Europe – Yeah, Another Blogger

Europe 2024, Part Two: Brussels

October 29, 2024November 3, 2024Yeah, Another Blogger145 Comments

In my previous opus I mentioned that the Brussels leg of our recent trip to Europe didn’t turn out anywhere near as wonderfully as my wife Sandy and I had expected. But, shit, that’s the way the cookie crumbles sometimes. Life ain’t perfect, that’s for damn sure. Though I’d do anything but complain if it were.

We fully were expecting to dig Brussels, the capital of Belgium, a lot. Advance research had indicated to me there were quite a few museums, parks and neighborhoods worth investigating, and that the chances were good that we’d attend one or two concerts during the four full days of our stay.

Alas, we attended no concerts and didn’t see all that much of the city. Basically, we were thrown off our game. The bad cold that Sandy came down with had plenty to do with that. It bummed both of us out. And the on-and-off rain showers we encountered on several days were not exactly spirits-boosters.

A street in the old section of Brussels.

In the end, then, our explorations were limited substantially to the old, tourist-thronged, cobblestone-streets section of Brussels, whose hub is Grand Place, an imposing plaza. That old section looks similar to how it did long, long ago, and at times we had fun taking in the sights there. On one of its many narrow streets sits Choco Story museum, a place we’d put near the top of our things-we-want-to-see-in-Brussels list. So, after paying the admission fees, we embarked on a self-guided tour of the museum’s galleries.

Choco Story’s unpretentious layout appealed to me. Its exhibits explain the history of chocolate, a product first developed and enjoyed, as a beverage, by the Mayans and Aztecs. Solid chocolate, a European creation, made its appearance in the 1800s. I found all of this pretty interesting. And I became especially interested when I reached the end of the exhibits. For, lo and behold, I noticed a sign that said a chocolate-making demonstration was about to begin in the room just beyond the sign. Sandy and I wasted little time in sitting down on a bench in that room. Moments later, a chocolatier walked in.

Speaking in heavily French-accented English — though French, Dutch and German are Belgium’s official languages, I imagine he used English for the benefit of the museum’s largely non-Belgian clientele — the gentleman explained to the 20 or so folks in the audience the processes required to produce solid chocolates. Temperature control plays a big part. And, while talking a mile a minute with wit and confidence, he demonstrated each step of the operation. Voila! At the end of the show everyone lined up and grabbed a praline (the pralines he offered to us had been prepared earlier, to allow them to solidify properly). Belgium is famed for its chocolates. And, I’m pleased to say, the chocolatier’s creations didn’t let his nation down.

Choco Story wasn’t the best of the two museums we visited in Brussels, as it turned out. Not even close. That honor belongs to Musical Instruments Museum, commonly known as MIM. What a place! And not in the old part of town, either. I’d never seen anything like it. From the moment I began touring the premises, I was certain I was in a truly great museum.

Hundreds and hundreds — thousands? — of instruments fill MIM’s several floors of gallery space. They come from every corner of Planet Earth. Most, it seemed to me, date from the 16th to 20th centuries. And two are from 14,000 or more years ago: pierced animal bones used as whistles by our ancient relatives.

MIM’s cornucopia is meant to please more than our eyes. Our ears are blessed at the museum too, because recorded music performed on a goodly percentage of the instruments can be heard by entering designated code numbers on the headset device given to each museum visitor. Simply put, I was blown away. I listened to saxophone pieces, harmonica pieces, sitar pieces, you-name-it pieces. MIM, on its own, is not reason enough to pay a visit to Brussels. But it almost is.

I hate to be remiss. Which is why I’m going to mention one other aspect of the Brussels vacation that agreed with me well. I’m a bit of a beer geek. And, through reading, I’ve known for years that Belgium produces fine beers, most of which (save for beers made by Leffe, Stella Artois and a couple of other breweries) do not find their way to the USA, the nation I call home.

I’m happy to report that I downed delicious brews in Brussels, each of which I’d never heard of before. The majority of them entered my system at Bier Central, a cozy, handsome tavern whose food is very good. More to the point, its beer selection is out of this world. 366 beers, all of them from Belgium! If you’re a beer lover and ever find yourself in Bier Central, I recommend trying, among others, Floreffe Dubbel (made by Brasserie Lefebvre). It put a contented smile on my frigging face.

In conclusion, I regret not seeing more of Brussels than I did, and never getting a feel for the city. I had a good enough time there, though, to consider the visit a reasonably enjoyable one. And, here in the States, I’m now going to make it my mission to try and find some elusive Belgian beers. Cheers, skoal, bottoms up!

