Cologne-Secret of Rhineland

"A what?"

"Stroopwafel", the lady repeats."How we eat, we take a piece...yes? Place it over your cup of coffee. The heat will warm up the sugar syrup filling inside the waffle."

A dutch pastry is the perfect way to bid goodbye to the Netherlands as Sunil and I head south towards Germany. 

Stroopwafels in hand, we find comfortable seats on the swanky Intercity Express #105 scheduled to leave Amsterdam for Cologne at 8.04am. Barely have we put settled in that our train slithers from the station, silently and swiftly. Our watches show 8.04am. So far, we have been using our smartphones to set morning alarms and check local times. The smartphones could very well rely on German trains for their own precision.

At 10.45am, not a minute late, our train pulls into Koln Hauptbahnhof-Cologne Central Station.

Cologne is the oldest city in Germany and the 4th largest after Berlin, Hamburg and Munich.  Situated on the Rhine river, it is also the 2nd busiest port in the country after Hamburg. Occupied by Romans and the Ubii tribe in the first century, Cologne has a grand history that it chooses not to flaunt. Instead, it invites the planned tourist and uninformed visitor with equal warmth to discover its past and admire its present. 

For several centuries, Cologne was a major political and trade center for the Roman empire before the Franks took control. In 1475, the city became a free  imperial city. By this time, it had also become an important pilgrimage center when relics of the Three Magi were donated to its cathedral. Cologne remained free until the 18th century when the French took over.  Public life was modernized and Napoleonic code existed until 1900. In the early part of the 19th century, Cologne became a part of the Kingdom of Prussia.

World War I didn't cause much damage to the city but World War II practically wiped it out. Thousands of people were moved and as many died, reducing its population by 95%. Major churches and buildings downtown were destroyed, causing the architect tasked with its resurrection to call it 'the world's greatest heap of rubble'. Since then, an impressive transportation infrastructure and a growth in media companies here have helped the city rise from rubble to become incredibly prosperous with a thriving cultural scene. 

Sunil and I step out of the train station and fall to our knees. Right next to the station and soaring to the skies with the city's history is the Kolner Dom-Cologne Cathedral. The seat of the Archbishop of Cologne, this church enjoys the distinction of being the most visited landmark in all of Germany. It is a magnificent construction of Gothic architecture, 632 years in the making. 

 

Cameras cannot do justice to this cross-shaped building and its intricate architectural details. At a time when the entire city was in ruins, this church alone stood mighty and defiant. Its interiors, though subdued, are just as magnificent as its exteriors. Among its many treasures includes the Shrine of Three Kings, a gilded sarcophagus said to contain the remains of the Three Magi. 

Panting our way up the narrow, spiral staircase in the  tallest tower, we are presented with splendid views of the architecture as well as the expanse of the city on either side of the Rhine.  The St.Petersglocke (Bell of St.Peter) that hangs here is the largest free-swinging bell in the world.  

 

Cologne spreads out around the Dom

Just a short distance away from the Dom is the Gross Sankt Martin (Great St.Martin Church) - a Roman Catholic church built on the remnants of a Roman temple in the 10th and 11th centuries.  This also happens to be one of the 12 Romanesque churches in Cologne.

 The sun welcomes us as we step out of the church after finishing our visit. Our next visit is to the waterfront just a few blocks away. The waters of the Rhine surround Cologne's InnenStadt like a moat, turning its Dom magical at night. The river is one of the longest in Europe, originating in Switzerland and flowing into the North Sea near the Netherlands. The stretch near Cologne's InnenStadt is beautiful and doesn't look too dissimilar from downtown Portland's own Willamette river waterfront.

The Rhine with the Hohenzollern Bridge in the backdrop

The Hohenzollern Bridge is probably the most scenic of the many bridges across the Rhine. We are tempted to cross it by foot and enjoy a cable car ride over the river but time doesn't permit us to do so. Instead, we walk along the waterfront, enjoying the sunshine and admiring the many luxury boats docked here which are gearing up for New Year's Eve festivities.

Our walk is rewarded when we arrive at the Imhoff-Schokoladenmuseum - yep, the museum of chocolate! Said to be the best of its kind, the Schokoladenmuseum provides a spectacular tour and tons of exhibits on the origins of chocolate, the growth in trade and a comprehensive look at chocolate production and consumption around the world. The museum also has lots of interesting information about trade practices in top suppliers of cocoa around the world, health information and several other unknown facts about chocolate. Currently supported by Lindt, the museum is truly a delight for the senses and for people of all ages. When we visit, the museum has a special holiday exhibit on display-Europe's most famous saints as well as scenes from religious scriptures all carved in massive blocks of chocolate

 

The museum also features a tropical greenroom to simulate the exact environment where cocoa typically grows. It is here that I find out the scientific name for the cocoa tree is Theobroma Cacao. Cacao comes from the MesoAmerican word for the cocoa bean which Spanish conquerors first learned after defeating the Aztecs and Mayans. Theobroma stands for "Food for the Gods" in Greek. Any arguments?

