Remembering Grandma: 1907-2009

As many of you may already know, my beloved grandmother Anne Sandra Miller Hirsch passed away at 1:56AM on July 10th at the age of 102. My mother and I were with her and held her as her soul passed from her body to rejoin the many other people whom she has known and loved during her extraordinary and long life. You can read my eulogy for her, see some photos from her life, view the video I made for her 100th birthday, and find out about memorial donations. עליו השלום

For a better and easier viewing experience of the same content, click here to visit a special site I have set up at annemhirsch.com.



1. EULOGY

Grandma was an atheist. She was too practical to believe in God (but never too busy to argue with anyone who did). And in keeping with her wishes, we’re not having a formal funeral. She didn’t even want a grave—just to be cremated and have her ashes spread over the grave of her husband. So this is for the rest of us who need to say goodbye.

They always say that you should warm up the crowd with a joke, so I might as well tell grandma’s favorite one.

An old Jewish couple, Beckie and Izzy, are sitting at home one night. Beckie says “Izzy, tonight I’d like to have an ice cream sundae.” (It was much better when Grandma used her Yiddish accent). And Izzy shrugs, “Well, what do you want me to do about it?”

“I want you to go down to the store and get it for me.”

“Okay, what do you want?” sighs Izzy.

“You’d better write it down. You know how you forget everything.”

“I’ll remember. Just tell me.”

“Well, I want vanilla ice cream…two scoops…and some chocolate sauce…and whipped cream…and… Izzy, you’d better write all of this down.”

“I don’t need to write it down!” he snaps back. “I’ll remember, I’ll remember! Just tell me already!”

“Okay…well the ice cream and the chocolate sauce and the whipped cream, and maybe some nuts, and a cherry, and you’d better write this down or you’ll never remember!”

“I’ll remember!” he says, and he goes. About 20 minutes later Izzy comes back from the store—with a bag of bagels.

“You see?!” Beckie berates him. “I told you to write down what I wanted or you would forget, and you didn’t listen, and you didn’t write it down, and sure enough—you forgot the cream cheese!”

Well maybe Beckie and Izzy couldn’t remember much, but grandma certainly did. As the youngest of her grandchildren I missed out on most of her life, one that began 102 years ago in 1907. It’s hard to fathom what that really means: 1907. There were only 45 states. Theodore Roosevelt was President while countries like Austria, Italy, and Russia still had Emperors, Kings, and Czars. Today people remember where they were when Kennedy was shot; Grandma probably knew plenty of people who remembered when Lincoln was shot! The Brooklyn where she grew up was paved with dirt roads and the average home there had no phone or electricity yes. The relatively new Brooklyn Bridge had three lanes: trains, pedestrians, and horses. My mother once said grandma was sort of a “relic”. And while most ladies would probably not like to be called that, in a sense it was true. She was a living time traveler, some who could remember—and regale us with—stories of another world, of another time that few other people knew.

Given my interest in family history I have to share a little background. Her parents fled the pogroms of Russia to give their children a better life. Her father Meyer Maxman came to New York, “Americanized” his name to Miller, and when he raised enough money he sent for his fiancé Beckie Resnick. Many of you already know the story: Beckie’s mother didn’t like Meyer, so she sent the Russian police to stop Beckie from following him to America. But Beckie stole away in the dark of night and finally made it here—leaving us with little doubt where grandma got her moxie.

They had 4 children before Meyer died in the (original swine) flu epidemic of 1918. Beckie eventually remarried Morris Shayon who would become a second father to grandma in every sense. Grandma became a teacher and married her childhood sweetheart, Jacob Hirsch—her beloved “Jack”. They had three daughters before a heart attack once again took away a special man in grandma’s life far too soon. Before I was even born.

My own memories begin during her last years in Brooklyn. Visiting her on East 59th street, going to McDonalds around the corner, and a bizarrely vivid memory about eating sprinkles right out of the package. Grandma loved to travel, and I remember when she would come back from one of her trips she would have everyone over, and the souvenirs would be laid out on the credenza in the dining room. I also remember dancing in the living room—which for a child meant spinning myself around until I got so dizzy I fell into her glass coffee table and wound up in the emergency room.

When she moved to Suffern we saw even more of her. She became a fifth member of our family. I would often sleep at her apartment where we would swim and paint and make pottery decorated with wax and wool. Every morning we would wake her up by jumping on her bed and yelling “Yakabebe!!” which according to grandma means “I love you” in some exotic language she learned in her travels. In the summer we’d buy coconuts and throw them from her second-floor balcony to break them open. That was fun.

And of course there was the time she and I went to Europe. Despite her extensive travels we managed to find two countries that she’d never been to before (and which no longer exist—another testament to the changing world she saw), West Germany and Czechoslovakia. We had a lot of fun. Hotels in Germany traditionally include a big buffet breakfast from which grandma would slip enough food into her purse for lunch, dinner, and a midnight snack as well (the Great Depression died hard for her). One day she was spotted and the hotel added 5 Deutschmarks to our bill. That’s only a couple of bucks, but on principle grandma quite literally made it a diplomatic case. And then she fractured her foot, decided it was God’s punishment for visiting Germany, and started calling everyone Nazis. Believe it or not, this was fun! And despite this she insisted on pressing on to see Prague before going home. Imagine that: 83 years old with a broken foot and she still had the energy to see one more country. In fact, she was also already in her 80s when she climbed the Great Wall, visited the pyramids, and went on an African safari. Is it any wonder she lived to be 102?

Everywhere grandma went she made friends. She was the definition of gregarious. Our visit to Prague was just after the fall of communism there, and I remember listening to her engage in countless fascinating conversations with average people about their new freedom. During our visits to the opera she knew everyone within a 5-seat radius before the first intermission. Even in her final years she became a local celebrity in the nursing home: everyone from patients to staff knew all about “Annie” and loved her.

