Emblems of Identity

A record of a lovely shopping morning to begin this week's effort. Tuesday last, set off to beat the imminent rain, to go to Kruidvat, a cheap shop selling all manner of cosmetics and shampoos etc plus a ghastly section of sweets. Boots it isn't [how occasionally I yearn for Boots] but it is the ideal place to go to top up on certain heavy items like John Frieda stuff, toothpaste etc. There is a phalanx of private chemists here selling perfectly ordinary necessities like Listerine at eye-watering prices. I had not noticed before I came to live in Brugge, that private chemists are virtually non-existent in the UK, Boots having, over the years, made that impossible, I suppose. Life sans Boots certainly changes the landscape for the British shopper.

I strolled along Steenstraat, pulling the old-lady-bag-on-wheels, now heavy with purchases, to try to remember which shop had sold me the best shoes which I have worn for months. I now know that, despite the picturesque quality of the cobblestones everywhere, they are uncomfortable to walk on and my Maruti sneakers are cushioned to aid the weary elderly totter across the same. Found the shop, with almost no other shoes by the same Italian maker but I did find another manufacturer's smart flat [important] black ankle boots though the cushion within the soles is thinner. The dark grey/black animal print at the toe end, was irresistible!

On something of a shopping high I then bought some warm pyjamas which can only be described as 'cute' [oh dear] and a fab black T shirt which reads My Favourite Princess is ME in silver across the chest. Intended for Genevieve who will applaud the sentiment but it was the last one and is for an eight year old while she is four and a half, or nearly five as she insists. As she has recently gone to California to live and is big for her age, I am hoping it will be almost fine by next February/March when I visit.

In Etam, now French-owned apparently, the chirpy blonde who served me was great; full of bounce and self-belief, she 

insisted that the cartoon cat-face on my new pyjamas was NOT juvenile; 'It's joyful' she said, and confided that coming to live in Brugge in 2000 with her husband, had awakened her soul as she described it, and she now paints naif pictures. She has to work as a sales assistant to contribute to the family budget, and paints when she can, feeling sure that, in the future, she will sell and make a living from her painting. One of Life's Enhancers, I decided as I left, admiring, and cheered beyond belief.

This blog tends not to aim to be a diary but to highlight places and people I have come across who are interesting or eccentric or historically noteworthy in some way. It is an exercise in idiosyncratic self-indulgence I suppose. That written, the paragraphs above are slightly diary-like but no apologies for that!

Off to find Sint Janshospitaal last Wednesday, the hospital not the museum, and reflected on the bus, on the pluses of life in Bruges. Passing a crowd of swans on the canal along Gulden Vlieslaan, I admired and vowed again, to find out why there are so many here. There is bound to be some legend about, or even a reason for, their presence. They do add grace and elegance and somehow, an aura of permanence. The orthopaedic consultant enlightened me about my arthritic foot, which only appeared in May. It is called Lis-Franc arthritis, is the hardest to treat and the most painful to have. Ironically given my triumphant find of the chic black boots the day before, I discovered that I have to wear MBT shoes to restrict flexibility in the foot, thus reducing the pain. The doctor told me that ladies did not like them which I subsequently discover means that they are ugly and expensive. I go in search to Ghent next week!!

Although this blog is a tribute to my adopted city, sometimes I leave Brugge briefly and on Sunday 20th September, with a friend, I set off for Krakow on a mission, long overdue, to experience Auschwitz. Krakow proved to be an appealing city with some wonderful period buildings, numerous enormous churches, beautiful tree-lined streets and park areas BUT an unappealing wealth of graffiti everywhere and with many large buildings in a state of gentle decay. Auschwitz was an effort, to reach by bus after one and a half hour journey; to queue for and to almost enter; to be turned back because the handbag was too large for the specifications.

But the place itself was an amazing experience. First, it was unexpected to see the hundreds, perhaps thousands, of pilgrims, as it were, milling around, queueing, reading the many information boards. Once the guided tour [excellent] had begun,

it was the long, long room with the glass down 
one long side, behind which was an extended mountain of shoes and boots, all worn, with a few more dainty, flirty pairs arranged along the front edge, which made one catch the breath. Similar silent testimonies to long-dead, long-murdered owners were evidenced in huge heaps of cooking pots and utensils, luggage marked with owners' names, children's shoes, hair, prayer shawls. It was not only the intimacy of the formerly treasured possessions which shocked, it was the countless numbers of these, the sheer multitudinous display bearing eloquent testimony to the barbaric fate of the owners. There were myriad photographs of a small proportion of the victims in striped uniforms, and information panels to further enlighten and depress. The sheer scale and ingenuity of the sustained attempt to kill all European Jewry, was unimaginable. It was a draining, but valuable experience.


