Beggars and Gypsies and Pickpockets, Oh My!

So…! It’s been far, far, far too long since I’ve blogged. Too busy preparing, well, actually finally writing and finishing my keynote presentation about Vincent van Gogh's Symbolist art for Brighton last week. It went well and a video will be available on YouTube in a few weeks.

I’m on the train from Manchester to York, to Edinburgh, to Ladybank and then finally to Fife, where I'm staying in a little cottage in Lindores. About five and a half hours of traveling today... My god, so much has happened since I left you last in Belgium. I’ve lost not one, but two bloody cell phones. More on that later.

Here, I hope to recap, a bit, some of the adventures; getting you up to date with the amazing details of this incredible journey later.

But first, a pitch. Halfway through the journey of this quest, I find myself running low on money. While all of the travel, accommodations and various museum and activity tickets have been paid for well in advance; I’m afraid I won’t make it to the end of my pilgrimage and I’m hoping you (yes, you) can help.

So, I’d like to offer you (yes, you!) a signed, personalized copy of my first book. It’s called Plaits, which is a homonym. Plaits are braids but the word also sounds like the plates from which we eat our food. The book is a collection of poetry and recipes. I have entwined a crown of sonnets within a seven course meal. (Brilliant, I know… and wait until you read it!)

Recently, my friend Rachel attended a poetry seminar in the Hamptons. US poet laureate Billy Collins was teaching. When she told me this in Paris, I dedicated a book to him and asked her to pass it along. Well she did, and even got a photograph of Billy midway through my book. What a thrill to see that picture! One of the greatest poets of our time – of all time – was taking his time to read my words. Overwhelmed doesn’t begin to describe it and my eyes still swell just thinking of it.

Already have a copy? These make great gifts, especially at Christmas. It’s never too early to plan ahead (I’m one to talk) and how wonderful would it be for you, yes you, to gift a personalized copy and be able to say, “Yeah, I know this guy”? Pretty great, right? In fact, in the attempt to spread this little book far and wide, use the Promo code BOGO and I'll send two for the price of one.

Please click the link here and fill your life, and the lives of others, with poetry and gastronomy.

So... after visiting St. Andrew's in Antwerp, Connie, Margaret and I upgraded our AirBnB and checked into a two bedroom flat near the center of town. We had dinner, I'm almost sure, somewhere, but I'll have to touch base with them to blog about those details later. What I remember, is in the morning, we were going to head for Brussels. Somehow on the motorway we saw a sign that said we were on a road that would take us directly to Bruges. Margaret and I convinced Connie this was a must-see and so we headed to Bruges! It's a storybook village, you know and more importantly has this:

The only Michelangelo sculpture outside of Italy, his Madonna and Child. It's more beautiful than this picture could ever relate. After seeing this, and weeping, we took a cruise through the canals and found a seat outside of the bell tower famous for having 366 steps. Connie and I were game to climb it, until we had a couple of drinks. There went that motivation... It was on to Brussels!

Besides Amsterdam, Brussels was the first really big city I'd been in. I could tell the difference, even from Amsterdam, immediately. There was a heavy police and military presence. So many officers carrying assault rifles. It didn't bother me. Actually made me feel more safe. What idiot terrorist would mess with such a show of force? The other thing immediately apparent were all of the beggars. Don't really recall encountering any up until Brussels. They would become a theme through the big cities... so much poverty, but also, as an entrepreneur, I feel, so much laziness. Just go clean something, anything for someone, anyone and good things will come from it. At least, that's how it worked for me and my window cleaning company. But that's a story for another time.

I will say this about Brussels, the Grand Place is amazing, especially at night, even if it doesn't fall until 11:30 pm like it did the night we were there.

After this video was taken by Margaret, Connie wanted to see the peeing boy and the peeing girl. They're little statues around the Grand Place. The peeing boy was easy to find; the peeing girl, not so much. But eventually we did find her, next to a pub, spilling over with people. After taking a few shots, Margaret and Connie were ready to say goodbye and head to their hotel. They did Like a prat, I decided to stay and have another beer, not realizing my phone was about to die.

Long story short, my phone was all but dead and I met this guy. Seemed like a nice enough guy. He told me he could help me charge my phone. Like an idiot I gave him my phone and charger only to have him wander off with it. The next day I went to the police office, we had a good laugh. The phone was gone.

Bummer. I had the phone blocked into a paper weight. The next night I had a lovely dinner with Ioana and her boyfriend Yann. I blew out my flip-flops and Yann was good enough to give me a pair of his so I could make it back to my AirBnB in something other than bare feet. The rest of my time in Brussels was pretty uneventful. Depressed about my phone, I didn't feel like seeing any museums or doing much of anything besides moping in my room. I planned my train trip to Paris, did some laundry and likely smoked too many cigarettes in my state of high anxiety.

The trip to Paris was a snap. I met some Irish men, supporters of the national team as I realized the UEFA cup taking place throughout France was going to be a very big deal. When I arrived in Paris, the plan was to meet my friend Rachel at Sacre Coueur. I headed up those thousand steps, took in the amazing view, and found a pub so I could get online on my laptop and have some kind of communication with Rachel as she was flying into CDG and taking the train. Worried she might not be able to find Sacre Coueur, I agreed to walk back down to the train station and meet her. Rather than head back up to Sacre Coueur, we decided to try to find our apartment on the east side of Paris.

Within an hour, Rachel had had her purse snatched by a bloody pickpocket. Oh my.

Au revoir for now,
Jared

I’m on the bus from Marseilles to Nice, very close to Cannes. I should arrive at the airport bus station in about half an hour. Just long enough to jot down some thoughts and a story or two.

 

When I left you last, we had just met Ron Driven, Director of the Van GoghHuis. Again, thanks to Margaret, who can apparently sell ice to Eskimos; he agreed to have lunch with us. He took us down the street a hundred meters or so and we ate in the courtyard of what used to be a nunnery. I had the nun burger; so did Ron.

Not bad, but I’ll never understand why Europeans use filler in their burgers… tastes more like Salisbury Steak.

So we get to chatting about Vincent and his time in Arles, especially around the time he painted Café Terrace at Night. It turns out Ron knows quite a bit about this phase. One of the books he has written, available for sale at the Van GoghHuis is called Boch and Van Gogh There were two Bochs in fact, instrumental to his story. The first, Eugene, became a friend of Vincent’s while he was in Arles. They’d go for long walks through the countryside, to see the bullfights at the ancient, Roman collisseum, and sometimes they would visit a little café in the Place du Forum. Vincent immortalized Boch in this painting, which, he wrote was something like the face of Dante, the poet.