Europe 2024, Part One: Paris

October 15, 2024October 16, 2024Yeah, Another Blogger175 Comments

My spouse Sandy and I hadn’t seen our close friends Alan and Martine in the flesh since vacationing with them in Edinburgh, Scotland in 2019. Post-COVID, the four of us had tried to arrange another reunion, preferably in a locale that would be new to us all. But for one reason or another the plans didn’t get very far.

Well, one day four months ago, Sandy and I, who reside in Pennsylvania, USA, figured the best way to uncomplicate the situation was to visit the married couple on their home turf: Paris, France. And from there, we decided, we’d extend our trip by spending time in Brussels, Belgium, a city we never had set foot in and which by all accounts was appealing.

We made the travel arrangements pretty quickly. The weeks went by. Finally, on the 19th of September we found ourselves with our pals in their beautiful home in one of the world’s greatest cities. We bunked with them for four days, enjoying our time with them immensely, and in their company explored a good bit of Gay Paree. Sandy and I give our Parisian sojourn a rating of 10 out of 10. It absolutely was that good. The subsequent four days spent in Brussels, though, were another matter. Compared to Paris, which is a significantly magical place, Brussels seemed quite lacking. We had a nice amount of fun there, sure, but rate that leg of the trip only a modest 6.5 out of 10. Alas, you can’t have it all. Not always, anyway. In Paris, however, we did.

Now, though Paris is superb, it’s not perfect, so let’s get a few of the downsides out of the way: Like any big city, parts of town contain an unnerving volume of vehicular traffic. And annoying numbers of people maneuver on the sidewalks of many streets, such as those in the popular area where Alan and Martine reside. Not all of Paris is necessarily worth a tourist’s attention, either, though, to me, the gritty neighborhoods I briefly saw exuded a je ne sais quoi sort of charm nevertheless.

Enough about the negatives. Man, so much of Paris is straight out of a delightful dream: Elegant architecture; the comforting heights of its buildings (Paris is almost skyscraper-free); the parks, museums, bistros and baked goods that far more often than not impress; the sense of history filling the air; and the river Seine, quietly commanding respect as it flows peacefully from west to east through the middle of the city. And that’s just for starters.

I’d been to Paris four times before, three of those visits with my wife, and was fairly familiar with its major attractions, layout and vibes. When Martine (via Facetime a month before the latest get-together) asked me what I might want to do in Paris in September, I left it pretty much up to her and Alan. Except for one thing: I was curious to see what condition Notre- Dame Cathedral is in. A devastating fire, in 2019, destroyed the roof, spire and other upper portions of the church, and caused severe damage elsewhere in the structure. Since then, an intense effort has been under way to restore the medieval icon to its former glory (click here to read an excellent article about the fire and Notre-Dame’s rebirth). The cathedral’s official reopening is scheduled for December of this year, barring complications.

A view of the Louvre museum and its courtyard.

The Seine, as seen from Pont Neuf (New Bridge).

Martine and Alan granted my request. One day after our arrival in Paris, they led Sandy and me on a most-satisfying walk. A couple of minutes after leaving their abode, we strolled through the gardens of Palais-Royale. In no time after that we reached the Louvre, an astonishingly large museum, and its enormous courtyard. The courtyard was mobbed. The Louvre’s galleries probably were too. We walked a few more blocks, then crossed the Seine by way of the Pont Neuf (New Bridge), soon descending a stone staircase to the river walkway. Everything I’d seen so far struck me as picture-postcard-perfect, or damn near close to it. I am not exaggerating.

Along the left bank of the Seine we ambled, and after about 10 minutes Notre-Dame came into good view. We climbed up another stone staircase, returning to street level, to see the cathedral properly. Heavy equipment still was on the scene, indicating work remained to be done. However, Notre-Dame looked remarkably healthy all in all. I’m anything but a religious person, yet was relieved and happy that incredible efforts, not to mention nearly a billion euros, had saved one of Paris’s and the world’s most famous creations.

The section of Luxembourg Garden reserved for kids and their caregivers.

But we weren’t done for the day. Our walk continued, taking us through the Latin Quarter (where we stopped for refreshments at the lovely Café G), the sprawling Luxembourg Garden, Place Saint-Sulpice and beyond. I was especially smitten by the area of Luxembourg Garden set aside specifically for young children and their caregivers. It was touching to see little ones at ease and having fun.