Then came Florida. She would come up in the summer, and we would visit her in the winter where she’d take us to EPCOT. Long before grandma actually needed a wheelchair she would rent one so didn’t have to wait on any lines.

Eventually she moved back up north. Not many people do that, but maybe that’s just the progression of events if you live as long as she did! Like a famous advertising icon, she just kept going and going. She was a tough old bird; she had to be. She lost her father, her husband, and later Jack Siegelman. She beat breast cancer at a time when chemotherapy was no better than a prayer. She lived through the Great Depression, 2 World Wars, one Cold War, 5 rulers of England, and 19 Presidents. She outlived nearly all of her friends and family. And through it all she raised her own family, painted watercolors, baked cookies, and played the piano.

Truman Capote wrote an autobiographical story called “A Christmas Memory” about his special childhood friendship with an older relative. It’s always made me think of my own childhood adventures with grandma. The pair in this story is also crafty, making kites for one other and flying them together. And every year, on a cold November morning, the older woman would exclaim “Oh my, it’s fruitcake weather!” and they would gather the ingredients to bake 30 of them for their friends and family (and the President).

Like Grandma and me, the call of grown-up responsibility for boy and the ravages of age for the old woman eventually stop their adventures but not the love they share:

Life separates us. Those who Know Best decide that I belong in a military school. And so follows a miserable succession of bugle-blowing prisons, grim reveille-ridden summer camps. I have a new home too. But it doesn't count. Home is where my friend is, and there I never go.

And there she remains, puttering around the kitchen. Alone with our dog Queenie. Then alone. ("Buddy dear," she writes in her wild hard-to-read script, "yesterday Jim Macy's horse kicked Queenie bad. Be thankful she didn't feel much. I wrapped her in a Fine Linen sheet and rode her in the buggy down to Simpson's pasture where she can be with all her Bones...."). For a few Novembers she continues to bake her fruitcakes single-handed; not as many, but some: and, of course, she always sends me "the best of the batch." Also, in every letter she encloses a dime wadded in toilet paper: "See a picture show and write me the story." But gradually in her letters she tends to confuse me with her other friend, another Buddy who died in the 1880's; more and more, thirteenths are not the only days she stays in bed: a morning arrives in November, a leafless birdless coming of winter morning, when she cannot rouse herself to exclaim: "Oh my, it's fruitcake weather!"

And when that happens, I know it. A message saying so merely confirms a piece of news some secret vein had already received, severing from me an irreplaceable part of myself, letting it loose like a kite on a broken string. That is why, walking across a school campus on this particular December morning, I keep searching the sky. As if I expected to see, rather like hearts, a lost pair of kites hurrying toward heaven.

I miss you, grandma. I love you. Yakabebe.


2. PICTURES

A montage of Grandma and all her descendants (to date):


It all begins: Grandma's birth certificate, listing her name as "Any Maxman" and date of birth at January 26. However, her parents always celebrated her birthday on February 22nd because that was the nearest American holiday:


The Millers family around 1910: Grandma with her parents—Beckie and Meyer—and baby sister Jennie:


Grandma and her mom, around 1922:


Grandma's graduation portrait, around 1929:


Always the athlete, no matter what the sport. Grandma was even on the NYU women's basketball team!:


Grandma in Berkshire Hills, 1943:


Keeping dry in Niagara Falls around 1941:


Grandma in slightly higher style:


Grandma and Grandpa, around 1964:


Grandma and Grandpa celebrate their 25th wedding anniversary in 1955:


Grandma around 1944 with daughters Marilyn, Hedy, and Eleanor:


Grandma in a familiar spot: at the piano:


Grandma with her mom (by now Beckie Shayon), stepfather Morris, brother Freddie, and daughters Ellie and Marilyn (soaking in the sun) around 1941:


Easter in Florida, 1953. Apparently the "Parrot Jungle" photo has been around as long as she was:


In the kitchen with her mother, 1959:


Marrying off Ellie in 1954...


...Marilyn in 1961...


...and Hedy in 1966:


Grandma's favorite picture of her and Grandpa:


Grandma and the family at Grandpa's 60th birthday party. He died only a few months later:


Grandma and friend Jack Siegelman model the latest swimwear: Florida, 1962:


The world traveler (left-to-right, top-to-bottom): Amsterdam, 1956; Egypt, 1982; Norway, 1961; Scotland, 1956; Switzerland, 1958; Nova Scotia, 1960; China, 1980; Africa, 1982; Germany, 1990:


One of Grandma's many art shows, this one in 1975:


Some of Grandma's paintings:


"A Grand-Daughter's First Smoke": Grandma and Jessica in 1972:


Grandma with Jessica and me in 1972. I think I was drunk:


Thanksgiving in the Catskills, 1979: not the most flattering portrait but always one of Grandma's favorites:


Grandma and me at my Bar Mitzvah, 1984:


Grandma and me dance the hora, 1984:


The Millers reunited, 1997: Grandma with her siblings and their spouses:


Jessica's PENN graduation in 1991: even in her 80s Grandma could still hold her own at a kegger:


Grandma at my college graduation in 1994 along with my sister, parents, and Grandma and Papa Tischler:


Her youngest granddaughter's wedding: Grandma with Jessica and Jeff in 1995:


Grandma at her 100th birthday party in 2007. Just before this photo was taken my Aunt Ellie told a story. My cousin Michael leaned over to Grandma and asked what Aunt Ellie had just said, and without skipping a beat Grandma replied “I don’t know, but I’ll drink to it!” and took a swig of her champagne:


