Czeching Out – Part 2

Despite my previous post, Prague remains a fascinating city. The small alleys that have interesting buildings and small shops lure me to getting lost in a labyrinth of winding streets and architectural designs. It feeds my sense of exploration. Wandering into an antique shop, knowing full well that I will not be buying anything, is a great way to spend fifteen minutes. A good antique or curiosity shop is like a brief lesson in cultural history. These small streets create a sense of space that is exotic; small churches, well off the tourist path, are every bit worthy of explorations as their more famous counterparts.

The somewhat bizarre statue that hangs in front of
Kino Lucerna

Prague evokes another era. It is difficult to stop taking pictures (see more photos here). Yet, every picture is disappointing because it never captures the essence of the city. Prague has a mystique to it that is hard to describe and pinpoint. Leigh Fermor was similarly enchanted by the city as well. On his final night in Prague, the young traveler sat on a roof and watched the lights of the city go out one by one as the night wore on. The city and its lights were beautiful; they still are. He ends the chapter about Prague by writing, somewhat melancholic, that it was the last time he saw the city (at least when he was writing the chapter). Faced with the prospect that I might not return to Prague is a depressing thought. No matter the trouble with overwhelming numbers of tourists, the charms of the city still capture the hearts of many travelers. Or else, why would they come? 

Czeching Out - Part 1

Buster Poindexter sings a great song, “Nueva York,” in which he laments the decline of old New York, with its seamy underbelly and raunchiness. It was that New York which attracted many and gave others endless fascination. He mourns the loss of classic bars and institutions that had character and were filled with interesting people in favor of a tourist destination that is wholesome and not interesting. The gentrification of New York is creating a city that is all too familiar to other places in the United States. Buster concludes, “They’ll turn this town into a mall, and I don’t know what to think.”

Tourists on Old Town Square waiting for the clock to strike five

In many ways I feel the same about Prague. I have been coming to the city for fifteen years. It was always a city that had beautiful architecture, but then many buildings were crumbling, the taxis were unscrupulous, and in metros and at train stations one had to be on constant guard for pickpockets. The city was edgy, but fun. Today, the city is a tourist mecca. Street performers vie for attention away, diverting one’s attention from historical sites. Pedestrians choke sidewalks, making walking around the city very difficult. Hordes of tourists follow an arranged set of paths that go by dozens of tourist shops and overpriced eateries. The beautiful city is barely notice because of all the distractions.

Don’t get me wrong, I am very happy that Prague is doing well. Having a safer city, fairer taxis and reducing the number of pickpockets is a great thing. Yet, some of the things that gave the city its edginess (and some of its mystique) have disappeared. Praha 1 (the center of Prague), where most of the high profile tourist sites are located, is increasingly soulless tourist attractions and distractions. Much like David Johansen’s alter ego, I don’t know what to think.

East Germany: 25 years after the wall

Traveling through what was East Germany is insightful. The towns of eastern Germany have largely been depopulated over the last couple of decades. The train ride from Berlin to Dresden takes one through some sparsely populated territory. The train, however, does bypass a few small towns with abandoned buildings and rundown train stations. There are several stories that describe the exodus of young people from the region to find work and opportunities in the western parts of the country.

The one city doing well in southeast Germany is the cultural city of Dresden. The city is, of course, famous for the bombing it experienced in the final months of the Second World War. On the nights of 13 and 14 February 1945, British and American airplanes dropped 600,000 incendiary bombs and created massive fires in the city that was known as the “Florence of the Elbe.” The fires soon engulfed Dresden in a firestorm, destroying the city and killing approximately 25,000. Before the bombing, the city had been virtually untouched and was a destination for refugees fleeing conflict and devastation.

Frauenkirche at night

My introduction to the firebombing of Dresden came in high school when I devoured the books of Kurt Vonnegut. In Slaughterhouse-Five, Vonnegut builds a fictional story around his real-life experience as a prisoner of war interred in Dresden. His description of the removal of bodies and cleaning up the debris in the days following the attack are harrowing. It as a significant and insightful introduction into the effects of war. As a teenager, Dresden seemed unreal and exotic – I could not have imagined ever visiting. The bombing occurred a long time ago, in a place far away. As a teenager, I could not imagine a city being rebuilt. But Vonnegut’s staccato words, describing his outrage of what happened, haunted me. Years later, the chance to exit a train and find myself in a city that still bore the scars of the firestorm was important to me.

In the intervening years much of the city has been rebuilt. It is difficult to tell that the Frauenkirche, which was originally completed in 1743, is actually an excellent reconstruction of the church completed in 2005. Only the darker stones in the building indicate which where original; lighted colored stones are ones used in the reconstruction. I read an account about the church that said as the firestorm grew in intensity, the temperature inside the church grew to 1800°F. The sandstone columns began glowing red and eventually exploded sending the dome crashing through the floor of the church. A small section of the original dome sits outside the church to demonstrate the amount of weight that was supported by those columns.

