Twenty: Order of the Crutched Friars

We've kind of had cabin fever the last few weeks. To remedy this Kim planned a weekend in Maastricht. Maastricht is down south on a spit of land between Germany and Belgium (you can walk to Belgium). It is the Netherland's oldest city (50 B.C.), and has a reputation for good food. However she didn't pick Maastricht because it was a destination in and of itself, but because she discovered Camille Oostwegel's Kruisherenhotel.

Strangely, I've developed a thing for old cathedrals (or in this case an old "cloister") despite all the bothersome religion. Something about the grandness, the quiet, the austerity. The history. The massive effort it took to build them - sometimes over several generations - seems so ambitious. Also I like high ceilings and dramatic lighting.

Another favorite is nice hotels.

The Kruisherenhotel is both. It combines the grandeur of an old cathedral (build in 1520) with the awesomeness of a boutique hotel. Luckily I have no religious guilt (an ancient house of minimalist piety converted to a luxury hotel?) Actually the design is simple, so the juxtaposition works.

The first day we walked around Maastricht's city center which is pretty similar to others we've visited (Amsterdam, Antwerp, Essen, Lille) with historic buildings, tree-lined squares and cobblestone streets. We stopped in a few shops and ate a decent lunch, but soon realized that all we really wanted to do was explore our gorgeous and fascinating hotel. So we did. The lobby, the courtyard, the winebar, the hallways.

Athough Maastricht has several renowned restaurants, we decided to dine at the hotel. A local food review site - which has yet to steer us wrong - recommended it. Plus it's located on an elevated platform in the middle of the monastery's main hall. "A" for Ambiance.

I could go into minute detail about the meal we had, reviewing every one of the five courses, but it would probably bore. Besides, I couldn't possibly convey the gastronomic extravagance properly. Suffice to say we ate things we rarely eat (venison, tarbot, orange cake), the presentation was mega-gourmet, the flavors unparalleled. Really. It blew our previous Paris meals away. We ate for over two and a half hours. We became professional foodies along the way. "The flavors are so... balanced! No one flavor overpowers... it's so simple yet so...not!" And other such geek attempts to explain how food could be this good.

The next day we drove out to Chateau Neercanne, one of several owned and operated by Camille Oostwegel. The drive was short but interesting. You can see how old cities like this developed long before the automobile. The city center quickly transitions to suburban neighborhoods interspersed with still-active farm plots. Then just as quickly you're in full-on European countryside. On horseback (or by bike) Chateau Neercanne is no more than 20 minutes from town.

One of the coolest things about Neercanne is the marl caves, carved out when the hills were mined for building materials. They stay cool and so are used as a wine cellar and general cold storage. You can take your aperitif there but it's a bit dank so we opted for mimosas (so gauche, we had to explain how they were made!) in the dining room.


Lunch was similar to the previous night's dinner both in presentation and in excellentness (four-plus courses of such things as lobster, duck, sweetbreads, salmon tartar, and chorizo foam). However the dining room was much more traditional. They had an ever-so-perfect Maitre'd. There was a pianist. Crystal chandeliers and excessively ornate drapery. Kim and I, in our "urban" outfits, felt a wee bit like Billy Ray Valentine at the Heritage Club. We created alter egos that would explain how us fish had landed so far from our water. After rifling though rock star, songwriter ("I co-wrote Lady Gaga's Pokerface!") and talent agent, Kim landed on "I was a child genius working as a programmer for Microsoft in the early nineties. I got in on stock options on the ground floor." Feeling lazy from all the pampering, the thought of making my own (imaginary) fortune seemed exhausting. I decided to be an Heiress.

After our ridiculous lunch we headed out of picturesque Maastrict and back to... well, also picturesque Amsterdam. We vowed to return in warmer weather, spurred by visions of country bicycle rides, chateau lunches and cocktail hours among spring's blooming gardens.

