A Night at the Musuem

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The tram shuddered to a stop in front of a long, low, beige-brick building. We’d arrived at the Gemeentemuseum, in the suburbs of the Hague, for a ‘night at the museum’. Better termed an evening at the museum, this was an event advertised for the large expat population in the Hague, and was a chance to go around the collections without the crowds of visitors that tend to swarm around the many galleries and museums of the city. We’d bought tickets in advance, lured by the temporary presence of the famous Vermeer painting, the Girl with the Pearl Earring. The advert also said ‘nibbles and wine, and fine jewellery’, so we’d pictured ourselves, strolling between Dutch Masters, sipping wine, eating canapes and generally pretending that we were ‘genuine’ expats, rather than students taking advantage of the free food and drink.

The Gemeentemuseum from the tram stop

What we actually encountered was rather different. I took a look around at the Bang Olufsen stereo display, the Rolex watches in their reinforced cases, and the 300EUR dresses on a clothes rack next to a table ful of hideous – and hideously expensive – looking jewellery, and decided that rather than getting into an art museum (the upstairs was still closed when we arrived). I’d bought a ticket to the most expensive pop-up stall in the world.

The early arrivals pretending they don’t care how much everything costs

In stark contrast, the functionality of the surroundings was what a friend picked up on her first impressions – ‘it looks like an 80 swimming pool,’ she said. ‘you know, those horrible places we were forced to have swimming lessons from failed athletes.’ And to an extent, she was correct. The 1930s floor-to-ceiling tilework, in faded greens, browns, and oranges, and the rigid straight lines of the late art-deco period did, in addition to the somewhat overpowering whiff of chlorine cleaning solution, conjure up memories of near-drowning, while the instructor tells you that struggling means you’re making progress.

Floor-to-ceiling tiling should be consigned to bathrooms. Not museums.

However, if I was to enjoy the evening, all aquatic bad memories had to be banished. And what better way to do that than to be introduced to a wide variety of sparkling wines, each accompanied by their designated cheese. Led to the table by a friend who can sniff out alcohol (especially free alcohol) from a mile away, we were treated to fizzy pop from Australia, Italy, and somewhere else, the details of which escape me. The next table offered yet more culinary excellence, with plates of pasta in a delicious truffle sauce being handed out accompanied by a very sweet port. We’d been feeling a little bit out of place amongst the well-to-do crowd as it was, but that feeling was certainly confirmed by the looks we got when deciding to shot the port, rather than sip it in a genteel fashion. These glares were nothing compared to those given to the chap who’d come along with us, when the proprietors of the stand asked him to stop consuming the cheese, nuts and fruit that lined the table, as he was ‘eating the display’… Whoops.

Our time in the pop-up store over, we found that the galleries upstairs had opened, and the Vermeer was waiting for us. And so was the security guard, who followed the four of us into each and every room of the exhibition. He was, in fairness, trying to be inconspicuous, but at 6ft6 and ginger, it was a fruitless effort. Whilst the guard was inherently noticeable, the painting that we’d arrived to see was almost entirely missable. It’s a very small canvas in a heavy-looking frame, and were it not for the fact that it had a whole wall to itself, the ‘oriental girl in a turban’ after whom the film was named would have been overlooked, lost amongst the myriad seascapes and paintings of canals.

It’s a very fine painting, and I’m sure some arty-type could tell what would undoubtedly be a fascinating, but mythical, back-story, but for me, it was one of Vermeer’s other paintings that stole the show. His View of Delft, with its stunning use of contrast and colours that makes the scene seem alive, really caught me by surprise. The picture below doesn’t really do it justice – the lighter areas of the painting really seem to shine. Aside from that, it is about ten times bigger than the Girl with the Pearl Earring, and one hundred times more interesting.

The collection at the Gemeentemuseum isn’t large. Indeed, most of the pieces we saw were on loan from the Mauritshuis museum, which is undergoing restoration. And honestly, I admit to being relieved when we arrived at the final room of the musem. I could suggest leaving the exhibition and going for a drink in the Hague without appearing to be the philistine which in reality I probably am, especially where art is concerned. So off we headed, into the warm spring evening, to explore the bars around the Buitenhof and the Plein. But that’s a story for another day…

Election Season!

