Our ‘Free’ breakfast this morning, ended up to be what ever we could scavenge out of the kitchen, which was essentially a few slices of thin, white bread, and a 3kg tub of cheap strawberry jam. The bench load of breakfast supplies that we had been introduced to last night, as it transpired, was whatever previous guests had left behind over the previous three years. This consisted mainly of large bottles of cooking oil, several half finished bottles of Coke, a congealed part bottle of sweet and sour sauce, and several jars containing substances that defied description. Oh for a jar of Marmite. We always wondered what created the expat’s obsession with Marmite, and now we know.
We caught the tube to St Paul’s this morning, as we considered that the appalling weather was a good opportunity to visit the Museum of London. Aside from all the wonderful displays and information that they had, we hadn’t considered that a wet Sunday afternoon would mean that half of London was there with their kids doing ‘family day’. At times it felt like we were in an infirmary with kids all around us coughing, sneezing and otherwise expressing themselves all over us. In some cases we felt like telling their parents “For God sake, take your child home, can’t you see that he is sick?”
The way that the family units were behaving, it seemed that they thought that they were under the watchful eye of the selection committee for the annual ‘Mum of the Year’ award. There were so many mums taking a family day out, way too seriously, giving their kids question and answer sessions around every display case. Turning little two year old Johnnie’s, fun Sunday out with mum, into a School trip. Maybe they were doing their allotted ‘Quality Time’. What happened to just letting them have fun?
Anyway after wandering through the beginnings of London, the bronze age, Roman times, the Great fire, and the Black Plague, and lots of other ‘old stuff’, we decided that it was time to get back in touch with the present. We studied our maps to try and formulate a plan on which direction we should go in, and the more we looked at our maps, the more they looked like Monopoly boards. Waterloo, Park Lane, Pall Mall, Mayfair, oh the choices. We ended up going for a casual stroll down Oxford street to admire the Christmas lights. They really come into their own when it gets dark at 4:30pm. The lights were pretty cool, with many departments stores having their whole frontages covered in displays, and side streets having themed displays running down their lengths.
Whilst walking down the street bundled up with jackets, boots, hats, scarves, and gloves (we suspect that we look like right wusses) we discussed the merits and otherwise of being cold, versus rain. We wondered what it would be like up in Edinburgh at this time of the year. Not sure if we could cope with the four hours of daylight though. We continued our ponderings within the warm confines of one of our local pubs, whilst enjoying a Christmas dinner, Turkey, potatoes, Brusselsprouts, peas, Yorkshire pudding, gravy, cranberry sauce … and a pint. Brilliant!
Tuesday, 24 November 2009
LONDON – England - UK (Sat 21 Nov)
We left Europe today bound for the UK via the Eurostar. But first we were required to go through border control. Yep … border control. The first time we have seen anything that resembles a serious attempt at customs, since we first arrived in Europe. After filling in several forms in triplicate, I was informed that being the holder of a ‘Right of Abode’ visa, no forms were required. In fact, the only other category to have that privilege are diplomats. Excellent! Go figure. What can I get away with? Justine on the other hand, doesn’t have that privilege, however I did wait for her to emerge from the clutches of the customs officials before boarding the train.
Two hours after boarding the train we were emerging into the London sunshine … hmmm … well not quite sunshine. As for the journey we spent the time observing the other passengers, after all there isn’t much else to look at when you are in a very long tunnel. The passengers were like passengers everywhere, some buried in guidebooks, others asleep, and the remainder engrossed in quiet conversation. There does seem to be one feature of the European peoples that does transcend all countries, and cultures, … they certainly like to talk.
Leaving mainland Europe is quite a sad day and caused us to reflect on the last six months. We have been asked many times, “Which part did you like the best?” and “which country is your favourite?” Both questions are impossible to answer, there are so many fantastic places that make them so memorable for so many reasons. Each place is so completely, culturally different and enjoyable in its own way. The nearest we can come to answering those questions is to say that there are many places that we would love to return to, places that we felt that we didn’t get to know well enough the first time around, and equally that are places that would take some persuading to get us to return to. We have found that the phrase ‘The European way’ doesn’t exist. It depends on which part and neigbourhood of Europe you are talking about. As the woman in the EU office said to us the other day Europe is ‘United in Diversity’, and that seems to sum it up perfectly.
It has been an amazing experience, seeing so much, finding so much, learning so much, far beyond what we had imagined. But now it is time to move on. It will be a strange experience to be in an English speaking country again, after so long.
Looking back on our trip we have pondered if we have explored Europe in the best way that we could have. We have sought out, and spent time in places that we wouldn’t have had the opportunity to if we had done a ‘whistle stop’ ‘organised’ tour. On the other hand we haven’t had the privilege to sit in one place for 3-4 weeks and to ‘really get a feel for it’. We feel that we have spent this time in the best possible way, and at the very least we have ascertained where we want to return to. When? Who knows.
After landing we negotiated the various tube stops to our ‘digs’ for the next few days. A very small room (a tail-less cat is required for swinging), with a ceiling that has a definite lean on it. A stud height of barely six feet on one side of the room, and two feet on the other. Despite advertising this place as having a kitchenette in everyroom, the reality is a communal kitchen down two flights of stairs. However it does give you the chance to meet the other inmates with the same idea.
We shared the dinner space with a woman who originated from Spain and another from Germany. They are both working here now, the Spanish woman is waiting to move into a flat that she has bought. Although both she and the current owner agreed and signed on the sale, so far it has taken three months for their respective lawyers to actually process the sale, so that she can move in. British bureaucracy at its best.
We went for a walk down to the local Leytonstone shops and were pleasantly surprised by the food prices, after what we have been experiencing in Europe. However the accommodation prices are another matter altogether. But, this is London town. We met an interesting mix of people in our wanderings, of every creed and race that you can imagine. But despite their differences, there is one thing they have in common, they like to complain. Whether it be that the EFTPOS machine is always broken on weekends, or it be an altercation in the crowded underground about who it was that walked into whom, or whether it is about the weather. On that last point, they do have a point. The rain is enough to make anyone edgy.
Two hours after boarding the train we were emerging into the London sunshine … hmmm … well not quite sunshine. As for the journey we spent the time observing the other passengers, after all there isn’t much else to look at when you are in a very long tunnel. The passengers were like passengers everywhere, some buried in guidebooks, others asleep, and the remainder engrossed in quiet conversation. There does seem to be one feature of the European peoples that does transcend all countries, and cultures, … they certainly like to talk.
Leaving mainland Europe is quite a sad day and caused us to reflect on the last six months. We have been asked many times, “Which part did you like the best?” and “which country is your favourite?” Both questions are impossible to answer, there are so many fantastic places that make them so memorable for so many reasons. Each place is so completely, culturally different and enjoyable in its own way. The nearest we can come to answering those questions is to say that there are many places that we would love to return to, places that we felt that we didn’t get to know well enough the first time around, and equally that are places that would take some persuading to get us to return to. We have found that the phrase ‘The European way’ doesn’t exist. It depends on which part and neigbourhood of Europe you are talking about. As the woman in the EU office said to us the other day Europe is ‘United in Diversity’, and that seems to sum it up perfectly.
It has been an amazing experience, seeing so much, finding so much, learning so much, far beyond what we had imagined. But now it is time to move on. It will be a strange experience to be in an English speaking country again, after so long.
Looking back on our trip we have pondered if we have explored Europe in the best way that we could have. We have sought out, and spent time in places that we wouldn’t have had the opportunity to if we had done a ‘whistle stop’ ‘organised’ tour. On the other hand we haven’t had the privilege to sit in one place for 3-4 weeks and to ‘really get a feel for it’. We feel that we have spent this time in the best possible way, and at the very least we have ascertained where we want to return to. When? Who knows.
After landing we negotiated the various tube stops to our ‘digs’ for the next few days. A very small room (a tail-less cat is required for swinging), with a ceiling that has a definite lean on it. A stud height of barely six feet on one side of the room, and two feet on the other. Despite advertising this place as having a kitchenette in everyroom, the reality is a communal kitchen down two flights of stairs. However it does give you the chance to meet the other inmates with the same idea.
We shared the dinner space with a woman who originated from Spain and another from Germany. They are both working here now, the Spanish woman is waiting to move into a flat that she has bought. Although both she and the current owner agreed and signed on the sale, so far it has taken three months for their respective lawyers to actually process the sale, so that she can move in. British bureaucracy at its best.
We went for a walk down to the local Leytonstone shops and were pleasantly surprised by the food prices, after what we have been experiencing in Europe. However the accommodation prices are another matter altogether. But, this is London town. We met an interesting mix of people in our wanderings, of every creed and race that you can imagine. But despite their differences, there is one thing they have in common, they like to complain. Whether it be that the EFTPOS machine is always broken on weekends, or it be an altercation in the crowded underground about who it was that walked into whom, or whether it is about the weather. On that last point, they do have a point. The rain is enough to make anyone edgy.
Friday, 20 November 2009
BRUSSELS – Belgium (Fri 20 Nov)
We found out over breakfast that the EU made a decision yesterday and they made the Belgian Prime Minister, the President of the EU. Evidently Tony Blair had also put himself forward for the job but was never going to get it because “he is an absolute imbecile!”
We have a quiet day planed for today just mooching around the centre of Brussels. On our way into the centre we were amused to see a very frail old man standing on the top step of the Metro escalator (blocking the path), with a walking stick in one hand, and sending a text message with the other. Is this the new Belgium?
We were making our way towards a famous little statue in these parts, it is a statue of a little boy pissing. Everywhere you go you see replicas of all sizes in the tourist shops, made of everything from plastic, to chocolate. What impresses you most about this statue when you see it, is the size. It is small, about 55cm tall, and it is dressed. According to a school teacher who was pontificating at great length to his class about it, “It has 847 different costumes, and if you are laughing about the size, nobody promised you the Statue of Liberty.” And that is the Manneken-Pis, the statue that is supposed to give you good luck if you dress it. They have a guy whose job it is to dress it in its various costumes (they get changed every day). With the attitude to work that we have seen, we wonder if it is a job share position.
Our next destination was the Cathedral, but not before passing a large statue in a square of what appeared to be Don Quixote, and his little fat buddy on his donkey. What are they doing here? We thought that they were a Spanish thing.
The cathedral is a grand old dame, with a white stone interior, with large pillars parading down the length of its nave, supporting the 12 apostles. Half way down there is a very large and very ornate, dark wood pulpit, that almost looks like it is a Chocolate sculpture (appropriate really), with large flower arrangements about its circumference. The whole church is illuminated by its uppermost windows, which are clear, unlike the others within the church which are masterpieces of stained glasswork. There is a modern pipe organ opposite the pulpit, which seems to be recent upgrade, and might relate to the Royal wedding that we saw the photos of in the foyer. It wasn’t until we arrived in Belgium that we realized that they still had a monarchy here, and it seems that the Royal weddings are held in this cathedral, which gets decked out accordingly, into a lavish affair.
As we were sitting there in the cathedral, taking in the ambiance and reflecting on the last six months of our travels, we recalled our visit to the cathedral in Bruges. We were quite encouraged to see a church in full service for their midday mass on a Friday. Once again we were sitting in the back rows drinking up the atmosphere, when we suddenly realized that we were attending a funeral. So that was why the hearse was outside, and why there were guys in suits with funny hats and gloves, standing at the back (they were the undertakers). We were the funeral gatecrashers. We decided not to hang around for the cups of tea and sandwiches, in case they started asking us questions … in Flemish.
During our meanderings through the streets we came across quite an eclectic mix of sights, sounds, places, and subsequent thoughts and experiences. Based on our observation that the Brussels community have an aversion to smiling in a general sense, we decided that it would only be right to try and improve matters by trying to make as many of them smile as possible, by smiling at them. The result wasn’t always as expected. Most stared determinedly at their feet, others looked at us like we were insane, one poor guy must have got the fright of his life because he physically lurched suddenly right off the footpath and almost fell over in his excitement. It seemed that he thought that our insanity was contagious. Others just looked at us blandly, as much as to say “It’s alright for you, you’re a tourist, you get to leave this place.”
We may have mentioned this before, but there is a real anti-German feeling in this place, and they really hate being mistaken for a German. Which brings up the obvious question, why do they stick with the flag that they have. It is the same colours and stripes as the German flag, only their stripes are vertical instead of horizontal. Why don’t they give them selves a new flag, then there would be no problem. How ever in a country that can’t agree on anything, including the language that they should speak, perhaps this is a major undertaking. Would they ever agree? I have a suggestion, perhaps their flag should be a plain grey, or perhaps beige.
Passing by a bookshop we saw some amazing books, no really, they were ‘Amazing’ books. Amazing weddings, Amazing auctions, Amazing etc, etc. Thumbing through the Amazing Auctions, there were examples of things that had been up for auction like Bonnie and Clyde’s bullet ridden car, Audrey Hepburn’s little black dress, and Belgium. Yep, that’s right, during a time when Belgium was taking forever to get a parliament together, some smart arse put Belgium up on eBay. It was there for a couple of weeks before it was taken down.