Nineteen: The Mayor of Barcelona

We flew to Barcelona last weekend to escape the cold and see a touted Spanish metropolis, but mostly to visit friends. Silvia Prada and Kim Ann Foxman. On the day we arrived they were preparing for a rather large Aids Awareness party. There were 600 people on the guest list including Pedro Almodovar and Mayor Jordi Hereu. As it turns out though, the real Mayor of Barcelona was the one hosting the party.

Silvia knows everyone. She is a professional knower of people. On her street, shop proprietors and neighbors shout the latest news to her from their balconies and doorsteps. One neighbor (an overly protective ex-con) brings her plates of food, cleans her apartment and watches her dog - a rambunctious weimaraner named Silvia - when she is out of town. Yes, her dog is also named Silvia. Silvia and Silvia. It's genius.

Those of you attempting to pen the next hit Broadway musical (West Side Story meets Greece meets Rent) should spend some time on Silvia's street in El Raval. It's the cutest, grittiest, most Barcelonian little street you could conjur, replete with vintage shops (run by a pastiche of characters ranging from the "street" Betty Page to the fedora'd Cuban refugee), tattoo parlors, skate shops, fashion boutiques and record stores. Laundry hangs from the balconies above. Kids, dogs, old ladies and hipsters parade by. Silvia knows them all. Or rather, they all know Silvia.

On our first day Silvia and Kim Ann took us to Mercat de Sant Josep (Mercat de la Boqueria), a mind-blowing open air market that trounces Pike Place Market. It's on one of Barcelona's best known streets - La Rambla (street performers, flower stalls, shops, cafes) - just a five minute walk from Silvia's doorstep. La Boqueria has it all; seafood, fresh fruit and veggies, baked goods, butchers (whole skinned rabbits with their eyeballs intact!), chocolate, and a bunch of stands serving full meals (paella, stews, sandwiches etc.). Silvia and Kim Ann treated us to fresh fruit drinks (coconut-strawberry, papaya-mango) and slices of first rate pizza pie direct from the oven. Then they had to go set up for the party, so we tagged along to hang and help out. There was a lot of action at the club; balloon and food deliveries, promo packet assembly, decorating. After a few hours of that we went back to Silvia's to get ready.

The place was packed about an hour in to the dinner portion of the party. The food - served tapas style from trays circulating the room - was very good but was getting snatched up fast. Kim: "I saw a tray with some puffy appetizer on it! Where did it go?!" Silvia: "I need a break. Let's go outside and find something to eat." Kim: "You're going to skip out on your own party? Are you sure??" Silvia: "Of course - is fine! We won't say something. We go, we come back and no one knows." I love a hostess that doesn't sweat it. So Silvia, Kim Ann, Kim and I left the Psuedo-Mayor and his crew to fend for themselves and went off to grab a bite down the street. It was fun until I became convinced I had left my bag sitting at a booth in the club. We rushed back just in time for Kim to remember that I hadn't brought a bag to the party. Yes, I am always me.

On stage, one member of a performance art duo was transforming the other into Devo, Madonna and other pop music stars using only tape and cleaning supplies. Hmmm. Then Kim Ann jumped on stage to begin her set. She spins records and has got skills. She took it from an AIDS Awarness dinner with Mayor Hereu to a 600-person dance club party. At some point during this set, she got Kim and I drinking Red Bull and vodkas. I had been avoiding this drink on principle. That, and the off-putting associated visual of Demi Moore with a Red Bull in one hand and a cigarette in the other (courtesy of my mother's 'Ketchum sightings' reports). But they were tasty beverages. And they kept us chipper.

After Kim Ann's first set, Lady Kier (formerly Lady Miss Kier from Deee-lite) spun a set. She was Divaesque in her purple prom dress, lace gloves, and trademark bee-hive wig and she kept the dancefloor packed. Kim Ann got back up for a second set at around 3 am, which was fever-pitch fun, but Kim and I had hit the wall. We took a cab back to Silvia's apartment and slept like logs.