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Late last month, the Dutch government became the latest victim of the financial crisis, collapsing over an impasse on the passing of austerity measures. This means that in the early autumn, there’ll be a general election here, with all its attendant campaigning, leafleting, ‘knocking-up’ and, unfortunately, but almost inevitably, a lot of flag-waving xenophobic nationalism from some of the very-right-wing parties here. I’ll be leaving here in August, so thankfully, will miss out on most of the campaigning, and will escape election fever.

However, I wont have escaped entirely unlobbied. For at the moment, the Leiden University elections are taking place, and the pressure is on. Students form themselves into efficient campaigning machines, grouping together to instill the importance of voting into as many students as possible. At the law school at least, there is no discrimination. If you’re in the building, you’re fair game. Each time I walk through the doors, hands thrust flyers in my face, each a slightly more dull version than the previous. No amount of head-shaking or polite refusals can stop this tide. I have gotten into the habit of stuffing the adverts into my bag, but now, after a week of campaigning, I open my bag to see a mountain of electoral literature (in both Dutch and English, to ensure maximum coverage). In view of this, I’d wager that for every student election, an area of the rainforest the size of Zuid-Holland needs to be turned into glossy paper…

Perhaps to counter this, all the voting is carried out online. This is great, and a big step up from my undergrad, where lost ballots and unopenable ballot boxes caused chaos in many an election. And indeed, I cast my vote in about twenty seconds, just now actually. Simple. Being able to vote online can also prevent improper influence being exerted at the ballot box, I suppose. The drawback is, that with voting being such a quick and easy process, and with the end of polling fast approaching (it’s T minus 27 hours and counting) the armies of party activists who line the entrances to uni buildings have hit on a smart way to get the vote out – laptops, ready for voting, set up next to their stalking ground.

Since the days of being bought lunch to encourage me to vote for Oxford Union candidates back in 2006, being press-ganged into voting has been a big turn-off, especially if no food is offered. So when conversations go something like the one below, which I endured just minutes before finally casting my vote, I’m left looking around for any other party I can support in place of this one…

‘Have you voted?’
- I’ve got a flyer.
‘That’s not important.’
- Oh.
‘What’s important is that you vote.’
- But I leave in a couple of months.
‘That’s not important. We need your vote.’
- Who are you? Why your party?
‘Because then our party will have the most support for doing things with the university’
- Yes…
‘So you should vote’
- Oh ok.
‘You can do it now.’
- Can I do it later?
‘Yes but now is better so you don’t forget’
- Well I wont forget, I’m just heading to the library to do something actually important [note: revision, so this was almost true] so I’ll do it when I log in.
‘But we have the computer here’
- I have my laptop in my bag. Don’t worry, I’ll vote.
‘All we need is your username and password’
- Erm…
‘We will do the rest’
- I haven’t decided I’m voting for you yet
‘But it’s very very important’
- Great, well I’ll make sure I think about it hard then. Bye.
‘I’ll get the computer for you now’

At this point I walked off, opened my laptop, and voted for another party… Thankfully this will all be over tomorrow, and hopefully I’ll be prepared for the onslaught when the national elections come around. I’m hoping the professionals can give slightly better election patter!

Queen’s Day 2012

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After months of eager anticipation, avid rumours and legendary tales of bygone eras – the time was finally upon us. A time to celebrate; a time to rejoice; a time to relinquish all prior commitments and join the rest of the Netherlands in consuming copious amounts of alcohol whilst prancing about the streets in a deluge of orange.

Of course this wasn’t purely prancing for the sake of prancing, nor partying for the sake of partying – though for the most part it appeared that way. No, this inimitable national holiday is primarily designed to honour a certain national treasure:

Queen Beatrix – former Leiden University student and supreme member of the Dutch monarchy.

