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Liechtenstein: Mountains, Trains and Polkas

“What country has only 35,000 inhabitants?” my husband wondered as he scrolled through an information sheet on Liechtenstein.  “How can that be?”

Take 62 square miles, the vast majority of it a near-vertical,uninhabitable, mountainous mass, plunk it between similarly sheer peaks in Austria and Switzerland, and you have Liechtenstein, the sixth smallest country in the world.  And its population really is about 35,000 people.  (Anyone care to guess the smallest country?  Answer forthcoming at end of this posting.)

In one of my family’s several road trips through western Europe, we’d driven through the southern tip of Liechtenstein, but that and a picnic lunch were about as much time as I’d spent there.  My husband had never been anywhere near the country.  So as much out of curiosity as anything we decided to stop overnight in Liechtenstein.  And promptly wished we’d booked for at least two nights.  Little Liechtenstein wields a walloping big impression.

To say that Liechtenstein has steep terrain is definitely an understatement.  Their mountains are not among the tallest peaks in Europe, but their striking beauty comes from their sharp vertical rise above the Rhein valley.

With much of the country’s topography slanting at angles above 60°, I could easily understand why the majority of Liechtenstein’s residents chose to live in the towns scattered on lesser inclines or along the Rhein River.  Seldom have I seen such beautiful if impenetrable mountains, with verdant meadows nestled between huge stands of pines, crystalline air — and roadway switchbacks so tight that I’d have called them intertwined noodles rather than hairpin turns.  Our first foray up the road to our hotel had me clutching both the door and the ceiling handles as Michael swung into the turns.  Very seldom to I holler, “Slow down!!” as Michael’s driving; this was one.

We stayed at the Hotel Oberländ inTriesenberg, about halfway up the mountains between the capital, Vaduz, on the Rhein, and Malbun, about the last town you can drive to in mid-country before you run out of roadway.  The hotel (once we found it) turned out to be one of the best little finds we’ve come across during our summer in Europe.  Family-owned and operated, the Hotel Oberländ offered a sparkling clean room, the best shower we’ve found thus far, and, of course, spectacular views.  I’ll just let the pictures speak for themselves.

The ski lift ride to the top of Sareiserjoch Peak in Malbun proved just the ticket.  Standing at a mere 2,000 meters above sea level on Sareiserjoch Peak, gazing up at nearby mountains that soared to narrow spines and needles reaching 3,000 meters, I couldn’t even spot a mountain goat on any of those mountains.

From the little restaurant at the top of the mountain we sipped the most expensive cups of coffee ever (about $6 apiece), and wished we had time to hike back down the mountain to the car.  As it was, we had to check out of the hotel by 11, so back down the chair lift we went.

We descended on the ski lift, agreeing that next time — and there will be a next time — we will plan on hiking down the mountain to Malbun below, an approximately 45 minute walk.

From the Hotel Oberländ we drove down to Vaduz, which perches above the Rhein River.  We strolled around the town while we waited to take the little (fake) “train” tour of the capital city.  Let me just say that while the 21 CHF (roughly $40 USD) spent on this 35 minute “tour” may have not been the wisest expenditure, it did provide for a fair amount of entertainment.  For starters, the “interlude music” between canned narrations was the (in)famous “Liechtenstein Polka” blasting at ear-pummeling volume.  We were in the same “train” car as some Italians and their shnoodle (one of those tiny, white, furry-floppy things that thinks it’s a dog), so we got the whole nickel tour in both Italian and English.  That is, until halfway through and the driver, distracted by an attractive passenger, forgot to punch the “Italian” button, so we listened to the second half in English and German.  Bless them, the four Italians never complained once – except when the driver slammed on the brakes and the furry doggy-thing slammed into the back of our seat.  (If it suffered any brain damage, I couldn’t tell.)  I did get a giggle out of some of the Italian cuss words.

We did learn a few items of interest on the tour, besides new Italian words.  Vaduz’s most significant landmark is the Vaduz Castle, home to the reigning Prince of Liechtenstein and his family.  According to the programmed spiel (see, I know German!), this is one of the oldest royal families in Europe, and the castle one of the longest lived-in-by-royalty on the continent as well.  Unfortunately, because it is the prince’s family home, we could only do photo ops from afar, much less have a tour.  But we still managed to get some fairly decent pictures of the castle.

