Both pictures are by me: Top is view down Amsterdam canal, bottom is in Brussels, throughly enjoying a Belgian waffle. After Bastogne, we went to Dinant, a small village with a ridiculously imposing hotel. After pushing the coach through roads it was about three times too big to safely maneuver, we ended up at a huge white stone structure that resembled a castle. The interior, including our rooms and delicious dinner, were no less luxurious. While many of the other delegates took advantage of the pool, I was all too happy to have the room to myself for awhile to write, nap, and shower.
We drove into Brussels the next day, another very uptown city akin to Paris, with a more commercial than historic charm, unfortunately. We had to speed past the United Nations building, which I would have loved to see, in order to go to a chocolate factory. I understand 99.9% of the world is madly in love with the strange brown substance, but I want nothing to do with chocolate’s taste, smell, touch, etc.
Despite my mental objections, we all trooped off to Planete Chocolate, a local chocolatier who graciously allowed our large group to drop by for an “educational presentation.”
We were ushered in past showy window displays of things like a full-size chocolate soccer ball (white and black). Through the small storefront was the back kitchen and a midsize seating area for such presentations. Our speaker was very accented and very engaging. With classic Albert Einstein/Doctor Frankenstein-Mel-Brooks-style white hair and coat, he looked the part, and sort of acted it, as well. He gave us a little cocoa (he said “caca,” and provided endless amusement to our childish sides, at his expense): the beans were originally discovered in South America by the Spaniards (so far as the West was concerned – obviously the native peoples the Spanish came upon actually discovered the function of the beans). Cocoa was originally used by the Aztecs to make a bitter, reddish drink with drug-like qualities for religious ceremonies.
The process to “harvest” chocolate consists of a few steps: first, the cocoa beans themselves, referred to as the fruit at this stage, are harvested from their plant; next, the white fruit is taken out of its shell for the fermenting process; after fermenting, the beans are dried in the sun until they are a golden brown. At this stage, the product is transferred to different factories. The liquids go to make chocolate liquor. The rest is transported by truck, at 25-30 degrees Celsius, into other factories. The separate the product into solids (for powders) and cocoa butter. These parts a recombined at 25 degrees Celsius into plastic molds, then excess is scraped out. Te first chocolatier to use molds was neuhaus, now a very famous chocolate store. Different amounts of each part of the chocolate produce milk, dark, and white chocolate varieties.
Our presenter also shared that a quality piece of chocolate with break only into two pieces versus multiple pieces because there is a significant portion of cocoa butter in it. Also, filled chocolates are called prelees.
After such an entertaining demonstration, they had prepared special plates of chocolate for everyone, and an extra-special plate for those of us with nut allergies. Anyone who knows me knows I cannot stand chocolate, but refusing such a thoughtful gesture would have been more impolite than I could bear. I took a small medallion of white chocolate and cautiously nibbled – much to my surprise, all I could taste was a sweet butter and a very, very slight trace of the vile taste of chocolate. I got it all down and with the help of an entire bottle of water, avoided even so much as a stomachache.
We were promised in the itinerary to see the Manneken Pis (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Manneken_Pis), or the statue of the peeing boy, but we never were able to see the original, just plastic replicas in gift shops. The gentleman at Planete Chocolate gave us one explanation for the origin of the odd statue: in the Middle Ages, all of Brussels was constructed out of wood, and a great fire spread through the city, threatening to destroy everything – the little boy immortalized in statue came outside and peed to put out the great fire. Our tour guide, Adam provided us with two alternate explanations. First, the boy might have found himself peeing on the door of a witches house, and in her anger she froze him into a statue. Or it might be that an army attacked Belgium and stole the kings son, placing him on a platform above the army – from his perch, the boy promptly peed on the army, hitting them in the face and blinding them all, allowing his father to win the battle. The second explanation is much more tongue-in-cheek and I think I like it the best of the three.
We were actually allowed some shopping time in Belgium, walking through and around the beautiful square we had lunch in.
I don’t remember our main course on the top floor of a very old-style, wood floored and walled pub, but we had wonderful Belgian waffles (my second serving of the day) and I snagged a Dutch bottle of Coca-Cola that still sits in my room as a flower vase.
Also, I don’t know if there’s an ulterior meeting, but Karl Marx had visited the building we ate lunch in at some point during his three-year stay in Brussels. Someone evidently though this was remarkable, as there is now a golden plaque announcing this visit.
After our shopping excursion, we rejoined the bus and drove to Holland, seeing many interesting side-of-the-road happenings. On our drive, Adam shared some of the current (at that time) issues in the EU Parliament. Ireland and Italy were protesting the call for EU MPs to be allotted by population, as they are both smaller nations in terms of population. It was hard to hear of Ireland at the brink of slipping into another situation of losing its independent voice to larger, more populous countries again. Such an action, along with the recession, seemed like a power keg for the IRA and similar organizations. And today, very unfortunately violence in Ireland has once again picked up.
On our long rive to Amsterdam, it began to weigh on me I didn’t know why some countries drove on the left (UK) and some on the right (US). A little research led me to: http://users.telenet.be/worldstandards/driving%20on%20the%20left.htm#history :
“About a quarter of the world drives on the left, and the countries that do are mostly old British colonies. This strange quirk perplexes the rest of the world; but there is a perfectly good reason.
