Het Grote Kerk (The Great Church)

Het Grote Kerk

The “Grote Kerk” as it is known, is a magnificent cathedral in the center of Haarlem. Also known as the “Bavo Church,” the Great Church was constructed in its present form between 1370 and 1538. When you see it, you know why. It is truly magnificent.

The Christian Muller Organ

For three years beginning in 1735 the Christian Muller organ was constructed. It consists of 5068 pipes and stands over 90 feet tall. In 1766, ten year old Wolfgang Mozart played the organ in the cathedral.

"Here lies Cornelius Muys..."

The floor of the cathedral is entirely covered by tombstones, about 1500 in total, the oldest of which dates to the fifteenth century.

The oldest portion of the pulpit dates from 1434.

The ship models hanging in the church were a gift from the Shipbuilder’s Guild in the sixteenth and seventeenth century and are modelled after the ships build in Haarlem at the time.

One of many unique features

Ten Boom House

Surely, the sorry tale typified by the Anne Frank story was repeated in many versions all over Europe during WWII. One such example involves Corrie Ten Boom, a Dutch woman whose story was immortalized in “The Hiding Place.” During the Nazi occupation, Corrie lived with sister, Betsy and their father at Bartelijorisstraat 19 in Haarlem.

The Ten Boom House, Haarlem

As a deeply religious Christian family, the Ten Booms assisted the safe passage of over 800 Jewish fugitives and wanted resistance fighters during the occupation years. To facilitate their efforts a "hiding place" about 36 inches wide was created behind the rear wall of Corrie's bedroom.

A view of the "hiding place" in 2012

Entrance was through the lowest portion of the linen closet

In February 1944, a German agent posing as a Dutch citizen requested Corrie’s assistance. Despite being severely ill, Corrie met with the man, who requested a contribution of 600 guilders, which Corrie supplied. Assured of their suspicions, Gestapo agents raided the Ten Boom house.

Book jacket

The early warning system installed at the Ten Boom house worked well and the four Jews and two resistance fighters in the house were safely concealed in the hiding place. Unable to find the people hiding, the search did reveal approximately 100 ration tickets, which was enough evidence to arrest the entire family.

Discovered ration book and the secret compartment at the base of the stairs

Legend (and the tour guide) has it that Papa Ten Boom was given the option of remaining in Haarlem on condition he would never again receive visitors. He refused. Ten days later he died.

Corrie Ten Boom

It is estimated that over 95,000 women over the age of 25 were exterminated at Ravensbruck, but Corrie, a middle-aged woman, survived her imprisonment. According to the tour guide, a clerical error led to her release. Corrie was much more inclined to credit divine intervention than sloppy bookkeeping. Corrie lived to tell her tale in over 100 countries worldwide, including Germany. Corrie even claimed she once met and forgave the prison camp guard who had regularly beat her sister.

So, Like What Are You Studying?

OK, I’m an American. I’m certainly not ashamed to be American, in fact quite the opposite; but (better make that a capital HOWEVER) when I overhear goofballs like the pothead I endured while waiting for a tour at the Ten Boom Museum, I keep my nationality to myself.

You thought I was making this up?

The Ugly American recognized a woman who has been waiting near the museum door and greeted her. Their conversation drew my attention due to proximity, volume, and the record number of misuses of the word “like.” As embarrassing as it is, the conversation got to this point:

Euro: So like what are you studying?

UA: Well, like… um, I’m like studying… I’m studying like at hostels. I'm like sending my studies to my professor—like it’s independent study.

I could not get my notebook out fast enough so no telling what I missed between that and this:

Euro: What did you do yesterday?

UA: We went to like a bunch of coffeeshops and… yeah… kinda random.

Ya think?

Zansvoort aan Zee

The beach at Zansvoort aan Zee

Jackpot! 85 and sunny, bright blue skies, cool breeze off the North Sea, and…um…let’s just say, Zansvoort is ‘clothing optional’. A resort town, Zansvoort aan Zee is a stone’s throw from Haarlem, so after 50 minutes on a bus and a quickie train ride, I found it.

