Saturday, July 5- A drive to Luxembourg proved very comfortable, as well as relaxing. Luxembourg itself proved to be a city of contradictions. While its modern EU buildings loom fairly high on the skyline, over 20 kilometers of casements snake underground from the time the Spanish took over the area.
The city of Luxembourg is divided roughly into two areas- the historical and the modern. Across the gorge that divides the two, there is the historical center. Housing the Grand Ducal Palace, the historical quarter of Luxembourg is indeed historical. The buildings date back years, and here they have sprawling parks and walking paths where you can stroll under the shade of age-old trees. Historical monuments to victims of the World Wars (both civilian and military) stand here, the most prominent being the Golden Lady, a gold statue of a woman at the top of a tall column, standing over two men who have been wounded in the fight. Just a plaza and street corner away, the Grand Ducal Palace stands, flags flying from its walls. Here the Duchess and her husband, the Duke, take residence with their family. The doors are guarded by several guards, their measured steps of hundreds of years showing in the wear of a path in the stones. I assume that the Duchess was in residence, because there was no entry permitted that day.Opposite the historical quarter, across a bridge and gorge, there is the financial district, complete with tall banking buildings and (according to American standards, at least) fairly medium-sized, if not short, skyscrapers. The bus guide even referred to several of the buildings as “eyesores,” but the business area was occasionally alleviated by the random contemporary statue. For instance, one building that was in a “U” shape, with the opening of the U facing the street, was made of white marble (or granite, or even concrete of some sort, I don’t quite know), and all of its architectural lines were bleakly straight. There was no adornment, no change to the building’s harsh demeanor but for a strange, contorted-looking metal statue in the middle of the main courtyard.
There weren’t even any trees. The statue itself looked like some sort of writhing mass of junkyard demons, creatures of scrap metal and ugly texture being vomited up from Hell because even they were too ugly to be in “the bad place.” This contemporary art did nothing to relieve the building’s starkness, instead, it made you want to either leave Luxembourg’s financial district and never come back or burn the place to the ground and start again. The terrible, Spartan architecture and obscure metal sculptures continued and then culminated in the greatest (in my mind) contemporary art travesty of all. To welcome visitors into Luxembourg’s financial district, an American architect designed a “statue.” Pfah, statue it was not! Words can barely describe my disgust with the thing! There was no “art,” there was not even a semblance of art! It looked like somebody had taken giant sheets of rusty sheet metal and stood them on end. It wasn’t a statue! It was a waste of time and a desecration of everything artful! My feelings of disgust about that thing seem to escape the ability of words at this point. It was terrible. Forget tall marble statues of Classical design, look what our art world has descended into- rusty sheet metal! I am thoroughly put out of a pleasant countenance by just the memory of it.
The financial sector is not without its interests, though. There are several EU buildings, as well as the EU Court, where laws for the European Union are defined by a panel of representative judges. These buildings are fairly aesthetically pleasing, and as you drive past you will also see an international school that is simply for children of diplomats in Luxembourg. If you’re looking for elitist, I do believe that that’s the spot. The description the bus guide gave even gave the feeling of rich-kid indulgence.
After the EU buildings, there isn’t much to see. Luxembourg is just a bit overrated, if you’re looking at historical value. The only mains sights there are the Grand Ducal Palace and the casements, which make you feel like an ant scuttling around in the bowels of a giant anthill.
Sunday, July 6- Sunday was infinitely more interesting than Luxembourg. We slept in and spent most of lunch and the afternoon in Amsterdam, a city famed for its historical value as well as its debauchery. At every souvenir store you will find at least one t-shirt with a provocative red-light district themed design, not to mention the many pieces of clothing that feature marijuana leaves (from Amsterdam’s famous “coffeeshops”). But aside from the questionable morality of the place (did I ever mention that Holland was the first country to legalize gay unions?), Amsterdam is full of interesting child-friendly sights. We actually only had time to walk around for a bit and go visit one museum- the Van Gogh Museum. And yes, it is pronounced “Gogh,” not “Go.” How shall I explain this? It’s something like “Van Gohghkk,” with the “ghkk” being a throaty, gargly noise. If you’re ever curious to how Dutch sounds, imagine gargly, throaty, half-mutated German. Or you could YouTube it.
