The French word for “show” is “le spectacle” and, well, what I saw on Saturday night the 26th of September was certainly a spectacle!
Décrocher la Lune only happens once every three years (it was every two, but, it’s damn expensive). This was one of those times when I was thinking, “I may very well be the only American at this thing!” There was going to be, I was told, between 10,000 and 20,000 people at this show. EC, her mom, dad, and a friend of the family and myself all squeezed onto the Grand Place of La Louvière (a name derived from “wolf”). There was a huge stage with what looked like organ pipes, the town in the center had a moon on it, and there was a huge crane about, too. The fire department was there, TV crews, and everything! I thought I was going to see a local dance performance, not a huge community event!
I soon discovered why the fire department was poised with water cannons and why the stage was full of pipe organs….a man in white began to light them like candles and, then, a few huge plumes of fire. This was going to be interesting, I thought.
The performance began and, sadly, I don’t have pictures – I was too mesmerized – but it was awesome. At one point a dancer danced up the façade of the tower with the moon on it, dancers suspended from the crane danced in the air, children let balloons go, there were a lot of drums (Carnival-type drums), and lots and lots of fire. At one point, music was played on the pipes on the main stage with fire. Not sure how that worked, but it was pretty cool.
Puppetry is a big thing in Belgium, (here is a museum in Brussels, just like at UConn!) and a number of puppets were dancing around, too. There was a story to go along with all this and a very energetic emcee was telling the story, but unlike in the church tour (see post above) I couldn’t follow all that well.
In the end, one of the puppets, Sancho I think was his name, literally climbed the tower and took down the moon. (Well, turned it off….) Not for long, though, because we need the moon and soon it was lighted again and then….fireworks, lots of them.
The show ended, of course, with a Michael Jackson impersonator performing Billie Jean. It was then back to the family friend’s house for a beer (I had Chimay, a good, strong trappist brew) and then back to the C’s house. I crashed in one of the spare rooms and never slept so soundly.
It was back to Brussels in the morning and a harried car ride to catch the right train, during which I found out that French drivers may very well be the Belgian equivalent of Jersey drivers or drivers from Florida. (Even with the bad driving of the car in front of us, I made the train)
I had a fantastic time and the hospitality of the C’s was just wonderful. As Mrs. C said, it’s nice to see something that you would know to look for unless you were a local and this was certainly something like that. This reminded me of my time in Orvieto in Italy when a friend and I stumbled upon a spectacle on a plaza there, with performers on stilts carrying flaming swords and reenacting an ancient myth of some sort. Just good times
Showing posts with label Beer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Beer. Show all posts
Friday, October 2, 2009
Friday, September 25, 2009
An Evening at the Royal Conservatory
My attitude when it comes to activities is if someone I know here suggests something, I’m going to say yes. If it’s free, I’m going show up early.
The Program Manager of the fellowship I’m on, MC, invited the US fellows out to see a former Belgian fellow give a piano recital on the occasion of the 200th anniversary of the birth of Robert Schumann. I was free, too. I was the only fellow to take her up on it. Now, there are only about 4 or 5 of us here so far (out of a total of 9.
The Royal Conservatory isn’t resplendent. It’s old and there is a pot in the atrium for donations for its renovation. The hall itself has wonderful acoustics and the performance was wonderful. I don’t really know much of Schumann’s work, but I’ll certainly check out more of his stuff now.
Afterward, it was off for a beer on the Grand Sablon, the square I pass each day to the archive. They have those outdoor heater things so it wasn’t too cold – fall is reaching Brussels – and pestered MC about good restaurants and things to do/see in Brussels.
All in all a nice night out that didn’t cost a dime (or, centime, as the case may be.)
Tomorrow I go with a Belgian friend to a dance performance in the Walloon Brabant part of Belgium, which is to the south of Brussels. Should be interesting....
P.S. Post Offices in Belgium are just like in the US. Four counters, only two people working, no one's happy, lots of standing in line, and the stamp machine is broken. I think I felt more at home in the Saint Gilles Post Office than I did at McDonalds.....
The Program Manager of the fellowship I’m on, MC, invited the US fellows out to see a former Belgian fellow give a piano recital on the occasion of the 200th anniversary of the birth of Robert Schumann. I was free, too. I was the only fellow to take her up on it. Now, there are only about 4 or 5 of us here so far (out of a total of 9.