Vaduz Castle

An Artist of Unique “Wire Figure” Visions

Too often artists of tremendous talent and beauty are not recognized in their lifetimes.  I’d like to help change that for at least one artist.

In this blog I’d like to introduce my faithful readers and friends to a Dutch artist of unique vision and broad talent, and who just happens to be someone who has become a close friend.  Corinne van Bergen sculpts in glass, wire, bronze, elastic and combinations thereof.  She also is darn good with paint and pencil, but it’s her sculpting that caught my attention and admiration.

The work pictured above, Solo Swimmer, part of a series of glass sculptures she has completed, and in my opinion, is the best thus far.  The methods by which Corinne sculpted the swimmer makes him appear as if he were flying through the water.  In fact, upon first seeing Solo Swimmer, I blurted, “That looks like Superman’s Flight!” — referring not to the superhero but to a memorable drift scuba dive that resembled the thrill of uninhibited flight through the water.

How Corinne crafts the glass sculptures is a painstaking, remarkably unique process.  She conceives and sketeches out the image she wants to portray, then draws each bodily segment on a sheet of plastic, which, ultimately, guides her as she carves each pane of glass.  As each etched glass piece is pressed to the next, they collectively begin to form the body Corinne’s envisioned.  Or at least this is my simplistic understanding of what she does.

Think of a CT head scan where each “slice” of the brain reveals an intricate pattern of whorls, squiggles, and noodly shapes (sorry, I got fired as Artistic Editor on the school newspaper!).  When all the CT slices are put together, they would form a picture of the head, brain casing and inner brains, etc, included.  (Sorry again, non-marine science wasn’t my strong suit either!)  The point is:  each “slice” or piece of glass is intricately carved to be part of the whole sculpture, and performed in a medium which is fairly common — glass — but when completed, presents a piece of art which is as unique in concept and execution as it is in beauty.

Corinne’s other work as an “expressive artist” is similarly intriguing.  Her use of commonplace items such as metal-coated string, wire, or even elastic bands, produces small sculptures which are indeed as expressive as many anatomical drawings. Many of the wire figures she has used in story-telling tableaus or “sculpture plays” (my definitions) in exhibitions, while others are expressive as solo pieces.  As of this summer she has started an interesting series of cast bronze scuptures of little “B’Angels” which in Dutch loosely translates to “mischevous” or “naughty” angels that nevertheless posses a smidgen of vulnerability.  The first shows a young angel full of piss and vinegar perched on a spool.  Peek behind her and you see her clutching the thread to the spool for dear life.

To construct her wire figures, Corinne begins twisting and turning the wire in her fingers, and eventually what emerges is a figure:  man or woman, dog, ear, or — my favorite — a little whale:

I am particularly fond of this piece as Corinne made this especially for me as a combination 60th birthday and farewell present.  We had become close friends during our sojourn in the Netherlands and this was such a touching and individualistically “Corinne” way of expressing  to me great friendship and caring.  Indeed, Michael and I had become good friends with both Corinne and her husband, Martin, spending many an evening over wine, Dutch kaas (cheese), and dinner, including our last night in Holland.

In a previous blog I enthused about three other Dutch artists whose work I admire greatly:  Vermeer, Van Gogh, and Escher.  Their styles and indeed epochs varied widely, but they had one thing in common, besides being Dutch:  they were all deceased.  It’s a shame so many artists only achieve fame once they’ve passed on to the Great Artists’ Haven in the Sky.  Let’s try to get Corinne van Bergen some deserved attention and praise now rather than later.  Her singular talent and work deserve it.

The Magic of Germany’s MUNICH

It’s a sad conclusion to reach that the highlights of a world-famous city were a bejeweled skeleton  and a glockenspiel, but that’s how we felt about Munich.  Alas, the city we encountered fell so far short of fond childhood remembrances I couldn’t wait to get back on the train.

Emerging from the U-Bahn in time to catch most of the noon performance of the glockenspiel in the Rathaus (town hall) tower on the town square, we snagged a café table as the crowd dispersed and planted ourselves in chairs directly in front of the clock tower.  Thankfully, before the 1 p.m. performance, the waitstaff put up the café umbrellas, which helped displace the incoming crowds from implanting themselves in our laps.  Meanwhile, a traditional Bavarian oomp-pah band, complete with lederhosen and dirndl skirts, entertained the crowds between performances.  We tucked into lunch, sipped good German beer, and enjoyed the 1 p.m. performance of the clock’s dancing figurines while the people packed into the town square baked like anchovies on a pizza.