Later in the day we headed out towards the EU compound. This place is massive. It makes you wonder exactly what Brussels did, and what all those people did, before the EU came along. Street after street of huge glass walled towers. On the edges of all this we passed a group of six vans crammed with police officers. We wondered if it was a stake out, and someone had been sent out to get the chips. One officer in the front seat of one of the vans, was reading a book, ‘Stake outs for Dummies’ perhaps.
A few metres down the road we saw the reason for their attention. There was a protest going on outside one of the glass buildings, but not a protest as we know them, this one was rather … nice. The theme seemed to be something to do with the EMB ‘European Milk Board’. They had a line up of 14 large tractors, a brazier burning in the middle of the street, a banner propped up, and speakers blaring. One set of speakers was blaring out pop music, and the second set was blaring out what sounded like pre-recorded chants, slogans, and general protest noises. There was only one guy in sight, and he was keeping the brazier warm. I guess they didn’t have time to come here in person, they had to go to work, so they met in a barn, made their recordings, and sent Kev along to do the job. Very strange. It hardly warranted the hordes of police officers in riot gear, and the riot trucks that were surrounding the tractors. It was like they were keeping the tractors at bay.
We have a quiet day planed for today just mooching around the centre of Brussels. On our way into the centre we were amused to see a very frail old man standing on the top step of the Metro escalator (blocking the path), with a walking stick in one hand, and sending a text message with the other. Is this the new Belgium?
We were making our way towards a famous little statue in these parts, it is a statue of a little boy pissing. Everywhere you go you see replicas of all sizes in the tourist shops, made of everything from plastic, to chocolate. What impresses you most about this statue when you see it, is the size. It is small, about 55cm tall, and it is dressed. According to a school teacher who was pontificating at great length to his class about it, “It has 847 different costumes, and if you are laughing about the size, nobody promised you the Statue of Liberty.” And that is the Manneken-Pis, the statue that is supposed to give you good luck if you dress it. They have a guy whose job it is to dress it in its various costumes (they get changed every day). With the attitude to work that we have seen, we wonder if it is a job share position.
Our next destination was the Cathedral, but not before passing a large statue in a square of what appeared to be Don Quixote, and his little fat buddy on his donkey. What are they doing here? We thought that they were a Spanish thing.
The cathedral is a grand old dame, with a white stone interior, with large pillars parading down the length of its nave, supporting the 12 apostles. Half way down there is a very large and very ornate, dark wood pulpit, that almost looks like it is a Chocolate sculpture (appropriate really), with large flower arrangements about its circumference. The whole church is illuminated by its uppermost windows, which are clear, unlike the others within the church which are masterpieces of stained glasswork. There is a modern pipe organ opposite the pulpit, which seems to be recent upgrade, and might relate to the Royal wedding that we saw the photos of in the foyer. It wasn’t until we arrived in Belgium that we realized that they still had a monarchy here, and it seems that the Royal weddings are held in this cathedral, which gets decked out accordingly, into a lavish affair.
As we were sitting there in the cathedral, taking in the ambiance and reflecting on the last six months of our travels, we recalled our visit to the cathedral in Bruges. We were quite encouraged to see a church in full service for their midday mass on a Friday. Once again we were sitting in the back rows drinking up the atmosphere, when we suddenly realized that we were attending a funeral. So that was why the hearse was outside, and why there were guys in suits with funny hats and gloves, standing at the back (they were the undertakers). We were the funeral gatecrashers. We decided not to hang around for the cups of tea and sandwiches, in case they started asking us questions … in Flemish.
During our meanderings through the streets we came across quite an eclectic mix of sights, sounds, places, and subsequent thoughts and experiences. Based on our observation that the Brussels community have an aversion to smiling in a general sense, we decided that it would only be right to try and improve matters by trying to make as many of them smile as possible, by smiling at them. The result wasn’t always as expected. Most stared determinedly at their feet, others looked at us like we were insane, one poor guy must have got the fright of his life because he physically lurched suddenly right off the footpath and almost fell over in his excitement. It seemed that he thought that our insanity was contagious. Others just looked at us blandly, as much as to say “It’s alright for you, you’re a tourist, you get to leave this place.”
We may have mentioned this before, but there is a real anti-German feeling in this place, and they really hate being mistaken for a German. Which brings up the obvious question, why do they stick with the flag that they have. It is the same colours and stripes as the German flag, only their stripes are vertical instead of horizontal. Why don’t they give them selves a new flag, then there would be no problem. How ever in a country that can’t agree on anything, including the language that they should speak, perhaps this is a major undertaking. Would they ever agree? I have a suggestion, perhaps their flag should be a plain grey, or perhaps beige.
Passing by a bookshop we saw some amazing books, no really, they were ‘Amazing’ books. Amazing weddings, Amazing auctions, Amazing etc, etc. Thumbing through the Amazing Auctions, there were examples of things that had been up for auction like Bonnie and Clyde’s bullet ridden car, Audrey Hepburn’s little black dress, and Belgium. Yep, that’s right, during a time when Belgium was taking forever to get a parliament together, some smart arse put Belgium up on eBay. It was there for a couple of weeks before it was taken down.
Later in the day we headed out towards the EU compound. This place is massive. It makes you wonder exactly what Brussels did, and what all those people did, before the EU came along. Street after street of huge glass walled towers. On the edges of all this we passed a group of six vans crammed with police officers. We wondered if it was a stake out, and someone had been sent out to get the chips. One officer in the front seat of one of the vans, was reading a book, ‘Stake outs for Dummies’ perhaps.
A few metres down the road we saw the reason for their attention. There was a protest going on outside one of the glass buildings, but not a protest as we know them, this one was rather … nice. The theme seemed to be something to do with the EMB ‘European Milk Board’. They had a line up of 14 large tractors, a brazier burning in the middle of the street, a banner propped up, and speakers blaring. One set of speakers was blaring out pop music, and the second set was blaring out what sounded like pre-recorded chants, slogans, and general protest noises. There was only one guy in sight, and he was keeping the brazier warm. I guess they didn’t have time to come here in person, they had to go to work, so they met in a barn, made their recordings, and sent Kev along to do the job. Very strange. It hardly warranted the hordes of police officers in riot gear, and the riot trucks that were surrounding the tractors. It was like they were keeping the tractors at bay.
BRUSSELS – Belgium (Thurs 19 Nov)
We had breakfast with Adi, the father of four (we found out this morning), and Mike the Italian guy from the room next door. We learned over breakfast that the lovely gentleman that served us Kebabs in the shop down the road last night, is the spokesman for the local Grey Wolf Organisation. The Grey Wolves are an ultra-nationalist, neo-fascist, Turkish idealist youth organisation. Their formal name in Turkish is interpreted as ‘The Idealists’. The lovely gentleman in the kebab shop, spends his after hours time, searching for and beating up Armenians. Well, we wont be going there again.
Adi warned us this morning that today is ‘Summit Day’, the day every month when the EU Summits take place and this city turns into chaos, with helicopters buzzing, expensive black cars with tinted windows speeding through the streets, subway and tram stations closed down, and sections of the city turned into war zones with barbed wire and machineguns. A good day to leave town, so we decided to catch the train to Antwerp (30 minutes away).
When we first got off the train the first thing that impressed us was the line up of diamond stores, after all that is what this city is known for. There were about twenty of them just in the first stones throw, each of them just oozing with extremely expensive jewelry and diamonds like we have never seem before. Antwerp trades 80% of the worlds rough production, and 60% of the worlds polished production. That gives them a turnover of about 40,000,000,000 USD.
We sought out a store called DiamondLand, where you can go in and watch the diamond polishes, and the jewelry manufacturers at work. What we saw really surprised us. There were four crusty old gentlemen sitting behind large machines that looked like they would be quite at home in an engineering shop. What these guys were doing was polishing stones by hand on these machines. What we found was that this is essentially a manual skill, relying entirely on the steady hand, and the critical eye of these craftsmen. It really is incredible to see these old guys looking as rough as the rough stones, and turning them into amazing refractory masterpieces. The idea of this place is that you can choose a stone, and watch them turn that stone into a work of art that you can then walk out the door with, having parted with a considerable sum of money of course. In our case they were disappointed.
With eyes still blinking from the dazzle of a roomful of fine diamonds, we made our way to the Grand Square. As we looked around the square, with its fine buildings, our eye was caught by a piece of cloth waving from a second floor window, above a pub. It was a New Zealand flag. Curiosity aroused we went in to find out what it was doing there. We were told that up until a couple of months ago, the NZ Consulate was there, and when they moved out they forgot to take the flag. We thought afterwards that we should have offered to take it off their hands. A stolen flag from the consulate in Belgium, is that an arrestable offence?
Our next stop today was to be the Museum, but we had a few distractions along the way. As we were walking along the road we were passed by several fire engines, making their way towards a column of smoke a few hundred metres down the road. What had started out to be an innocent nose to tail accident between two compact cars, within a couple of minutes had erupted into an inferno, resulting in the front end of one, and the rear end of the other lying as a puddle of molten plastic on the road between them. The respective other ends were just a charred mess in a semi upright position. The cars parked on either side of the narrow road had the paintwork along their sides blistered with the heat. A bit of high drama on the streets of Antwerp, and we even glimpsed a few smiles of excitement in the crowd. Fortunately the occupants seemed to have escaped unharmed, although shaken up from their experience.
Our next distraction was a café for lunch. It was a quiet day on the café scene today and so the owner spent the entire time we were there asking us about NZ, and like all born and bred Belgians, telling us that he couldn’t wait to leave the place. To quote him directly, “the worst thing about this place is the f****n weather.” Hmmm … we didn’t expect that kind of passion. It seems that they work the minimum hours that they can to qualify for Social Security, in a job that they despise, all the time wishing that they could leave.
We finally made it to the museum, which was interesting, but not as riveting as we had expected. On the upper floors there were a lot of great works by local old artists, with quite a number by Reubens. The lower floor wasn’t as great as we had been led to believe by the promotion material. But perhaps we have been spoilt lately by the fantastic museums that we have been to.
What we did find amusing about this visit, was the closing time ritual that is adopted in this part of the world. (1) An hour and a half before closing time, you can see the guards start looking at their watches.
(2)They come and tell you that they will be closing at five O’clock (and we’re left wondering what the fuss is about, it’s still 90 minutes away),
(3) They start pacing the floor and staring at their watches every time you enter another room (it’s worth back tracking into a previous room just to watch the expression on their faces)
(4) They sit or stand in doorways, almost blocking the way.
(5) They start following just a few feet behind you, every step.
(6) They start locking the doors to the rooms as you leave them.
(7) At 20 minutes before closing time they start arriving from all corners of the museum in the entranceway/foyer. (It is only now that you realize how many of them there are, they outnumber the visitors by three to one).
(8) They each hand the key of the room that they are responsible for, to the ‘key guy’.
(9) They virtually chase you out the front door, before you have your coat and gloves on.
As they hand over their keys you can almost hear the call, “Section one?” “Check.” “Section two?” “Check.” “Section three? … Section three? … SECTION THREE?” “Aw Bob, you’re always late, holding us up, we want to go home.”
Adi warned us this morning that today is ‘Summit Day’, the day every month when the EU Summits take place and this city turns into chaos, with helicopters buzzing, expensive black cars with tinted windows speeding through the streets, subway and tram stations closed down, and sections of the city turned into war zones with barbed wire and machineguns. A good day to leave town, so we decided to catch the train to Antwerp (30 minutes away).
When we first got off the train the first thing that impressed us was the line up of diamond stores, after all that is what this city is known for. There were about twenty of them just in the first stones throw, each of them just oozing with extremely expensive jewelry and diamonds like we have never seem before. Antwerp trades 80% of the worlds rough production, and 60% of the worlds polished production. That gives them a turnover of about 40,000,000,000 USD.
We sought out a store called DiamondLand, where you can go in and watch the diamond polishes, and the jewelry manufacturers at work. What we saw really surprised us. There were four crusty old gentlemen sitting behind large machines that looked like they would be quite at home in an engineering shop. What these guys were doing was polishing stones by hand on these machines. What we found was that this is essentially a manual skill, relying entirely on the steady hand, and the critical eye of these craftsmen. It really is incredible to see these old guys looking as rough as the rough stones, and turning them into amazing refractory masterpieces. The idea of this place is that you can choose a stone, and watch them turn that stone into a work of art that you can then walk out the door with, having parted with a considerable sum of money of course. In our case they were disappointed.
With eyes still blinking from the dazzle of a roomful of fine diamonds, we made our way to the Grand Square. As we looked around the square, with its fine buildings, our eye was caught by a piece of cloth waving from a second floor window, above a pub. It was a New Zealand flag. Curiosity aroused we went in to find out what it was doing there. We were told that up until a couple of months ago, the NZ Consulate was there, and when they moved out they forgot to take the flag. We thought afterwards that we should have offered to take it off their hands. A stolen flag from the consulate in Belgium, is that an arrestable offence?