The next day Kim and I walked to La Boqueria to get our morning juice (coconut-kiwi and dragonfruit-banana) and cafe con leches. Then we walked down La Rambla and its side streets until we received word that the girls were up and about. We met up and they took us to a great lunch spot near La Placa Rieal for veggie burgers and cheese crepes. Then they showed us around Ciutat Vella (one of the city's oldest areas). We popped in to Santa Maria del Mar cathedral and a variety of shops. It was fabulous to have Mayor Silvia and Kim Ann show the way. Kim and I just bumbled along behind them, taking in the sights and eating stuff. Later that night Silvia and Kim Ann took us to a friend's restaraunt, Las Fernandez, also just a five minute walk from Silvia's door. The food was so good I can't think of the right adjective. Smoked meats and cheese, salad with roast squash, mushroom-stuffed gnocchi, a perfectly cooked whitefish and a dessert plate with a little of everything. After dinner they brought us anise which tastes sort of like sambuca or jagermeister or chartreuse, but grows on you (like gluhwine) as you drink it.

The next day Kim and I did some shopping on Silvia's street. We scored big. Then, despite the rain, we all took a cab to the beach to eat paella at Escriba. Again Silvia's expertise was key as there are a million places that serve paella. She knew the manager (of course), so he brought us special paella. All I know is, it was good. We also ate steamed mussels, anchovies and sardines. Then they brought us a bottle of Orujo Hierbas, a florescent green "herbal" liquour. It, too, grows on you as you drink it.

Later that night Kim Ann spun at another club at 3 am. Silvia went but Kim and I were too exhausted to keep up with those crazy girls. We stayed in and watched a movie with Silvia (the dog). The next day Kim and I took a cab to Gaudi's Segrada Familia. One word. A-cid. They started construction on this hallucinatory house of worship in 1862 and are hoping (a "wildly optimistic" date, according to the brochure) to complete it by 2026. Advice: Don't pay to go inside - you can't see anything because of all the scaffolding - but it's worth taking a look from the street.

Later that afternoon we said goodbye to Kim Ann, Mayor Silvia and Silvia (the dog) and flew back to negative 4 temperatures (celsius, but still) and sleet. Home sweet home. As Silvia advised in a recent e-mail, we considered this short but sweet trip our Barcelonian appetizer. We can't wait to get back for the main course.

Eighteen: Please Visit Us

Our other neighbors from Seattle - Erin and Anthony - came through town on their way home from Barcelona. It was a last minute thing; they'd not realized the layover was overnight until a few days before the flight. They e-mailed to say they'd be in town, and would we like to grab dinner or drinks? We were psyched; company!! We insisted they cancel their hotel and stay with us. We said we had plenty of room and that it would just be easier. We said we'd come grab them at the airport. That we'd love to go to dinner. How could they refuse? So they accepted. Of course we conveniently forgot to mention that the "room" they'd be sleeping in was not exactly private. Nor was there any way to shut out our cats. We held this info close until we got them into the apartment. "Oh, we forgot to mention..." They took it in stride, having three cats of their own (though theirs are cats that can be locked out of the bedroom). We took the tram downtown where we ate at a locals' favorite specializing in Dutch cuisine. Hearty fare; kale and potato mashes, sausages and meatballs. After our good meal we walked around the canal district, then hopped a tram back to our apartment. The next morning we dragged them out to our favorite Dutch pancake house (in the "nine streets" shopping area) at the crack of dawn. It was Sunday and most shops were still closed, so we strolled the neighborhood - braving the cold - before our breakfast spot opened. After breakfast it was back to Schiphol.

It was fun having them in town, however briefly. Despite the cold and dreary weather we managed to cram in some good selling points, not the least of which was the hugely evident cycling culture (Anthony is a cycling nut). There were offers of cat/apartment sitting in the future (which would allow Kim and I to go traipsing through the south of France, Italy or Spain, anxiety-free). We should've gotten that spur of the moment offer in writing!

