A visit to family and friends

They are not exactly New Year resolutions, but I certainly intend to visit elderly family members and friends more regularly this year. On a sunny day, an exception this winter, a winter hardly worthy of the name, I drive up North expecting to enjoy the scenery. But even before I reach Schiphol, mist changing into fog changes everything into an old black and white photograph, with many shades of grey. No horizon, no high-rise buildings in the distance, but a fading picture. No view of the former IJsselmeer, except for the choppy waves under the high bridge across the lake, where a strong wind from the East threatens to blow us off course. Islands seem far away, the villages built on them not visible. Holland for once seems wide and empty. When I have reached the most northern provinces, an area which I usually love, it isn’t much better. The ploughed fields look drab and dark, the emptiness only broken by rows of bare trees in the distance, as if drawn with a sharp pencil against the grey sky. No clouds, no sun, no colour, just black and grey.

As always I take a detour through the peat and reed lands, via narrow winding dikes flanked on both sides by water. Most of the reeds have been cut, so even here the land is uninteresting. No reeds moving in the wind, like undulating golden waves. Black water, dull yellowy stubbles, no traffic, no cyclists, no flowers and no colour. In one place there are still stacks of reed bundles which make a nice change on this wintry day and break the monotony.

   A bit further on, in a rural area, along a beautiful tree lined country road which I usually love, there are many houses for sale, small farms, several sheltering under thatched roofs, some converted, some authentic, some the worse for wear. Usually I have visions of living there, and I am jealous of those people who actually do! But this time the land can’t inspire me. I realise that what may be attractive in summer and spring, and even covered in snow, must be rather lonely at this time of the year when everything is bare and flat and empty and robbed of colour.

   It is good to be warmly welcomed by my relatives, to share lunch and drinks with them. Once so enterprising and full of life and energy, they seem to have aged visibly in just a year’s time. It is right I made this special trip.

A nice sculpture of villagers chatting in front of the old church of Oldemarkt, a picturesque rural town I pass through on my way to and from my relatives in Vledderveen

I leave late in the afternoon and after a phone call pay an unexpected visit to friends who live en route. Here we luxuriate in front of a welcoming open fire, trying to forget the numbing cold outside, lighting candles against the dark afternoon. We haven’t seen each other for over a year and enjoy each other’s company and stories. We share nibbles and drinks, and a nice home-cooked meal. When I leave, I am filled with warm feelings. It was good to go and see people. We all seem to be too busy. But friendship and family are the most important things in life, although we tend to forget that too easily as life and the daily grind get in the way.

   This grey day has certainly turned into a very happy day.

Two house concerts on historic instruments.

A strange week. My guest has left, so normality should return. Instead everyday of this past week I have either visited or been visited by friends I have neglected for a long time. It is lovely to see different friends each day, either here or at their homes. Add to that a backlog of paper work, fitness classes, choir practice and two house concerts: A very full week indeed.

Of course the concerts were the best part of the week. Both were in the houses of friends in The Hague. They have the fortune to live in old and elegant houses, with big, high ceilinged rooms which can easily be converted into or used as a music hall. The first concert was a recital for fortepiano, fourhanded. 

The Duwaer

Not only on a historical instrument, but the house itself is like a museum, and seems to transport visitors to former centuries. Gilded mirrors, dark painted walls, showcases with beautiful and expensive china, paintings and candelabra’s, it all gives the visitor the feeling that he has entered another age when he steps across the threshold. But it is a family home and people live here. My friend restores historic pianos, harpsichords and pianofortes and also organises recitals and concerts at home and in interesting historic buildings, be it castles or buildings in old towns such as Dordrecht and Amsterdam. 

Two of the owner's historic instruments, the Duwaer on the right

It is a delight to go to those concerts, not just for the music, but for the whole atmosphere and his interesting and witty introductions. This time the recital was played on a Duwaer, a pianoforte built in Amsterdam around 1830. It has an amazing sound, just as loud as a grand piano. The two musicians formed an interesting duo: a tall Finn, Ere Lievonen and a very small, elegant, young dark haired Italian woman, Tullia Melandri. Their performance kept us spellbound on our old/antique? and uncomfortable chairs. The nice thing is of course the wine we share during the interval and after the recital, together with the musicians. They draw us into their music; tell us about performance techniques, their choice of music and how they manage to work together. They played late 18^th and early 19^th century music, Hummel, Mendelssohn and Czerny, of which the latter wrote more than piano etudes for unwilling students. The second part of the recital was reserved for Schubert. 

Ere Lievonen and Tullia Melandri

The other event two evenings later was a house concert by the Hopkinson Trio.

