A Day and a bit in Paris

Paris vaut bien une Messe.

That's what the protestant king Henry IV said when he married his Roman Catholic wife. And who could disagree seeing Paris? Henry became a Catholic, being born a Catholic, raised as a Huguenot, but changing to Catholicism not just once.

I took the fast train from Schiphol to Paris which got me there in 3 hours! It takes even more time to go from Leyden to Maastricht by train. But of course the train to Paris is more expensive, except if one can take advantage of special offers, which I did.

Mid July one hopes for some sun and summer. However, in northern Europe the summer of 2011 was in June. This also applies to Paris. I took a midday train, and although the weather was relatively mild and dry in Amsterdam, in Belgium the sky became more and more overcast and after Brussels it started raining. In Northern France the fields were soaked, almost inundated, with large puddles reflecting the dark clouds. Just as well we were speeding on, next to the motorway, at such a speed that the cars who do 130 kms an hour here, seemed to be on a very leisurely drive. The rain crawled horizontally across the window panes, in tiny beads. I kept wondering why it did not speed across. Unfortunately I never took science, just studied arts. Had it been the other way round, I might have been able to explain the phenomenon which fascinated me.

Anyway, it was still wet once I arrived in Paris and as the train was far too long to give carriage number 17 shelter under the roof of the station, I got wet.

Some interesting views from my hotel window

My hotel was simple but clean and adequate. I had chosen a different area from where I normally go, in the Rue des Abesses, boasting a original Art Deco Metro station. It is on the "Butte" of Montmartre, at the base, some streets up of Place Pigalle but a stiff climb to the top, to the Sacré-Coeur. It is a nice area, with hardly any traffic, certainly no through traffic, lots of local shops, boutiques and cafes, and clearly residential. All the sidewalk cafes had heaters and were canopied, so it was a joy to sit outside under the awnings enjoying a light meal and watching people. The slim French girls all wore very tight and fashionable blue jeans, with legs which were too long and so had folds and wrinkles around the ankles. I felt rather provincial. Office workers with neat suits, briefcases and laptops strode by on their way home. Young women were pushing prams. A middle aged man passed by with three shirts nonchalantly across his left arm. They were all striped, each in a different colour: red, blue and grey. Sometime later he came back with some folded shirts neatly packed in plastic, clearly from the dry cleaners. Why did I presume he had no wife?

After the meal the temperature became milder and the rain stopped, although there still was a light drizzle from time to time. I decided to walk up to the top. Apparently there is a funiculaire to the top just at the other side of the Metro station, but I never looked there and so never noticed it! I had only seen the Sacré-Coeur once or twice, not coming from this side. It is amazing what a nice place to live this area is. It is airy, there are little parks and trees, and spacious courts which I sometimes got a glimpse of as a gate might be open. Because the streets are narrow, there is hardly any traffic. Once on the top, the Place du Tertre was absolutely packed with tourists. I had not expected the Sacré-Coeur to be open, but it seems to be open 24 hours a day. Inside it was a blessing to sit quietly in the mysterious evening light and be refreshed by the atmosphere of peace and tranquillity , the tourists being shepherded around the nave by very vigilant wardens who told off everyone who as much as dared to whisper. Later I walked around the "butte", exploring the different streets, and the attractive looking museums which were of course closed. It must have been a lovely place to live and work for the artists who used to gather here. The air would have been a lot fresher than in the crowded streets of Paris down below.

The living artists trying to draw portraits of tourists were still at work late in the evening, and some did amazingly good jobs. The surprise of the evening was the most gorgeous sunset, painting the cupolas of the Sacré-Coeur a rosy gold, and illuminating the city as the red sun was reflected in the glass skyscrapers of Montparnasse and setting the golden Dôme des Invalides on fire. I had left my camera at the hotel as it was such unpromising weather, but bitterly regretted that! Hundreds of others weren't such fools and can now relive that spectacular sunset at home.