The Zwinger

Similarly, the Zwinger, royal palace built in the early eighteenth century, is beautifully restored. But it is more difficult to identify which parts survived and which are reconstructions. Like the Frauenkirche, the Zwinger was been heavily damaged, but was rebuilt much earlier and completed in the early 1960s. Not all buildings are exact reproductions of the pre-war design. The synagogue of Dresden is built on the same land as the synagogue that was destroyed during Kristallnacht 1938. Yet, the new synagogue is modern building that does incorporate the only surviving element from the original nineteenth century building, a golden Star of David.

Bad Schandau from the train

Every year I travel the train route from Dresden to the Czech border I promise myself that I will return and stop off at some of the little German villages that line the Elbe River. The most tempting, and easily accessible, is Bad Schandau. The sereneness of the river, combined with interesting rock formations and the occasional castle that line the dramatic ridges, beckons me to visit. Perhaps I have over-idealized such a trip after several viewings from a train seat. Nevertheless, I look forward to that journey.

Wandering in Spandau

Statue of Joachim II outside St. Nicholas Church

Because Berlin was constructed of several small towns incorporated into a modern city in 1920, these former cities have become distinct neighborhoods within the German capital. My exploration, taking place on a Monday holiday, entered a city that is more familiar for the prison that housed the Nazi prisoners through most of the Cold War than for the buildings and events that took place there. Spandau prison was demolished in 1987 after its last prisoner, Rudolf Hess, died.

A leisurely walk from the train station is St. Nicholas Church, one of the oldest in Berlin. Dating from the first half of the 14^th century, the church is most famous as the site where, on 1 November 1539, Elector Joachim II took communion under the Lutheran rite, which is both bread and wine. He was a member of the house of Hohenzollern and Prince Elector of Brandenburg, one of the most important principalities of the Holy Roman Empire. Joachim did not officially convert to Lutheranism until 1555 for political reasons. The church, well off the tourist track, has an interesting history aside from its role in the Protestant Reformation and was a real treat for someone interested in Lutheran heritage.

The great thing about exploring on a holiday is that all the shops are closed and there is very little pedestrian traffic. This meant that I could wander Spandau without having a number of people rushing around completing their errands. Of course, the downside is that many places are closed and, therefore, food, drink and comfort options are limited.

Entrance to Zitadelle

A walk around the Zitadelle, a medieval fort built to protect Spandau, provided a little interaction with nature. The water that surrounds the fort is an excellent location for birds and small animals. As I walked the perimeter the dead leaves and underbrush was alive with rustlings of small birds or animals, it was difficult to tell which.

I found a small park at Stresowplatz, where a sign indicated that the square had once been a bustling business district. Now it is comprised mainly of apartment blocks. Unfortunately, the sign was too badly damaged, with stickers and graffiti, to be able to decipher.

An unidentified bird in the undergrowth at the Zitadelle

Coming back to the center of the Spandau, I noticed a Woolworth Store. The chain has long since disappeared in the United States; however, it continues in Germany, Austria and Mexico. I have fond memories of the Woolworth in Southland Terrace while growing up. When I was very young I was bitten by a gerbil in that store. I remember being taken to the back (behind the curtain if you will) and I was impressed that there was something beyond the store – a secret world. Later, Woolworth was a place that I frequently bought records. Most of the time there was nothing new, but good bargains on interesting albums and 45s. I distinctly remember the lunch counter nearby where you could order a quick burger or grilled cheese. The pickles served on the side were always better than the ones you could get at home. 

The Woolworth chain began with its first store in Utica, New York in 1878, but did not last long. Frank Whitfield Woolworth then moved his store to Lancaster, Pennsylvania, where it thrived. Soon it became the most successful five and dime store in the United States and the world. It was so successful that it figured in the popular songs, such as, “I Can’t Give You Anything But Love.” The corporate headquarters, The Woolworth Building, at Broadway and Park Place, is still one of the most iconic buildings in lower Manhattan.

The Woolworth in Spandau Berlin

Although the Woolworth in Spandau was not open, I could not resist the temptation to have a peek inside the windows. Looking at the goods that are served in the modern successor to the classic five and dime, there is very little to remind me of the old store. There are no longer wax bottles with liquid sugar or candy cigarettes in a huge candy aisle near the checkout counter. There are no small turtles along the back wall waiting to be taken home as a pet. In other words, while the sign on the outside serves as a nostalgic reminder, the store does not satiate my longing to revisit the places of my adolescence. 

