Monthly Archives: September 2014

Brusells ‘La Grande Place’ – Medieval Ghent and Bruges

“Put away your plans, maps and preconceived notions and follow the clouds above, if the sky is too blue then track the sun or the stars.  Borders or time constraint exist only for the timid – just go.”               Le Fabulist

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If one travels extensively it is not unusual to meet like-minded men and women, who share the same passion for exploring new vistas and then much like storybook nomads move on seeking the next great unknown. A touch of pride is always present in listing where and when, but most of all to come up with the most exotic, remote or truly interesting destination considered beyond the trodden path.  Seeking the opportunity to see and experience that which I don’t view as normal daily fare is the sine qua non of my personal ‘joy de vivre’.  In conversations between travel aficionados one is often challenged to come up with a personal favourite and I often surprise by naming  Bruges and Ghent in particular and Bruxelles en passant.  It appears to be uniquely my own bias as no one I have encountered in Canada has ever come close to naming Belgium as a travel destination, not even as a go-through or stop-over.   Yet, for  such a smallish country in area and modest population it boasts of a long and interesting history as well as numerous sites worthy of anyone’s close-up look.  It’s a bilingual country, French and Flemish but you’ll also hear German and as in  most of Europe almost everyone can speak a least a rudimentary English.  

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I always by-passed Bruxelles but this time I decided to at least spend an entire day checking it out; I liked what I saw promising myself a longer look next opportunity.  It’s a cosmopolitan city with an intriguing mix of people, international business and presently the de facto capital of the European Union.  Since the end of the Second World War Brussels has become the polyglot home of major European Union (EU) institutions, international organisations, politicians, diplomats and civil servants.  Importantly it is the headquarters of the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) a vital military counter-balance to Soviet threats through the Cold War and now to the renewed super-nationalist ambitions of Vlademir Putin, a would-be Tsar of all the Russian people.  

The imposing structure standing at the border is a symbolic reminder of the traditional French/Belgium amicable relations. 

(Note: To improve your viewing experience click on the photos below to enlarge — once for medium, twice to zoom in.) 

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As soon as you cross over into Belgium here’s an absolute must-do, indulge in Belgian fries (aka French fries but better, oh sacrilege) with a couple of Merguez (spicy sausages) served in a paper cornet and a huge dollop of rich mayonnaise, wash it down with one of the splendid local beers, a guaranteed delightful snack anytime.   I found myself stopping all too often on the byways of Belgium at one of the numerous roadside snack trailers.  In truth, it became a test of will to keep on driving after the third stop in just a couple of hours.  

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In Bruxelles (Brussels if you prefer) the city features many pedestrian avenues and ample squares to shop for flowers, browse, stroll, or sit at an outdoor café and enjoy a refreshing brew.   In August a hugely popular, intricately designed carpet of flowers draws people from far and wide; the first was created in 1971 on La Grand Place by the landscape architect E. Stautemans.  Although he’s created floral masterpieces in many other great venues, he claims,“Nowhere is the carpet more beautiful and distinguished than in the unique, ancient surroundings of the Grand-Place in Brussels”.  Can anyone doubt his words? 

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The beauty of the carpets are mostly due to the lovely begonia. Chosen for its qualities of robustness, resistance to bad weather and strong sunshine the  versatile flower guarantees the long life and freshness of the carpet. It also gives it a kaleidoscope of colours – from vivid splashes to delicate pastel shades, to the parti-colored and white flowers which reflect the light so well.

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La Grande Place is the central square of  Brussels and a favored tourist destination. It is surrounded by guildhalls, the city’s Town Hall and the Breadhouse built in traditional Flemish architecture. 

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Many European cities lay claim to offering the grandest squares or piazzas but other than St. Mark’s in Venice in my view none quite equal La Grande Place.  Ara, a dear friend has proposed London’s Trafalgar Square based on history and architecture as worthy of inclusion too, perhaps, but I form my opinion based of my proclivity for taking photos.  As at India’s fabulous Taj Mahal a few years earlier I could find no angle here that didn’t produce a fine result and personally that is the main criteria on which I make my choice.    