Glockenspiel performances and an ooompah band.  Corny as it was, I had hoped they were the beginning of a wonderful day in Munich, which I’d been touting to Michael for the last several months as a “must-see” stop on our way to Budapest.  What we found was a city center packed with tourists pushing and shoving their way into every tourist attraction within sight as they flipped through their guide books, looking for the next place to go.  Tour groups abounded, traveling in rolling waves akin to fish bait balls. At least fish have a fifth sense that allows them to divert direction or part in the middle if they come upon an immovable object, such as another person.  These tourist groups just bowled on through the crowds.  More than once I felt like the last ten pin standing.

We sought refuge in St. Peter’s, Munich’s oldest church, off the main square to have a gander at the jeweled skeleton of the martyred St. Munditia, allegedly the patron saint of spinsters.

Artists in Netherlands Never Cease to Impress

(Van Gogh’s painting of an almond tree in bloom.)

Van Gogh, Rembrandt, Vermeer, Escher.  All notable Dutch artists whose talent was recognized in their lifetime (to varying degrees) and whose influence and fame continue to this day.  How is it that a country as small as the Netherlands has managed to produce so many talented artists of such a wide range of productivity and styles?

That is a question I am not prepared to answer or even speculate upon intelligently.  I do know that my two favorite painters happened to be Dutch (Van Gogh and Vermeer), and after seeing the works of several others while in Holland, notably Escher and numerous others from the Haarlem and Utrecht “schools”, I am suitably impressed.

But first, a word of warning.  Since this is foremost a travel blog, and I am nowhere near being an art “critic”, I do not pretend to have any great insight or commentary on the work of any of the artists I mention in this posting.  In other words, the opinions expressed are my own, perhaps uninformed, but to paraphrase Popeye, “I yam what I yam and like what I like.”  I will strive to relate my own experiences and impressions of a few museums and collected works – nothing more.  For any of you more knowledgeable art connoisseurs who would like to comment on what follows, be my guest.  I’d love some input as well as insight.  But these are my impressions, no more.

Van Gogh Museum, Amsterdam

First off, let me point out that 99.9% of us have been mispronouncing this great artist’s last name. It is not “van go” (as in doe, female deer) but “fan  gkocchk” (or something close to that).  After all, he was Dutch and his name was – naturally – pronounced correctly in that language.  (For those of you new to this blog and/or Dutch, read my earlier posting, “Dutch is a Pirate Language.”)

So it was no surprise that when the “fan gkocchk”  museum was pointed out to us on our bus tour of Amsterdam several moons ago, it took a while to register that the guide was referring to the Van Gogh Museum.  (It was at that point that our English version of the tour conked out on us, hence the brief interlude of Dutch – and confusion – as to what we were craning our necks at out the window.)

Once this rather comical translation mishap was straightened out and we actually got to the Van Gogh Museum, we found the experience worth our while.  Moderately-sized for a museum dedicated to one artist, the VGM  has an excellent collection of Van Gogh’s work.  What was startling to remember is that this artist only painted for about ten years before ending his life at age thirty-seven, and to witness the changes in his work from his early attempts and style to the blazing colors and strokes of his final months was amazing. Even more stunning than Van Gogh’s range of styles was his productivity:  in all, he is estimated to have painted over 900 canvases and 1,100 drawings. Of this body of work, he sold only one painting during his short lifetime.

I was particularly intrigued with his paintings of almond blossoms and other spring-blooming trees that reflect the influence of Japanese art on his style for a short period of time.  Another revelation was that at one time Van Gogh had seriously contemplated following his father into the ministry.  Trying to juxtapose those earlier intentions with his last years in Paris and Arles was a tad disorienting but gave this complexartist an even greater depth than I had realized before.

No display of Van Gogh’s work is complete without some of the colorful,  even splashy canvases from his last 2-3 years.  Sadly, most of his best known canvases are housed in other collections, but there were a couple of sunflowers and wheat fields, and the famous purple irises round out this eclectic collection/display.

Definitely a “must-see” for any lover of Van Gogh’s work.

Vermeer’s Delft

At the other end of the productivity spectrum is Johann Vermeer (1632-1675) who was known in his lifetime as a talented but painstakingly
slow artist.  According to the Vermeer Center in the artist’s home town of  Delft, he produced (an estimated) 40 or so canvases, of which only 35 have survived to this day. Although Vermeer was locally appreciated and sought after during his day, he did not receive world-wide accolades until well into the 19^th century and has remained popular ever since. He is now most famous for his painting, Girl With a Pearl Earring, thanks to the novel and movie of the same title.