           The complete production cycle of a bag of Lindt chocolates happens right in front of our eyes. Sheets of cocoa goodness roll out, ready to be cut into squares. I feel no shame in pushing kids away to plaster my face against the glass walls that stand between me and those Lindt squares.  Unfortunately, I have to satisfy myself with wafers dipped in chocolate which a kind lady is distributing to visitors. Care to make your own bar of chocolate? Go right ahead and fill out a card! You pick the cocoa content you want, the ingredients in your bar as well as the toppings that finish it. Wait for a few minutes and your bar of chocolate is prepared per your custom taste!

 

It is sacrilegious to  leave the Chocolate Museum without stopping at their cafe where tantalizing treats await us. We finish a nice, relaxing meal while enjoying views of the promenade. Before stepping out into the cold, I decide to pop into the cafe's restroom. As in most places across Europe, public restrooms in Cologne have a usage charge and aren't always easy to find. Visitors are better off using the loo at cafes, museums or theaters where lines are shorter and no payment is required.  Here at the museum's bathrooms,  there are long lines. I finally get my turn and then I'm flabbergasted when  a woman walks right in. She is a part of the maintenance staff but that doesn't exactly comfort me! She goes about her business in the crowded men's room while I struggle to go ahead with mine. Apparently in Europe, a man's loo isn't always his castle.

It doesn't take us long to realize that Cologne has a variety of sights to satisfy as many interests. Had we been able to stay longer, Sunil would have liked to visit the Romisch-Germanisches Museum (Roman-Germanic Museum) near the Kolner Dom. The museum is an archaeological site in its own way since it protects the original site of a Roman villa and also houses a Dionysys mosaic from 220AD. Several artifacts from Cologne's Roman period are preserved here. If you are an art lover,  head to Museum Ludwig for one of the most impressive collections of Picasso's works. After a long day of sightseeing, soak your weary self in a heated pool at Claudius Therme. 

Our own time is limited. Before we head back to the Hauptbahnhof, we must pay homage to a treasure that became Cologne's claim to fame in the most significant way. In 1709, an Italian named Giovanni Maria Farina lived in this city and discovered a combination of citrus and ethanol which reminded him of Italian spring mornings, daffodils and orange blossoms after the rain. At that time, this aqua mirabilis (Miracle Water) was  sold only to royalty. A vial cost a man's salary and it wasn't until a 100 years later, when trade opened with the French, that lots of businessmen started selling their own versions of this classic fragrance under the generic name of Eau de Cologne (Water of Cologne). 

                                                       

 To this day, the formula for the original cologne (called Farina 1709) hasn't changed since that year and remains guarded at Farina 1709, its original home and our final destination in Cologne. The Museum here offers tours for fragrance-lovers but know that Eau de Cologne as such is traditionally marketed to men as an alternative to perfume.

Dusk drops a cold blanket on the city but shoppers fill the streets anyway. New Year's Eve is around the corner anyway. Hohestrasse, the city's busiest shopping street, comes to life near the Dom. We would have enjoyed shopping more if smoking in public wasn't so common here. Europeans definitely love their cigarettes and this mars the charm of walking down a lively street.

In an hour, we will be ready to catch our train and head further east. For the moment. we take a break and relax our feet at one of Cologne's many pubs. The most famous of Cologne's local beers is Kolsch, hoppy but less bitter than lager and more clear. Peter Joseph Fruh founded a private brewery for Kolsch in 1904 and his Colner Hofbrau Fruh is the brewery where we sit down to enjoy a glass of his golden concoction.

We head back to the bustle of Koln Hauptbahnhof where a  time table informs us that our EN 421 night train to Vienna will arrive on Platform 7. Collecting our bags from storage lockers, we reach our platform to see signs for seating assignments. A chart also tells us about the sequence of coaches for every train that will arrive on Platform 7. Simply put, you can use this chart and stand at the exact spot where your specific coach will open its doors for you when it is time to board. You know you are in Germany when trains run like clockwork.

At precisely 8.05pm, our train shunts out of the station. We share our chamber with a German family from outside Hamburg that is visiting relatives in Vienna. The parents, Georg and Mariana, speak perfect English besides German and French. They are very curious to learn about our travels while their 7-year old daughter, Sofie, is shy and utterly charming. Georg bears a striking resemblance to John Ritter and I tell him as much. He isn't familiar with the actor but is pleased to hear that he resembles a celebrity. Sunil slips into a conversation in French with Mariana while I try to practice what little German I remember with Sofie. Soon we discover that we both love the comic books of Asterix and Obelix. Georg asks me about the length and breadth of USA and then challenges her to calculate how big a country it is. This keeps her busy for a while.

In the distance, the canvas of darkness is interrupted by occasional patches of light in the distance. We are crossing the Rhine Valley whose hills are dotted with castles. Mariana tells us that we could have spotted the Lorelei rock on a cliff if we weren't traveling in darkness. According to local legend, Lorelei was a beautiful girl who once sat on this rock and combed her golden hair. Unwittingly, she distracted shipmen who crashed their boats on the rocks. Another story tells us that Lorelei was a beautiful girl betrayed by her lover. Accused of bewitching men, she is sentenced to a nunnery. On her way, she asks to climb this rock one last time and see the Rhine. She does so but falls to her death. Since then, the rock is said to murmur and echo her name (Lureln is German for 'murmering' and ley is Celtic for 'rock' so Lorelei roughly translates to 'Murmering Rock').

