Gouda

Nearly halfway through my holiday and still having a great time.

Enjoyed a day trip to Gouda (cheese heaven) where the whole population were out on the town sq enjoying a coffee in the spring sunshine. Ordering coffee is v traumatic for an Australian. You can’t order long black, flat white or skinny decaf like normal people, no, you have to ask for koffie gewoon (ordinary) or koffie verkeerd (wrong). As we Australians know, the word "ordinary" means "pretty bloody horrible" and who wants "wrong" coffee? But once you break the code, you know that horrible coffee means short black and wrong coffee means a long black with a bit of milk in. Whatever koffie you get, there is always a sweet biscuit or maybe a stroopwafel or a chocolate in the saucer. They are v strong - if you have two koffies, you go into caffeine shock – maybe they lace them w amphetamines!

In Gouda they are v proud of the fact that the town hall is not on one side of the square, but by itself on a traffic island in the middle of the square. That’s it how it got to be so old – didn’t catch fire every time the Spaniards or Mrs O’Leary’s cow burnt the town down. It has a lovely old wedding room where people come from all over to get married by the magistrate. Carved and gilded thrones for the happy couple to sit on while promising this and that.

We went to suss out the famous Goudse Glazen (stained glass windows) in the St Janskerk. The windows are just magnificent, we were lucky that is was a sunny afternoon and we saw them at their best. I took photos (came out OK, but doesn’t do justice) and I looked at the post cards but didn’t buy any. It is not possible to reproduce the glowing reds and golds, blues and greens … the craftsmen who made those windows were real artists – the colours are not flat, but shaded, to make the figures in their rich robes seem 3-dimensional. The windows are 30 feet tall and the scenes have perspective so that the figures at the top seem to be in the distance. Some of them are 500 yrs old and still so vibrant.

So what makes the citizens of Gouda proudest about their St Janskerk? The most beautiful stained glass windows in the world? No, the fact that this is the longest church in the Netherlands. "Have you been to the St Janskerk? It is the longest church in the Netherlands, you know!" … "Yes, and I loved the windows" … "But did you notice how long the church is? There is none longer in the entire Netherlands!"

Well, and a good thing too – room for more windows.

Then we went to see the St Catharina Gastehuis, which may be called a guest house but is in fact the city museum and was formerly a hospital and an orphanage but never a guest house. It has interesting collections – each room on the first floor contains a selection of furniture, glass and porcelain, maybe some clothing and a few paintings from a particular period – you get a good feel for how the people lived because the rooms are sitting-room size.

I liked the floor where they have a entire schoolroom, a room full of ye olde toys (I particularly liked that: recognised some from my childhood!) and also the room where the surgeons’ guild used to meet, (why in the orphanage?) complete with bust of an old Greek whom I took to be Hippocrates plus an assortment of ancient instruments you would not in this day and age like to see in the hand of anybody approaching you with surgical intent.

Then we got to a v lovely chapel which was used by the Huguenots who fled France from Catholic persecution, many of whom went on to the Cape and became my ancestors. This chapel now houses a collection of religious art, a bit light on the Mother-and-child and heavy on the martyrs - I moved briskly past the 2 depictions of St Cath on the wheel, one of St Lucia holding her eyes on a little platter in front of her, and three of St Sebastian, each with different numbers of arrows and different amounts of blood (I daresay the hagiography is not clear on the details) and various others whose particular sufferings I could not immediately associate with a name, not being of the Catholic persuasion and less than au fait with the Saints and Martyrs. (I must hope the subject doesn’t come up in Pub Quiz, which I attend w Caroline on Monday nights and where, incidentally, we kick butt!)

Disturbingly enough, on the far side of the chapel there was a door which said "Cells and torture implements", so we pushed it open and there was a narrow spiral stair which misleadingly didn’t look too sinister due to lots of whitewash and good lighting. At the bottom, however, we discovered a row of really nasty little windowless cells furnished only with leather handcuffs fixed to the walls by rusty chains and, across the corridor, the well-equipped torture chamber complete with all the usual tools one has heard about, plus a few pointy ones that I hadn’t heard of but no doubt came in handy when dealing with a difficult case. All thankfully pretty rusted now and obviously in disuse.

Makes you wonder who the customers or torturees were, considering the place was occupied over the years by (a) hospital patients (b) orphans and (c) devout Prostestants. Not forgetting the surgeons. Maybe the orphans were v naughty.

Back in Haarlem ... Yesterday another sunny spring day so we went for a Rondvaart (pronounced ront-fart) on the Spaarne River and canals in Haarlem. We were a bit early for the departure of the roundfarting boat so popped into the Teylers Museum for a quick squizz at the special exhibition on body piercing. You don’t want to know. They have a warning at the door like they do on the TV when about to show gruesome content. And so they should. No better way to get flocks of viewers (including us!) People hang bells on v unlikely parts of their bodies.

Teylers is a lovely old-fashioned museum reminiscent of the McGregor Museum of my childhood in Kimberley, featuring an endearingly lame collection of fossils, bits of rock, and Victorian scientifc experiments. It is the oldest museum in the Netherlands – beautiful building. 

The "oval salon" is rightly famous. They also have a rather nice collection of oil paintings and some really good drawings by the First Team, notably Rembrandt and Mike the Angel.