Exploring Alsemberg

My explorations near the language border of Belgium, on the south side of Brussels, are always interesting and provide much food for thought. As took a Saturday afternoon walked in late May in Fleming-speaking Sint-Genesius-Rode, many people were gardening, cutting the lawn or making general repairs to their homes. It was a beautiful afternoon. As I passed through one neighborhood I noticed a discarded tennis ball was hiding in the leaves at the end of a driveway. My first thought was that the ball seemed quite out of place. It made me realize that the amount of litter and debris in this sleepy little village in rural Belgium is substantially less than it would be in a village of similar size in the United States. This is in part because shoppers have to pay for plastic bags as part of a tax to reduce usage. Consequently, there are very few bags tossed carelessly along the road or empty lots.

I was making my way for Alsemberg, a nearby village. As I walked down the street called Steenweg naar Halle, a couple in a Renault beckoned me over, “Monsieur…s’il vous plait.” Although I could have tentatively responded in French, I calculated that it was easier for me to smile, shake my head and say, “I’m sorry,” knowing full well they were going to ask for directions. The lady smile understandingly, waved and said, “It’s OK.” She was no doubt going to ask how to navigate the washed out road about a half a kilometer further down. I knew how to go around, but there was no way I was going to be able to explain it in French.

One of the things I like in Flanders is the apartment buildings, which are generally made of brick and have a distinctive architectural design. One, at the corner of Tenbroekstraat, has a yellow-tile look to the brick that is very different. Built in 1949, the decorative art and details catches my eye every time I travel the road. Many have small designs that subtly enhance the distinctiveness of the building, while at the same time fits nicely into the community.

Our Lady in Alsemberg

The village of Alsemberg is a small town of about 5,000 people. It is quite busy on a Saturday afternoon, with many people shopping and running weekly errands. I wandered in the OxFam shop and mused that the name for a garden shop, “Sophie’s Choice,” was somewhat inappropriate. The gothic church in the center of town, the Church of Our Lady in Alsemberg, was constructed in the second half of the fourteenth century. While the interior of the church was closed during my visit, outside there is an evocative memorial to soldiers who died during the Second World War.

The Mariakapel van de Steenput. Erected by
the Meurs Family in 1849

One of the most interesting phenomena in Flanders is the number of Mariakapel (Maria Chapels) that are found throughout the region. Field Mariakapels (or freestanding Mariakapels) are not associated or attached to a church and are often found along roadsides or farm fields in Belgium and the Netherlands. Once you begin to notice them, they are everywhere. Most of the time a statue of Mary, the mother of Jesus, is found inside a small post that is decorated with flowers or paintings. Seemingly, most date from the nineteenth century.

 

Some thoughts on Leigh Fermor’s A Time For Gifts

One of the great travel writers of the twentieth century, Patric Leigh Fermor provides an elegant and intoxicating view of Europe during the 1930s. In December 1933, just months after Hitler became chancellor of Germany, the 18-year old Leigh Fermor sets out to walk across Europe from Holland to Istanbul. Forty years later he revisits his journals, the treasured mementos of any traveler, and begins to construct a planned three-volume remembrance of that fateful journey. A Time for Gifts is the first of those three volumes and it takes us to a world lost because of time, war and practice. Each time I picked up the book, a respite in my busy schedule, I found that a smile crept across my face.

Rather than an interesting time-capsule approach to the subject, Leigh Fermor relies on his journals and memories, he contextualizes what he thought, saw and experienced. The book does so without the heavy foreshadowing one might expect. Obviously, the reader knows what is coming. Yet, there are no overburdening allusions to the tragedies or events that are about to come;  we know that bad things are going to happen to some of the people he encounters and we are free to speculate without the author telling us what happened. 

In an introductory letter to his friend Xan Fielding, Leigh Fermor sets the context for his journey. He notes, writing decades later, that the impulses and desires of youth works to keep us unfocused and in trouble. Leigh Fermor gives perspectives and can better explain some of his actions. His tendency to engage in social activities, his attention to connections with women, and the temptation of constant parties, all conspire to allow his talents to go to waste. He decides to take a radical step, to break out of a life set to be wasted.

One of the primary interests of the author in A Time for Gifts is an earlier history of Europe that most of us are aware of today. While not specifically mentioned, the gathering clouds of the First World War casts long shadows over the book. Leigh Fermor concentrates on the bloodletting that surrounded the Thirty Years’ War, but conveniently neglects the more recent devastation that was World War I. Perhaps it is all too fresh and raw. The continent convulsed during the war and the monuments, even a hundred years later, are ubiquitous; every small town has a monument or cairn commemorating those who fell during the Great War. Since the journey takes place in the interwar years, his trip, the countries he visits and the politics of the time are all shaped by the aftermath of the First World War and the impending gloom of the coming Second World War.