The following day after breakfast in a side walk cafe – the hotel has no reception apart from a very simple table, neither a lounge nor a restaurant – I walked up to the Sacré-Coeur again. The tourists hadn't arrived yet, most of the shops were still closed except for the baker's and the cafe's where the locals had their breakfast, and the atmosphere was totally different. I wanted to see the ancient former abbey church next to the Sacré-Coeur, the St. Pierre de Montmartre. It barely escaped being destroyed, as the abbey is no longer there. The interior is simple and seems rather empty, which is its beauty, the beauty of the architecture and the lines. It is Roman in places, and slightly Gothic in other parts as the windows are a bit pointed. A local woman came in to say her prayers. It was a good place and I am glad I saw it.

Walking on water. A modern window in the historic former Abbey church.

Notice the feet and the toes!

The Sacré-Coeur looked totally different in the unromantic daylight. No rose coloured sunset, no rain either, just sober morning light. This time I walked down the steps in front of the church, avoiding the souvenir sellers, mostly black people who spread out their trinkets on blankets, furtively looking around. In the middle of the stairs, halfway up or down, facing the Sacré-Coeur, a man was playing an electronic harp. He did quite well. I took a metro on one of the boulevards further down. Tourists were streaming in by now, and souvenir shops were raising their blinds and putting their wares outside.

It took me three metros to get to the Bastille, due to works on one of the stations.

My plan was to go for a walk through the Marais, an area which I did not know so well. Meandering through it was very pleasurable, discovering places, and alleys which were not in the guidebooks and seeing amazing churches as well. It was relatively devoid of tourists, except for the Place des Vosges which attracts many people. What struck me were the beautiful dimensions of the buildings, not just on the Place des Vosges, and the high and big windows which must have made the houses very light and airy. That was also obvious in the Musee the Carnavalet, once the house of Madame de Sévigné. It is a very large museum, and in fact I was happy that some wings were closed as it took me a very long time to walk through the whole museum, which also includes the Hôtel le Peletier next door. Apart from the history of Paris, there are beautiful period rooms and ballrooms, gilded and full of mirrors. I regretted not having packed my ball gown. All of us visitors looked decidedly out of place in those amazing surroundings: Ornate fireplaces, beautiful furniture, music rooms, very comfortable looking chaise longues and chairs, coffered and gilded ceilings, delicately decorated walls, there was no end to it. And yes, the windows were high and wide. It must have been wonderful to live here, with the various courtyards. Unfortunately they were also closed because of cleaning work being done to the outside walls, but from the windows we could see the formal outlay, the hedges neatly trimmed and pruned, planted in amazing curls and swirls. It was raining, so being stuck in a museum in Paris was no hardship.

On this walk I also come across a remarkable church, L’église Saint-Paul –Saint-Louis, which is very big. It was given by Louis XIII to the Jesuits and frequented by famous people and royalty living in the Marais, at that time a very fashionable area. During the Revolution the domed church fell into decline, but it is still standing. There is a big pipe organ, and recitals are regularly given, unfortunately not on the day that I am in Paris. Between 1688 and 1698 Marc-Antoine Charpentier was organist of this church. Among other famous musicians who played the organ in this church are Jean-Philippe Rameau, Louis Marchand and Michel-Richard Delalande . It is peculiar that none of the two guide books to Paris mentions this church, but I must admit they are simple pocket guides, just good enough for a flying visit to Paris. My fat and heavy guidebook which I left at home, does mention the church and its history.

I also walk through St. Paul village, a new residential area with apartments and little artist shops underneath. They were built in former gardens, next to a remnant of the old city wall. They look attractive, but there is no history here, so I do not stay very long. Another building which is far more interesting is just round the corner, the Hôtel de Sens, one of the few remaining medieval buildings in Paris, now a library, once an old palace.

The Marais has always been the Jewish Quarter and still is. As everywhere else in Europe the Jewish community was decimated after the war. I am shocked to come across a very small and unobtrusive plaque on the wall of a school.

Roughly translated:

In memory of the little children

 of this nursery school

 who were deported from 1942-1944

because they were born as Jews.

Innocent victims

of the barbarian Nazi's,

 with the active support

of the Vichy government.

They were exterminated

in the death camps.