Our next stop today was to be the Museum, but we had a few distractions along the way. As we were walking along the road we were passed by several fire engines, making their way towards a column of smoke a few hundred metres down the road. What had started out to be an innocent nose to tail accident between two compact cars, within a couple of minutes had erupted into an inferno, resulting in the front end of one, and the rear end of the other lying as a puddle of molten plastic on the road between them. The respective other ends were just a charred mess in a semi upright position. The cars parked on either side of the narrow road had the paintwork along their sides blistered with the heat. A bit of high drama on the streets of Antwerp, and we even glimpsed a few smiles of excitement in the crowd. Fortunately the occupants seemed to have escaped unharmed, although shaken up from their experience.
Our next distraction was a café for lunch. It was a quiet day on the café scene today and so the owner spent the entire time we were there asking us about NZ, and like all born and bred Belgians, telling us that he couldn’t wait to leave the place. To quote him directly, “the worst thing about this place is the f****n weather.” Hmmm … we didn’t expect that kind of passion. It seems that they work the minimum hours that they can to qualify for Social Security, in a job that they despise, all the time wishing that they could leave.
We finally made it to the museum, which was interesting, but not as riveting as we had expected. On the upper floors there were a lot of great works by local old artists, with quite a number by Reubens. The lower floor wasn’t as great as we had been led to believe by the promotion material. But perhaps we have been spoilt lately by the fantastic museums that we have been to.
What we did find amusing about this visit, was the closing time ritual that is adopted in this part of the world. (1) An hour and a half before closing time, you can see the guards start looking at their watches.
(2)They come and tell you that they will be closing at five O’clock (and we’re left wondering what the fuss is about, it’s still 90 minutes away),
(3) They start pacing the floor and staring at their watches every time you enter another room (it’s worth back tracking into a previous room just to watch the expression on their faces)
(4) They sit or stand in doorways, almost blocking the way.
(5) They start following just a few feet behind you, every step.
(6) They start locking the doors to the rooms as you leave them.
(7) At 20 minutes before closing time they start arriving from all corners of the museum in the entranceway/foyer. (It is only now that you realize how many of them there are, they outnumber the visitors by three to one).
(8) They each hand the key of the room that they are responsible for, to the ‘key guy’.
(9) They virtually chase you out the front door, before you have your coat and gloves on.
As they hand over their keys you can almost hear the call, “Section one?” “Check.” “Section two?” “Check.” “Section three? … Section three? … SECTION THREE?” “Aw Bob, you’re always late, holding us up, we want to go home.”
Wednesday, 18 November 2009
BRUSSELS – Belgium (Wed 18 Nov)
We had breakfast with Adi this morning. He told us that “It is just such a wonderful day that I just had to get up and go for a bike ride.” We looked out and saw grey sky, but at least it wasn’t raining. We’re guessing that it is all a matter of relativity.
We had an interesting conversation about various aspects of the city and country. We found out that he comes from Israel and that he is not a dance instructor, but works in a Museum 19 hours per week. Evidently it is encouraged and supported for people to work short hours. It is also known and built into the taxation system that people hide 20% of their income in what is called ‘Black Money’.
Our objective today was the ‘Koninklijk Museum voorMidden-Afrika’ or in common language the Royal Museum for Central Africa. Whichever way you say it, it is still a mouthful. We made our way their via the number 44 tram, which is exactly how you imagine an old ‘street car’ to be, old, noisy, banging and squeaking it’s way up the inclines and shuddering to a halt at every stop. We made our way through the woodland of bare trees, fallen leaves and glimpses of buildings through the trees.
Our introduction to the museum was a series of life sized elephants that looked like they had been cobbled together out of old bits of worn scrap wood, and fallen branches, bolted together, and in fact, that is what they were. Very cool sculptures of elephants of various sizes, ages, and postures. They were set into the wide pebble pathway that passed between the palace-like structure on one side and the expanse of gardens, ponds and woods on the other.
To say this is a Palace, isn’t entirely accurate, as it was built by King Leopold II as a museum to house and display his spoils from his conquest into the Congo. Over more recent years there has been attention drawn to the slavery, abuse and atrocities that happened there under his rule, so perhaps it was the high point of his career that he would have liked people to believe, or that he presented to the public. It has been estimated that from 1885 to 1908 (when he was stripped of his playground) 10 million Africans died because of starvation, overwork, or murder carried out in Leopold’s quest for rubber, ivory and other commodities. Hmmm … he kept that one quiet didn’t he.
Amongst other things we came here to find out more about it. We walked through the revolving front door to be greeted by the receptionist selling tickets. We have learnt from previous experiences that you can’t always rely on there being English translations on the displays, or the audio-guides being in anyway informative, so we asked the appropriate questions of the receptionist. Her curt reply was, “I don’t know, I have never been through, I sit here.” What the …! She works in a museum, selling tickets to something she has never seen, and cannot recommend.
Having got through that, we entered the permanent exhibition halls. What greeted us was a 25m long dugout canoe (carved out of one piece of timber), and a large stuffed elephant. Much of what is presented in the first half of this museum is like a ‘dead zoo’ of African wildlife. It’s like the trophy room of a ‘Great White Hunter’. It is just a plethora of stuffed animals, large and small, including bugs, beetles, and snakes, “Lions, tigers, and bears … Oh my!” Birds of a size and proportions that we hadn’t imagined, elephant tusks of all sizes and shapes, with one pair weighing in at 80kg each.
We exited out of this and entered the section that we had come to see. The theme looked like it had been intended to show those times in a more positive light, however you can see that it has changed from the antiquated views on colonization that I am sure that it once expressed. There was quite a bit centred around Henry Morton Stanley, of “Doctor Livingston, I presume” fame. After all he was commissioned by King Leopold himself.
But the section of the museum that appealed to us the most was a temporary exhibition called ‘Omo’ which features the peoples from that region in Central Africa. It displayed their customs, their rituals, their wardrobe, their nomadic lifestyle, including their marriage ceremonies and the huge lip discs that they wear. All of this was backed up with some amazing photographic displays. It really was an incredible exhibition, and makes us want to go there (but not this year).
We left the museum and rattled home with another crowd of stern faced people that call Brussels home.
We had an interesting conversation about various aspects of the city and country. We found out that he comes from Israel and that he is not a dance instructor, but works in a Museum 19 hours per week. Evidently it is encouraged and supported for people to work short hours. It is also known and built into the taxation system that people hide 20% of their income in what is called ‘Black Money’.
Our objective today was the ‘Koninklijk Museum voorMidden-Afrika’ or in common language the Royal Museum for Central Africa. Whichever way you say it, it is still a mouthful. We made our way their via the number 44 tram, which is exactly how you imagine an old ‘street car’ to be, old, noisy, banging and squeaking it’s way up the inclines and shuddering to a halt at every stop. We made our way through the woodland of bare trees, fallen leaves and glimpses of buildings through the trees.
Our introduction to the museum was a series of life sized elephants that looked like they had been cobbled together out of old bits of worn scrap wood, and fallen branches, bolted together, and in fact, that is what they were. Very cool sculptures of elephants of various sizes, ages, and postures. They were set into the wide pebble pathway that passed between the palace-like structure on one side and the expanse of gardens, ponds and woods on the other.
To say this is a Palace, isn’t entirely accurate, as it was built by King Leopold II as a museum to house and display his spoils from his conquest into the Congo. Over more recent years there has been attention drawn to the slavery, abuse and atrocities that happened there under his rule, so perhaps it was the high point of his career that he would have liked people to believe, or that he presented to the public. It has been estimated that from 1885 to 1908 (when he was stripped of his playground) 10 million Africans died because of starvation, overwork, or murder carried out in Leopold’s quest for rubber, ivory and other commodities. Hmmm … he kept that one quiet didn’t he.
Amongst other things we came here to find out more about it. We walked through the revolving front door to be greeted by the receptionist selling tickets. We have learnt from previous experiences that you can’t always rely on there being English translations on the displays, or the audio-guides being in anyway informative, so we asked the appropriate questions of the receptionist. Her curt reply was, “I don’t know, I have never been through, I sit here.” What the …! She works in a museum, selling tickets to something she has never seen, and cannot recommend.
Having got through that, we entered the permanent exhibition halls. What greeted us was a 25m long dugout canoe (carved out of one piece of timber), and a large stuffed elephant. Much of what is presented in the first half of this museum is like a ‘dead zoo’ of African wildlife. It’s like the trophy room of a ‘Great White Hunter’. It is just a plethora of stuffed animals, large and small, including bugs, beetles, and snakes, “Lions, tigers, and bears … Oh my!” Birds of a size and proportions that we hadn’t imagined, elephant tusks of all sizes and shapes, with one pair weighing in at 80kg each.
We exited out of this and entered the section that we had come to see. The theme looked like it had been intended to show those times in a more positive light, however you can see that it has changed from the antiquated views on colonization that I am sure that it once expressed. There was quite a bit centred around Henry Morton Stanley, of “Doctor Livingston, I presume” fame. After all he was commissioned by King Leopold himself.
But the section of the museum that appealed to us the most was a temporary exhibition called ‘Omo’ which features the peoples from that region in Central Africa. It displayed their customs, their rituals, their wardrobe, their nomadic lifestyle, including their marriage ceremonies and the huge lip discs that they wear. All of this was backed up with some amazing photographic displays. It really was an incredible exhibition, and makes us want to go there (but not this year).
We left the museum and rattled home with another crowd of stern faced people that call Brussels home.
BRUSSELS – Belgium (Tues 17 Nov)
Yvonne (our host) treated us to another large breakfast this morning. Just as well we aren’t staying any longer, as each morning the breakfast has become larger. By the end of a weak I am sure it would have become a veritable feast. This morning we had a bonus bacon and eggs (on top of the standard breakfast) and a kiwi fruit each to “make you feel at home”. The standard of the breakfasts in the B&B varies widely, with some providing little more than a Twinky bar and coffee, to places where they smother us with kindness, to the point where we wonder if we will make it through the door. Yvonne is a kindly old soul, who definitely fits into the later.
We finally managed to stagger our way to the train station, unsure whether the staggering was due to the breakfast, or the weight of our packs. Today we were bound for Brussels. As soon as we boarded the train, we were greeted and surrounded by the grim countenance of the Brusselians. We haven’t met such a serious looking lot since we left Zurich. Maybe it’s the weather. The grey sky, and the fact that if it isn’t raining, its about to.
The only exception was our new host (Adi) who greeted us with a chirpy “Hi!” and an enthusiastic tour of the premises and summary of the cities sights that “you simply must see.” Not sure yet if he is gay or a dance instructor. The four cats certainly weren’t letting the extra cat out of the bag.
After settling in we went for a stroll into the city, and after walking a few streets discovered that we seem to be staying in the Middle Eastern quarter. As we meandered into town, a couple of fresh waffles under our belts (Mmmmmm!), and a couple of grand old churches, we arrived at the Central Square, with it’s surrounding magnificent old buildings. The Hotel de Ville is worthy of note, being the only building to escape the French bombardment in 1695. Ironic considering that it was the target. As we looked around the square at the wonderful old gild encrusted buildings, their uppermost lights coming on as the day turns to night, it really is magical. We can just imagine what it must be like here after the winter snows, which aren’t too far away. They are already setting up the square for their Christmas festivities.
By contrast, we stumbled back home in the rain, the only bright lights coming from the windows in the red light district, with live mannequins bending, twisting, revolving and thrusting their wares Amsterdam style. Now that was unexpected. We decided that it would be prudent to head for home.
We finally managed to stagger our way to the train station, unsure whether the staggering was due to the breakfast, or the weight of our packs. Today we were bound for Brussels. As soon as we boarded the train, we were greeted and surrounded by the grim countenance of the Brusselians. We haven’t met such a serious looking lot since we left Zurich. Maybe it’s the weather. The grey sky, and the fact that if it isn’t raining, its about to.
The only exception was our new host (Adi) who greeted us with a chirpy “Hi!” and an enthusiastic tour of the premises and summary of the cities sights that “you simply must see.” Not sure yet if he is gay or a dance instructor. The four cats certainly weren’t letting the extra cat out of the bag.
After settling in we went for a stroll into the city, and after walking a few streets discovered that we seem to be staying in the Middle Eastern quarter. As we meandered into town, a couple of fresh waffles under our belts (Mmmmmm!), and a couple of grand old churches, we arrived at the Central Square, with it’s surrounding magnificent old buildings. The Hotel de Ville is worthy of note, being the only building to escape the French bombardment in 1695. Ironic considering that it was the target. As we looked around the square at the wonderful old gild encrusted buildings, their uppermost lights coming on as the day turns to night, it really is magical. We can just imagine what it must be like here after the winter snows, which aren’t too far away. They are already setting up the square for their Christmas festivities.
By contrast, we stumbled back home in the rain, the only bright lights coming from the windows in the red light district, with live mannequins bending, twisting, revolving and thrusting their wares Amsterdam style. Now that was unexpected. We decided that it would be prudent to head for home.