Queen’s day, or Koninginnedag, is celebrated annually on the 30th of April (birthday of the late Queen mother, Juliana) and is, quite frankly, an exceptional excuse for a good old knees up – something at which the Dutch excel.

In the months preceding this illustrious event, we encountered an abundance of animated gossip. Talk of the celebrations being ‘scaled down’ due to excessive partying in the previous year lay uneasy on our impatient minds, and worse still, mention of the unthinkable – ‘Queen’s day being cancelled altogether’ – invariably provoked gasps of horror. Thankfully, these malicious rumours did not prevail and, as the eagerly awaited day drew near, our only uncertainty lay in where best to celebrate it – Leiden or Amsterdam? I couldn’t help but feel that if these were our only misgivings, then good things lay in store.

After a late night/early morning spent relishing the merriment of Koninginnenacht in Den Haag, we rallied the somewhat groggy troops for a hearty breakfast of blueberry pancakes and war-paint application. Once the red, white and blue stripes of the Dutch flag had been firmly branded upon our cheeks and the oranjebitter (a suitably revolting orange liquor) cranked open, we were ready to go.

As students, we are often notorious for being both excessive and outrageous. Yet, as we dispersed into the swarms of oranjegekte (‘orange madness’) on the streets of this generally serene and picturesque city of Leiden, our oversized orange sunglasses and barmy orange wigs were merely par for the course.

Skirting the periphery of the Oude Rijn were countless makeshift stalls, governed by local Dutch children flexing their entrepreneurial skills as part of the vrijmarket (‘flea market’) and peddling a plethora of trinkets, antiques and bric-a-brac. Various stages erected in such run-of-the-mill locations as car parks, blared the catchy jingles of Dutch pop music into the air, where mouth-watering whiffs of fresh stroopwafel drifted on the warm breeze.

Having gradually swam through the array of jovial festivities in the centre, we arrived at Leiden’s number one attraction. With its free entrance, the City Moves festival was suitably tailored to our student budget and boasted the likes of world-class DJ/former Leiden inhabitant, Armin van Buuren. From there on in, we spent the day swept up in a haze of orange euphoria. Dancing to the ground-shaking beats that resonated through our bodies long into the night, our feet became fiery, pulsating in time to the music, and our elation was engulfed, though certainly not subsided, by an exhaustion that no amount of frites and mayonnaise could quell.

Winter wonderland in the Hague

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Last week an old school friend of mine from England decided to visit. Wanting to show him more of the Netherlands than just Amsterdam, I convinced him to trade in the world famous metropolis for some of the Netherlands more quaint (and in my opinion more beautiful) towns.

Being so central in the western Netherlands, Leiden, is extremely close and well connected to two of my favourite places: The Hague and Delft. Delft is a tiny picturesque town just south east of The Hague and perfect for a day trip where you can unwind and perfect for reading a book by a canal. It also houses one of the Netherlands finest technical sciences and engineering schools, but is probably more famous for the blue and white pottery – Delftware – I remember as a child my mother warning me not to touch behind our glass cabinet. Little did I know back then that this is where it originated from.

Posing with pretty dutch ladies advertising queens day festivities

On Saturday I lined up a blockbuster day for him. We spent the morning strolling around the market eating kibbeling, calamari, and fresh stroopwafels, something which has become quite a ritual for myself.

Flowers anyone? Leiden Market.

After a cappuccino with some friends on the nieuwe rijn we set out for The Hague where I had purchased groupon vouchers to go snowboarding at De Uithof. De Uithof is an indoor snow arena where activities such as ice karting, skiing and snowboarding are the order of the day. Having never done any of these before I brought along one of my friends, Anas, from the Leiden University College Den Haag (Leidens liberal arts college) who could show us the ropes. We spent the next 4 hours repeatedly falling over and our escapades can be viewed in the video I threw together below (Note: I may have used a bit of creative license to make myself look more talented than I really am…)

Unfortunately we weren’t able to graduate to the longer slope, but I imagine after this experience I’ll be back for more before I leave. We wrapped the evening up in Burger King at Den Haag Centraal before heading back to Leiden for some beers with more international students. The next day happened to be Queens night, which in anticipation for Queens day is one of the biggest parties in The Hague. We found ourselves again amongst the international students who were flocking late in the evening to the Dutch city of justice (as I like to call it) where everything was overwhelmed with white, blue, but mainly  Orange.

