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.