Double Taxation Treaty and this accounts for the proposed 45% level of taxation on my modest Belgian taxable pensions. AND that there is nothing I can do to defend my money further BUT still I hoped, perhaps for an obscure observation/allowance/loophole to assist an aged ex-pat. No, there is nothing and the Very Cheerful Accountant said breezily that my combined incomes made me a very wealthy pensioner to a level unknown to the Belgians and that I should cheerfully pay up. Fruitless to point out the unfair exchange rate used; the two  different total income sums converted by two different people in the same tax department, based on the same figures obtained from the UK tax people. So, voila, there it is and payment must be made before April 12 to ensure escape from the 7% daily fine for slackers. I don't often ask for advice .....!

Wandelen

A ‘back-to-normal’ week with Dutch class this morning bringing its usual post-lesson exhaustion. We have a scant ten minute break in a lesson of four hours twenty minutes so unsurprising that I eventually stagger for the bus feeling around a hundred. I seem to spend the entire lesson span in a 

state of linguistic bewilderment [only Dutch spoken] and seriously question my intellectual ability to progress to Niveau Vijf, Level Five. We shall see; I would like to be able to achieve that outmoded amd geriatric pastime of reading and enjoying De Standaard, a very respectable-looking newspaper. Suspect that the spoken Dutch and more specifically, the heard Dutch, will remain beyond my reach!

This calm reflection encapsulates what I love about Brugge;

its art, its architecture, its canals, its tranquillity; its
hidden depths and surface beauty.

Between other little activities at the weekend, I went off twice to wander along, across, beyond the canals in the bright but wintry sun; Bruggelingen and tourists alike were opening their collective face to the light and Spring felt almost round the corner. I resolutely avoided examining the terrace which looks unloved and neglected, promising it outdoor benefits to come very soon. Work is sorely needed and Will Be Done when the temperature rises to comfort level out there.

Ditto. And all, around only one hundred metres from home!

I have dithered about including the photograph  at the bottom of this blog which has nothing to do with Brugge but does have a strong emotional connection for me. I received it this week from the son of one of those pictured in it and the memories came rolling along. Taken some time in 1955 or 1956, it shows the group of friends with whom I socialised constantly in those years, up to 1961 when my first daughter was born and Going Out was something that was chiefly unaffordable!! It is extraordinary to yours truly to think that I am the sole survivor clinging to the wreckage; all those meals and pub evenings and dances [SO many dances!]; all that good friendship, laughter, loyalty and camaraderie dimly remembered though the warmest and happiest of feelings remain. There are two people missing in fact from the photograph including the photographer who can surely be found strolling the Elysian Fields, almost certainly planning insurgency as he issues a celestial call to arms!

A Perfect Age To Do Everything

 There was an interesting article in The Times on Saturday 10^th February entitled: Marathons, Botox and Sex: There’s a perfect age to do everything. It was light-hearted though claiming the support of ‘research’ and attracted me [as intended] because it claimed that youth isn’t always an advantage. Against each item such as Remember things, it gave an age, 25, where youth has a decided advantage as I notice each and every Dutch lesson I currently take. My co-conspirators in the class are mostly in their twenties and remember stuff effortlessly it appears while my own effort-full endeavours are chiefly poorly rewarded.

Many of the activities listed were better experienced in youth such as Learn to drive, 17; Build hmuscle, 25; Run a marathon, 28 while Learn a language was 8 [Oops, missed that by about 75 years!]. But, impressively, some things get better with age like Have great sex, 66; Do Maths in your head, 50 and Concentrate well, 43 while Resolving conflicts at 65 and Being happy 69 simply confirmed what oldies have always known though it was a pleasure to read it in newsprint. There was nothing suggested as perfect for the eighties though contentment, wisdom and tenacity come to mind

as being states of being which are second nature to many in their seventies and eighties. A significant number of experiences or attitudes, so important in earlier days, like status; striving for promotion; worrying what people will think; anxiety about partner or children or parents; success or failure; all have faded into insignificance or have disappeared. The boat has entered calmer waters and quietly bobs along, allowing the boatman to enjoy the views, diverse acquaintances, various activities, chiefly mental, occasional treats and occasional mishaps. Everything in moderation is the silent cry while we quietly follow our motto: Carpe diem; Pluk de dag, savouring our full quiet lives and the occasional triumphs, visits and guests. This unexpected and unsought serenity of old age comes very close to happiness.

And very close to happiness was this week’s Mah Jong session followed by a lunch of delicacies like sushi and dumplings provided by our Chinese leader, Nancy, and a group member, Clair. All

consumed with various bubblies and all to celebrate the Chinese New Year. As a goodwill token, our hostess had decreed we must dress up in Oriental fashion if possible, or with at least a sartorial nod to the Chinese mode, in red perhaps. Several of us managed more than a token but all had tried and, in a gesture of what we imagined to be youthful Orientalism, we all wore a red camellia from Patricia’s garden in our collective hair. We looked cool, we thought, until [in my case] we saw the photographs later. Only two women looked remotely authentic with the camellia-in-the-hair, the beautiful, dark-haired Chinese girl who wore hers to the manner born, and Clair-the-cook with her abundant and beautiful grey hair. The rest of us just looked good sports!! But we had a great morning and honestly, age had little to do with anything, the age range being from the fifties to the eighties.