The second Boch, Anna, Eugene’s sister is famous for purchasing the only painting we know of for sure that was sold while he was still alive. The Red Vineyard.

 

As we’re chatting, Ron tells as that the road we’re on, the main road through town, the same one that passes by the little chapel where Vincent’s father used to preach was built by Napoleon. Fascinating. I don’t know what it is about me, maybe the beer was getting to me a little bit, but sometimes my mouth says things my brain gives it, before really thinking about it...

Trying to get some bearing of the age of the road, I ask “Was it built before or after Waterloo?”

Yeah, as soon as I said it, we all had a good laugh. I think it helps my character to be a bit foolish sometimes. Too often especially with my research, I become too convinced I know it all. I don’t know hardly anything. But I do know Vincent painted the Last Supper and it’s been hiding in plain sight for over a century…

After lunch, we drove to Antwerp. With a new travelling buddy, we needed to find other accommodations. Luckily, AirBnB, after I complained about getting eaten alive by the mosquitoes in Amsterdam, gave me a $30 gift certificate which help off-set the cost of the new place. A two bedroom apartment in downtown Antwerp.

The first place we went to was Saint Andreiskriek Chruch. Here’s another moment of my own foolishness. For some reason, I thought this was named after Saint James, when obviously the cognate is Saint Andrew. Que sera.

The retired couple in charge were very helpful and pretty good with English. They had spent two years in Michigan, near Detroit, I believe. So, yeah, they’ve seen a third world country. I ask the man if he could show me where the Stella Maris is. He takes me right to it. I tell him how it inspired Vincent. He remembers this story, returns to the gift shop, finds a book for sale there and shows me the passage that confirms my story.

I have arrived in Nice.

Au revoir for now!

Jared

Sunday, June 19^th, 2016. Father’s Day.

It’s nearly ten am and I’m on the metro with my great friend Rachel on the way to Auvers-sur-Oise; the place where Vincent painted for seventy days, before mysteriously dying. He is buried there. We are on our way to pay homage to him, and his brother, who happens to be buried beside him.

When I left you last... I honestly don’t recall. LOL. What a whirlwind the last few days have been! Let’s see, I will try to remember. I mentioned the bike, leaving the bike with Nathalie and Connie picking me up in Tilburg, I think. Ugh. There is no internet service on the metro so I cannot pull up my blog to check.

Connie and I drove from Tilburg to Breda, another important place in Vincent’s youth. His father preached there for a short time… Anyway, Connie and I made our way to the Centruum and found a nice place to sit and have a beer beside the canal. We overheard a young woman, eating lunch by herself, and realized she was a fellow American.

Kristina is in Breda studying for a semester abroad. She is about to earn her degree in hospitality and has the plan of more fully bringing hostels to the US. A great idea, I think. Especially with the way hostels have progressed in Europe. No longer merely dorms full of drunken university students, the new ones feature private rooms for couples or families, bars, restaurants and even night clubs. I think this could be replicated in the states. Families could find accommodations in the private rooms and maybe even settle for a smaller dorm if there is no availability.

So after a few drinks, Connie decides she wants a pannenkoken and we have to try it too. We begin our quest to find this traditional Dutch dish which is sort of a blend between a crepe and a pizza. We return to the rental car to find we have been awarded a parking ticket for 90 euro! This is utter bullshit. Originally, Connie believing 500 meters was not that far to walk, we paid for an hour and a half of parking. After a beer, Connie decided to move the car closer to where we actually were. She found FREE parking on a side street but left the paid parking receipt on the dash. Some officious meter maid likely saw the vehicle was a rental, noticed the expired ticket on the dash, and decided, hey, maybe these stupid tourists don’t even realize they’re parking in a free zone. I’ll go ahead and issue a ticket. If they pay it, great for the city; if not, what has the city really lost but a small piece of paper?

I took a number of photos to document our case: no Paid Parking signs anywhere on the street, none of the other vehicles parked around us had either paid parking receipts on the dash, or parking tickets tucked under the wiper blades. Connie flips out a bit, but I assure her, we’ll put together a convincing argument in an email and send it off to the city.

We drive to our next destination, less than a kilometer away, which was featuring a carnival, full of rides, games and barkers; and no parking. I convince Connie to park in a no parking zone, smartly replace her new ticket beneath the wiper blade and we’re off to find our pannenkoken. It wasn’t that good, but the company, Connie and Kristina was fantastic. Getting late, it’s time for Connie and I to find our AirBnB. We walk back to the car, which is luckily still there, our parking ticket successfully keeping it safe. And, no other tickets!

Kristina lives nearby so she journeys with us to Ger’s, an architect by day and musician by night. The room is very comfortable, with two beds, and in the back is a lovely terrace, perfect for enjoying a beer in the evening and a coffee in the morning; which we do.

We’re up early as we have to be at the train station by 9 am to collect Margaret; a family friend of Connie’s. Margaret speaks four languages and would prove to be an invaluable guide. I punch in the coordinates to the train station on the GPS and we promptly arrive at 9 am, at the wrong train station. This would seem to be a theme of this trip: getting lost. We quickly figure out where the train station is and pick up Margaret, a retired woman who has recently turned seventy, she doesn’t appear a day over fifty. Must be that good Dutch living. She lives in Haarlem and also Utah for half of the year. I met and briefly dated her daughter, Meike (Annemeika Okamura, which has such a therapeutic ring to it) back in 2004.

With Margaret in the car, we’re off to Zundert to find Vincent’s birthplace. On the way, I tell Margaret all about my research. Which was good because she then had a solid idea of what this pilgrimage is all about. We follow the signs into Zundert and find a parking place near what we think to be the Van GoghHuis; a small museum with all things Vincent’s birth and early childhood years. Exiting the car, I turn around and realized we have parked right next to the church where his father preached when Vincent was born. I was immediately overwhelmed. I have studied pictures of this church for years and now to be standing right in front of it!