Seventeen: Bottlerocket

So we were pretty lame and stayed home on New Year's Eve. We had half-assed plans to go down to Dam Square where everyone gathers, but... "it's so cold! And the trams will be packed with obnoxious drunks! And Dam Square will be packed with obnoxious drunks. And it's kinda late..." So we stayed home, but managed to pick up a half-bottle of champagne. Staying in ended up being a pretty good idea because even though we missed the revelers we witnessed one of the most spectacular fireworks extravaganzas ever! They weren't super fancy fireworks - just the standards, but they were absolutely everywhere. From our little pop-up room on the roof, which is mostly glass, we got a 360-degree view. As far back as we could see in every direction, fireworks were being set off in the streets. And not those measly little roman candles, ground spinners and bottle rockets you see amateurs setting off in the States. These were the real thing. Apparently most fireworks are legal here, and everyone takes advantage of that on New Year's Eve (they also set off quite a few "illegal" ones, but in typical Dutch fashion no one cares). A couple of guys were setting them off in the street directly in front of our door, and they whizzed up within feet of our vantage point. This went on, non-stop, for half an hour. When you stepped outside the sound was deafening! It elicited a few involuntary ducks, "whoa!"s and "aaaaahh!"s. The poor birds. Rollie, as usual, was unfazed. Toward the end of the display, a giant paper lamp floated up from the street. Kim said, "Is that someone's lamp??" We ran out to take a look as it floated up and away. Looking around we noticed that they were everywhere! They looked like Japanese lanterns, red and gold. I guess they work like mini hot air balloons. It was eerie and beautiful and not very environmentally friendly (everything probably ends up in the canals).

Anyway, Happy New Year everyone! Feest Nieuwe Jaar!

Sixteen: Oui oui! Non non!

Christmas in Paris. To break up the drive, we stayed overnight in Lille. Lille was quaint, with a typical European city center, a ferris wheel (like Paris), lots of bistros and brasseries, and a festive Christmas Market. There was good shopping. Apparently they are trying to cultivate a reputation as a "hip" fashion center (vs. Paris' more traditional couture). The streets were packed with Christmas revelers. We stopped in a few bistros and cafes. An orchestra was playing Christmas tunes on the steps of the opera house.

In the morning we grabbed some good croissants at a bakery near our hotel and hit the road. Lille had a cute little scene, but we were ready for our Parisian adventure.

Paris. Hmmmm. What to say. I had been there for about 24 hours during that backpacking/ hosteling European tour that introduced me to Amsterdam, but because our stay was so brief (we had to get to Italy, of course) I didn't get a good feel for it. First impression this time around: Huge. Grand. Very well-lit. Scary, scary drivers and...interesting road rules. A near heart-attack trying to find our hotel and then a nearby parking garage (the hotel concierge unceremoniously informed Kim that, no, he would not draw a map illustrating how to get to the garage, because it was very simple. But of course it was not. Jackass).

After we managed (45 minutes later) to locate the garage, check in and unpack, we went looking for a French/English dictionary and map by arrondissement (neighborhood) which is how everything in Paris is organized. I used my French (sort of) to ask the concierge where to go. His response was... without frills.

As we walked to the bookstore, we began a dialog that would last the length of our stay; are the French rude, or are they just direct and uninclined to disingenuous courtesy? Daily, I did my part to elicit some smiles and chiding from clerks and cashiers, employing my sad and sorry "French", which did improve over the course of our visit. Results were mixed. Some were amused, some not. Some were patient, some not. Some wanted to chat, some did not. But can't this be said of every big city? And it was Christmas after all, a chaos which rarely inspires patience.

Later that afternoon the concierge helped us secure dinner reservations at 4o4, a popular Moroccan restaurant near our hotel. At first they pretended they could not seat us, but after some cajoling by the concierge they agreed. This particular Frenchman was growing on us.