Queens night in the Hague

 

Urinating Statues and European Politicians – A Trip to Brussels

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I’ve been hearing the siren call of Brussels for quite some time now. As a student of international relations and international law, the impact of events in the Belgian capital in these fields is difficult to ignore. And the jobs market tends to reflect this influence, with think-tanks, public relations agencies, NGO headquarters and all sorts of other groups clinging to the tailcoats of the juggernaut of European integration. So naturally, I’ve been keeping my eye on Brussels, and the opportunities available there. As more and more of my friends and acquaintances have made the pilgrimage to the Schuman district (where you can’t move for EU institutions, lobbyists and, at the moment, terrible road works), the lure of a job in Brussels, where the bright young things work hard and play harder, has increased exponentially.

A direct consequence of this is that I have spent a fair bit of time in Brussels this year. I made a few trips before Christmas, as part of the last stage of the recruitment process for graduate entry to the Institutions, and just recently have been back for yet more fact-finding missions and meetings. And now, I find myself again, jammed into a corner seat on the international train, assessing my latest visit. Don’t get me wrong, I like these trips. With the rail discount and the sense to book in advance, the journeys aren’t even overly expensive (I paid 44 EUR for a return from www.nshispeed.nl, and its cheaper still if you’re doing a day return).

The 22 EUR fare gets you a seat on the one that just rolled in from the 1970s…
The lurid pink Thalys is accessible only if you’ve recently won the lottery.

And there is the added advantage that each trip is accompanied by numerous opportunities to gorge on mitraillette, a famed Brussels meal that is by no means a delicacy, but is by all means a must-try. Unless you’re a vegetarian – it’s basically a cow in a baguette, with a couple of onions and a tonne of chips thrown in to balance the meal out a little bit. The force of the meal can be seen in the name – mitraillette means sub-machine gun! Add to that the chance to look around one of Europe’s most important cities, and the 3 hour train journey is more than worthwhile.

So, having finished the testing, and topped up my energy levels with mitraillette and Belgian hot chocolate, I head off to do a little bit of exploring. Looking at the map, I decide that for the purposes of starting some sight-seeing, X marks the spot. The X in this case? The huge headquarters of the European Commission, the Berlaymont:

The banners down the side currently read ‘Towards a stronger economic governance’ – Catchy, huh?

Surrounding the Berlaymont, avenues extend into the distance, each housing various bodies of EU governance. Around the corner is the Jubelpark, created for the 50th anniversary of Belgian independence. Exhibition rooms and galleries line the corners of the park, where the steady lunchtime stream of joggers from the nearby offices casually ignore the ‘No Jogging’ signs at each entrance. Aside from the massive Brandenburg-style arches, it’s not a particularly impressive place, with muddy paths and small threadbare patches of grass sprouting occassionally from the trodden clay, but it does provide some respite from the greyness of the district…

Wondering if I would ever find a quaint and pretty area of Brussels, I follow signs for the city centre, and the Grand Place. After a thirty minute walk, during which the office blocks got more ugly, the roadworks became more frequent, and the street signs appear, confusingly, in Dutch at one intersection and in French at the next, I stumble into what looks like the entrance to yet another shabby old arcade, where the owners of quiet, dusty coffee shops guard their territories from behind huge francophone broadsheets, scowling unpleasantly if they are disturbed, even by customers. But no, this time it’s different. The dark entrance behind me, the arcade is buzzing.

Initially quiet, this Galerie, or arcade, soon got interesting.