A little crowded on the train

I’m not much for lying on the beach, but without Gwaz or at least the grandkids, that wasn’t going to happen; nevertheless I did spend a lovely afternoon at an outdoor café overlooking the scene.

I remember my brother commenting that “Dutch people aren’t fat.” I’m guessing he hasn’t been to Zansvoort. There is nothing quite like the European total disregard for body image. There was no shortage of European men with poochie bellies in skintight Speedos proudly displaying what God gave ‘em, but really one can take only so many wrinkly butt cracks. The thing is no one seems to take note—except me. Naked boobies, wrinkled old-timers, and plenty of chunkybunks, I saw it all.

Um...yeah...no comment

Hey, I’m not complaining. I had a wonderful day at the beach.

Ob-la-di, Ob-la-da

My students mock me. (Risky business, that. One doesn’t often tease the lions on safari—twice ; does one?) But in this case, I get it. I taught them soon after arriving something I learned from Loyola professor Joe Procaccini—the answer’s always yes. Here’s the example Joe used: If my 17-year-old waits until 11:30 p.m. on a Saturday night to ask for the car keys, the answer is yes. (If I drop dead in the next few minutes, take them out of my pocket and enjoy yourself!) Funny? To me, it never gets old (that’s another Thannerism that my kids are sick of); but on a very real level, it is not only true; it’s a way of thinking.

Invariably, when students ask me ‘yes or no’ questions, I immediately answer, “Yes...” So when my kids ask me questions to which they already know the answer (e.g. Can we have an extra recess? Can we skip homework tonight? You get it…) someone, usually more than one of them will call out—in their best mocking voice—the rest of my response, “…if I change my mind!”

But, as much as my kids think I am being difficult, I’m not. I always consider the “yes option” first. If the answer is “yes” then what are the consequences? Need an example? On Friday with very minutes left in the school day until my three-day weekend was set to begin, Ava (sweet, sweet Ava) walked toward the classroom door where I was standing. “Mr. Thanner,” she asked, “may I get my guitar?” I asked her why she need her guitar at that moment (See? The answer wasn’t “no”—yet). She looked upwards, batted her eyes as she often does and said, “We have a recital to—” then it hit her.

“Mr. Thanner, will come to our recital tonight?” I repeated my question—why do you need your guitar, right now? “I want to practice for the recital, but please Mr. Thanner, please, will you come to our recital?” I asked her who “our” was. “Lily, Anna, and I…” but before she finished her answer, here band mates were also at the door. “We’re first,” Anna added. “Yeah, you don’t have to stay for the whole thing,” Lily said. See why the answer is always “yes”?

John, Paul, and George

When I entered the orchestra room at 6:25 the Three Lady Beatles looked as shocked as if they hadn’t mentioned it at all. Like the piano recital I attended not long ago, the agenda was quite simple. Each student plays one, two or three short pieces while granddads and moms watch through the camera viewfinders, nanas smile intently, and dads work iPhones (until their own performs). The only difference I saw was that in this one students accompanied each other. For example, Lily and Anna played rhythm for each other, then Ava did that for the two of them, then they returned the favor when Ava was featured. It was cool.

I didn’t have a program so each number was either a total mystery or a pleasant surprise; none greater than the opening notes when my brain instantaneously told me:

Desmond has his barrow in the marketplace,

Molly is a singer in the band…

I simply cannot thank Dr. Procacinni enough for the unintended lesson he taught me all those years ago. “I wouldn’t miss it,” I told my three musicians before Ava ran off to get her instrument.

There was true irony in the choice of music that night:

Ob-la-di, Ob-la-da, brah!

Lala lala life goes on…

So it does. So…it…does.

Church of Our Lady

In Bruges, Belgium the map I was using was perfect as a tour book illustration, but it left a little to be desired for actually finding anything easily. No worries; I wandered. That’s what I enjoy mostly anyway.

Market Square

First on my list was the Church of Our Lady to see Michelangelo’s Madonna and Child. After a few decisions that belong under the heading: Let’s See Other Stuff While We’re Walking, I found it. As it turns out, it’s the tallest building in the neighborhood and the second tallest brick building in the world! (...and I was having trouble finding it; what's that tell you?) My problem (in addition to the map) was I couldn’t find a sign confirming that I was, in fact, at the right church. I did what every tourist does…I stood in line hoping I wasn’t wasting my time. Seriously, the signage on the entrance said: Bruggemuseum. (Brugge is the Flemish spelling of Bruges.) How was I to know? Based on the size of the crowd trying to get in, I kinda figured.

