The week in Oostende, July 25-31

MONDAY, OOSTENDE

End at the East

In Oostende, not far from England, just a big swim away. The population has doubled and the seagulls are hungry, but not quite as much as the vendors. This seaside city has a feeling that is incredibly unique, hard to describe, and calm. It goes to say that everyone is happy and enamored; it seems best to take it easy.

Maybe the casino would disagree. After all, this city has thrived in the catering of the exuberant, the fashionable, wealthy and elite - who lived in royal imitation of their their king, Leopold the II; built palaces along the boring, anthropogenic shore; sought the health benefits of sea bathing.

So when the spotlight shone on Oostende, its new culture - was it “false”? Was it shallow, ingenuine, a masquerade? These are questions to consider when seeing the art of James Encer. Painting is an outlet for social criticism, and Encer’s work - expressionist, absurdist and surreal - features scenes of the elite in distorted, mask-like faces. In what form do the truths of Encer’s perception, that “false” aspect of Oostende-in-the-19th-century, exist along the Belgian coast today?

R.I.P. Father Damien

TUESDAY, KNOKKE

On this day in Knokke we hiked.

Into an expanse of ripe tallgrass

mottled with lavendar, crossed by saltwater banks.

We saw seabirds, saline flora, black sand &

the northern border.

WEDNESDAY, GHENT

Two rivers meet in Ghent, a 50,000-year-old prehistoric village that has emerged in history as a working class city of industry. In its medieval heyday, its population of 64,000 was trumped only by Paris's. The city boasted at least a dozen parishes, several clergies and 54 houses of social help. At the same time it was a city of violent family vendettas, political influence from the rich and the ever-present social inequality of the middle ages. By the 19th century, Ghent became a seat of the burgeoning socialist movement, owing this fact to its working class roots.

Ghent is also famous for the Ghent Altarpiece. Also known as "The Adoration of the Lamb" and "The Mystic Lamb," it is a triptych commissioned in the 15h century by two rich merchants for private worship. Painted by superstar van Eyck, the altarpiece is a magnificent masterpiece of meticulous, innovative brushwork. We had the pleasure of a private viewing after a lecture at the University of Ghent by Prof. Marc de Mey on the "advanced optics" of Flemish Primitive technique, specifically on that which was used on the altarpiece. It was not a series of aloof interpretations, as some students complained, but rather a technical analysis of van Eyck's brushwork. Extreme close-ups of the painting revealed an immaculate manipulation of lighting and a commitment to detail that, together, create an illusion that is said to "transcend" realism.

THURSDAY, IEPER

"We shall not sleep, though poppies grow/In Flanders Fields"

At Menin Gate, soldiers and civilians gather for the playing of the Last Post. Iepers was totalled in the Great War, and the city - now the result of total reconstruction - refuses to let loose its sad memory. The Last Post is trumpeted every night in honor of the end of the war, the lives war has taken, and the resilience, resistance and solidarity of the Belgian people. The ceremony is silent when music is unheard: it is a powerful time for self-reflection. I understood the importance of remembrance.

Remembrance - of the first World War, of course - was the theme of the day. Wouter Sinaeve was our host. He walked us through the war cemetery, brought us to In Flanders Fields, and lectured on the nature of war in the nascent modern age: that of trench warfare. A war whose armies were ill-prepared for the havoc to ensue, for the violent power unspared. Ornate, heavy, sweaty uniforms, caps and primitive helmets. Ineffective bayonets, bolt-action rifles in the face of heavy machine guns, death from above. Chemical warfare, wet hankerchiefs, claustrophobic gasmasks and froth-corrupted lungs. I think of the grimmest point in human history and I think of the great war. At In Flanders Fields, the war museum housed in the reconstructed cloth hall of Ieper, I found this soldier's words:

I don't know what happened mentally, but physically I occasionally broke down under the weight of equipment that had to be carried, lack of sleep, and the intolerable discipline that was necessary in 1918 to keep tired and bored soldiers up to something like scratch, and away from mutiny.

The ever-present dreamlike quality of the days and nights (nights when I heard men gasping for breath as death enveloped them in evil-smelling mud-filled shell-holes as they slipped from the duck-board tracks as they struggled towards the front-line) filled me with an intense loathing of man-made war. I wanted home with all my being.

-Pvt. Eric Hiscock, 26th Royal Fusiliers, 1917-1918

In war, there is no victor. Yet poppies blossom in no man's land.

FRIDAY, BRUGGE

SCHELD EN FRIEND

"Isn't Bruges beautiful?" Certainly: it owes it to its history. In the middle ages, Brugge prospered as the city of Belgium's elite merchant class, whose appetite for beautification was unrivalled. Wealth and power made the city spectacular. At the time, Brugge rivalled London and Cologne with a saturated population of 40,000 - and like Shanghai and New York City today, it was a major international business center. Therefore, the tallest belfry* in Belgium stands in Bruges. It continues to house the city's most important documents**[, and Mr. Geernaert was kind enough to show us a few of them].

Yet the events of 1604 sealed Bruges in time. In Ostend, the Spanish defeated the Dutch rulers and seized the liberties of Bruges. Economic growth dwindled and shifted to Amsterdam; the population growth came to a stand still. Bruges remained as it was. Its medieval charm, a product of medieval wealth and modern maintenance, remains. Now a town of tourism, once a city of business.

With money came a taste for art. Van Eyck, painter-superstar, came to Bruges for lucrative ambitions - now a hero's statue stands in his remembrance. Could the Flemish Primitives even have existed if it weren't for the wealth of Flanders? Not many other movements in art history are known more for meticulousness: a consumption of great skill and time that is extremely costly for both the materials and the artist. Like Southern Italy's bustling economy, Flanders' was a breeding ground for groundbreaking art. In Italy they developed perspective; in Flanders, oil painting - this allowed for the Primitives' illusionary trans-realism, visual manipulation, or what Wednesday's lecturer called "advanced optics."