Think I haven't mentioned my tax situation though I feel it keenly and probably, can do nothing to rectify the situation. My tax bill for 2017, just arrived, has doubled from the first estimate months ago and now represents a 45% level of taxation on the  modest two pensions taxable in Belgium. I have now discovered that the host country [Belgium] can take any UK income, in my case my main teachers' pension, add it to the income total here without taxing the UK income, to decide on the entry level for taxation here. I will consult a tax accountant but having obtained the relevant paragraph from the Double Taxation Treaty which allows the manoeuvre described, think there is nothing effective to be done. The very first hint of a serpent in Paradise, alas!

Gruuthuse In Galant Gezelschap

Bird motif from a Belouch

tribal rug.

Part of one of the huge beer tents

on the Burg.

Last Saturday I was busy all day with two visitors, a friend from Canada and his partner from Kent. Unbelievably they came over to Brugge to see me on a Day Trip by ferry and car. Noble effort in my opinion! But we did have a lovely time, the highlights of which were Breakfast at Blackbird [in Jan Van Eyckplein, nearby]; a visit to the Saturday market as it was finishing, on the Beursplein, temporarily moved because of the huge, and lengthy renovation of ‘t Zand, after which we wandered into Van Muylle’s wonderful tribal rug and carpet shop because of Alan’s vague intention to replace his main rug at home in Vancouver though measurements had he none! This emporium is one of my favourite haunts in Brugge and I was not disappointed by the offerings on display, fortuitously at the end of a month-long sale. After coffee on the house and lengthy deliberations, Alan didn’t buy because of the measurement problem but the one he loved, a rich blue-bordered interpretation of a traditional Turkmenistan tribal rug, was not only beautiful but also half price. Almost irresistible.

After that, to the Burg to one of the two main sites for the weekend’s Brugge Beer Festival where huge crowds of mainly happy, talkative men filled both enormous marquees on the Burg and on the

Lion guarding one half of the many superb fireplaces

in the Gruuthuse Museum.

Markt. As we declined to join the long, long queue for tokens without which beer purchase was impossible and in a nod to my need to sit down and relax, we wandered home for a tranquil seat and a free beer in peace. Mussels at de Schilder in Jan Van Eyckplein completed the day in time for them to dash off to Dunkirk while I retreated to my sanctuary thinking back on the treasures available to visitors to [and residents in] Brugge!

Sunday I managed to remember the open weekend for the Gruuthuse Museum, closed these several years for extensive renovation. The public was allowed in to see the renovations so far and to follow a route through the Gruuthuse to look at the progress made while the nearby Arentshuis museum hosted a small exhibition of mainly 18th  and 19th century Gruuthuse treasures called Gruuthuse in Chivalrous Company. It was delightful but even more so was the sight of a lovely book on Frank Brangwyn, the English artist born in Brugge who left a large body of his work to the city. The Arentshuis is a temple to Brangwyn. I discovered the book, Brangwyn at War was for sale in the Museum shop opposite and bought it, since when I dip into it when I can. A marvellous and informative read.

One of Brangwyn's works from 

Brangwyn at War by Libby Horner [2014]

Frank Brangwyn

Frank Brangwyn was born in Brugge in May 1867 where his father was working on several architectural projects in the city and where he had recently opened an embroidery atelier producing ecclesiastical vestments. Eventually, in 1874, the family moved back to Britain and Frank, with no formal academic or art training, first impressed William Morris with his draughtsman skills and originally made his name as a water colourist, becoming eventually a master of a considerable diversity of artistic skills; etching, wood engraving, lithography, book and poster design, architecture, interior design, glassware and ceramics. He was inspired by Art Nouveau though perhaps more so by the Arts and Crafts movement and Impressionism.
This immensely productive and talented artist had become one of Britain’s most renowned artists by the turn of the 20th century with an international following, becoming, in effect, a polymath, a quintessential artist-craftsman. But, compared say, to William Morris, Brangwyn's name is not widely remembered now.

Wintervonken; Winter Sparks

I think this versatile performer was the 

baritone previously entertaining us

from the earth-bound stage!

As I suggested, I investigated Wintervonken with Edmond who was staying briefly last weekend and we arrived in the Burg to find a huge crowd milling around despite the damp, cold weather. I don’t remember what I expected but it was certainly not the serious delight of romantic solos and duets from befrilled and becostumed excellent classical singers on the small outdoor stage. From her heart-shaped red parasol to the tips of her red-stockinged and red-booted feet, the soprano was every inch the Romantic Heroine. Her consort too was dressed chiefly in white to complement her white crinoline, but with touches of red on his white top hat and tails. The many, many children in the audience seemed bewitched but more was to come. More, indeed, to enchant the adults too.