The Invitation

They played Mozart, Telemann, a cello concert by Stephen Paxton which was most interesting, and three compositions by Haydn. The musicians were very involved with their public, explaining a composition, or in the case of the violin player the difference in bows and how that influences the sound of the violin. Here too were drinks and coffee before, after and in the interval of the concert, as well as pleasant and interesting company. But in this case the concert was on the ground floor of a spacious house with lofty ceilings, which the owner had turned into a real concert hall and gallery. He no longer lives on that floor, so the atmosphere was totally different from that of the first concert.

Cynthia Freivogel played Fantasia 7 by Telemann, a solo concert for violin.

On this video Cynthia is playing one movement of the Fantasia. At the recital she played all four movements: Dolce, Allegro, Largo and Presto.

On both occasions I tried to take some pictures, but since I did not use flash they did not really come out well.

 Cynthia Freivogel and Fred Edelen

 

Christina and Fred Edelen

A very exciting and rewarding week, ending on Sunday with a two hour confirmation service followed by a pot luck lunch during which we enjoyed the delicious sweets the British are so good at. And of course the interesting hot dishes prepared by people from many different parts of the world and different backgrounds. I do not often stay for the monthly family lunch, but when I do I am always surprised by the wonderful food and the skills of the various cooks. 

I was also surprised that a service which took two full hours did not seem very long at all. The sermon of the bishop was most interesting and the way he confirmed the candidates and addressed them was very personal. An unusual Sunday.

Some observations and open doors, Paris 2

 Many men in Paris wear navy blue Monty coats and hats. In case of a Monty coat, the dress code is bright coloured woollen sweaters and nice white shirts. In Montmartre I noticed two men with red Monty coats. The mock bohemian look?

Children are not taken to school by car, but on foot! Paris is far more a residential city than London where whole sections are deserted at night. Paris has that healthy mixture, the way it should be.

At almost every intersection one finds at least one cafe and/or restaurant, but usually more. Locals sit there enjoying a coffee or a glass of wine, while reading a book at leisure. The fine art of enjoying life.

How can Parisian women look so elegant in flat shoes? Black flat shoes with black opaque stockings and skirts. And woollen coats, not the thick down coats with fur rimmed hoods which seem to be a worldwide trend and make everybody except  the skinniest models look like inflated ducks, ready for take-off.

When I was young, a long time ago, tourists were mainly Americans. Now it would be useful to learn Japanese. They are like swarms of noisy birds, twittering and crowding out any other nationalities, wearing the latest fashion and having the latest electronic gadgets: camera’s, iPods and iPads and smartphones. Earphones seem just as essential to life as a drip is for hospital patients. The tiny women with their huge and expensive designer bags are everywhere.

Getting around in Paris involves a lot of walking, either underground through long corridors and up and down stairs, or above ground. The latter is far more interesting and an excuse to take regulars breaks and rest one’s feet in one of the many inviting cafe’s. After miles of walking through Paris in just a few days I feel very fit indeed! No wonder I hardly saw any adverts for fitness clubs and fitness classes. The Parisians don’t need it. Perhaps Americans should introduce sidewalks and corner shops again to fight obesity and save money at the same time. Fitness centres are hardly charities. 

 Corner shops and stalls

Paris

Paris. Often visited before. This time trying to reveal its pleasures to a friend new to Paris. So we do the tourist things, but I try to find something new, even in the well-known places. It is good having a hotel in a residential area, watching mothers bringing their children to maternity and elementary school early in the morning, the children wrapped up in hats and scarves and warm coats, each with their own backpack. Amazing that everybody comes on foot, not by car. After delivering their kids safely to their carers and teachers, the young mothers and fathers do some shopping in the small supermarket opposite and go either back home or to their respective jobs. I enjoy the happy chatter and noise of the children down my window, the starting of scooters and mopeds, useful means of transport as they can be easily parked anywhere.

Crib in the Church of the Dome

Crib in the Notre Dame

Churches and the aftermath of Christmas: Every church still has a crib, probably till February 2^nd, Candlemas, the presentation of the Christ child in the Temple and the end of the Christmas period. In the streets of Paris the stalls of the many Christmas Fairs are being broken down and removed, a rather sad sight. But there are still illuminations everywhere.

Crib in the St. Pierre Montmartre

It is great to notice that the famous churches, the Notre Dame and the Sacre Coeur, are not just tourist attractions but still places of worship. After a morning Eucharist my friend and I walk around the magnificent church. When we are at the back of the choir, in the ambulatory, we hear this heavenly music, sung by female voices. We think it is a recording, one of those with Gregorian chants often heard in churches and cathedrals. When eventually we can see into the choir again, we discover 12 nuns in the stalls, singing the office of the hour. It is noon. Do they sing the Sext? One nun is playing the zither and accompanying them. It is as if angels have descended from heaven. Their voices send shivers down my spine and take my breath away, so pure and ethereal is their chanting. Completely covered in white flowing robes, except for a black veil, they seem to be the angel choir which has come down from heaven. It reminded me of the Singing Nun, Soeur Sourire, who in the sixties made a name for herself with her pure voice.