We had some time to kill before dinner, so we explored our neighborhood a bit. It was on the east edge of the 3rd arrondissement, in a sort of garment district-y part of town. There were a surprising number of aging prostitutes. We fell upon a quirky bar called Vins de Proprietes. There was hardly anyone in it which is exactly how we like it. There was the owner, the bartender, and a man who was either a very long-time customer or good friend of the owner. The long-time customer /friend started buying us glasses of wine. I kept trying to tell him to stop (arret! arret!), that we had reservations and had to leave, that Kim was allergic to alcohol, but all we got in response was more wine and laughter. We resorted to pouring glasses out on the sidewalk when they weren't looking. When it became obvious that the wine was taking its toll, they brought us ham and peanuts. They had a George Bush joke hanging behind the bar (see picture). The proprietor's attempts to translate it were hysterical (I'm going to let you decipher it for yourselves, people). We had a good laugh at George's expense. They all knew exactly how many days he had left.

We finally managed our escape, and after a quick stop for cafe au laits (this happened a lot during our visit) found our way to 404. Everything about 404 was fantastic. The food, the attractive waitstaff, the atmosphere. We sat next to an American woman/French guy couple who gave us some sightseeing and shopping tips.

The next day we walked down Rue de Rivoli and had breakfast at Angelina. They are famous (deservedly so) for their hot chocolate. I think it ruined us for all other hot chocolate ever. We tried to go to the Louvre but it was closed (Tuesdays). It was a sunny day, so we crossed the Seine to see the stained glass at Sainte Chapelle. Entry is expensive and the chapel is small, but the stained glass is worth it. Afterwards we made our way back to the hotel via Montaigne, loaded with fishmongers, fruit stands and pattiseries. We ate dinner at Paul Bert (steaks and frites). The food was good but not spectacular, and unfortunately the cabbie who took us opted for the scenic route. He drove us around for half an hour. We realized we had been duped when the ride home took less than 5 minutes. On the bright side, this experience prompted us to learn the metro system, which we agree is one of the easiest we've ever used. The accordion music is a bonus.

On Christmas Eve we took the metro to Champs-Elysees. We had breakfast at Laduree (a patisserie). There was a line out the door for the pastry shop (their macaroons are very popular Christmas gifts) but the tea salon was empty. The door man flipped attitude and actually rolled his eyes at a question posed in English, so I switched to French and we got in. Pastries, cafe au laits, and then our first macaroons. These things are incredible. Why don't they make them like this in the states? They are pretty and tasty (see photo). We would go on to try them at every patisserie we visited. We shopped along the Champs Elysees, visited the Arc d'Triumph, then walked to Galleries Lafayette. It was last minute Christmas shopping chaos! The lighting displays and famous glass dome were spectacular. We stopped in Maison du Chocolate for an eclair (good but overpriced), then Lafayette Gourmet. Those of you who appreciate places like Dean & DeLuca would love this place. We picked up a baguette, some smoked salmon and chevre, and of course some macaroons and chocolates for breakfast on Christmas day. We had dinner reservations at Chez George (another steak place), but finding a cab was impossible so we took the metro. This resulted in a late arrival and more walking than we would've liked in our pretty shoes, but the meal (an appetizer of duck confit, a rare steak and pork loin, followed by a trio of pots de creme) was perfectly prepared. Then it was off to the Crazy Horse.

We were seated in front of a group of men from Shanghai. Kim chatted with them a little in Mandarin and Shanghainese. One of their party managed to sleep through the entire performance. We supposed the show was good as far as these things go, but couldn't seem to stop over-analyzing their costumes, trying to determine their ages, noting different amounts of body hair, and reflecting on how they probably never expected to be doing this for a living. Dreams of dancing in the Paris ballet and such. Damn you, brain! After the show, the "door man" - who wore a red cape, jodhpurs and a ranger hat - was spectacularly unhelpful. I said, "Pouvez-vous m'appeller un taxi?" He responded that no, he could not, but that there was a taxi stand on the corner. What??? Man, they have a different idea of service, don't they? I mean I know I'm 36 now and have begun the inevitable slide toward invisibility, but come on, Kim should still be able to get some attention, right? We went to the taxi stand. There were many people but no taxis. It was very cold. People were agitated. The few cabs that passed had passengers who smiled and pointed. "Imbeciles!" their smiles said. I asked someone about the metro, and they told me it closed at midnight on Christmas Eve. What??? What sort of international city has no cabs and no metro at midnight even if it is Christmas Eve? Paris was losing major points. Finally a cab pulled up. A group that had waited longer than us got in. Then another cab pulled up, and Kim grabbed the door handle. A man came barrelling over, shoved her out of the way, and jumped in the cab. Holy crap! Is this how it's gonna go? Ok, it's dog eat dog. We got it. And we also got the next cab, though it wasn't exactly easy.