The Church of Our Lady

It didn’t disappoint. Madonna and Child is ineffable. My research revealed that Madonna and Child was the only piece created by Michelangelo to leave Italy in his lifetime. Originally commissioned by Cardinal Francesco Piccolomini as an altar piece, the work was sold to Jan de Moscron, who donated it in 1514 to the Church of Our Lady.

Madonna and Child, Michelangelo 1504

Madonna and Child is all but overshadowed by the ostentatious altar that surrounds it. Smaller than life-size, the statue was probably designed to be viewed a different angle than its current perch. It is not hard to appreciate the genius of this little piece, but make no mistake; tourists are kept well back from it (and it is protected from who-knows-what by plexiglass.)

A fitting home?

I read that Michelangelo created Madonna and Child at the same time he created David. I also learned that the way the statue was polished is an indication that the artist was highly satisfied with the work. (Does that mean he didn’t polish the ones he didn’t like? Wait, there were ones he didn’t like?)

For me, Madonna and Child made nearly ten hours on trains all worth it. It is startlingly beautiful. (Maybe just because I very much appreciate the opportunity to see the work of Michelangelo.) Maybe it's the way Madonna and Child conveys emotion. I wish you could see the hands. Captured precisely as a child would search for the comfort of his mother’s hand, the hands are alive in marble.

The rest of the church really is a museum. I can’t tell you much about the art displayed throughout the church, but I can tell you there is a ton of it. From statuary to paintings to the tombs of Mary of Burgundy and her father, Charles the Bold, the Church of Our Lady created for me life-long memories.

Charles the Bold (1433-1477) and his daughter, Mary of Burgundy (1457-1482)

Bruges

Question: Outside of Italy, where can you see an honest-to-goodness Michelangelo?

Answer: Bruges, Belgium.

Madonna and Child, Michelangelo (circa 1504)

Bruges is like vintage clothes. You liked them too much to get rid of them, and when you rediscovered them tucked neatly away where they’ve always been, you couldn’t be happier. In some ways, Bruges is like that…a forgotten treasure.

Markt (Market Square) bell tower

By the 14^th century, Bruges’s population was as large as London’s (about 35,000). Because of its location and a suitable harbor, Bruges became one of the wealthiest cities in the world, specializing in imported cloth. Commerce and art flourished in the 15^th century (thanks, in large part, to France and England occupying each other at war.)

The old (and the new)

By the 16^th century the economy collapsed thanks mostly to the build up of silt in the harbor making it unsuitable for shipping, which promptly shifted to Antwerp and eventually to Amsterdam further north. Today, the evidence of its golden era is everywhere. Bruges is truly a rediscovered treasure (judging by the huge numbers of tourists!) Oh, and yes, it’s true; Michelangelo’s Madonna and Child stare forlornly from their perch in the Church of Our Lady.

Waiting at Antwerp Central

After two long train rides and one missed connection, I found this treasure right where it has always been.

Haarlem

References to “Haarlo-heim” date from the 10^th century. Located on a thin strip of land known as “strand wal” (beach ridge), historically the people of Haarlem have survived a precarious existence caught between the IJ (bay) and the Haarlem Lake (long since drained and the land reclaimed). Located on the river Spaarne only 20 km from Amsterdam, Haarlem is a beautiful town of approximately 150, 000 people.

View of the Grote Kerk

For quite a while Haarlem has been the center of the tulip bulb district, thus its nickname “het Bloemenstad” (the flower city). Once the home of artists and entrepreneurs, the wealth of the Golden Age eventually transferred to Amsterdam, but evidence of its rich heritage exists today.