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Hopefully my admiration concerning ‘La Grande Place‘ was adequately displayed in the previous photos; but the time came to drive off to Ghent a beautifully preserved medieval centre and presently a modern thriving city. Ghent is the capital city of Flemish Belgium, a prosperous town with a quarter million inhabitant.  For my part it was a fortuitous discovery a few years ago originally meant simply as a stop for a quick look-see on my way to Amsterdam.  I was so intrigued that I stayed two days and have since returned twice and surely more in the future.  I was delighted to be greeted by a handsome four-legged Belgian guarding the medieval gateway.    

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Ghent’s wealth in the early medieval period was based on international trade, the import and export of wheat, and the manufacture of luxury woollen cloth.  The city’s trade benefitted from being traversed by a river linking it directly to Bruges and the North Sea hence to the world.   There is so much to see that it is an injustice to share so few photos but self-discipline is required as not to overload and risk boring you.  

The classic tower and the battlement of Gravensteen Castle and the splendid architecture along the old Graslei harbour. Much of the city’s medieval architecture is remarkably well preserved and when required restored to its former state by skillful artisans. 

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I head into St. Bavo’s, the city’s venerable cathedral founded in the 7th century, to see for myself how extravagant were the city’s wealthy burghers in parading their riches; the Catholic Church often was the grateful recipient of great art donations.

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Highlights of the interior decoration include the Baroque high altar (1702–1782), in white, black and red flamed marble, the rococo pulpit (1741–1745), made in oak, gilded wood and white and black marble.  There is a wealth of precious art and artifacts to discover and admire in the vault, along the walls and adorning the several alcoves and side chapels.  

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Visiting the great cathedrals of Europe is one of my great joys yet I’ve seldom come across one that has so much art on display anywhere your eyes wander – notice the intricate patterns of the marble floor and elaborate doors to side chapels.

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Jan and Hubert van Eyck’s famous Adoration of the Mystic Lamb, better known as the Ghent Altarpiece of 1432, ranks among the most significant works of art in Europe.  Works of historical importance in art such as The Adoration of the Magi along with a much coveted (by invading armies) trend-setting triptich created by Jan and Hubert. 

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The cathedral is home to the work of another artist of note Peter Paul Rubens: Saint Bavo enters the Convent at Ghent. 

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A splendid grouping of admirers in this massive sculpture paying homage to the Jan and Hubert Eyck majestically sitting in the middle.

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The city centre is truly a joy to walk about, admiring the architecture; I felt especially grateful to the local citizens for lovingly preserving their magnificent cultural heritage.  

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The Gravensteen  Castle is strikingly illuminated at night; in fact the entire centre of the historic town is off-limits to cars and thus a great walking venue.  

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Another of the great angles to take photos – here we have St. Nicholas Church and opulent storefronts of wealthy merchants.  

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As all good things must come to an end I regretfully bid adieu to Ghent and drove west to Bruges, a short drive  towards the North Sea.  I lost nothing only gaining more appreciation for Belgium as Bruges vies with its larger neighbour for medieval splendour while oozing a particular brand of charm and hospitality.  Best described as a picturesque medieval town with most of its medieval architecture intact its historic city centre is recognized as a UNESCO World Heritage Site since 2000.  

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Quite by happenstance not long ago I happened to stumble on a fine British film titled, ‘In Bruges’.  A benighted ganster played by Colin Farell, who is awaiting for a murderous assignment to come his way expresses his heartfelt sentiment and initially I was dumbstruck when vehemently he repeated over and over, “Bruges is a shit hole!”  On the other hand his partner in crime was delighted and attempted (in vain) to show him the errors of his ways.  In keeping with the scenario many of Bruges delights were on cinematic display.  I highly recommend the film as it was excellent on many levels, praise I don’t make lightly, with fine acting all around and a solid  plot. The Belfry is the setting for a tense and surprising dénouement.  As I’m sure we all feel, I was delighted to exclaim to my viewing companion, “Hey, I’ve been there.”

