Living, Loving and Art in London

One might wonder how a woman who had travelled without her husband for over 2 months would adjust to having him with her for the last 3 weeks of her trip. It’s a good question. Well, let’s just say, it wasn’t without a few hiccups. You know really, the regular sticky bits went smoothly……., like making decisions……… regarding where to go, which hotel to book, (who holds the keys), how much to spend, what activities to do. We hadn’t really discussed these things much prior to the trip, as we hadn’t planned the holiday together, but we knew one thing – we both loved Nature, hiking, and relaxing with a beer and new friends in a cozy pub at the end of a day. We discovered that we liked to explore historical beauty together….how splendid! But still, after the honeymoon of the first 10 days wore off, there were some stumbling blocks…….actually, ours was reading maps. Yes, reading maps. Interpreting where you are, and in which direction you ought to be going, is tricky business….notwithstanding rain, darkness, and infinitesimally small print. (Where are my eyeglasses? On. Off. On. Off.) You know the saying….’I’d rather be right than happy’?…well, it bears out when it comes to who has the say on navigating a city. We sure had some silly moments….all laughed over in good fun afterwards; with cultivation of a better sense of humour and an ability to treat petty issues ‘like water rolling off a duck’s back’. We moved forward with ease after that……..though I pocketed the hotel keys.

It’s been an unbelievable time in Europe and this last leg with Tom in London has been amazing. I think we are getting so good at packing a multitude of activities into each hour of the day….really rich experiences, each one strong on it’s own…and together building a colourful tapestry of art, exercise, music, nature, new friends, adventures……and a deeper understanding of the culture of each place we visit.

Approaching London by train we saw very green and homey looking neighbourhoods. What makes them English? Well, it’s the architecture of the houses, their proximity to each other, the brick, and chimneys, the gardens out back….the assemblage of which is unique to England in each particular area. Isn’t this exciting? To be coming back to London….and our hotel in the Earl’s Cove area turns out to be perfect for us, and the neighbourhood has all that we want….it’s close to the Underground, has a green park with large, leafy trees across the street, it is quiet, yet it has a busy street of shops, restaurants, pubs, and bars one block away. I’d chosen it because I didn’t get to see Kensington Gardens last time I was here a month ago, so I’ll see it tomorrow.

For tonight, we’ll head out to have some dinner, and then on to see the hustle and bustle of Picadilly Circus, the Soho District, Liester Square, the Theatre district, Chinatown, and on down to Trafalgar Square. Then over the bridge across the Thames for a little stroll around to Big Ben and Westminster Abbey. It is all perfectly wonderful…..we are having such fun watching the people and the sights: New Union Jack flags hang down across the wide streets, (in preparation for the upcoming summer Olympics here…lots of construction all round), a crowd is gathered around a break dancing troupe who are wowing us all with their stunts, flips, head spins, endless energy, strength and focus….brilliant!

Rain drizzles and everyone has their brollies up, it is really romantic, snuggling under ours and marking our steps in and around shops and alleyways. The flavour of each district is distinct and we move on to the next one and are awed afresh at new sights. The pedestrian bridge is a wonderful place to survey the lights of the city, with the London Eye shining blue up above and inviting guests to ferris-wheel over the Thames.

We had a whole ‘nother day and night to DO London….and we sure did it. We had a full breakfast at the BandB, did some necessary emails to family, then it’s out onto the streets. First stop – rent a bike for each of us. London has an excellent bike rental program in its historical centre. Like many other urban areas the world over, it has adopted this program to promote minimum use of cars in the inner city. For less than the cost of bottled water we have access to a bike for 24 hours. We can hop on and off all day whenever we pass one of the computerized bike rack/stations, and if we never go over 30 minutes, it’s free. If we do go over the half hour, it’s a fee by the hour, which after 2 hours, still adds up to less than the price of lunch. Fabulous. What a sense of liberation to be cruising around Kensington Gardens, in the full blown beauty of spring bloom.

That day was magnificent…we were definitely caught up in the bustling, cosmopolitan, art-loving, modern-yet-historical city of London. We visited the Natural History Museum, marvelled at spectacular buildings around Black Friars, sauntered through the streets and shops of Covent Garden and Market Square (where we saw a magician and other street performers entertaining the crowds), sampled the food and drink at a few lively pubs, (had a great connection with a German plumber and his friends at one), and finished our afternoon stepping indoors out of the drizzle at the London Gallery.