Some of the many personal greetings that poured in for Grandma's 100th birthday, including Prince Albert of Monaco, Chancellor Angela Merkel of Germany, Prime Minister Shinzo Abe of Japan, and a proclamation from the Governor of Florida. The President of Austria, Heinz Fischer, even sent her a genuine Sacher-Torte!:


Me trying to live up to Grandma's globe trotting: her at Brussels' Grand Place in 1961 and me in 2009:


A century apart: Grandma at her 102nd birthday party in 2009 with her Chelsea, age 3:



3. VIDEO

The following is a video I made for Grandma's 100th birthday, chronicling the first 100 years of her life. Back in 1983 she sat down with a tape recorder and recorded her life's story, as well as a lot of first-hand memories of life in the early 20th Century; I tried to bring it all to life with photos, videos, and music. It's about 25 minutes long but opened to rave reviews! Given YouTube restrictions, it is divided into 3 parts...

CHAPTERS 1 & 2: Anne tells how her parents came to America to start their family, recalling first-hand what life was like in New York in the early 20th Century:


CHAPTERS 3 & 4: Anne falls in love with Jacob Hirsch and starts a family. After his premature death, she spends her time traveling the world:


CHAPTERS 5 & 6 + BONUS FOOTAGE: Anne talks about her love of art and music. A final montage shows all of the life that she lived and made possible through her 3 children, 8 grandchildren, and 11 great-grandchildren. Plus after the credits, grandma gives some advice on budget travel!:



4. DONATIONS

While by no means necessary or expected, those of you who whish to make a donation in grandma’s memory may do so to one of the following two organizations:


The Juilliard School
Grandma was a teacher and a music lover; a donation to The Juilliard School will help to educate and foster the next generation of young artists.

Click here to make a memorial donation to Juilliard online or contact them by mail or phone at:
Office of Development and Public Affairs
The Juilliard School
60 Lincoln Center Plaza
New York, NY 10023-6588
(212) 799-5000, ext. 278




Maine Coast Heritage Trust
Grandma loved to travel and she loved to paint. The ocean was one of her favorite subjects, and one of the highlights of her life was a painting expedition up and down the Maine coast with renowned watercolorist Ed Whitney. A donation to the MCHT will ensure that this part of the country that she loved is preserved for future generations.

Click here to make a memorial donation to the Maine Coast Heritage Trust online or contact them by mail, phone, or email at:
Director of Development
Maine Coast Heritage Trust
1 Bowdoin Mill Island, Suite 201
Topsham, ME 04086
(207) 729-7366
development@mcht.org

And finally, you can click here to head back to the DougBlog entry celebrating grandma's 100th birthday!

High Times in the Low Countries, Part 3: Amsterdam

Well it’s been two months since I got back from this trip so I think it’s about time to finish it up! Having finished with our adventures in Brussels and our homies in Bruges, we headed up to the infamous city of Amsterdam. Amsterdam is a city of contrasts: young and old, progress and tradition, new and ancient, holy and profane. There is certainly no city quite like it. And I never realized just how water-bound it is, with an intricate but well-ordered system of canals and countless bridges. All in all, I liked it.


There’s a strong Asian influence in Amsterdam (due to the old colonial days of the Dutch East Indies) and our first evening we went out for an Indonesian Rijsttafel (“rice table”). This is an elaborate meal of rice (obviously) and different little tiny dishes. And by many, I mean about 25! So it’s a little adventurous feast. The next day we slept in a bit at the charming Hotel Esthérea:


Of course Janét had a “Top 10 Amsterdam” book so on this beautiful, sunny day I planned us a walking tour that would cover most of them. Our first stop was the Beigijnhof, a convent. It contains some of the oldest surviving structures in Amsterdam and is still operational today (as always, you can click any photo to enlarge and enhance the colors):


Our next stop was Dam Square, the main square in town and—truth be told—a not-terribly-attractive one. Sorry, Amsterdam, but you could learn something from the Belgians here.


The dominant building is the Royal Palace. Like the Dutch government, the Dutch Royal Family is based in The Hague (about an hour away by train) but this is the palace the queen uses when she’s in town. It’s the only really attractive building on the square, although it could use a good cleaning:


It’s very conveniently located in case Her Majesty wants to come out on Dam Square for a hot dog…


…to take in some scintillating entertainment…


…or to have her photo taken with Batman, The Mask…


…or an out-of-shape Spiderman:


Opposite the palace is the relatively ugly National Monument (again, apologies to the Dutch):


It looks like a giant suppository, but the detail and lighting did make for a nice B&W photo op:


Then we went past the Westerkerk, a simple church with some striking splashes of color:


Note that seal of the city of Amsterdam features 3 X’s—coincidental but rather ironic. Also, this is the church near Anne Frank’s hiding spot, the bells of which she often talks about in her diary. But more on that later. It is also next to the Homomonument: the world’s only monument to gays and lesbians who were persecuted and killed in the Holocaust and throughout history:


And then, there it was: the most exciting sight in all of Amsterdam! Of course the Dutch are famous for their wooden shoes (the historical reason for them being that they offered farmers a waterproof footwear option in the marshy land of these low countries), and every gift shop sells them: real and fake, big and small, ready-to-wear and for-display-only. And I was…well…kinda obsessed with them. Plus I had always remembered this photo of my Grandma Hirsch in the Netherlands in 1956 posing in a GIANT pair of wooden shoes:



So I was constantly on the lookout for them, and here it was: even BIGGER than Grandma’s and shining like the sun!:



Continuing on our tour, our next stop was the aptly named Oude Kerk, or “Old Church”. Dating from 1306, the interior was quite different from most churches I’ve visited on my travels: there was a lot of bare wood and it was generally very simple and austere:





And you know I love me some dead people:


Now here’s the sort of sight you only see in Amsterdam…the Oude Kerk is in the middle of a little circular square (is that a real phrase?) in the middle of the Red Light District. In other words, it’s surrounded by brothels! Ones where the prostitutes stand in the windows and try to entice customers:


Here’s photographic proof of the proximity:


Like I said, a city of contrasts. Continuing on our way, here is Die Waag, the old city weigh station:


This was Rembrandt’s house:


And here’s a statue of the old chap in the middle of a square named after him:


And then we found…MORE GIANT SHOES!!!!