In any case, the Van Goghkk museum was very interesting- we took an audio tour and examined each of the paintings one by one. I am so psyched for the upcoming year of art history, you have no idea… Aaaanyway, we took the tour and saw some of Van Gogh’s most famous art pieces, like the painting of his off-center room, several of his self-portraits, his cornfield paintings, and others, including the painting of the Potato Eaters and the skeleton with a cigarette clutched in its teeth. Smoking is bad for you, kids.
After wandering the more reputable corners of Amsterdam for a bit, we headed home for another week of fairly dreary Eindhoven life before the weekend.
Saturday, July 12- Saturday was taken up by a day trip to Brugge, Belgium. Let me say that, short of Paris, it was one of my most enjoyable gastronomic experiences ever. We arrived in Brugge around 0900, and walked around until the 1000 canal boat ride. Brugge is aptly called “the Venice of the North” because of the picturesque historical buildings and friendly, clean canal system.
We took the canal tour past many of Brugge’s historical sites, including the old Palace of Justice (rough translation) as well as past the Lake of Love (that’s the name, no joke), which is renowned for its beauty and romance. Swans would occasionally glide in front of and around the canal boats, and they were singularly beautiful and powerful birds. Ducks were also on the canal too, brown, homely little things that stoically held their ground in the face of the swans’ glamour. Of course, the swanlings were gawky big things, with gray fuzzy down everywhere and bony legs. They were very cute. ^^
Our canal tour was conducted in four languages, the tour guide rattling off each language quickly
and competently- French, Dutch, English, and Spanish. Spanish may sound odd, but Brugge was briefly occupied by the Spanish for a century a while ago, and was also named a city of interest by UNESCO in the same year a Spanish city was named one. So there are a fair number of Spanish tourists. Of course, Brugge is also the resting place of (supposedly) a vial of Christ’s blood. In a giant golden shrine in one of the town’s three or four cathedrals is a tiny vial of blood brought back by the Duke/Lord/OtherHonoraryTitleICan’tRemember of Alsace after the Second Crusade. Personally I highly doubt the credibility of that claim, but ah, to each their own.
Saturday, July 12- Saturday was taken up by a day trip to Brugge, Belgium. Let me say that, short of Paris, it was one of my most enjoyable gastronomic experiences ever. We arrived in Brugge around 0900, and walked around until the 1000 canal boat ride. Brugge is aptly called “the Venice of the North” because of the picturesque historical buildings and friendly, clean canal system.
We took the canal tour past many of Brugge’s historical sites, including the old Palace of Justice (rough translation) as well as past the Lake of Love (that’s the name, no joke), which is renowned for its beauty and romance. Swans would occasionally glide in front of and around the canal boats, and they were singularly beautiful and powerful birds. Ducks were also on the canal too, brown, homely little things that stoically held their ground in the face of the swans’ glamour. Of course, the swanlings were gawky big things, with gray fuzzy down everywhere and bony legs. They were very cute. ^^
Our canal tour was conducted in four languages, the tour guide rattling off each language quickly
and competently- French, Dutch, English, and Spanish. Spanish may sound odd, but Brugge was briefly occupied by the Spanish for a century a while ago, and was also named a city of interest by UNESCO in the same year a Spanish city was named one. So there are a fair number of Spanish tourists. Of course, Brugge is also the resting place of (supposedly) a vial of Christ’s blood. In a giant golden shrine in one of the town’s three or four cathedrals is a tiny vial of blood brought back by the Duke/Lord/OtherHonoraryTitleICan’tRemember of Alsace after the Second Crusade. Personally I highly doubt the credibility of that claim, but ah, to each their own.
Anyway, I finally remembered the name of the other group of people who live in Belgium. It’s the Flemish and the Walloons! Walloons! Though I can’t recall which spoke French and which Dutch… I believe that the Walloons spoke Dutch and the Flemish French… In any case, yes, our tour was conducted in a pleasant and timely fashion, and afterwards we went for brunch.