Tom and I have never really appreciated going to Art galleries together, but since enjoying the Scotland Gallery in Edinburgh, we tried our luck here and it was well worth it. Seeing great paintings and sculpture (I’d seen many earlier in my trip) by renowned artists, is a thrill…Michelangelo, Leonardo daVinci, Rembrandt, Bellini, El Greco, Durer, Donatello, Dali, Bosch, Velazquez, Benini, Goya…(though I regret that with the aforementioned there is not one woman, thank goodness there are lots represented in this modern era). Once we’d seen enough of the fabulous, mainly Italian, religious art, we were happy to see some Renaissance and Baroque…. beauty and passion, just for their own sake, (Botticelli, Raphael, Bernini, Caravaggio, Rubens ). Among my favourite are those which turn out to be in the modern category (Piccasso’s cubism, Klee), and I personally especially like the work of the French, and the Impressionists (Monet, Renoir, Gauguin, Cezanne, Rodin, Manet). We both stared dumbfounded at the pointillism of Seurat, and saw past the sunflowers and thought about the agony of Van Gogh. Then we quietly mused over the Dutch and Flemish attention to detail (Vermeer, Steen, Bruegel, Van Eyck). It is astounding to me that some of these painters are so prolific, like Titian for instance, holy Goodness, so many large canvases, and Michelangelo, breaking his back upside down finishing the Sistine Chapel ceiling …Wow. Some of our nicest moments were gazing at the landscapes and scenes from daily living that told stories of the places we had seen. (Raeburn, McTaggart, Adamson, Annan, Norie, Knox- the former all Scottish, Turner – English). Great way to capture history, as a picture does tell a thousand words. We learned so much, developing some taste along the way, and can now appreciate what some of these famous names represent.

A romantic Italian dinner, at one of those narrow, dimly lit, hole-in-the-wall places, set us up for a lovely night out in London’s West End, (the flamboyant theatre/performance district). We bought tickets to the musical ‘Chicago’, and sat back goggling and giggling at the incredible dancing (and skimpy costumes to boot), singing and acting. The orchestra was fully visible and the play was humorous…we had a great night out. Thank you London for providing us with all the entertainment we needed to mull over the images, sounds, tastes, temptations and glory as we headed back to Canada on the morning flight to Vancouver.

Arriving in BC on a sunny day is truly spectacular, and I have the photos to prove it. We live in a gorgeous part of the world. By the time we’d boarded 1 Skytrain, 1 bus, and 3 ferries, and then driven our car into our Island meadow at 11pm, our bodies knew it was actually 7am London time. Cool, clean pillow under my head, with body parallel to earth, is a welcome sensation.

So I’m home….JillinBC now…….I will be adding at least one more entry into this blog after this one, there are a few wrap-up thoughts I want to express. Please let me know how you’ve enjoyed the blog, I appreciate your comments.

Ireland – the Happy Go Lucky Isle of Deep Magic

One of my last ports of call is Ireland, and I’m so glad Tom is sharing this with me…..he has Campbell blood, and I have Murphy blood….more digging around is in order.

In Dublin we stayed with D, a friend I’d met at the Pueblo Ingles course in Spain in March. We were showered with generosity and hospitality……these stops with new friends and old have made the trip infinitely richer. We appreciate our time spent with them and have so much gratitude for their showing us around their lovely, interesting and extremely lively city. The pub scene is unimaginably thriving, all ages, out on the streets, alive with music. Granted, we are here on a bank holiday weekend, and every 2^nd person is a tourist but it it interesting and fun to hang with these folks.

We are continually amazed during our short stay in Ireland at how friendly and happy the Irish are. Even the salespeople in the shops give us genuine well wishes and complements constantly. These people are nice….that’s it like, they’re really genial, genuine, and generous. I love their ready sense of humour and I giggle often at their jokes, sarcasm and puns. It is a delight to be in this country, and our time has been well spent, with all of our travel wishes being fulfilled. Bang on!