Nowadays, the Frans Hals Museum

Haarlem’s history is a tale of survival. The 14^th century was no friend to Haarlem as devastating fires in 1328 and 1347 destroyed the city. In 1381 approximately 5000 people (about one-half the population) fell victim to the Black Death, which plagued all of Europe. Once one of the richest cities in Holland, Haarlem was often the target of invaders. In the 15^th century, Haarlem was besieged by the Flemish and again burned to the ground. In 1572 the Spanish took their turn. Details of the Spanish siege include savage murder, beheadings, and drownings. In 1576 fire again destroyed the city after a brewery fire grew out of control.

Canals and bicycles--imagine that!

The loss of industry and prestige to its famous neighbor has done little to diminish Haarlem’s proud heritage, as it remains a popular tourist destination.

In the Netherlands, Ascension Day—the celebration of Christ’s ascension to heaven following his crucifixion and resurrection—was celebrated 17 May. School was closed; and except for restaurants and gift shops, so was nearly everything else. My plan changed dramatically as I had looked forward to visits to the Ten Boom House and the Grote Kerk (large church). Both were closed. (How can a church be closed on Ascension Day? Isn’t that when it should be open?) Looks like there is a return trip to Haarlem in my near future.

Please Don’t Take My Sunshine Away

Ever since last weekend when I stepped off the train in Delft, I have been thinking about the song I heard playing on the church bells. (When was the last time you heard a tune chiming from church bells that you actually recognized?) I was walking away from the train station when I first heard it. Slowly it dawned on me—Hey I know this…wait a minute…holy cow!

You are my sunshine,

My only sunshine…

Before my granddaughter, Anna, could talk I sang that song to her. As I like to point out, babies love me—I have long arms and big boobs. They fit right in there. Four minutes and two verses of You Are My Sunshine and…out they go…works like a charm. Besides Happy Birthday, You’re a Grand Ole Flag, and most Beatles’ songs on the radio, I can’t say I know too many tunes. You Are My Sunshine is definitely one of them. I rock ‘em back and forth and mumble my way through the words that couldn’t be truer if I had written them myself. I learned it from my father. I’m not real sure where he learned it, but I heard him sing it more times than I can remember. Anna and Andrew can say the same.

You make me happy

When skies are grey.

It’s funny, sort of, that a song about “sunshine” should come to mind in a mostly gloomy place such as this. This song—one that has been in my life for as long as I can recall—has found me to remind me of my sunshine.

You’ll never know, dear

How much I love you

Royal Delft

It all started in 1600 when the Dutch East India Company brought back blue painted porcelain from China and a legend was conceived. Fifty-three years later David Anthonisz van der Pieth opened De Porceleyne Fles earthenware factory. Because of fluctuating markets, the company alternately struggled and flourished over the years. The faience industry (high quality, hand-painted, glazed earthenware) reached its zenith by 1695 with 32 factories in Delft.

By 1800 the industry was in decline because of competition from less expensive English Wedgewood and a lack of innovation by Delft potters. By 1840 De Porceleyne Fles was the only remaining earthenware factory in Delft.

The turning point for the company came in 1900 at the World Exhibition when De Porceleyne Fles won the grand prize with a colored ceramic panel (which can still be seen at the Royal Delft factory). In 1919 the word ‘Royal’ was added making the company name Koninklijke Porceleyne Fles. Royal Delft retains the namesake of the city where it was born. It is one of the most readily recognized brand names in the world. 

In 2013 Royal Delft will celebrate its 360^th anniversary.

A Beautiful Mind

Elad, known to most as Adi, is my student. I met him in January when I was introduced to my class. Like every other child in my class, I got to know him better and better as the days passed. Known to his peers as a somewhat short-tempered guy, Adi seems to lose his patience with people his own age. (Hey, he aine alone with that one.) To his credit, examples of that were far more prevalent in January than they are now.

I noticed something back then (but please remember that I have the same convenient memory with which my father was blessed) so let me say it this way: Adi seemed unable to express his ideas in English—to his satisfaction. Think of it this way: Adi is Israeli. His mother tongue is Hebrew. He lives in Holland. Instruction is in English. It’s no wonder he hesitated to finish his answers. Seriously, until I convinced him that I was willing to wait him out, Adi would begin an answer, hesitate, begin again, and give up—every time. Every time.

I thought then, and I know now, this guy has a beautiful mind. I could sense the depth of his responses, and I made up my mind—nope, you raised your hand Bud… you’re gonna finish what you started.