The Royal Conservatory isn’t resplendent. It’s old and there is a pot in the atrium for donations for its renovation. The hall itself has wonderful acoustics and the performance was wonderful. I don’t really know much of Schumann’s work, but I’ll certainly check out more of his stuff now.
Afterward, it was off for a beer on the Grand Sablon, the square I pass each day to the archive. They have those outdoor heater things so it wasn’t too cold – fall is reaching Brussels – and pestered MC about good restaurants and things to do/see in Brussels.
All in all a nice night out that didn’t cost a dime (or, centime, as the case may be.)
Tomorrow I go with a Belgian friend to a dance performance in the Walloon Brabant part of Belgium, which is to the south of Brussels. Should be interesting....
P.S. Post Offices in Belgium are just like in the US. Four counters, only two people working, no one's happy, lots of standing in line, and the stamp machine is broken. I think I felt more at home in the Saint Gilles Post Office than I did at McDonalds.....
Sunday, September 20, 2009
A Day in Ypres
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
-- Lt. Col. John McCrae (1872-1918)
I went to Ypres on Saturday. The town, about 2 hours northeast of Brussels, had to be completely rebuilt after World War I because it served as a frontline post for the British and was leveled by German artillery. By rebuilt, I don’t mean that some buildings had to be repaired, I mean the town was flattened and the inhabitants decided to rebuild their guildhalls and church and homes the way they were before August 1914. The Cloth Hall, the main building on the town square, was only finally finished din 1968. Pictures and scale models at the In Flanders Field museum show the devastation that came to this old cloth-trading center.
Today the town is an interesting mix affluent and vibrant city – based on the massive tourism for the war sites – and the hallowed nature of its history as the site of intense fighting during World War I.
For example, when I first arrived I made my way to Menin Gate. Menin Gate is a memorial to over 50,000 British subjects who died during the war, but have no known grave. It’s huge, but not big enough to actually hold ALL the names, so another 30,000 or so are on another memorial. The gate is an entryway to the city and cars, bikers, and pedestrians all walk through it to get into the old town and out to the suburban area. Walking into Menin Gate for the first time, though, is humbling. Through that spot (and many others that led out through the old city wall that is still standing around about half Ypres) thousands of young men from around the world marched to certain death on the front line. Over that spot artillery shells flew into Ypres and leveled the town. It’s like walking into a tomb of sorts. You are surrounded by names etched into white panels. If remains are found – and it’s happened over the years – they are identified and given a proper burial. Then the name is taken off Menin Gate.
I returned to Menin Gate later in the day for Last Post. More on that in a bit.
Unlike Brussels where the old city walls no longer exist, part of the ancient wall of Ypres still stands. Ypres was an important cloth town and had to be defended from rivals. A moat sits right in front of the walls. It makes for a peaceful walk that takes you – on the southwest side at least – to a small cemetery, the Ramparts Cemetery, where a number of British and Canadian soldiers are buried. Many more cemeteries dot the surrounding countryside, but that’s for another day. Now it was back into town to see what a rebuilt Gothic town looks and feels like.
Guidebook in hand, I made my way to a small restaurant in the shadow of the Stadhuis (town hall) and had some steak frites and a local brew: Ypras. Excellent food, value, and atmosphere. Of course, since I’m in Flanders, French is not the language of choice, so I had to navigate the Dutch menu, but managed okay. Again, most people speak English, but I’m trying to make an effort. The waitress was patient.
Then it was off to the In Flanders Field Museum at the Cloth Hall. Opened in 1998 this museum is excellent – if a little confusing the follow. It has wonderful artifacts and is interactive with kiosks telling you history, short films outlining aspects of the war, and an card that you carry that tells you if you go to war or not; if you live or die. You take a ticket with a barcode and place it in three different kiosks. I was a young Belgian man who was conscripted, fought briefly, and participated in post-war activities in Germany. I was happy to have lived. It’s a museum to be seen, not described….so come visit me and we’ll go.