We trained it to the musically renowned town of Galway, (they say you’ll see traditional Irish music being played in almost every pub on the street, and that was almost true….it certainly was easy to find and since we love to listen to Celtic music, it has been a rich and rewarding part of our time here) on the West coast of Ireland, and went on our first ever bus tour from there….what a blast. We were gone for 9 hours and every minute was great. The rain down-poured all the way out on the bus and then it was sunny the rest of the day….what luck.

The driver/tour leader S, who is a born and bred local, whose mother tongue is Gaelic, was very humorous and entertaining, and he played lovely Irish cd music throughout, and even sang us a Gaelic song. (Incidentally, we found it fun reading the Gaelic which was alongside the English on all roadsigns in Ireland). S showed us many sights out the window, and we also stopped a dozen times to see a number of different castles, a dolmen arch, (5,000 year old, neolithic age burial site…wow), lovely scenes of village and farm life, including many baby lambs, ponies, and calves, and of course we went to a pub for a pint and a carvery lunch. He was extremely informative about the area, telling us things like how 90% of farmers here are age 55 and over, and how they are now downsizing the number of animals they keep, how they ‘break’ and ‘raise’ the stone walls to move the animals, and how the thatch roofs need to be replaced every 6-7 years, making the upkeep expensive and so they are being replaced, sadly. All this adds up to an impression that we are seeing the last of a dying culture of rural life and agriculture; the lifestyle is just not being taken up by the children, who are more content on the whole to move to the city and earn money at a job.

The focal point of the tour was going to the Cliffs of Moher. These are the stunningly beautiful cliffs by the sea which you’ve seen in all the travel posters of Ireland, and of course they are more appealing than ever in real life. Not even the presence of a few hundred tourists like ourselves could take away from the magnificence of the place….it is wondrous to behold, as you walk along a path just steps away from the 200+ metre drop. Tom and I sang Irish songs to the sea as it crashed on the rocks below, and later we basked in the mellow bliss of harp music played by a woman up by the tower. It was a grand experience overall, and we’d certainly recommend the tour.

The next day we took a 45 minute ferry ride to Inis Mor, one of the Aran Islands, the biggest of the archipelago of 3 set in the Bay of Galway. Interesting to note that it is about the same area as our home island, 40 sq miles, and it has roughly the same population at 900. We had a mystical, magical day on the island, touring along on rented bicycles…following the gravel road along the sea……viewing the rather barren looking landscape, an island of rock, rock, and more rock. It reminds me of one of the sandstone shelves in the inter tidal zone of our island, which slant gently up from the sea and then abruptly stop at the high end with a vertical edge….only Island size, with a cliff to the westward. Such a fine time……passing turquoise water glowing in sandy bays, encountering a multitude of round stone fences, (very different from the flat stones of Yorkshire for instance, created here in a much tighter latticework than I’ve previously seen) housing ponies standing to the windward in green grass and brambles, ocean swelling beyond. The sky is opening up to blues and the water to lighter shades of grey, promising sunshine for the whole day. We are enthralled by it all….. thatch roofed, gabled cottages with the family cow munching and chewing it’s cud in the yard, farm vehicles hauling cargo, a mother pushing a baby in the stroller, tiny craft shop where I buy a silver Celtic knot design necklace. This is a community like our own, which is connected, vibrant and reliant on itself in many ways.

The crowning moment of the day is a toss-up between hiking up to the Fort, a prehistoric structure on the far end by the cliff…..OR speaking with a local 60 something farmer. The former had a history of over 3000 years, the latter could have been from a long line as old; he said he lived in his parent’s house (handed down with the land for generations) with his 2 sisters and brother. His speech was punctuated with slurs and blows….a strong accent, needing concentration to follow. We spoke of farming on our 2 resort islands; of how much hay would be fed to the cattle and where it came from and how it was stored……of which vegetables are grown (mainly root crops) and how they get the rest of their food. I ask if he plays music and he is interested in which instruments we play. He had tried out his gran father’s ‘accorDEEN’ many times and was curious to know if we played the accorDEEN. We sang a song together – Wild Mountain Thyme – and he sang us a song in English about an Irish emigrant. Fascinating to have come to this island of stone fences and spoken to one whose blood has survived here for time unknown.

