Bruges Canal Cities I

Biking in Belgium from Bruges to Damme means canals, windmills and bridges. 

Rich and I have rambled homeless since mid-May with adventures in southern and northern Spain and a month in Italy. We read that Spain places second only to Switzerland in having the most mountains in Europe. We explored this and traveled over, under, around or took pictures of many of those Spanish mountains. The overs, arounds and pictures almost always involved any combination of fog, rain, hail, sharp turns, falling rocks, narrow lanes and cows or bicycles in the road. And we loved it all (some after the event, if not during). Some day, I will post those photos and stories.

Today, we are in Garmisch, Germany. Trying to recapture all our unrecorded rambles to this point will take months, so I decided to restart Rambling Solo beginning in early August when we departed Spain for Belgium. I had planned mussels in Brussels for years, but opted instead for Bruges, one of the most beautiful towns I have seen.

Bruges Highlights

Canals, bridges, locks and windmills became our landmarks in Bruges. Canals wend through Bruges similar to Venice, but Bruges sparkles with vitality and health and lacks the sinking-into-the-sea feel of Venice, the decay and decadence imparted by Thomas Mann's Death in Venice. Bruges is clean and orderly, and the canals are bordered by houses topped by stairstep peaks. Travel is by bicycle, foot, motorbike, car or boat, in that order. Four windmills, only one working, line the main canal. The bridges on the main canal are raised for boat traffic and lowered for bikes, pedestrians, motorcycles and cars. The bridges also form part of the lock system. Astride our bikes, we watched a barge fill the length and width of the canal between two bridges, and we waited while the influx of water raised the barge to the next level to continue its trip. Then we continued ours.

Bruges has canals and swimmers
crowd the pier on a sunny day.

Church of Our Lady, Onze-Lieve-Vrouwekerk, is under repair with scaffolding outside and barriers inside. The interior is sad with cracks in walls and ceiling, chunks from columns, discolored marble floors, water damage on walls and columns. The art alone attracts visitors. Tucked into a niche of an altarpiece with other sculptures, Michelangelo's "Madonna and Child" exemplifies the and sublime nature of his work. Religious paintings depict biblical scenes with Flemish facial features, clothing, background details contrasting to the Spanish biblical features so familiar from our months in Spain.

Michelangelo's "Madonna and Child"

The Church of Our Lady and the clock tower glow
on the edge of the view from our room.

Next door to the church, the Groeninge Museum provides a lesson in Flemish art from medieval religious painting to contemporary artists. Signage for each age explains how art changed in emphasis from one period to another, how artists were influenced by earlier painters and by events in the world around them. Slowly over this past year, I have become enamoured with portraits, where I see cultural shifts, dress, history, art technique and personalities. This museum was my first introduction to the Flemish Primitives, a group of artists including Jan van Eyck, Hans Memling, Hugo van der Goes and Gerard David, who began to experiment with oil paint that better created the glint of metal, the softness of fur, the tactile delineation of silks, satins or brocades. Although I could not find an official site for links to the art, you can find examples of these artists online.

Fun Discoveries

We rode rental bikes from Bruges to Damme (maybe seven kilometers). Following the canal path, we saw occasional Eurasian coots, water lilies blooming, Queen Anne's lace growing alongside. Green fields stretched on either side with cattle or corn. After lunch in Damme, we returned on another route winding along country roads past brick houses with matching brick barns. We braked for one large fenced yard to watch red chickens pecking about, white rabbits chasing each other and sitting guard in center court, a kangaroo, while other roos slept along the fenceline.  

Kangaroo sitting guard

Bruges offered other surprises; at a crowded jazz and wine bar, the combo played American rhythm and blues, including Tennessee Ernie Ford's "Sixteen Tons." From the hills of Appalachia to the low country of Belgium, the music transcends language differences.