Place Saint-Sulpice.
Left to right: Alan, Sandy, Martine.

I could go on and on and on, describing the other activities that filled those four days. But I think you get the picture. It’s not by accident that Paris is one of the most-visited cities on our planet. It’s got what it takes, and more.

Looking Back And Looking Ahead

March 24, 2021Yeah, Another Blogger125 Comments

Well, the Covid pandemic demonically dominated the year 2020. And so far it’s doing a number on 2021. But vaccines have arrived and are being administered at an escalating pace, so there’s absolutely no doubt that the pandemic will end in the foreseeable future and that, as a result, happy days will be here again. That’s the opinion, anyway, of Anthony Fauci, a top doc and the face of the USA’s fight against coronavirus. My wife Sandy and I heard him say so earlier this month on a late night talk show. Man, he better be right.

When the f*cking virus gripped the States last March, I was scared shitless. As were zillions of my fellow citizens. Initially, I went to places frequented by others (I’m mainly referring to supermarkets) only once a week, wrapping up my business as quickly as possible to try and avoid becoming infected. But two or three months later, as my health remained stabile and my worst personal fears didn’t materialize, I began to gain courage. Since then I’ve been out and about for a fair number of hours each week. Cautious yet unafraid I keep my distance from others, wear a mask when inside stores, and use hand sanitizer liberally, Still, those precautions don’t guarantee protection from an invisible enemy. The vaccines do though, apparently. Needless to say, Sandy and I can’t wait to get jabbed a second time (we each got our first dose of Moderna on March 19).

My life has been diminished by the pandemic, but not incredibly so. Who am I to complain about anything anyway, considering that the virus has ended more than two million lives and significantly disrupted countless more? I’m an old guy on a pension, so I don’t have to deal with anywhere near the number of demanding familial and economic situations that are typical for many folks.

Yeah, I miss the part-time volunteer jobs that gave me heavy doses of satisfaction. By necessity, they were put on hiatus when the virus hit. And I miss the very decent social life that I had. But it hasn’t entirely disappeared, because I have met up with friends now and then, most notably in October. That’s when Sandy and I vacationed for a few days with two pals in Cape May, New Jersey. Social distancing went out the window among the four of us during that time. Very thankfully, we all remained virus-free. And those several days of normalcy have gone a long way in helping to keep my spirits up.

And though I miss seeing my brother, sister-in-law and other relatives, most of whom live too far away to make getting together possible right now, I’m in regular contact with them. And it’s been tough not being able to go to movies and concerts — two of my favorite activities — but TV-watching has kept me nicely entertained.

Overall, I’m in a fortunate place.

However . . . there’s no doubt whatsoever that I’m itching madly to reinstate the lifestyle that I’m accustomed to. A big part of which involves casually exploring places near and far, something that I’m wired to do. The good ol” pandemic has limited that dramatically.

When it comes to near, in normal times I often investigate on foot various sections of Philadelphia, a fascinating city a relative handful of miles from my town. But doing so, at least my way of doing so, requires the use of public transportation to get to the areas where I want to be. And I’ve felt that it’s just too risky, virus-wise, to situate my aged ass inside trains or buses. Yeah, soon after I get jabbed a second time it will be Philadelphia, here I come!

In regard to far, heading to New Mexico with Sandy, to visit my brother and sister-in-law, is high on my list. Not only because we are close with them but also because they dig exploration as much or more than I do. Ditto for meeting up in Europe with Sandy’s and my friends who live in Gay Paree. We’ve had fabulous times with that couple in their city and also in Amsterdam and Edinburgh.

It’s almost closing time for this essay. I shall not depart, however, without expending some wordage on Cape Cod, Massachusetts, which isn’t anywhere near my home but isn’t terribly far away either. I’ve written about the Cape maybe too many times before. But I can’t help myself. The reasons? Cape Cod fills me with wonder and delight. I feel totally at home there. At peace. Sandy would say the same about her Cape relationship.

A small section of the enormous dunes in Provincetown, Cape Cod (October 2019)

On Cape Cod I’m almost as free as a bird. And nowhere more so than on its Atlantic Ocean coastline, a stunning expanse of water, beach, dunes and sand cliffs that never ceases to floor me. I’m anxious to stare once again at the ocean, and to do my old-guy scampering thing among the humungous dunes that dominate a long section of Cape Cod’s farthest reaches. The pandemic nixed the Cape vacation that Sandy and I would have had last October. But I’m taking Dr. Fauci at his word. In other words, I expect to be on Cape Cod with Sandy this coming autumn. Being there is going to bring me to tears.