Back to the Fort. It is a wonder that’s for sure, Built in AD 1100, it has a semi-circular formation against a very high and rugged cliff; therefore defensible from all around. It is a 20-30 minute hike up from the shore, where presumably most of their food was got, and it has concentric circles of rock walls, 3 deep, and buttresses maintaining a height of about 2 -4 metres,  plus about a 6 metre depth of vertical spiky rocks placed beyond the fort, all around. Fascinating. Archeologists believe that the people lived in huts within, and its proximity to the cliffs made it hard to attack. It is truly awe-inspiring to sit inside the walls, looking out to sea along the cliff’s edge, and to see the even grander cliffs of Moher across Galway Bay, and the open Atlantic in the distance. People sat here just like this…… such an incomprehensibly long time ago.

The biking was transcendent, it took us to a different time and place. Magical moments, leaning against limestone and soaking up spring sunshine, watching the clouds drift almost imperceptibly across the arc of the sky; creeping up on the ruins of an abbey, the Celtic crosses carved onto upright marker stones at the 4 directions. We had stopped often to take in the sights and explore narrow gravel side-roads. Peace, and a certain sense of timelessness, descended upon me…….. I became innocent of identity – simply a vehicle for sensing wind, air, and earth. This island earth, trodden and marked with stone. Stone. Stone. Everywhere.

There are times when you just know you are taking in important moments of your life; when you intuitively feel the presence of reverence for Spirit. It causes petty ego to become miniscule. The moment belies it’s simplicity and radiates beauty and order and perfection. It’s usually at the hand of Nature that we feel like this….and often also in the eye of intimacy with a beloved….which this British Isles experience has truly provided us with. Tom and I are ecstatic and grateful.

England and Scotland – Romance and Roots

British Isles Roots and Romance

Tom arrived safely in London and we immediately hopped on a train together, snuggled up and enjoyed a lovely trip North to York. So nice to be reunited; heavenly after a few month’s absence to make the heart grow fonder…..it really does work……one gets time to discover hidden places in the psyche, explore new interests (like writing for instance), and just plain take a break from relationship stuff. I had noticed that I’d been watching couples a lot in the last week…..I’d had more awareness of how they held each others hand, laughed together, lingered over a coffee, and walked in step arm-in-arm….yes, I do have a joyful feeling bubbling up……. I now have a travel partner. I’m seeing through the rest of my journey with my sweetheart….in fact, we’re toasting to 30 years of marriage (anniversary this June), and so this is a bit of a honeymoon for us….(we never really had one…..Hornby hippies back in the day….just pretty much interested in living off the land and staying put)……now, we are lapping up the excitement and adventure of travel, that’s for sure.

York is an extremely nice place to be. The town is small, our accommodation at a local B&B is perfect, and we are happy as clams. It’s pretty much raining cats and dogs out there…but who cares when you haven’t seen each other for ages…..everything’s perfect! We discovered a 2.5 mile city wall walk which surrounds the inner historical centre, (and they do have history here….the town is celebrating it’s 800 year incorporation). You’re actually up on the top of the thick stone circumference, which is in ruins in many places, but you have 3 lengthy sections you can follow, punctuated by towers at the bridges over the Rivers Foss and Ouse. (We enjoyed a lovely cup-o-tea in a tiny circular tower cafe and the waitress kept checking out the window to see that the river hadn’t flooded to her entrance doorway….it was unusually rainy). Originally built in AD 71 by the Romans (and we did see parts of the ruins of that), the wall has been built upon over the years since 600AD. It is truly fascinating for us to start sinking into the past and connecting to the reality that our ancestors all came from this area of the world….. England, Scotland and Ireland. Wonder and curiosity sweep over us in waves as we witness various scenes, landscapes, edifices, relics of the past….we’re almost giddy with excitement….it really is fun to be sharing this part of my journey with the most important person in my life….the father of our children who carry on both of our family’s blood. York proves to be the perfect jumping off point for our 2+ weeks together…..we are captured and enraptured by it’s very romantic charm. We stay a few days and then rent a car and set out on the ‘wrong’ side of the road (scary…especially driving forth out of a parking lot for instance and all of a sudden you’re head on with someone who, by the way, does not give you the finger as one might expect in America, but instead salutes you with the thumbs up when you are successful in returning to your own lane before an impact occurs)….to the even more romance-laden countryside.