And then we went to sleep. The next day, we went a-museuming. And since most museums don’t allow photography, there’s not much to show here. So here’s the famed Rijksmuseum, home to Rembrandt’s greatest work—The Night Watch—as well as many other celebrated Ditch works of art:



And here’s Janét waiting on line to get into the famed Rijksmuseum:


Here’s the renowned Van Gogh Museum, set up in chronological order so you can follow—through his art—Van Gogh’s life and decent into madness and death:


And here’s Janét waiting in line to get into the renowned Van Gogh Museum:


Last we dragged our tired feet to the haunting Anne Frank House. It is chillingly preserved just as it was left after the Nazis took all of 9 Jewish occupants (8 of whom perished) and most of its contents:


And here’s Janét waiting in line to get into the haunting Anne Frank House:


Here’s some canals at night…



…and—you guessed it—here’s some WOODEN SHOES!!!!:


Our last day was once again dedicated to museums (and completing Janét’s final top 10s), and we couldn’t have visited two more different ones. First was the Jewish Museum. Amsterdam has been home to a vibrant Jewish community for centuries, and even museum building itself is actually four former synagogues connected to one another and filled with displays:




And then something altogether different: the Heineken Brewery Tour! Okay, it don’t get more cheesy and touristy than that. But it seemed like a fun way to cap off a fun week. And truth be told we rushed through most of the tour in order to get to the free beer!:







Okay, maybe we did learn a few things about the Heineken logo that make for good bar conversation:
• The leaves are hops, the main ingredient and flavor of Heineken
• The red star is an ancient brewer’s symbol
• The upturned e’s in the logo are called “smiling e’s”


And we did get to make this terrible Dutch music video (click to play):


After that we went out for an absolutely delicious Indian meal at Mayur (and Janét generously insisted on treating in order to thank me for being tour guide) and then back to the Esthérea to pack and prepare for the journey home. So it was a great and fun time. I found Brussels to be underrated, Bruges charming, Amsterdam unique—and all well worth visiting. And as an added treat we spied on that final walk back to the hotel…A WOODEN SHOE BOAT!!!!:



BEFORE WE GO…A FEW PARTING SHOTS!

Note the utter hatred and disdain the woman on the right seems to have to me and my giant shoe:


Here’s one way to solve a lack of public restrooms…except for the ladies:


This sign was next to the toilet in the hotel. Is that the most popular place for people to smoke doobies?:


I thought it was fitting that my car home from the airport took the Holland Tunnel:


So that’s it for our high times in the Low Countries…Thanks for tuning in, and may all your e’s always be smiling!!

High Times in the Low Countries, Part 2: Bruges

Bruges (or Brugge, depending on whether you use the French or Flemish spelling) has garnered a reputation for being a well-preserved Medieval city, with additional recent fame due to the film In Bruges. It’s an easy day trip from Brussels (about an hour by train) so that’s what Janét and I did.

After alighting from the train, we strolled toward the center of town through the grounds of the Begijnhof, a convent (as always, click any photo to enlarge and enhance):



And just in case you thought it wasn’t a “real” convent, here’s a nun (I think she was trying to go fast enough to get airborne):


Our route continued through a small but charming square called the Simon Stevinplein:


And finally we arrived at the Grote Markt. This is the main square, the heart of Bruges, and it is vast. Much like the Grand Place in Brussels it is surrounded by many beautiful and historic buildings. They even share the same name: Grote Markt is the Flemish equivalent of the French Grand Place:





This famous landmark on the square is the Belfort (belfry), built around 1240:


This is the more recent (1887—recent by Bruges standards!) Provincial Court building:


Here’s a close up of the statue in the center of the Grote Markt. I don’t know what it commemorates but the guy on the right sure looks suspicious:


There’s an ancient passageway between two of the buildings called “Blind Donkey Alley” (no idea why) which takes you to another square directly adjacent to the Grote Markt, called Burg. It is of a much smaller scale but quite charming, with a few beautifully ornate buildings:







Black and white statue photograph!!:


Belgium in general—and Bruges in particular—is famous for its lace, hand-tatted by little old ladies. Here’s Janét inspecting some wares:


Belgium is also famous for their frites, often served in a cone with mayonnaise. We stopped at a frites place so I could get some…but they gave them to me in a plastic container. I was very disappointed but was too embarrassed to ask for a cone…but Janét, being the wonderful friend she is, demanded that the salesman put the frites in one for me. And he did!:


Bruges is a city of canals; at one time that was the only mode of transportation:



Toward the end of the day we took a boat ride along the canals as the sun began to set. It was beautiful, but the most entertaining part of the ride was our captain/guide. First of all, Bruges is in the Flemish region of Belgium, and it does have a slightly different “flavor” than the more Franco-centric Brussels. And I guess it has something to do with the language but our tour guide rolled his r’s for about 3 minutes each, as in: “Zees buildink is verrrrrrrrrrry old, zee oldest vun in Brrrrrrrrrrruges.” At one point we passed a brewery and he went off on a small tirade about why Belgian beer is the best. “Beerrrrrrrrrrr should be bitterrrrrrrrrrr. German beerrrrrrrrrrrs, French beerrrrrrrrrrrs…zey are not bitterrrrrrrrrrr the way a beerrrrrrrrrrr should be bitterrrrrrrrrrr. Belgian beerrrrrrrrrrrs re goot because zey are bitterrrrrrrrrrr!”:





After we alighted the boat (that seems to be my S.A.T. word of the day), we wandered back past some of the sights we’d already seen in the golden glow of the setting sun and then the night lights:






Before returning to Brussels we had dinner on the Grote Markt, where I enjoyed a giant—and, yes, bitterrrrrrrrrrr—Belgian beer:


Then it was back to Brussels to pack our bags and prepare to leave for our final adventure…Amsterdam!