I normally assume that virtually no one reads this blog. Even so, I received two comments last week; one offering information on Louis Reckelbus, the artist whose home I visited during the Open Monuments weekend recently, which I would love to have and the other commenting on a place featured in the blog several weeks ago. The second read: 'Frou Frou; seriously the best hat shop in Europe if not the whole planet'. I took a copy over today to Mardy who owns Frou Frou which is almost next door to me, and she was Seriously Thrilled, so thank you Mary! A copy of your most welcome comment is now in [another] window of Frou Frou!  

In case anyone from Brugge happens to read this, Frou Frou needs new premises; fairly central, inexpensive, if such be available, attractive windows awaiting fabulous displays!

Secrets of Brugge

Another very busy week; yet another hour in the dentist's chair; two evenings of Dutch classes, three and a half hours an evening [which feels a little excessive, given the slow pace of progress!]; a thank you lunch with a friend who gave lots of help earlier in August at a brunch for ten which I did; coffee at Hotel Martin with the English-speaking 'ladies'! And so on.

But, best of all, two Jane Austen Kent Branch friends came for a couple of days and I had lots of fun showing them a few of the interesting features of life in Bruges. I am not certain but I think the top of their hit parade were the magical restoration works of Sint Donaas, the tenth century cathedral demolished in the late eighteenth century by the French and then the last session of the year of the ringing of the Dumery bell by foot to commemorate the work of Joris Dumery [17] the carillon-maker who installed the carillon in the Belfort [the Beiard]. They were much taken by meeting the foot bell-ringer, Paul vanden Abeele and his super wife, Jo. And I was delighted to meet Maria, a 94 year old friend of the Abeele who lived nearby and who always comes to witness the Ringing of the Bell. She insisted on taking me into her immaculate four-bedroomed house to show me masses of family photographs, including one of her husband in his wartime naval uniform. He was unbelievably handsome!

And, after their departure on Saturday afternoon, I joined friends to go to a property in the weekend's annual Open Monuments Day, rather like the Open Houses in London at this time of year. The first one I could make was the Minnewaterkliniek on Professor Dr J Sebrechtsstraat, a huge place comprising virtually one whole side of the street. Opened as a hospital and built at the instigation of the redoubtable Dr Sebrechts it is now an old people's home, complete with a splendid chapel and in-house medical care both for the inmates and others outside the home. It is a marvellously tranquil place with gardens to the rear and ample parking in what was almost certainly part of the original huge garden area.

A view from the garden of the chapel and a small part of the extensive buildings

of the Minnewaterkliniek

The last visit of the afternoon was to the house of Louis Reckelbus, 1864-1958. I had never heard of Meneer Reckelbus but discovered that he had been a watercolour artist of landscapes, city-scapes and so on, eventually appointed to be Curator of the Groeninghe Museum. He was among the first Belgian refugees during the First World War, to flee to, and settle in, St Ives in Cornwall, an artists' colony where he soon found an active place in the community and where he also sold his paintings to raise money to help his fellow refugees. He described St Ives, when he returned home to his birthplace of Brugge, as 'a little unspoiled Paradise', quite a tribute from one born and bred in Brugge.

A Reckelbus painting, an artist unknown to me till now!

His house too was a little Paradise; he had bought it in three separate parts, the first in August 1909 and the final in September 1937, gradually renovating it. Today, after earlier threats of demolition, it survives as an architect's stylish offices with a lovely garden at the back, bounded by a canal, and with a kitchen of particular note. It has been 'modernised' relatively recently but with sufficient of the original tiles left in place to make one long to see it as it was. There is a treasure, apparently guarded in secrecy by Louis Reckelbus, at the top of the stairs; it is no more than significant fragments of a fresco depicting the Nativity, probably fifteenth century; the face of the Madonna is particularly serene and beautiful and must have given the artist untold pleasure each time he clambered up the rather difficult stairs. It was a privilege to be allowed to see inside this building. And wonderful to have discovered Louis Reckelbus and his art.

Magical to have such an exquisite fresco remaining in part, in a private house.

Michele, my invaluable translator, and I had a full programme of Open Monuments on Sunday with the morning promising exceptional interest. We had a guided tour of the on-going restoration work in the Gruuthuse Museum and also in Onze Lieve Vrouwekerk, the Church of Our Lady, the huge and important church where Michelangelo's Madonna and Child are on display. I think I found the Gruuthuse tour particularly good with a super guide and an early mediaeval building for which one felt an instinctive empathy, its earlier grandeur slightly down-at-heel; its magnificence, a little shabby. Rather like an ageing Queen caught without the usual attention to detail. It was obviously being rescued from serious deterioration with wet rot abundant, tiled floors under centuries of dirt and wear, painted wood and walls faded beyond recognition. The restoration so far is Seriously Good, beginning towards the end of last year, and to continue until an advertised 2015 though, as the guide told us, almost every step of the way, as one piece of restoration is begun, another need for remedial work becomes visible. The finish date may well yet be pushed back to allow for more work as more decay is uncovered. Undoubtedly there is EU money involved, probably finance also from the city and from the regional government too. 