The Yorkshire Dales are sublime. If I’ve ever had a vision of heaven, well……when I took my first step out onto the Yorkshire Dales….my vision was fulfilled…..I really became enchanted, and I think I found heaven. Sun shining brightly on the fresh green grass, rolling hill over vale, and dotted with white, white sheep, and tiny newborn lambies…..the dreamiest place I’ve ever been. Not a smudge to mar the beauty of the scene….even though there’s been human habitation here forever virtually….they’ve preserved it in a way that maintains balance between nature and development….absolutely brilliant. This is where I will come to when I need a break from life, a renewal of spirit, a rejuvenation of the soul. Imagine just walking…..walking forever across the gentle dales, with the moors rising above you, and the fells falling to the vales below you, with the River Ure sliding past you….the forces (waterfalls) heard in the distance, the low rock walls gently curving and lifting mile over mile and defining the pasture boundaries, crumbling farm buildings and sheds…all of the same grey stone, narrow stiles which defy a round belly to pass, and the poob (pub) for a pint is just around the bend…..definitely heaven. Tom and I felt it, and loved it.

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Carrying on to the Hawick area, we are delighted to have entered Scotland, (how liberating to have a car and be able to make choices and decisions disregarding the train schedule). We have a purpose for coming to this border country area……we’ve been stomping around with the ancestors all morning….searching graveyards for Rutherfords….and we’ve found lots. It’s really cool because both Tom and I have Rutherford ancestry. Of course he has the name, but I also have it in me blood because my great, great grandmother was Isabella Rutherford. So I tried to explain to Tom…..look…..a person has 4 grandparents, 8 great grandparents, and 16 great-greats…..one of my 16 was a Rutherford, and so was one of your 16 great-greats……so I’m really just as much Rutherford as you! Revelation! Anyway, we had a ball tromping around and really dug the old, mossy headstones and of course took far too many photos of those sporting names we are in line of: Rutherford, Lawson, Brown, MacEwan, McRae….didn’t find any McCandlish or Gardiner….(and we’re waiting on the Murphy and Campbell til Ireland.) It’s an indescribable feeling to be visiting these lands and getting in touch with some roots.

We decide to do some hiking and nature exploration in Scotland, so we move north westward past Stirling and Glasgow, to land in the Loch Lomond and Trossachs National Park. Tom and I are really in step as we spend long afternoons exploring the lakes and moors on foot. We see lots of flowering yellow broom among the gorse, romping feral mountain goats, views to Ben Lomond, (a small mountain approaching 1000 metres high), Loch Ard, (tranquil lake with tendrils fingering out to the hills), and snow-capped peaks in the distance. We seem to be under a lucky star this whole trip because though there is always impending rain, we are mostly bathed in sunshine whenever we go on our romps outdoors.

A really cool little thing happened up in those hills, (and my learner families who I work with as a part of my online consulting job will be very interested in this). We were enjoying a wee picnic lounge just below a big rock and as I laid my head down to relish the afternoon rays, my eye caught sight of a smidgeon of colour below the rock. What have we here?…..a small watertight container…..hmmmm, someone’s lunch stash that they’ll be returning to?…..no, it is a ‘treasure’ containing trinkets and a note, put here by someone involved in the online based activity of Geocaching. I’d heard about it from one of my learners who really loves doing it. People all over the world use GPS to hide/seek/and find in a sort of treasure hunt where the real prize is just finding the item, taking a piece of it only if you gift one in exchange, leaving a dated note, and connecting back online……can’t believe we unintentionally took part in it……sweet.

We are staying at ‘The Forth Inn’ in Aberfoyle, and the village is appealing. We have lively discussions with folks foreign and local, and are very interested in the language transformations in usage. Our very gracious hostess Tristan, informs us about the variety of words referring to a woman, and how they change from area to area: Hen – northern Scotland; Duck – border country; Luv – England. The old gentleman in the pub this evening addressed me as ‘Lady’ many times over. I had asked if I could join he and his cronie at their table beside the open fire to watch them play dominoes, as I’d always wanted to learn the game. Of course they were amused and we enjoyed a good time playing a few rounds with the decades old ivory pieces….lots of fun…these are the rich little snippets which make travel so rewarding aren’t they? Everything is…………Aye, it’s grande, really grande. We were told that our Canadian accent is glamourous to them….that it is soft and smooth….well that’s a complement. I suppose films and movies from Hollywood do portray a similar accent to ours so I can understand the comment from that perspective. Aahh, time to return the car….it was well worth it…and now the big city is calling us.