In the past, almost everybody travelled on the left side of the road because that was the most sensible option for feudal, violent societies. Since most people are right-handed, swordsmen preferred to keep to the left in order to have their right arm nearer to an opponent and their scabbard further from him. Moreover, it reduced the chance of the scabbard (worn on the left) hitting other people.
Furthermore, a right-handed person finds it easier to mount a horse from the left side of the horse, and it would be very difficult to do otherwise if wearing a sword (which would be worn on the left). It is safer to mount and dismount towards the side of the road, rather than in the middle of traffic, so if one mounts on the left, then the horse should be ridden on the left side of the road.
In the late 1700s, however, teamsters in France and the United States began hauling farm products in big wagons pulled by several pairs of horses. These wagons had no driver's seat; instead the driver sat on the left rear horse, so he could keep his right arm free to lash the team. Since he was sitting on the left, he naturally wanted everybody to pass on the left so he could look down and make sure he kept clear of the oncoming wagon’s wheels. Therefore he kept to the right side of the road.
In addition, the French Revolution of 1789 gave a huge impetus to right-hand travel in Europe. The fact is, before the Revolution, the aristocracy travelled on the left of the road, forcing the peasantry over to the right, but after the storming of the Bastille and the subsequent events, aristocrats preferred to keep a low profile and joined the peasants on the right. An official keep-right rule was introduced in Paris in 1794, more or less parallel to Denmark, where driving on the right had been made compulsory in 1793.
Later, Napoleon's conquests spread the new rightism to the Low Countries (Belgium, the Netherlands and Luxembourg), Switzerland, Germany, Poland, Russia and many parts of Spain and Italy. The states that had resisted Napoleon kept left – Britain, the Austro-Hungarian Empire and Portugal. This European division, between the left- and right-hand nations would remain fixed for more than 100 years, until after the First World War.
Although left-driving Sweden ceded Finland to right-driving Russia after the Russo-Swedish War (1808-1809), Swedish law – including traffic regulations – remained valid in Finland for another 50 years. It wasn’t until 1858 that an Imperial Russian decree made Finland swap sides.
The trend among nations over the years has been toward driving on the right, but Britain has done its best to stave off global homogenization. With the expansion of travel and road building in the 1800s, traffic regulations were made in every country. Left-hand driving was made mandatory in Britain in 1835. Countries which were part of the British Empire followed suit. This is why to this very day, India, Australasia and the former British colonies in Africa go left. An exception to the rule, however, is Egypt, which had been conquered by Napoleon before becoming a British dependency.”
I also learned that in Dutch, leather is leder.
One of the sites we passed was a Nazi concentration camp. I wish we wouldn’t have had to see it, but I know that such things must stand; an enduring testament to the cruelty humanity is capable of if blinded by self-interest, and betraying the very principals that make us human. I thought it strange to still see a German flag flying at the camp – it made me wonder how German citizens deal with their history in the Nazi period – if it creates national guilt, how they teach that period in schools, etc.
After another bus exit, we crazily navigated the busy streets of Amsterdam. And when I say busy, it is the biggest of understatements. Bicycles whiz by in their designated lanes, but are not shy about bumping into a confused pedestrian. Cars form a constant flow on the other side of the bike lane, occasionally interrupting by a light-rail like contraption that comes three or four feet onto the cobblestoned service this unassuming tourist thought to be safe sidewalk to walk on. If you can avoid those obstacles, you then must avoid the denizens of the city, hurrying and pushing past with more important places to go. And let us not forget the ever-present canals. While they give a wonderful atmosphere to the otherwise concrete jungle with their coolness, trees, boat houses and other colorful characters, the canals pose another obstacle to you can trip over/fall into/etc.
Some of Amsterdam is reclaimed land from the ocean – the water is kept back by complex series of pumps and dikes. One example is the Amsterdam airport, which is 11 feet below sea level. The city recently started a subway system, but the digging tore into the now-rotten wooden supports holding the “golden age” houses (from the 1600s). Some houses have sunk one or two floors into the ground. The city had already spent $5 million, and may have had to stop shortly after due to costs.
Canals are a popular place to live, with 2,500 houseboats fully equipped with sewage, electricity and gas going for 300,000 Euros.
Before we left the coach for the last time this day, I was selected as the ambassador to give our bus driver a pin and keychain from Arizona and tokens of our appreciation for his service. He was very surprised and grateful, and it felt nice to give him something he thought was novel and interesting, as Arizona has certainly lost a lot of its charm for me, with a crumbling state budget, inept leadership in my eyes, a crippled education system, and the Sheriff Arpaio fiasco. After seeing the look on his face I guess I came back to appreciate Arizona a little bit more.
We had dinner in a little Japanese restaurant in a square across from the Hard Rock Café. For dessert, I ordered the vanilla ice cream with caramel sauce, but I got a surprise – what we surmised were chili flakes in the sauce, giving it an unexpected, unusual but tasty kick. The rest of the foods reminded me of P.F. Changs in the states.
While shopping after dinner in the usual outlay of tourist shops, it was sort of disconcerting to see locals in “I Love New York” shirts and clothing displaying American sports teams.
We were able to pick our roommates tonight, and in the spirit of the petty girl drama I tried to stay away from – it was nice to be able to room with someone who was nice. Despite this, I was hit with the thought that my grandparents had never been able to travel to Europe, and, at their ages, would in all likelihood never see it, even though they helped finance my trip. Though I felt a wave of sadness, I was glad I would have the opportunity to share pictures, memorabilia and journals of my trip with them.
The Editors
Faith No More
The Wallflowers (comes highly recommended)
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