Reelin' In The Years

"Your everlasting summer, you can see it fadin' fast /
So you grab a piece of somethin' that you think is gonna last /
Well, you wouldn't even know a diamond if you held it in your hand /
The things you think are precious I can't understand"
-Reelin' In The Years
by Steely Dan 1972 (Donald Fagen and Walter Becker)

So, fellow moochers, another year has come and gone and what have we learned? Are we any better at getting a free meal, or a drink, or that elusive invite. They are diamonds all and I trust that you all have learned well from Team VFH to appreciate whatever drops into your laps. Count on it as good karma, or good manuevering, or good planning, but please remember this, don't let opportunity slip through your hands.

Seriously though, despite these cautionary words, life is precious. The years keep chugging along and our time in Eden is fleeting. Perhaps Vacations From Home isn't just silly, it's a good way of looking at life; experience as much of it as you can, as cheaply as you can. I'm sure I can count on my one hand how many trust fund babies read this blog and most of us don't have money to throw around.



Team VFH



In years past money was extremely tight for Team VFH. Things were slightly looser in 2011 and we traveled a bit further than around the corner. April had us in New Orleans visitng my daughter and her boyfriend. In July we traveled to England to attend her daughter's wedding as well as Scotland and Belgium. Work had me in Los Angeles for a week in August; the first time I had been there in 20 years. And, just last week we were in Denver for Christmas where we each visited family members!

We were blessed. We know when diamonds are in our laps and 2011 was a great ride. We can only hope that 2012 comes close. 



Happy trails!

countdown

Well... we now have just a year left. If one buys into the hype surrounding the end of the Mesoamerican Long Count calendar which the Mayans created, December 21, 2012 is the end-date of a 5,125 year cycle. It means there are no more days after the winter solstice next year.

Some people believe that this time next year we may be visited again by people from the planet Nibiru... Others believe asteroids will slam into Earth, or our planet will be swallowed by a black hole. Yep... it's the apocalypse in less than a year.

What this means is you'll have to send out your Christmas cards especially early...  You may still fritter away your waning time with Black Friday shopping ordeals at the mall, but if you're smart and wait for the last minute to do your shopping, you'll be pleasantly surprised that you successfully avoided the entire mess!

Let's get this party started

What this also means, is that time is dwindling for Team VFH. There are so many places to visit within this timeframe, that we'll have to make hard choices.... do we visit Detroit, do we linger in Amsterdam, we must decide between Des Moines and Albuquerque, because you can't do it all! We must plan wisely...

The winter solstice means this is the longest night of the year and the offical start of winter. After this the days will get progressively longer until the summer solstice in June, 2012. Throughout history this day has been marked by celebrations, for light and life returns to the world slowly as the days get longer. In ancient Rome Saturn was honored with a week long feast. In Scandanavia the 12 day Feast of Juul started with the winter solstice. The Jews and the Chinese have their own versions of marking this day, but none perhaps is more famous than the fete thrown by those wacky druids out there in Stonehedge. Thousands gather at the ancient ruins to greet the sunrise with songs and chanting. Perhaps that's where Team VFH should alight next year to greet the oblivion?

mile high

Well well well....I'm not going to debate whether this is good karma, good luck or faithful followers of Team VFH being kind to your noble traveling moochers, but we were handed a couple of tickets to fly to Denver for Christmas. I surely won't count on the divine providence of Tim Tebow and his Broncos for this, though perhaps given the phenomenal arc he has propelled his team along this season, I wouldn't doubt that his good fortune has trickled down to our grubby little tightly clenched fists.

Good luck or Teebowed?

Janet, the leader of Vacations From Home (I am just the stringer), has a sister who lives out there with her young family. Janet's father and step mother wanted the entire family together for this holiday, but typical of Team VFH's inability to part with hard earned cash we decided early on not to make this trip. We did not even mull it over; we are cheap after all. When this unexpected and greatly appreciated windfall crossed our transom though we had to graciously accept. I even, gasp, opted out of work for that week. I am humbled that Janet's family thinks enough of me to invite me so warmly into their homes and their lives. Their kindness is limitless and I am honored.