So cool today in Edinburgh….we were in St. Giles Cathedral, and we got a little historical run-down on the religious history of the place….how the Church of Scotland was established when the independent thinking, strong minded Scots (our ancestors) decided they didn’t want the hierarchical type of religion that was being handed to them by King Charles the 1^st and 2^nd. They didn’t want the King to be head of the church, or the bishops and cardinals either….so they split off from the Roman Catholic church in the 1500s, and then wrote up the Covenant (actual document we saw on the wall inside the Kirk) to ensure that they could practise their Protestant ways, and not only that but they’d like to run it Presbyterian style……. which means no bishops and cardinals, just a minister in the centre and everyone sitting facing into the circle. I’ve never seen a church where the congregation didn’t sit and all face the front, it is awesome. Very interesting and enlightening information to mull over.

It turns out (predictably) that a big part of our late afternoon and evening’s entertainment here on the British Isles is spent in the ‘Free Houses’, bars and public houses…….Tom is revelling in the beer and pulled ales straight from the cask, (he claims he can really taste the difference and I must say it is impressive how they spent a good 5 minutes gently pulling on the tall lever to fill the pint with a swirling misty musty liquid that settles down softly and bodes well for the heart). You order and pick up from the bar and often must wade through the masses to find your way there. Folks don’t seem to mind your subtle interruption of their conversation and often engage you in some friendly banter besides. Have we ever had a blast connecting with the locals at the village and city corner inns/pubs alike. What fun to share stories…and to hear the accents and understand the lingo………..well then….aye, aye…. that’s it like….cracker jack.

Y’know, I do feel so at home here in the UK. Not such a surprise really, being a descendant of the Scots…..7 or 8 generations Canadian now….but it’s still in the blood. That fiery independent spirit that impelled my ancestors to leave the known world and embark on a life change/voyage to lands abroad. A sense of adventure?…..or was it desperation and lack of opportunity?…..perhaps some were deported for bad behaviour. They weren’t content, they knew it, and they had the gumption to move on. I had a school Principal say to me once….you’ve got chutzpa Jill….perhaps it’s in me blooood…..krikey!

I finally got to ride on a double-decker. We passed Bromhill Street, Drumbrae, Gogarburn Junction and Golf Club (the sport originated in St. Andrews, Scotland, just north of here, and we’ve seen some pretty lovely greens), and we’re on our way out of this beautiful city on the Airport Shuttle. And let me say with much enthusiasm – WHAT A GORGEOUS CITY IT IS – one of my favourites. The city planner did an excellent job of taking the train line running through the valley, (which is smack dab in the centre of town), and building green, park-like, flowering glory all around it and amongst the centuries old stately and magnificent architecture…..so that you may walk in loveliness and nature and art pretty much continuously through the downtown area……..flanked on each end of the Royal Mile (historical city street/walk) by a Palace to the East and a Castle to the West. No need to take a tram or bus really……walking’s the thing. You can even do a 3 hour hike in Nature up to Arthur’s Seat minutes away, and be enthroned on top of cliffs with hills of yellow blossom flowing down all around you. Brilliant! Really special!

If I’d had time here at the airport I could have stopped in at the Airport Beauty Salon where one can partake in a Champagne nail bar, or be transformed by a slimming and de-tox session……or I could have looked glam with eyelash extensions…..and of course might have relished some relaxation with a facial and a massage treatment. Or I may have sat back at the Yo Sushi Bar and, from my cushy seat, perused a selection of assorted sushi in see-through containers, floating by me on a conveyor belt (both directions)…making my choice by picking it off……dining……and paying as I go. Alas….no time for loitering…….we’re boarding….with the farewell send-off of ‘Thank you for using the Edinburgh Airport for your journey. Haste ye back’……yes, I just may.