Start off by visiting the ‘Markt’, a pleasant and busy square; then head for the Belfry, the lofty 13th century medieval bell tower.  It houses a splendid carillon 48 bells.  The city still employs a full-time carillonneur, who gives free concerts on a regular basis.

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After admiring the vista, to recover from the tower’s steps head to one of the many restaurant patios located in the Markt, grab some food, personally I love the delicious Belgian waffles, have a drink and catch your breath.  The square is wonderfully alive and oftentimes a military band performs upbeat marching music from the large gazebo strategically located right in the centre.

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Luckily I found a comfortable and in retrospect for the price bargain accommodations in the best part of town for a visitor.   My small hotel was right in the centre of the foreground with a friendly restaurant below where to enjoy my breakfast on the patio.

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Belgium is famous for its canals and Bruges is nicknamed ‘Little Venice’ – a great way to get oriented is to start with a boat ride around the canals that ring the centre of town. This pleasant jaunt gives access to places you wouldn’t see either on foot or bike. At one time, it was considered the  ‘chief commercial city’ of the world and to this day it retains a significant economic importance thanks the Leie River, its port and direct access to the North Sea hence the world. 

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Many of its medieval buildings are notable, including the Church of Our Lady whose spire reaches 122 m (401 ft), making its tower one of the world’s highest brick structure. The sculpture Madonna and Child which can be seen in the transept, is believed to be Michelangelo’s only sculpture to have left Italy within his lifetime.   On my first visit to Bruges, when I first entered the church I walked the right hand aisle and in a marbled alcove, I spotted the striking statue of a Madonna and Child.  Strangely, I immediately thought of Michelangelo having previously admired his splendid Pieta inside St. Peters, in Rome.  A  small plaque confirmed to my delight (I felt really clever) indeed it was created by the sublime Renaissance artist.  I looked over my shoulder to make sure I was not observed, tip-toed up to the base and very respectfully passed my hand over the lowest part of the statue to touch what Michelangelo had magically worked centuries ago.  The photos are not of the best quality as at that time I did not have a digital camera so this is the result of taking close-ups from print photos.   In the interest of being honest the anecdote related was during my first visit decades ago when not even a plain glass partition was deemed necessary, ah the good old days.  

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The memory is all the more poignant as presently the very same statue is now secured behind a bullet-proof glass and the viewer must stand at least 5 metres (15 f.) distance away.  The result I learned stemmed from the wanton attack in 1972 on the Pieta (soon after my own moment of happiness) by a mad man who took a hammer to the beautiful face.  I suppose in retrospect I might have been more circumspect and admired the statue from a distance, yet I’d be less than candid if I say to not holding this as a cherished memory.  

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Oh, I almost forgot and that really would have been a big miss – since the middle-ages Bruges has been famous for fine lacework with a specialized local technique and patterns that are immediately recognized by knowledgeable enthusiasts.  Delicate lace curtains festoon windows  particularly in the olden parts of the town, a tradition that is very much alive to this day. 

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On my first trip years ago I had the good sense to purchase a large lace table cloth for my mother; on my last trip I came to realize what a bargain I had in comparison to today’s prices.  

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There you have my sincere compliments paid to Belgium and its people; this small, effervescent country is justifiably proud of a long and brave history.  Think of it as a deep basket of interesting sites, culture and art (many recognized by UNESCO), wonderfully preserved medieval towns, mouth-watering chocolates, good food, exceptional beer, friendly folks and a quality sure to please the budget conscious traveler, easy on the pocket book.  No doubt I’ll return yet again,  to act on a desire to explore and enjoy a whole lot more that I know is awaiting in the  Plains of Flanders.  

A note to my ‘très gentil’ followers and, so we are clear, I don’t mean to appear self-important but that’s how you my friends are referred to in the parlance of the blogger.  At any rate,  I’ve been chided by some of my Canadian friends for neglecting this  immense and often times grandiose country.  Living in British Columbia most certainly provides a plethora of beautiful scenery and spectacular vistas.   Therefore in the near future I’ll offer a selection of memorable views taken over the years in and around Vancouver and roaming the ways and byways of this richly varied province.  Until then, à bientôt!  