Soon, Sofie and the rest of us slip into a slumber. Our train speeds into the darkness towards Austria while the stars shine down on castles in Rhineland. Where legend ends and history begins in this land, it is hard to tell.

Amsterdam-Explosion of the Senses

"How do you like the view?"

7.40am. I am hidden under a thick blanket at Eric's flat in Nijkerk, a suburb outside Amsterdam.  The previous night, we drove to Holland from Bruges. Eric had been excited all night to have me check out the morning view from his apartment on the top floor of a 6-storey building.

I open my eyes slightly to take it in. Patches of unused land have transmission towers sprouting in places. In the distance, a yellow commuter train cuts through the expanse in no haste. Nothing more. I wonder if this is a trick question.

"Umm...it's very nice. Yeah, really nice", I lie. Played fast and loose with the word 'view', Eric.

This satisfies him and we are ready to get on with the day. After showering and getting dressed, we set off for Amersfoort Station from where we catch a train into the city. In about 30 minutes, the train pulls into Amsterdam Centraal. The station is huge and bustling with morning commuters, tourists, travellers and vendors. Platforms are located on the upper level and esculators bring you down to a mass of coffee shops, tulip shops, restaurants and other services. If it weren't for bright bunches of tulips everywhere, the scene would have been no different from Chennai's Central Station, the hub of Southern Railways, India.

We grab a bite from a cafe where I decide to try Koffie Verkeerd (literally 'coffee the other way around'). This is the dutch version of cafe au lait with hot milk added to generous amounts of coffee. It tastes delicious and I have no idea why everyone here from the lady behind me at the counter to Jorge Galoppo back in Brussels claim that dutch coffee is black water. A majority of people seem to love Starbucks here-something I cannot understand or accept. 

We have a few hours before Sunil gets into town so we step out of the station to explore the city a little bit. I take in my first sight of Amsterdam-Venice of the North. 

Simply put, you'd have to try very hard to not like this city. Historically, it has been a major European city for over 8 centuries. Geographically, it is a delight with traffic plying on roads and waterways. A marvel of urban planning, its people have truly conquered the waters surrounding it to make it grow in shallow lands('Netherlands'=Low lying lands). Culturally, it is a city of eccentricities with museums dedicated to anything you can imagine. While the Dutch East India Company made the city prosperous back in the day, its thriving economy makes it one of the most successful European metros today. Add to all this a bohemian character and an 'anything goes' attitude and you have a city that offers something for everyone.

The sun shines brilliantly on Stationsplein outside Amsterdam Centraal. The first image that arrests you is the parking lot for bikes. Tens of thousands of bicycles are chained to fences everywhere. It isn't an exaggeration that there are more bikes than people in this city. Blue-white trams scurry around the station area clanging bells while pedestrians, motorists and cyclists zip everywhere, managing to miss colliding.

Any tourist or local will advise you to walk down Damrak from Stationsplein when you are visiting the city for the first time. Damrak is probably the busiest street here with dozens of cheap hotels, hostels, souvenir stores, odd museums, cheap and fancy restaurants. There is nothing you cannot find here-from middle-eastern food to marijuana.

A short walk down Damrak brings us to Dam Square. This is the nerve center of Amsterdam. Major streets in Amsterdam converge here and most of the city's tourist attractions are fairly walkable from here. The Square itself is surrounded by buildings steeped in history. The name 'Dam Square' comes from the fact that the space grew from the first dam constructed on the Amstel river. In fact, this is how the city itself gets it name ('Dam on the Amstel river').

To one side, you have the magnificent Royal Palace- a 16th century building that has served more as a Town Hall than a palace. An orange flag flies high when the current Queen Beatrix is in the city. For all practical purposes, matters involving the government are dealt at The Hague even though Amsterdam is the political capital of the Netherlands.

Adjacent to the Palace is the 600 year old NieuweKerk ("New Church"). Once a Catholic church, it suffered damages when Protestants stormed in and destroyed art and sculpture during an anti-catholic wave in the 1500s. After Holland became independent in 1648, the church was converted into a Dutch-Reformed Protestant church. Across from the square and opposite to the Church is Madame Tussaud's Wax Museum. 

On the other side of Damrak, the Square is occupied by the National Monument situated in the center.  This was erected as a memorial for Dutch soldiers who died in World War II. The Grand Hotel Krasnapolsky stands behind the Monument while De Bijenkorf ('The Beehive'), an upscale department store, flanks the monument on another side.

De Wallen, Amsterdam's famous Red Light district, begins a few blocks east of the hotel.

On a summer day, you can imagine thousands of tourists and locals sharing this Square with as many pigeons, smoking weed and contemplating on the next place for a good beer.

Eric and I walk down Kalverstraat, a busy pedestrian-only shopping street where such sights as the Hidden Catholic church remain hidden between alluring signs of Zara, Armani and the like. Somewhere down Kalverstraat is an alley tucked away which leads to a Begijnhof. We walk back and forth several times but the alley remains truly hidden. The beguines sure weren't kidding about their mission.

Kalverstraat brings us to a stump of a tower, not too tall. This is Munttoren('Mint Tower') and it once marked the edge of the walled city during medieval times. At that time, the city was surrounded by a moat which has now become the Singel canal.  Today, the Singel is dotted with bright splashes of colour. Tulips of every possible shade and size bloom brilliantly in the many shops of the Bloemenmarkt ('Flower Market') here. 