Heading for Amsterdam, we returned to Brussels by train. Our planned layover allowed time to load all the bags in a taxi and drive to the narrow side street to see a simple fountain, the Manneken Pis. A tiny replica of the bronze boy was a treasured relic of my childhood, an item then for childish giggles. Although my mother was never in Belgium, I think she carried the tiny bronze home after her war years in London and Paris. A gift? The story behind it seems lost to me. The replica floats still somewhere among family mementos. I could forgo mussels in Brussels, but I could not be in Belgium without paying homage to the Manneken Pis. 

Manneken Pis,designed by
Hiëronymus Duquesnoy the Elder and
placed in Brussels in 1618

 

Bicycles trump cars in Bruges. Outdoor cafes stay
busy even on cool evenings.

 Clean, orderly, houses lined beside
the canals or on cobbled streets,
the town feels like a fairy tale.

 

Houses wear stairstep peaks.

Marilyn Monroe and other replicas keep watch over
tourists waiting for canal tours. Enlarge with a click 
to see the Bruges sense of humor.

Enlarge to see the dragon drain, any
opportunity for art and fun.

Notice the designs on the fence surrounding
this windmill in Bruges.

Spring in Spain

Bridging the mountain top and driving into the Valle de Jerte, I thought morning frost grayed trees and slopes, but as we descended, we began to see the white cherry blossoms covering yards and fields and
extending for miles beside the winding road and scaling the rolling hills.
 

Spring in Madrid blooms from the early almendra (almond) trees to forsythia to the cherry trees spilling down the sides of the Valle de Jerte west of the city. I have been to Spain several times in the summer - sultry July before or after La Fiesta de San Fermin in Pamplona - and a couple of times in either November or March. I am enchanted by this spring with cool mornings and nights, bright sunshine afternoons, cool-in-the-shade days. And to watch the rebirth after seeing only the dusty, dying green of fall dwindle to winter is a reward of seasons.

All photos can be enlarged by clicking in the center.

Almendra blooms first in spring

Forsythia at the Prado

Rich and I celebrated the season with a venture into old Madrid to watch the Semana Santa procession from San Isidro el Real, the church holding the remains of the patron saint of Madrid, Isidore the laborer and his wife Santa Maria. Seville in southern Spain is best known for the processions during Holy Week, but all communities have processions when the relics and icons from the churches are paraded through the streets on the shoulders of young men honored to carry the burden. 

Crowd waits for the procession

The crowd at San Isidro waited hours to view the procession and included young children entertained by the opportunity to play in the blocked streets to chicos drawn to the fiesta atmosphere to older adults who know the best viewpoints.

Lights in street indicate
icon in procession

Dolorosa in procession

The quality of my photos of the procession suffers from distance and growing dusk and tripod lack, but I hope they help you imaging the ritual draw and excitement of the religious event. 

Then weeks later, in Cordoba to meet friends from the U.S., Rich and I heard the drumbeat cadence of a procession and edged into front row standing to watch the passing.

Procession in Cordoba

Leading the procession

Note feet of carriers beneath skirt

Musicians following procession

Earlier in the spring, we ventured to the mountains west of Madrid for a four-day drive to spend nights in Paradors, to hike in the Sierra de Gredos, to substitute cherry trees in the Valle de Jerte for those we would miss in Washington, and to visit the walled medieval pueblo of Caceres.

Wisteria blooms in Caceres

Jonquils in Sierra de Gredos

Medieval Caceres

                                                

Sierra de Gredos

Hiking in the
Sierra de Gredos

Corners and Critters in Spain

Curt, Cindy and Rich walking the wall in Ávila

Si, I am still here in Madrid at least for a rato (short time in espanol). In truth, our days here have been full of movement and language and living. Consider this posting as a "yes, we're still loving Madrid and Spain and thinking of you" postcard. Since March, we've enjoyed visits from my sister Cindy and her friend Curt; from long-time friends Ron and Kim from Salt Lake City and Trout Canyon; and from my sister Terri. 