When in Belgium, do as the Belgians (or Flemish/Walloons) do, so guess what we just had to eat? Sitting in a tiny café called the Miramar, we dined on delicious, genuine, original Belgian waffles! My goodness, nothing can quite compare to Belgian waffles. Well, REAL Belgian waffles. Crispy golden on the outside and with a perfectly soft interior, these waffles were art on a plate. I managed to sneak one in on my parents and order a waffle with ice cream and chocolate saus. Pardon me, sauce. It was so good that I ordered another, this time with sugar and butter. My god, were those things wonderful. Oh, don’t worry, they weren’t giant waffles, and because they were fairly light you needed two or three to fill you up for a day of walking. My father also managed to light his napkin on fire, but that’s another story for another time.
When in Belgium, do as the Belgians (or Flemish/Walloons) do, so guess what we just had to eat? Sitting in a tiny café called the Miramar, we dined on delicious, genuine, original Belgian waffles! My goodness, nothing can quite compare to Belgian waffles. Well, REAL Belgian waffles. Crispy golden on the outside and with a perfectly soft interior, these waffles were art on a plate. I managed to sneak one in on my parents and order a waffle with ice cream and chocolate saus. Pardon me, sauce. It was so good that I ordered another, this time with sugar and butter. My god, were those things wonderful. Oh, don’t worry, they weren’t giant waffles, and because they were fairly light you needed two or three to fill you up for a day of walking. My father also managed to light his napkin on fire, but that’s another story for another time.
After the delicious Belgian waffles, we headed in through the city and walked around for the afternoon. We chanced upon a choir from London performing in a free concert in a cathedral that housed a rare Michelangelo statue of the Madonna and child, so we stepped in and had a listen. Oh, would that Arizona had those kinds of churches (I know, I know, it’s impossible and would look completely out of the ordinary amongst humble Arizonan stucco huts- I mean, homes)! The acoustics were absolutely incomparable! The way that the stone arches resonate with sound is breathtaking. And the organ was giant, of course. It was beautiful. Unfortunately, all the candle-lighting across European churches had left me bereft of spare change for buying candles, so I left the church without having lit one.
We stopped by a chocolatier (one of many) to purchase a box of Belgian chocolates. There are three Belgian things that every tourist should sample in their time in Belgium, and I can say that I have sampled all three. The chocolates were absolutely stunning, but my brother ate the marzipan, so I didn’t get an opportunity to try it! I still haven’t tasted marzipan yet…
We walked around more until night fell, watching people, shopping, and watching the (rather attractive) carriage drivers who ferried tourists through the city in genuine horse-drawn carriages. We didn’t take a carriage, unfortunately, but they looked very comfortable and fun. We stopped to rest for an hour or two in the main plaza of Brugge, which is similar to the main plaza of Delft, in Holland, but on a gigantic scale. In the shadow of a statue of two former insurrectionists (research the history of Brugge), we rested and I did a quick sketch of the city’s famous belfry. After resting we wandered over to a pizza place, where I sampled the last of the three Belgian foodstuffs that one must taste with my meal (well, I’m close enough to the drinking age here, and besides, it was a taste- a sample, if you will).
After dinner we walked around until night fell, and then we drove back home to Eindhoven, arriving at roughtly 2400. So, essentially, we were out of the house from about 0730 until 2400. A big day-trip, eh?
Sunday, July 13- The day was fairly uneventful, for we stayed in Eindhoven. After sleeping in for a bit, the family awoke and trudged out to the Living Museum here in Eindhoven. Essentially it’s like a village that lives in the middle ages.
It’s a rural, permanent Renaissance Festival (for you Arizonans), supporting about 30 to 40 permanent villagers and maybe 15-20 non-villager actors. Of course they aren’t a sort of cult or anything, they just prefer to live that way. In any case, it was quaint and enjoyable, what we understood. It was entirely in Dutch as well, so there was a bit of a downside to that… Anyhow, it was nice, and the weapons displays were interesting and amusing (and again, in Dutch, so there wasn’t much I could understand). 
After that, we left for the apartment and had an altogether restful weekend. I think that we’ve only been in town for… lessee, maybe half of our weekends? I know that we did most of our outings on the weekends, since my dad has work on weekdays… Anyhow, to tie up a few loose ends, I shall include this previously written but not included blog entry:Eindhoven:
Eindhoven is a business city. Not famous on the world map for anything in particular, it still has its own charm and pleasant sights. It, like all of the other cities in Holland, is laced with red bicycle lanes, bus lanes, and car lanes, all passing dangerously close to and across one another. I can’t say I’ve lived the life of a native, nor have I completely lived the life of a tourist- my experiences here have been something in the nebulous in-between. I never really wore anything that was fashionably “in” here, but I could pass as a generally eccentrically-clad person: I’ve been addressed in Dutch on many occasions by passersby, solicitors, and sales clerks. So I didn’t do too bad, I think.