What makes Vermeer such an incredible artist is his use and conveyance of light in his paintings. The light, usually coming from the left, is both suffuse yet also seems to spotlight the subject.  Many of his portraits, such as the Girl With a Pearl Earring seem incandescent with light.

If you like Vermeer I highly recommend a trip to the Vermeer Center in Delft.  This is not a museum that displays any of his original work.
Instead, there is a gallery of large, quality photographs of each of his
surviving paintings.  The value of seeing each reproduction sequentially is to trace his emerging style and use of light, as well as be able to get an appreciation of how much of his work reflected everyday life in medieval Delft.

I had had my reservations about paying to see just photographs, but in the end I felt I had learned and understood so much more about Vermeer and his work.  The center also has a brief video on his life and times,  exhibits that show contemporary artifacts of Delft, and a reproduction of his studio.  Most interesting was the series of exhibits that detailed his use of light in every aspect from its shading and coloring of human skin to how it both illuminates and reflects from still objects.

The town of Delft itself is delightful.  Ribboned with small canals and traversed by cobbled streets and bridges, Delft is a charming and pleasant way to spend an afternoon.

The main canal in Delft with the flea market on either side.

The House of Escher

The Escher Museum in den Haag (“The Hague” to the non-Dutch) is housed in one of the former palaces of the Dutch Royal Family.  The high-ceilinged rooms, with their crystal chandeliers spectacularly shaped into carnival masks, guitars, skulls and more, are a beautiful showcase of Escher’s evolving art.

Like most people, I was familiar primarily with Escher’s tessellations.  I emerged from the museum with a greater knowledge of the man and the breadth and depth of his work.  It is impressive.

After viewing the museum, I highly recommend a brief respite at the Hotel des Indes a few yards to the right as you exit the museum.  High tea is served daily in the domed lobby of this elegant hotel, complete with silver service and a timer for proper steeping of the tea leaves.  (You can also  have just plain old “low” tea and/or “spirits” and bar snacks if you prefer.)

The Escher Museum in one of the former Dutch royal palaces.

Berlin Impressions Starting with Brandenburg Gate

Berlin came full of surprises for me.  Despite having read the guide books, I was unprepared, mentally, for the newness, the raw edge to the city, and what seemed an architecturally sterile atmosphere. Intellectually, I knew most of the city had been rebuilt after being bombed to smithereens in WWII, and what the Allied bombers didn’t destroy in the eastern end of the city, the East Germans finished by leveling huge swathes of land to create a “dead zone” around the Berlin Wall.

I am no big fan of post-WWII architecture, so the modern architecture of Berlin, coupled with the remaining Soviet-style, block-buildings of former East Berlin, left me unimpressed.  With some lovely exceptions, the area in which we stayed in the former East Berlin was all constructed within the last 20-30 years.  Nearby Alexanderplatz, the “most visited spot in Berlin”, according to one guide, truly reflects the East German-style:  an all concrete plaza surrounded by concrete block buildings — very sterile.

Thankfully, much of “old” Berlin survived both the Allied bombs and the former DDR (East Germany). The Brandenburg Gate reigns magnificently at the eastern end of the beautiful Tiergarten, the Reichstag has been restored and amplified with a glass dome, and Charlottenburg still retains its old world charm.

We spent a lot of time just walking around the city, occasionally taking
the S and U Bahn trains to the further sections, although we also did the usual tourist “thing” by taking both a city bus tour as well as river boat  tour.  Both were interesting and informative, and we engaged in some spirited conversation with both an American expat and a young German student whose knowledge of U.S. history and current politics was
surprisingly excellent.

No visit to Berlin would be complete without at least stopping by Checkpoint Charlie, the mosst famous of the former border gates between the U.S. sector and East Berlin.  For those of you who remember the television footage of the days leading to the “fall” of the Berlin Wall, much of the crowds from West Berlin had gathered either at Checkpoint Charlie or the section of the Wall next to the Brandenburg Gate.  Tall murals line the sidewalks of several streets coming into Checkpoint Charlie, telling the story of the division of Berlin following WWII, the Soviet domination of East Germany, the crisis over the construction of the Wall, and highlighting several of the East Germans who lost their lives trying to escape to the West.