Since it was such a beautiful day – I’m waiting for it to turn any day now – that I decided to wander the city. I tried to find this specific beer hall, but no luck. So, I returned to Grote Markt and found a table and had a few beers – a Palm, very tasty, and a Kapittall Bruin (an abbey beer) that had an odd aftertaste – and a waffle while I took in the sights of the main square. Now, one of the sights included an old WWII era Jeep (I think it was a British version of the Jeep, so I’m not sure what that would be called). It wasn’t odd until I saw who was driving the thing. It was a man wearing the following: round sunglasses (ok), soul patch (ok), combat books (fine), black socks (ok, good), short army style shorts (odd, but okay), and…a green mesh shirt….yup, you could see ‘em, plain as day. Thank god it wasn’t too cold out!
My belly full of booze and sugar and my eyes burning from male-mesh-fashion, I decided to head back to Menin Gate for Last Post.
Last Post has been performed at Menin Gate every day at 8pm since 1928 except for that other German occupation….and even then the day the city was liberated, even though there was still fighting going on in other parts around Ypres, they began the ceremony again. It consists of local buglers playing their bugles, a color guard, and people chosen to lay a wreath of poppies on the steps of one of the doors of the memorial. Traffic is stopped and soldiers, at least when I was there, march out to stand guard at the two main entrances to the gate.
It’s powerful and somber and the dedication to doing it every day is remarkable. A big crowd showed up, too. It must be mobbed on 11 November.
It was great to get out of Brussels for the day. Two hours there and two hours back with the iPod in was easy enough. Ypres is a city to go back to and it certainly leaves an impression, only some of which are here.
Of course, while this carnage was taking place in Ypres, hundreds of towns behind the German lines were experience kindness and given in the form of international humanitarian relief, but while at Ypres it was hard to think of anything else but the toll the war took on a whole generation of men and women (at the front and back home). Ypres is also a testament to the power to rebuild, move forward, but to also remember. Menin Gate is such a simple and powerful monument to those who died that it puts in perspective the fights many have been having over the proper memorial to 9/11 in New York. Menin Gate is a memorial to 54,896 dead.
Yes, there were debates over what should be done (some wanted to turn the whole town into a memorial or take the Cloth Hall) but the result was functional and static. Cars still pass through it on the way into town where people go about their daily lives in 2009 like any other gate into Ypres or any other town in Belgium or the world, but on the walls are etched a staid reminder of the tragic history of the town and, because it was the First World War and includes name for the far reaches of the British Empire, the tragic history of the world itself.
[I don't have the best internet connection, so uploading pictures isn't always easy. When I can, I'll post some pictures in this post or a subsequent post....sorry for the lack of visuals. -- Tom]
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
-- Lt. Col. John McCrae (1872-1918)
I went to Ypres on Saturday. The town, about 2 hours northeast of Brussels, had to be completely rebuilt after World War I because it served as a frontline post for the British and was leveled by German artillery. By rebuilt, I don’t mean that some buildings had to be repaired, I mean the town was flattened and the inhabitants decided to rebuild their guildhalls and church and homes the way they were before August 1914. The Cloth Hall, the main building on the town square, was only finally finished din 1968. Pictures and scale models at the In Flanders Field museum show the devastation that came to this old cloth-trading center.
Today the town is an interesting mix affluent and vibrant city – based on the massive tourism for the war sites – and the hallowed nature of its history as the site of intense fighting during World War I.
For example, when I first arrived I made my way to Menin Gate. Menin Gate is a memorial to over 50,000 British subjects who died during the war, but have no known grave. It’s huge, but not big enough to actually hold ALL the names, so another 30,000 or so are on another memorial. The gate is an entryway to the city and cars, bikers, and pedestrians all walk through it to get into the old town and out to the suburban area. Walking into Menin Gate for the first time, though, is humbling. Through that spot (and many others that led out through the old city wall that is still standing around about half Ypres) thousands of young men from around the world marched to certain death on the front line. Over that spot artillery shells flew into Ypres and leveled the town. It’s like walking into a tomb of sorts. You are surrounded by names etched into white panels. If remains are found – and it’s happened over the years – they are identified and given a proper burial. Then the name is taken off Menin Gate.
I returned to Menin Gate later in the day for Last Post. More on that in a bit.