  

In its starkness and simplicity this strikes me as if I am being hit by a sledge hammer.

Sadly I miss the Memorial for the unknown Jewish Martyr, a memorial to all the Jews murdered during the Holocaust. Again, my pocket guide does not refer to this monument. Another reason to go back to the Marais one day, because it is just one of a list of things which I can't do in the short period I can spend here. After the Carnavalet there is no time nor energy left for the Picasso Museum or the Museum of Jewish Art and History. And next time I would like to see an opera in the modern Bastille. In summer there are no concerts, opera's or ballet performances between mid-July and the beginning of September. Too bad!

The nearer I get to the Hôtel de Ville, the busier the streets are. The main boulevard leading to the Hôtel the Ville is busy anyway, as there are so many shops, cafes and restaurants. Every now and then I try one, for a drink, a bite and to give my feet the necessary respite. The trouble is that I have no hotel to go back to to take a midday rest, except at the end of the afternoon to collect my small case which I have left there. But there is no lobby to put my feet up. There is an end to my stamina, and I can't face queuing up at the Hôtel de Ville to see the impressionist paintings from the Musee d' Orsay which are on view here as Orsay is closed to the public during a renovation. I'll wait till they have been relocated in the Orsay.

City beach along the Seine. Plage sur Seine, Paris Plage.

I do walk to the river Seine, where I have a look at the summer beaches which have been cleverly made along the lower banks. They are intended as a city beach, but are completely deserted. The hut next to it which sells ice cream does no business today. We have had showers on and off, and when I am looking over the parapet it rains again. Time to go back to the hotel. I like the location, lively but nevertheless very quiet with no noise at night, except for the collection of garbage at 6 am. But there are no trucks, honking cars or fast scooters. My room has big French doors which I can leave open at night. The disadvantage is that although near a metro, one can't go anywhere without changing lines. But there are buskers, also on the trains, which makes the journeys rather pleasant. One man who sings French chansons in a good voice even has speakers and a microphone with him. Quite a heavy load to carry around, I think.

I collect my bag at the hotel, have a last drink in one of the cafe's while I enjoy the bustle and homeliness of this street, and leave to catch my train, which brings me in 2,5 to Rotterdam, where I change for Leyden. 45 minutes later I arrive at Leyden station and my short adventure is over. But I hope there will be a next time soon.

Well-known organ music by Charpentier. I couold not find a recording which I really liked, but the music is festive. A joyful piece to end with.

Elburg

Elburg, like so many Dutch towns around what used to be the Zuiderzee, once belonged to the Hanseatic League and was a seafaring town. Fishing and trading with far off countries made Elburg prosperous. It is a small, fortified town, doubly protected by walls and a dike, as well as water. It forms a square, with canons on the bulwarks. The dike is now a lovely footpath, bordered by mature trees. Fountains have been placed in the original moats, and white water-lilies float on the surface. The town will be pleasing to Americans, as the street plan forms a grit and one can't lose one's way. The only exception is the church, which is built at a slight angle. I have not checked yet, but suppose it has to do with the fact that churches were built in an exact east-west direction. And the church is not in the middle of town, but in a corner, next to the town wall. Apparently the town was later built next to the church, which was in a field.

The small town used to be open to the Zuiderzee, and the Vispoort – Fishgate – is still intact. The harbour beyond it houses several antique wooden sailing ships with leeboards, so characteristic for sailing ships in shallow waters, but there are no longer any fishing boats there. Pleasure yachts love to moor here. Elburg is at a disadvantage when we talk about access to the sea. After the Zuiderzee was closed off from the sea by a dam, the "Afsluitdijk", part of the IJsselmeer was also pumped dry and made into new land. This means that the harbour of Elburg opens only to a wide canal which was left between the new land and the "old" land. Enkhuizen, Hoorn and Marken for example, still have open access to the IJsselmeer and look out across the lake.

Although the map of the town might be familiar to people in the USA, the houses are not. They are very small, and the streets are so narrow, they are more like alleys. Cars can only negotiate a few streets and the inhabitants have to leave their cars in designated parking spaces just inside the walls. Visitors have to leave their cars outside the fortification. Large car-parks have been built for this purpose and they are free. Quite a blessing.