Checkpoint Charlie itself seems almost a child’s playhouse, it is so small.  The white clapboard hut stands by itself in the median of a busy Berlin street.  At first glance I thought it was still being manned by U.S. military personnel, but then I realized that the individuals dressed in imitations of U.S. WWII uniforms were just more street “actors” trying to skim a Euro or two off the tourists by posing for pictures in front of the guardhouse. More on this form of “entertainment” later.

We did spend one afternoon strolling through the largely residential
section of western Berlin known as Charlottenburg.  This large neighborhood was once the heart of old West Berlin, but lost its popularity to the novelty of East Berlin shortly after the Wall came down.  It is still a
popular residential and shopping district for those who can afford it, and much of its charm (to me)is due to the fact that it was less heavily bombed than the central and eastern sectors of the city, and thus retains a great number of architecturally historical buildings. Among the loveliest is the 17-18^th century Charlottenburg Palace with its formal gardens and acres of attached woodlands along the River Spree. The Schloss (castle or palace) was originally intended as a summer residence by Queen Sophie Charlotte, wife of Prussia king Frederick I; as you can see, the good queen’s intentions swiftly grew out of hand.

One museum I feel is worth recommending to any of you planning trips to Berlin.  The fairly new “Topography of Terror” museum is a block away from Checkpoint Charlie.  It is free and has exhibits both inside and
outside, where they incorporate a bit of the former Wall into the exterior exhibits.  The interior exhibits, in both German and English, start the tale of “terror” by detailing the rise of Nazism, the developments of the camps, on through the end of WWII and the prosecution of several Nazi war criminals.  I was impressed at how this museum’s exhibits did not at all shy away from the issue of citizen complicity in the Nazi witch hunts of first their political enemies, then the long list of “undesirables”, from Jews to gypsies, homosexuals and the mentally disabled.

The effect of the exhibits was overwhelming and, quite frankly, we could not absorb it all in just a couple of hours. It will definitely be on my list of places to revisit upon a return to Berlin.  I walked away with the sense
that in this museum, at least, Germany was not going to let the past be swept under the rug.  And the horrors of the Nazi “terror” was not lost on the visitors. In looking around at the mostly German crowd, or eavesdropping on any conversations, you could see the shock and revulsion in virtually each visitor’s face or in their strained whispers.
And the photographs were not graphic; it was the text of the exhibits,
simply laying out fact after fact, that seemed to stun and overwhelm the crowds, as it did me.

In reflecting about our experiences in Berlin, I found that I was a lot more comfortable than I had thought I would be in the city and with Berliners.  Berlin is definitely a young city. Forty-five percent of the population is single, and much of the city’s buildings are less than 20 years old.  To me there definitely was a progressive vibe, a sense of moving forward, of young people saying, “This is our world, we are taking it from here.

Red Light District in Utrecht: Where’s the Ladies in Windows?

In Amsterdam the red light district is hard to miss once you’re in the midst of it. There are both neon-lit and colorfully painted signs advertising brothels, sex shops, head shops, and even an Erotic Museum.  What most people do not know is that Amsterdam’s red light district has been ensconced in the central area of the old city since the 14^th century.  Yep. Over 700 years. And, yet, throughout the centuries, the district has always thrived with families, tradesmen and business living cheek to jowl with the brothels and bars.  In fact, my guide book says the area was so full of rich folks, that this stretch of canals and streets was known as the “Velvet  Canal”.  While the area may not be quite so prosperous now — prostitution is now controlled by the government – every block will have at least one establishment with huge, ground-level windows in which the ladies display themselves to attract potential customers.  However, because it is so mixed in with business, bars, restaurants and dwellings, the windows’ interiors sometimes aren’t visible until you are literally standing in front of one of them.

Oh – just to set the record straight, the triple-X flags all over Amsterdam aren’t advertising the location of brothels or sex shops.  The red flag with the three white crosses of St. Andrew on a black band is the emblem for Amsterdam and thus the city’s flag.

Nearly an Incident

Having now spent four days in Amsterdam – it’s a quick 25 minutes by train from Utrecht – I’ve become pretty good at navigating through the city.  A few days ago I managed to get five of us through the warren of side streets to several destinations, one of which was the red light district.  It seems like the three people with us, Matt & Caralynn and Veronica, all visiting medical professionals from the States, hadn’t been to Amsterdam before but all had heard of the famous red light district.  And of course, everyone wanted to go to the most sought-after tourist destination in the city.  We are, after all, tourists.