Nevertheless, from the perspective of the reader, there is a sense of uneasiness and concern about the fate of the people the author meets on his journey. Toward the end of one chapter I had a sense of foreboding about Baron Pips that he did not survive the war (as he was Jewish). But by the final paragraph of the chapter, we are relieved to find that Pips survives and thrives. The book does an excellent job of building tension and creating empathy for the people he meets. But the story does highlight what is lost: six million Jews, as well as several million others, die. Sure, Baron Pips is unique, but who is not?

At one point the young Briton is confronted, chastise and ridiculed by a supporter of Hitler in a beer hall; however, many other people come to his defense. It is an example of how fanatic supporters often hold individuals accountable for the actions of their group or government. It is also an example of how some people internalize the messages of their leaders or governments, while others overcome their cognitive dissonance to come to his aid. Leigh Fermor finds a tremendous amount of kindness throughout his trip. In another example, in Heidelberg, after he is taken in by an elderly couple during the middle of a snowstorm. He quite rightly asks if a German traveler would be treated the same in England. It is a question that haunts many of the students who travel to Europe with me.

The simple gift of a five-year old daughter of a German innkeeper in Bingen early on Christmas morning was very touching. I was sympathetic to his inability to think of a gift with which to reciprocate. Leigh Fermor’s description of beautiful faces of the innkeeper’s daughters, aged 5 to 15, led me to immediately consider what will happen to these young girls ten years down the road. Germany will is be pummeled by Allied planes; deprivation and devastation will be widespread. I am sure it was on Leigh Fermor’s mind as he edited his notes years later. What happened to that sweet five-year old, who would have been about seventeen, when the war ended? Her sweet and kind gesture was unlikely saved her from the deprivations suffered a dozen years later. 

Other encounters offer interesting travel insights and observations. Leigh Fermor ruminates on the importance of eggs. There one point in which he describes the delight in carefully removing the egg from the shell with a spoon and having it with buttered bread. Another incident has him riding in the back of a lorry with a fifteen-year old girl who gives him a birthday gift of a dozen eggs. For those of us who are drawn to travel by foot, Leigh Fermor offers quotable passages to explain our passion to others. When he is tempted to take a ride to go further down the Danube, he reminds himself that “all horsepower corrupts.” I have often noted that to walk provides an opportunity to observe. Walking at three miles an hour, as opposed to traveling by auto at sixty-plus or by train at 120-mph, allows for a study rather than a glance. If you see something of interest, walking affords the chance to study rather than a fleeting glimpse. Leigh Fermor concurs noting that while walking it is impossible to be out of touch.

A Time for Gifts is a difficult book to describe, yet at the end of the day it is a book about the joys of travel, walking and meeting people. I smiled knowingly when Leigh Fermor writes that he would wander the city and kept repeating to himself, “I’m in Vienna.” There are so many times when I have found myself in exotic or remote locations and have had to remind myself to take time to remember where I am – to enjoy the experience or to embrace my travel achievement. Leigh Fermor offers sage advice and valuable insight. He is a polymath who is both steeped in literature and enjoys a Laurel and Hardy film at the same time. For those of us who are interested in travel, history and thinking, A Time for Gifts is essential reading.

Patric Leigh Fermor, A Time for Gifts: On Foot to Constantinople: From the Hook of Holland to the Middle Danube (New York Review Books, 2005; originally published, London: J. Murray, 1977).

Witloof

Much of Flemish cuisine is based on a peasant diet and reflects the relatively cool climate that required energy for agricultural work. Much of the food is familiar with interesting variations in seasonings and combinations. Of course, it is very common to serve frites (Belgian fries) with many meals. Seemingly most families have a small fryer to make frites. Small shops that serve frites with mayonnaise, often resembling converted trailers and reminiscent of diners in the United States, dot Belgium.

When Americans see Belgian endive in the grocery store, it is often hard to know how to use it. Sometimes it is added to salads. Although bitter raw, when cooked witloof has a delicate flavor that makes a nice contrast to potatoes and mild meat. Here is a simple Flemish recipe that uses the plant as a side dish:

Cut the endive (witloof) in half, long wise. Remove the hearts and discard. In a deep pan, melt butter on low heat. When the butter is melted, arrange the endive in the pan so that each piece is touching the bottom of the pan. Add salt and pepper to taste and about 2 ounces of water. Cover and cook for 20 minutes, the endive should have a caramelized / brown color.

Gently turn each half of endive in the pan, keeping each piece intact. Add more water if necessary, and cook another 20 minutes.

My host serves witloof with roasted pork and potatoes (mashed or boiled).