Unlike Brussels where the old city walls no longer exist, part of the ancient wall of Ypres still stands. Ypres was an important cloth town and had to be defended from rivals. A moat sits right in front of the walls. It makes for a peaceful walk that takes you – on the southwest side at least – to a small cemetery, the Ramparts Cemetery, where a number of British and Canadian soldiers are buried. Many more cemeteries dot the surrounding countryside, but that’s for another day. Now it was back into town to see what a rebuilt Gothic town looks and feels like.
Guidebook in hand, I made my way to a small restaurant in the shadow of the Stadhuis (town hall) and had some steak frites and a local brew: Ypras. Excellent food, value, and atmosphere. Of course, since I’m in Flanders, French is not the language of choice, so I had to navigate the Dutch menu, but managed okay. Again, most people speak English, but I’m trying to make an effort. The waitress was patient.
Then it was off to the In Flanders Field Museum at the Cloth Hall. Opened in 1998 this museum is excellent – if a little confusing the follow. It has wonderful artifacts and is interactive with kiosks telling you history, short films outlining aspects of the war, and an card that you carry that tells you if you go to war or not; if you live or die. You take a ticket with a barcode and place it in three different kiosks. I was a young Belgian man who was conscripted, fought briefly, and participated in post-war activities in Germany. I was happy to have lived. It’s a museum to be seen, not described….so come visit me and we’ll go.
Since it was such a beautiful day – I’m waiting for it to turn any day now – that I decided to wander the city. I tried to find this specific beer hall, but no luck. So, I returned to Grote Markt and found a table and had a few beers – a Palm, very tasty, and a Kapittall Bruin (an abbey beer) that had an odd aftertaste – and a waffle while I took in the sights of the main square. Now, one of the sights included an old WWII era Jeep (I think it was a British version of the Jeep, so I’m not sure what that would be called). It wasn’t odd until I saw who was driving the thing. It was a man wearing the following: round sunglasses (ok), soul patch (ok), combat books (fine), black socks (ok, good), short army style shorts (odd, but okay), and…a green mesh shirt….yup, you could see ‘em, plain as day. Thank god it wasn’t too cold out!
My belly full of booze and sugar and my eyes burning from male-mesh-fashion, I decided to head back to Menin Gate for Last Post.
Last Post has been performed at Menin Gate every day at 8pm since 1928 except for that other German occupation….and even then the day the city was liberated, even though there was still fighting going on in other parts around Ypres, they began the ceremony again. It consists of local buglers playing their bugles, a color guard, and people chosen to lay a wreath of poppies on the steps of one of the doors of the memorial. Traffic is stopped and soldiers, at least when I was there, march out to stand guard at the two main entrances to the gate.
It’s powerful and somber and the dedication to doing it every day is remarkable. A big crowd showed up, too. It must be mobbed on 11 November.
It was great to get out of Brussels for the day. Two hours there and two hours back with the iPod in was easy enough. Ypres is a city to go back to and it certainly leaves an impression, only some of which are here.
Of course, while this carnage was taking place in Ypres, hundreds of towns behind the German lines were experience kindness and given in the form of international humanitarian relief, but while at Ypres it was hard to think of anything else but the toll the war took on a whole generation of men and women (at the front and back home). Ypres is also a testament to the power to rebuild, move forward, but to also remember. Menin Gate is such a simple and powerful monument to those who died that it puts in perspective the fights many have been having over the proper memorial to 9/11 in New York. Menin Gate is a memorial to 54,896 dead.
Yes, there were debates over what should be done (some wanted to turn the whole town into a memorial or take the Cloth Hall) but the result was functional and static. Cars still pass through it on the way into town where people go about their daily lives in 2009 like any other gate into Ypres or any other town in Belgium or the world, but on the walls are etched a staid reminder of the tragic history of the town and, because it was the First World War and includes name for the far reaches of the British Empire, the tragic history of the world itself.
[I don't have the best internet connection, so uploading pictures isn't always easy. When I can, I'll post some pictures in this post or a subsequent post....sorry for the lack of visuals. -- Tom]
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Grand Place/Grote Markt and Booze
Belgium is a beer country. There are at least 750 different Belgian beers. The Belgians take their beer seriously. An amber brew served in a glass chalice is not unusual here; it's the way its supposed to be served. Each beer, from each brewery (or brasserie) has it's own glass. Even the Religious here are known for their beers. Seven Trappist monasteries (6 in Belgium and one in the Netherlands) produce beer and the quality is under strict control.