This interest in the Primitives brought us to the Groeninge Museum. It was a beautiful collection: like a sampler of Belgian art, with small collections to represent the various movements of the nation's art history. Beyond the Primitives, the museum showcased Belgian neoclassicism, symbolism, modernism, etc. I was especially impressed by the works of several anonymous Primitive masters, of Poures, Gimmer, Suvée, Monne, Claus and Ensor. Vande Steeve's The Market Square in Bruges (1826) offered a 19th century view of the square we had just seen. I walked away with a Latin phrase worth memorizing: nulla dies sine linea.

*Where cats were once thrown from to splatter on the concrete into lucky charms.

**One document was the "certification of authenticity" of the vial of Jesus's blood; at the end of the day we visited the chapel built to house it. I wonder to what degree this relic gave the church of Bruges the power and prestige it sought.

The Weekend

in Ostend: some lazing, sun bathing

Several orchestras, De Mosselbeurs

fotos

[Selection to come soon... in the meantime, find the link]

@ http://dutch177gomez.blogspot.com/p/fotogalerie.html

The week in Leuven, 1-3 August

MONDAY, Leuven (I/II)

Leuven: a medieval city, a near perfect circle, big but not so big, and like our last three cities, rebuilt after the Great War. Our tour with Prof. Patrick Pasteure touched on several issues:

-By a statue of Justo Lipsio, the Professor discussed the University, the pride of the city, its role in the humanist movement of the 15th and 16th centuries, as well as the events known as "The Flames of Leuven" (more on this tomorrow).

-In the 15th century, Leuven was in competition with Brussels, the underdog, for the seat of the duke and thus the status of Belgian capital. Construction follies and monetary overambition lead to Leuven's loss, although through these efforts, KU.Leuven was founded in 1425.

-The city hall, designed by the same gothic architect as Brussels', is a "box" meant to house the symbolic power of Leuven, its freedoms and liberties. It must have been overwhelming when it was painted colorfully; in recent decades it's been black, it's been white, and it now features the same dilapidated "natural" color of Brussels'.

-The city hall faces the church, as if the their juxtaposition reflects the question of authority in a society of church and state. The church's baroque architecture reaches for the heavens to cry out its power. It continues to organize social work, receive public taxmoney and influence politics. Similarly, the Catholic K.U.Leuven is 95% funded by the public.

-The Onthaal-Sint-Pieterskerk once housed the original van der Weyden triptych, "The Desent of the Cross." Presumably for safekeeping there is replica in its place. At the church we saw the masterpiece "Last Supper" by Dirk Bouts.

-The Beguinage may be the quaintest place in Belgium, where during the 12th and 13th centuries, sisters of the church initiated a community of social help.

-In the 17th century, missionaries such as Ferdinand Verbiest studied and assimilated into Chinese culture in the name of evangelical strategy. Their efforts lead to the promotion of China in Europe, its philosophy, theology and advanced sciences. This had a major impact on the Enlightenment of the 18th century.

We ended our day at the University Library tower and carillon, where Luc Rombouts performed ragtime, Gershwin and the pop song, "Hallelujah." The carillon, we learned, was invented in the low countries 500 years ago when bells were attached to a keyboard. The carillon is therefore a cherished instrument of Belgian identity, similar to what the violin is to Austrian identity. Intellectual and American fondness for the instrument arose when many were destroyed by German troops during the great war. Nowadays, the "carrilioneur is considered one of the most honorable professions in Flanders" (193); clearly, to us it was an honor to experience a private performance. As the day's "master of ceremonies," I wrote to our guest:

Luc Rombouts,

In the heart of our campus, as you know, stands the Campanile - once the tallest tower in our country. To those of us from UC Berkeley, the Campanile is an icon and our carriloneurs are a respected tradition. By guiding and teaching us, and certainly for performing for us (and the entire city), you have brought us closer not just to Leuven but also to home. From all of us, dank u!

TUESDAY, Leuven (II/II)

K.U.Leuven has played a crucial part in the city's identity since it was founded in 1425; it is both the oldest catholic university and the oldest university in the low countries. In 1517, the Collegium Trilingue was founded, initiating the study of Latin, Hebrew and Greek - the original languages of the Bible. In ways this paved the way for humanism, as scholars chose to study the Bible through its original sources, thus pursuing a new, academic theology. Involved with K.U.Leuven were significant notable humanist figures including Erasmus, Lipsius and Mercator - significant religious figures as well: the Dutch Pope Adrian VI and the controversial Cornelius Jansenius. Hannelore Magnus also toured us through the school's cabinet of curiosities, giving us a glimpse into student life through the ages; he also shared samples from the university's collection of primary sources, including letters from Erasmus and Thomas Moore.

War, as it has all over Belgium, left its mark on the history of K.U.Leuven. Monday's guide was modest when he called it "turbulent." During French occupation, in 1797, the university was banned. It was reopened in 1816 by King William I, albeit as a public, non-Catholic institution; regardless, the Belgian Revolution of 1830 challenged Dutch mandates. The events of the 20th century were most tragic: in both world wars the library was burned down by German troops. Tens of thousands of books were lost, not to mention the building. And in 1968, escalating political tension between French- and Dutch-speakers lead to the splitting of the university across the language border. Regardless, K.U.Leuven stands proudly today as Belgium's premier Catholic university. If not the heart of the city, surely it is the brain. It is an honor to know that American solidarity was what made the grand reconstruction of the library possible.