I have been immersed, head down, in Spanish classes, 4 hours a day/five days a week. I now have many, many verb conjugations floating about in my head, totally muddled. The difficult feat is to have them flow from muddy mind to smooth oral discourse unimpeded by my constant need to edit. Having finally decided my mind is on shutdown for any new information, I've left the daily classes, but Rich and I now attend a private class for an hour on Tuesdays and Thursdays, just to practice talking. For Rich, those of you who also love him, know he willingly practices talking given any lull. 

Now for the postcard, photos from our travels with Curt and Cindy and alone over the last couple of months. Cindy emails photos with quips highlighting her travels every week and always includes wildlife from hikers to snakes. This posting is dedicated to her, and my condolences to all who aren't on her list. Watch for more soon.

Enlarge any photos with a single or double click in the center.

Cindy and Rich wander
through Madrid.

Museo Sorolla in Madrid was home to Joaquin Sorolla, Spain's 
finest impressionist (1863-1923). It's my absolute favorite 
of the small museums. Much of his art features his wife and
 three children, and the garden is a lovely haven in the city.

Cindy in Retiro Parque

Curt and Cindy see Palacio Real (or vice versa)

El Templo de Debod in Madrid, an ancient temple
given by Egypt to Spain in 1968 in gratitude for
help in rescuing monuments threatened by an
overflowing Nile; a romantic vantage point at
sunset although Cindy, Curt, Rich and I watched
only the dwindling.

Templo de Debod in the dwindling

Train station in Cercedilla, a small 
town north of Madrid in the Sierra
Guadarrama and one of three trips
outside Madrid with Cindy and Curt.

Roman bridge (maybe)
in Cercedilla

Cercedilla lizard

Segovia stork for all the bird people

Vagabond Wonders and Woes

Drop-dead gorgeous view from the terrace of the house in San Agustin de Guadalix, north of Madrid

Barcelona

In the midst of our two-week holiday together, Rich, my son David, Heidi, Emily and I ride the high speed AVE train from Madrid to Barcelona across rolling hills, gullies and canyons, mountains in the distance and glimpses of the sea when we near Barcelona. (The AVE train sells the best bocadillo -- serrano jamón and Manchego cheese on warm, crispy baguettes.) We arrive in late afternoon and settle into our apartment in the Barri Gòtic, the old section of the city. The apartment has two bedrooms, two tiny bathrooms, kitchen open to large living, eating area with futons for additional sleepers.The ceilings are probably 5 meters high, wooden slats and beams. The rooms have long windows with door-sized shutters that completely eliminate light and most noise from outside. With the shutters open, we can look up through the narrow chimney between buildings and see blue sky. An updated space perfectly in keeping with its medieval foundation. 

Barri Gòtic

[Enlarge photos by clicking in the center. To better see links embedded in the posting, go to the actual Rambling Solo site.]

Outside the apartment, narrow stone roads snake through corridors shadowed by the surrounding stone buildings. I lead the way in search of sardana dancers said to appear in front of the cathedral at either 6 p.m. on Saturday or noon on Sunday. Sardana is a circle dance and a Catalan tradition, forbidden during the Franco years, but quickly reinstated after his death. Although the dancers never appeared during our visit, the YouTube link provides several examples as well as showing "castles in the air," the tradition of building towers of people.

Cathedral in Barcelona
sin sardana

Barcelona, with rear of
history museum towering above

Barri Gòtic

 

And so we walked The Ramblas, the swath of walkway leading from Plaça de Catalunya with its fountains and city center bustle to the tall, slender Columbus Monument at the port. The Ramblas offers a kaleidoscope of entertainment along its sweep, from human statues of silver men or golden women to monstrous creatures inviting small children to pose for photos. There are outside cafes and pickpockets, balloon sellers and T-shirt vendors, sellers of birds in cages and flowers in tissue, and more tourists speaking more languages than almost anyplace else in the world. Barcelona is an international tourist mecca, compared to Madrid, the quintessential Spanish city. 