At some point months ago I sat with Adi’s mother and discussed Adi’s social issues, his tendency to give up while responding, and the things he does well. She told me that Adi made friends with the two new boys. (Thomas and Mitchell joined the class in January, same as I did.) She told me that it made a difference when they found out he could play the piano. (Yeah, OK. Let me stop right there. Saying Adi can play the piano is like saying Tiger Woods can play golf.) The next time I saw Adi I asked him why he never told me he could play the piano. (Believe me, I had no idea what I was asking…)

A few days later Adi asked me to go with him after school to the music department and he would play for me. Again, I had no idea… We tried several times to find a practice room, and when we finally did, he sat down, flexed his fingers and turned to face me. “I usually warm up my hands,” he said. (OK I should have known something right there.) No warm up, no music, no nothin’ except that beautiful mind. Adi struck the opening chords with the confidence of a virtuoso. Chopin—from memory! The brilliance of this boy was truly, truly powerful. His hands floated over the keyboard as he turned his head slightly, ever so slightly to follow the sounds his hands were making. I was astounded.

“Mr. Thanner,” he once asked, “will you come to my concert?” I wouldn’t have missed it. On Thursday 10 May I attended a piano recital performed by the two-dozen or so students who are trained after school at ISA. Adi played last, and for good reason. With the confidence of Van Cliburn, my eleven-year-old prodigy performed Chopin’s Fantasie-Impromptu in C minor, opus 66. (This time with sheet music. When I asked him if he even needed it, he told me, “Only so I know where I am.”) As Thomas once said of Adi, “It’s like his fingers aren’t even touching the keys.” That’s what I thought, too.

Chopin's Fantasie-Impromptu, opus 66

What allows this child to express this music this way—at this age? I’m guessin’ it’s  that beautiful mind.

Delft

Delft is old. Founded in 1246, Delft wears its age around every corner.

After my finger-smashing fiasco as I began my day, anything would have been an improvement. A bus ride and two train rides including a transfer in Den Haag provided plenty of time for my finger to stop throbbing. (Do I sound whinny? Try letting someone squeeze your finger tip in a pair of vice grips until you want to claw his face, and you’ll appreciate how my day started.)

The Nieuwe Kerk Bell Tower

From the train station in Delft, it is easy to see the majestic bell tower of the Nieuwe Kerk in the town square. Because of some construction, my route was a bit circuitous, but I knew my day had improved when I heard You are My Sunshine playing on the church bells!

Narrow and seemingly infinite!

The New Church was begun in 1396 and 100 years later it was completed. It is a beauty. Maybe that was what clouded my judgment long enough to pay for a combination ticket: see the church and climb the tower. The word “narrow” just doesn’t quite describe the spiral staircase. “Death-defying” is closer. On several occasions I was forced to hug the center post as some poor soul traveling in the opposite direction quite literally smashed against the wall to somehow squeeze by. (I thought of it as a great way to make friends.) By the time I reached the second observation level, I had had enough. Coming down was far less strenuous but no less difficult.

The view from way up...

I found one of my intended destinations, the Vermeer Center, quite by accident. While making my way towards the vendors’ tents in the street market, lo and behold I found the Vermeer Center. They hesitate to call it a museum because they do not own any original works by the master. Before I paid my money, I asked what I could expect. On the lowest floor photo exhibits of all 36 paintings, in the original sizes (which for me was one of the most interesting aspects. I sometimes wonder why artists use certain size canvases.) The first floor (the one above the ground floor) was all about the use of light and Vermeer’s studio. The second floor contained a really interesting expose of the symbolism in Vermeer’s paintings. (Hey, if you’re gonna be a genius, might as well make sure it shows!)

Can you see what Vermeer saw?

Back on the street I explored the “junktique” market. I found everything from antique record players to antique Dutch guys trying to sell them. Completely at odds with my reputation, I kept my euros in my pocket—didn’t want to carry anything else!

Antiques or junktiques?

Lunch was the highlight. My waitress used her best high school English to describe the menu items, which, unlike tourist-driven Amsterdam, was in Dutch. What I got—halve bol met vier soorten kaas et tomatensoep—was fabulous (half loaf of bread with four kinds of cheese and tomato soup). 