BUT FIRST…A BRIEF TRIBUTE...


The inimitable and indomitable Bea Arthur passed away on April 25, 2009 at the age of 86. Whether as Dorothy Zbornak…

…or Maude Findlay…

…or on Broadway in the original casts of Fiddler on the Roof, The Threepenny Opera, and her breakthrough role as the inebriated Vera Charles in Mame…

…she brought generations 5-feet-9.5-inches of gravel-voiced pleasure (click to play):


See you in Amsterdam!!

High Times in the Low Countries, Part 1: Brussels

I know, I know, I’m behind. So here’s the first installment of my lovely trip to Belgium and the Netherlands with Janét!

Our first stop was Brussels. Many people, when I told them I was going to Brussels, said greeted that news with a resounding “eh”. And while it might not be Europe’s greatest city, I have to say that I actually liked it a lot. It was very charming and manageable.

Flying there meant flying—dare I say?—coach!! After being spoiled in business class on business trips I was dreading it. But truth be told, it wasn’t horrible. The one thing I expected to miss was the free booze, which helps both my nervousness and my ability to sleep. So in order to maintain this feature and not run afoul of the “3 ounce” rule, I brought some shampoo bottles filled with booze! And I kept them in the seat pocket, calling it “the bar”. It don’t get classier than that:


Also, was it just coincidence that on the flight to Brussels they served us…Brussels?:


Once we were safely in Brussels, we took a nap and then headed out to the city’s most famous place (literally): La Grand-Place (Grote Markt in Dutch in this officially bilingual city—although generally French does prevail, and that’s why the Flemish are always on the brink of seceding…but I digress). It is a wide-open area surrounded by many beautiful and varied façades, mainly built in the 17th Century. It’s even a UNESCO World Heritage Site. The square is dominated by the City Hall, built in the 1400s, which is on the left in the first photo (as always, you can click any photo to enlarge and/or enhance the colors):






Our next stop was Brussels’ other most famous attraction, the Manneken Pis. Yes, this is a classy statue of a little boy peeing. Despite this dubious subject matter, he is so well-respected that he gets little costumes on holidays and it is tradition that all world leaders, when visiting Belgium, bring as a gift an example of their national dress in the Manneken Pis’ size—and 600 of these costumes are now on display in the City Hall:


Here’s Janét—you can see how surprisingly tiny it is for such a famous symbol (the statue, not Janét):


Janét made me do this:


We continued out walking tour of Brussels with the ornate Bourse (stock exchange):



And while there was nothing to see at this time, I had to check out the opera house, called The Théâtre Royal de la Monnaie because it was built on the site where the mint once stood:


In time for dinner we headed over to the Rue des Bouchers, an ancient maze of narrow cobblestone streets that mainly contains seafood restaurants. Each restaurant sets up an elaborate display and waiters stand outside to lure customers. It’s all very touristy but fun (even for those of us who don’t love seafood):





We did stop at one restaurant for “moules frites”—mussels and French fries—despite unfortunate electrical outages that put “ASS” in their name. Well, Janét had moules frites. I probably had a hot dog:


And then, of course, some Belgian dessert—chocolate and/or waffles:


The next day we started out visiting the royal palace:


It’s lovely but seemed a little bit like it had seen better days (apologies to King Albert II). This perception was not helped by the fact that the guards looked like they had spent a little too much time guarding the royal donuts:


Or the fact that there was an old hubcap out front:


The Church of St Jacques-sur-Coudenberg:


Our next stop was the Royal Museums of Fine Arts. We only went to the Museum of Ancient Art, which contains many masterpieces up through the 19th century. It’s a lovely building surrounding an atrium:



Janét admiring a grand canvas:


“The Flood” by Kessels (you know I love to take me some B&W statue photography):


Another statue by this same Kessels character, “The Discuss Thrower”. I actually prefer this is color because it was set nicely in front of Jacques-Louis David’s final masterpiece, “Mars Disarmed by the Three Graces”:


Finally, although this statue was backlit by a window, I decided to embrace the overexposure and came out with this interesting effect:


Janét admiring another famous work by David (my favorite artist, incidentally—who actually died in Brussels), “The Death of Marat”:


I enjoyed the unfortunate juxtaposition of this sign and this work of art. I mean it’s not the greatest painting I’ve ever seen, but is it really that disturbing? (click to enlarge if you can’t read it):


Then again, these next few works really were somewhat disturbing:




Let me go no further without mentioning the “Top 10”. The only travel books Janét brought were “Top 10 Brussels” and “Top Ten Amsterdam”. These books tell you the top 10 things to see, with a complicated system of sub-top-10s and topical top 10s and the such. Janét was often obsessed with checking off all 10 items on a given list. At the museum that meant searching high and low for the #10 painting on the list. And after all that…it was gone!:


Next we visited Brussels’ main church, the Cathedrale Saints Michel et Gudule:


The edifice was very ornate with many strong characters:



This guy looks like the Moses in our old Haggadah:


Of course the interior was striking as well:







Our last stop of the day was La Place des Martyrs. It’s an old city square where more than 400 Belgians were killed during the Belgian Revolution of 1830 (when Belgium won its independence from the Netherlands). They didn’t know what to do with all the bodies so they buried them on the spot, eventually erecting this underground crypt and soaring monument:




More B&W statue photography!:


Then we rested up for the day with a few beers overlooking the square. Belgium is famous for beer, and I have to say that trying to complete Janét’s “Top 10 Belgian Beers” list was one of the more enjoyable challenges her book had to offer!:


Our last night in Brussels we enjoyed a last waffle and beer (is that like ”a smoke and a pancake”?) on the Grand Place:







We also completed another “Top 10” by finding Le Renard, a famous golden fox on one of the buildings on the Grand Place. It had eluded us until now—perhaps because it turned out to be a tiny sculpture over a 24-hour ATM:



In the next post, we’ll discover the medieval Belgian city of Bruges.
BUT FIRST…A FEW PARTING SHOTS!

Janét gets brainy in Brussels:


Nice coconuts:


Our hotel room had this terrific view of what I liked to call “The World’s Largest Traffic Cone”. Perhaps it was a monument to all of the fallen traffic cones that have been lost before their time to bad drivers or deep potholes:


See you “In Bruges”….

A brief visit to Basel

Given that I’m nearly through my vacation in Belgium and the Netherlands, I’d better get caught up on the blogging. I recently made my first business trip to the infamous Swiss city of Basel, center of the European pharmaceutical industry. I was there to give a presentation at Novartis’ world headquarters (which went well, by the way) and since it was my first time there and a Friday to boot, I took an extra day to explore.

First of all, check out the amount of crap I had to lug for this presentation—I was a veritable pack mule:


Second, the Hotel Euler where Novartis put me up was nice, but my room was tiny with only a twin bed:


And the shower was so small I couldn’t bend down to wash my own feet (note the standard-sized washcloth on the floor of the shower for scale:


The hotel was right in front of the train station:


I knew Basel would be a classy city when the first statue I saw was of a vomiting duck:


My first stop on my foot-tour of Basel was the Rathaus, or City Hall. It’s actually the most impressive sight in the city, with its striking red façade and colorful ornamentation:




As always, you can click any photo to enlarge. Also, I've noticed that photos on Blogger are "dulled" unless you click them, so cliicking will also allow you to see the true colors shining through:









Next up was the main cathedral, called Münster (like the cheese), although it was under reconstruction:



The colorfully tiled roof was reminiscent of St. Stephen’s in Vienna:


Inside:


I enjoyed some of the ornamentations on the outside, like this odd (but happy) creature:


And I call this “Jesus of The Bug-Eyes”:


The church was set in a lovely square:


In fact, there were many disturbing faces on buildings throughout the city:


The city is set on the Rhine, near the borders of both France and Germany:




Some other random city views:





I enjoyed this dog:


Next up was the Spalentor, the last remaining tower of the Medieval city walls:





As I mentioned, Basel is on the borders of France and Germany. RIGHT on the borders. So, finding myself done with sightseeing for the day, I decided what the heck, why don’t I walk to France? Just to be able to say that I walked to France! Turns out France is just past Novartis:


The first road I took into France was blocked. France was closed!:


So I tried another road, and happily it turned out France was open after all. In these days of Europe without borders it was rather anticlimactic: just a customs booth, and only for trucks at that:


Welcome to France! There was no border control whatsoever. I just walked right in. Just this traffic sign and the fact that all the signs were suddenly in French rather than German was your only indication that you'd crossed the border:


Just over the border the town is called Saint Louis:


Of course the first sight was a pâtisserie:


Then I turned around and went back to Switzerland, and that was that:



I went back past the Rathaus by night:




So that was it, a brief but lovely trip (and probably not my last).
BUT BEFORE WE GO…A FEW PARTING SHOTS!

Artsy photo from Swiss Airlines:


Once again, Google always knows where you are!:


Not only is smoking sometimes more than welcome…:


…but they put a lovely edelweiss blossom on the cigarette machines to convey the clean, fresh air of a smoke:


Coming soon...my Low Country adventures with Janet in Belgium and the Netherlands!!

GIRL SCOUT COOKIES!!!!

Orders now being accepted! Click the "menu" below to enlarge and place your order. Still only $3.50 a box! Please email me your orders, indicating how many boxes and of what. If you want to have cookies sent to our troops (see info below), you need only to give the number of boxes (you can't pick specific varieties to send) and indicate that you want them to go to the troops.

Vienna 2008

Okay, okay…I know it’s been a while. Indeed, this blog entry is about a trip I made two months ago already! But things have been pretty hectic at work so I really haven’t had time to work on it. Plus a lot of what I saw may not have broad appeal. But now that I'm home with a busted rib and can't do much else anyway, here it goes…

I’ve actually been to Vienna twice, but both were very brief visits on which I saw little or nothing of interest. But being such a renowned city—and above all the capital of classical music—I was excited to have the opportunity to return for a recent business meeting so I stayed on through the weekend to see what I had missed out on the last two times. Although it was chilly and overcast, Vienna is a beautiful city and lived up to all of my expectations (and years of anticipation).

Here’s me, clearly among my people:


The business portion of the trip was interesting if uneventful. During that time, I became obsessed with a late-night television broadcast called ”Bernd das Brot on a channel called KiKa:

Although it’s in German, it appears to be about an ornery loaf of bread who is trapped in the “KiKa Lounge” against his will. He’s sort of the un-Spongebob and apparently very popular in Germany. But the fascinating part is that this just goes on all night for hours and hours. Click below to view a sample as he complains about being told to “chill out” (which is the same in German, apparently).