Different view of the nave of the Notre Dame with a large carpet on the floor, woven in 1830

Notre Dame

Of course the Saint Chapelle, no longer used as such, is another must, a highlight every time I go. The vibrant colours of the stained glass windows and the painted walls, columns and vaults ar unbelievably beautiful. No iconoclasm here fortunately!

Sainte Chapelle Paris

Next to the Sacre Coeur is the church of St. Pierre, older by far than the Sacre Coeur and a haven of peace among this tourist part of Paris, Montmartre and Place du Tertre with its fake bohemian atmosphere and artists, and the excorbitant prices in the adjoining cafes. It is an ancient church, well kept, a place for prayer and reflection. No noise from the bustling streets penetrates the ancient walls of this serene church.

 

St. Pierre Montmartre

The mad drive down to Pigalle in a minibus, a kind of shuttle, through the narrow and steep cobbled streets is a first and a godsend for my companion. We have to hold tight not to be thrown through the bus. But we arrive safely down, in a fraction of the time it took us to walk up the “Mont”.

Seeing the Eiffel Tower through the Peace monument, a glass monument with the word Peace written or edged in 32 languages and 12 different alphabets, is a new experience and a moving surprise. This Wall for Peace at the end of the Champs de Mars and in front of the Military Academy is not mentioned in any of my guide books! Is was built for the Millennium, so has been there for a considerable number of years.

 The Dôme des Invalides is not far from here, so we pay Napoleon a visit. What is more interesting is the church at the back of the Dôme and connected with it, although not accessible from the Dôme for us tourists. Here too is a crib. It is a modest church, rather plain compared to many other churches in Paris, but light. We leave it via the courtyard, lined with canons, their mouths forever empty.

And there is another first, a ride on the Ferris Wheel on the Place de la Concorde in the dusk. It is rather scary to look down, but the view down the Champs Elysees, its trees still decorated with blue Christmas light, is amazing. We go round three times, enough to get a good view in all directions. That it is dark makes it all the more interesting, seeing the big boulevards as paths of light, the red tail light of the many cars as slightly undulating serpentines, as well as the illuminated Eiffel tower. Taking pictures through the glass of our capsules or the slits in the metal framework isn’t easy, but the views are imprinted on my brain.

The Lady and the Unicorn

I can never resist the Musée de Cluny, le Musée du Moyen Age. Apart from the beautiful and very modern looking medieval carved wooden statues and miniature ivory sculptures, what always attracts me most are the Flemish tapestries of the Lady and the Unicorn, representing the 7 senses, although what the 7^th really is, is not very clear. Especially the one of the lady playing a portative, a small portable pipe organ, allures me: the unicorn, the symbol of chastity and purity, and the pipe organ, the music, hearing and sound. The colours, still vibrant and bright are absolutely amazing.

Besides the museum houses a set of beautifully carved oak choir stalls from Blois, France. Formerly taking pictures in the Museum was not allowed, and I had no chance to extend my collection of misericords. But the ban has been lifted, so I had a go at photographing quite a few interesting ones.

In the streets of Paris the stalls of the many Christmas Fairs are being broken down and removed, a rather sad sight. But there are still illuminations everywhere.

Then there is the abundance of concerts, although the beginning of January, after a very rich and busy Christmas time, isn’t the best time of the year music wise. However, the concert in the Théâtre des Champs Elysées is wonderful. An all Tshaichovsky programme with the Philharmonia Orchester and Vladimir Ashkenazy as conductor,  its main attraction is the concert for violin, with Vadim Repin as soloist. It has attracted a full house, and we only managed to get two tickets on one of the balconies at the far end of a row on the left. So we only see half the orchestra. Fortunately, with a lot of neck craning and using our upturned seats as misericords, we manage to see both the violinist and the conductor, a sight not to be missed. The audience is spellbound and absolutely quiet: no coughing or sneezing. Although our seats are not very comfortable and we are extremely hot being under a low overhanging upper balcony, it is all worth it. The introduction, the suite Romea and Juliet and Symphony nr. 4 after the interval, are an extra. If the violin concerto had been the only music performed that evening, I would have been just as happy. Still, we get an encore as the audience applauds for minutes on end.