Atlantic Ocean coastline (Eastham, Cape Cod, October 2019)

(How has the pandemic affected you and yours? Are you hopeful for the future? Please don’t be shy about adding your comments about those or any related topics. Thanks.)

Fun Times In Paris And Amsterdam: An Overview

June 30, 2016Yeah, Another Blogger27 Comments

We went, we saw, we had a very swell time overall, and then we came home. The end.

There’s something to be said for conciseness, don’t you agree? And maybe if I were more courageous than I am I’d write not another word beyond the 18 contained in the two masterful sentences above. But my fingers, God help them, are itching to type, so I’ll bag that idea for now. In fact, I’m going to try and bite off more than I normally can handle, by turning my wife Sandy’s and my recent visit to Paris and Amsterdam into a three-part blogging extravaganza. I’ve noted before on these pages that I have trouble enough producing one-parters. Wish me luck.

Let’s begin. In many ways I’m a lucky individual. And I don’t take my good fortune for granted. Throughout my adult life, for instance, I’ve done a fair amount of traveling. In the earlier of those years I somehow wandered far and wide with not much more than a few bucks in my pockets. During the last three decades they have been more fully filled with cash (and plastic). Regardless of my financial situation, though, I’ve never ceased to be amazed that I’m able to leave the home environment and rev my motor in other parts of the world. And for my money you can’t do a whole lot better than to frolic in Paris and Amsterdam. Great cities both. Beautiful cities both. And Sandy’s and my week-and-a-half-long sojourn there earlier this month came with a special bonus. Namely, we spent most of the expedition with our très magnifique pals Alan and Martine.

The view from Martine and Alan's guest bedroom. — The view from Martine and Alan’s guest bedroom.

Martine and Alan live in Paris. Have a lovely home in the city’s heart. And they not only put up with us, they put us up. I guess they like us because, after four days of that, they hopped aboard an Amsterdam-bound train with Sandy and me. The four of us spent several days bopping around that canal-laced city until the scheduled time arrived for the Parisians to return home. Alan! Martine! Don’t abandon us! We’ll be lost without you! But Sandy and I showed ’em. Yeah, maybe we stumbled and fumbled a bit, but we sure as shootin’ had three more Amsterdam days heavily sprinkled with fun. Amsterdam, I miss you. A lot.

Now, Sandy and I had been to Paris before. We’d seen most of the must-sees and plenty of the less-noticed sights too, such as the building in which Vincent van Gogh crashed with his brother Theo for two years in the 1880s. This time around we decided to let things flow organically, whatever that means. And to try and spend lots of time just strolling around, taking in the views and vibes in as unpressured a manner as we could. Sure, we couldn’t resist going to a couple of museums (The Orangerie, The Marmottan Monet), and we had a sweet dinner in a quintessentially Parisian eatery (Le Petit Colbert), the type that natives frequent. But walking is what we did the most of. Miles and miles of it. All over central Paris, on both sides of the Seine. And beyond. The entire time, indoors and out, Martine and Alan accompanied us. They are expert tour guides and really, really good sports.

What can I say about Paris that hasn’t already been said? Nothing much, pardner. But that won’t stop me. I mean, I’ve got blog stories to create. First, if you haven’t been and have the means, you should go. As everyone knows, Paris’ appeal isn’t simply its gorgeousness . . . the city is intriguing too. Streets come together at odd angles, a wonderful idea. Many sidewalks are narrow, an example of quaintness of which I approve. And seemingly every block has alluring buildings you’d like to live in, bistros whose tables are just made for sipping espressos beside, and perfect, little shops loaded with foods better than you’re likely to find at home. The pastries, the breads, the cheeses. Did somebody say breads? I live in suburban Philadelphia, and I know of only one place within five miles of my house where I can buy a crusty, flavorful rustic loaf of bread. Yo, when’s the next flight back? I need to be around people who know how to bake the staff of life.

And there’s a soul-satisfying uniformity in scale and color to much of Paris that I’d forgotten about. Most of Gay Paree’s buildings are from the 1700s and 1800s and about seven levels high and made from beige-colored limestone. Talk about a charming and serenity-inducing look. I couldn’t get enough of it. I wallowed in its aura.

It would be a mistake for me to end my brief Parisian recap without mentioning the big guns for which the city is famed. For starters: The Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame Cathedral, the Seine, the unreally-huge Louvre Museum. To first-time visitors I’d say you’d do well to examine them thoroughly, though, to be honest, you easily could live without stepping foot within the Louvre.