Beer: our afternoon at InBev was a tour of smells and temperatures. The brewing process involves barley, hops, yeast, boiling, chilling and fermenting, and the factory's mass-production makes this all clear: it was hot, cold and smelly. Those of us who don't like beer must not have enjoyed the tour, and would have had an even worse time in the middle ages when beer was the only safe thing to drink. For the rest of us, stella artois on tap crowned the day.

WEDNESDAY, Antwerp

Familiar things in familiar weather in a new, yet surprisingly familiar city. Antwerp, regarded by many [and especially locals] as the greatest city in Belgium, was a fitting conclusion to Dutch 177.

Carilloneur Geert d'Hollander led us to the top of the city tower for a tour, carillon performance and the tallest, grandest panoramic view of Antwerp. The downpour was especially dramatic.

At the Cathedral of Our Lady Antwerp, 500 steps below, we saw (in my opinion) the most baroque church yet. It was massive, impressive, and replete with baroque triptychs by the likes of Rubens and his peers.

Similar to what the Zaandam Museum is to Zaandam, except bigger and with modern chic, the MAS serves the same function for Antwerp. The MAS exhibits and explores the history and culture of Antwerp and its role in the world. In essence it is Antwerp's role as a major medieval international sea port that made it as great as it is today.

What is the sea port like today? It is now the second largest in Europe; a cruise aboard the Flandria gave us the chance to explore it and all of its modern industry. Crates from china, banana boats from South America, massive, mechanized drawbridges and cranes. It was also a chance to round out our studies in the low countries. As we had ended our very first day with a boat tour through the canals of Amsterdam, so we ended it all on a cruise through the world port of Antwerp.

The Weekend

Bruxelles

Brussel

Saturday morning at the Magritte gallery; the entire afternoon at the Old English. Spent the evening seeing new parts. Spent the late evening developing misanthropy.

Sunday morning at the Église Notre-Dame de la Chapelle; pears, pickle chips and cheese in the courtyard of the Royal Library; a walk through a sculpture garden; an espresso at the Mercedes House. Saw the wares and antiques of the green-and-burgundy-tented merchants; browsed several private art galleries; returned to the Royal Arts Museum; listened to local radio; experienced experience Brussels! @ the BIP; had a poulet curry sandwich and a grapefruit soda in a bistro area; watched violinists; patronized stores; walked the city center; will have a hoegaarden; will watch the sun set from the Palace of Justice.

Seminars and visitations at the buildings of Henri Spaak and Jacques Delors. The former houses the European Parliament, the second the Committee of Regions.

Yesterday's lecture was relatively thorough, so not everything we heard was new. These are some of the more interesting things I'd noted:

• That the voters' turnout for EU Parliamentary elections is at a low of 43%, waning as popular enthusiasm and confidence in the EU declines; that the media is problematically bored with the EU's legislative matters and, unfortunately, shows its interests on matters of scandal.
• That the European Court of Justice punishes with fines. This is problematic for nations in debt, yet, what else can the court do? What is really important, among the member nations, is accountability and the upholding of the Union's principles. Without this solidarity the EU would otherwise find enforcement impossible.
• That, surprisingly yet unsurprisingly, there exists within the EU Parliament a full-fledged party system that spans the everyday political spectrum, and that the Christian Democrats are the biggest and the Progressive Alliance of Socialists comes second.
• That pride makes problems. France refuses to let go of its Parliament in Strasbourg; Greece continues to veto Macedonia's acceptance into the EU because of its name.
• That, although the EU costs billions to fund, the peace and stability it sponsors are priceless.
• That the EU really does feel like a multinational corporation (that just so happens to function in 23 languages).

An indoor picnic concluded the school week. A couple of us went to Italy, one to Noordwijk, most stayed in, while the handful I joined took the metro to the Atomium. There we walked in its presence, nearby parks and gardens. On this outing I saw a new and vast side of Brussels. I realized how short this weekend would be, and how little of Little Paris I've seen.

A fascinating lecture on the European Union prepared us for the next day’s visits. This included a general overview on the EU, its bodies, its function as a confederacy, its precursors, historical development, ideology, controversies and current state of affairs.

Afterwards: the René Magritte Museum, which traces thedevelopment of Brussels’ most honored son of surrealism. I stuck around to see the Flemish masterpieces of van der Weyden, Bosch, the Brughuels and their contemporaries[, returning in the weekend to see Rubens, Godecharles, Navez...].

It cannot be left unsaid that this day was the 181st anniversary of Belgian independence. 1830 makes the nation young, and despite the doubt of instability it has emerged as one of Europe’s finest. The streets and parks were filled with crowds, musicians, waffles, frites, beer, red, yellow and black. The army painted faces. The police held attack dog demonstrations. Highlanders, Brazilians and folk orchestras paraded the streets with noise. That night, everyone cheers'd. Fireworks exploded.

WEDNESDAY:

What is happening to Belgium? Brussels, the biggest city in the north, is in a state of deterioration. Liège, the biggest city in the south, is as well; this goes for the whole of Wallonia. How did this happen?

Belgium introduced continental Europe to the industrial age. Wallonia struck steel. The region prospered; wealth concentrated in Liége, and with it, grandeur and a population boom.The steel industry eventually collapsed under the weight of outdated technology. Wallonia has yet to recover, seeing increasing social problems and poverty in the face of Flemish prosperity. The lion roars; the rooster cock-a-doodles. Is this why Wallonians prefer to identify with Belgium?

“The city, nowadays, is rather poor,” explained our guide, Guy Janssens. Its people, however, have not lost their honor. Citizens of Liège bear a unique pride, perhaps similar to that of those in Friesland. Liège is indeed a beautiful city. On our tour we saw a gothic courtyard, panoramic views by the hilltop bunker/Nazi gallows/mass grave, much of the city, its alleys, steppes, river and monuments to war victims and freedom. A café and St. Paul’s Cathedral occupied the lunch hour. A visit to the Maison de la Métallurgie finished the day.