Eindhoven is something like, well, the closest I could come to describing it would be as a less touristy San Francisco. It has its clubs, its shopping, and even its rural areas, and some history on the edges, too. Literally on the edges- manor houses that have been here for generations lace the town’s outskirts on sprawling, overgrown estates. Eindhoven, of course, has the almost-requisite number of old churches, but not many people attend them any more. There are plenty of bars and clubs for a fairly interesting night life, and the shopping isn’t too bad. The streets are clean, the people are civil, and only now and again you get missed by the occasional speeding scooter in the bike lane.
There are three lanes here in high use- bicycle lanes, bus lanes, and general traffic (car) lanes. Bicycle lanes are wide (I know I’ve described them before) and wide enough to even be mistaken for car lanes some times. Fortunately, they are identified by their red-clay colored asphalt. Bike lanes are traversed by scooters, bicycles, and other variations of motorized cycle. They generally run in the same directions car lanes do, but they have their own street lights and stops. Bus lanes are the real wild-cards. Half the time you don’t know which direction they’re going in, and more often then not they seem to go the opposite way that the car lanes go. The buses here are just as big as busses in the states (as opposed to US car vs. European car size ratios), so you have to be very careful to watch both sides of the road before crossing the road.
Speaking of crossing the road, jaywalking is generally ignored. When the cars are paused or not in sight, feel free to cross at the nearest crosswalk or dip in the pavement. The price is on your own head if you need major amputation or kill yourself. In Europe people take the pedestrian crossing lights as more of a suggestion and less of a requirement. Of course there are people who actually will wait for the light to change, even if it takes ten minutes (I’m exaggerating a bit) of standing in front of a completely empty street. I don’t think anything could quite compare to jaywalking Parisian streets, though. Now that’s exhilarating! They ought to make souvenir t-shirts that say “I jaywalked in Paris and survived!”
Anyhow, yes. That’s the general bustle of the city. There’s a park if you want to walk down there, there’s stuff to shop around and in if you’re bored, and there are plenty of benches for intrepid bicyclists or pedestrians who need to catch their breaths. Eindhoven’s great. ^^
That’s the general summation of my most interesting parts of my trip. Most of our bags are packed and almost ready to go, and I’m feeling fairly homesick for Eindhoven without even leaving! Today (I went to sleep in the middle of writing this blog entry and its now woensdag 16 juli) is a typical drizzly and gray Dutch day, and I wouldn’t change it for the world. The red cobbles are slick with rain, puddles of water lurking where you’d least expect them. The sky is solid, matte gray, devoid of depth or distinguishable cloud texture (though one knows that it’s all gray clouds), and there’s a slight breeze outside. It is absolutely wonderful. If it weren’t for… well, a couple things, I’d love to live here. I know, I know, I’m crazy for saying that, but still.
For all that I’ve given Holland a bad rap, its still a great country. The people are fairly nice (what I’ve seen of them- my father tells me that prejudice can get pretty bad in some areas), the weather is wet and rainy (you know you’re an Arizonan when: you enjoy wet and rainy!), the city houses are crammed all together and everybody uses bicycles, and… I just love this place! Europe is absolutely fantastic. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to come back, but returning is going to be one of my dreams and goals. Nothing can really compare, in the States, not really, with regards to sheer amounts of history and literary value. Just thinking about all the people, all the great thinkers, philosophers, and writers that walked where I had gone makes me absolutely dizzy! There are so many things I haven’t been able to talk about that I haven’t had the opportunity to, so maybe one day I’ll be able to resurrect this blog and put it all down. But I think this is going to be my last in-Europe entry, so I’m going to get as much down as possible because for some reason, in Arizona it isn’t just the same. I’ll put up a returning to AZ entry later on. My thanks go out to all of you who stuck with me, prayed for me, and read all of these crazy entries. I don’t think this experience would have been quite the same if I hadn’t had all you wonderful people to talk to, think about, and write to. I hope all of you had an amazing, wonderful summer, and,
Farewells upon thine heads,
Gabby
