This week, I'll be posting my accounts of a recent trip to three cities in the Low Countries: Amsterdam, Antwerp, and Brussels.
My first day in Amsterdam, I arrived on Tuesday morning and immediately felt jet-lagged. I checked into my hotel around noon, the Hotel Agora on Singelgracht; it turned out to be superbly located, and although not particularly glamourous, an excellent value for the price. I slept during the afternoon and then walked to a cafe for dinner. It ended up being rather far on foot, about a 30-minute walk down to the Museumkwartier, but it was a nice walk and the restaurant, called Cafe Loetje, was a friendly, neighborhood hangout. I had steak frites and salad, and it was an excellent jet-lag remedy as well as the first good meal I'd had in a couple of days.
My impression of Amsterdam is that it's a mellow, idyllic city that both knows its charms and how best to display them. When I arrived, I walked to my hotel from the train station instead of taking a tram or taxi and saw a good portion of the older section of the city that way. I cut through the Red Light District which seemed much less threatening than say, San Francisco's Haight-Ashbury or Alphabet City in New York. I found the canal I was staying on - Singel - and walked the rest of the way along it. Many of the houses are unbelievably elegant and well-kept with simple and beautiful facades. On my way to dinner, I walked through Gouden Bocht and admired some of the noted Golden Age mansions in that area.
I was especially fond of the way that just being in the city slowed my pace. On my way back from dinner, I saw a couple embracing, their bicycles pressed between them. After breakfast on Wednesday, I went to an Internet cafe to check-in with clients via email. I got about an hour of work done before a woman lit up a spliff at the table behind me and I decided to check out sans 10am contact buzz. Then I was off to the Rijksmuseum, which is mostly closed for renovation. Many of the masterpieces in the collection are on display, though, and I saw several exquisite Rembrandts and Vermeers.
Rembrandt's self-prortrait at 22, unusually lit from behind to leave his face in shadow, reminds me of something painter Elizabeth Peyton said at the Whitney a couple of years ago about wanting to capture people just before their moment of greatness. The Nightwatch, like my mother said, is much larger than one might imagine. I also particularly enjoyed a couple of pen paintings of battles by an artist who would sail with the Dutch fleet, sketch from life at sea, and then paint in his studio. The level of detail in these works is extraordinary, and the approach unusual. They are large, realistically-depicted scenes, meticulously painted in ink on a white background. It's an intriguing niche that the artist discerned and seemed to fill quite nicely. The family of Maarten Tromp, a naval commander who died in a noted battle with English ships who had blockaded the harbor, commissioned the most compelling one, and the original frame still bears his family's traditional insignia.
I was also intrigued by a painting with a reference to "birding," or depicting a woman being handed a bird as "an expression of making love," and the caption, "She eyes the pheasant with great interest." It was very amusing and wry for the 17th Century. An informal wedding portrait of a couple leaning against a tree -- she wearing a ruff, he in tights and short pants -- was a romantic glimpse into life and love in another century. From there, it was just a short walk to the Van Gogh Museum. I was surprised, having surmised that all of his best works were in other museums (as noted in my guidebook, published by the excellent Moon Metro series), to see two of my absolute favorite works on display: Almond Blossom and The Bedroom.
There was also a special exhibition of works by Egon Schiele, an artist whose work (and persona) I find simultaneously creepy and dead sexy, although the interpretive art commissioned to give a contemporary aspect to the work felt flat and overly self-reverential, e.g. the performance artist who lies on a platform in the main gallery and stares at himself in a video camera from 10-6 every day. My instinctive reaction was that the concept was not even remotely visceral in the moment of its creation as performance art as Schiele's drawings are nearly a century later without the context of externally applied inspiration to propel them. Crouching Woman and a portrait of the young collector Erich Lederer were most appealing to me. I also liked his drawings of ships in Trieste (a town he was quite fond of; perhaps I'll go there on my next trip) and a loose, unusual drawing of a yellow chrysanthemum.
I strolled over to P.C. Hoofststraat, supposedly the chicest street for shopping -- verdict: not really -- although I saw a Mulberry bag I wanted badly for a moment. If anyone doubts how gauche and masstige-oriented Chanel and Louis Vuitton have become, the "paparazzi"-themed shop windows of the former and the trailer-park cherry motif of the latter really settle the issue decisively, as far as I'm concerned. Following that, I went to HEMA, more or less a temple to budget-conscious design and aesthetic value; or, think Target without all the Rubbermaid. I bought white, pointy-toed espadrilles with graphic flower embroidery and a big, boldly-striped pouch that's perfect for traveling and the beach. In Amsterdam, I also bought a bicycle bell (for a future bicycle). It's black, matte, so very glamorous and functional.
The houses in Amsterdam do tend towards chromatic sobriety but the design and decor is very cheery and punchy; a swell of oranges, pinks and acid-greens everywhere you look. I saw multiple acid-green scarves knotted just so worn by women on the street. Wednesday afternoon, I walked all around the Eastern edge of the old section of the city and wound back around again to get some frites and pop into the hotel just before it started raining. I slept decadently until about 7, and then watched some television and got dressed for dinner. I went to Morlang for an excellent meal: goat-cheese lasagna that I practically inhaled and a full-bodied glass of shiraz that was its perfect complement. I had Belgian chocolates for dessert -- quite literally a jaw-dropping taste of what was to come in Belgium. Two puffs of a cigarette and I snubbed it out, just like Frank Sinatra.
Thursday morning started off sweet and slow in Amsterdam, which I realized when after I left gets down deeper in the bones than one might realize at the time. After checking out of the hotel, I walked around for a while, carrying my bags, it rained and, at first, the morning was kind of a drag. I had trouble finding the neighborhood I was looking for, Negen Straatjes (Nine Streets), and then it was right in front of me. I did a little window-shopping (not particularly keen on Dutch fashion, I hardly bought anything besides the afore-mentioned summer slides at HEMA) and then had a lingering lunch before walking to the train station and heading down to Antwerp.
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