Well, we couldn’t figure out how to pay for parking there so Connie and Margaret decided to find a place to park while I went directly to the church. I asked the groundskeepers, a knot welling up in my throat, “Where is the gravestone of Vincent’s older brother?” They nodded, took me around the corner and there it was. The grass had just been cut and there were clippings all over the plate. I bent down, and gently wiped away the freshly cut grass so I could take in the stone in its entirety. I wept. But just a little; not all that manly, you know. I dried my tears and thanked the couple whom had shown me the stone. I took its picture and a few more too. I had forgotten this statue of Vincent and Theo had been erected before the church so many years ago.

I waited for Connie and Margaret to return. When they did, Margaret spoke with the lead groundskeeper in Dutch. She told him about my research and about my pilgrimage. She asked if we might enter the church. He was adamant this was not allowed. This is a place of worship for their small community; not a place for tourists to take selfies. But Margaret did not give up. She told him, “You are a server, and Jared’s quest is to find the servant of God.” Essentially. It was in Dutch after all. He relented and allowed us into the little chapel.

What a feeling to sit in those same pews Vincent had sat growing up as a young boy; listening to his father preach every Sunday to the small congregation in Zundert. Zundert is very close to the Belgian border (in fact, we briefly crossed into Belgium arriving there as this is the way the freeway was designed). When Vincent’s father was a preacher here, the area was largely Catholic. Vincent’s grandfather, fairly high up in the Dutch Reformed church had sent his son, Theodorus (Vincent’s father) to Zundert in the hopes of maintaining a Protestant presence. Theodorus was a kind man. He didn’t care if you were Protestant or Catholic (if you were an atheist, however, which Vincent would later claim to be, well that is another story! And another story for another time). Theodorus would administer to the Catholic farmers as devoutly as his own flock. Later, Vincent would recall his father, with nothing but a lantern in hand, walking through the night to visit the sick and dying; anxious about his return, but so proud that his father would work so hard to bring some consolation to the suffering.

My train has arrived.

Au Revoir for now!
Jared

Where to begin? In media res.

It's been a week since I last checked in. I apologize for the delay. So much has happened. I hope I can faithfully recall the most salient details.

I left quite abruptly from the cafe in Tilburg because my friend Connie had finally arrived from the States. It was no easy task for her. The weather in Amsterdam was so hot, her original, Salt Lake flight had to dump a lot of weight before take off. Some thirty plus passengers were 86'd and she didn't get out. Determined, she flew to Seattle and from there caught the next plane to Amsterdam. She rented a car, bought a Dutch phone and drove about two hours to south central Holland to pick me up.

I was waiting for her, reminiscing about the damned bike and my travels so far. I had cycled, on just the shittiest bike, for the better part of eight hours over two days. Sore heiny? Absolutely. But it was a fantastic exercise, in more ways than just physical.

It took two trips from Eindhoven to Nuenen to finally visit the van Gogh Village. When I finally found it, I was amazed to see all of the streets were named after Vincent, his family and even failed love affairs. Not only is there a Margotstraat (the only woman whom Vincent left unrequited), there was also a Sienstraat, the prostitute he lived with for two years in The Hague. How curious she is now immortalized in Nuenen!

I parked my bike at Vincentre, a small museum that pays homage to Vincent. While they don't have any paintings, they do have canvasses by those whom Vincent was close to and inspired while he was there. Lovely little depictions by Anthon van Rappard, Antoon Hermans and others.

I told one of the curators of my quest. We sat outside, had a coffee and discussed Vincent in some lovely detail. A retired insurance salesman, Theo was well versed in Vincent's time in Nuenen. My expertise is some three years later when he was in Arles. We discussed my theory and The Potato Eaters; the pinnacle of Vincent's time in Nuenen. I don't think I convinced him. It seems to be the way... the more one has studied Vincent, the more resolute one becomes in his ideation of him.

So! From Nuenen, I returned on the borrowed bike from Vannesch. I arrived half an hour before our expected rendezvous. He was working on the bike when I entered his little shop. I thought he was just finishing up. I think he rushed it. I think he had another half an hour of work... but, not wanting to be rude and keep me waiting, exchanged bicycles with me.

With the new tune up, I asked, "Will this now get me to Antwerp?"

He quickly decided to give the bike another once-over. I should have guessed something was up at that point. As I shook his hand and bid adieu, I rode the bike back to my AirBnB. Carool Coraal. What a gal! She helped me a lot on this journey. The bike's seat, however, was not properly secured and quickly slanted backwards, pushing my scrotum through my bellybutton.

At Carool's, I grabbed my bags and went back to the shop, having Vannesch tighten up the seat. I should have had him tighten up the breaks too...

From there I was determined to ride two hours, about 40 kilometers to Tilburg; a town Vincent lived in as a high school student. Getting lost a bit on the way, it took three. Que sera. When I finally found my next AirBnB, with the fabulous Nathalie, she and about seven of her gorgeous friends were dining on the terrace above her apartment. A birthday celebration.

She let me in, showed me around and returned to her dinner. I was in need of a shower. After which, I communicated some business details with my son, Sam, who is running the shop while I'm away. Thirsty, I asked Nathalie where the best place to get a beer was. She was adamant the best place was a couple of miles away and offered to drop me off and pick me up as she and her girlfriends were going out for more celebrating anyway.

She chose well. The place had 300 beers, even three IPA's. The bartender was as knowledgeable as any I've found in Portland and took great care of me. I met a couple of locals, Marco and his ride. Marco is awesome. A laborer by trade, like me, he insisted on buying my beer. We're now friends on facebook... I have added a fair few friends since beginning this journey.

Nathalie picked me up and I slept well. In the morning, I rode the bike to the Centrum, getting lost along the way. Although, something I have discovered; you can't be found until you are lost. Well, that's Dante in a nutshell, isn't it?

There is so much more to tell. And I will. But now the Paris sun is streaming through my fourth floor's window and the museums are calling. I have made progress. More on that later. For now, I leave you with one picture; the apartment where Vincent and Theo lived for two years in Monmartre.

Au revoir for now,
Jared

Dao and the art of bicycle maintenance

Dao and the art of bicycle maintenance

It's 10:30 am. I'm sitting at a café in the center of Tilburg, a beautiful Dutch city with a giant neo-Gothic cathedral before me. Two stratospheric spires dwarf the golden statue of a saint, perched above a clock accented with the same gold. Below the clock is the date it was built, 1888. An important year in the life of Vincent van Gogh; the year he moved to Provence and finally found himself as an artist.

