Edinburgh

A street in Edinburgh where the buildings curve

If I said I loved Brugge before, well I loved Edinburgh even more. As far as cities go, it's my favorite so far. (As far as places, my favorite is now the Irish country side, but that's to come in the next post).

Getting to Edinburgh the short version. Due to a taxi booking error Rebecca and I missed our flight to Edinburgh, decided to take a flight to Stansteed/London, and from there found a night bus to Edinburgh. While on the night bus a 'massive lorrie' whipped off the side rear view mirror. The bus driver and his assistant attempted to fix it, but it fell off again. We were transferred to another bus which took us to Edinburgh. We arrived around 12 hrs later than planned, but all we really missed was sleeping at the hostel. We saw some of the countryside and didn't miss out on much time in Edinburgh.

Our Hostel

The Tartan Wool Factory 

The Writer's Museum

We went to the Tartan Wool Mill where we saw the Tartan being made. We also discovered the writer's museum. Rebecca and I ate lunch in the Elephant House, the café where JK Rowling began penning H.P. Looking through my pictures though, I seem to have failed to take one of the café.

Cliffs

Dead Volcano

 I had a lovely hike up to the cliffs, and walked along the top. Than I hiked to the top of the dead volcano. The view was gorgeous, but my camera was not the best at dim lighting photos.

A better picture of what I climbed/hiked

The view, of Edinburgh and the glowing Castle

Failing at Blogging

I apologize for my lack of blogging. Partly it was due to course work. However there was time really, I just got lazy. The first weekend I missed blogging about wasn't extremely interesting. I stayed back at the Castle, and played a lot of settlers of Catan. We also went to the Thermal Baths, and walked around Düsseldorf in the rain. The subsequent weekend was much more eventful. We went to Edinburgh and it was certainly an adventure getting there. I don't really have time to do it justice, the week of midterms is not ideal for catching up on a blog that is almost 3 weeks behind (yikes). And lastly this weekend I just returned from Ireland where I connected with family members whom I'd never met, and had the most wonderful time.

Climbing the Belfry and the Trip Home

On Sunday morning we climbed the 366 winding steps to the top of the Belfry and looked out at a Brugge shrouded in morning mist. I wrote my travel writing piece for this week on the Belfry, using third person and a historical angle. I'll include it in the bottom of this post. After admiring the view and listening to the bells chime, we climbed down glad that when we climbed up it was early enough that we didn't have to step aside for anyone coming down.

View from the Belfry and the Stairs

 

The rest of the day we spent relaxing. We took our lunch to a canal away from the tourist center of Brugge and enjoyed the peace and quiet, before our train ride home. (Below on the left Natalie and Melinda, my roomies. On the right the house with the most roof steps that we counted (25) steps are a sign of wealth, the more the richer).

The trains ran smoothly, we got on bus 83, the bus that should have deposited us back in Well. Here were are at the bus stop in Gennep where we were stranded for 1/2 and hr. The bus route to well was a different 83 (the bus driver drove that one too). He went on his half hour break and came back and drove the route to Well. So eventually bus 83 got us home, with stopover in Gennep.

(Above: August and Natalie rocking out to ipod music. Right: Melinda being awesome).


And now some higher quality writing. Yes I realize I spell Brugge differently in the piece. Brugge is how it's spelled in Brugge. Bruges is the American spelling and also the spelling used in the poem I quoted.

Belfry of Bruges

The words of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow still ring true today: “In the market-place of Bruges stands the belfry old and brown;/ Thrice consumed and thrice rebuilt, still it watches o’er the town.” Climb the stairs; spiraling up, they narrow as they near the top. The steps, though darkened with age, haven’t been there since the Belfry first stood looking over the market square. Wire grating encloses the top for the safety of tourists, indicating the tower now serves as an idle destination rather than the safeguard of the city. and the viewer looks out through the rectangle grid. Spread out in the morning mist below, brick houses with orange roof tiling line winding cobblestone streets, and the occasional canal wends through. Gothic church buildings and other towers of importance rise above the town. These buildings, impressive from the ground, shrink when viewed from the top of the Belfry tower.

Built in the 13^th century, the Belfry served as a lookout tower. The bells warned of danger, announced a variety of important events. They rang a different sound for every message. Now the tourist climbs hears them ring the quarter hour. A symbol of the city both politically and economically, the Belfry tower housed Bruges’ important documents, and the halls below contained the flemish cloth market.