What's with tulips in this country-you may ask! The 17th century marked one of Holland's most glorious periods. Trade with Asia and Africa had made its wealthier citizens impossibly rich. With homes full of exotic paintings, spices and fabric, Dutch merchants sought to decorate their gardens. In a land largely unappealing with vast water bodies, dreary weather and bland cuisine, tulips in vivid colours transformed the landscape of the country. Tulipmania spread like wildfire and all of Holland was consumed in the craze to grow tulips of every colour and size. At one point, a tulip was worth more than a house or a mill. Fortunes were lost and won over rare varieties. In fact, the fever was so crazy that entire towns got involved in growing and delivering tulips. Blooms were ordered in numbers which all of Holland could never deliver while prices skyrocketed. Finally, the government stepped in when buyers refused to pay anymore. Just as quickly, the price of tulips and the rage came crashing down and the bubble burst. Today, the flower is an unmistakeable signature of Holland, grown purely out of love.

On a different day, I'd stop to toss tulips in the air and sing a song but I decide to do that later. I can't wait to explore the city's many canals first. Boat tours depart on the Singelgracht from docks near Vondel Park. Despite clouds rolling in and a steady drizzle, my boat is full of tourists on their earphones, listening to stories about Amsterdam's history in 16 languages. 

It is on this tour that I learn fascinating details about the city's canals. Cumulatively, they cover 100 kilometers. Contrary to popular belief, the canals did not grow from the center. The western halves were completed long before the city decided to extend them around in a windshield-wiper-ish fashion. Three main canals run in concentric circles around the city. I had crossed these 3 canals to get to my boat tour - Herrengracht('Nobleman's canal'), Keizergracht('Emperor's canal') and Prinsengracht('Prince's canal'). Together, these 3 canals are called Grachtengordel('Concentric ring of canals'). In Dutch political debates, they are a symbol of pretentious intellectualism!

Every canal is lined with dozens of marvelous, gabled houses. The gables are of various types - point, bell, step, spouse, neck, cornice. These gables enhance roofs and were originally added to help identify houses from a distance. 

In almost all of these houses, I notice a large hook hanging from gables.  These hooks were used to hoist furniture in and out of the house! Back in the day when houses faced a risk of floods, hooks were the only way to protect large possessions in a home.

Gables and hooks aren't the only features that make these houses so unique. Every house is incredibly narrow and I find out the reason why. These houses were built on pilings sunk into soft soil. The pilings got reinforced over time and since the houses were very close to each other, they practically leaned on one another. The extent of reinforcements depended on what people could afford individually. Poorer households naturally had their homes leaning on neighboring houses and sometimes, entire neighborhoods were leaning. When the government decided to regulate and add reinforcements for all of them, they taxed residents based on the width of pilings required. Of course, people responded by building narrow houses. What's more? They got creative. While doorways stood narrow, their houses grew tall and stretched long- so long that you could grow entire gardens inside!

There is no dearth of eccentricities in this city. When you see a museum for handbags, you've seen it all......until you see a museum for pipes later.

Heading out into the Ij River, the tour lets me enjoy a view of Amsterdam as a mass of buildings floating in water. You cannot help but marvel at the ingenuity of the Dutch to populate a place so undesirable, conquer the waters surrounding it, reclaim land and turn it into one of the most visited destinations in the world.

Boat tour completed, I head back to Amsterdam Centraal to meet Sunil, who has just arrived from Brussels. The weather calls for us to enjoy a local speciality-vlaamse frite('belgian fries' or more authentically 'flemish fries'). Any Amsterdammer worth his tulips will claim that the absolute best fries in town are to be had at Mannekin Pis. Getting its name from the impudent statue in Brussels, the store has 2 tiny locations in Amsterdam and packs thousands of hungry visitors every day. Fries in Amsterdam are served with a special kind of spicy mayonnaise which I find interestingly tasty.

In the afternoon, Sunil decides to visit the Royal Palace and Nieuwekerk while Eric and I head towards one of the finest art museums in the world - the Rijksmuseum.

In my opinion, the Rijksmuseum ('Rikes-museum') is probably the finest building in the Netherlands with its magnificent architecture and enormous collections. Dutch masters of art like Rembrandt and Vermeer are celebrated in the many galleries of this fine museum. Almost all of the museum is currently under massive renovation but this only makes our task easier. The most famous works in the museum have been moved to a single wing for the jet setting tourist's convenience.

The Dutch Golden Age spanned through the 17th century after Holland emerged as a nation at the end of the 80 Years War (1568-1648). Dutch Calvinists wanted nothing to do with the portrayal of religious scenes in paintings and so, artists produced works which featured portraits, landscapes, scenes from everyday life as well as still life paintings. These became the most successful subjects and showcased dutch culture, history and geography with pride.

Even a jet setter should plan to specifically visit 2-3 paintings if there isn't time for more. In "Still Life with Gilt Cup", artist William Claesz Heda's perfection in capturing the effect of light on a variety of objects is undeniable.

 

Every object on the table is painstakingly captured in the reflections on every other object. You can practically see bubbles rising in the water and smell a hint of lemon in the corner.