I am sitting beneath a crucified Jesus. All around me there is Jesus, suffering and nude. A girl in black leather pants and neon shoes walks by - I must be in a relic of the past. A baroque Catholic church replete with saints and Mary's, candles, columns and donation boxes, carved stone and textile walls, stained glass and a grandiose overhead; and it is empty - but for two women browsing and two men in silence. Is it fair to call this antiquated, when people don't pray but take pictures?

I believe Holland has no churches like this. There the Franco-Spanish Catholic influence didn't seep into its culture the way it did here in Belgium. This church that I am in, a place of exclusive faith, is the maker of difference. Indeed, in many ways exclusion makes history.

When Catholocism excluded all other faiths, Protestants flocked to the Netherlands. When the Hasburgs privileged French-speakers, they excluded Dutch-speakers from the prestige of their own land. Because today, the French-speaking Belgian government refuses to cooperate with the Flemish majority party, a stalemate threatens the nation with political vulnerability.

This morning we were given a lecture on the history and culture of Belgium, past and present. When I leave this church we will visit the Parliament[, where red means the Senate, green means the House, security is high and speakers are symbolic].

Some opinionated questions:

1. Is the French-speaking government stubborn and unjust for refusing to cooperate?
2. Will the increasing wealth of Flanders bring more Dutch-speakers to Brussels, as was the case with the Walloons during their reign of economic prosperity? I am suggesting a potential process of reverse-"Frenchification" and pondering its consequences on the Flemish separatist movement.
3. As a student of Dutch, am I hopelessly biased?

A lot of us arrived in Brussels in bad faith. We knew the beer would be good but we heard the hostel was bad. Several of the girls already made plans to spend the weekend elsewhere. Professor Jeffrey Tyssen introduced us to Brussels by telling us of its lost glory, state of deterioration and anarchy. If this city is so unappealing, why - if I may speak for myself - is it not?

The tour gave me answers. Prof. Tyssen’s passion for history was an inspiration. The city’s destructive tendencies have made it what it is now: an odd mish-mash of ugly, uninspired buildings and beautiful, modern architecture. Ambition (and lots of post-war reconstruction) to be the most appealing city, an admiration of Paris, as well movements in Gothic, Baroque, Art Nouveau and Art Deco architecture, contribute to the latter. The bad side is from mismanagement and poor foresight. Mannekin Pis - “much ado about nothing” - is fascinating not only for its odd touristic magnetism, but its role as a political and cultural symbol of the Belgian mentality.

Roskam Café’s barmaid had on a shirt that read “I hate Mondays.” She must have served over a dozen trappiste Westmalles - Jeffrey Tyssen’s enthusiastic recommendation. New streets to walk, ethnic groceries and a kebap house kept the evening busy. Exploring the Palace of Justice was incredible. Once the largest building in Europe, with grand columns, giant statues and central dome, it is now practically out-of-order: an unruined ruin. It felt post-apocalytpic and hauntingly beautiful. Outside of it was a memorial to Belgian victims of the world wars. These are all over the city, of a nation so deeply scarred by their consequences.

City Hall’s light show - to quote a peer who could have finished my sentence - turned the plaza into “Disneyland.”

The Weekend

LVXEMBOVRG

SAMEDI

Walked through the garden of the nearby hospital - once a church - and along streets, alleys and rivers.

Hiked a cliffside trail, explored ruins and fortifications. Ventured into the city's financial boulevards.

Had dinner at the city center, a drink of local liquor, paraded the blues and jazz festival under an umbrella.

DIMANCHE

The streets were empty and the shops were all closed; all day the Chilly Vanilly music festival kept the hostel lively, fed, noisy, and festive. All day, with a hand I walked around the city. Saw the casemates, orange pinstriped circular cutouts, ruins, the canals in a kayak, the cliffside perimeter, the gardens inbetween, beautiful buildings, faces, a public miniature train park, the rain.

HEART OF EUROPE

A lecture at the University of Luxembourg, founded in 2003, was the introduction and "shattering" of Luxembourg myths. It's American to be astonished by the tiny nation's enormous feat of linguistics. The most fascinating aspect is how contextuality determines language-of-use rather than regionality (e.g. Belgium and Switzerland) and how Luxembourg's historical place in the "heart" has shaped this multilingualism. I think, perhaps, that it is also American to question the burden of such a feat. Eg.: are the linguistic requirements of citizenship too difficult and thus out of reach to immigrants? (Or does the multilingualism improve the city's appeal to immigrants and comfortability to expats? In ways it is both inclusive and exclusive. But is this even a fair criticism?) And: do the many languages present a burden to the society's ability to "progress"? Is, for example, continuing the use of Luxembourgish a non-economical tradition comparable to the adoration of royalty in the democratic world? [To be "blunt," poignant and loud:] is Luxembourgish economically pointless, a relic of an age past, waiting its time to vanish like Gaelic? Will Luxembourgish, as a "symbol of resistance and social cohesion" (158), have a purpose in the future of a citizenry that sees itself as increasingly European? The "History of the Grand Duchy" offers one answer: authorities hope the language will help integrate the nation's increasing immigrant population.