BRUGES – Belgium (Mon 16 Nov)
We found out this morning exactly why there are so many bikes in Bruges, it’s because the public transport cannot be relied upon. Well not exactly but we are guessing that it is a factor. We have been told that there are 2.4 bikes for every person living here. We are guessing that that is one good one, one clunker to ride around and leave parked out side shops, and one that has had it’s wheels stolen or run over (there seems to be a lot of those).
As we don’t have bikes, we’re going to walk today. We were going to hire bikes and ride to Damme, but then we found out that it was only 5kms away and hardly worth getting a bike out for. We set off along the canal, and when we arrived in Damme we discovered that we had walked 8kms. The second bit of bad news was that the Info Centre was just closing for the day, the rest of the town was already closed, and the bus that we were going to catch to the coast doesn’t run during the winter season.
We now had a choice, we could return to Bruges where we had come from, or keep walking to the coast, after all it is just another 10kms. We followed the cycle path alongside a series of canals. In retrospect, we should have brought a map as we don’t think that we chose the most direct route. We arrived in Knokke-Heist five hours after leaving home. We thought it would be nice and romantic to follow the canal, but after five hours of walking along a road like path, flanked by tall, bald, oak trees, with the wide, empty canal to the left of us, it started to lose its appeal. The path was very long and very straight, disappearing like a pin prick into the distance. The weather was a little damp when we set out, but fortunately this cleared shortly … to be replaced by winds that were strong enough that we had to lean forwards to maintain momentum. The wind did slacken from time to time … but that was the indicator that it was about to rain. The weather in this country is exactly as they say it is … dismal.
We did finally reach the North Sea, the coastline that the Belgium’s are so proud of, the coastline of which Belgium possesses a whole 65kms. We were greeted by a wide open, sand plain of beach, being swept of its sand by ferocious winds. We had no one to share it with but a group of seagulls hunkered down by the storm water pipe (at least that’s what we hope it is), seagulls that appeared too scared to become airborne for fear of landing in the Netherlands and having to walk back.
We spent a short time being pummeled along the beach, following a lone pair of footprints, the owners of which had long since disappeared. We tried to follow them hoping that they would lead us to somewhere warm, we didn’t need to be expert trackers as one of the sets of feet were sporting high heel shoes, which at times seemed to disappear into patches of soft, wet sand. Not the recommended beach wear, perhaps it was a first date.
We did manage to warm ourselves up with a nice hot coffee, before heading home … this time by train. The journey took a whole 15 minutes. So much quicker, but not the same adventure. And to think, if we had headed in the other direction, we could have walked to the Netherlands and back.
Not the way we had envisioned spending our last day in Bruges, being blown along cycle paths, on a day when the locals know to stay indoors.
As we don’t have bikes, we’re going to walk today. We were going to hire bikes and ride to Damme, but then we found out that it was only 5kms away and hardly worth getting a bike out for. We set off along the canal, and when we arrived in Damme we discovered that we had walked 8kms. The second bit of bad news was that the Info Centre was just closing for the day, the rest of the town was already closed, and the bus that we were going to catch to the coast doesn’t run during the winter season.
We now had a choice, we could return to Bruges where we had come from, or keep walking to the coast, after all it is just another 10kms. We followed the cycle path alongside a series of canals. In retrospect, we should have brought a map as we don’t think that we chose the most direct route. We arrived in Knokke-Heist five hours after leaving home. We thought it would be nice and romantic to follow the canal, but after five hours of walking along a road like path, flanked by tall, bald, oak trees, with the wide, empty canal to the left of us, it started to lose its appeal. The path was very long and very straight, disappearing like a pin prick into the distance. The weather was a little damp when we set out, but fortunately this cleared shortly … to be replaced by winds that were strong enough that we had to lean forwards to maintain momentum. The wind did slacken from time to time … but that was the indicator that it was about to rain. The weather in this country is exactly as they say it is … dismal.
We did finally reach the North Sea, the coastline that the Belgium’s are so proud of, the coastline of which Belgium possesses a whole 65kms. We were greeted by a wide open, sand plain of beach, being swept of its sand by ferocious winds. We had no one to share it with but a group of seagulls hunkered down by the storm water pipe (at least that’s what we hope it is), seagulls that appeared too scared to become airborne for fear of landing in the Netherlands and having to walk back.
We spent a short time being pummeled along the beach, following a lone pair of footprints, the owners of which had long since disappeared. We tried to follow them hoping that they would lead us to somewhere warm, we didn’t need to be expert trackers as one of the sets of feet were sporting high heel shoes, which at times seemed to disappear into patches of soft, wet sand. Not the recommended beach wear, perhaps it was a first date.
We did manage to warm ourselves up with a nice hot coffee, before heading home … this time by train. The journey took a whole 15 minutes. So much quicker, but not the same adventure. And to think, if we had headed in the other direction, we could have walked to the Netherlands and back.
Not the way we had envisioned spending our last day in Bruges, being blown along cycle paths, on a day when the locals know to stay indoors.
Sunday, 15 November 2009
BRUGES – Belgium (Sun 15 Nov)
We woke this morning to rain again, and we had it confirmed by our hostess that the predominant weather in this country is rain. It rains for 306 of the 365 days in a year. But today the rain seems quite fitting for the pursuit that we have in mind, today we are going on a tour of the Flanders fields, the scene of some of the bloodiest battles of WWI.
What we learnt today was very sobering, the numbers that we were hearing were completely astounding, and to be in the place where this massacre took place, is still hard to imagine. 65 million men took up arms in WWI, quarter of a million of them are buried here in Flanders and another half million of them in France. In this small 25 square mile piece of Belgium, 35 men died for every metre of territory.
Everywhere you turn there seems to be another large war cemetery. As well as many others we visited Tyne Cot Cemetery, the largest British Commonwealth war cemetery in the world. There are about 12,000 buried here and another 35,000 names listed on the walls of those still missing. Throughout these cemeteries there are a significant number of NZ names, and we were told that the NZs suffered the greatest number of losses per capita. We saw several memorials dedicated to the NZs that fought and died here, each of them finishing with the line, ‘From the utmost ends of the earth’, and when you are here, you get a real sense of that. About 750,000 Commonwealth soldiers, sailors and airmen dies on the Western front. And these are buried in the 1000 war cemeteries, and 2000 civil cemeteries, with a further 300,000 having no know grave.
We passed through what was known as ‘Hellfire corner’, where a German shell was to land every five seconds, every day. We visited ‘Hill 60’ where the British laid a system of tunnels and underground explosives, to blow up the ridge occupied by the Germans. To say that this was a ridge, was an overstatement. In a flat country like this, anything with a ten metre elevation was considered the high ground, and in WWI was occupied by the Germans. Anything else was a quagmire of water filled shell holes.
This battle site known as Flanders fields, seems to be the expression of the pure ‘bloody mindedness’ of the British General, who had the mentality that he had 12 million troops, the Germans had 10 million troops, he was always going to win, it was just a matter of who ran out of men first.
One of the aspects that it is hard to grasp, is just how hard it has been for the locals here during that time and since. During the war, most fled, of which most ended up in internment camps near Paris. When they returned, they found this whole area just blown apart. The ground was churned, the buildings were flattened, and the only thing left standing were a few shattered and burnt trees. For the first few years they took whatever shelter they could, living underground, living in camps, living like cattle. Today, everything that you see has been rebuilt, there is nothing here older than 90 years old.
Of the 1.5 billion shells that were poured into this area, over half of them didn’t explode, and are still being dug up today. As you drive down the road, you see piles of shells and grenades waiting by the farmers gates, to be picked up by the demolition squad. 250 tonnes of them are discovered every year. The scary thing is that some of them disappear before the army gets them, and you never know just how stable these things are. There are 2-3 deaths every year from these things. 20 – 30% of them are chemical bombs, designed to have very nasty effects, using everything from Chlorine to what is known as mustard gas. One farmer recently was ploughing his paddock when he hit something metallic that he recognized as a chemical bomb (they have become very good at recognizing these things), and he called in the army. Out of that one paddock, they dug up 600 British chemical shells, still lethal. The army has a special depot for dealing with these things, but they have such a backlog, that they project another 58 years of dismantling, but probably another 90 years before they will consider that the land is cleared. Last year was a busy year and they recovered 700 tonnes of explosives from the land around here. As well as the explosives, they also regularly recover bodies. Once again last year was a busy year, with 38 soldiers reburied.
One of the ironic things that we discovered was that the Germans weren’t the first to use the poison gas that this trench warfare will always be remembered for. It was the French that used it first, using chemicals and instruments developed by the Swiss! Of course the Germans saw that as a precedent, and the British retaliated, and it escalated from there. In the same vein, the Germans were known for the quality of their bunkers, but in an indirect way, the Brits helped them build them. The Germans were using good quality Portland cement, all the way from Britain, imported by the Dutch and sold to the Germans! Whoever said “No one wins a war”, maybe not, but there is always profit to be made. The evidence of the quality of the cement can still be seen in the remaining bunkers. Many of them have been demolished since, but at the time the boys were fighting here, there were over 1000 German bunkers confronting them.
After a day of visiting war graves and listening to the horrific stories, numbers, anecdotes, and trying to come to grips with the circumstances that they were doing this in, we finished the day on a slightly different and pleasant note. We went to the Irish ‘Peace Park’. This may sound like an oxymoron, but you need to hear more. When the explosives at ‘Hill 60’ were detonated, there were 24 sites set to explode at the same time, to create an almost artificial earthquake. Unfortunately only 19 of them exploded, two of them weren’t detonated because the troops had advanced over them before the day of detonation (they had been prepared and laid a year previous), the one at the Peace Park site exploded 20 seconds too late, and the Irish who had advanced took the full force of the blast. The memorial was to have been built in Ireland, but firstly they couldn’t agree on where it should be built, and secondly they couldn’t be sure that it wouldn’t be torn down, so they built it here. A very Irish, grey stone, round tower. Placed along the path as you approach it you read a series of very poignant poems that have been written about war and its effects. At the end of the path there is a plaque, which firstly explains the circumstances of the deaths, then it asks for forgiveness for their own Catholic/Protestant conflicts, then it calls for peace, and brings your thoughts back to the Catholic and Protestant soldiers who fought here together and lost their lives. It was a very nice touch, very well done, and an excellent way to end the tour.
To say this was the end of the tour, it wasn’t quite. Our last stop was in the city of Ypres, the city that was the hub and the focus of all the fighting in its surrounds, the city that was the gateway to the German march on the rest of Europe, the march that was stopped in its tracks, but at huge cost. There is a large gate here with a list of those still missing. Every night at 8:00pm the traffic is stopped, and a bugler plays ‘The Last Post’ in remembrance of all those that have fallen. ‘Lest we forget’, in this part of the world, you cannot forget. In 1914 millions of young men marched off with flowers on their rifles, set off with excitement for the adventure of a lifetime, 15% of them lying about their age to be allowed to go. They were going to be home for Christmas, or so they thought. As time dragged on, this was going to be ‘the war that ends all wars’, but even that wasn’t true. Twenty years later it happened again.
It was a very informative, and sobering day, but at the end of it we felt that it had been predominantly one sided, what about the German side? They were fighting in the same circumstances, the same situation, suffering the same losses as those on the allied side. We were told that even now there is a real anti-German feeling around here. Our tour guide told us two stories which showcased this. As the tour was about to go into a museum, a young German couple asked if they could go in (speaking in English), and they were told by the owner, “You can visit my museum, but then you can go home, you can’t stay for four years” (and he wasn’t joking). In another case an Australian couple had hired a car in Germany (with German plates), and they spent their entire time in Belgium going around in circles, because the locals would deliberately give them wrong directions. After 90 years it is hard to comprehend that this attitude still exists so strongly. It makes you want to say, “That was 90 years ago it is time to move on”. To us it seems quite sad that the current generation is being punished for the actions of their great grandparents generation.
Saturday, 14 November 2009
BRUGES – Belgium (Sat 14 Nov)
We moved down the road to our B&B this morning, with much pleasure. And it seemed that others had the same idea of leaving as well. The B&B is a lovely little place, which includes a small kitchen, so we can finally get some self served meals going on.
The weather this morning is the same as yesterday, grey, cold and wet. Although it cleared up a bit yesterday so we are hoping for the same today. Despite the small size of this city, there is an astounding number of churches, and it was one of these churches that was our first stop today.
We went to the ‘Church of our Lady’, not just because of the church as such, but because this is where Michelangelo’s ‘Madonna and Child’ is located. The only one of his works outside of Italy. And she is fantastic. But we found a lot more in this church then we had expected. There was a display about a priest who came from the area. Father Damian, went to Hawaii to serve and take care of the lepers who had been placed there. After some years he contracted leprosy himself and died in 1889. He is now the patron Saint for Leprosy, HIV and Aids. A very interesting story, another opportunity for learning.