Then of course, there is the master painter-Rembrandt. In "The Jewish Bride", a couple shares an intimate moment that can be appreciated  for several lifetimes.

Finally, you cannot leave the museum without paying homage to Rembrandt's "The Night Watch". Captain Francis Banning Cocq and 17 members of the civic militia guard commissioned this painting which features 34 people. If the painting's chiaroscuro technique of playing with hidden light and shadows doesn't impress you, it's sheer size certainly will. The painting is also rare in terms of the way the militia have been portrayed-in action and not in pose.

 Close to the Rijksmuseum is a home for the celebrated works of yet another Dutch Master Painter-Vincent  Van Gogh. The Van Gogh Museum enjoys the reputation of being the most visited museum in the entire country. Unfortunately, I do not have time to take in more art on this short visit. Another destination beckons in a different part of town.

The Jordaan district could have derived its name from the dutch name for the River Jordan. It could have also been named after the french word for garden (jardin). Several streets here are named after flowers and trees anyway. Near Prinsengracht canal here stands a modest building that occupies a special place in the history of this country and the history of this world- the Anne Frank House.

I have heard of Anne Frank's story- a 12-year old Jewish girl who maintained a diary while she hid with her family to avoid being captured by the Nazis during World War II. The family hid in a secret annexe to their home for over 2 years before they were betrayed. A tragic story, no doubt. But then, I'd read so many stories of tragedies from that time. As I wait in line to buy my ticket (and there is always a long line), I have no expectations whatsoever. 

Dusk descends and so do icy pellets of rain. The wait stretches over an hour. I am cold, wet, freezing and ready to give up. That's when I finally manage to sneak a foot inside the building and get my ticket. What I see inside affects me to the core.

Relics have been preserved in such a condition that you can walk through the house, viewing videos in every room which recreate the horrors of those times. In those clips, you see Jewish people walking on the streets of the city wearing yellow stars, branded and singled out. During WWII, they weren't allowed to use public conveniences, enjoy general seating or own businesses and establishments. Photographs show how the rooms in the Frank house looked at the time the family occupied it after moving from Germany. Otto Frank, the father, owned a small factory producing pectin for jams and jellies. Together with his wife, Edith, and daughters, Margot and Anne, Otto hid in a secret annexe to the house for 25 months when Nazi forces started persecuting Jews in Holland and sending them to Auschwitz concentration camp. A few of Otto's employees were loyal Germans who helped the family, risking their own lives. Till the very end, they never revealed the secret location. One of them was his secretary who would carry several kilograms of rations on her bicycle every day so the family could sustain. Another was his manager to whom Otto transferred ownership to avoid getting suspicion. Soon, another family and a dentist moved into the annexe making it a group of 8 people living in a 500 sq.ft space. No sound could be made during the day. No windows could be opened. None of the workers in the factory adjoining the house had any clue about the family in hiding. To make sure that the sound of flowing water didn't alert anyone, during the day, the party in hiding couldn't even flush the single toilet they shared. 

Yet, in this tiny space, these people made a home. They talked softly, cooked meagre meals, played games, read by candlelight and prayed for an end. Anne herself poured her thoughts and emotions into a diary which was later found by Otto's secretary after the family was betrayed and sent off to concentration camps. 

In her writing, you don't just see a 12-year old's perception of a historic atrocity. Her words capture simple truths with shocking accuracy.

About her faith, she writes, ""Peter says the Jews have been and always will be the chosen people!" I answered, "Just this once, I hope they'll be chosen for something good!"". 

About change, she writes, "How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single moment before starting to improve the world."

About civilization, she writes, "I don't believe that the big men, the politicians and the capitalists alone are guilty of the war. Oh, no, the little man is just as keen, otherwise the people of the world would have risen in revolt long ago! There is an urge and rage in people to destroy, to kill, to murder, and until all mankind, without exception, undergoes a great change, wars will be waged, everything that has been built up, cultivated and grown, will be destroyed and disfigured, after which mankind will have to begin all over again."

About youth she writes, "Have my parents forgotten that they were young once? Apparently they have. At any rate, they laugh at us when we're serious, and they're serious when we're joking.".

About hope, she writes, "It's a wonder I haven't abandoned all my ideals, they seem so absurd and impractical. Yet I cling to them because I still believe, in spite of everything, that people are truly good at heart.".

And in spite of everything, she remained a 12yr old girl. She dreamed to run outside, play in the park, listen to birds and fall in love. Near her bed, there are posters of movie stars she admired. Her diary includes accounts of her feelings towards Peter, the son of the other family that shared their space. 

Moving from room to room, my feet grow heavy. The pain and trauma that this and every other Jewish family endured is gut wrenching. After the family was exposed, Otto was separated from the women. Anne survived with Margot and Edith in the Auschwitz camp only because she had turned 15 a few months earlier. Over 500 children and teenagers under 15 were sent directly to gas chambers. At Auschwitz, Edith starved so she could save more food for her daughters. When the girls were sent off to Bergen Belsen camp, Edith was too weak to go and she finally died of starvation. At Bergen Belsen, the girls got infected with typhus which took their lives barely weeks before the camp was liberated by British troops. 

