Beauty; glad to be human; Sunday evening

Good evening, everyone,

I had a lovely walk this afternoon, to and from the Haarlemmerstraat, Leiden's long pedestrian shopping street, which runs sort of parallel with the Old and New Rhine (no street is remotely straight in Leiden). The mission was frivolous (replace eye shadow), but the journey, as so often happens to me in this beautiful tiny city, was anything but frivolous.

If you have Google Earth, you can follow this routing:

My house, on 4e (4th) Binnenvestgracht #26, left out the door, then left again onto Kraaierstraat, across the Levendaal, to the New Rhine (on the far side; on the near side it's called the Utrechtse Veer, or Utrecht Feather (or maybe something else; one meaning of veer is feather). Then left on the New Rhine, and follow that to the convergence of the New and Old Rhine (there's also a small stretch of canal called the "Silent" Rhine). Then right, across the sliver that the Rhine has now become, to the Haarlemmerstraat.

So, mission accomplished, I wandered back along the New Rhine, which runs past the Town Hall and some very scenic brickwork. Just behind the Town Hall, I spotted what I later decided was a small fountain, but it had been boarded up for the winter, so nicely that I forgot that it really was a fountain. Someone was practicing again on the Town Hall's lovely carillon, so there was that music floating out over the wintery town. I came home more or less as I'd left, but found myself stopping and staring at the (mostly) lovely high houses and warehouses, most from the 18th, a few from the 17th, and some (the least attractive) from the 19th century. I struggled to explain (to anyone, including myself) how lovely the city is. I thought of my cats, who are utterly unaware of the joys of 17th century Dutch architecture. I realised again that one of the privileges of our species is to be aware of beauty. I tried, to myself, to describe why something was beautiful. I only tried this for a moment or two, remembering how hopeless it is to try to describe, for example, how beautiful certain pieces of music are. I just filled my eyes with the lovely homes on the Rhine.

By the time I got home, it was darkening a bit, and time for a tasty anise-star tea. It's interesting, how many of the most affecting things in life are free. The visuals in this little city are just wonderful.

So, off to read an interview of J.K. Rowling in Dutch in the weekend paper's magazine (published and delivered on Saturday, to give all the paper employees Sunday off, I guess). Then, to gear up for another week of dashes to the train. I'm ready for another holiday, but will have to wait until Christmas. Mr. Douglas and I hope to visit his son and family on their big catamaran, somewhere between Torrevieja (just south of Alicante) and Barcelona on Spain's east coast. We should find out this week a better idea of where they will be. I hope that my high school Spanish will suffice. Sun and sea in December would be lovely.

Baked stones: "bak stenen" or bricks

Good evening, all,

I've been meaning to mention the beautiful brick work that one sees all over here. It's not nearly as old as some other construction (plain stone, some wood), but started for domestic construction after some major fires, as in other major cities (Amsterdam, here, in Leiden, Rotterdam, The Hague, Delft, and others).

Anyway, the most typically Dutch-style brickwork is known as "spek laagjes" or bacon layers. A lot of bacon here is sold cut up in little chunky strips, about 1.5 inches long and about 1/4 inch thick, riddled with fat -- it's streaky. Needless to say, it's delectable. I buy the sort that's slightly smoked, and I *do* remove most visible fat.

So, that's the bacon. From at least the 17th century, there has been a lot of domestic and institutional construction with red bricks and some sort of brick-like stuff that's a creamy color. All sorts of styles and patterns were created, but probably the most frequently used was to put red brick to about 8 feet, and from there up to the top, whether a home or a town hall, the brick layers went wild. Most of it is geometic, but one also sees sun ray patterns and occasionally, whimsical patterns. It's elegant, and very typically Dutch. I still stop to look at it and find it elegant: a bit reserved or dignified, but also just beautiful.

Dassit, I think. It's suddenly cold here, but still no frost. I wore gloves for the first time, briefly. I finished my first Harry Potter book today, reluctantly: I loved it, even having seen all the films. Now, to read the rest of them. Like Governor Arnold's "Terminator" films (I saw the first two, when I lived in San Francisco, at the urging of colleagues), the plots felt very mythological: good vs. evil, quest for magical sources and puzzles that required extended effort, both physical and mental, to solve or conquer. At least with Harry, though, the hero (and his friends) live to tell the tale. And the films showcase nearly all of my favorite British actors (even John Cleese, as a ghost, but not Steven Fry or Hugh Laurie, oddly), chief among them, the ever-dark Alan Rickman.

Right: off to forage for dinner.

Stay warm, everybody.

Pamela

Inching (millimetering?) into winter (I guess)

Here we are, on a blustery November weekend (it roared across the North Sea from England Thursday night, blew around, rained some, caused the Dutch to operate the storm surge equipment at Zeeland [south of Rotterdam] and at the Maas [at Rotterdam] for the first time since 1976, so I paid attention), having swept the leaves in the rear garden (bricked patio, really) and snipped things in the front garden (a single rose bush continues to issue forth white roses; who could deny that by pruning?), I've got a nice mug of tea, some almonds, my lovely mother cat (I imported her and her daughter) at my back, and need to catch you all up on one American's views in this tiny country.

It's still not cold, though -- no sign of frost. Occasional hail, but this is usually just part of some storm. The constantly changing weather has some odd ramifications. On one of my homeward train trips last week, we neared Leiden, but the train slowed and made the most alarming noises -- grinding, thumping and very uneven speeds. People around me exchanged slightly bemused looks. The trains are so punctual (except when they're not), quiet, fast and comfy that it's a little worrying when such noises occur. Given we were between stops and nowhere near anything that could provide transport to Leiden (hothouses, planted fields), I began to fret a bit. We finally smoothed out, picked up speed and everyone relaxed a bit. The conductor came on the speaker thing (sorry: my English often fails me these days), to explain that the train had encountered a lot of LEAVES on the track and had been slipping! I couldn't believe that leaves would produce the level of stress that the train had had.

Some things are just bullet items, such as:

• What I call "clumping", namely that the Dutch (not just students, as I saw constantly last year) do not form orderly queues in any situation. They also will walk directly into one, despite making eye contact in advance! Americans, at least, faced with oncoming traffic, be it pedestrian or otherwise, will at least (usually) make way. The Dutch do NOT. In all the times I've been in London, in any season, at any hour, no one has ever bumped into me -- not even in the Underground at rush hour, at Harrod's -- never! Here, it happens daily. I've discussed this with other expats, and most of them say that they think it's ego -- that people consider themselves too important to make way -- but this doesn't make sense. I continue to observe the phenomenon.
• Elevator etiquette. When ascending to my office (21st floor of a "tower" at the Amsterdam version of the World Trade Center), on leaving the elevator, one greets the remaining travelers with 'good day', 'bye' or 'good morning'. Given we're all usually semi-comatose, this struck me as so civilised when I first noticed it. Stony silence is the norm in the States and the UK, and I was shocked.
• Togetherness at the office. At first, I thought that our puny 30-minute lunch break was why people went to lunch together, but it's just what is done here. I've resisted, claiming one thing and another, so only go with the group about once a week. I need the privacy and "down" time. The Dutch don't seem to need this. I like to read, do nothing or walk around. Whole departments eat together!

It's certainly a country of contrasts. Things are not always what they may seem on the surface. There seems to be a national expectation that things will go a certain way. There's a very popular verb, "meevallen", which means that something goes as one expected or hoped (or not). I hear this verb used every day, by many different people. Things are so stable here; maybe that's why this verb is so widely used.

This is it for this evening, I think. Stay warm and dry, everybody!

Until soon,

Pamela