It is also American to be completely charmed by the homely feel of a parliament that serves half a million people. I could brag about sitting in seat 68, that of M. Jean Asselborn, the Vice Prime Minister. Before the house of parliament was refurbished 12 years ago it was said that it was much more modest. The rest of the city is quite modest. Asphalt grey roofs - some pointy, most like folded paper - crown windowed buildings in shades of eggshell and beige, some with a touch of cobalt, mustard or rouge. There are a handful of statues, inornate ruins, parks and hedges. Most buildings, resembling violins, bear steel shapes bent into italicized f 's; across some facades they spell out letters and numbers. The region's greenery, hills and bluffs speak for the city's grandeur. The house of parliament, dressed in rose marble and gold accents, red carpets and olive walls, paintings and vases, was only a few steps beyond modest. Perhaps this is the mark of a nation recognizing its luxurious status, respected identity, and a GDP per capita that doubles America's.

Yet the Historical Museum of Luxembourg featured an exhibit all about poverty in Luxembourg and Europe. With such a wealthy image, it's easy for people to deny the reality of poverty in Luxembourg; this exhibit serviced common ignorance with artistic and factual exposure. The bottom floors of the museum showcased the history of the country. Facts and artifacts abounded, but the best feature was the large wooden models of Luxembourg throughout the centuries, allowing viewers to see how the city has developed from hardly-a-town to a fortified mecca to what it is today, and how the city has shaped itself to the landscape and the threat of its neighbors. These progressions are set into their historical contexts, e.g., how the fortifications were destroyed because the great powers declared the city neutral.

A few words on Luxembourg as the Heart of Europe: for one who's only travelled through Germany, France, the Netherlands and Belgium, it certainly feels like Luxembourg is Europa's beating heart. Through metaphor its story reflects the European experience - as both a microcosm and an ideal. The Luxembourger, it seems, is as European as he is a Luxembourger. Nationalism, however, is as European as it is universal:

Ons Heemechtsland dat mir so déif

An onsen Hierzer dron.

Notr'chère et adorable patrie

Dont notr'âme est remplie.

Die Heimat, die als teures Gut

In unseren Herzen ruht.

Thursday was spent travelling through Wallonia (featuring the most upscale gas stop we've ever seen) to our hostel in Luxembourg. Time on the bus was wonderful, but the highlights of our day clearly were two:

Midday was spent close to Nijmegen at the Indisch Herinneringscentrum Bronbeek, the restaurant Kumpulan, and the Museum Bronbeek. There we were received by members of the Dutch-Indonesian community, several of whom were scholars. With great hospitality they served us food, drinks and conversation, and offered lectures on Dutch-Indonesian identity, integration, and history. We learned not only about Indonesians in the Netherlands but all over the world.

According to Etzinger, "Classical integration theory argues that immigrants preserve their food habits long after they have become assimilated into their new surroundings" (233). Certainly, the Dutch are especially thankful that their cuisine has been seasoned by Indonesia. Rijsttafel, a smorgasbord of Indonesian dishes served over rice, has become a favorite of both the Dutch and its Indo community. Especially interesting is its place in colonial history: only the imperial Dutch elite could afford and would have the gumption to have dozens of dishes served all at once. Rijsttafel was once a display of power, domination, and exhibitionism. Now, it is only delicious.

The second highlight - for those of us with restless feet - was roaming Luxembourg into the blue hour. A breathtaking excitement stirred in all of us as we crossed the fortified bridge, flanked by striking views of the valley, into the heart of the city.

ZAANDAM

At Zaandam I sat face-to-face with a windmill in its favorite weather. Mightily it wound in the wet, billowing wind - a monument of wood and ingenuity, milling its role into the souvenir image of Holland. Alongside tulips and clogs, the windmill has become a staple symbol of the tourist industry; yet no kitsch magnet, shot glass, carving, or even painting, photograph or video, will ever convey the awe-commanding presence of a real windmill milling in the wind.

This was our first day out in real Dutch weather - the stuff we've been too "lucky" to miss, the kind the Dutch loathe and apologize for, the kind that dampens jeans and breaks umbrellas. This is also the kind that makes the sky grey, greens deep, everything wet and lustrous. It makes people huddle, stay inside, run for cover. "It always rains" in the Netherlands and it's about time! Zaandam was especially beautiful in bad weather. Sunny brochures rob the town of its grim and enthralling reality. The Zaans Museum's best feature was its viewing window from which you could stare into the damp landscape outside. Inside was an unusual collection of yesterday's everyday objects, sharing the history of Zaans' people, prosperity and industry.

AMSTERDAM-NOORD

If you build it, they will come. As an up-and-coming artists' colony, with hip and growing venues as well as a landmark to-rival-Sydney's-Opera under construction, North Amsterdam - no longer just the gallows - will soon lay its claim to a modest share of the city's sweltering tourism. And Jan Donkers was there to show us around, tell us all about, and kick off our last night in the city with a first round of drinks. In the rain we ran for the ferry.

DEN HAAG

A train to The Hague with passports and umbrellas. The Hall of Knights (Ridderzaal), "built to party" in 1229, was our first stop, while the States-General was our second. There, three things struck me. One was the structural similarities between the Dutch and American legislatures; two was the fraternal mentality among both MP's and the press; three was the coalition-style government of minority parties - certainly the 76% bill-passage requirement necessitates an admirably [yet perhaps tediously] cooperative form of government. The anonymous abstract paintings were beautiful for their grandiose representation of society's dynamism - it was clear to some, opaque to others. I wonder if 76% of the MP's, with nothing else to stare at during their all-day-long debates, understand them.

At the Ministry of Foreign Affairs we were given a lecture on Dutch-American relations, foreign policy and economic afairs. Once a "loyal ally," the Netherlands is now a "capable partner," a "pocket-sized superpower." The lecture was about our common enemies of instability and decline. To promote American awareness of the capability of its partner, the Netherlands, the Ministry co-produced YouTube trailers that erred on satire.