An added bonus to this trip; I have two siblings living in Colorado. My kid sister lives in Denver proper while my brother is in Vail. I haven't seen my sister in 8 years and before my brother dropped by earlier this year there was a 10 year stretch of being apart. So, although I am, in a sense, abandoning my son for the second straight holiday, this is a good for me and good for the "royal we" of Team VFH.

tupperware party

So many containers, not
enough leftovers

This is certainly an exaggeration, but my son had to hunt down a Thanksgiving Day meal on his own. For hours that day he walked the streets of Lambertville teary-eyed clutching an empty  tupperware container to his chest. After all, his father had abandoned him. Finally friends of my son took pity on this hungry waif and he was welcomed into their home for a proper holiday meal and as a parting gift was given a pumpkin pie.

Before you condemn me for extreme cruelty and accuse me of failing as a parent, I had nothing planned because I got work for that entire weekend and stayed in a hotel. That's a poor excuse I know and had I been off I was prepared to deep fry another bird. Work has to be a priority when you're cheap though and besides I thought my boy was traveling to his mother's for the holiday. A comedy of errors, but I had no doubt my son would have a successful mooching day. Afterall, he is an honorary member of Team VFH and has learned well. Hell, he's a natural and he has been mooching off of me for years....the bum.

Orangemen Forever

orangeman in liverpool

I grew up in a one mile square town. There were three Catholic churches, two Catholic grammar schools and my life swirled around organizations like the CYO and the Knights of Columbus. You were either Polish or Irish in my town, and the towns that abutted mine were filled with more Irish, Polish and Italian. All three nationalities are predominately Catholic. We were sequestered and insulated from the rest of the world. All the kids in my neighborhood attended classes and masses together. We moved like cattle through our lives praying and playing by rote. The first time I met someone who was a Protestant I looked at him like he had three heads. I thought the entire world was comprised of Catholics….

The next Protestant I remember meeting had emigrated to our little Catholic community from Northern Ireland. The first thing he asks us is whether we were Catholic or Protestant. The question was chilling. We all knew what was going on in Northern Ireland and the violence of the IRA; it was on the news a lot, but those struggles were far away and unreal, the world was unreal. My little backwater town of Harrison, NJ was safe and sequestered from the world. But, like the layers of an onion are peeled away, as I aged the reality of the world was slowly revealed. And, as the world presented itself as a wonderfully diverse orb, it too revealed the inherent violence of so many people disagreeing with one another.


Liverpool July 12, 2011


While attending Seton Hall University…yes a Catholic institution…some smart alecks painted an Orange line across the parade route for a St. Patrick’s Day parade in the Vailsburg section of Newark with the words ‘Orange Men Forever.’ The parade would not begin until the line and the offending words were painted over. Even with all the news of ‘The Troubles’; the name given to this era of violence in Northern Ireland; this was new to me. I did not realize the depth of emotion such acts could evoke. It was a prank, but this hedged on cataclysm. I mean didn’t we have a good life here in the United States? Weren’t all the Irish bars that lined the Jersey Shore places of hilarity and fun? Weren’t those signs that read ‘give Ireland back to the Irish’, cute? Again, my naivety of history was shocking.

Flash forward thirty something years. Here is Team VFH in Liverpool, England, on July 12 no less. This was the climax of the marching season in Northern Ireland and some parts of England. The season starts with Easter and continues to this date. Protestants, called Orangemen, march through the streets behind bands commemorating battles in which the Catholics were defeated. The first of these battles dates to the 1600’s. Though considered by many today as a good reason to drink and carouse in the streets, the marches once led to riots and violence. I shuddered at the massive police presence on the streets and expected the worst when we ventured out into the Liverpool evening to celebrate Adam’s birthday at an Indian restaurant across town. We cautiously eyed already weaving patrons clad in Orange as we passed them along the way.