Two days ago I was in Arnhem, the closest AirBnB near Otterlo I could find. Just outside of Otterlo, within the confines of the picturesque Hoge Veluwe National Park, is the Kröller-Müller Museum. It was founded by Helene Kröller-Müller and her husband, a Dutch shipping and mining tycoon. Thanks to the advice of art critic Henk Bremmer, Helene bought many van Gogh's well before he was internationally recognized as an innovative genius. One collection in particular she purchased, included twelve paintings originally owned by French art critic Albert Aurier. Aurier was the first to publicly praise Vincent while Vincent was still a patient at the insane asylum in St. Remy. The article, Les Isoles: Vincent van Gogh appeared in the inaugural edition of the Mercure de France. Vincent was elated about the praise in letters to his family; though in his letter to Aurier, he deflected the praise heaped upon him, stating that many other artists, including Gauguin, surely deserved more credit.

Vincent subsequently gifted Cypresses to Aurier, in thanks for the article.

How Aurier came to own the other eleven remains a mystery. The most plausible answer is Vincent's brother, Theo gifted them to Aurier. He had asked Aurier to write a biography of Vincent's life. Unfortunately, Theo died just six months after his brother; and Aurier about a year after that. In addition to being an art critic, Aurier was a Symbolist poet. I'll discuss that in more detail later. What's important to understand is Aurier found in Vincent's letter and certain canvasses, Symbolist qualities. Aurier was the first to own Café Terrace at Night.

When Aurier's heir, who had inherited the collection needed money, he sold the collection to Helene. She would purchase several others until Theo wife, Jo, decided she had too many and would sell her no more. I believe Aurier recognized Café Terrace at Night to be a Symbolist Last Supper. I'm hoping to research his life when I arrive in Paris next week.

It had been a sixteen year pilgrimage for me to finally witness the painting. It's located at the end of a hallway, so as you enter the room, it's featured in the center; its allure unmistakable. I was there before anyone else and got to spend some serious one on one time with the canvas. My nose millimeters away, I discovered the central serving figure has a beard. This further lends to my theory Vincent intended this to be a symbolic image of Christ.

After taking in the other four rooms packed full of paintings I have only studied out of books and on line, I celebrated with a beer named in Vincent's honor.

From there, I spent the night in Arnhem at a different AirBnB, one that was less expensive and further south, along my supposed route to Eindhoven on the bike. With no bike, I took the train to Eindhoven and was able to arrange to meet Brad, who finally sold me a bike!

This is not Brad. This is Vannesch. More on that later...

Elated to finally have a bike, a very cheap, old and hammered bike, I strapped down my too heavy baggage, jumped on and headed for Nuenen. Originally, I was to travel through Nuenen on my way to Eindhoven. I sort of knew the general direction to go, got lost a couple of times, but eventually found the town from the south.

I cycled on hoping to find the Van Gogh Village. I didn't go far enough. Getting pretty tired after an hour and a half of solid cycling, it appeared there was a restaurant with a mill I thought looked familiar.

 

Sure enough, it was a mill Vincent had painted:

My picture, unfortunately is from the backside. Speaking of backsides, I climbed off my bike, saddle-sore and bow-legged and walked about the deserted beer garden. Feeling like a cowboy at an empty saloon, I peeked in the windows to try to see what was up. Sand bags. There must have been flooding because there were sand bags everywhere and people no where.

Uh-oh, have to run, more soon!

Jared

Dutch women are stunning and other obvious observations...

I'm in Arnhem, Holland now, watching an Ali retrospective on the BBC. He was a champion; larger than life. Or as my friend John Burns put it far more eloquently:

"America is deeply mourning the loss of a Muslim black power activist who opposed the draft, pointed out the flaws in our national story, conscientiously objected to war, and spoke out for freedom of religion and the rights of the oppressed.

As we should."

Tomorrow is an important day for me. I'll finally see in person and up close the painting that changed the course of my life. In the neighborhood I'm staying, all of the streets are named after great artists. I took this pic on my way home from eating some pizza, which was as good as any I've had in New York.

When I left you last, I was having trouble sleeping in a bug-infested room. I took some great advice, packed my bag and found a bus back into the center of Amsterdam. Arriving shortly after 4 am, I began exploring the city by foot. Some Friday revelers were still about and before I knew it, I found myself in Amsterdam's notorious Red Light District. The architecture, both man- and divinely-made was stunning.

From there I decided to walk to the museum district, mulling over some choices: give the bastards at the Van Gogh Museum another shot? See the Rembrandt's and Hal's at the Rijksmuseum? Maybe check out the Warhol/Banksy exhibit? I quickly ruled out the first option. Truth is, I didn't spend that much time there yesterday, seeing only the self-portraits near the entrance. I took no photos and I have no regrets. I won't be back at that museum until I'm invited to speak. So it goes.

A good hour early for the opening of the Rijks, I was the first in line to buy a ticket. I hadn't bought one online because I wasn't sure my schedule would allow for it. I'm glad I made time. They have an app you can download, avoiding the extra fee of the audio tour. Pretty awesome when you're the first one through the doors and have the guidance to go directly towards the masterpieces.

Like Vincent, a psychiatrist could have a field day (and has) with me on her couch: OCD, ADD, Bipolar, alcoholic? Sure. But another ailment Vincent and I share is Stendhal's Syndrome. Sometimes, when I'm in a museum, the floor gets wobbly, my blood pressure goes through their vaulted ceilings and I have to hold back the tears. Believe me, I'm more than a little terrified of visiting Florence next month!

So as I entered the great hall and encountered the Rembrandt's, Hal's and Vermeer's, I was overwhelmed. Luckily, there's always someplace to sit down and gather yourself.

After a few hours at the museum, I decided it was time to head back to Amsterdam Centraal and find my way to my next destination: Arnhem. Again, I'm in the suburbs, with not much close (except a pretty fine Italian restaurant). As the temperature peaked into the eighties, my 2.4 km walk culminated with me arriving at Saskia's BnB a sweaty mess. Luckily, she let me right in, showed me the room and the shower; which I took, with delight. Exhausted, I slept for the next six hours; my sleep pattern slowly making its way across the Americas towards the Continent.

I have to share one more picture I took today, a fabulous Dutch bridge at morning, with a barge gliding quietly below:

Fellow Vincent-aficionados will recognize this importance to his Langlois Bridge series.

Goede Nacht for now,

Jared

It's 2 am in Amsterdam and I can't sleep...