Now on to more exciting things…

The Hofburg Imperial Palace is really a misnomer: more than a palace, it is a massive complex that covers an entire section of Vienna. Starting in the 1400s it was the seat of the Holy Roman Empire and then the Austro-Hungarian Empire until 1918. Different sections built over the centuries in a variety of architectural styles. It is now the official residence of the President of Austria but most of it is open to the public as a vast collection of museums:



The day I visited the grounds were given over to a big military recruitment fair:

Of course, we Jews get a little nervous around displays of Germanic military might, but I went along with it and enjoyed a giant pretzel before heading into one of the Hofburg’s many museums. The first one I visited was the Schatzkammer, or treasury. It was remarkable. This is the crown of the Holy Roman Empire; I was impressed at what good shape it is in (given that it is more than 1000 years old) and the rather unique design (as always, click on any photo to enlarge):

One of the cool things about the treasury is that it not only houses the old crown jewels of Austria and the Holy Roman Empire, but it is also filled with works of art that depict them. Here you can see the crown of the Holy Roman Empire on the right, and to the left is a portrait of Emperor Charlemagne wearing it:

Here is another crown (along with a scepter and orb) called the Regalia of Rudolph because it was made in 1602 for Rudolph II. The crown above was only used for coronations, so this one was more of a “day-to-day” crown. The fine work and detail on them was simply astounding:




A cradle fit for a king (literally):

Though supposedly some kind of religious reliquary, this looked to me like the world’s gaudiest pillbox:

Some other random treasures:





I was glad to see that they’ve learned something from the Americans: the old “forced trip through the gift shop” trick:


My next stop in the Hofburg was the Prunksaal (“splendor hall”) of the Austrian National Library. I went because I vaguely recalled seeing it in a book once and being very impressed. The real deal did not disappoint: it is a vast, imposing, ornate hall with a rotunda in the middle. There are two stories of books (two million of them, all original) accessed by a striking labyrinth of ladders, spiral staircases, and hidden corridors. There are also statues, maps, and globes throughout:


You know I love my ceiling shots:

Meanwhile the library itself was having a special exhibit on torture…and all I can say about this one is “ouch”:


In the Hofburg I also visited a museum of musical instruments (which contained pianos owned by many of the great composers) and the Augustinerkirche, the main chapel of the Hofburg. It contains a vault of urns with the hearts of all the Hapsburg rulers (more on that later). The vault was closed and the chapel itself was not terribly impressive, but one striking feature was this tomb that featured a line of mourners disappearing into a dark hall:


St. Stephen’s Cathedral (the Stephensdom) is at the heart of Vienna, and much of the building is 800 years old. The most unique feature is the steep roof, covered with elaborate mosaic work. Much of it is currently under restoration, which—judging from how filthy the exterior is—is long overdue:



The most famous feature inside is the intricately carved Pilgram’s Pulpit:

Less beautiful but more entertaining is this pained statue of Jesus that the Viennese call “Christ with a Toothache”:

The original pulpit, from which St. John Capistrano once preached, was moved outside the church as a monument in 1515:


Of course, this being Vienna—and me being me—I had to visit some of the great composers’ homes. Vienna was the center of the music world in the 18th and 19th Centuries so there are plenty of landmarks accordingly. This entire building is now a museum dedicated to Mozart; it was once an apartment house and the Mozarts lived on the second floor for many years. It is sometimes called the “Figaro House” because it’s where he wrote The Marriage of Figaro:

Next up was one of Beethoven’s many, many homes (he moved around a lot). This one is called the “Pasqualati House” because it belonged to Baron Pasqualati, who rented the fourth floor to Beethoven:

He wrote many of his greatest works here, including his 4th, 5th, 7th, and 8th Symphonies and his only opera, Fidelio. The odd thing is that the rest of the building is still private apartments…so as you climb the stairs to Beethoven’s apartment (now a museum) you go past random people’s apartments who live in the same building that Beethoven once did. Weird. In any event, here’s one of his pianos:

And here are Beethoven’s salt & pepper and sugar boxes!


After seeing the places where some great composers lived, what better activity than to go and see them dead? So I headed out to the Zentralfriedhof (Central Cemetery—ironic because it is actually quite a schlep from the center of town), which is apparently the second largest cemetery in Europe with more than 3.3 million “residents”—and counting. Conveniently collected at the cemetery’s center are the Ehrengräber, or “Honor Graves”, which include many noted notables. Here are the entrance gates, where you can buy flowers and hot wursts (both essential for any cemetery visit):

One area of the Ehrengräber is dedicated to great composers. They were either buried or moved here. Front and center are the graves on Beethoven (left) and Schubert (right). Between them is a monument to Mozart, who is buried in an unknown grave in another cemetery:

I have to say that it was a moving experience to find myself standing at the grave of Ludwig van Beethoven, at the final resting place of a man who had such a profound and lasting impact on Western society, whose music continues to move hearts and inspire genius nearly 200 years after his death:



The weird part was that, as I stood there, I could swear I heard a strange music playing faintly in the distance. Something familiar, yet foreign. It actually sounded like great works of classical music…but being played backwards. I looked around and saw no source of these strange notes. There was only one very old man, standing nearby at the grave of Suppé. It turned out he was a professor of music at the University and often came to pay his respects to the great masters. So I asked him if he could also hear this strange music, and if he knew what it was. He nodded knowingly. “Vell, most of these composers have been dead for many years.”
“Ja?” I replied in my best German. “So?”
“Zat is the sound of them DE-composing.”

(Sorry, it had to be done.)