Blowing Magic Bubbles

“No matter how far you travel, you never get away from yourself.  It’s like your shadow. It follows you everywhere.”                        Haruki Murakami – ‘After the Quake’

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Foreign travel is my life’s passion but of necessity I return home (along with my shadow,) albeit reluctantly to water my plants and change shirts.  Soon enough the welcome of familiar surroundings becomes humdrum but fortunately I reside immediately facing Vancouver’s Stanley Park and Lost Lagoon is a stone’s throw from my door.  In praise of this immense urban park, I’ll vouch to never knowing what  awaits behind a majestic Douglas fir or along the ten kilometres of seawall around English Bay.  Daily I stroll along the leafy paths and feed the chickadees,  the squirrels too and if in a forgiving mood perhaps indulge a thieving racoon or two, especially the new born in the spring that admittedly are cute little rascals.

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(Note: To improve your viewing experience click on the photos below to enlarge — once for medium, twice to zoom in.) 

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At any rate one day this spring as I ambled down the shady lane leading to the lagoon, I was surprised, no, in fact, flabbergasted by what materialized in front of my eyes.  A soap bubble so large it almost filled up all of the sky between two large cedars.  I had no idea where that dazzling UFO had come from, it hovered an instant then in a breath of air flew upwards and in the sunlight a kaleidoscope of colours shimmered as if by magic.

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Those who know me well will not be surprised when I claim blowing soap bubbles in the wind is a wonderfully therapeutic activity.  To be candid it’s an activity I am totally in tune with, one might say I was born to be a Bubble Blower.  I can imagine nothing more heavenly, as fragile or short-lived and therein lies its poignant charm.   I might compare the bubble’s evanescent  existence to the span of a human life since when we first walked the face of this planet.  ‘Time’ is incomprehensible, beyond control, aloof and willful, fleeting as a shooting star.    But, this is to be a happy anecdotal story and thus I’ll spare you from more of such kill-joy musings.

Cherry blossoms seen behind the diaphanous bubble have but a short life span as well; such loveliness cannot be hoarded but pause and breathe in the time of a sigh, let go and await next year.  Always allowing myself the gift of a future pleasure is part of my personality make-up, or as a perspicacious friend claims me to be, “The Eternal Optimist.”  Truthfully I can’t quibble with that statement and am rather happy about it and grateful for such priceless good fortune. 

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Bubbles must be blown in the wind so the element of unpredictability is present every second, the god Zephyr must be of a mood  to change the direction and shape of a bubble to create the most whimsical of shapes and bursts of colours.   Now how did I come to blow bubbles? I mean gigantic bubbles that have no kinship with those of childhood.  Remember? You’d find a straw, carefully slice one end perhaps four or five times, bend the flaps to create a kind of starfish shaped instrument.

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 Then you’d dip it in a soapy water, warm but not too warm, pick up a small drop, carefully bring it to the mouth and then a blow a steady but gentle stream of air through the other end.  Result? Soap bubbles would materialize and with a delicate shake the bubble would release and fly off for an ethereal moment of glory.

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Indeed, even then as a burgeoning romantic lad I had come to equate soap bubbles with the fickleness of life.  Was I destined even then to be circumspect about my future prospects? Happily, I can emphatically say not but it was a close call after we’d emigrated to these shores when I was in my mid-teens.  Without being over stating the culture shock was traumatic and I never quite totally got over it.  But that’s an altogether other story to be told in full in my autobiography (presently in the furrowed brow stage).  

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Or they’d pop almost immediately and that too made me learn the rudiments of a philosophical stoicism admixed with an altar boy’s faith and hope about what to expect from life.  Some bubbles last and others don’t, and that’s that.  Well, all this is really of not much import however it does serve to introduce my recent adventure with soap bubbles, but in this instance gigantic, colourful ones such as my wildest dreams wouldn’t have been able to imagine. So, what is the science behind these beauties?  A soap bubble is an extremely thin film of soapy water enclosing air that forms a hollow sphere with an iridescent surface.   Not to get too technical (don’t want to ruin the whimsical quality) when light shines on the surface beautiful colours shimmer and swirl arising from interference of light reflecting off the front and back of the microscopically thin soap film.   And my friends, that’s where the explanations stop before it destroys the whimsical nature of blowing magic bubbles.  