Repin

Another concert, totally different, is a performance of Mozarts Requiem in the Church of St. Germain des Prés, on the well-known boulevard. During the day the interior of the former Abbey church looks dark and dirty. In the stage lights I see that every inch of wall and every pillar is painted in beautiful colours. Blue, red and gold being the main colours, and the ceiling blue and sprinkled with golden stars, as I have seen in various other churches. In spite of the poor organisation – we have to wait outside until 5 minutes before the start of the concert, which begins half an hour late – the atmosphere is magical. In fact the first part of the concert, a violin concerto by J.S.Bach, is the best part. The violin is pure and because of the acoustics the wonderful sound sings through the church. The choir singing the Requiem is far too big and the sound becomes mere noise, probably because of the acoustics and the position of the choir. It seems the sounds mingle, circle, mix and there is no clear melody any more. However, attending a concert in this church is special. 

Eglise de St. Germain des Pres

After the concert I have wine and cheese in a cafe opposite. Not at Les Deux Magots, the famous cafe and the haunt of Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir after whom this square was named, but at a cafe with another well-known name, Napoleon. Here they serve more than just champagne at this hour of the night. And it is full and warm and cosy inside. The trees in the square are still decorated with Christmas lights. Over the floodlit church tower I see the moon.

When I cross the river Seine on my way home, the Eiffel tower shoots a shower of stars up its tower, something it does every hour on the hour. It is midnight, my birthday has begun! Even the Eiffel tower seems to celebrate this memorable day.

 

Haarlem revisited

January 2nd 2014

When I have visitors, I try to show them the towns, museums, and places which I enjoy, hoping that they will too. Today it was Haarlem. As usual in this perpetual and never ending autumn it poured. But if we wait in this country till the rain stops, we will never get anywhere. So Haarlem it was.

Our first stop was a delightful teashop, Babette’s, reminding me of Babette’s Feast, that well-known movie. Lovely cakes, a motley selection of English plates, teacups and teapots, wonderful selections of teas and a very generous and friendly hostess. Babette is English and started this shop /cafe 8 months ago. I went there when it had just been opened, and liked it very much indeed. Her cheesecake with raspberries was indeed delicious! It helped us to brave the rain again, and set foot towards Corrie ten Boom’s house, now a museum. It is just an old Dutch house, with a double wall behind which Jewish people could hide and did hide from the Nazi’s. Dreadfully cramped, dark and claustrophobic. Corrie’s life story and that of her family is well known, but perhaps people from the States can’t imagine what the conditions in Holland were during the war, or what this house – and many Dutch houses - looked like before and during the war. My friend was most impressed. As a child she had helped her mother sending clothes to Holland. We were in need of many basic things, which now seems unimaginable. The guide, a Finnish lady who grew up in Holland during the war, was very helpful and knowledgeable, which was a plus.

The false wall behind which the Jews were hidden 

Climbing so many narrow stairs was a tiring business so we badly needed to sit down for a light lunch. That sitting down lasted longer than expected as many people milled around. It is holiday time and the sales are on, a bad combination. But the food was worth it once it came.

We then went to see the St. Bavo, the central church in the Market Square. I sing there regularly with a choir, but that is always at the end of the day when the light is generally poor. By now the rain had stopped and the sun came out which bathed the whole church in a beautiful light. It was empty of chairs as a winter show was being built up. It meant the choir was closed to us, but it gave us an uninterrupted view across the nave to the big and famous Müller organ, which Mozart played once. Many pictures later – I couldn’t resist taking pictures again - we emerged, into the sun this time!

 Beatifully carved railings around the choir, and some paintings on the pillars at the back of the choir

 The pipe organ: some details

Our next stop was the Frans Hals Museum. Not that there was a special exhibition, but I love the building itself as it is old and the original rooms and features are still intact. Like the Mauritshuis in The Hague it is intimate and in a way homely.  Of course the paintings are impressive, but I think my guest was even more impressed by the beautiful dolls’ house, a house in miniature with exact replicas of everything one would find in a home of a well-to-do Dutch family at that time. A silversmith had made small silverware on scale, furniture too was made exactly as it was in real life. It wasn’t something children were supposed to play with, but a house to be shown to visitors and friends. A showpiece. And a showpiece it still is. There is another dolls’ house in the Gemeente Museum in The Hague which I like very much. The audio guide was a great help for my friend, who isn’t well versed in Dutch art. I enjoyed its comments too, the Dutch version that is. So now I still don’t know what a Schutterij is in English, but I presume it is a guild of civilian guards.

 Frans Hals Museum: the former dining hall

Cabinet organ, a little bit more modest than the Muller organ! 

By the time we had done the rounds, it was 5 o’clock and closing time.

Haarlem has many small, independent specialist shops which I love. Cook shops, camera shops with shop assistants who know what they are talking about, boutiques and bookshops, not to mention several other museums, interesting architecture, hidden almshouses and many picturesque canals and alleys. I couldn’t resist browsing the shops but once home I felt virtuous because I had resisted the temptation to buy anything at all. It was a well-spent day.

A display in the Frans Hals Museum. An imitation of the tables in Frans Hals' paintings

Haarlem by day and in the evning with Christmas lights