The first weekend of September, for the past 11 years at least, is the time for a huge Beer Weekend at Grand Place/Grote Markt in Brussels. Grand Place is, more or less, at the center of the old city of Brussels. The Hotel de Ville (City Hall) is located there as well as the Maison des Brasseurs (Brewers' House). It's as European as you can get.
There were 30 stalls for brewers and I don't know how many different types of beers, all served in their own glasses. I went over this afternoon (Sunday, 4 September), bought six crown corks for 6 euros and went on in. I'm not sure why a Dixieland Band was there, but there was a Dixieland Band doing its thing. Lots of people from different parts of the world, even America...and I wanted to yell at this one American woman (nah, girl, she was a girl) who, while trying to move through the mass of people, was asking in the most obnoxious valley-girl shrill "excuse me." I was offended for my people.
Anyway, I enjoyed two beers. (Yeah, I should have had more, but I'm here for 8 months, I'll get to more I promise.) An Orval (a Trappist beer, amber in color, and served in a chalice shaped glass) and a Blance de Bruxelles (a basic pilsner, I presume). I liked the Orval better, it was also more expensive.
Now, I know what you're asking (or maybe, or maybe just if you've been to the Brew Pub and/or City Steam) did I take a glass? Well, I considered it, but didn't. Good thing, because on the way out your bag was checked. Unlike in the US, though, they didn't look in my bag. The guy at the gate kind of did the high school male physical check of the bag. I was waiting for him to ask me to cough....
Anyway, after paying .30 euro to pee (some payed the attendant after they used the loo, I decided to pay as I went in) it was back home for a strong cup of tea. Those beers were strong and, sadly, not a frites (fries) shop in sight. The fries here are excellent. They double fry them so the outside is crispy and the inside is soft. I haven't tried straight mayo (MG, remember when I made fun of you for eating fries with mayo....) but I love the andalouse sauce. (A "spicy thousand island" I was told.)
Tomorrow begins my first full week here. I'll go to apply for my residency permit in the morning...that should be interesting. Then some other odds and ends. Tuesday marks my first day at the archive.
The first weekend of September, for the past 11 years at least, is the time for a huge Beer Weekend at Grand Place/Grote Markt in Brussels. Grand Place is, more or less, at the center of the old city of Brussels. The Hotel de Ville (City Hall) is located there as well as the Maison des Brasseurs (Brewers' House). It's as European as you can get.
There were 30 stalls for brewers and I don't know how many different types of beers, all served in their own glasses. I went over this afternoon (Sunday, 4 September), bought six crown corks for 6 euros and went on in. I'm not sure why a Dixieland Band was there, but there was a Dixieland Band doing its thing. Lots of people from different parts of the world, even America...and I wanted to yell at this one American woman (nah, girl, she was a girl) who, while trying to move through the mass of people, was asking in the most obnoxious valley-girl shrill "excuse me." I was offended for my people.
Anyway, I enjoyed two beers. (Yeah, I should have had more, but I'm here for 8 months, I'll get to more I promise.) An Orval (a Trappist beer, amber in color, and served in a chalice shaped glass) and a Blance de Bruxelles (a basic pilsner, I presume). I liked the Orval better, it was also more expensive.
Now, I know what you're asking (or maybe, or maybe just if you've been to the Brew Pub and/or City Steam) did I take a glass? Well, I considered it, but didn't. Good thing, because on the way out your bag was checked. Unlike in the US, though, they didn't look in my bag. The guy at the gate kind of did the high school male physical check of the bag. I was waiting for him to ask me to cough....
Anyway, after paying .30 euro to pee (some payed the attendant after they used the loo, I decided to pay as I went in) it was back home for a strong cup of tea. Those beers were strong and, sadly, not a frites (fries) shop in sight. The fries here are excellent. They double fry them so the outside is crispy and the inside is soft. I haven't tried straight mayo (MG, remember when I made fun of you for eating fries with mayo....) but I love the andalouse sauce. (A "spicy thousand island" I was told.)
Tomorrow begins my first full week here. I'll go to apply for my residency permit in the morning...that should be interesting. Then some other odds and ends. Tuesday marks my first day at the archive.
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