Den Haag

Home of the ICJ. The Vredespaleis (Peace Palace---what a nice name) seems to be built in the same style as Amsterdam's Centraal station. Did Carnegie really donate that building? Or maybe they just meant he donated the funds to have the place built.
The seat of the Dutch governemnt was pretty much as described---spread-out and somewhat disorganised. A brief amble from Centraal Station brought us to the Binnenhof. In the large public square in front there was a statue of William the First; later we saw his likeness in several places around the city. The Netherland's first king, I told my parents, not entirely correctly it seems. William the First was only Stadhouder of Holland, the first from the House of Orange to hold the post. He is known as the Vader des Vaderlands not for being the first king or anything of that sort, but rather for leading the Dutch revolt against the Spanish that led to the founding of the United Provinces. Republicanism, it would seem, has deep roots in the Netherlands.

Still the House of Orange has done more here than provide royal entertainment. The Royal Picture Collection housed in the Maruitshuis had an excellent selection of Dutch Masters; Vermeer's Girl with a Pearl Earring was much more striking and vivid than the Mona Lisa. Escher in het Paleis is sadly closed on Tuesdays, so we walked some more along the Lange Voorhout, and quite a few blocks north to the Vredespaleis, before feeling lazy and thanking our lucky stars we could take a tram back.
Courtesy of the wonder of strippenkaarten. The system can work even better than ez-link style chipcards in some respects: no worries about software problems, or forgetting to validate when alighting. The disadvantage is that it does not so much eliminate these problems as shift their burden onto the human side: now people have to figure out how to calculate their fares, and it's easier to cheat the system. It's big enough a problem for the Netherlands to plan to eventually replace them with OV-chipkaarten, something very much like an ez-link.
Den Haag is part of the Randstad, the mega-urban-agglomeration that is home to nearly half the Dutch population and one of the biggest conurbations in Europe, along with Amsterdam, Rotterdam and a few other major cities. The stretch on the railway between Amsterdam and here didn't feel too urban, though. Maybe it really did pass through the open empty spaces in the centre of the Rand ...

Concertgebouw

And, then, after 9 hours on a bike, there was Aldo Ciccolini's recital at the Concertgebouw.

The Grote Zaal was an approximately square-shaped room not much bigger than Victoria Concert Hall, but they crammed it full of seats: seats along the walls at sides of the aisles, seats---permanent ones, too---on the stage behind the peformer. The pianist was surrounded by members of the audiences on all sides. The seating capacity resulting from squeezing the available space to such an extent couldn't have been far shy of that of the Esplanade's concert hall. Maybe it was to be expected, given that the place was built and founded by a group of businessmen.
Surrounding the hall was a veritable complex of cloakrooms, corridors and terraces. The audience crowded into the terraces before the concert and during intermission for drinks; it was as crowded there as the MRT during rush hour ... and it was quite an audience too. Almost full house, save for the right side of the stalls.
The decor was very 19th century ... and along the entablature of the columns inside were inscribed the names of various famous composers contemporary at the time of the hall's construction. There was Dvořák, and Schubert, and Beethoven, and many others, including some whose names are rather less well-known today.
Notwithstanding the age of the hall, the acoustics were excellent. The piano sounded, from my seat five rows back, just as it would to the pianist ... although my seat was on the stage, and that might have meant better acoustics. It didn't hurt one bit either that Ciccolini was a masterful pianist, and was fully in control of his fingers at all times ... never did spot the slightest slip throughout the concert, even during the two encore pieces. And it wasn't just technical mastery either: I had not imagined Clementi could be played so vividly, and his playing gave Ravel's Valses lucid shape and meaning. De Falla's Spanish pieces were rendered in their full fiery livelieness. It was really very, very good.

Attentie, Fietsen

On a lark, the day was spent cycling around various bits of Greater Amsterdam. First south to Museumplein and the Oud Zuid, a few rounds around the Vondelpark, then south past Olympiaplein and Buitenveldert to Amstelveen; back through the rambling Amsterdamse Bos, past the quite striking Vrije Universitiet (the big red building down there), through de Pijp, past Sarphatipark, up and down part of the Amstel; following the Nieuwe Keizersgracht to the Plantage, where there was lunch; then further east to the Oosterpark, before heading back west through the islands, Waterlooplein and Centrum to Jordaan; and finally back to the bike rental shop on the Singel.