Restored crests amid both old and new wood.

The tour started in the attics where an apparently new mediaeval tiled floor stretched before us. The restoration of this huge pavement had revealed two unsuspected colours of tiles forming a regular pattern and we saw another floor area in the same attic, still untouched, and simply unrecognisable in its dirt and ageing with a heavy mantel of earth and centuries of use. The ample beams and lower roof timbers had all been restored and the motto of the Gruuthuse family, 'Plus est en vous' [que vous pensez, being implied] was written in beautiful script over many of the beams. This was the motto of Lodewijk Gruuthuse, 1422-1492, who built this palace originally, and means that there is more in you than you realise. A splendidly inspiring motto for a group [as in Gordonstoun which has also taken this same  motto] but our guide emphasised that it did, in fact, refer to the great man, Lodewijk, himself, almost everything he did being an extension of his ego! The numerous repetitions displayed upon the attic beams of Plus est en vous were not, apparently, done on behalf of Lodewijk, but the result of a little over-exuberance on the part of the firm, Delasenserie, which undertook a major renovation during the 1920s and which is, interestingly, in charge of the present operation.

Lodewijk, diplomat, soldier, aristocrat, patron and his motto

Plus est en vous

The tour took in various rooms, in differing stages of renovation; the little chapel, virtually joined to the OLV church next door, had been almost gutted in the restoration process, though its beautiful ceiling which merged into an apse at one end, was entire. Below the apse, a window seat with windows which opened on to, and into, OLV and which permitted the less-committed church-goers in the mediaeval Gruuthuse, to claim they had breathed the holy air, when both windows at one end and door at the other, were left open.

The beautiful little Gruuthuse chapel, awaiting further attention

The church inside, was highly polluted with thick layers of dust and soot, cracks in walls and vaults,  and damage from fungi and beetles. The current phase of renovation takes in the choir, the choir aisle, the sacristy and the transcript. The renovations in the huge church itself  are impressive with the main enemy, again the water. It is quite a feat to keep open an important and busy church for the faithful, plus accommodate an unceasing army of visiting tourists anxious to tick off the Michelangelo on their list. It is being accomplished with the major part of the building closed behind scaffolding and plastic sheets for restoration and will be thus until the end of 2015. There is a fixed budget [of 1.538 million, the majority of which has come from the Flemish community.]  so difficult decisions are being made as further unsuspected decay is revealed and plans for expensive gilding, or some replacement, have to be shelved. Renovation on this scale, and under the twin pressures of worship and tourism, is a daunting task but the renovator who spoke to us showed photos of utterly painstaking work being done with a tiny scalpel and infinite patience. Astonishing and humbling.

One restored corner of a large stone tablet rather sums up the power of restoration.

So many secrets of this ancient city uncovered in just one week. The Open Monuments weekend is intended for Bruggelings, not tourists, [hence only Dutch spoken] and it was heartening to see considerable interest and pride in their civic inheritance, displayed in the numbers attending and the keenness shown. But the great interest in the hidden Sint Donaas Kathedral and the esoteric ringing of the old bell in memoriam, by tourists like my visitors is also gratifying. Brugge really is a treasure trove for those who look a little beyond the beautiful surface, stunning though that is.

Music is the language of the spirit.

Voetklok.. Foot bell. Brugge never fails to amaze and delight and Friday 4^th September, there was a ten minute display of bell-ringing by foot on top of a wooden platform, a little belfry I suppose, in Boeveriestraat. Five times a year, in June, July and September, Paul Van den Abeele commemorates the life and work of the man who cast and installed a new set of bells between 1742-48 in the Belfort following a disastrous fire in 1741. To whit, Joris Dumery, who died in Brugge in 1787.

       Joris Dumery

He was a master bell founder and maker of carillons and indeed made and installed the carillon in Bruges. The first carillon was installed in the sixteenth century and served to regulate the lives of the inhabitants; fire alarms, work hours, political, social and religious events were all thus marked. Quite why the memorial is where it is, and why it is operated by foot, remains to be discovered. Certainly, it is a cost-effective solution to the occasional need to ring a huge and heavy bell in memoriam. Spectators last Friday, were sadly sparse; few outsiders seem to have heard of this summer ritual and many Bruggelings appear disinterested, but it was nonetheless a charming and idiosyncratic tribute to Meneer Dumery.