Sisters of the Boyne, Liverpool

 At the restaurant, past the Lime Street station, we settled in at a long table with Adam’s parents. Bright sunlight poured into the wall of windows blinding us. We ordered our food and related Team VFH’s antics in Edinburgh and Belgium, not noticing the throngs gathering outside on the street. The parade was starting up and the muffled blare of horns and drumbeats began to invade our conversation. Heads turned. The gathered Americans in our group murmured worriedly, but Adam and his family were unconcerned and joked at our fear. Earlier in the day I had purchased an Everton jersey and wore it under my jacket. July 12 and it’s still chilly in Liverpool. Adam’s father and brother are big fans of the team and my stunt elicited approving applause and then a word of caution. Nodding his head at the throngs outside Adam’s father informed me that Everton was a Catholic team! My naivety dissolved completely and the words ‘I are retard’ went through my feeble brain. Faced with certain death from religious association I put on my jacket and went outside to get a closer look. I had come a long way from my protected little life in Harrison, NJ. I was not going to stop at the door.
 


July 12, 2011

 There certainly was an edgy feel to the event, from the crowds lining the streets to the various bands and marchers. One band weaved side to side in a serpentine motion as they played, as if to knock back the spectators. Men with batons held out like sabers forced people off the parade route, lest they got skewered. Orangemen in dark suits and wide orange sashes across their chests marched solemnly. Other lodges marching behind their elaborate banners that depicted historical figures or unionist symbols wore matching outfits or costumes. Some were colorful, some were humorous. Some danced and twirled as they cavorted along the route. Others marched with precision. Men, women and children were in the parade. A police van with cameras pointed at the crowds rolled slowly along the route documenting the progress. I tried to look particularly non-partisan and as American as I could as a few people eyed me curiously when I first sidled up to the route to ogle the parade and shoot some pictures. This was like experiencing history. Something read about in newspapers was being fleshed out before me. It was exciting and after my initial fear I was grinning along with the crowd at the colorfully dressed marchers. I suppose it might have been more dangerous or at least edgier had we been in Belfast and not Liverpool, for after the bands and marchers passed the crowd quickly dispersed and Liverpool was quiet again. This was certainly not a typical travel adventure and perhaps not for the faint of heart, it was definitely a fitting end to Team VFH’s trip to Europe.

Finally! I’ve caught up with our travels in Europe that ended in mid-July. Hope it was worth the wait for you all. I know, I know, there were no entries for the rest of the summer. Oops….
Love
Greg

kookookachu.... i am the walrus

There was a time when air travel for me was a weekly occurrence. I was always on a plane to somewhere else. As most of the travel was work related there was little time for touristy things, except when we settled into a place for a longer stretch of a few days or a week. But, no matter how fleeting my visit to some foreign city, I still managed to see many sights and revel in the great fortune of getting paid to be elsewhere.

Sometimes my visits were very brief. My only recollection of Des Moines, Iowa is of a quick jaunt on a blustery morning through a snow storm. Memories of an overnight visit to Munich are similar; a quick run through a park, but then a dinner in some restaurant where I drank the best Weisse beer I ever had. I remember a snow storm in Helsinki where I basically never left the venue… or was that Vienna?

Okay, these may not be the greatest of travels, but I was there and each of these memories are precious, although I am certain that I would never have traveled to the alluring city of Des Moines on my own. No matter the destination, if someone is paying your way, it’s a great place to visit. As I look upon those heady days of work related travel I now realize here was the genesis of Team VFH. Getting someone else to pay for travel, albeit with the caveat of having to work, is following the VFH credo in its purest form.

Sometimes lengthy stays were required for my job. I effectively would move away from home when working an event like the Olympics or the U.S. Open or settle in for a week’s run in places like Las Vegas or Reno. Of course this placed a burden on the family, especially if they did not travel with me, but during these stretches I was able to explore the environs. I took advantage of the free ride and always planned time to get away either before or after my shift while on the road. Days off were crammed with activity. I never just laid about the hotel. There was too much of the world to see. Consequently I have fond memories and favorite bars all over the world. Honolulu, Sarajevo and Sitges are as familiar to me as my neck of the woods. I’ve gone on long walks through Palermo and Dublin. I survived a sleazy bar tour in Melbourne and I can’t even remember the one in Madrid. I absolutely love to run along the lake in Chicago, the Truckee River in Reno, through the dry heat of Las Vegas and Phoenix and past the myriad of odd characters lining the beach in Venice, California.