The round fart on the Haarlem waterways was v enjoyable, no ducking for low bridges like the last one I went on. I was interested to see Haarlem’s prison more closely … it looks just like a planetarium – huge dome, beautiful building. The locals assure me it was built as a prison and is not converted from something more upmarket. Go figure.

Dutch customer service is as Fawlty-Towers as ever, it gives me endless delight. I just know John Cleese writes their scripts. Caroline says the Belgians are quite helpful and polite, this will make a nice change if more mundane.

17 April 2003

Spring is bursting out all over … flowers and sidewalk tables abound. My friend Arno is taking me to Den Haag for the day.

The tulip fields between Haarlem and Leiden, where I went by train to meet Arno, are a treat. It is like driving past wheat or mealie fields in Sth Africa, only huge patches of colour. You get a good view from the train: lots of little canals, green fields with black-and-white cows, interspersed with bulb fields. The white and yellow seem to come out first … a couple of weeks ago, there were no red ones, but now there are red and pink and bright blue as well. It is not only tulips but all manner of bulbs. I am looking fwd to going to the Keukenhof next week where all the commercial bulb producers have their display beds.

Meanwhile, Arno awaited at the Leiden station with his auto, which he filled up with benzine and off we went to Den Haag (a.k.a. The Hague), a twenty minute drive away. It was a bit of a white-knuckle trip for me, seated as I was on the driver’s side without a steering wheel, unable to take evasive action as the traffic bore down upon us from the wrong side.

Den Haag is all civil servants and pollies, much like Canberra. Had a walk through the miniature forest in which the royal palace stands. These trees haven't got the message about spring yet. Palace not open to the public – they have two guards on the gate … none of your bearskin hat and military demeanour here: the guards lounge around leaning against the railings, having a bit of a chat and giving out a cheery wave to passers-by.

I really like the Dutch military: walking up the wide avenue where all the embassies are, (much like the the Mall leading up to Buck House) we saw a few police cars parked at intervals and outside the USA embassy they have a tank and a bunch of soldiers. The tank is painted a tasteful cobalt blue instead of desert camouflage: clearly they are not planning to go forth and bring freedom and democracy to some lucky folks by shooting the daylights out of them for their own good.

The soldiers sit on top of the tank swinging their legs and doing the chatting and cheery-wave routine much like the lot outside the palace. I daresay those Americans inside would have preferred a few US Marines who slap rifle butts and flash snappy salutes, and maybe shoot the protesters outside (in a kind way, of course, for their own good.)

There were three protesters: they had put down their manky handwritten bits of cardboard the better to have their lunch, so I couldn’t see what the slogans said, but then I didn’t need to.

The Mauritshuis is lovely – I really enjoy these museums that are in former stately homes: the buildings themselves are always worth seeing. Prince Maurits was a bit of an architecture buff and his house is a real treat even before you get to the Rembrandts and the Vermeers.

Vermeer’s girl with the pearl earring is there, as is Rembrandt’s anatomy lesson. However, it was a couple of the less famous ones that I liked most: a view of Delft by Vermeer, one of only two outdoor scenes he painted; and a portrait of a kindly old gentleman, who reminds me of my Uncle Jack, by Rembrandt. I bought a poster of the Vermeer and it will be on view at my stately home in Wheelers Hill on payment of a small fee. Discount for seniors.

Am I glad I took my Australian seniors card with me! It pays to be old … I get seniors discount everywhere: shops, movies, museums … much to Caroline’s envy. The pendulum swings: for years I had to pay adult price while she got children’s rates.

The Escher museum was a highlight. It is housed in what they call merely "Het Paleis", as if it is the only palace in town, at the top or posh end of embassy row. Used to be the residence of Queen Emma, the great-granny of the present queen. Apparently she acted as regent after her husband King Willem III popped his clogs and while her daughter Wilhelmina was under age, but Arno tells me that even before that she pretty much ran the show because she was a bit of a bossyboots and Willem was none too bright.

Arno filled me in on a lot of royal family goss – the Oranges are nearly as soap-operatic as the Windsors! Richer and better looking too, if plumpish and who’s to blame them, with all that tempting Dutch cheese. On the upside, they have endless rows of shining white teeth from all the calcium. Almost as spectacular as Satchmo’s. His show up better for pigmentary reasons.

Anyway, there it is, Emma’s palace, more of a big house than a palace really, but very rococo and they were not shy with the gold paint. I’m surpised Q Emma didn’t break a leg b/c every doorway has an inch-high lintel for the unwary to stumble over. A stripe of gold paint on the floor to draw attention to the hazard would have been a good idea, but sadly I saw no suggestion box. I don’t suppose Q Em took kindly to suggestions … I saw pictures of her and she was a stocky little doorstop of a woman who didn’t look as if she brooked backchat.

About the collection I don’t need to tell you … all the Eschers you have ever seen, are there. The really good bit is on the top floor, where they have all these optical illusions and trompe l’oeil stuff. You can look through peepholes into cabinets where the picture is in 3D and the birds and animals move, and you can don virtual reality goggles and step right into some of the pictures – those ones like the Belvedere, where the stairs go nowhere, and the one where down is up, and the one with the chequered floor and the ladders that reach impossible places. It is a lot of fun. You can watch the birds metamorphosing into fishes; TG we are dealing here with Maurice Escher and not with Franz Kafka! My brain was fizzing all the way home.

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