In the final gallery of the House, a video shows a survivor of the camp and a childhood friend of Anne. She talks about reconnecting with Anne by chance at the camp and sharing stories across a barbed wire fence. After her mother and sister died, Anne lost all hope of survival in the assumption that her father was also dead. The friend recounts how Anne could have lived if she had only known that her dad was alive and searching for her. How does one hold back tears when such was their story?

The House also has an interesting activity space where video clips of recent socio-political events are featured with challenging questions about the actions taken in those situations. Visitors submit their opinion anonymously and a graphic display quickly tells you how we think as peoples of the world.

It is now closing time and the security guards at the House have to politely escort the last of us out. I stumble my way back to Dam Square, fighting back tears and thinking of the many gifts we still enjoy despite the struggles we face. The Westerkerk chimes solemnly, probably the same chimes which Anne heard as she hid in their house nearby.

Back at Dam Square, I reconnect with Eric and Sunil. We have just a little bit of time left before catching the last train to Nijkerk. The final signature to our time in Amsterdam is a walking tour of De Wallen, the city's famous red light district. Like marijuana and nearly everything else, prostitution is legal in Holland. In fact, sex workers are protected by the local police if business takes a dangerous turn. Marijuana is sold freely and its smell is unmistakeable. The many alleys of De Wallen are filled with establishments large and small where women (and some men) of all sizes, shapes and ethnicities occupy window displays and beckon you to step in. No business is too risque here. Hoards of tourists ogle happily while very few actually mean business. One such worker gives Sunil a serious look and we decide to shuffle along quickly. 

A light rain turns into a heavy hail sending us scurrying for shelter. Soaked to the bone, we crawl into Amsterdam Centraal to head home. Eric says we need to catch a Stopptrain back to Nijkerk, instead of a Sprinter. Interestingly, the Stopptrain is the express service while the Sprinter has multiple stops.

Settling back in my seat, I bite into a sandwich and recount the day's experiences. From Dutch coffee and fries to fine art, flowers, history and fetishes, Amsterdam overwhelms you with sights, sounds, smells and sensual pleasures. Two million residents and immigrants, many quite young, lead happy lives, ever ready to indulge. In a city ravaged by floods, famine and wars, they have seen it all and surfaced above everything. Today, they bloom brightly like their tulips while marijuana wafts in the air. 

Bruges-Of Brushstrokes and Frills

"Ga voor de 600 meter. Dan slaat u rechtsaf.", whispers a sultry voice.

Helga, our trust-worthy Dutch GPS frau, is leading us away from the bustle of Brussels to fine Flanders countryside. Eric and I have decided to visit the charming town of Bruges ("Broo-zh" spelled the French way or "Brucchah" spelled the Dutch way). Practically every guide book on Belgium demands you to visit Bruges after your customary exploration of Brussels. A town that is walkable from end to end in an afternoon has enough sights, sounds and smells to keep you enthralled for a weekend...maybe even a week.

Somewhere in the 13th century, Bruges was one of the busiest ports in all of Europe. Its weavers were considered the finest in the world and their work drew traders from all over Europe. Through trade, Bruges developed a busy market for wool, weaving and spices. The golden years also saw the opening of the first stock exchange ('The Bourse') in the world here. Flemish school of art, centered here, attained a distinction around the 15th century. However, in the 16th century, the Zwin channel started to silt, affecting the main trade route for the city and dealing a severe blow to its economic stability.

In the 17th century, lace work tried to rekindle progress. While it is still universally acknowledged that Bruges is the home of fine lace work, the trade wasn't enough to save the city's decline as a commercial center. Its population dwindled and its former glory remained sunk in the obscure depths of its many canals. More recently, the city launched massive efforts to reclaim its place in Europe's history and culture. Tourism favored the city's revival and today, Bruges is your quintessential European model town. Paintings of canals and cobblestone streets come to life on every street. The city practically unfolds like the pages of an art book. Swans add daubs of white to vast expanses of rich, green parks and river banks. Church bells strike at the hour with absolute lethargy begging time to stop still.

We decide to park Eric's car at the train station which is fairly close to the older part of town. Guide map in hand, we cut through a park to land on a street filled with identical, white houses.
This is the Begijnhof ('Be-hine-hoff'). The Beguines were women who formed a sisterhood in the 13th century to renounce material pleasures and retreat to a simpler lifestyle. They weren't nuns in that they didn't belong to a particular religious order. Nor were they confined to this lifestyle by society. They chose to live this way and they were free to leave at will and return to material comforts. As I found out later, most cities in Belgium and the Netherlands had such Begijnhofs constructed to house the beguines. Today, these houses in Bruges are occupied by Benedictine sisters.

Going down Mariastraat, alleys branch off with charming gabled houses. Standing tall behind them is the tallest spire in all of Belgium. All roads in old town Bruges seem to lead to the magnificent Onze Lieve Vrouwekerk ("Church of Our Lady").
The church was built over a span of 200 years between the 13th and 15th centuries. While its exteriors reflect a variety of architectural styles, the interior is remarkably modest with white walls.

Besides having the second tallest brick spire in the world, this church also enjoys the distinction of housing the only sculpture by Michelangelo to ever leave Italy. His Madonna holds the infant Jesus and looks upon the thousands who visit this church every year.