Las Ramblas

Port in Barcelona

We select the Museu Picasso and the Museu d'Història de la Ciutat for Sunday since many museums are closed on Mondays. (Note the spellings for museum. As you may know, Barcelona speaks Catalan -- museu; museo is Spanish; and spell check throws up her hands in disgust.) The Picasso museum has many of the artist's works created before he moved on to Paris and restructured the face of art, literally. The museum provides an educational introduction to Pablo Picasso through his very early work, including those completed at 15/16 years old: the portrait of Picasso's mother and "Science and Charity". As you walk across the room in front of Science and Charity, the bed lengthens and shortens depending on perspective. How many 16-year-olds know the meaning of perspective, much less how to create the effect in a static work? 

Columbus points the way
The viewing tower under Columbus is accessible
from the visitor center at the base.

We see portraits of Picasso's father, many of his assistant Jaime Sarbartés and self-portraits created over the years. We see the influence of Toulouse-Lautrec, several pieces from Picasso's Blue Period, but none from the Rose Period, other than one that hints of those rosy glows to come. One of my first-to-recognize and favorite Picasso pieces is from the Blue Period, Woman Ironing and hangs in the Guggenheim in New York.

Finally, the early hints of cubism appear, including one large room dedicated to Picasso's famous studies of the Velazquez masterpiece, Las Meninas, in the Prado in Madrid. The full rendition of Picasso's Las Meninas hangs with multiple individual studies. For the full perspective, I suggest a trip to Madrid and Barcelona; we're here until May. And if you come, we'll also see Picasso's famous, Guernica, in the Reina Sofia, here in Madrid.

Rich, David, Emily, Heidi at the port in Barcelona
with Park Güell visible on the hill behind

We move on to the Barcelona history museum recommended by new friends met at a Boxing Day party in San Agustin de Guadalix. New and very beautiful, the museum flaunts lots of wood, lovely displays of artifacts, and is airy and spacious, but the very best part is underground -- an archaeological site beneath the palace and cathedral next door. It's an extensive site with walkways rambling throughout, railings that don't interfere with the view, at times glass/plexiglass underfoot to reveal the dig. Captions are a bit uneven, sometimes including English along with Catalan and Spanish, sometimes not. The site itself is incredibly impressive; a Roman Barcino (working class community) (10 B.C.) unearthed beneath standing city monuments. Along with the footings for living quarters, the dig has revealed workshops for laundry and dyeing cloth, a swimming/soaking pool, fish processing and wine making vats. Then the walk extends into digs revealing the 7th century church and 11th century palace -- Barcelona in the Middle Ages. A fascinating walk through history.

More Barcelona next week.

These boats in Barcelona
headed around the world the next day
so Rich says

Immigration

In the months before we left the United States, Rich and I amassed the documents needed for long term visas to Spain. No, you don't need a visa to visit, but you do need one to stay for more than 90 days. We needed documents attesting to financial health; we needed signed assurances attesting to medical health; we needed police reports attesting to behavioral health; plus, photos, an apartment contract, and all the documents translated to Spanish and thrice copied. We turned it all over to the Spanish Embassy in August and returned to packing and disposing of belongings. 

Two weeks before our departure date in October, notification in hand, we appeared at the Embassy to have visas affixed to our passports. We were told to report to the police station in Madrid within the 90-day period. 

After three visits to a Madrid police station (closed; schedule an appointment; appointment) the experience was feeling much like DC rigamarole. Then, we were sent to a website to complete another part of the task. Rich spent days trying to decipher what to do and where to do it. Phone calls were unsuccessful. He finally traveled across the city to receive a small front-and-back form again citing a website where we could set an appointment. The response to the submitted e-form: no appointments available before your visa expires. With January plans to return to DC for a pre-scheduled court appointment, Rich was quickly becoming very grouchy. I began making mental plans to move to Chile. Rich called a Spanish attorney. 