The scenery got somewhat progresively less interesting the further away from central Amsterdam it was ... although the Amsterdamse Bos was quite refreshing (a bit like Golden Gate Park, but even more like a forest near the heart of the city), and Buitenveldert and Amstelveen would surely have been nice places to live in, quiet and spacious though relatively close to the bustle of Amsterdam. Each neighbourhood did have its distinctive characteristics---neatly spaced-out terrace houses and wide canals near the Vondelpark; more closely-spaced rowhouses (though rather less claustrophobic than many East Asian cities) in de Pijp; more generous villas in the Plantage; narrow canals and similarly-proportioned houses on the eastern islands; the orderly stateliness of the Canal Belt and the more ragged version of it that was the Jordaan---though often not glaringly obvious ones. Reading Geert Mak's Amsterdam, and the half-slow pace of the city bicycle, fast enough not to be tedious but not so rapid as to make the passing scenery a blur, helped highlight and paint the differences in a suitable light.

Amsterdam really is a cyclist's dream: the bike paths go everywhere the roads go, plus many places the roads don't. Many roads are restricted to cars and other road traffic, but not to bicycles (and motorcycles). It was possible to cycle just about anywhere without ever getting off a bike path or bike lane. Sometimes motorcycles, which share the paths and lanes, are an annoyance, but there aren't many of them, and generally they don't present much of a danger. Plus the weather is ideally cool and breezy: you still sweat---it's quite unavoidable---but the sweat dries up very quickly.
There're plenty of bikes around, too. I have yet to see a traffic jam in Amsterdam, even at rush hour; but at any hour of the day, anywhere in the city, if you stop to take a look around, chances are you're spot someone cycling. And Centraal Station doesn't have a multi-storey carpark, but it does have a multi-storey bicycle park---and that's on top of the whole tranche of space given over to bicycle parking in front of the station. Have you seen almost three floors of bicycle racks full of parked bikes? It's quite an imposing sight.

Now that so many Chinese middle class denizens are eagerly abandoning their bicycle for cars, China should cede its title of "bicycle kingdom" to the Netherlands.

Welkom in Amsterdam

The whole area between the Damrak and Nieuwmarkt seems to be a 24-hour party. Mildly surreal. In other words, OED's word of the day is "percussion". Good choice, I say.

9 Hours on the Train ...

Spent almost the whole day today on high-speed trains ... first the TGV from Aix-en-Provence to Paris, then the Thalys from Paris to Amsterdam. A very comfortable way to travel. The trains, especially the TGV, were much more spacious, not to mention smoother, than planes. Plus they travel between (mostly) city-centre train stations instead of far-out airports.
The Aix TGV station was quite far out of the city centre ... about halfway between Aix and Marseille actually. Not terribly convenient. But at least that gave them the opportunity to build a relatively spacious dedicated high-speed rail station. The train was perfectly on time, and very, very fast as advertised. Grand vitesse indeed.

Spent the first leg of the journey reading Jean Giono's Second Harvest and looking out the window to see the scenery from time to time. The line was apparently built straight from Marseille to Paris without passing through any major urban areas in between (which explains why the Aix station is so far out); the passing scenery consisted mostly of hills, woods, fields of varying shades and small towns. The surrounding colours seemed to change gradually as the train headed north: starting with the sun-drenched sand and brown and yellow of the Mediterreanean coast, slowing conceding more to green, and eventually turning into the verdant green of the north.

The scenery was a most suitable foil to Second Harvest. The work was most vivid in its description of life in the villages of the mountains of Provence, and portrayed a way of life that was much more in contact, and in a harmony of sorts, with Nature than anything that the modern city-dweller like yours truly would ever experience ... although it does remind that ultimately, the farmer or hunter is in a struggle against Nature as well as working with her. Hard truths notwithstanding, the whole work had an air of optimism about it, as though the author, the storyteller, were palely smiling the whole time he was narrating the story ...
The TGV arrived at Paris Gare de Lyon around half past one. The train station(s) in Paris were a madhouse compared even to Marseille ... trains leaving every few minutes and huge flows people rushing in every direction. A short underground connecting journey brought us to the Gare du Nord. This was truly an international station, with trains heading to the UK and north to Belgium, the Netherlands and Germany. There was enough time for lunch and a bit of a wait before the second leg ...
... on board the Thalys. "The international train". The announcements were made in four languages ... and English was the last one. Many of the passengers seemed to be multilingual themselves and switched without much difficulty between Dutch, French and English. It was quite a smooth ride again ... except for some difficulty with the seating arrangements at the start, but that was settled by the time of departure. Got off at Antwerp to stretch my legs a little ... the platforms were underground and quite strikingly lit.
North of Antwerp the train started slowing down and wasn't travelling much faster than normal trains, probably because it had to share the rails with them. Reached Amsterdam past 7pm, but it was still bright as day. The daylight lingered till almost eleven. Even longer than in Provence.

Total Defence in Action

The Luberon has plenty of hilltop villages---Gordes, Menebres, Lacoste and so on. They look a bit like the whitewashed multi-tiered of villages that nestle on the Kyklades, except of course they're the colour of sun-drenched sand rather than blanched white.