I had noticed a long, long slender crane at one end of the Burg, and soundlessly and unnoticed at first, it, the crane, moved slowly into action providing the power for a gorgeous aerial ballet to begin above our heads. Just before, several red and white crinolined girls had pirouetted, weaving through the audience, mounted somehow on tiny platforms powered by bicycles to which each individual girl’s stage was mysteriously joined. The entire concept was so disconnected from an everyday way of doing things, that the audience seemed entirely happy captives, happy to believe in, and become lost in, everything it was witnessing. But when the aerial ballet began, time really stood still with children and adults alike gazing in wonder at the pirouetting performances so high in the sky. Magical was the word. I think the children in

particular will not forget the spinning ballet on a level with the bare treetops in the Burg and the scattering of tiny pieces of tinsel and white feathers by the duvet-full over the expectant faces below.

Theater Tol, the magicians involved, were spectacular in both performance and concept.

 Close-up of the fiery blooms around

Les Amoureux

As we left in search of warmth, on another stage beneath the trees, four rather fierce-looking men were tuning up to what might well have been full-on Heavy Metal while the bar was doing brisk business. The range and quality of the free entertainment during the year, available to the citizens of Brugge plus the tourists, continue to amaze and impress me. But the red and white pied aerial roundabout with its smiling, posing, trapeze performers who appeared to enjoy it all, takes, if not the biscuit, certainly the waffle!

I quite forgot to describe how fantastic the Burg-beneath-the-trees looked with many artfully-arranged small fires and a huge cauldron of flames with wooden benches and chairs provided for the lucky few; a fiery winter terrace indeed provided by De Vuurmeesters. I should add too that the Burg itself, with its beautiful building and gilded statues provided a majestic setting in which to stage a special event.

Hello to 2018

Oops, a blog laguna during which I went to the UK, principally for the annual family lunch and theatre trip but also to catch up with the Suffolk branch of the family.

The actual lunch was simply superb; at Kricket, an Indian restaurant with a difference in Soho, on Denman Street to be precise. As we were sixteen in number, we naturally chose the sharing option and were rewarded with multiple offerings of four sets of trio platters containing food of a positively Paradisal nature, Cannot identify any single dish but all were spicey and full of taste. Our two junior members, Nicholas age 4 and his sister Eloise age 2, behaved impeccably and the other fourteen members of the party made up for the little ones’ good behaviour by being very noisy, full of shouted and shared news and

An unlikely scene from a delightful farce!

memories. A splendid start to the New Year indeed, followed immediately by a trip to the Criterion nearby to enjoy a farce, The Comedy About A Bank Robbery which fulfilled all expectations aroused by its predecessor two years ago, The Play That Went Wrong. It was ridiculously silly, full of intentional mishaps, occasional double entendres, convoluted plot and inventive stage business that had the audience convulsed with laughter and gasping with admiration. The actual plot involved a priceless diamond, an escaped convict, mistaken identities, love triangles and hidden agendas. In fact the Mischief Theatre Company did the audience proud!

The day after was quiet! I was exhausted and I simply read the paper, drank occasional coffees and juices while my eldest grand-daughter and her good friend nobly produced a marvellous roast dinner, something I now never have in Bruges. Eventually, my daughter drove me to my sister's to be in place for our trip together to Brugge the next day. And so another week since then has sped past, with no blog as my computer inexplicably would not fire up! But my sister and I were busy putting the world to rights, occasionally remembering childhood incidents while I tried to persuade her to think of downsizing while she can. Since my sister’s departure two days ago, I have managed to take my end of third level Dutch exam; meet up with friends and importantly register my Euthanasia application at the Town Hall, now named the Huis op Bruggelingen. On the whole, quite a productive period!!

Gary Oldman as Churchill in an amazing performance

The real Winston and Clemmie

My sister and I really enjoyed Darkest Hour at the Lumiere [still under massive renovation]. Top flight performances came from Gary Oldman and Kristin Scott Thomas and the film looked terrific and generated an uncanny air of authenticity. The film claims to give an authentic account of how Churchill and the freshly-formed coalition government responded to the very real prospect of
imminent invasion. It also painted a tumultuous picture of the unwillingness of the Conservative Party and the Tory grandees, plus KIng George V1, to accept Churchill instead of the universally-preferred Lord Halifax as Prime Minister. I had never realised the depths of opposition faced by Churchill nor the Machiavellian manoeuvres to depose him. The only unequivocal support came from his darling Clemmie and Attlee and the Labour Party though the latter is hardly highlighted in the film. I was surprised to see the Groene Zaal in the Lumiere was absolutely full for the showing we attended. I had not expected such interest in a British film about WW2 though, of course, both World Wars were experienced in such first-hand, immediate and often calamitous ways in Belgium.

And now, back to my usual routines of early swimming and fixed points like the coffee with the girls in the Hotel Martin's and Mah Jong on Thursday mornings plus my favourite evening activity of meeting up with my conversation group in the Oud Huis Amsterdam. I have a whole week off from Dutch but Niveau Vier looms from Tuesday next with an 8.30 start in St Kruis, a half hour's bus ride away. Phew! This coming weekend I must investigate Wintervonken in the Burg, a free event

involving lots of beer with the looks of the waiting bar waggons loitering in the Burg this morning!