Friend and I were fascinated in fact, on Friday morning, to see Paul unlock the bell, clamber up the ladder and begin the arduous task of ringing the 700 kg bell for ten minutes. He wore no safety harness and had nothing to assist his efforts beyond the power of his 83 year old legs! He was security-free, and unusually fit. It looked, and is, potentially dangerous and one couldn't help but smile nostalgically at the thought of our own dear 'Elf 'n' Safety regulations. Here, there were none. What there was, however, was good will, a huge pride and interest in Bruggean tradition and a strong sense of community continuity and responsibility. Paul has rung the bell for 27 years, and for a total so far of 192 times. He aims to make that 200 at least! The audience of five was enthralled and afterwards we spoke to Paul and his energetic wife, Jo [84 and brisk!] and went to the nearby OCMW [Social Security] which, unexpectedly to me, served drinks to its clients and presumably to locals like Jo and Paul. I so enjoyed our long chat, together with another friend of theirs, Lieve, met through the ringing of the Dumery bell on an earlier occasion. Paul is a carillonneur by training and went up to the Bruges carillon first when he was six. His professional life was spent in art restoration. He is sad that he can find no younger person to take over his Dumery responsibility eventually; he says that young people ask how much money will they be paid and show little interest or respect in continuing this special Bruggean tradition.

Jo and Paul Van den Abeele

Because of that morning activity, Michele and I were invited to a concert in the Belfort in the evening where we joined the Vrienden of the Beiard. We had the most splendid time, not knowing, on arrival, what awaited us. On stage there was a decent-sized orchestra with wind instruments, violin, portable carillon, synthesizer but with the majority of players equipped with banjoes. Apparently, originally formed when the members were schoolboys and the Directeur of the school, a banjo enthusiast, the orchestra had re-formed for this concert after a lapse of thirty years, recruiting two young women musicians en route. The music was impressive, and there were lots of songs from the chiefly old i.e. dated, popular European canon, including an American negro spiritual. The large audience frequently sang along and the whole affair was just so joyful and somehow, innocent! A happy touch was added as the audience filed out, with a free glass of Brugse Zot beer for everyone. Small wonder that we wandered into the dark, humming along, remembering the songs. Life-enhancing or what?!

In fact, this Friday evening music presaged a musical Saturday. A friend Tatjana,[above] harpsichordist, and her husband, Martin came to stay from Cologne, for Tatjana to give a charity concert in the Orgelzaal, part of the Conservatorium in Muntplein in the evening. For me, her super recital followed an afternoon concert of Early Music in the Sint Jeruzalemkapel by a choir from Veurne. I have mentioned the wondrous Sint Jeruzalem church before; it is special and tiny so that the approximately thirty spectators were crowded together to listen to the choir which sang from behind a screen on a gallery above. The main space of the ground area is taken up by the splendid mediaeval tombs of Anselm Adornes, the founder and benefactor of the church, and his wife. Frankly all three concerts, hugely different, were such a composite pleasure and made me reflect on my good fortune in thinking of coming to live here at this rather late stage in life. I like the following quote from Kahlil Gibran [from which the title of this post was taken]

'Music is the language of the spirit.

It opens the secret of life bringing

peace, abolishing strife.'

A view of the gallery above the tiny nave, where the Veurne choir stood, to sing. 

And so to Sunday and a visit to the sixth Kaasmarkt in 't Zand, a celebration really of artisanal cheese-making in the area. There were perhaps two dozen stalls, music [dire] and a couple of wine stalls too. I think I had expected more but 24, if that is what there were, is pretty impressive. As I walked home carrying cheeses, I scanned back over a crowded week, which included the first lesson of Level 2 Dutch on Wednesday evening, and marvelled at the little life I am creating, if that is the right word. Finding, perhaps, is better.  Give a human sufficient warmth, food and shelter, and a life will ensue. Which brings me to ponder the European problem de nos jours; refugees. Have to mention this and use the graph below.

This graph appeared in the Belgian press a few days ago, [and also I think, in the Economist] as I heard David Cameron insisting that the UK was leading the way with helping refugees. While acknowledging the considerable UK financial contribution to the funding of refugee camps, I think this says it all; there is no UK among these European nations in the graph which is measuring the numbers of refugees taken in, per 100,000 of a country's population. France, with all its huge space, is disgracefully at the bottom of the list but at least, it is on the list, just.

The graph is for last year so that the huge contribution made by Germany this year, during the current tsunami of desperate people fleeing to Europe, is not acknowledged.

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.