Afterwards: art. A lot for little time. Thirty-five minutes at Maritshuis introduced me to Cornelius Troor, new Rembrandts and Vermeer's most famous works, among others. Favorites include The Anatomy Lesson, Kitchen Scene with Christ at Emmaeus, View of Delft, and Alexander the Great visits the studio of Apelles. Another museum dedicated itself to the late 19th century Dutch landscape-painter, H.W. Mesdag, whose coastal panoramic, Scheveningen in 1880, was a surreal experience lacking only a sea breeze.

The itinerary ended at De Nederlanse Taalunie, where, after a week of ignorance handicapped with local bilingualism, we were finally introduced to the language of our residence. Dutch is indeed a beautiful, important language, and the efforts of this institution are both admirable and generous. I am curious to know how the Dutch language will adapt in the 21st century. I'm especially excited to immerse my ears in the multilingual terrain of Luxembourg and Brussels.

(30)

Day 29, Monday:

A light day began with a late morning train to Leiden. There, from Centraal, Steef Eman (director of the Central College Abroad) walked us through the city to exhibit its windmills, churches, university and outpost. Eman shared local lore and the city's cherished facts.

GOD IS WONDERLICK, read the painted plaque in the Protestant church, stripped of its once-sacred statues. If they haven't been excavated, they lay in pieces below our feet, alongisde unfound Roman trash.

We broke off on the bridge for an hour and a half to satisfy ourselves. I found Australian ice cream and a view to sketch. At Naturalis, I indulged in stuffed animals, skeletons, whale songs and touch-screens. I'm on a train, now, returning, past flat, sweeping landscapes framed by black trapezoids.

I wondered today, while drawing, if Mondrian found inspiration staring at the geometry of windows.

The Weekend

Saturday, Day 27:

After a late breakfast I met with Jennifer to spend the day museum-hopping: contemporary art at the Stedelijk, two small photography museums, and two 17th century aristocratic canal houses. In between and after we had coffee, a drawing session, and dinner at a falafel restaurant.

Sunday, Day 28:

At one in twenty minutes we'll head out to the IJ music festival, at which I hope my opinion of Amsterdam's music will be salvaged. Wherever I've been I've only heard bad music: usually the worst of American imports or the latest baroque techno.

-

Doubts in Group Mentality, Local Music

For the ij music festival we boarded a ferry for Amsterdam Noord, in

a spontaneous direction through conflicting advice, urban shipyards and a bridge along the river.

The walk was long, the sky was bare, and the festival was unheard,

so half the mass splintered backwards for two beers and some sleep, while the rest of us,

in the sun picnicked a sidewalk past blackberry vines

in sight of grass by the water. I ran back for the confederates

en trudged back to the loyalists, and sat and walked and talked and tired.

I'll fly home with Berlin's.

Day 26, 8 July:

Friday meant the end of the week, so we had a picnic in Oosterpark. In lieu of food we sat in a circle to discuss the week and share opinions. I think it was Lindsey who expressed her appreciation for exposure to knowledge she'd never othewise have gained: I felt this way about the morning's first lecture on Dutch colonial history. Not a fact was uninteresting, and in ways I never knew we related the Spanish, Portuguese, English, French, Kiwi, Japanese and Indonesian; and in the Americas, the Curacaoan, Surinamese and Manhattan. I'd like to read a copy of Max Haavelar, and see what it's like to be an outspoken critic in such a unique historical situation. I admire the Indonesian students of "the ethical policy" who fought fire with fire by using western ideas to criticize the West of its hypocritical imperialism and expoitation.

The second lecture laid the background for how controversy arose out of multiculturalism in the Netherlands, creating a rift between the conservative Muslim minority and the progressive Dutch majority. At the picnic we tried to discuss this issue, but its polarizing controversy threatens the comfort of neutrality - to speak bluntly about such issues may be off limits. In my own contemplation my principles have been challenged. Yet, as I learned on the tram, multiculturalism is an inevitable issue which must be addressed. The debate is gaining decibels.

The issue of Islam arose with a growing Turkish and Moroccan population, although Indonesia, a nation with much deeper roots in the Netherlands, is home to the largest Muslim population. Has the Dutch-Indonesian population assimilated into Dutch culture in a way unlikely of conservative Islam? Did the assimilation come with its share of controversy, or was it not so divisive?

We arrived at the Picnic from the Tropenmuseum nearby. There we spent two hurried hours in a grandiose building of international and historical cultural exhibitionism. It would have been worth a whole day to explore the Tropenmuseum. The exhibits made it easy to understand the 17th century's obsession with the exotic. Everything is displayed like an annotated cabinet of curiosities. I was particularly fond of an exhibit about the metropolitan landscape in general and Manila in particular. Two films were especially revealing and nostalgic. One was raw footage of Metro Manila traffic, a puzzling network of brave, jigsaw drivers; the other was filmed by a man walking slowly through lively, homely slums and alleyways.

Backtracking hostelbound after the picnic, we passed by the slavery memorial and the Theo van Gogh memorial, newly aware of their significance in local history, past and present.

Friday also meant that the group divulged in the night life, a commercial fiesta of overexcitement.

Day 25, 7 July:

Today was about the Holocaust. a day which in retrospect the class called "intense." A lecture by Prof. David Barnouw at the Nederlands Instituut voor Oorlogsdocumentatie gave historical context to the country's victimhood of the German invasion and Holocaust. The Professor posed an important question: what will happen to the memory of the Holocaust as generations pass? Will our future forget, and our lessons expire? The city displays dozens of monuments. Will these keep its culture informed?