Finally, we had an appointment overshadowed by clouds of pessimism. You are late; you needed this the first month; lots of people want to get into Spain; you are late. I could go to Chile and study Spanish. We ride the crowded Metro for an hour, packed among commuters returning to work after lunch/siesta, students headed home, standing room only for most of the trip. We disembark and begin a long walk along a highway in an industrial area of the city. I don't see any buildings that could possibly be a national police station. And we're late. On our left, a 4-story yellow block with blue canvas awnings, ugly, deserted on the street side, we follow a group in business dress around the corner and the building opens into a fenced courtyard where people in two long lines wend their way and police officers mill about. A woman smiles and waves from the security enclosure and whisks us through the human scanner, by-passing the belt scanner. A young man has held our spaces in line while the attorney herded us. She briefs us again: we are late; we needed this appointment a month ago; lots of people want to be in Spain; we may be refused. Santiago is a real possibility. "You have your photos," she says. I see the envelope left on the corner of the dresser in the apartment. I squeeze through the line and hie to the photo booths, slide in my 5 € note, push any buttons and retrieve a sullen-faced digital replica.

I focus on Chile where it is summer and scan the queue. The young Asian man who held our place in line is behind us. Women with small children, families, a mix of nationalities, skin colors and dress, mostly young, a few middle aged, all wait patiently to enter the building. Inside, walls of white glass tile, stark and cold, and around the perimeter, officials sit at 20 or so small tables with computers and interview applicants. I imagine a prison intake room. I look at the faces, stern, intent, sullen, bored, stern. Only one woman leans forward across the table, listening, eye to eye with her applicant. We don't get her table. 

Our official keeps her eyes on the computer screen, desk, papers, asks no questions, reaches for the passports. She places a small machine in front of me and indicates how to put my index finger on the screen, then again, roll side to side, then the other hand. She retrieves a letter from the printer, hands it to me and waves me on to another table while she turns to Rich's hand. The next woman chats with the attorney, stamps and initials my letter and returns it to me with a smile. I am an immigrant for a year. No fanfare, no hassle, clean, quick in the end. Chile will have to wait. Today aún, we have Madrid.

On the Road to a Happy New Year

Cathedral of Salamanca looms through the fog

Road Trip to Segovia, Salamanca and Ávila

Son David, Heidi and Emily arrived 20 December, and we spent two weeks traipsing across Madrid, driving to Segovia, Salamanca, Avila, via train to Barcelona, via bus and cab to Pamela and Juan's Boxing Day party in San Agustin de Guadalix; we've eaten pounds of jamón and cheese and olives, shopped in the narrow, winding streets of Chueca in Madrid and Barri Gòtic in Barcelona and elbowed through the crowds at El Rastro flea market. We beat time to flamenco at Casa Patas.

 [All photos can be enlarged with a click in the center]

El Rastro wares

We zigzagged through the snow-capped Sierra de Guadarrama mountains to Segovia where the towering 2,000-year-old Roman aqueduct rises 30 m high and 825 m long and never fails to amaze even after multiple visits.We arrive just in time for lunch, and Rich finds a sunny spot in Segovia's Plaza Mayor where we each eventually shed winter jackets. Bean soup and lamb stew and duck leg and salad -- perfect for a winter afternoon outside. We explore the flamboyant Gothic cathedral topped with a Renaissance dome. The Gothic arches overhead collect any heat that happens into the structure, while at floor level, we tour in finger-numbing cold. At 1,000 meters, Segovia looks out over the surrounding countryside all the way to the Sierra de Guadarrama snow caps. The town is crowned by the Alcazar, a best in fairy tale castles--turrets and moat and high above the peon world.