Elburg has a few interesting museums. The aim of my visit was to see a special exhibition in the local historic museum, paintings and drawings of organs and church interiors throughout history. The paintings fascinate me, but the building just as much. Because the museum is housed in a former convent, a building much bigger than the majority of the houses. Part of the complex is museum, but other parts are made into apartments and are residential. The inner court of the nunnery is now a pleasant garden, open to the public. There is a wedding reception going on as I walk through the garden. The tourist office is also housed in the former convent, and I buy a brochure with a "walk" through the small town.

The first stop is the former synagogue, Sjoel Elburg, now a museum of Jewish life before the second world war. The interior of the synagogue has been given to Aalten, where there are just enough Jews nowadays to have religious services . After the war, hardly any Jews returned to Elburg. There is a video presentation in which a rabbi explains the rituals and their meaning, as well as the use and symbolism of several garments and accessories. It is very well done. In the former synagogue there are a number of showcases, each with pictures and the history of 12 formerly well-known Jewish families in Elburg. They used to be bakers and butchers and were totally accepted in the community. It seems most Jews in Elburg were transported in 1943 to Sobibor and died in the gas chambers. It is stated without further comment, which makes it more impressive than graphic descriptions of their fate. They were people just like us. Their fate could so easily have been ours. They went away, expecting to be back soon, leaving valuables in the care of trusted neighbours. Some of those possessions are now on display in the museum.There is a Jewish cemetery on one of the bulwarks, which is not indicated on the printed leaflet with the walk. But I find it anyway. It is sadly locked now and probably no longer in use.

The walk goes on, through narrow streets and houses which are built with their back against the city wall, and thus called "Muurhuizen", Wall Houses. Many inhabitants have lifted pavement stones in front of their houses and planted hollyhocks and climbers and decorated their windowsills with potted plants. It looks very festive and homely. 

The St. Nicholas church is surprisingly surrounded by a big open space, and next to it there is a row of former almshouses, with their white walls and black painted lower bricks similar in appearance to the almshouses and Beguinages which can be found in many towns in Belgium. In the morning the church is unfortunately locked. A great pity, because apparently the organist who will give a recital tomorrow is practising and I can hear the music  outside but would love to listen to it in the church. When I come back a few hours later, the church is open, probably because preparations for a wedding are going on. The organist has gone. It is a beautiful church with a very unusual choir screen, the like of which I have never seen before. 

Choir screen and collection bags on long poles

  

On some of the walls, the ceiling and the  pillars paintings have surfaced when restoration was in progress. There might be quite a lot more under the white plaster, but whether they can be salvaged is another matter. There is also an unusual oak set of canopied pews, with a gallery on top, apparently commissioned by Jan Hendrik van Kinsbergen, an admiral. He founded a school next to the church and an orphanage, and wanted his pupils to sit together, straight opposite the pulpit. The pulpit has been relocated and is now situated between the nave and the choir.

Another unusual museum is the Pipe organ museum, a tiny, rather dusty place, more like a shed, stuffed with photo's of organs, organists, posters of organ recitals, cuttings from newspapers and rows and rows of files with information about organs. On the walls some interesting scale models of famous organs, made by organ fans. There are stacks of old records with organ music, and an extensive collection of CD's and sheet music plus books and brochures about organs is for sale.

painted wooden pipes in the museum

The main street goes straight from one side of Elburg where the museum is to the Vispoort, opening out to the harbour. Midway this street is intersected by a canal, framed by trees and with a covered bandstand over the water near the intersection. Around these "crossroads" are most of the restaurants, and I try two of them for lunch and dinner. Many restaurants are decorated with fish-nets to emphasize their seafaring past

Elburg also has a real open air rope-yard, where one can see the rope-makers at work. It is rather fascinating, and I now realise where the word "lijnbaan" comes from and why a "lijnbaan" is always rather long.