So the flight was pretty awesome. Nothing like flying first class across the Atlantic. Even the food is good! Started with an appetizer of Serrano ham, buffalo mozzarella, arugula and apricots. Tasted great at 30,000 feet. Cocktails, Verdejo, corn chowder, a great salad:

Followed up with beef tenderloin and polenta, a fruit and cheese plate and port for dessert. There's a reason the flight attendants close the curtain... people in the back of the plane do not want to see what's going on up there!

I couldn't sleep much; couldn't write at all. So I tried to watch some movies and drink gin and tonics. Hey, they're free!

When we landed, I was amazed at how easy it was to go through customs. I told the agents I'd be staying for 100 days. What I didn't know is you're only allowed to stay for 90 on the continent. Luckily my trip to England will break my stay into two halves. So, I'm good.

I took the train to Amsterdam Centraal, all the while trying to get a hold of Frank or anyone on Craigslist to sell me a bike. No luck. At. All. So, no bike. Instead, I took a rickshaw to the Van Gogh Museum and arrived a few minutes before my scheduled time of 11 am. I was able to walk right in, check my bag and relax before taking in the works. I was asked to fill out a questionnaire about my stay and I did. Hope they like my notes, signed Jared Baxter.

I didn't enjoy my time there. I tried to arrange an on the spot meeting with one of their researchers. Nope. No meeting for me. Left a bad taste in my mouth. I left. I had to get to my AirBnB by 3 anyway. So, with no bike, I ordered an uber that cost too much damned money.

My place in Amsterdam is nothing fancy. The host is very nice but we're in the suburbs not really next to any restaurants, sites or things to do. Worked out okay, I needed to sleep anyway. Partly why I'm still on West Coast time. So here's 2e Kekerstraat:

I did find a cool mosque nearby:

With no bike, I was able to find transportation to my next stop in Arnhem via three busses. I have to leave at 6:30 am, about four hours from now. Not sure I'll sleep till then... not sure I want to. I'm afraid this place has bedbugs. Ugh, glad I'm only staying here one night!

Ta Ta for now,

Jared

Bags are packed, it's time to go!

Haven't had the opportunity to blog in a while; far too busy. There's a lot of story to tell, but right now, I'm at PDX waiting to board in about 15 minutes... I think all of the details for the trip are ironed out; the best laid plans of mice and men. We'll see.

For instance, I haven't been able to get ahold of Frank the used Dutch bike salesman yet. I'll call the minute I land in Amsterdam. I'd hate for the trip to not get off to the right start from the get-go. There have already been some complications (I need to have my sister mail my new suit to Brighton since the replacement jacket is arriving at the house, oh, about right now).

One spot of good news, there are seven empty seats in first class. Chances are highly likely that's where I'll get to begin this adventure!

Here's a pic. I'm ready to do this!

Ciao for now,

Jared

With less than two weeks to go...

I am experiencing some nerves. While most everything is booked and paid for: all accommodations (except the albregues on the camino... and I'm still not sure where I'm staying in Manchester), all ten flights, sixteen of nineteen train trips (the remaining three are day trips I'll purchase on-the-spot), all eight coach trips and most museum and tour tickets; I'm like flat broke!

But I guess I should be. I've invested $5,000. Ideally, I need to earn $5,000 more over the next 13 days... about $400 per day. 200 panes per day. I've got this, right? The work is lined up, just need to go knock it out. And quit spending so much, both trip-related and non. Staying on budget for 100 days will be one of my biggest tests.

Speaking of which, this is the first blog from my new laptop/tablet combo. A week or so ago I spent $300 on a Lenovo Flex 3. Super lightweight (for packing all over Europe) and came with Microsoft Office. I'll need that to write the power point presentation... which I still need to do. Another cause of nerves. The Keynote will be the culmination of my research and there's still some digging around left to do once I'm in Europe. I can certainly cull from my former papers, articles and presentations, but I want to manage two other feats: go a little deeper, while at the same time, presenting a bit lighter, more familiar, almost, than my last presentations. I want it to be fun for the audience. I know how to engage through humor... but is Vincent a laughing matter? Hope I find the right balance. The past experiences have given me a lot of confidence. My scholarship is sound; my research is, I was going to say interesting, but no, it's fascinating. Van Gogh painted the Last Supper and nobody noticed? You can't make this stuff up.

I wasn't sure about what to wear for the Keynote. I don't want to pack a heavy suit all over Europe that I'll only wear once. Romantically, I imagined showing up disheveled as Indiana Jones midway through a journey. But packing that whip? Ultimately, I bought a light khaki, linen suit. Now I've got something I can use not only for the conference but for looking dapper when it seems apropos. I may even grow to like that image of a new me. I'll have to get it dry cleaned before the speech... probably in Rome, then wear it on the plane? Could get crumpled pretty easily but I arrive in Brighton the day before the lecture and I doubt I can find a dry cleaner to get it done in less than twelve hours.

I have spent much of the last three weeks mulling over minutia like this. I've booked a fairly tight schedule, having invested nearly $2,000 in transportation. I have to be at an airport, train or bus station on time at least 34 different times. Having checked Google maps for proximity from each accommodation, I should be fine.

In other news, my friend Rachel from South Carolina will be joining me in Rome and Brighton! I haven't seen her since college, so I'm very excited to get caught up with her. Which reminds me, I need to contact Dr. Haldane at Iafor and arrange for a few invited guests... wonder how big this new venue is?

Ciao for now,
Jared

Dear Wells Fargo Fraud Protection Services,

Get off my back! Yes, it's really me booking planes, trains, automobiles, BnBs, museums, the Eiffel Tower, a Rhine cruise, Leonardo's Last Supper in Milan, and wine tour through Venice. While I appreciate your uber-invasive software, tracking my every move, it has been a pain in the ass trying to book this trip!

Goals Update:
The best part of this quest so far, has been its ability to help me focus. I am at the halfway point between deciding to do this and leaving on June 2nd. I have earned 50% of my monetary goal and spent it accordingly: 75 days and nights all booked and paid for, also 9 out of 10 flights, most museum tickets, most bus tickets and about half of the train tickets. I have three weeks to raise the rest, paying for the last 25 days and other missing bits, plus the money I'll need to get around and live once I'm there. Planning on $40 a day, hoping to schlep a few hundred more windows and make it $50 a day. Luckily, I'm booking up. A ton.