Shiny and colourful designer products line the windows, people pop in and out of boutiques with small highly-crafted bags containing very expensive trinkets, from bepoke jewellery to golden fountain pens. Further on, this luxury takes on a distinctly Belgian form, with exquisite chocolate creations practically spilling out of the tiny shops of the arcade. Next, Tintin makes his appearance, in the form of row upon row upon row of vintage Herge comic books. And in order to complete the troika of stereotypes, the little Manneken Pis has his own store, where reproductions of the famous peeing statute are available to buy in the form of shampoo bottles, olive oil containers, and even wine decanters!

Personally, I don’t see the appeal…

The view from the exit of the arcade confirms I’ve arrived at my destination, the Grand Place. Accessed by various narrow alleyways, the square seems to be the tourist centre of Brussels. There’s an extraordinary amount of gold leaf present on the facades of the collection of guildhalls that make up this UNESCO-listed attraction.

Gold-Gilted Guildhall on the Grand Place

At ground level, it’s effectively chocolate-fest, which might explain why in 2010 it was voted the best square in Europe, but if you can avoid the lure of the dark sweet stuff, and look up, the detail and craftsmanship of the buildings is simply stunning. Just don’t keep looking up for too long or you’ll find yourself either getting trampled by a tourist stampede, or falling headlong to the ground after tripping on the medieval (and therefore legitimately uneven) cobbles. Trust me, I’ve been there. On the ground in the Grand Place, that is!

The town hall was the only surviving structure after French bombardment in the 17th Century. Surprising, given that it was the main reason the square was attacked…

The little brush with the cobblestones aside, this has been a pretty decent visit. I’ve gorged on chocolate, frites, beef and decent coffee, and of course, enjoyed some waffels. I’ve seen a lot of Brussels (saving some areas, like the museum quarter, for the next time) from the shabby to the chic, and sampled the stagiaire (EC interns) nightlife. And as an added bonus, the trains even ran according to schedule this time!

Zaanse Schans – the home of the Dutch stereotype

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To the ill-informed visitor, this comparatively miniscule country known as ‘the Netherlands’ may pose quite the mystery. You could even be forgiven for believing that, when stepping off the plane, you’ll be greeted by milkmaids gallivanting, tulips blossoming, windmills a-winding, cheese a-churning, clogs a-clopping and tall blonde bombshells flipping their radiant locks like stallions of the human species.

The sad reality of it is that all (bar the latter) fail to constitute a substantial portion of life in the Netherlands. Or at least so I thought, until I encountered this:

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If you’re looking for the embodiment of traditional Holland then look no further – Zaanse Schans compiles every preconceived notion of the Netherlands that you may well have harbored in one fully functional village.

My first impressions of the place were peculiar, to say the least. The traditional green houses were so obviously painted to perfection and so stringently aligned as to herd the primitive tourist along the optimal path to retail bliss. I couldn’t help but suspect that I was about to be sucked into a never-ending labyrinth of pristine dolls houses – trapped like a rabbit in the headlights or my father in Ikea.

Nevertheless, as it was a friend’s birthday, I persevered (somewhat grudgingly) and was pleasantly surprised to find my opinion soon swayed. Our first stop was a traditional pewter merchant who gave us an intimate demonstration of how to make spoons (which we later purchased), then on to an antiquated Albert Heijn (couldn’t avoid the purchases there) and a windmill, which sold the most delectable selection of finely ground herbs (purchased). Next up, my personal favourite: the cheese barn. Blanketing the walls is a kaleidoscopic array of cheeses, prepared fresh before your eyes and freely available to sample – a novelty which, I can assure you, we took full advantage of prior to selecting a few particularly delicious purchases. Needless to say, we found it pretty difficult to resist indulging in the Dutch stereotypes of Zaanse Schans. We rounded off the day with perhaps the ultimate stereotype – the clog museum; home to a host of vibrant and ornately decorated clogs in a multitude of sizes.

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And here we are, sat in a giant clog.

It was all incredibly kitsch and really rather novel, but as the sun began to shine from behind the clouds – by some freak act of god – I couldn’t help but feel that Zaanse Schans was really rather quaint after all.