Another surprise is a herbal garden, which is in full bloom. The air is very aromatic. Bees and bumble bees feast on the flowers, open to the sun.

Since this summer I have been exploring various old towns around the IJsselmeer, and so far it has been is a very informative an joyful experience. A pity that Dutch motorways are congested and blocked up at any time, so that my drive back took an extra hour and 45 minutes, not something one appreciates in the evening. But I would not have missed my day out in Elburg. It also proves that life as a single can be enjoyable and worthwhile. And although I can't share my experiences with a partner, I may share it with any stray reader of this blog.

A walk on the Beach

A beautiful day, and the last sunny one for some time to come, according to the weather forecast. I have not been to the beach this year. When I was still working, I would often go there in the evening after a day cooped up in a grey, concrete building and go for a long and refreshing walk.

Although the holidays have started and it is midsummer, there are amazingly few people on the beach. The parking lots are not half full and I can even park a 10-minute walk away in a free parking area in the dunes. Normally this only happens in winter. Although the temperature is somewhere between 22 and 25 degrees, it feels rather fresh because of the northerly wind which blows right along the coast. It is ideal for walking in a thin, loose-sleeved blouse to protect my body from the sun. The water seems warm in comparison. although the first touch is always cold. It is clear, in the small creeks even crystal clear. This is unusual, as the North Sea is rather rough at times and so sand, seaweed and kelp make the water often opaque. I go for a stiff walk, three and a half hours with just a fifteen minute break for a drink when I reach the first beach cafe at the beginning of the next town. As soon as I get away from the small access point to the beach where I start my walk, the beach is almost deserted.  The gulls make an awful racket when I walk through their territory, places where they congregate and sit, all heads in the same direction. If one didn't know already, now one need to doubt from which direction the wind is coming. It is exhilarating to walk in a regular rhythm on the hard sand, feet in the water. The breaking waves make it impossible to think, and any thoughts which may still clamour for attention are blown away by the wind. Sometimes I have to wade through deep gullies. It is low tide, but when I retrace my steps on the way back tide is coming in and they are treacherously hidden by the water. I know this coastline and its dangers, the gullies with their strong currents out to the sea, and am careful. My feet enjoy the feel of the wet sand. They are given a free reflexology session and foot scrub in one go. I have to cross a nudist beach at one point. Amazingly I only see men, who are parading their pride and glory. Why just men? A bit further on six of them are playing a ball game in a circle, everything joyfully bouncing up and down.  And why wear shoes and socks and a sun hat, and nothing else? It doesn't make sense to me.

There are several other things which amaze me. Why do gulls all stay together in one spot, and why that particular spot? And why are there places where shells are heaped up along the tide mark, and long stretches with no shells at all, where one's footsteps seem to touch very smooth sand, virginal almost, the wet grains glistening in the light like small jewels? The answer will undoubtedly be the currents and the dangerous sandbanks in front of the beach of which there are quite a few here. Still is seems a mystery. A bit further on there are shallow footprints in the sand, very large ones and very small ones, some with just the toes and the heels showing, others the complete foot. I try to imprint mine as well, but it seems I am a ghost as I can't leave an impression at all, whatever I try.

Almost four hours later I sink into a chair on a terrace of a restaurant. It is situated on top of a dune with a fabulous view of the sea and along the coast towards Katwijk. Basking in the sun, which is a lot warmer here where we are sheltered from the wind, I revive myself with a glass of white wine and some "bitterballen". When I get up to walk the last ten minutes to my car, my limbs seem locked and I have to order them to put one foot in front of the other. It was a wonderful walk, but they have had enough. It is clear that the "Vierdaagse", a four-day walking event of 40 kilometres each day, is out of bounds.

Summer has really started. This past Sunday our choir sang the last service before the summer break. At the end of the service we said goodbye to the congregation by singing Chilcott's Irish Blessing. We have done it before, but this time I found it rather moving. I must be getting sentimental and dotty.

The Saturday before we had our annual choir party with a bring and share buffet at the home of one of the choir members, a good occasion to get to know each other better, as well as the culinary skills of the individual singers. It turned out to be a great, varied and delicious spread.