We saw museums paying tribute to the honorable Dutch resistance and the history of Jewish culture. "NOOIT MEER AUSCHWITZ," engraved in glass at the Auschwitz memorial, means to never abandon the memory of the death camp's victims. Visitors could walk over the broken mirrors, an act reflecting the significance of individual responsibility in the face of inhumane atrocities. The February Strike memorial represents the progressive solidarity of the working-class resistance through the singular figure of a monumental everyday man. The gay and lesbian memorial, a series of three pink marble triangles, comemmorates not only the queer victims of the Holocaust but victims of AIDS as well. Through the subtlety of being built into the cityscape, the memorial is able to represent the deep tolerance of homosexuality in Dutch culture.

I haven't mentioned that at the Institute we watched a film called Zwartboek, directed by Paul Werdooven. It's not surprising to know he did Robocop; the plot was a dramatized pastiche "based on true events" and the mainstream demands of the action-war drama genre. I don't think this style is the most respectful or educative or deep way to approach such historical material, but it is the most charged and suturing. A sober film would have seemed more appropriate to be shown at such an institute, but perhaps street memorials and such movies would not be enough to keep the memory alive. Prof. Barnouw expressed a pessimism that was unfortunately professional. To the future, the Holocaust may seem as aloof as the Napoleonic Wars seem to us, now.

The Anne Frank Huis was a straightforward place. You come, you pack through the renovated hideaway, read diary excerpts stenciled on the wall, see fragments of a life-in-hiding, read replicas of the Frank notebooks, develop your inner-connection to her experience. I thought what the museum lacked was an emphasis on the greater importance of why we remember Anne Frank. She is the most famous voice of the Holocaust's victims, yet she is just one voice. It feels a bit forgotten in the museum, which by memorializing her makes her seem legendary, erring on mythical, and distanced from the reality upon which we have based her commemoration. I believe that the museum should focus on the broader subject of Holocaust refugees and put the Anne Frank story second.

It was, however, a crowded place; as a steady source of funding it perhaps deserves no criticism. In the lobby there was a platform studded with voting podiums, in view of a projected screen to watch introductions to many of today's international controversies. (I was there to watch a clip about the illegal white-laced black combat boots, swastikas and other Nazi emblems in Germany. The audience voted 50%-50%, with the protest arguing for freedom of expression.) This exhibit had a powerful effect, the feeling of being in a room saturated with controversial disagreement and realization.

When I was in Houston until day 4 of 5, I spoke to an elite (highest tax bracket) mid-20s on a 7-month-vacation and touring-America German. To warn us from deception, he suggested that Obama's charisma relates him to Hitler. But he was a reasonable person; a lot of his complaints were the quantifying of taxes and percentages. In Berlin I met an old American on the subway. He bought me coffee and acted himself. His wife had died last September and he was still bitterly grieving; he's impatient, couldn't walk far, loved talking to or at people, is obsessed with his camera, and had several albums of photographs to share and people to talk about. The whole afternoon went by over slow dark beer and a five euro velocab. I mention him because he's homophobic, rude and sexist, an old marine and new widower, but he's here until he dies with outdated views that our generation now considers extremist. These are two people I met.

Day 24, 6 July:

At Utrecht University my classmates and I were greeted with tea, the promise of an umbrella, and a welcoming-warning lecture (by guest lecturer Prof. Dr. Wiljan van der Akker) discussing the way in which the brain creates stereotypes ("fits things into boxes") in order to cope with the trauma of newness. In other words: the longer you're in any place, the more its stereotypes go away. To me, in relation to Holland, this was a little funny. I think the Dutch expect to be stereotyped - justly, perhaps they are all over Europe - but in California, I for one have never been aware of their stereotypes. It wasn't until the readings that I realized what they all were - and because the readings sought to clarify, justify and somewhat purify them, I came to the Netherlands with a more balanced but still biased preconception. I understand, for example, that while the Dutch can be seen as "cheap," it's more considerate to think of them as "thrifty." (In any case I appreciate economical people).

The lecture was on one hand a promotion of the university and its zealous attitude toward rankings, and on the other hand a discussion on the differences between American and Dutch education. What's most fascinating is how much gender differences in cognitive development affect the results of the respective systems. Females mature earlier, so in Europe where children are given placement exams at an earlier age, they are more successful; males mature later, finding more success in America where we tend to "procrastinate" testing. The Professor concluded that the European high school system is the biggest obstacle towards adopting the Anglo-Saxon higher education system - I wonder if other European professors find such an adoption desirable, if even this conclusion valid.

Afterwards, around a flattering lunch we had the chance to speak with Dr. Wiljan van der Akker. He was a charismatic, worldly person. He took a year off in high school for charity work in Ecuador, a feat which he explained made his résumé all the more impressive. The most interesting thing he discussed was the linguistic arrogance of the French, a people who he called "horrible." (I wonder if he's spent more than six months there). Apparently they haughtily believe that one day, the world will all speak French. I wondered, in response, if the Dutch have a sort of pride/arrogance as a people of polyglots. I wouldn't blame them. I'm ashamed that the American majority is so monolingual.

We then went around the city, stopping by two unique museums: the Museum Starrenwacht and the Museum Speelklok. The former was a space and weather exhibit housed in something of a 16th century fortress, topped with a revolving dome in which a giant telescope was housed. At the latter we took a tour of automatic music-playing machines throughout history, from carillons to jukeboxes to full-on mecha-orchestras: everything after the automaton and before the amplifier. We also spent a few minutes at a botanical garden, a beautiful place that we had little time for. The rainy weather was perfect for both the plants and our umbrellas. In addition we toured an academic hall by the Dom church and tower, as well as the physics building, campus and library of Universiteit Utrecht.