Belgium, Beautiful, Beer…… Amsterdam, Amusing, Astounding

 

Gawd, I’m having fun! I am seeing Belgium….it’s so exciting. I’d wanted to come, but didn’t know if I’d be able to fit it into my itinerary. Well, I’ve thrown caution to the wind…… or maybe just money….and am here in Brussels. It is a big city, rather nice looking in the sun and the streets look inviting, but I only have a short train break and will continue on to Bruges. It is nice, riding in comfort from one town to the next, in a cushy seat, with a light sandwich to eat, and sometimes a whole compartment to myself. When I left France, I was entertained by conversation with 3 gents from Luxembourg who had just attended a conference on sustainable agricultural practices across many EU countries. I enjoyed hearing about their work and lives, and they mine.

 

Now I’m passing Gent and this is what I see out of the window: men under umbrellas fishing in the canal, (apparently this is Belgian style fishing), orange buds on large branched trees, green grassy lawns just inviting a picnic in the park, a square that welcomes you with a regal and yet humble air. There are many old brick buildings with gables and chimneys; and row houses abound – very narrow with 2 windows across the front, each with a different colour brick facing it. They are all low buildings, typically 2 stories, punctuated by the pointy spires of occasional churches. It’s pretty.

 

Bruges is where I de-train and I enjoy it immensely. I am very happy here. I meet a few new friends, get recommendations for a hostel, taste a Belgian beer, and I’m off. Such a lovely town….M (our lovely Belgian friend who lives on Hornby) told me Bruges was fake, but his wife J said it was beautiful. I agree with them both. It is a touristy place no doubt, but the nice thing is, there are no line-ups anywhere and if you avoid the hi-end shopping streets, you’re fine. However you must try a teensy weensy bit of the famous chocolate which comes in all shapes and sizes, from bunnies and eggs, to bicycles and cars, to full-on-almost-life-sized breasts and buttocks…..how sweet is that? Also, please notice the lovely lace which is exquisitely made and on display in many of the windows. It is absolutely delightful just to wander the streets and happen upon a still-watered canal reflecting the colours of the straight fronted and often ornately decorated facades. The people are friendly and that is a bonus.

 

I met a young Mexican man who is here for a few days break from Uni in Sweden. (Travellers here make good use of the cheap flights on Easyjet and Ryanair to tour Europe on weekends). We walk through the town and see lovely sights….I’m highly interested in how such a small place could have SO many grande structures….it must have been extremely wealthy once….and sure enough it was. Bruges was a centre for much hustle and bustle; at one point it was the chief commercial city of the world, with a stock market and wealthy merchants, as it’s port was the main link to trade in the Mediterranean. It showed off it’s affluence with these grandiose edifices, until its’ harbour silted over and it became a backwater. Now of course it thrives again with tourism as it is such a well preserved and beautiful town which catapults you centuries back in time.

 

Biere. I resolve to try at least 4 kinds, but in only 24 hours in Belgium….that’s going to be hard. First it’s one with a long name starting with C, then Leffe, now Jupiler. Oh they are all good, and I’m definitely not the one to start describing the subtleties of beer…but I do taste some differences. The C has a distinctive flavour, the L goes down very easily, and the J is tasty, but not quite as good as it could be since I had to drink it on the train after it had rolled around in my bag for an hour. (The fourth I actually sampled in Amsterdam, and it was the most superb…..could it be because I imbibed it at a canal-side cafe, alongside a vegetarian club sandwich lathered with avocado and goat cheese….soooo yummy….or was it because this beire, called Duvel, or ‘devil beer’ is 8.5% alc/vol………yikes!!!….that’ll make anything taste better don’t you think?) So, that’s it, I’ve become a Belgian beer lover, and I’m happy about this. Thank you Bruges, for initiating me, and I will always remember your quiet charms with genuine pleasure.

 

On to Amsterdam by train. This is how I pictured Netherlands….flat, water everywhere, canals, sunny blue skies, people out and about – mostly on bicycles- a relaxed atmosphere. I’d heard it was a crowded country, very well populated and utilized, every inch….but since they practice tolerance in a big way here, it seems to work. This city is well known for legalizing prostitution (one must be 18 years old, claiming the income, which averages 30 euros/20mins, and using condoms) and decriminalizing the possession, sale, and use of small amounts of marijuana….and it also leads the way in things like supporting gay people, for instance there is a kiosk out front of the Westerberk church…it’s called the ‘pink spot – gay and lesbian info’, and it’s where I bought my hop on hop off 24 hour canal boat pass.