Later in the day we headed for another of the city churches, and this one is rather special. It is the ‘Basilica of the Holy Blood’. There is a phial that apparently contains Christ’s blood, located here. The Church is located in one of the city squares. As you enter the square and look around, you see a row of ornate pale stone buildings, with elaborate gold work, coats of arms, and flags. And then tucked in the corner, you see it, a grey looking building of smaller statue then its surroundings, made of grey stone, that looks like it has suffered from too many years of diesel fumes. However the eight large gold figurines mounted onto its façade give you some indication that you have come to the right place.
As you walk into the body of the Church you cannot help but be impressed by the artwork, the elaborately painted walls and pillars. Somehow after all that you have heard, you expect the Church to be bigger, but what you see before you seems to fit. The throne is on the right hand side of the Church, with a very po-faced priestess seated behind what can only be what you have come here to see. A short walk up the steps to the throne, you can lay your hands on the phial, say a short prayer, and make a donation (of course). Well to be more precise, you can lay your hands on the small Perspex cover, which protects the glass and gold cylinder, which contains the small phial, which contains the drops of Christ’s blood.
Is it really Christ’s blood? Who really knows. It has been scientifically proven that it is in fact blood, but the reason that it liquefies once a day is still under dispute. Is it the miracle of Christ, or is it a more scientific reason relating to temperature and humidity? What ever the reasons, it certainly looks like blood, and there is no shortage of people wanting to lay their hands on it and mutter a quiet prayer. But at least they make this relic accessible, which is more than they do in some places. The po-faced priestess, well she is there to make sure you make a donation and to wipe the Perspex clean with a Kleenex after every person. At first she seems a little off putting, but even that isn’t so bad.
BRUGES – Belgium (Fri 13 Nov)
Today is moving day. Our first big move without the aid of personal transport, and the baggage flexibility that it provides. I had been worried about the 15kg that I have lost whilst in Europe, but as it turns out I didn’t have a thing to worry about. Those 15kg have somehow transferred themselves into my pack. Or so it seems. Somehow, with no extra items, and no extra room, our packs have attained a life of their own, and grown out of proportion to ourselves. How does that happen?
We had an early start catching the bus from our hotel at 5:43 am. We woke up the night receptionist as we struggled with the door, but he didn’t offer to help in any way, but this seemed to fit in with the pattern of behaviour that we have come to expect at this hotel. The reception staff seem to have the attitude of doing the bare minimum, hoping that the less they respond, the less you will ask and the less they will have to do. We watched one poor guy come in here one night at 11:30pm, obviously stuck for a bed, and the receptionist quoted him the top end price (that includes a shower and toilet inside the room) without offering any alternative, or informing him about the hostel a few doors down the road. At the same time there was a board full of keys behind him indicating empty rooms. Certainly not the kiwi way of doing business. They seem to adopt the policy of “He didn’t ask”.
Once at the bus stop we were greeted by a bus driver who had obviously got out of the wrong side of bed. I asked him in the best (and practiced French), how many stops to the RER station. And his response was a very blank look and a blunt, and I quote “I don’t speak English”. Huh? The French are going to throw their worst at us this morning aren’t they.
Anyway we finally found our way to the train station, and the train bound for Brussels. At about 180kph, and one and a quarter hours later we were hoping off the train in Brussels, and the sun still hadn’t fully risen. Our next connection to Bruges took about one and a half hours and it seemed very slow by comparison. The weather when we arrived was much as we had been told to expect … wretched. It was grey, wet and cold. Which is what you can expect most of the time in Belgium evidently. Probably why the countryside is so green.
Some background that we have discovered about Belgium, is that everyone wants her, well at least everyone has had a good go at claiming her. As we look out the window today, we wonder … why? They have been over run by the Romans, the Spanish, Austrians, the French (until Napoleon got his just desserts in 1815 at Waterloo, just out of Brussels). In 1830 they became independent but that didn’t stop the Germans from taking them over … twice. In WWII it took the Germans just three weeks to do the job. It is now the capital of the EU and NATO, and has managed to keep a low profile, until the end of the 20th Century when it became best known for poisoned chickens and pedophiles. More recently it has been pushing the moral freedom bandwagon, and became the second country after the Netherlands to legalise gay marriages and euthanasia. In 2003 they openly opposed the war in Iraq, and tried to prosecute George W Bush for war crimes, but failed. So at least their heart is in the right place.
But despite all of this, the first thing that we noticed when we got off the train, was that everyone speaks funny. And this is in a country where even the locals can’t decide. Half the country officially speaks Flemish, the other half officially speaks French, there’s a little outpost that speaks German, some speak Spanish, and it seems that everyone speaks English. So now we are really confused. How do you greet someone? After asking around we discovered that the default is English, but they speak between themselves in which ever they choose. We were told that they have been over run by so many people that they can speak most languages (although Italian wasn’t mentioned). So now we have got that sorted … but then, we’re not entirely convinced!
We checked into our hostel for tonight. We are only staying here the one night as we have heard that it can be a little noisy. We have a B&B sorted for the next few nights. We went for a walk around town and discovered a small city, with streets lined with little red brick houses, canals, locks, some windmills, and every third shop is a chocolate shop. On the embankment, that was once the location of the city wall, there are four windmills standing in a row. In 1850 there were 29 mills surrounding this city on the walls, but by 1872 they had started to come down. 14 of them were demolished to make way for a walkway and many others suffered a similar fate. Finally in 1914 the last of them were bought by the council for restoration, after a public outcry. Then in 1964, after 50 years of standstill these four windmills were grinding corn again. They had realized their value in terms of tourism.
We had an interesting conversation with the butcher tonight, covering everything from the price of meat, NZ lamb, politics, taxes (60% PAYE), French hygiene (or lack of it), and the black market. We convinced him that he should come to NZ.
We ended the day in the Hostel restaurant, downstairs from the Hostel, and enjoyed the three fee beer samples that came with the meal. We have to agree that the fruit beers that they have around here are an acquired taste, and not one that we really wish to acquire. The Dark, and the Blonde were much more to our liking, rather than the Cherry that was on offer.
With regard to our room for the night, well to say that we had two small beds, is rather generous, they were more like hammocks. The status of the shower was questionable, and the toilet down the hall was so tiny that you banged you head on the closed door as you sat down, and kept it tightly closed with your knees throughout the entire performance. Although, the performance really started when you tried to open the door to leave, wedging yourself tightly against the wall, and relying entirely on instinct, not to step into the bowl whilst extracting yourself through to the brief glimmer of hope … the outside.
To say this place was noisy was an understatement. The restaurant and bar downstairs with music blaring and people yelling and screaming, were one thing, but the dispersion of loud, drunken, groups onto the street, and up through the halls and corridors of the hostel right through to morning, were quite another. To make matters worse the walls of this place were so thin that you could hear the people in the next room breathing (or perhaps they were panting). We had one party group trying vigorously to get into our room in the early hours of the morning, only for them to discover that they not only had the wrong room, and the wrong floor, but also the wrong building. Much to the amusement of everyone else on the floor. Not much sleep tonight.
We had an early start catching the bus from our hotel at 5:43 am. We woke up the night receptionist as we struggled with the door, but he didn’t offer to help in any way, but this seemed to fit in with the pattern of behaviour that we have come to expect at this hotel. The reception staff seem to have the attitude of doing the bare minimum, hoping that the less they respond, the less you will ask and the less they will have to do. We watched one poor guy come in here one night at 11:30pm, obviously stuck for a bed, and the receptionist quoted him the top end price (that includes a shower and toilet inside the room) without offering any alternative, or informing him about the hostel a few doors down the road. At the same time there was a board full of keys behind him indicating empty rooms. Certainly not the kiwi way of doing business. They seem to adopt the policy of “He didn’t ask”.
Once at the bus stop we were greeted by a bus driver who had obviously got out of the wrong side of bed. I asked him in the best (and practiced French), how many stops to the RER station. And his response was a very blank look and a blunt, and I quote “I don’t speak English”. Huh? The French are going to throw their worst at us this morning aren’t they.
Anyway we finally found our way to the train station, and the train bound for Brussels. At about 180kph, and one and a quarter hours later we were hoping off the train in Brussels, and the sun still hadn’t fully risen. Our next connection to Bruges took about one and a half hours and it seemed very slow by comparison. The weather when we arrived was much as we had been told to expect … wretched. It was grey, wet and cold. Which is what you can expect most of the time in Belgium evidently. Probably why the countryside is so green.
Some background that we have discovered about Belgium, is that everyone wants her, well at least everyone has had a good go at claiming her. As we look out the window today, we wonder … why? They have been over run by the Romans, the Spanish, Austrians, the French (until Napoleon got his just desserts in 1815 at Waterloo, just out of Brussels). In 1830 they became independent but that didn’t stop the Germans from taking them over … twice. In WWII it took the Germans just three weeks to do the job. It is now the capital of the EU and NATO, and has managed to keep a low profile, until the end of the 20th Century when it became best known for poisoned chickens and pedophiles. More recently it has been pushing the moral freedom bandwagon, and became the second country after the Netherlands to legalise gay marriages and euthanasia. In 2003 they openly opposed the war in Iraq, and tried to prosecute George W Bush for war crimes, but failed. So at least their heart is in the right place.
But despite all of this, the first thing that we noticed when we got off the train, was that everyone speaks funny. And this is in a country where even the locals can’t decide. Half the country officially speaks Flemish, the other half officially speaks French, there’s a little outpost that speaks German, some speak Spanish, and it seems that everyone speaks English. So now we are really confused. How do you greet someone? After asking around we discovered that the default is English, but they speak between themselves in which ever they choose. We were told that they have been over run by so many people that they can speak most languages (although Italian wasn’t mentioned). So now we have got that sorted … but then, we’re not entirely convinced!
We checked into our hostel for tonight. We are only staying here the one night as we have heard that it can be a little noisy. We have a B&B sorted for the next few nights. We went for a walk around town and discovered a small city, with streets lined with little red brick houses, canals, locks, some windmills, and every third shop is a chocolate shop. On the embankment, that was once the location of the city wall, there are four windmills standing in a row. In 1850 there were 29 mills surrounding this city on the walls, but by 1872 they had started to come down. 14 of them were demolished to make way for a walkway and many others suffered a similar fate. Finally in 1914 the last of them were bought by the council for restoration, after a public outcry. Then in 1964, after 50 years of standstill these four windmills were grinding corn again. They had realized their value in terms of tourism.
We had an interesting conversation with the butcher tonight, covering everything from the price of meat, NZ lamb, politics, taxes (60% PAYE), French hygiene (or lack of it), and the black market. We convinced him that he should come to NZ.
We ended the day in the Hostel restaurant, downstairs from the Hostel, and enjoyed the three fee beer samples that came with the meal. We have to agree that the fruit beers that they have around here are an acquired taste, and not one that we really wish to acquire. The Dark, and the Blonde were much more to our liking, rather than the Cherry that was on offer.
With regard to our room for the night, well to say that we had two small beds, is rather generous, they were more like hammocks. The status of the shower was questionable, and the toilet down the hall was so tiny that you banged you head on the closed door as you sat down, and kept it tightly closed with your knees throughout the entire performance. Although, the performance really started when you tried to open the door to leave, wedging yourself tightly against the wall, and relying entirely on instinct, not to step into the bowl whilst extracting yourself through to the brief glimmer of hope … the outside.
To say this place was noisy was an understatement. The restaurant and bar downstairs with music blaring and people yelling and screaming, were one thing, but the dispersion of loud, drunken, groups onto the street, and up through the halls and corridors of the hostel right through to morning, were quite another. To make matters worse the walls of this place were so thin that you could hear the people in the next room breathing (or perhaps they were panting). We had one party group trying vigorously to get into our room in the early hours of the morning, only for them to discover that they not only had the wrong room, and the wrong floor, but also the wrong building. Much to the amusement of everyone else on the floor. Not much sleep tonight.
PARIS – France (Wed 11 Nov)
We had a couple of quiet days for our last two days in Paris, just walking the streets and exploring different sights. We have started to become familiar with this town and able to find our way around without too much bother, and without sweating over maps. It is still amazing how many little back alleys there are and how many gems are there to be discovered. Just strolling along the Seine on a cold autumns afternoon on the other side of the world is a pleasant experience.
It is still surprising to be reminded at times of just how different things are. We stumbled across a taxidermy shop today, in the centre of the city. The range of animals was quite astounding. The sight that initially greeted us, stopped us in our tracks and we just had to go in for a proper look. Standing proudly in the middle of the floor was the front end of a rhino, just to the left of that a hippo head with mouth gaping, just to the back a baby rhino, next to that a jaguar, and over on the other side a full grown polar bear standing at about 3 metres tall. This place was crammed full of the exotic and not so exotic animals, either stuffed, or in skeletal form. There were porcupines, badgers, beavers, raccoons, moles, squirrels, moose heads, there were birds, beetles, butterflies, fossils and coral. All with price tags attached. For 3750 euro you can take home a baby rhino. Where would you put it? And why would you want it? Cute as it may have looked, why are people still dealing in these things? We were looking in a knife shop the other day and the retailer was proudly showing us a small knife that had a handle made of ebony and ivory … why? Does that mean, as long as it looks cool, we will turn a blind eye? Some things we will never be able to relate too.