Now it is summer, no duties, except preparing for a week of singing in Ely Cathedral, something to look forward to eagerly.

More Music, June 25th-26th

Another musical weekend, a week ago already!

It began with the regular choir practice on Friday night, this time for an Evensong in the Old Catholic Church in The Hague.

On Saturday evening I went to a recital/concert in an unusual place, Steeckershil in Bleskensgraaf. Friends of friends always dreamt of having their own concert hall. After they retired, they bought and old farmhouse on a river in a small, typically Dutch village. The farmhouse has a thatched roof and inside it is a maze of rooms and stairs and steps. Probably because formerly the farmhouse was shared by cattle and people. The friends converted the hayloft into a beautiful concert hall which can take 80 -100 people under the old oak beams. There are two grand pianos in the loft plus an electronic organ. Here young and talented musicians who have often just passed their finals at the conservatory get a chance to perform. The farm has beautiful grounds, with a kitchen garden, an ornamental garden and fruit trees. It slopes down to the meandering river. All of the garden, and all the rooms in the house are open to the audience on the evening of a concert. Unfortunately on Saturday the weather was somewhat disappointing for this time of year, and so we could not enjoy our tea, coffee and cakes outside in the garden, but had them in the big living room at the back of the house, full of comfortable settees and chairs and with a view of the river and the garden. At 8 o'clock we went up the stairs for the concert. There is even a gallery, and although a bit scary to go there, the gallery affords a splendid view of the musicians. This time two young Italians, Emilio Zenodocchio flute and Alessandro Soccorsi piano, played for us. On top of being good musicians, they were very attractive too! Some have it all. It is nice to be so near the podium. There was a short introduction to each part of the programme, to the music and the composers, which made the evening even more enjoyable. I loved the programme, but then I have always been partial to the flute and tried my hand – or rather mouth – at it years ago.

During the interval there is always a buffet with finger-food, cheese and biscuits, wine, beer and soft drinks. By that time it seemed to get a bit warmer outside, so some of us enjoyed our nibbles and drinks there. The evening was mild, and as it was almost the longest day, the sky was still very light.

This is the programme:

1. S.Prokofiev (1891-1953), Sonata for flute and piano Op. 94 (1943)

2. J.S.Bach (1685-1750), Partita for flute and piano in a BWV 1013

And after the interval:

3. F.Liszt (1811-1886), Après une Lecture de Dante: Fantasia quasi Sonata (piano solo)

4. C.Reinecke (1824-1910), Sonata 'Undine' Op.167 (flute and piano)

The concert is always followed by another buffet, now with fresh fruit salad and several other additions. The musicians mingle with the audience and take part in the conversation. They are charming and very gifted young men, who speak excellent English. We all hope they will be successful in their careers.

Our hostess is a dedicated cook, and her excellent preserves, jams, jellies and chutneys are for sale. It is difficult to resist the temptation and not to go home with one or more jars.

The couple owning the farmhouse-cum-concert-hall don't make a profit. They don't run a commercial institution, but try to cope with the support of sponsors and the contributions of  "friends" of the foundation.

When I drive back with my friend to Rotterdam where I left my car, we deeply inhale the smell of mown grass and herbs. It is midsummer and although it is 11 o'clock the sky is still very light. It is the sort of light in which colour seems to have faded and the world looks like an old-fashioned black and white photograph, two-dimensional.

Fortunately I do not have to get up early the next morning, as Evensong is not till 5 o'clock in the afternoon. It is Open Church Day in many cities, also in The Hague. As we will be joined by the Anglican choir from Rotterdam, we start the practice at 3 o'clock. Between the practice and the service there is time for a drink and a variety of cakes provided by several choir members and supporters.

It is a surprisingly warm summer's day, and everybody seems to be outside enjoying it. Nevertheless the church is pretty full during the service. We sing the Tallis Magnificat  and Nunc Dimittis, which I like. The anthem is absolutely beautifully sung. A pity that the organ is at the opposite end of the choir, so that except for the hymns, we  sing everything a capella. But at least we have the organ in full view.