On Christmas day we ate our chevre and smoked salmon which was very good, but not quite as mind blowing as the salmon from New York City's Russ & Daughters. We went to George Pompidou for some thought-provoking modern art. Kim said, "half this crap has no business being in a museum." Ah, the subjective nature of art. The building itself is really cool, and has all sorts of different things to do. Cafe, cinema, library, shop, museum, and a restaurant that is supposed to be excellent though we didn't have time to try it. We were off to Notre Dame to hear the organ. Notre Dame is impressive, but now we've seen about four or five cathedrals from the same era. The organ recital started slow but finished with the sternum-vibrating baritone registers we were hoping for.

Dinner at Bofinger. Oysters, choucroute (kraut) with duck, sausage, various cuts of pork (the house specialty) and spicy mustard. This meal might have been my favorite though our concierge later told us that Lipp, which offers similar fare, is the place to go.

The day after Christmas we took the metro out to the 20th arrondissement for breakfast at Maison Kayser. Here we had the best croissant and pain au chocolate ever. EVER. We also tried a mille fuille (layers of puff pastry and filling - in this case citrus). So tasty. Then we took the metro to Le Marais, an old Jewish neighborhood in the 3rd/4th arondissements. This was my favorite neighborhood. Lots of delis, boutiques, and yarmulkes. Reviews say the best falafel/shwarma can be found here, but we missed our chance because we were too full on croissant. The only bummer was that is was too cold to fully explore the many hidden and winding streets.

For dinner we stopped in one of the Chinese noodle shops near our hotel (la mein); it was our first affordable meal in Paris, and our first Chinese food since arriving in Europe! Homemade beef noodle soup and dumplings.

We decided to stay an extra day, returning to Galleries Lafayette with hopes that the crowd had thinned. One of the salesmen we encountered was quite friendly and chatty; he and I decided that I would speak in French and he would speak in English so we could both practice. This fellow had a dry sense of humor. He kept exclaiming "Non, Obama has not won, no. McCain is much better, because of Palin, yes?" He told us Obama would use the white house as a crash pad for his friends. He would put rims on the Presidential limo. He delivered these proclamations with a straight face. The only indications that he was joking were his long dreadlocks, punk-rock outfit, cocoa skin and general "cool" vibe. He said he didn't like Paris, New York or L.A. They were full of pretension. When asked what city he did like, he answered, "Germany is tres cool!" We talked about Seattle. We said, "Seattle's coffee is better than any coffee we've had in Paris." He chuckled for 5 minutes and wagged his finger at us. He said, "Go to St. Germain. This will be the best coffee". Other Paris regulars had also recommended St. Germain, so away we went. We did find some good coffee but still contend you can find comparable cups in Seattle (for about half the price). Along St. Germain we saw quite a few places on our list of recommendations; Lipp, Deux Maggots, and Cafe Flora, but they were all so hoppin' that we were too overwhelmed to go in. Just more motivation to return in warmer weather!

For dinner we scoped out the George Pompidou neighborhood where there is quite a scene in the evening. We landed in a casual Moroccan cafe with live music. The food (chicken tagine, roast veggies and broth with cous cous) was good and cheap. We had planned to go out later - to experience the night life - but were so exhausted from our week of walking, shopping, eating eating and eating that we crashed instead.

The next morning we headed for home, now relative experts of the rules of the road. We cut off other drivers, shouted "merde!" out the window, and wove aggressively through traffic with no regard for designated lanes. Our conclusion was, even though we had stayed a week, that Paris is simply too grand to evaluate in a single visit. We'll need to return to form a proper opinion of the place.