Let me point out something I have learned here:  there is a certain
etiquette that is intrinsic to the red light district.  No native of Amsterdam stops and gawks at the scantily clad women lounging, standing, preening, reading or whatever in their individual display windows.  For Amsterdammers, it’s just business as usual.  Tourists on the other hand, tend to come to an abrupt standstill, point open-mouthed, giggle, turn red, throw elbows at each other and otherwise make fools of themselves.  For the most part, the ladies just ignore these ignoramuses, but there is one activity that incenses the ladies – and their brothel’s bouncer:  taking pictures.

I can understand this. Who wants to be made fun of or belittled?  And the guidebooks warn you:   you start snapping pictures of the ladies in the windows, the bouncers or ladies themselves may rough up the witless tourists, and smash their cameras in their fury or toss them in the nearest canal.

So it was with major trepidation I suddenly hear behind me one of our merry band loudly exclaim in sudden revelation: “What?  This is the red light district?  Oh, I gotta get a picture of this!”

I whipped around and hollered, “No!  No pictures!  Stop!”  I had visions of our group being rushed by half naked women and Turkish bouncers and pricey smart phones and digital cameras summarily tossed into the nearest canal.

Thankfully, she did stop.  I explained how taking pictures was considered a gaffe, at best, all the while eyeing some tough looking men lounging under nearby brothel windows and scowling at us:  the bouncers.

So, we did what everyone does:  stand at a distance and pretend to take pictures of scenic canals amid throngs of gawking tourists while hoping to catch in the frame — at long distance — at least one of Amsterdam’s “window ladies”.  The rest of the day went without incident.

Back in Utrecht

So, back to Utrecht.   Where was the red light district?

To be sure, it couldn’t possibly be the size of Amsterdam’s, but still.  Turns out, it’s similar to Amsterdam’s, albeit smaller by far:  all mixed in with family dwellings, general shops and restaurants.

Last week I found it, purely by accident, ambling down a narrow side street I’d walked upon a couple of times before.  A twitch of movement caught the corner of my eye and I turned my head to find a red head in a bikini with garters and fishnet stockings lounging on a chaise in a large picture window.  Bingo.

As I gazed up and down the street, I realized that about half the establishments had the oversized, ground level windows and there was a tough looking, muscular guy hanging out by himself about half way down the street – all of which should have given me a clue.  At a little after noon, about a fourth of the windows were occupied, the others had interior curtains drawn over them.  It also dawned on me that the earlier times I’d walked this street, it had been on my early morning excursions to the local supermarket, way too early for the women to be on display.

I looked up to check the name of the street so I could later identify for Michael which of the tiny side streets the red light district was on.  I started laughing out loud and just had to take a picture.  I think you will all agree with me that a street name has seldom been so descriptive:

Hardebollenstraat.

And here’s a look at Hardebollenstraat in the morning, about the only time it is safe to take pictures:

Living in Holland: Cultural Adjustments & Tips

Cultural Differences Can Be More Than Amusing. We have been living in the Netherlands for nearly five weeks now and we’ve become accustomed to the essentials: we watch out for speed demon bicyclists – they’re everywhere!; we can easily distinguish between the 1- and 2-Euro coins; and we can read the European train time tables with relative ease and little mishap (no small feat!) However – and you knew that was coming – there are a number of cultural differences that we’ve noted. Some are amusing, some perplexing or frustrating, others – being Dutch – eminently practical — yet most have added to our ultimate enjoyment of living in the Netherlands.

The Practical

Cash, not credit, is king. I was warned to have plenty of cash on hand, as many stores will not accept credit cards, and what a useful tip that was. Like most Americans, I was accustomed to paying for virtually everything by credit card: groceries, gas, haircuts, vet bills, movie tickets.

Not here. Grocery stores won’t take credit, and most other stores won’t either.  And where they do, there can be a hefty fee tacked on for using credit. For example, our initial hotel bill would have been 15% higher if we’d charged it.  So having cash on hand is essential, and probably better in terms of not over-extending yourself. And, of course, geldermats (ATMs) are ubiquitous.