During the middle ages the Belfry watched over the most important trade center for the north-west of Europe. Merchants and guilds flourished, Grote Markt below bustled. Along with prosperity came revolts, as the divide between the merchants and the workman grew. Revolt broke out in 1280, the Belfry a casualty consumed in fire. The fire destroyed the city archives. Twice more the Belfry burned and each time they rebuilt it, a living emblem of the city’s vitality. For another century, trade, artisans, and guilds flourished in Bruges, then political instability saw the end of it and Bruges was left behind in the industrial revolution, Antwerp stealing the position of most important trade center.

Now in the scene below tourists fill the square. They gather around the statues of Jan Breydal and Pieter de Coninck, sitting down for a rest, to chat and eat a snack from one of the two booths below the tower. They have no idea they sit by men who led Bruges in victorious revolt against French rule. A line of people stands in the square, and it is unclear what they wait for until a horse and buggy clatters across the cobblestones, stopping in front of the line for new passengers. They wait to see the city by a more old fashioned method. The horse and buggies meld into the historic background of the city, with its carefully maintained medieval style houses. Down a winding off-street on the square, a group of American students sits enjoying waffles outside a small eatery. The proprietor’s brother-in-law complains about the lack of music concerts, while praising the cleanliness of Bruges. He explains that to paint the window—here he gestures to the large decals of a waffle, sandwich, and spaghetti adorning the glass—the design must be approved by the city. This management stands as testament to the tourism that has replaced lively trade as the sustenance of Bruges.

I Fell in Love with Brugge

For any computer geniuses who may be reading this: I have a lot of photos to share, what is the best/easiest way, should I use flicker? what do you recommend.

Now Brugge

Brugge is a gorgeous, picturesque, clean city. The only detraction are the masses of tourists, but if you wander away to the quieter streets you will find them empty and peaceful. A city of cobblestone streets winding through brick houses with steps up the roof facades. The bricks are orange, brown, tan, yellow, red, and a few have even been painted (whitewashed in most cases). As you wander away from the center square you encounter canals, with bridges. The canals seem to be organized in a haphazard manner and don't all have streets running alongside them. I found it a little hard to follow the canals, I kept encountering brick buildings I had to walk around.

Jaci, Tess, Kai, Dan, and I (those of the group who went on the Maastricht day trip) arrived in Brugge at around 10 pm or so. The first train took forever to leave, it was late, and then we stood on the train (it was crowded) waiting for it to leave for half and hour. Luckily we made our connecting train. We reached the hostel, and joined the rest of the group. The rooms in the hostel were actually quite decent, and we had them to ourselves (our group was broken into 3 rooms one of 6, one of 4, and a double).

After a shower to shock one awake (it was cold). We went for breakfast. We found a place that was open, and ate waffles with chocolate—delicious.






After waffles, the flea market. A square filled with food (baked goods, cheese, meat (bleh), good food not fair food), clothing (from fashionable and over priced to the bargain prices the older women were examining). We scored on some sweaters. I was on the look out because I was concerned I didn't have enough layers for when the weather turned. I got a cardigan, sweater, and turtleneck for a total of 13 EUR.

But wait, there's more. We went followed the market down a street. Demonstrations of vegetable slicers in dutch?, and cheese samples. Another square at the end of the street, this filled with flowers, plants, and produce. There were even live animals. Chickens in boxes, hopefully being sold as laying hens. And bunny rabbits. I petted all of the bunnies. I was concerned of the fate of these bunnies, the only practical uses involve them dead. But on my way out I saw a girl (probably in her late teens) holding a black and white one. I saw her put it in a cardboard box. From the way she was holding it, she was buying it to love it.

Next: Choco-Story, the museum that tells the history of chocolate. At the entrance a sample of chocolate. The most delicious part, at the end a demo, and sample. In between interesting documentation of chocolate from when it was mixed with blood (Aztecs and Mayans) to present day. The reason why dark chocolate is superior to milk is the chocolate sugar ratio. Way more chocolate in the dark. The milk is just mostly sugar. Probably also why dark chocolate is thought to be healthier.