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A few steps and I discovered where and who was the inspired creator of that surprise.  And that immediately brought to mind the very same phenomenal puffs of soap in front of Musée Pompidou, in Paris.  A few years ago for the first time in my life I saw a man entertaining a sizeable crowd, adults and children alike,  creating giant diaphanous air balloons. Curious as always,  I learned after chatting he now earned a good living from the coins tossed in to a hat.  In a heavily accented French he told coming from the Azore Islands where as a boy he’d learned the trick from his grand-father.  One afternoon he’d taken his children to a nearby park to entertain with bubbles as there was no money for carousel rides and instantly a sizeable crowd had gathered to cheer the display.  

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Months unemployed and unable to find a job he’d taken a chance to do exactly what he was doing then and it now fed him, a wife and two children.   There were several other entertaining acts in the large square fronting the Pompidou Centre but he had by far the largest gathering, no wonder, I thought, each and every one of us must at one time have blown tiny little bubbles and here was the absolute Everest compared to our puny hill of beans.  

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If I were of a mind to wax poetic I’d suggest this hopeful young lady is reaching for a bit of ethereal happiness.   I hope she finds it much more permanent than that elusive bit of froath but just as beautiful.

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The creator of the bubble was doing his thing by the edge of the water.  Later he told me the location was perfect as the wind was just right, neither too strong nor too weak with enough changes in direction to allow for different flight patterns.  Indeed, contrary to the bubbles of youth, these giants at times flew a considerable distance and lasted ten or more seconds.  Let me introduce the artist who delighted me and a gathering crowd with an impressive series of splendid bubbles.   His name is Rimvi and he turned out to be a really decent and generous fellow – you’ll soon discover why I thought so.

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Was he talented? Sure, look, he could conjure up  ‘doubles’ too.  Wow!  And the next one was HUGE!

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I spent several minutes watching and growing envious too.  Finally, I approached and asked if he’d be so kind as to let me try my hand at the exercise.  As I’d surmised since only a fine young man would take such pleasure in blowing bubbles he readily agreed and now you can judge for yourself if I possessed any latent yet promising  talent.

Oops, that was a bit of a bust … no pun, really, it went ‘ploop’ right off.  

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The truth is it took a few tries to get the hang of releasing the bubbles.  Making one was relatively easy although to be candid no sure thing, that came along soon enough but they seemed to get stuck to the tip end of my sticks.

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It took a bit of practice and a deft move. Think of it as if you were releasing a dove in the air.   Throwing your hands upwards but reasonably gently while tip-toeing back two or three steps,  gingerly but with purpose — in other words it took a little practice but I got it and now I share with you my best bubbles. 

Ah, that was better!

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This monumental (to my eyes) effort was caught on camera a milli-second before blowing up.  Notice the bottom tearing up.  

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This one was a winner, almost the size of a whale but the wrong camera angle as the sunlight was too bright and the colours didn’t  show well;  yet notice the witnessing couple in ‘shock and awe’ at the evidence of my prowess.  

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Finally  I’ll leave you with this shot, I don’t know, really if it was MY bubble or Rimvi’s but what the heck, I’ll be generous let it be his and I’ll take credit for a great shot, catching just the right angle of sun rays for maximum kaleidoscope effects.  

P1110042_2  Yes sir, I’m a generous kinda fella, love to spread the praise around, pour moi aussi naturellement.   A final note, I’m going to find the ‘bubble artist’ again, then I’ll plead with him to instruct me on how to manufacture the paraphernalia required to create my own happiness bubbles whenever and wherever.  My next trip I’ll share will be to Belgium – see you then.  Aurevoir mes amis.

‘Evanescence’

As a soap bubble life is ephemeral

let me live it with grace and dazzle

and when I burst out from existence

one tear drop I’ll leave as evidence.

On the smooth cool marble proclaim

a passionate heart was his domain.

Le Fabulist