There were long car trips on days off too. I circumnavigated Oahu the first time I was there. I drove in my rented Jeep nearly 500 miles through the Texas countryside from Houston, the length of Galveston Island and beyond just because I had nothing to do that day. I spent a full 12 hours in Arches National Park, leaving in the middle of the night of a day off while working in Salt Lake City, to cavort over the rock formations of this beautiful place. And, then there was a glorious trip through Bosnia in a van filled with new friends and lovers just to gaze upon the Adriatic for the first time.

Yes, I had the great fortune to travel through a lot of this world. I have photographed vistas and buildings and people from some far flung locales. I have also personally collected sand from all over this vast planet. A little bit of Japan, California and Italy among many others reside in specially labeled jars in a little kiosk in my office. This is a VFH worthy memento of traveling; apart from the little jars, these samples of the world did not cost me anything.

But despite all these fond memories those heady times of traveling for work are finished. My travel now mainly consists of commuting into the city. Instead of having to negotiate customs I have to weave around pedestrians on the sidewalk. I even have an EZ Pass. I miss the road. Perhaps someday if fate shines on me and I either get another job that travels me so well or I win a substantial amount in that Nigerian lottery I keep getting emails about, I will be able to see more of this world than the Lincoln Tunnel.

Well, right about now fair reader I suspect you're wondering why you are reading this pathetic drivel. I bet you're finding this boring, or maybe questioning why I stopped regaling you with tales from Team VFH's recent trip to Europe. After all, it's November and we've been back since Mid-July and there’s a whole leg of the trip I have so far failed to relate in this blog. My only defense is that I have been feeling nostalgic for the road, for the incessant traveling, and that now that we are back to the daily grind where for me the thrill of the day is finding a favorable parking spot, there has been an ache for what had been an exceptional travel season for Team VFH. That ain’t happening again anytime soon I fear.

Although Vacations From Home is all about traveling locally and cheap thrills, as it were, the vast world that’s out there awaits us all. See as much of the world as you can. Though we strive to show you what is in your immediate surroundings, our suggestion to you my faithful readers is never be satisfied with just that corner gin mill, although that bar in Gotenberg or Rotterdam or Hilo or Liverpool isn’t all that different than one in Chestnut Hill or Harrison, NJ…. Well, maybe the beers are better?

Well, the final destination of our trip this past summer was Liverpool. We flew from Brussels, getting to the airport far too early; we were worried about customs; and arrived back in England late in the afternoon and took a bus into the center of town where we were met by Adam and Lauren. They had moved into a one bedroom loft in Liverpool and had asked us to stay with them a few days before returning to the United States. It was a perfect reason to visit this city and become honorary Liverpudlians for a few days. I would have rated Liverpool higher than Des Moines on a list of places to visit, but would never have considered it but for this invitation.

Renowned as the birthplace of the Beatles and the port of departure for the ill-fated Titanic, Liverpool proved to be worth the visit. Gritty in places, with some of the local Scousers speaking in an accent so thick we winced through every sentence, Liverpool was never charming, but I was glad we saw it.

The kid’s apartment was small, but a wall of windows allowed glorious light to spill in and giving the place an airy feel. Most notably they are just a five minute walk from the legendary Cavern Club on Matthew Street where the Beatles first played. The next day, Adam had to work, but we walked through the town, visited the replica of the Cavern; the original was torn down; saw a renovated area of Liverpool that was essentially a huge shopping mall, shuffled through another pedestrian walking area that was similarly lined with low end shops and bookstores, and had a well-priced lunch in a cavernous tavern. Leave it to young kids low on funds to find the best deals. We bought wine and coffee in a supermarket before returning to the loft apartment for a meal prepared by Adam.

Liverpool Cathedral

Lording over the town is the Liverpool Anglican Cathedral, rising above the grit of this working class town like an ancient preternatural monolith. Considered by some as one of the greatest architectural achievements of the 20th Century, it is also one of the largest in the world. Set on St. James Mount this glorious edifice commands the skyline. We did not visit it.