Going through the museum at our different paces, the group split up. I ended up coming out of the museum by myself. After part of the group and before the rest. So I started wandering around Brugge on my own. It's the type of city you can do that in. Eventually I ran into Rebecca, and we went to Our Lady's Church where Michelangelo's Madonna and Child is. I sat in front of it trying to understand why it was special. Sometimes seeing too much art, it all starts to look the same, and one has to stop and consider a piece to see it's value. Then we met up with others for dinner. Pasta for 4 EUR–almost more than I could eat, deal.

After dinner the entire group we booked a hostel with went out to a bar. We were in the back room, and at first it was just us. There was classical music playing and no smoke. It was nice to be able to just chill, and talk. I got a hot-chocolate. A few people were a little tipsy by the end, but no one was really drunk. Everyone was just happy.

It wasn't the alcohol either, 4 of us weren't drinking and everyone was happy before the bar.

Belfry at Night

Back from Brugge

I apologize for the lack of posts, I was doing a fair amount of reading for classes, and then also trying plan and book trips, and research places I am thinking of/ interested in going to. I went to Brugge this weekend and loved it. It is a very peaceful and cozy city, very pretty. I'll post more tomorrow. For now here is the piece I turned in for my travel writing class on Thursday. It is on Amsterdam. There are photos at the bottom to accompany it, but hopefully my description is good enough that they are unnecessary.

Violated Sanctuary

In the inner city of Amsterdam there is a small courtyard, the last of its kind from the middle ages. It would be a secluded place to live if it wasn’t so old, if it didn’t contain a hidden chapel from the days when Catholics were forced to worship in secret, if it didn’t contain history, if it wasn’t a place of notice, if it wasn’t beautiful. But it is all these things and tourists tramp through clicking cameras.

This courtyard was a site we visited on our walking tour of Amsterdam. Our guide briefly told us that the courtyard was one of the last in Amsterdam, and to be quiet because people lived there. But told us nothing of the actual place before we walked in, all I know I found out later. I remember the entryway was a rather unassuming door in a white washed wall, then a tunnel—dim in comparison to the bright day.

Upon emerging from the tunnel, the courtyard is picturesque. Islands of green perfectly cut grass adorned with statues, and trees, are surrounded by tall brick buildings. There is one wooden building, dark—it is one of the oldest in Amsterdam and one of two wooden buildings in the city’s center, another reason to see the courtyard. Looking left there is a deep recess between two buildings, one white washed and the other red brick. Religious pictures on the far wall, look like decorations a child pasted on a doll house wall, unframed and surrounded by swaths of white. Central in the courtyard is an old church. A brick facade rising to a steeple, and double doors of a rich wood with swirling iron hinges. Now this church is the English reformed church; when it was built it was a Catholic chapel and the courtyard around it housed the Beguines, chaste women who cared for the sick and elderly. And then there was the Protestant reformation and Catholicism was outlawed, except for in private. And now we come to another attraction in this courtyard, the Begijnhof Chapel.

Our guide said we were going into the Chapel, and then turned away from the church. To the building across, a simple whitewashed one. The ‘hidden church’ was built for the private Catholic worship.

We entered the hidden chapel and it seemed wrong to take pictures, but everyone else was flashing their cameras filling the place of seclusion with the click of shutters, and I wanted pictures too. An older man with thinning gray hair, a gruffness about the edges, his stomach pushing slightly at a red and white striped T-shirt, entered the chapel. He took a candle in a red votive candleholder, lit it and set it beside other glowing candles. He stepped around to the pew in front of the candles and knelt down to pray. The cameras desecrated the place of worship. The place was not an out of use historical building, it was a church and every lit candle was someone’s prayer. Not only did the cameras violate the place, my camera prevented me from absorbing its essence. I wonder if the use of cameras to remember has clouded our memories, if we have lost some valuable skill and must work to get it back.

We left the chapel and returned to the courtyard. Walking purposefully through the courtyard, someone, I think a dark-haired man carrying a black shoulder bag pushed through one of two metal bars that formed a gate. One was engraved with “Alleen voor Bewoners” and the other read “Residents Only”. I don’t distinctly remember what the person looked like, and am even doubting now whether it was in fact a man, I’ve since read that the houses are still home to single women. What I remember most strongly is thinking: what would it be like to live here in a private place with no privacy?