Dinner, on the Dutch department, was by the canal at a pannenkoekenrestaurant called De Oude Muntkelder. It surprised a lot of students that Dutch pancakes aren't all meant for whipped cream, syrup and strawberries, a la IHOP. In fact my pancake was cooked with spek & champignons, served with a glass of amstelbier. I was tempted to try some of the unheard-of combinations, especially bacon and raisins, but I resisted for what made great comfort food. Dutch pancakes are a simple, practical, eatable meal. It does justice to the [reader's] claim that Holland is modest with its gastronomy.

Day 23:

Today was all about art: 17th century Dutch Golden Age painting, to be precise, so in the morning Prof. Dewulf lectured on the rise of the merchant class and citizen as, among other things, the new market for painting, and how this and the Dutch culture and landscape came to characterize the art of the Golden Age. We headed off to the quiet town of Haarlem to get a better feel of the era, and after a short lunch in the cobblestone town square, see the Frans Halsmuseum. It was easy to appreciate the way the era's culture colored the exhibit. For example, there were several paintings featuring the Good Samaritan, but none of saints. There were paintings of regal people, ordinary people and peasants, and to a much lesser degree nudes, beautiful women and erotic tableaux. I also enjoyed admiring the painstaking work of the gallery's banquet piece artists, who would demonstrate their skill and patience in such subtle ostentations as fanciful knife handles, reflective tableware and luxurious drapery. Also of interest was how replete Dutch art is of symbolism, whether the memento mori of a snail on a leaf or the honorable display of a crest- and ribbon-adorned frame.'

In the afternoon we went to the Rijksmuseum, a surprisingly small musuem for being the country's most famous. Its collection sought to impress upon its guests a true sense of the Dutch Golden Age: its most famous attractions are Rembrandt's The Night Watch and other paintings by such names as de Hooch, Vermeer, and Jan Steen, although the museum displays weaponry, colonial acquisitions, luxury wares and other arts of the era. I appreciated most the chance to see the works of the aforementioned artists in person. De Hooch and Vermeer are personal favorites for their creative compositions and unique subject matters, and the chance to understand why Rembrandt is so famed was unforgettable. His work stands out when it's seen in person - his skill is hard to swallow.

I felt sick that night. My body must be feeling the first big dip from all these metro poles, dirty train seats and public phones. Nonetheless I couldn't pass up on the chance to find a new pub with new friends.

Day 22:

Fourth of July for me was au revoir to France. To Holland I arrived by train, with weary eyes from a fast last night opened wide for the new candy of Amsterdam. Hallo: brick buildings and big windows, bicycles, canals, big sky and people that make it obvious they're tourists. Of course these words don't do much justice. This city's first impression left me with a promising feeling I can hardly try to describe. All I knew was that I had to get to lecture.

I was late [aware, from the reader, that the Dutch take punctuality seriously], and it wouldn't be my last time. About thirty minutes into the first lecture, I found Bungehuis and room 3.07. I caught some nods. Professor Dewulf shook my hand then resumed lecture to explain gezellige. I carry around with me a Dutch phrasebook, and on the train that morning I stumbled upon the word. Quoting Lonely Planet:

"Taking this book with you will open the door to a truly gezellige (khuh-ze-li-khuh) travel experience. If you want to discover firsthand the true meaning of this quintessentially Dutch word ('convivial' just doesn't do it justice), then don't leave home without this little book!"

I wondered what the Professor would think about this loose likening of gezellige to "convivial" - lecture made its meaning seem to be in some other direction, towards the word "cozy." Perhaps these two words find common ground in the term; in any case I'd like, as my phrasebook tempts, to truly discover the meaning of the word. I figured it has something to do with depth of character, as it has been said that to "impress a Dutch girlfriend or boyfriend" you must, for example, have a home of meaningful, characteristic posessions. I'm good at that, I thought to myself.

Off to the Van Gogh Museum. And what an odd time I had in its premise. Stepping suddenly into such an extreme social situation was a bit unnerving, especially after 21 days alone, so I went for a solitary to reflect on the end of my independent travels (on a date none other than Independence Day). Little did I know, my watch was several blocks of time behind, so my walk was too long. I found a sack of marijuana on the pavement, and three minutes later, a sack of hashish, then a rolling paper blew onto my leg. I laughed at the irony of this happening upon my arrival in Amsterdam. Returning from these unrelated notes, the Van Gogh Museum was a beautiful collection, and understanding van Gogh's development as an artist makes his life and work all the more interesting and admirable. Hoping I won't go crazy, I can, to some meager degree, relate to his artistic ambitions. Making art from nature yet inspired by the mind is what I strive for. That night I took blurry photographs of the canal and wondered what a post-Impressionist would have thought of them. Would he sense an excitement tempered with care, impassioned by beauty?

The walk from Centraal Station to Bungehuis was hurried - aside from stopping to talk to a kind and desperate Irish beggar who I could not help - and the walk after lecture was a sudden, shocking intake of socializing, so that it wasn't until after checking in to the hostel, dropping off my luggage, and boarding the canal tour that I really got to take in Amsterdam at a slow [boat's] pace. It was wonderful. Much of my attention was on the rows of big, open windows, which make a fascinating feature in a culture that frowns upon anti-social privacy. Of course, many curtains were drawn, but others were not, and inside you could watch their owners do household things like sit in front of their laptops or have their supper. I think most Americans, like myself, are uncomfortable in the presence of anonymous surveillance. Voyeurism is treated differently here.

Isolde took us through the red light district that evening. I was excited to have my colorful imagination shattered and sobered - because reality was that the place was just like any other street along a canal, except red fluorescent bulbs hung over certain panes of glass through which shameless women seduced lonely men. Otherwise it's a tourist hub for pickpockets, cheap rent for up-and-coming designers, ethnic restaurants and synagogues. Afterwards, a handful of us went out for coffee.