Bean soup with clams in Segovia

Tall conifers
 in the Sierra Guadarrama

Aqueduct  in Segovia

We drive on to Salamanca that night with gusts of impenetrable fog spilling from the rolling farmland out across the road. We follow taillights hoping the driver ahead knows the road more surely than we. Then we follow a befuddled GPS through narrow winding streets, and finally abandon David with the Peugeot and tote all manner of bags down a pedestrian passage to find Hotel Rua. On this my first visit, the golden- toned stone blocks of Salamanca remind me of Oxford, which I visited more than 30 years ago, meaning memory, in truth, might be foggy. The cathedral, includes, relatively speaking, old and new spliced together; the old is 12th century Romanesque; the new (1513-1733), Renaissance, Gothic and Baroque. Fun to note, the same architect created the flamboyant Gothic exteriors of both cathedrals in Segovia and Salamanca according to one source. Both rise frilly and decorative toward the heavens. The University of Salamanca, established in 1230 and the oldest in Spain, originated in the cloister of the old cathedral. You can stand in the room and feel the tension of long ago students tested orally by the teacher/priests using an all or nothing scoring system.

Heidi, Emily and David with the
fairytale Alcazar in Segovia

Then on to Ávila, where I finally get to tour the first Gothic cathedral in Spain. Although begun as Romanesque, the cathedral was completed in the Gothic style in the 16th century. The gray block and  simplicity of the cathedral complement perfectly the medieval tapestry  of the walled city.

David and Emily

We loved sharing Spain with David, Heidi and Emily who go anywhere, eat anything (don't miss the final photos). While the rest of us relaxed somewhat between jaunts, Emily wrote college essays and submitted applications. Having the opportunity to read so much of her writing made this writer's heart proud. However, waiting to hear the outcomes in May might prove a bit nerve wracking. Plus, we have bets on the outcomes. Look for more on our travels in future posts.

Plaza Mayor in Salamanca 

 Feliz Navidad y Año Nuevo

Spanish class was my best source for Spanish and madrileño traditions for the holidays, but if readers have corrections and additions, please do add to the comments. Although Christmas here is essentially preserved as a religious holiday, not a gift-giving extravaganza, the streets are certainly full of shoppers and sightseers and families, and Christmas kiosks pop up in any available space. The markets sell toys, trinkets, inexpensive memorabilia, but they also offer nativity scenes or the individual pieces for do-it-yourself scenes. They offer Christmas decorations like Santas and stars and sparkle, but stands also display lots of mistletoe, potted evergreen trees and cut greens, and yards and yards of moss. We deduced the moss must serve as landscapes for nativity scenes. We are talking real moss, not plastic soccer turf. 

Spanish class holiday photo

We five celebrated Christmas Day with a suckling pig roasted by a neighborhood restaurant and carried home. Emily and Heidi ate the ears, and I don't know what happened to the tail. We devoured the entire roast, succulent and delicious as promised, in two sittings.

Emily and Heidi share
 freshly spun cotton candy in
Plaza Mayor in Madrid

Although some here admit to courting Father Christmas, the real Madrid gift giving waits for the arrival of the Tres Reyes Magos (three kings) who arrive by Cabalgata (procession) and bearing gifts on Dec. 5. We skipped the extravaganza that terminates in centro Madrid at Plaza Cibeles, but all five of us loved the small replica procession of the Tres Reyes Magos in our barrio of Prosperidad with Reyes and kids in costumes throwing caramelos (candy) to hordes of kids and parents in the streets.  

Waiting for the parade

Costumes

Reyes Magos arrive in Prosperidad

On the night of Dec. 5, kids follow the custom of putting shoes outside the door or on the patio to be filled with candy and gifts by the Reyes. In store windows, shops displayed knee-high women's boots overflowing with boxes and treats.

On New Year's Eve, David, Heidi, Rich and I made our way via Metro to a neighborhood close to Puerto del Sol and the major celebration. As is the custom, we each carried our baggie of 12 grapes to consume within the first minute of the new year for luck throughout the year. We left Emily at home, nursing a cold, finishing another application and holding her own grapes. 

Wishing all of you happy uvas and a wonderful year to come!

Heidi and Emily se gustan
las anguilas

Eating eels