Add in twee bier and life is good!

A Smashing Start to a Great Day

All week long I planned to go to Delft on the weekend, so early Saturday morning I was up and trying to get myself together; and by 10:00 I left my apartment. I spent the next thirty minutes trying to untangle my bike from the ones on either side of it. I cannot remember being that frustrated since I’ve been here (and that includes the cultural rudeness that manifests itself in curt comments, people blocking my way, and people jumping the line—oh wait, what am I saying? There are no lines.) Today took the cake.

The "bike room"

I went to the “bike room” only to find that my bicycle, which I had locked and placed on the rack provided, had been toppled by the bike to the left. All that meant that my bike was jammed against the bike to the right, and much to my concern, one of the pedals of the offending bike was caught in the spokes of the front wheel of my bike. Got all that? My bike was sandwiched and firmly attached to the other bikes. In fact, the three bikes were so jammed together that I couldn’t reach the chain I use to lock my bike and I couldn’t easily get to the pedal jammed in my wheel. I leaned over as far as I could and grabbed the pedal hoping to force it back the way it came.

They get a little "tangled" up

All three bikes shifted under my weight. I knew my index finger was caught. Because I was leaning too far forward and because the tip of my finger was being crushed, I couldn’t alleviate the pressure. Perhaps the white light flashing across my brain allowed me to fall backwards while tearing at all three bikes with my left hand. All four of us tumbled backwards and my finger was released. The combination of adrenalin and renewed blood flow made me want to kick the daylights out of the closest thing to me. Instead I sat on the floor examining my poor finger.

Maybe I'll keep my bike up here from now on!

Honest to goodness, civility seems so simple to me. Why do we insist on jamming the bikes into the rack? What do they say about treating others the way we want to be treated? I guess that’s why, after a left-handed solution to the jammed pedal, I placed the other two bikes back in the rack and rode off.

Carolus Clusius

The princess de Climay once referred to Carolus Clusius as “the father of every beautiful garden in (Europe).” Clusius first encountered the tulip after his friend, Joris Rye learned in 1563 of the unusual and beautiful “Turkish onion.” The legend goes something like this: In 1562, a ship arrived in Antwerp carrying Turkish textiles. Somewhere in the cargo hold along with the cloth was a shipment of bulbs—probably a gift for such a lavish order.

Not knowing what the bulbs were, and assuming they were some sort of Turkish onion, the merchant roasted and ate most of them. The rest he planted in the kitchen garden for use when they bloomed. Upon seeing the unrecognizable red and yellow blooms of the tulips he had planted, he contacted Rye who in turn consulted his friend, botanist Carolus Clusius.

Carolus Clusius

Considered a highly able horticulturalist who frequently traveled throughout Europe in search of rare and valuable plants, Clusius soon recognized the singular opportunity he possessed. The recognition of Clusius as “the father of every beautiful garden” probably results from the fact that he traveled so much. As such, he did not, or could not, cultivate his own gardens, so he took great pleasure in stocking the gardens of others—providing many, many varietals that he found on his frequent travels.

In January 1592, the aging and crippled Clusius accepted a position at the University of Leiden, delivering him to Holland. According to Mike Dash in Tulipmania, his history of the tulip, “Thus it was that the man who had done more than anyone to popularize the tulip made his way to the Dutch Republic, where his flower would become truly famous.” (p.53)

Note: That said, Clusius was not the first person to grow tulips in Holland. That honor belongs to Amsterdam apothecary, Walich Ziwertszoon. (In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries surnames were still relatively rare. The suffix –zoon means “son of"; in this case son of Ziwert.) Clusius wasn’t even the first person to raise the flower in Leiden. That was Johan van Hoghelande, who also got tulip bulbs from Joris Rye. He planted tulips at the university before Clusius even arrived. According to Dash, Clusius was “the only man in the United Provinces (present day Netherlands and Belgium)—perhaps all of Europe—who was perfectly qualified to describe and catalog and understand the flower.“ (p.54) 

It is because of Clusius that the popularity of the now famous flower spread, first throughout Europe, then worldwide.