This weekend I'm doing my yearly Lake Oswego gig. 15-18 homes over two days. Last year I had to do it on my own as my brother bailed to visit the Oregon coast. This year I'll have Sam and his girlfriend Corinne to help. Corinne hasn't washed windows before, but hey, this isn't rocket science. It takes five minutes to learn how to properly wash a window (a lifetime to master).

Health Update:
I have lost 15 pounds! Down from my late-winter chud of 208 to 193. I'm in mid-summer window cleaning shape. Hoping to drop another 8 by June; less weight to carry around Europe. I've only ridden the stationary bike a handful of times. Doubt I've even put in  the 91 km I plan on doing my first day in Holland.

Espana:
My original plan was to travel the Eastern coast of Spain, from Barcelona, down the Costa del Sol to Malaga then up to Seville and onto Portugal. I needed to add two days to Spain, taking two days from Central Europe. Much cheaper to fly in and out of Athens on a Wednesday than a Friday. What to do with these two days? Madrid! Madrid? It's a lot of travel time to the heart of Spain and back. But, the Prado, the Goyas? How can I not? I'm also considering using those two days to hop from Gibraltar to Tangier. Notch another continent in my travel belt? Also sounds good. Luckily I've got a month or two before these details must be sorted.

Nothing more to add for now, my dear reader. Yes, I'm talking to you, my one reader :) These preparation details seem banal, but maybe I'm not approaching them correctly? Well, it's a learning process. And hey, the first chapter of Walden, with its Economy, parts A through E? Not that enthralling either.

Until Later,
Jared

Rothenburg is not Rottenburg and Other Lessons Learned

I'll be visiting three churches named after Saint James. The first is Sint-Andrieskirk in Antwerp, Belgium. There is a stained glass window of a Stella Maris, the Virgin Mary as, well a somewhat pagan protector of the seas. Vincent van Gogh found it striking and art historian Debora Silverman posits it may have influenced what many believe to be Vincent's Symbolist rendition of a Madonna, La Berceuse.There aren't any good pictures I've been able to find on the internet. I'll be sure to post some :)

I thought the second church, St. Jakobskirche, is in Rottenburg, Germany, a town southwest of Stuttgart. Good thing I checked! The church, with its Holy Blood Altarpiece, is in Rothenburg ob der Tauber some 200 km away. St. Jakob's is also famous as a starting point for the Camino de Santiago. A 2000 km trek, my route from Porto will be much shorter. Still, I guess I'm some kind of modern pilgrim, and perhaps the final leg of my journey actually begins in Germany.

The altarpiece (only the center is shown here) depicts three scenes from the gospels. Christ's arrival in Jerusalem, his Last Supper and his trial in the Garden of Gethsemane. It was carved by a German named Tilman Riemschneider. It took him five years. Riemschneider became a victim of the of the Protestant Reformation. After a failed peasant revolt, legend has it, both his hands were broken, ending his career as a sculptor. What a waste.

\The final church named after St. James is now the cathedral in Santiago de Compostela, Spain; the ultimate destination of my journey.

New Bookings:

Nearly all of June and July are sorted for accommodations and airline travel. One flight left to book: Athens to Barcelona. This list looks insane to me but flying is now often the most economical way to travel in Europe:

June 2:    PDX - AMS         Portland to Amsterdam
June 20:  ORY - MRS          Paris to Marseilles
July 11:  FCO - LGW         Rome to London
July 22:  EDI - CPH            Edinburgh to Copenhagen
July 24:  CPH - CGN         Copenhagen to Cologne
Aug 3:    VCE - ATH           Venice to Athens
Aug 10:  ATH - BCN          Athens to Barcelona
Aug 28:   LIS -  OPO           Lisbon to Portugal
Sep 8:     SCQ - AMS         Santiago to Amsterdam
Sep 9:     AMS - PDX        Amsterdam to Portland

The bookings have been smooth. One mistake, I booked a discount train ticket from Brussels to Paris. It was only $20! In my excitement and haste, I forgot I hoped to bring my bike with me all the way to Bologna. I thought about paying separately for the bike, $30 -- the bike is more valuable than I am, but then I found a flight from Paris to Marseilles for less than the cost of a train ticket. So now, I have no idea where Frank's second-hand bike may end up as it won't be flying.

Meanwhile, business is humming along. I'm even working the weekends and putting in 8 hour days! I prefer my 5 to 6 hour days but the work is a little more satisfying with my quest in place.

Tchau for now,
Jared

Caucus Democracy: Another Reason to Move to Europe

In my fervor to have Senator Bernie Sanders (Rock Star - Vermont) become the next President of the United States, I agreed to be an alternate delegate at our local caucuses last month. This meant I had to attend the county caucus yesterday with some 2,000 of my fellow citizens. I also wanted to support my son, Sam, in his attempt to become a delegate in Philadelphia this summer at the National Convention.

What a disaster.

We arrived at noon and were shuffled into a high school gymnasium. With no air conditioning, it quickly reached 90 degrees. We waited until 7:30 for the staff to sort out which alternates would replace the delegates (some 400+) who failed to show up. I had to ask several times, but finally I filled in for an alternate who left after she was selected to replace a delegate who didn't show. Long story short, we were then shuffled into the auditorium, where at least we had decent seats -- those bleachers! -- and listened to some 60 people give a one minute speech, explaining why they were the best candidate to go through that nightmare again in Tacoma later this month. Sam wasn't deterred: I was going to upload the video but apparently it's too large. It can be found on my facebook page. We didn't get out of there til ten pm. I swear it was more exhausting than working all day.

Venice

Not being too familiar with Italian geography, I had no idea Venice is a three hour train ride from Bologna. Makes for a lousy day trip. I thought I'd have to scrap it. But 100 days in Europe and no Venice? No way. So I've scratched Budapest. I'll have to do Eastern Europe some other trip. After Vienna, I'll take the train to Trieste (maybe venture into Croatia?), then the next day, I'll head to Venice and stay a couple of days. Trying to figure out if it's better to fly out of Venice or take an overnight train to Rome to catch a flight to Athens. 

No new bookings to report. Just schlepped windows all day, followed by a solid forty minutes on the stationary bike. Oh, and this is for you, mom. Visited the doctor today and he gave me plenty of Prednisone should my gout flare up :)

Hasta for now,
Jared

May Day!