But having said all of that, we love Paris very much, we like the whole of France and hope to return here again one day, even if it is just with bigger backpacks to buy some cool clothes. That is something that the French do very well … the understated style. The arrogance and rudeness that we had expected, we didn’t see, except for the occasional individual who was obviously dissatisfied with his job. But you get those everywhere.
On Friday we leave this great city, and head for another country … Belgium. We don’t know a lot about Belgium, except that it is famous for Chocolate, Diamonds, Waffles, WWI battlefields, Beer and Tintin. I think that it is the diamonds that Justine has her eye on, but then it could just be the chocolate. As for me, well the beer is sounding pretty good, evidently they have over 1100 different beers to choose from, so we may be there a while.
It is still surprising to be reminded at times of just how different things are. We stumbled across a taxidermy shop today, in the centre of the city. The range of animals was quite astounding. The sight that initially greeted us, stopped us in our tracks and we just had to go in for a proper look. Standing proudly in the middle of the floor was the front end of a rhino, just to the left of that a hippo head with mouth gaping, just to the back a baby rhino, next to that a jaguar, and over on the other side a full grown polar bear standing at about 3 metres tall. This place was crammed full of the exotic and not so exotic animals, either stuffed, or in skeletal form. There were porcupines, badgers, beavers, raccoons, moles, squirrels, moose heads, there were birds, beetles, butterflies, fossils and coral. All with price tags attached. For 3750 euro you can take home a baby rhino. Where would you put it? And why would you want it? Cute as it may have looked, why are people still dealing in these things? We were looking in a knife shop the other day and the retailer was proudly showing us a small knife that had a handle made of ebony and ivory … why? Does that mean, as long as it looks cool, we will turn a blind eye? Some things we will never be able to relate too.
But having said all of that, we love Paris very much, we like the whole of France and hope to return here again one day, even if it is just with bigger backpacks to buy some cool clothes. That is something that the French do very well … the understated style. The arrogance and rudeness that we had expected, we didn’t see, except for the occasional individual who was obviously dissatisfied with his job. But you get those everywhere.
On Friday we leave this great city, and head for another country … Belgium. We don’t know a lot about Belgium, except that it is famous for Chocolate, Diamonds, Waffles, WWI battlefields, Beer and Tintin. I think that it is the diamonds that Justine has her eye on, but then it could just be the chocolate. As for me, well the beer is sounding pretty good, evidently they have over 1100 different beers to choose from, so we may be there a while.
Wednesday, 11 November 2009
PARIS – France (Tues 10 Nov)
Today we went to Versailles, 21 kms South West of Paris. This is the site of the grandest and most famous Chateaux in the whole of France, and even on a cold Autumns day, the numbers going through the gates showed how popular it is. It served as the Capital and Royal court for over a century, until the revolutionary mobs dragged out Louis XVI and Marie-Antoinette to have their heads lopped off. But there wasn’t much in there about that. It was mostly about Louis XIV (the Sun King) who had this place built to project the power, wealth, and ambition of the French monarchy.
The main Palace is 580m long, with several wings projecting off this, each with an array of halls, corridors, and bed chambers. The scale of this place is impressive, although walking through we had the impression of how completely over the top it is.
After being astounded by the sheer opulence of the palace, we moved into the grounds. These also have several minor palaces and buildings that housed Queens, Princesses, and of course the King’s mistresses. There is also a small village within the grounds, where the Queen would dress up as a shepherdess and play with a small flock of groomed and perfumed lambs! The grounds are huge with formal gardens, woods, longs stretches of water, and towering waterfalls. This place is crazy. But this was home to Kings, Queens, and their 20,000 support staff who lived here.
After spending the day here we came away with the feeling that we have seen quite enough of these places. We caught the train back into the real world, back in to Paris, watching the homeless setting up their beds in the Metro stations. The fake beggars have gone back to their homes by now, it is too late, too dark and too cold. The real beggars are still on the street corners and you wonder how they come to be here. Have they always been on the poverty line? Do they have families? Have they recently become jobless? Whatever their story, the city moves past and throws them the occasional euro.
The main Palace is 580m long, with several wings projecting off this, each with an array of halls, corridors, and bed chambers. The scale of this place is impressive, although walking through we had the impression of how completely over the top it is.
After being astounded by the sheer opulence of the palace, we moved into the grounds. These also have several minor palaces and buildings that housed Queens, Princesses, and of course the King’s mistresses. There is also a small village within the grounds, where the Queen would dress up as a shepherdess and play with a small flock of groomed and perfumed lambs! The grounds are huge with formal gardens, woods, longs stretches of water, and towering waterfalls. This place is crazy. But this was home to Kings, Queens, and their 20,000 support staff who lived here.
After spending the day here we came away with the feeling that we have seen quite enough of these places. We caught the train back into the real world, back in to Paris, watching the homeless setting up their beds in the Metro stations. The fake beggars have gone back to their homes by now, it is too late, too dark and too cold. The real beggars are still on the street corners and you wonder how they come to be here. Have they always been on the poverty line? Do they have families? Have they recently become jobless? Whatever their story, the city moves past and throws them the occasional euro.
PARIS – France (Mon 09 Nov)
Today we were on a mission, we went to the Cimetiere du Pere-Lachaise. This is the famous cemetery where a lot of the greats are buried. If you go there, you need a map (available free at some of the entrances), not to find your way there, but to find your way around it. It covers 43.2 hectares, it has 97 divisions, and over 800,000 people are buried there. We were given a map as we were entering, by someone that was leaving, with the words, “You will need it”, and they were right. What is nice about this cemetery is that it has all manner of grave stones, from large monuments, down to small simple stones, all mixed and mingled together. Some of the old ones are covered in moss and lichens that seems somehow appropriate.
The first grave that we came across (unexpectedly) was that of ‘Fred Chopin’, covered in wreaths and with a small gathering of admirers. After that we decided to draw up a systematic plan of how we were going to traverse this cemetery and see all the graves that we wanted to. We did manage to see them all (some with great difficulty finding) and many that we were surprised to find. We found Marcel Proust, Georges Bizet, Sarah Bernhardt, Eugene Delacroix, and finishing with Jim Morrison, Oscar Wilde, and Edith Piaf. That of Jim Morrison is just a simple granite block, tucked away behind some others, whilst that of Oscar Wilde is as you would expect, a large carved, square, stone monument, covered in graffiti and lipstick kisses. How apt.
As we were leaving the cemetery we walked down an avenue of monuments, in memoriam to the lost lives from various countries through war, in memoriam to the lost lives in the deportations and death camps, in memoriam to various tragedies though conflicts and air disasters. Some of these monuments had very graphic statues. Once again it served as another reminder of what the countries in this part of the world have gone through in wars and conflicts. Alongside the path was a strip of lawn which seemed to be set aside for the scattering of ashes, with ashes still visible and roses stuck into the ground in its path.
We went down the road to a small park, and there was yet another reminder. A monument and plaque dedicated to a group of small children who were deported to death camps from a nearby pre-school. It listed 133 of them, also listing their ages, which ranged from 20 days old to 6 years. Another reminder.
Via various others sites, places and distractions, we finally made it to the Galeries Lafayette, a huge department store complex. You know that you are getting close when you can see the huge flashing light facades creating a glow in the sky. It looks like a Christmas tree on steroids. In fact there was a Christmas tree inside reaching to the top of the eighth level. Although the bright pink lights and balls that it was decorated in seemed a little … girly for me. But then after 20 minutes of walking around, I found that this was the womenswear building. I should have been in the building next door (accessed via walkway) dedicated to menswear. This is more than a department store, it is a complex covering several buildings and blocks, filled to overflowing with all the big brands. None of the budget lines here, and not much use to a backpacker with small pockets. The main building (womenswear – funny that) has a huge illuminated dome roof, much like a cathedral. I guess that is appropriate.
We had one last stop today, and that was back to the Eiffel Tower at night, and ohh what a sight. They put on a special light show for us … well actually it is to celebrate its 120th Birthday. A light show three times, every night, for the month of November. A very cool show, sparlkling and flashing every combination of lights and colours, from the Tricolour to something resembling a disco ball.
The first grave that we came across (unexpectedly) was that of ‘Fred Chopin’, covered in wreaths and with a small gathering of admirers. After that we decided to draw up a systematic plan of how we were going to traverse this cemetery and see all the graves that we wanted to. We did manage to see them all (some with great difficulty finding) and many that we were surprised to find. We found Marcel Proust, Georges Bizet, Sarah Bernhardt, Eugene Delacroix, and finishing with Jim Morrison, Oscar Wilde, and Edith Piaf. That of Jim Morrison is just a simple granite block, tucked away behind some others, whilst that of Oscar Wilde is as you would expect, a large carved, square, stone monument, covered in graffiti and lipstick kisses. How apt.
As we were leaving the cemetery we walked down an avenue of monuments, in memoriam to the lost lives from various countries through war, in memoriam to the lost lives in the deportations and death camps, in memoriam to various tragedies though conflicts and air disasters. Some of these monuments had very graphic statues. Once again it served as another reminder of what the countries in this part of the world have gone through in wars and conflicts. Alongside the path was a strip of lawn which seemed to be set aside for the scattering of ashes, with ashes still visible and roses stuck into the ground in its path.
We went down the road to a small park, and there was yet another reminder. A monument and plaque dedicated to a group of small children who were deported to death camps from a nearby pre-school. It listed 133 of them, also listing their ages, which ranged from 20 days old to 6 years. Another reminder.
Via various others sites, places and distractions, we finally made it to the Galeries Lafayette, a huge department store complex. You know that you are getting close when you can see the huge flashing light facades creating a glow in the sky. It looks like a Christmas tree on steroids. In fact there was a Christmas tree inside reaching to the top of the eighth level. Although the bright pink lights and balls that it was decorated in seemed a little … girly for me. But then after 20 minutes of walking around, I found that this was the womenswear building. I should have been in the building next door (accessed via walkway) dedicated to menswear. This is more than a department store, it is a complex covering several buildings and blocks, filled to overflowing with all the big brands. None of the budget lines here, and not much use to a backpacker with small pockets. The main building (womenswear – funny that) has a huge illuminated dome roof, much like a cathedral. I guess that is appropriate.
We had one last stop today, and that was back to the Eiffel Tower at night, and ohh what a sight. They put on a special light show for us … well actually it is to celebrate its 120th Birthday. A light show three times, every night, for the month of November. A very cool show, sparlkling and flashing every combination of lights and colours, from the Tricolour to something resembling a disco ball.
PARIS – France (Sun 08 Nov)
The forecast for today is cold! 9 degrees high, and 4 degrees low. No rain though. We decided it was a good day for a walk, and a good day to spend undercover, so we headed over to the catacombs, not far from where we are staying. Back in the late 1700s and early 1800s, Paris dealt with its overflowing cemeteries by going underground. They exhumed the bones and stacked them in underground tunnels and quarries. The one known as the ‘catacombs’, was created in 1810, 20 meters below street level. 1.6 kms of corridors, stacked with the bones and skulls of millions of Parisians. Unfortunately, we didn’t get to see them. There was a small sign on the door saying, ‘Closed until further notice due to vandalism’. Damn! However we were amused by a sign outside a nearby funeral home saying, ‘Prevoyance Obseques’. Please excuse our ignorance of the French language, but we loosely interpreted this as meaning that they do preplanning for your journey to the afterlife. Now that’s handy. It sounds like quite a trip.
After moving on from here we discovered just how many cemeteries there are in this part of Paris. We also discovered how many ‘names’ are buried in them. We went for a quick walk through the Mont Parnassa Cemetery and passed by the grave of Man Ray, and a Mexican President (it makes you wonder how he came to be buried here).
From here it was to the Pantheon, passing through the Luxemburg Gardens on the way. We can imagine them being a lot prettier in the Spring and Summer, even just a few weeks ago when the Autumn leaves were still on the trees, rather than on the ground. There were still a few hardy souls sitting around on the chairs reading books, but even as hardy as they were, there was a definite layering of cloths required today. There were also quite a number of kids with little yachts on the pond by the fountain. These can be hired out by the hour. I think the guy hiring them is onto a winner here, as there were several boats stuck in the middle that couldn’t be persuaded to return to the side for collection. It seems that you just push them off from the side and hope that eventually they get to the other side for collection, and vice versa.
The Pantheon is an impressive structure with large white pillars to greet you as you enter. Around the inside are mural images of St Genevieve (the patron Saint of Paris, after she delivered Paris from the barbarians led by Attila, through her prayer), and Joan of Arc. Sculptures of great battle scenes including the Revolution support the pillars within the body of this sepulcher. Downstairs, the crypt is like a maze of passages and tombs. In there, are the tombs of Louis Braille, Pierre and Marie Curie, Victor Hugo, Jean Moulin, and a long list of revolutionaries.