I continued on my way to pay respects to these other titans of music, including The Waltz KingJohann Strauss Jr:

Johannes Brahms:

Christoph Wilibald Gluck:

Mozart (again, this is only a monument, not a grave):

And the more recent composer Arnold Schœnberg in a decidedly more modern grave:

Short on time, I didn’t visit too many other “Honor Graves” but it was hard to miss the Presidential Vault in the middle of it all. All of the leaders of Austria since World War II are buried here, in front of the Dr. Karl Lueger-
Gedächtniskirche church:


You know I love me some dead people…so back in town I visited the Kaisergruft (Imperial Vault), final resting place of most of the Austrian rulers of the Habsburg dynasty. It is under the Kapuzinerkirche (Capuchin Church), which is plain on the outside and simple but lovely on the inside:

The tombs below run the gamut from simple to ornate. The ample use of skulls and skeletons in their designs is rather unique and certainly shows that they have no bones about emphasizing death to be anything but that:



The most ornate tomb is reserved for Maria Theresa, one of Austria’s most renowned rulers:

The tombs of many other family members surround hers: she had a large one, given that she had 16 children herself! Her most famous child is not buried here (Marie Antoinette, who became herself Queen of France before being beheaded in the French Revolution). But nearby was this sad little coffin, all alone in a corner. It is Princess Christina, a grandchild of Maria Theresa who died at birth:

A more recent burial is Franz Joseph, one of the longest-reigning monarchs in European history. He died during World War I (which you’ll recall began when his nephew and heir to his throne, Archduke Ferdinand, was assassinated on a trip to Sarajevo). After Franz Joseph, his grandnephew Charles reigned as Charles I for only 2 years before the monarchy was abolished at the end of WWI:

To the right of Franz Joseph is his son Rudolph, who was heir to the throne until he died with his mistress in a murder-suicide pact. To the left is Franz Joseph’s wife, Empress Elisabeth of Bavaria, endearingly called “Sissi”. Sissi has become somewhat of an icon in Austria of late; some people call her “the Austrian Princess Diana”. She was legendary for her beauty and grace, but apparently was very happy neither in her arranged marriage to the Emperor nor in the strict royal way of life she had to lead. She was not allowed to raise her own children, one of whom (Rudolph) eventually committed suicide. She also did not support many of the royal family’s policies and tended to empathize with the common people. Ironically, she was assassinated by an anarchist who was seeking to kill “any member” of a royal family—but killed the only one who was likely sympathetic to his beliefs. A cult of personality has arisen around here to the extent that you see “Sissi”-related exhibits and products everywhere you go.

I’m not sure why, but I’m a big fan of the Austrian Parliament building. Maybe it’s the high neoclassical design and big-ass statue of Athena:





Some detail of the Altes Rathaus:



The odd holocaust memorial in the Judensplaz, the heart of what was once the Jewish section of town:



The unique art deco Secession Building:


The famed statue of Johann Strauss in the Stadtpark:


Mmm…goulash…


Of course I lined up some performances for my free evenings. I was able to go to the opera twice and the symphony once. I’d been to the Vienna Staatsoper my one night in Vienna last time, but it remains an impressively beautiful house:






As beautiful as the public areas of the house are, the auditorium itself is quite simple. This is because the original auditorium was destroyed in World War II:

The first night I was Gounod’s starring real-life husband and wife team Angela Gheorghiu and Roberto Alagna. Mephistopheles was played by Kwangchul Youn, whom I’ve never heard of but was impressively good:

Musically it as superb but the production was a very odd modern affair. Here the chorus is dressed in S&M outfits while the background includes giant lynched baby dolls:

The next night I was Mozart’s The Marriage of Figaro. I was more excited about this one because it is a truly Viennese opera. There was a certain thrill to seeing this opera the same city that Mozart called home, having just walked through the apartment where Mozart lived and wrote this opera. I was on the waiting list for a seat and ended up in the very first seat of the balcony, practically on top of the stage! The most unique thing was the orchestra. Opera fans among you will know that operas of this style have sections of recitative (a sort of half-spoken/half-sung dialogue accompanied only by a harpsichord) connecting the fully orchestrated big numbers. Usually there is a separate harpsichordist in the orchestra, but here they revived the standard technique from Mozart’s day: the conductor himself played the harpsichord portions and conducted the orchestra from it:

My seat put me right in the action! Here’s handsome Erwin Schrott as Figaro and Alexandra Reinprecht (making her debut) as Susanna:

Krassimira Stoyanova as the Countess:

The lady in the middle is Zoryana Kushpler, who played Marcellina. She gets special notice because, as you can see, she noticed me taking photos and waved at me!:


The last night I went to the Musikverein, the main concert hall in Vienna, to hear the Vienna Symphony Orchestra play an Austrian National Day concert (it don’t get more Austrian than that!) The Musikverein is an incredibly opulent hall, as much of a feast for the eyes as its unparalleled acoustics makes it a feast for the ears. It was truly one of life’s outstanding experiences to attend a concert there:







Should you be so inclined, you can see some crudely filmed highlights of some of the performances by clicking below:


Having packed quite a bit of adventure into one weekend, it was time to head home. I thought that the Jesus T-shirt and yarmulke made for an interesting pair of people waiting at the airport:


On the flight home, I found myself only 2 seats away from renowned opera baritone Thomas Hampson! I chatted with him and he was a very lovely man—and I’m going to see him at the Met in just a few days!


So all in all it was a quick but highly successful little trip to Vienna. I would definitely like to go back and see more of this beautiful city, as well as more of the country at large. Half of my ancestors came from Austria so it’s sort of a homeland for me, although in reality the places that they lived in are no longer in Austria (formerly part of the vast Austro-Hungarian Empire, they’re now in Ukraine and Poland) and being Jews they lived in small towns where they kept to themselves (whether they wanted to or not!).

Well, here’s to further DougBlog adventures in 2009!