Happy May Day, a holiday nobody I know celebrates. My mother would tell me stories, growing up as a little girl in the north of England, about celebrating this day. They'd twine banners as they danced and bobbed around the Maypole. Another tradition that has slipped away, replaced by media. So it goes.

Bookings so far.

Yesterday I decided to snap up Athens and Rome. So I'm set for a week with Alkistis on the beach and five days with Paoloa and her two dogs near the heart of Rome. Vatican City? An hour stroll away. Shorter walks include the Borghese Museum, Trevi Fountain, Pantheon and Colosseum. With some research, I think I'm going to buy the Rome City Pass, think it's called OMNIA. Unlike Paris, which offers free admission to a bunch of museums and attractions I'll never make it to (and for too much money), the OMNIA pass includes your price of admission to the spots you actually want to see (as a tourist for the first time in Rome): the Vatican, Sistine Chapel, St. Peter's, the Colosseum, a few others; and free usage of the transit system is included. Save a few bucks and have some impetus to see at least three or four of the options.

My first night in Amsterdam is also booked. Went with the Hans Brinker Hostel, a mere ten minute walk from the Bastards at the Van Gogh Museum. In better planning my route from Schipol Airport to the city, it looks like Frank the bike guy might be first on my to-do list. I'll text him when I've landed. So the hostel looks like way too much fun. They have a bar and restaurant, with inexpensive meals for about 6 euros. They also have a club in the basement that doesn't close until 3 or 4 in the morning. Need to watch I don't try to party like it's 1999. I do not recover as quickly. Of course, 5 hours on the bike to Otterlo the next day can sweat out a lot of... impurities.

I've spent a quarter of my budget so far booking rooms, travel and a new suitcase (it's also a backpack and small enough to act as carry-on luggage for Europe's strict budget airlines) and a few other items. I will spend the next quarter of my budget filling out the accommodations, travel and as many museum, sightseeing tickets as possible. I understand it's necessary to book well in advance if I want to see Leonardo's Last Supper in Milan. I'll skip long queues at many museums by having my ticket already in hand.

I was going to blog about my second pilgrimage today, but I think I'll save that for later. Today, I'm making my sister and family a full English breakfast, because, why the hell not? This afternoon, I'll be attending a local political event: the Clark County Democratic Convention. I'm an alternate for Bernie Sanders. I'm going with my son, Sam, I'm looking forward to his speech. I'll be sure to post it tomorrow.

Auf Wiedersehen for now,
Jared

Three pilgrimages:

Without going all Eat, Pray, Love on this, I consider the first leg of my journey to be a pilgrimage to find my future. I believe researching, writing and lecturing about Vincent should be my vocation, not my hobby. I'm able to look in the mirror and see I haven't yet put in the heavy lifting to make this happen. That's what this trip is all about! I'm hopeful the blogging will free up my writing. Much of this is going to be raw, unfiltered vomit from my fingers to the screen. I hope I can adequately bludgeon my interior editor into submission. For me the hardest part of writing is this, letting it flow, what I call pooping the clay. After the clay is pooped I can spend hours molding it; crafting sentences this way and that. You, my friends, are going to get the raw poop.

At night, I've been trying to visualize my bike ride through Vincent's Holland. There are of course pictures on the internet to inspire these dreams. I feel the wind in my face, the sun on my neck, the tulips in my nose. I have lined up some lovely hosts along the way. The first night I'm likely staying at a hostel. Amsterdam is expensive! If my friend Connie (the wonderful woman who scored me a buddy pass from PDX to AMS and back for only $538!) joins me, we may stay with and old flame of hers, Rob. He's a naval officer, I believe. Met him once, some thirteen years ago...

After visiting (and protesting at?) the Van Gogh Museum, I'm taking a 30 minute walk into the heart of Amsterdam, Dam Square, to meet Frank, the second-hand bike refurbisher. I've been following his Craigslist posts for a couple of weeks now. He always has a couple of Dutch city bikes for sale. He even writes, " I do provide a 1 month guarantee on the bike in case anything breaks on it ill fix for free." A man who stands behind his workmanship. Gotta love it. Maybe this one will still be available? Only 40 euros and it even has gears! Most of these don't. Well, Holland is very flat, so I guess you rarely need to change gears... still, I think this one is perfect. It has a carrier on the back for my pack (this will be a one-pack adventure). All it's missing is a chain and lock. Sure Frank can hook me up.

I'm not planning on staying in Amsterdam for long. The next day I have a 91 km bike ride to make. I did start training, yesterday, in fact. I put in an hour on the stationary cycle. Broke a good sweat and allayed some fears I'm way too out of shape for this. I plan about five hours to make it from Amsterdam to Arnhem. It was the closest spot I could find to Otterlo and the Kroller-Mueller Museum. I'll take my time on Saturday making it to Saskia's house in Arnhem. It's all I really have planned for this Saturday, but who knows what I may find along my way? 

On Sunday, I'm riding to the museum to finally see Cafe Terrace on the Place du Forum, Arles, at Night. I think these are my best arguments why it should be considered a Symbolist Last Supper. From there, I'll ride back to Arnhem, though this time, further south, as I found a cheaper room that gets my farther along my route, and stay with Susanne. Other hosts through Holland include Novita in Eindhoven, Nathalie in Tilburg, Ger in Breda and leaving Holland, I'll stay with Jackie J in Antwerp and visit my first of three churches named after St. James.

This pilgrimage does not end for a month later when I deliver my presentation in Brighton. It will take me through Brussels, Mons, Paris, Auvers, Avignon, St. Remy, Arles, Saintes Maries, Marseilles, Nice, Genoa, Milan, Bologna, Ravenna, Firenze, Riomaggiore, Rome and London. 

I will briefly describe the second and third pilgrimages tomorrow and Monday.

Bookings so far:

Airfare to AMS and back, four other hopper-flights (Edinburgh to Copenhagen, Copenhagen to Cologne, Lisbon to Porto and Santiago to AMS) have all been booked and paid for. I have three flights yet to book: Rome to London, Budapest to Athens and Athens to Barcelona. These are more expensive and I'm watching the fares, trying to snatch up a good deal if it comes along. I think these are the bones of my trip. The ligaments and muscles will be made up with trains, busses, ferries, rental cars, and old Dutch bike and my feet.