The grounds around the church are truly marvellous. Winter seems to cast an additional magic even though it hasn't snowed here in several days. The air is full of scents of dried leaves and fresh dew. Naked branches on trees stare into tiny windows of gabled, brick houses. Smoke spews out from a chimney. You can practically see a hobbit sticking his head out to see if Peter Jackson is clinging to a tree out there.

At this point, we have decided to abandon our map and simply let our feet wander. The town begs you to lose yourself in its streets anyway. We follow clumps of tourists to a busy street with a canal that is buzzing with activity. Most canal tours depart from this spot-the Rozenhoedkaai.

With the Vrouwekerk standing majestically in the backdrop, the Rozenhoedkaai certainly makes for a pretty picture. However, only 1 boat tour is in operation during our visit so the line at the ticket counter is quite formidable. The boats are boarded on a first-come first-served basis so you don't need to show up at a specific time.

Deciding to return to the canal tour later, we head off in the direction of the Markt,a 13th century market square which still holds a market each Saturday. Since we are visiting over Christmas, the place looks like several Christmas markets exploded here.

The Markt is dominated by the imposing Belfort. This bell tower housed the town's charter and is therefore an important landmark, reminding its people of the city's golden days of trade and commerce. You can see stunning views of Bruges from the top of the tower by climbing a tall, winding staircase inside. Personally, I see some stunning views of liege waffles on food carts and they are just 30 steps away. I love it when I find reason to back my indulgence.

I stroll from stall to stall, picking up small souvenirs. Allison likes to collect Christmas ornaments from around the world so I pick one for her over here. Make sure you don't stroll outside for too long in winter though. Public restrooms charge a fee and aren't easy to find either. Your best bet is to use one in a restaurant.

We head back to the Rozenhoedkaai for our canal tour. The wait is slow and tedious even though 3 boats seem to be zipping up and down the River Dijver, carrying tourists. Eventually, we find ourselves sitting in the middle of a boat no larger than a dinghy. However, there are atleast 40 people with us and I am surrounded by rapid conversations in Italian, German, French and Spanish. The tour operator himself is a cheerful Flemish man who repeats all of his stories in English, Dutch and French.

Over the next hour and a half, our tiny boat chugs up and down the Dijver through charming canals. Colourful gabled houses flank waterways on either side and the bridges we cross are surprisingly low. Considering how tall Dutch people can be (and they are very tall!), I wonder why these bridges are so low.

The scene cannot be more idyllic. Winter's cold muffles a lot of street noise and you only hear the occasional swan honking. At a point where several swans laze in a park, our boat turns around. This is Minnewater. Apparently, Emperor Maximilian of Austria ordered swans to be kept here in 1448 in memory of his councillor who was beheaded by the citizens of Bruges. It is chilling to hear that the people of this town weren't always a peaceful lot. Swans have been here at Minnewater ever since. They seem to reassure me that the town is as peaceful and charming as I've been led to believe.

After our canal tour, we have time to take in one more attraction although there are several to choose from. The Museum of Chocolate beckons in one direction while the Lace Center beckons in the other. Ultimately, we decide to visit the latter since Eric has already visited the Museum in the past. Plus, he recommends that a similar museum in Cologne is much bigger and not to be missed.

Off we head to the Kantcentrum ('Lace center'). While lace-making has existed since the 15th century, residents of Bruges will claim with pride that the real art began right here. The first school of lace work was started by the Sisters Apostoline in 1717. Since then, lacework from Bruges has become famous around the world. Today, the Kantcentrum houses classes and demonstrations in lace-making. Visitors can even sign up for classes of shorter duration. Several finished works are available for sale at the Kantcentrum shop. The Kantcentrum is located adjacent to Jeruzalemkerk, supposedly Bruges' most unusual church.

Eric and I are quite excited to see demonstrations in lace-making, not that either of us plan to pick up the skill any time soon! The admission ticket costs just 2.5 euros, a stark difference from the 10-15 euro admissions we have been paying everywhere. Following signs for the demonstration room, we enter a hall filled with lots of empty chairs. Finished pieces of lacework have been framed and hung on the walls. There are lots of lace patterns strewn over tables and on the floor. Two ladies are bent over an unfinished piece and discussing in Flemish. The place hardly looks like a demonstration room to me. I interrupt their conversation to check if we are in the right place. Apparently, we are.

The demonstration isn't really a demonstration so much as it

is an 'observation'. You can sit and watch these ladies go about their work but there isn't going to be a presentation of sorts or an explanation of what they are doing. After visiting dozens of museums in the United States where such practical experiences are well-worth the price of admission, I am quite disappointed by what we are seeing. Apparently, the Lace Center's visitor experience doesn't quite carry any frills (corny pun...yep).

We decide to head to the museum part of the center which houses several pieces of finished lacework. We enter a modest building that resembles the gabled houses of the Begijnhof. The interior is well-lit but there seems to be a certain gloom cast over everything that is on display.

Dozens of table cloths, runners, kerchiefs and other items are on display in glass cases and frames. The sheer beauty of these pieces is undeniable but something seems amiss. There are no displays with information on the types of lace work or their history. Occasionally, we find a little card describing the style of lace work used in a piece. The details have been typed using a dot matrix printer or typewriter. The cards are frayed at the edges.