 

The public urinal. I’d grown up with seeing public urinals in France, so I was quick to recognize in them in Amsterdam and Utrecht. I also noticed that as in the one pictured below, they are often situated near large bars and cafés. Michael pointed out an oddity, though. He said that when he goes into men’s restrooms in restaurants, there are no urinals, but individual, completely enclosed toilet stalls. So, here’s the dichotomy: open air urinals which leave little to the imagination as to what the guy is doing, and, the completely closed off little pooping-and-pissing cabana.

Go figure!

There had to be something I didn’t like!

No ice, no free water. Water is not served automatically in restaurants, and when requesting water, your choices “with gas” or “without gas” — but “no charge” is not an option. In fact, a small bottle of water can cost  as much as a glass of beer. What is also remarkable (to me), is that the bottled water is rarely cold, and even more scarce are ice cubes. The eating and drinking establishments as a whole almost never serve you any drinks – water, sodas, tea, etc. – with ice in them.
And a couple of times when I have received my pricey bottle of water, the
accompanying glass had one, lone ice cube in it. One ice cube.

People who know me well are aware that I drink a lot of ice water. And I mean ice-cold water, as in filled-with-ice-cubes cold water. So, I have to admit, no ice and no free water has been a cultural adjustment for me. Solution? I went out and bought two icecube trays.

The Charming

Hanging out is a national occupation.
Everyone knows that Americans work way too much. We work ridiculous hours, and in some professions the 60 hour+ workweek is de rigeur. Contrast this idiotic workaholic predilection with the Dutch: does anyone work an 8-hour day? From about 11 a.m. until after 9 p.m. cafés and restaurants are packed with people, especially if it’s a nice day out. On a sunny day, outdoor lounge space is at a premium. In fact, I wonder where the restaurants store all their tables and chairs when it’s raining.

Perhaps they have the opposite of a giant dehydration machine: when the sun’s out or the temperature rises above 18°C (65°F), café tables and chairs mushroom out of the sidewalks and plazas as people come flocking. And what’s really nice is the relaxed attitude of the servers: you want to nurse one cup of coffee or one small beer for the next 2 hours – no problem!

And people especially love to hang out by the Oude Gracht (Old Canal) in Utrecht for both drinks and dinner.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Street performances. Nearly all of the street performances we’ve seen have been in Amsterdam, and they have ranged from amazingly good to the truly awful. In fact, one singer and her accompanying keyboardist were so bad that the café patrons didn’t just ignore them, they booed them. Tough audience!   Probably the most delightful “street” performance was by a 20-odd person orchestra on a train station in Breda. Totally an unexpected surprise. Betcha you’ve never seen that in the States!

Here’s a few performance “artists” from Amsterdam:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Three-Kiss Greeting. The traditional Dutch greeting among friends is three pecks on alternating cheeks. No one can explain why or how this customcame about, and why three kisses. But this is the normal greeting  among friendsupon arrival and departure.

Only in the Netherlands…

Parking violations are taken way too seriously!

We happened upon a vehicle being towed at the Nieuwe Markt plaza in Amsterdam. Given the narrow streets, Dutch have developed a unique method of hauling away vehiclesvthat are broken down, in accidents, or – as in this case – illegally parked.

And the fines for leaving your car in a no parking zone? According to one of the policemen at this scene, the parking fine is about €70, plus another €400 for the tow fees, and then another €50 per day for each day your impounded vehicle is unclaimed. And, he added, if you try to abandon your vehicle, the city will sell it and keep the money, but you will still owe all the accumulated fines. Citizens will be tracked down to pay up and tourists can’t leave the country until they settle their fines. Good incentive to own a bicycle.

In a city with about 100 kilometers of canals…..

If you think about it, having a DHL delivery boat in Amsterdam makes a whole lot of sense!

 

And the real whopper: the “Code Blue” bicycle. Yup. We went with medical students for a tour of the ER at the University of Utrecht hospital. The physician giving the tour pointed out a
bicycle with little cart attachments. She explained that whenever a “code blue” (cardiac arrest) occurred in the hospital, one of the ER physicians  hops on the bike and “pedal like crazy” to get to the afflicted patient, crash cart and all. I wished we had gotten a photograph. 

Wandering Through the Netherlands (Or is it Holland?)