A snap of the fingers later, Sandy and I and our friends found ourselves in Amsterdam. I’d been there about 30 years ago, though my pigeon-like brain has forgotten many details of the experience. Sandy never had been. I’ve got to tell you, this is a place where I’d be happy and content as a clam to live. And the fact that there wouldn’t be a language problem is a plus, as Amsterdammers speak English in addition to their native tongue. I kept looking around and exclaiming to myself and to whomever else in the party was nearby: “I love this city.”

What’s not to love? Amsterdam looks great. Most of the houses, many of which overlook canals, are cozy and cute and entertainingly gabled. Generally they stand five levels above ground and are constructed of bricks. And they are not new, the majority having been erected between 1500 and 1900. I like being in places that look pretty much the same as they did hundred of years ago. And the canals? Man, they crisscross the city gently yet semi-riotously. And their prettiness can not be exaggerated. As in Paris, the four of us walked and walked and walked. Very happily. And when we got tired of walking we climbed aboard Amsterdam’s trams, which make navigating the city a breeze.

Amsterdam is relatively compact, meaning that you can make it to pretty much anywhere on foot, though some treks might take you an hour and a half. There aren’t a ton of cars on the streets, and that’s because Amsterdammers are bicycle-crazed. Practically everyone owns a bike and uses it to get around. I’d heard about the bicycle scenario, and it was a gas witnessing it. Bicycles, bicycles everywhere, loads in operation, many more attached to bike racks, bridge railings, trees, you name it. You gotta watch out where you’re going or you might get smacked by a bike. One evening, Martine received a double dose of near-trouble. It’s easy to become distracted by the loveliness surrounding you in Amsterdam, and that’s what happened to her. Stepping off the sidewalk into the narrow street bordering a canal, she nearly got clipped by a car. Half a minute later, at the same spot, a bicyclist almost broadsided her. But I’m giving the wrong impression. Back to Amsterdam’s magnetic powers.

The Fearsome Foursome hit some of the famed sites together (Anne Frank House, Van Gogh Museum, Rijksmuseum) and took a groovy canal boat tour of the city. And after Alan and Martine hightailed it back to Paris, Sandy and I poked around neighborhoods and other spots, such as the city’s botanical gardens and zoo and the Stedelijk Museum, an astonishingly good modern art repository. Then, before we knew it, the time approached for us to head to the airport and return home. But I can’t wind things up without mentioning two subjects: marijuana and prostitutes. Amsterdam is famed for both, as cannabis use and prostitution are legal, within boundaries, in this enlightened and welcoming city. And they undoubtedly help make for an atmosphere real attractive to millennials (residents and visitors alike), who fill Amsterdam’s streets in uncountable numbers.

Now, seeing the prostitutes was kind of cool. They have set up shop on a smallish enclave of blocks in what’s known as the Red Light District, which my group toured on a Sunday afternoon. Barely dressed, the ladies stood in full view behind ground level doors and windows in what I assume used to be normal residences. My eyes, and those of my companions, were popping. Needless to say, I didn’t come close to indulging.

But marijuana was another story. Me, I haven’t had a toke in about 30 years. And boy was I tempted to resume the habit temporarily. After dinner on the day we arrived, Alan and I strode into one of the town’s numerous marijuana parlors, all of which, for reasons I don’t know, are called, incongruously, coffee shops. Alan strictly was an observer. The place looked like a Greenwich Village beatnik hangout. Lights were low, tables were small and occupied, and the air was filled with second-hand marijuana smoke. Inhaling deeply, I started to feel a bit of a buzz. I walked to the counter and sized up what’s what. Gazing at a menu, I saw that various strains of grass were available. The least potent varieties were described as strong. The most powerful were guaranteed to get you incredibly high. Prices for one ounce ranged, I think, from 10 to 15 euros. Not too expensive at all. One of the two girls behind the counter suggested to me that getting stoned after years of abstinence would be a terrific idea. I looked at Alan and pondered the situation. I breathed in the second-hand smoke hungrily. My buzz got slightly stronger. In the end, though, nerd that I am, I chickened out.

To be continued, if the stars align themselves properly.

(Don’t be shy about adding your comments, or about sharing this article with others)

(Most photos by Sandra Cherrey Scheinin. The crooked ones are by a nerd whom she knows. If you click on any photo, a larger image will open)

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