As we pass from room to room, I get a strong melancholic feeling in this place. It is almost as if these pieces are trying to say something. Bruges draws a lot of tourists every year and several of them make it to the Kantcentrum to learn more about lacework. However, the art of handmade lace is dying and this cannot be denied. Back in the day, women used to practice lacework at home buying raw materials from suppliers and selling finished pieces to them. Today, the number of people who still create handmade lace is very small and dwindling. I don't expect that too many women make it to the Kantcentrum to learn lace work today. Is that why this place feels somewhat desolate?

Finishing our visit, we step out into the courtyard and walk back to the gift shop. A sombre wooden statue of a nun watches us silently. That feeling of despondency only grows stronger. I have not enjoyed this visit as much as I expected to. We check out the gift shop quickly. Prices are quite reasonable but well above what I am comfortable paying. Handmade lace is VERY expensive.

We decide to visit the Jeruzalemkerk next door before heading back. As we cross the courtyard, I stop to click a picture of Sombre Sister. As I take a few steps back to frame my shot, I knock over a metal divider in front of the admissions counter. The friendly man at the counter watches in surprise as I knock the divider down and then yell, "Holy $#iT!". I clamber to place it upright again. Then I realize that I have just yelled out an expletive in a church. These are the moments in life when you want to crawl under a rock.

The Jeruzalemkerk, adjacent to the Kantcentrum, is an interesting church. It dates back to the 15th century when an Italian family commissioned its construction. Their black marble tomb can be seen inside.


The altarpiece is carved with skulls and demons. Two flights of stairs lead to the higher choir from the nave. The crypt in the church houses a replica of the Holy Grave of Christ. The exterior of the church resembles the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem. There is a striking wooden tower atop which stand a pair of wooden lanterns topped by an orb (representing the world). It is believed that the Italian family which lived here wanted to copy the Holy Grail of Jerusalem. That's how the church gets its name.

While the Kantcentrum and Jeruzalemkerk have both been interesting places to visit, they seem to be shrouded with an unpleasant air. We walk back to the bustle of the Markt, stopping at souvenir stores along the way. In one such store, I pick up a piece of lacework for myself and start chatting with the friendly store lady. She knows her business well and takes time to explain it to us.

"Lacework is dying. It is quite sad.", she admits. "Five years ago, there were about 300 houses of handmade lace in Bruges. Today there are barely 10. Nobody wants to study it anymore and it takes too long to finish a piece by hand. We want to support the business but sometimes it can take several months to finish a piece."

She points to a magnificent table cloth on display. It has been framed and hung from the ceiling.

"See that piece there? It took over 1.5 years to finish it. I can sell it for 16,000 euros. But then, it might be the only piece I manage to sell all year. I can't run a store if the supply is so small. That's why we have started selling manufactured lace where you use a computer to design and weave. It is not authentic but it sells more easily."

She stops to ring up purchases for a customer. I hear her speaking Russian even though she had mentioned that she was Flemish.

"Lace used to be very popular here in Bruges but tourists don't buy it anymore. The ones who really love lace fly from around the world to get it here. So I try to teach myself some basic greetings to help them. I've done this for about 10 languages so far."

"People don't buy lace as gifts since chocolate and beer appeal more easily. They are cheaper and everyone likes them. But I still try to support the craft. We can't let it die here, you know. In fact, they are planning to open a new exhibition space near here. I'd like to have a passage way from there for visitors to exit through my store.", she adds.

I tell her that I plan to write about my travels and she encourages me to write about the Kantcentrum. This is the least I can do. I think of every art form, language or faith that is now dying in the world because no one practices them anymore. I read somewhere that a native American woman is trying hard to learn a dialect of language specific to her tribe. She lives in a city in Washington with her 90-year old grandmother who is ailing. The two of them are the only speakers of that language in the world. There are innumerable forms of pottery, painting, craft-making and other skills in India which are undocumented but practiced in villages. Families count on these skills for their sustenance but their children have dreams that go beyond the walls of their village. Who can these artists pass on their skills to? Why would they anyway when they can barely eke a living today? Finally, who is around to lament such a loss?

These questions challenge me but I am too exhausted to answer them. We have a long walk back to the train station where our car is parked. We leave the old town area and cross Minnewater to get to the station. The cobblestone streets give way to asphalt. Roads widen into several lanes. Cars choke up arterial ways and huge shopping plazas seem to be everywhere. The train station itself is huge and gleaming with rows of trendy stores.

The change is difficult to digest. Does the beauty of Bruges exist only in its old town area? What happened to scenic canals and graceful swans? I get this vision of a giant snowglobe that contains the Vrouwekerk, the Markt, Kantcentrum and every other place we have visited today. It feels like Bruges has decided to explode into an urban sprawl, leaving its old town for the thousands of tourists who head here-tourists who want an escape from that urban sprawl.

I feel slightly cheated in a way. My camera has been busier on the streets of Bruges but I must admit that the unassuming town of Ghent silently steals the show as the real charmer. Nevertheless, Bruges has been a great way to wrap up my Belgian experience.

Helga greets us with her sultry voice and gently directs us to the A27 expressway. The stars shine down as I drift off into dreams of women weaving lace and gnomes sprinkling chocolate around them.

Next stop-Amsterdam.