Upstairs, in the middle of what was once the Church, is a full size working model of Foucault’s Pendulum, demonstrating the rotation of the earth. Swinging its way through time, just like it had back in 1851, when it wowed the scientists of the day. However in our ignorance this did raise a few questions with us that we hope someone will answer. Over a 24 hour period this pendulum rotates (or more accurately the Earth rotates around this pendulum) by something like 272 degrees. Is this affected by how close or distant you are from the poles or equator. If you are closer to the North or South Pole does this rotation stay the same, or perhaps, does the swinging of the pendulum become more elliptical as you get closer to the Equator? Just curious. If only we had more online time, we could Google these things.
In the Church of St Genieve next door lies her stone tomb, encased in gold filigree and glass. Upstairs you can see a group of young men having a practice session on the pipe organ, with the light over their keyboard providing the only light within the dark church. We were waiting for them to break our into some rock solos, or perhaps something from any number of musicals, but unfortunately it didn’t happen. We’re sure they were tempted, and it would have certainly added some life to the building.
We continued our walking (a great pursuit on a cold day like this) into the Latin Quarter, Boulevard Saint Germain. As we walked down the road we passed by a big heavy duty Police truck, complete with bulldozer blade, water cannons on the roof, and mesh covered windows. We have seen a lot of this kind of equipment today, and Police in full riot gear. We have no idea what’s going on, but they certainly seem to be prepared for something. Either that or it is a completely over the top everyday presence.
We discovered a bookshop tonight dedicated to cartoon books. I remember growing up with Tintin, Asterix, Lucky Luck, Rintincan, and Ompapa. But this place … well there were hundreds and hundreds of title and series, ranging from kid-worthy, through to the risqué and definitely adult, covering every imaginable genre of story that you can imagine. And every one of them in hardback. This city seems to be obsessed with comics. And just to highlight that, they are in the middle of celebrating 50 years of Asterix, with posters, promotional monuments, and an art gallery dedicated to the wee fellow. There are even books and magazines covering the subject from every angle. Just as well we are backpacking, otherwise I could have spent a fortune in there.
We discovered tonight, as we have previously, that the rude reputation of the Parisians is completely attributable to the Restaurateurs. Running the gauntlet down the street, being continuously accosted by Restaurateurs trying to peddle their wares and get you to step inside. Some become quite rude when you keep walking, others become completely obnoxious. It makes you wonder what their service would be like if you did go inside.
After moving on from here we discovered just how many cemeteries there are in this part of Paris. We also discovered how many ‘names’ are buried in them. We went for a quick walk through the Mont Parnassa Cemetery and passed by the grave of Man Ray, and a Mexican President (it makes you wonder how he came to be buried here).
From here it was to the Pantheon, passing through the Luxemburg Gardens on the way. We can imagine them being a lot prettier in the Spring and Summer, even just a few weeks ago when the Autumn leaves were still on the trees, rather than on the ground. There were still a few hardy souls sitting around on the chairs reading books, but even as hardy as they were, there was a definite layering of cloths required today. There were also quite a number of kids with little yachts on the pond by the fountain. These can be hired out by the hour. I think the guy hiring them is onto a winner here, as there were several boats stuck in the middle that couldn’t be persuaded to return to the side for collection. It seems that you just push them off from the side and hope that eventually they get to the other side for collection, and vice versa.
The Pantheon is an impressive structure with large white pillars to greet you as you enter. Around the inside are mural images of St Genevieve (the patron Saint of Paris, after she delivered Paris from the barbarians led by Attila, through her prayer), and Joan of Arc. Sculptures of great battle scenes including the Revolution support the pillars within the body of this sepulcher. Downstairs, the crypt is like a maze of passages and tombs. In there, are the tombs of Louis Braille, Pierre and Marie Curie, Victor Hugo, Jean Moulin, and a long list of revolutionaries.
Upstairs, in the middle of what was once the Church, is a full size working model of Foucault’s Pendulum, demonstrating the rotation of the earth. Swinging its way through time, just like it had back in 1851, when it wowed the scientists of the day. However in our ignorance this did raise a few questions with us that we hope someone will answer. Over a 24 hour period this pendulum rotates (or more accurately the Earth rotates around this pendulum) by something like 272 degrees. Is this affected by how close or distant you are from the poles or equator. If you are closer to the North or South Pole does this rotation stay the same, or perhaps, does the swinging of the pendulum become more elliptical as you get closer to the Equator? Just curious. If only we had more online time, we could Google these things.
In the Church of St Genieve next door lies her stone tomb, encased in gold filigree and glass. Upstairs you can see a group of young men having a practice session on the pipe organ, with the light over their keyboard providing the only light within the dark church. We were waiting for them to break our into some rock solos, or perhaps something from any number of musicals, but unfortunately it didn’t happen. We’re sure they were tempted, and it would have certainly added some life to the building.
We continued our walking (a great pursuit on a cold day like this) into the Latin Quarter, Boulevard Saint Germain. As we walked down the road we passed by a big heavy duty Police truck, complete with bulldozer blade, water cannons on the roof, and mesh covered windows. We have seen a lot of this kind of equipment today, and Police in full riot gear. We have no idea what’s going on, but they certainly seem to be prepared for something. Either that or it is a completely over the top everyday presence.
We discovered a bookshop tonight dedicated to cartoon books. I remember growing up with Tintin, Asterix, Lucky Luck, Rintincan, and Ompapa. But this place … well there were hundreds and hundreds of title and series, ranging from kid-worthy, through to the risqué and definitely adult, covering every imaginable genre of story that you can imagine. And every one of them in hardback. This city seems to be obsessed with comics. And just to highlight that, they are in the middle of celebrating 50 years of Asterix, with posters, promotional monuments, and an art gallery dedicated to the wee fellow. There are even books and magazines covering the subject from every angle. Just as well we are backpacking, otherwise I could have spent a fortune in there.
We discovered tonight, as we have previously, that the rude reputation of the Parisians is completely attributable to the Restaurateurs. Running the gauntlet down the street, being continuously accosted by Restaurateurs trying to peddle their wares and get you to step inside. Some become quite rude when you keep walking, others become completely obnoxious. It makes you wonder what their service would be like if you did go inside.
PARIS – France (Sat 07 Nov)
The forecast is for rain today and so we headed indoors. Today we went to the Louvre. The greatest art gallery in the world, the mecca for all art lovers, the holy grail of all things art related … or so we have been led to believe. We know that it was originally a Palace and a fortress built in 1190, and it was first opened as a museum in 1793. What we didn’t realize was just how huge the Louvre is. At the time the museum was opened it held about 2,500 pieces, it now has in it’s possession over 350,000 pieces. So a visit requires some co-ordination, or we liked to think of it as a ‘battle plan’, particularly when we consider just how many visitors pass through here every day.
We arrived early to beat the crowds and the queues, and we were glad that we did. We entered the museum through the main entrance which is highlighted by the unmistakable glass pyramid (see the De Vinci Code). The security above ground was similar to what we have experienced at the other major tourist sites in this city, army personnel patrolling in groups of three, with automatic weapons at the ready. Coming from our little Island paradise this sounds pretty heavy, but you do get used to it, and wonder where they are if you can’t see them.
Our first mission was to get to the Mona Lisa before the crowds, so we did a quick sprint to get there. She was there as we had expected, she was bigger than we had been led to believe, inside a bullet proof glass case, and roped off so that you cannot get within five meters of her. In that respect it was a little disappointing, but we can confirm that she does look 83% happy, but about what, one cannot be entirely sure. To see a piece of art like this, that we have read so much about, is truly incredible. But our appreciation would have been more complete, if we had been able to view her in more detail, rather than from what seemed like the other end of the room.
By comparison the rest of the museum was quite intimate, being able to get right up close and personal with amazing pieces of art. The scope of art that this gallery displays is amazing. Covering Italian, French, German, Flemish, Dutch, paintings covering the period from the mid 13th Century to the mid 19th Century, Sculptures, Objects d’art, Roman and Egyptian antiquities, arts of Islam, Africa, etc, etc. The list was impressive. We spent over eight hours here and only saw a little over half of what there was to see.
Some of the rooms and galleries seemed to display a lot of work that was very same-same, but then you appreciate the time that these were done in. A period of countless Chateaux being built and so much of this could almost be considered as commercial art, wallpaper, wall coverings for those Chateaux. We were also amazed by the gems of brilliance that we saw, fascinating paintings by artists that we have never heard of before. It makes you wonder why these artists are virtually unheard of, when others whose work by comparison seems rather average, gets so much attention. Once again we ask the question, who decides what is art, what is brilliant and what is not?
Whenever viewing the great works, the scale is always a surprise. Some that you expect to be large, are small, others that you expect to be small, are not. Some of the works that we saw today, defied scale altogether. There were works here that were larger than the flat that we had, with no exaggeration. Absolutely huge. You would need a palace to hang them in. We saw the Venus de Milo, with all her missing bits, and agreed that she was beautiful despite them. Standing there under the spotlight, at the end of the hall, we couldn’t help but be impressed.
Summing up at the end of the day we agreed that the Louvre isn’t the ‘be all and end all’ of art galleries. It is huge and very impressive, but we felt that it might suffer a little from its size. Because there are so many pieces, there are very few pieces that actually get the attention that they deserve. Because there was so much, it was almost like visual overload, and we found that we were just cruising through, past pieces that we would have given more attention in a smaller gallery. Also, covering the period that it does, it didn’t include many of the artists works that we love so much. The Louvre has its niche and it leaves these to other galleries, which is perhaps a good thing.
After the mind stimulation of the day we decided we needed to go for a walk in the cold air and stumbled upon yet another great old church. Upon entering we found once again that there was a service in progress. After listening for a few minutes to a service in a language that we had no comprehension of, we still agreed that this is a nice church, with a great atmosphere. On a cold night like this, it was particularly pleasant to stand on top of one of the warming grates around the peripheral of the church. On emerging we found ourselves in a wonderful garden, albeit in the dark. But then we were in for a surprise. We found that we were walking on top of a subterranean, three level shopping complex of massive proportions. So down we went, and got completely lost in the city within the city.
We arrived early to beat the crowds and the queues, and we were glad that we did. We entered the museum through the main entrance which is highlighted by the unmistakable glass pyramid (see the De Vinci Code). The security above ground was similar to what we have experienced at the other major tourist sites in this city, army personnel patrolling in groups of three, with automatic weapons at the ready. Coming from our little Island paradise this sounds pretty heavy, but you do get used to it, and wonder where they are if you can’t see them.
Our first mission was to get to the Mona Lisa before the crowds, so we did a quick sprint to get there. She was there as we had expected, she was bigger than we had been led to believe, inside a bullet proof glass case, and roped off so that you cannot get within five meters of her. In that respect it was a little disappointing, but we can confirm that she does look 83% happy, but about what, one cannot be entirely sure. To see a piece of art like this, that we have read so much about, is truly incredible. But our appreciation would have been more complete, if we had been able to view her in more detail, rather than from what seemed like the other end of the room.
By comparison the rest of the museum was quite intimate, being able to get right up close and personal with amazing pieces of art. The scope of art that this gallery displays is amazing. Covering Italian, French, German, Flemish, Dutch, paintings covering the period from the mid 13th Century to the mid 19th Century, Sculptures, Objects d’art, Roman and Egyptian antiquities, arts of Islam, Africa, etc, etc. The list was impressive. We spent over eight hours here and only saw a little over half of what there was to see.
Some of the rooms and galleries seemed to display a lot of work that was very same-same, but then you appreciate the time that these were done in. A period of countless Chateaux being built and so much of this could almost be considered as commercial art, wallpaper, wall coverings for those Chateaux. We were also amazed by the gems of brilliance that we saw, fascinating paintings by artists that we have never heard of before. It makes you wonder why these artists are virtually unheard of, when others whose work by comparison seems rather average, gets so much attention. Once again we ask the question, who decides what is art, what is brilliant and what is not?
Whenever viewing the great works, the scale is always a surprise. Some that you expect to be large, are small, others that you expect to be small, are not. Some of the works that we saw today, defied scale altogether. There were works here that were larger than the flat that we had, with no exaggeration. Absolutely huge. You would need a palace to hang them in. We saw the Venus de Milo, with all her missing bits, and agreed that she was beautiful despite them. Standing there under the spotlight, at the end of the hall, we couldn’t help but be impressed.
Summing up at the end of the day we agreed that the Louvre isn’t the ‘be all and end all’ of art galleries. It is huge and very impressive, but we felt that it might suffer a little from its size. Because there are so many pieces, there are very few pieces that actually get the attention that they deserve. Because there was so much, it was almost like visual overload, and we found that we were just cruising through, past pieces that we would have given more attention in a smaller gallery. Also, covering the period that it does, it didn’t include many of the artists works that we love so much. The Louvre has its niche and it leaves these to other galleries, which is perhaps a good thing.
After the mind stimulation of the day we decided we needed to go for a walk in the cold air and stumbled upon yet another great old church. Upon entering we found once again that there was a service in progress. After listening for a few minutes to a service in a language that we had no comprehension of, we still agreed that this is a nice church, with a great atmosphere. On a cold night like this, it was particularly pleasant to stand on top of one of the warming grates around the peripheral of the church. On emerging we found ourselves in a wonderful garden, albeit in the dark. But then we were in for a surprise. We found that we were walking on top of a subterranean, three level shopping complex of massive proportions. So down we went, and got completely lost in the city within the city.