Their seemingly haphazard layout, closely following the contours of the hills on which they stand, apparently used to serve a defensive purpose: the entire village or town would be constructed like a fortress, with successive rows of houses nestling one behind though slightly higher than the other, sometimes at obtuse angles, with important public buildings at the very top, and centre, of the village. Every house would serve a role, not unlike that of a defensive wall, within the entirety of the defence system. Quite a thought, no? It would hard to find a more immediate, physical embodiment of the concept of Total Defence.

Pont du Gard

There was a change of plans today. Instead of driving to the east we drove about 80 kilometres west to see the monumental Roman aqueduct at Pont du Gard.

Thousands of tonnes of stone lifted up to a height of more than ten storeys, just to transport water to Nimes. Quite a lot of work, isn't that. And to think it was only the crowning jewel of a much more massive system of aqueducts and pipes. How much slave labour it must have taken ... maybe it was a relatively efficient way to move water between the hills on either bank of the Gardon. Or maybe it was intended, at least in part, as a monument: a reminder of the power and majesty of Imperial Rome. That is certainly what it has become today, the pipes having moved entirely underground. Meanwhile the rest of the Roman water transport system has gone to ruins, entirely neglected and almost forgotten except as a matter of historical interest. Only the its most conspicious and potent symbols, such as the Pont, remain. The quotidian and practical have disappeared, have been superseded by new and improved versions; the symbolic remains, invested perhaps with new layers of meanings and the shades of history, but still to some extent preserved.
Maybe that will always be the fate of the concrete and the immediate, to be submerged by the tides of time. Only the symbolic, the abstract will survive in some form. Repositories of memory may collapse, fall into disuse, be upgraded, demolished, or otherwise disappear. But memory itself, though more malleable, can be infinitely more durable.
The aqueduct reminded me, somewhat, of 都江堰. Both were important pieces of infrastructure, involving water, built around two thousand years ago. The area around both have been turned into well-kept parks which preserve the natural vegetation and environment of their locales. But 都江堰 irrigates thousands of acres of farmland in the Chengdu plain, benefiting thousands of farmers and feeding many, many more. The aqueduct merely carried water to one city, Nimes. No doubt it was a major city, and the provision of clean, fresh water was no small matter, but relatively speaking it is a modest contribution to human welfare. The former is still in use and helps to irrigate farmland today, whereas the Pont du Gard is now merely an awe-inspiring monument.
After Pont du Gard we drove back through (instead, inadverently, of around) the walled city of Avignon, skirted Cavaillon again and dropped by Ménebres, Lacoste, Bonnieux and St.-Saturnin before heading back to Apt.

Road Trip!

For a genuinely heart-stopping roller-coaster ride, try the front passenger seat of a Citroen C3 driven by someone who last drove three years ago. "Hmm ... which one's the brake? [vehicle lurches to front] Oop ... that was the accelerator." "Signal lights? Is it this thing ... [sudden flurry of activity on the windscreen] ... oh those are for the wipers ..." "Can we fit into that parking slot [WHAM]"
For even better effect, try driving along completely unfamiliar roads, so that you're never quite sure where you're actually heading until a couple of kilometres after you missed the turn you were supposed to take. And to top it all off, add narrow, winding roads in the hills.
But of course it couldn't have been all that bad if we lived to tell the tale. Plus the scenery was pretty spectacular.

It was a little too early for the fields to be purple with lavender ... but there was lavender ice-cream in Roussillon. One scoop left a lingering scent of lavender in the throat for hours afterwards ... quite pleasant really.

Marseille / Aix-en-Provence

Breakfast was not bad at all, and the view was excellent.
After that came the ramble starting through Belsunce and lunch at a Tunisian restaurant. Couscous has the texture of prawn roe and the approximate taste of millet. Interesting.


Marseille today was somewhat livelier than it was yesterday, but large parts of it were still not back to business, because it was lundi de Pentecote (Whit Monday). A little strange that a nation that takes secularism so seriously should still celebrate such a holiday ... but then holidays and festivals do have a tendency to transcend their original contexts and become pure occasions for celebration, or just rest.
The train from Marseille to Aix was awfully empty ... wonder how much SNCF's annual losses are, or if they actually manage to make profits. You wouldn't be able to tell from the Marseille St. Charles station though. The place is imposing, and grand. A new glass-and-concrete hall just opened next to the old one, there is a large spacious plaza fronting the building, and leading up to the plaza is a grand staircase which would not have seemed out of place in front of a palace or important government building.



Aix is rather smaller than Marseille, but seems to have rather more tourists around. Strange. The place does also feel a touch less chaotic than vast, sprawling Marseille.

Yes, Sergeant Major

Spotted somewhere near the cours Mirabeau. Also clothing the little 'uns at sundry locations across Europe and the Middle East.