Many people are confused between Holland and the Netherlands.  And, okay, I will confess, before embarking on this adventure, I used the two appellations interchangeably.  My mistake. Or was it?  (More on that later…)

“The Kingdom of the Netherlands” (abbreviated NL) is the official name of this constitutional monarchy comprised of 12 provinces on the European
continent, as well as three now separate but equally participating “countries” in the Caribbean:  Aruba, Curaçao, and Sint Maarten.  (The Caribbean islands of Bonaire, Saba and Sint Eustatius have a unique standing as “special municipalities” within the kingdom.)  Formerly of the Kingdom of the Netherlands, but now fully independent countries, are Suriname and a large number of islands which comprise Indonesia.

I can hear the groans from across the Atlantic.  Hang on, there is a reason for this didactic history lesson.  (I’d like to see any of you try and sum up over a thousand years of history in just one paragraph!)

Of the 12 Netherlands provinces that form the core of the country, there  are two “Hollands”:  North Holland and South Holland.  And lest anyone dare think, “So what’s the difference in such a small country?” — let me tell you that we received a stern clarification from a very proper South Holland woman just the other day.  It’s kind of like we have two Carolinas (as well as two Dakotas), and woe be to the ignoramus who decides to lump the citizenry of North and South of any of them together.  Enough said of political subdivisions within countries.

Here’s a map to give you the picture of where these 12 provinces are in relation to each other:

http://www.mapsofworld.com/netherlands/netherlands-political-map.html

The point is, technically the country is called “the Netherlands”, not “Holland”, as there is more to the country than just the provinces with “Holland” in their names.  Notice I said “technically”.  In talking to people, I have noticed that many Dutch use both names interchangeably – which really can get confusing.  But I suspect that old habits die hard, even for the Dutch.  Either that, or a lot of people from the central area of NL snobbishly think that the heart of the Netherlands is in the combined provinces of North and South Holland and Utrecht and kind of ignore the nether regions. (Kinda like that old poster reflecting a New Yorker’s vision of the U.S. as featuring a dominant Manhattan with a lot of blank space before getting to San Francisco.)  To be fair, and in fact, the vast majority of the population, as living in the centrally-located city and province of
Utrecht, we have been visiting mostly within these three provinces.

This past weekend, however, we took the opportunity to visit two unusual towns, one each in North and South Holland.

Hoorn

Hoorn (pronounced “horn”) is in North Holland, NE of Amsterdam (see above map).  It is a beautiful little harbor town, founded way back in 716 C.E.   From the late 1500s to 1700s Hoorn’s claim to fame was as a major seaport for the vastly rich and powerful Dutch East India Company, also known by its Dutch initials, “VOC”.  The VOC had its own fleet to ply the seven seas, traveling to and fro primarily between Hoorn and other seaports in what was then Holland and the spice islands of the Dutch East Indies – now Indonesia.

The VOC also had its own army to guard its fleet and put down any local rebellions when the natives got annoyed at being exploited for their spices.  In fact, Jan Pieterszoon Coen, a native of Hoorn,served the VOC first as an officer then as governor of the East Indies and gained infamy for his ruthlessness in squashing native rebellions.  He also rebuilt the main city of Western Java – after destroying much of the city as he conquered it – and secured it for the VOC under the name of Batavia.  The city, later renamed Djakarta, is now the capital of Indonesia.

(And just to annoy you all with just a tad more history, the Dutch VOC also established a way station at the southern tip of southern Africa so that their ships could stop to resupply with fresh water and vegetables, livestock and catch the latest news coming west from the Spice Islands.  This way station grew into the colony of Cape Town, from which the nation of South Africa eventually emerged a few centuries later.  Going in the opposite direction, another son of Hoorn, navigating for a VOC fleet, named the southernmost tip of South America “Kaap Hoorn” in honor of his home town.  Again, I’m hyper-condensing history so as not to bore or get too side-tracked.)

So:  Hoorn has a lot of cool history.  And cool buildings.  One of the neatest by far was this tower down at the old harbor, which looks like it was sliced in half down the middle, hence the name, the Hoofdtoren:

The Hoofdtoren is now a small restaurant where we relaxedwith friends Matt and Caralynn Warden over a late lunch.

Lunch was followed by a post-prandial stroll around the town, which, like virtually every Dutch city or town I’ve seen on foot or from train, is ringed and riddled with lovely canals.  At least one Hoorn resident seemed a little confused, however.  This duck definitely is looking for waves in the wrong place, one of the town’s canals:

Probably the most charming feature of Hoorn was its many old houses lining the old town and canals. Michael absolutely fell in love with Hoorn and was already making plans to move there.

But despite the gray weather, you can see why:

 

 

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