PARIS – France (Fri 06 Nov)
We woke up this morning to the hint of a nicer day, and so our mission this morning was to go up the Eiffel Tower … and so we did. It is 320 meters high, and even in the highest winds, doesn’t sway more than 7cm. It really is like a giant Meccano set, with 18,000 metal parts and 2.5 million rivets. We decided to take the cheap route to the top, and that is to climb the steps to level two (1060 steps), and then the lift from there. The final lift section takes you vertically up the remaining 160 meters to an enclosed level, and with a few extra stairs you break out into the open. The view from up there is incredible, despite the fact that by the time we got up there it had started to cloud over. It is hard to imagine that this was built as a temporary structure, as a gateway to the ‘Great Exposition’ of 1889. This temporary structure has remained here for 120 years thanks to radio. Gustav Eiffel installed a radio mast on the top, turning what was temporary into something essential.
After finishing here we headed over to the Sacre-Coeur. Once again running the gauntlet of beggars, scams, con artists and pickpockets. Even inside the church there are signs warning of pickpockets. How low is that. There was a service in progress when we arrived (and it was well attended), which added a nice feel of realness to this church. Despite the very cold wind outside, it was very warm and light, with some amazing mosaics inside that helped to create the inviting atmosphere. Perhaps the atmosphere was partly attributable to the reason that this church was built. It was built as a memorial to the 58,000 French soldiers that were killed during the Franco-Prussian war, and priests still pray for their souls here, 24 hours a day. We felt that this church had a nicer feel to it than the Notre-Dame. Well worth a visit.
Whilst in the Montmartre area we went for a wander through the streets. The same streets that were frequented ‘back in the day’ by the likes of Picasso, Dali, Van Gogh, Renoir, Degas, and Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec. After all this was the bohemian/artist quarter. We saw the windmills that inspired Van Gogh, plus a couple of very good replicas (of the windmills).
We came across a small square that was filled with artists and easels selling their wares. Many of them seem to be maximizing on the reputation of the area and the tourists that it attracts, without any particular skill or gift of their own. In the nicest possible way, much of the stuff they were trying to sell off was rubbish, but then there were a few gems in there too. Before entering or exiting this market square, we had to run the gauntlet of street artists offering to do instant 5min portraits. Some of them seemed to be very good, others, not quite so much. They try everything they can to tout for business. The most common form of attention seeking seemed to be flattery. One portly gentleman told me that I had “a wonderful nose.” Hmmm … well that’s a first.
As we moved down the hill we came across the ‘Red Light’ strip that has been here since the days of the bohemian artists. Today this is a strip crammed with flashing neon lights, fronting shops that sell and display every form of sexual service and gadgetry that you can imagine, and quite a few tools of the trade that we had never heard of, or considered possible. But we weren’t to be distracted, we were drawn onwards by the slowly revolving, neon windmill, that is the Moulin Rouge. This club is as old as the Eiffel Tower, home of the Can-Can, creating scandal amongst the respectable citizens of the day, and still going strong. Today, half the building is covered up, having renovations, but just to add a smile to our faces, the covering just accentuates the building next to it, a fast food restaurant, operating under the brand name of ‘Quick’. How convenient!
After finishing here we headed over to the Sacre-Coeur. Once again running the gauntlet of beggars, scams, con artists and pickpockets. Even inside the church there are signs warning of pickpockets. How low is that. There was a service in progress when we arrived (and it was well attended), which added a nice feel of realness to this church. Despite the very cold wind outside, it was very warm and light, with some amazing mosaics inside that helped to create the inviting atmosphere. Perhaps the atmosphere was partly attributable to the reason that this church was built. It was built as a memorial to the 58,000 French soldiers that were killed during the Franco-Prussian war, and priests still pray for their souls here, 24 hours a day. We felt that this church had a nicer feel to it than the Notre-Dame. Well worth a visit.
Whilst in the Montmartre area we went for a wander through the streets. The same streets that were frequented ‘back in the day’ by the likes of Picasso, Dali, Van Gogh, Renoir, Degas, and Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec. After all this was the bohemian/artist quarter. We saw the windmills that inspired Van Gogh, plus a couple of very good replicas (of the windmills).
We came across a small square that was filled with artists and easels selling their wares. Many of them seem to be maximizing on the reputation of the area and the tourists that it attracts, without any particular skill or gift of their own. In the nicest possible way, much of the stuff they were trying to sell off was rubbish, but then there were a few gems in there too. Before entering or exiting this market square, we had to run the gauntlet of street artists offering to do instant 5min portraits. Some of them seemed to be very good, others, not quite so much. They try everything they can to tout for business. The most common form of attention seeking seemed to be flattery. One portly gentleman told me that I had “a wonderful nose.” Hmmm … well that’s a first.
As we moved down the hill we came across the ‘Red Light’ strip that has been here since the days of the bohemian artists. Today this is a strip crammed with flashing neon lights, fronting shops that sell and display every form of sexual service and gadgetry that you can imagine, and quite a few tools of the trade that we had never heard of, or considered possible. But we weren’t to be distracted, we were drawn onwards by the slowly revolving, neon windmill, that is the Moulin Rouge. This club is as old as the Eiffel Tower, home of the Can-Can, creating scandal amongst the respectable citizens of the day, and still going strong. Today, half the building is covered up, having renovations, but just to add a smile to our faces, the covering just accentuates the building next to it, a fast food restaurant, operating under the brand name of ‘Quick’. How convenient!
PARIS – France (Thurs 05 Nov)
It was outside the Notre-Dame this morning that we first noticed the beggar schools. Little gatherings of Roma people being talked to brusquely by their pimp (usually an older woman) before being sent out to bring in their ‘charitable donations’. In this particular case they were definitely getting a pep talk. Perhaps business wasn’t going so well, or perhaps her students weren’t looking ‘needy’ enough. What ever she said to them, they took turns in approaching us with more determination.
There is no shortage of skams around here, all in the name of ‘money for nothing’. Later in the day we had the ol’ “please sir you have dropped a ring” trick played out before us. As you approach they throw a gold ring on the ground. They pick it up and give it too you, and since they helped you find it, they demand 20 euro. Even if you say that it isn’t yours, they still want money, because “it is real gold and I gave it to you.” Then there is the “Sign this petition for peace in Africa”. Well everyone wants peace in Africa so they sign up, but then they want money. You can bet your bottom dollar that the money that they collect doesn’t go to Africa.
There are so many scams going on that they are impossible to list. And then there is the straight out begging too, with the schools of beggars being run by pimps. The thing of note is that these woman who want money to feed their family, feed their little children, feed their dog, help their poor sick aunt, they all look pretty healthy. And from what we have heard, many of them own several apartments, are very well off, and all in the name of begging. It is unfortunate that those genuinely in need, don’t get the help that they need. It is unfortunate that it makes everyone cynical and think that anyone offering anything is either wanting money, or is about to rip them off while they are distracted. We saw a perfect example of this today, a young couple had signs offering people ‘free hugs’, and you could tell that people were standing back and wondering what new scam this was, but it appeared to be a couple of innocent tourists just out having fun.
Once we ran the gauntlet of beggars we got inside the Notre-Dame. ‘Our Lady’ is very dark, very cold, and very large. She has very impressive stained glass windows and the flying buttresses (the ones that Quasimodo slid down) really are very impressive. What we did find inside was an alter to St Denis. St Denis? We didn’t know that there was one. We also found that they sold takeaways in there … takeaway candles for 10 euro. So yes, another commercial church. However it does have a very impressive history. The foundation stone was laid in 1163, and it took 170 years to complete (quick by European standards), and she was almost destroyed at the time of the revolution. Evidentally the masses that stormed through her lopped the heads off all the statues thinking that they were nobles, when in fact they were apostles and saints. But then that is hardly surprising when they have statues of the likes of St Denis. We’ll run into a St Gavin next! As well as the rioters of the revolution, and Napoleon, the Notre-Dame has had some other interesting visitors. Joan of Arc was here, in fact they held a posthumous trial for her and found her to be innocent of heresy. What a shame it was 24 years after she had been burnt at the stake.
From here we went for a wander through the Latin quarter. We were almost over run by the restaurant owners touting their menus, and competing for the lunch time euro. But we didn’t feel as threatened as the protesters would have, that were parading down St Michel’s Boulevard. The first indication that anything was going on was the mass of police officers that we saw padded up with gear that they were preparing for more than issuing parking tickets. What we saw on one street corner was 20 bikes, a dozen vans, a couple of buses, and more arriving, all spilling out police officers.
We had no idea what the protest was about, but there was a mass of what appeared to be predominantly black students, waving banners, banging drums, and blowing whistles as they moved down the street. We had the impression that the police here are well accustomed to containing these kind of crowds.
It was about now that it decided to bucket down with rain, and so we headed indoors at the Musee d’Orsay. What a fantastic art gallery, which starts with the building that houses it. This was the train station that was built to bring the crowds to the ‘Great Exposition’. After lasting several different phases of it’s life, it was turned into an art gallery after being considered for demolition. Inside the gallery is crammed with more great works than we can recall, but of note was the room dedicated to Van Gogh, heaps of impressionism, Monet’s waterlilies, Whistler’s mother, Renoir, Degas, Manet, Sisley, etc. Very, very cool. It is amazing to walk around these pieces, works that we would have never had the chance to see otherwise, but works that we have seen many times in books before now.
There is no shortage of skams around here, all in the name of ‘money for nothing’. Later in the day we had the ol’ “please sir you have dropped a ring” trick played out before us. As you approach they throw a gold ring on the ground. They pick it up and give it too you, and since they helped you find it, they demand 20 euro. Even if you say that it isn’t yours, they still want money, because “it is real gold and I gave it to you.” Then there is the “Sign this petition for peace in Africa”. Well everyone wants peace in Africa so they sign up, but then they want money. You can bet your bottom dollar that the money that they collect doesn’t go to Africa.
There are so many scams going on that they are impossible to list. And then there is the straight out begging too, with the schools of beggars being run by pimps. The thing of note is that these woman who want money to feed their family, feed their little children, feed their dog, help their poor sick aunt, they all look pretty healthy. And from what we have heard, many of them own several apartments, are very well off, and all in the name of begging. It is unfortunate that those genuinely in need, don’t get the help that they need. It is unfortunate that it makes everyone cynical and think that anyone offering anything is either wanting money, or is about to rip them off while they are distracted. We saw a perfect example of this today, a young couple had signs offering people ‘free hugs’, and you could tell that people were standing back and wondering what new scam this was, but it appeared to be a couple of innocent tourists just out having fun.
Once we ran the gauntlet of beggars we got inside the Notre-Dame. ‘Our Lady’ is very dark, very cold, and very large. She has very impressive stained glass windows and the flying buttresses (the ones that Quasimodo slid down) really are very impressive. What we did find inside was an alter to St Denis. St Denis? We didn’t know that there was one. We also found that they sold takeaways in there … takeaway candles for 10 euro. So yes, another commercial church. However it does have a very impressive history. The foundation stone was laid in 1163, and it took 170 years to complete (quick by European standards), and she was almost destroyed at the time of the revolution. Evidentally the masses that stormed through her lopped the heads off all the statues thinking that they were nobles, when in fact they were apostles and saints. But then that is hardly surprising when they have statues of the likes of St Denis. We’ll run into a St Gavin next! As well as the rioters of the revolution, and Napoleon, the Notre-Dame has had some other interesting visitors. Joan of Arc was here, in fact they held a posthumous trial for her and found her to be innocent of heresy. What a shame it was 24 years after she had been burnt at the stake.
From here we went for a wander through the Latin quarter. We were almost over run by the restaurant owners touting their menus, and competing for the lunch time euro. But we didn’t feel as threatened as the protesters would have, that were parading down St Michel’s Boulevard. The first indication that anything was going on was the mass of police officers that we saw padded up with gear that they were preparing for more than issuing parking tickets. What we saw on one street corner was 20 bikes, a dozen vans, a couple of buses, and more arriving, all spilling out police officers.
We had no idea what the protest was about, but there was a mass of what appeared to be predominantly black students, waving banners, banging drums, and blowing whistles as they moved down the street. We had the impression that the police here are well accustomed to containing these kind of crowds.
It was about now that it decided to bucket down with rain, and so we headed indoors at the Musee d’Orsay. What a fantastic art gallery, which starts with the building that houses it. This was the train station that was built to bring the crowds to the ‘Great Exposition’. After lasting several different phases of it’s life, it was turned into an art gallery after being considered for demolition. Inside the gallery is crammed with more great works than we can recall, but of note was the room dedicated to Van Gogh, heaps of impressionism, Monet’s waterlilies, Whistler’s mother, Renoir, Degas, Manet, Sisley, etc. Very, very cool. It is amazing to walk around these pieces, works that we would have never had the chance to see otherwise, but works that we have seen many times in books before now.
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