I have booked all (except the first night in Amsterdam) of my room accommodations for the month of June: a week in Holland, weekend in Belgium, week in Paris, week in Provence and a few days in Genoa and Milan. Then I'm lucky to have Saul put me up in Bologna. I also made one booking in July. The first weekend we will be in Firenze. A good friend I met at my first conference in Brighton back in 2013 just happens to be studying at the University of Bologna the same time I'll be there. She's planning on visiting the Uffizi and other spots with Saul and myself. The deal on the room was too good to pass up. It's a two bedroom flat that sleeps six for $100 a night. So we have room for friends! It's a tram ride from the center of Firenze which is good. Less hustle and bustle in the evenings. 

I cannot wait to cook in Italy. But I'm getting ahead of myself and need to go schlep some windows to pay for all of this.

Adieu for now,

Jared

 

At the age of 35, Dante suffered the mother of all midlife crises. He wasn't the first to wonder where the hell his path had led him. He won't be the last. There should be some kind of peace, some kind of balance in living at the fulcrum of your life; reflecting equally forward and back. Like Dante, for me, there is not.

When I add up all my successes and weigh them against all my failures, it's out of whack. I have loved, lived and given much, but not enough. Transitioning to my next phase, an empty-nester, I hear the call of wanderlust. I've heard her whisper before. Now she's wailing a sublime Siren's song and I am the wind.

I've worked hard, though not hard enough, and I've sacrificed a lot, though I should have done more to get where I am today. Lost. Staying with my sister and her family. No assets. Few possessions. It's an ascetic lifestyle I seem to return to whenever there's a landslide from one season to the next.

About a week ago I saw my path through the forest. I'm finally going to take the trip I should have done right out of high school.


100 Days in Europe

Although I clean windows by day, my passion, as anyone who knows me will say, is the art and life of Vincent van Gogh. For the last four years I have researched, written and lectured about the Dutch master. It's finally time to write that story.

Yesterday I booked my flight from Portland, Oregon to Amsterdam. I fly out June 2 and arrive the next morning at 8:30 am. I had requested a meeting with the honchos at the Van Gogh Museum. One of them replied, "we don't have time for this." We don't have time for this? That stung. Ensuring that bridge was a full-on grease fire, I promptly replied, "I'll be sure to send you a copy of the book. One chapter you may enjoy, 'The Bastards at the Van Gogh Museum.'"

Fuck 'em.

They're not going to stop me from visiting the museum (or maybe they will? what a story that would be!). I'm going directly from the airport to the museum. It turns out Craig's list is in Amsterdam. I found a guy named Frank who refurbishes and sells second hand bicycles. He's always got three or four on hand and they run about 50 euros. So I'm going to meet Frank, buy a bike and cycle through Holland for a week, visiting all the sites so important to Vincent's story and development. The first day is a 91 km trek to Otterlo. I'll finally see in person the painting that inspired the course of my life.

From there, it's on to Nuenen to visit the Van Gogh Village, then Eindhoven to ride the Starry Night bike path. I'll spend nights in Tilburg and Breda, before riding through Etten and Vincent's birth town, Zundert on my way to Antwerp, Belgium. A total of 350 km, I need to start cycling training yesterday.

In Antwerp I'll visit St. James'. There's a stained glass window of a Stella Maris that deeply inspired Vincent. Cycling done for a bit, I'm taking a train to Brussels where I'll meet a friend I made at an academic conference in Osaka, Japan. I am planning a day trip to Mons to see the Borinage; the mining district where Vincent practiced as a lay preacher before making the decision to become an artist.

No trip to Europe would be complete without visiting Paris. So I have seven days booked in a cozy flat. Much of this trip is booked through Airbnb. I've never traveled this way before... but staying with locals for good prices... what could be better? My good friend Rachel will be joining me and I'm sure we'll do many touristy things: Eiffel, Louvre, Versailles, Arc de Triumph, Orsay, Notre Dame, etc. etc.; and some non-touristy things too. We will visit Auvers-sur-Oise for a day. Vincent and his loving brother Theo are buried there, side-by-side.

As Rachel returns to the states, I'm taking the train to Avignon. From there it's time to get on my cycling shoes again, as I ride 20 km to the town of St. Remy. I will visit the asylum where Vincent lived for a year; where he painted Starry Night. I plan to research the library there. I believe there was a copy of Dante's Divine Comedy on hand when Vincent was a patient there. After that it's a few days in Arles. I would like to research the architectural history of what is today called Cafe Van Gogh. I am curious whether there was a window in the spot Vincent painted one, or if he added it for effect.

I will take a day trip Saintes Maries and gaze out at the same spot where Vincent painted Fishing Boats.

There is so much more to add but windows are calling to be cleaned. Briefly, the rest of the trip entails traveling along the French Riviera, staying in Marseilles and Nice; taking the train to Genoa and then to Milan to see Leonardo da Vinci's Last Supper. From there, it's a week in Bologna with another friend I met in Osaka, Saul. We're looking forward to trips to Venice, Ravenna, Sienna, Asisi and of course, Florence, where I expect to be taken with Stendhal's, overwhelmed by the art and ubiquitous presence of Dante.

Saul has to leave July 5 for a conference in Poland. I'm spending two nights on the Cinque Terre, then four nights in Rome. From there, I fly to London and travel to Brighton where I'm delivering the Keynote Address, Vincent van Gogh's Symbolist Art. I'll spend time with family in Manchester and friends in Edinburgh. I've been able to trace my genealogy to my great-great-great-great-grandfather John Baxter. Born in Aberdeen in 1792, I understand their records are excellent and I hope to research as many great-greats as I can find.

I take a flight to Copenhagen and another to Cologne. I'm taking a cruise on the Rhine, past the castles and storybook villages on the way to Mainz and then Rottenburg to visit the Holy Blood Altarpiece. A couple days each in Munich, Salzburg, Vienna and Budapest; I'm flying to Athens to spend a week on the beach, exploring the ruins at my own pace. From there, I'm flying to Barcelona (Sagrada Familia!) and traveling the eastern coast of Spain through Valencia, Alicante and Malaga. Then I'm cutting over to Seville, Lisbon and flying to Porto, Portugal. From there I'm going to visit my third church named after St. James as I walk the camino de Santiago for ten days with the other pilgrims.

I'll be blogging, posting pics and videos all along my way. I hope you follow, and if you're available for any portion of the trip, join me.

Ciao for now,
Jared

Intro

"Midway upon the journey of our life
I found myself within a forest dark,
For the straightforward pathway had been lost."