 

Amsterdam is a place unlike any on the planet I’m sure….it is so bustling, alive, crazy, free, dirty, bawdy, loud, beautiful, scenic, historical….you name it, Amsterdam’s got it. Live and let live – thrive actually, for most. Enjoy the simple pleasures of a walk in the park, a smoke with friends (yes, it’s very in style with youth and aged alike), a slow cruise to view the tall and slender brick buildings which can’t help but look picturesque flanked by canals and bridges, a stroll through narrow streets lined with trendy, tasteful, or lewd shops, peek into coffee shops (aka marijuana joints), gawk at scantily clad young women posing in the neon framed windows of the red light district, take in art, culture, fabulous flea markets, or a leisurely cycle round the well marked cycle path. (I can tell you, it’s very tricky walking as there are bike lanes criss-crossing everywhere and you mayn’t stop to consult your city street map without hearing the ring-a-ling from the handlebar bell of a cyclist who dearly wants you out of the way. You must be on hyper-alert here as you keep in mind whether you’re in the bike lane, the tram lane, the car lane, or…… where you should be – the pedestrian lane….and that’s not to mention the ever present and very popular scooters to boot).

 

Lets just talk bikes though. Every corner has at least 50 locked ones attached to stands or any spare ring of metal available. If it’s a major intersection, there will be 200. At the Central Station, where you may board a train, bus, or ferry (free! To Amsterdam Noord, where I couchsurfed), there are thousands…Yes, it’s true. There are three-quarters of a million citizens in this city, and as many bikes….dig that. Stand by and watch as an on-going collection of commuters drop off and pick up their 2-wheelers. There is definitely a freedom experienced when you pedal your way through the streets, breeze blowing your hair, freshness in your face, no barrier between you and life. Being a frequent biker myself at home, I am thrilled at the quantity here.

 

Standing on one of the many small canal bridges, I found it quite amusing to watch the dredger working below. It had heaps of wet bicycle carcasses on it’s barge, and I witnessed it pulling out more. The saying here goes……….the depth of the canal is 1 metre water, 1 meter mud, and 1 meter bicycles.

 

I am near to dizzy watching the traffic cacophony in front of me at this intersection with no lights or stop signs……these riders must have eyes in the back of their heads to avoid collision. I have seen the following riding past me as I leaned on a lamp-post: women in fancy dress and high heels; rastas in headphones smoking with one hand; a young man texting while going over a bridge; pet lovers with leashed dogs trotting alongside town; any number of student musicians carrying cellos with backpack straps (there is a Musique school in and I believe that most of the players must be cellists); mothers and fathers with 5 year olds on the backseat, and two toddlers in a front box; elderly folks of all description; business people in suits;….it’s truly impressive. And the thing is, the bikes are old rattle taps, with fenders loose, squeaky wheels and ancient ding bells……and none with gears – it’s flat here right? You should see them rooster necking it up the bridge inclines. I saw only one helmet being worn, by a guy wearing a Spandex racing suit,,,,,guess he goes fast…otherwise, it’s a free for all….and you hardly ever see anyone pause at a corner, much less stop….they each seem to be expert at gauging distances and weaving their way through the mayhem. Brilliant….a culture of bicycles….simply wonderful.

 

Here’s something kind of interesting….fresh water floats on top of the salt water in the Ij (pronounced ‘eye’) river, which I cross on the ferry over Amsterdam’s harbour about 4 x a day. And apparently fresh water fish inhabit the top and salt water fish swim below…far out….it would be fun to be a fisher here.

 

Amsterdam is growing on me…..with each amble over a 17^th century arched bridge, I am taken deeper into it’s hypnotizing spell. Having 100 km of canals to explore, and a strict lo-rise building clause, it is pretty much a stroller’s paradise. I’ve spent days lolling about on boats, wandering the flower/bulb market, sitting in the sunshine in parks, meditating in the chapel shadows of a great stone church, munching roast nuts from the outdoor sellers stalls, settled in at curbside cafes…I’ve sunk into the relaxed pace of life here, and I appreciate the beauty of the place. You are totally unique Amsterdam…..city of concentric canals fanning out across your half moon city plan…..not a boring street corner in existence within your inner semi-circle. Your citizens seem very proud of you….you are well loved….and you stand waiting for more adoration, and I’m sure it’ll keep coming.