Though several areas of the city were granted World Heritage Site status by UNESCO in 2004, much of the city has a worn, sagging feel to it. Even the well-scrubbed Albert Dock area; a major tourist destination in Liverpool; had a charmless quality. No offense to Adam and Lauren, Liverpool was a great place to visit, but I wouldn’t want to live there. Still, the rougher ways of Liverpool seem to be behind it and with gentrification in full swing, perhaps I will come away with a greater appreciation if and when we visit again.

One day we walked through the Albert Dock area and even took a “Duck Boat” ride, one of those amphibious relics from World War II. As we tooled around the city, trying to decipher the commentary of the wildly animated crew, we saw much of the city, including a drive by of the Cathedral. Returning to the waters of Albert dock the boat/car navigated this historic area slowly. The Albert Dock features the first non-combustible warehouse area of the world. Fabricated wholly from stone, brick and cast-iron, vast amounts of goods were once loaded directly on to the ships at port here. Now the area is redeveloped with bars, restaurants, hotels and museums.

Another UNESCO World Heritage Site is Pier Head, which features the Three Graces. These three majestic buildings, the Royal Liver Building, the Cunard Building and the Port of Liverpool Building, remain a testament to the wealth that Liverpool once enjoyed. We strolled in awe past this trio of beautiful edifices of commerce and then had a high-priced tea at the West Tower, the tallest building in Liverpool. It was worth the cost for the glass tower afforded us a view of the entire city, the Mersey River and beyond, a glimpse of the Irish Sea.

Later that evening we went on another sleazy bar tour of Liverpool to celebrate Adam’s birthday. The first was a pub that featured a variety of beers not only from England, but from around the world, which was an anomaly for us. They also served cheeseburgers which we voraciously ate. We then scampered about the dark lonely streets of Liverpool settling in one bar after another. One place we alighted on had us again vainly attempting to decipher a local Scouser who steadfastly tried to engage us in conversation. We politely nodded our collective heads, periodically looking at the stuffed wolverine that ogled us from atop the bar, and smiled warmly, but not understanding him. Thankfully he bought us a round. The bartender was engaging enough. He played old Cat Stevens music from his Ipod and eventually showed us the tattooed stars that coursed his one forearm. There were five all either colored red or blue, red for Liverpool and blue for Everton, the two English Premier Football clubs that called this city home. The tattoos represented his children and their individual devotion to either team. There was another smaller star that was not colored in as yet. It was for his grandchild and when this much loved child declared their team he would then have it inked appropriately.

Janet had been to Liverpool once before with her girls and back then did all things Beatles. They went on a “Magical Mystery Tour,” but not this time. The allure of seeing Penny Lane was not that strong for me, though I am a fan of the band’s music. Perhaps the next time we visit the kids we will go? It’s rare that I should like to return to a place; the world is vast after all; but I think Team VFH has Liverpool in their sights. If anything it will be a great jumping off point for other places throughout Europe.

the sudden death

Our favorite place in Brussels

 Only in the screwy town of Brussels can a joint called The Sudden Death be charming. Of course, in French it sounds more delightful: A La Mort Subite.  According to their website the ominous name of this bar comes from the last throw in a dice game played by customers who spent their lunch break there. The loser was labeled the sudden death. When the owner of the tavern opened the current place in 1928 he named it A La Mort Subite. But, this warm, inviting, traditional Belgian brasserie, located near the Grand Place and just across the street from the glass covered Galarie du Roi, a destination in itself, with it's long wooden tables and Art Nouveau decor is charming and offers an array of Lambics and Gueuze as well as kriek (or cherry) and pêche (or peach) flavored lambics. That's just the house beers, or the Mort Subite line. They also offer a good selection of Belgian, Trappists and Abbey beers, some on tap. The waiters are dressed in a traditional vest and were helpful with questions over the beers. (They told us playfully we could not steal the Mort Subite glass my Gueuze sur lie came in.) The entire experience was pleasant, especially when compared with the commotion that was the Cafe Delirium. At A la Mort Subite we felt like we had stepped back in time 100 years. We lingered over a few beers there and then returned the next day Sunday to sit at one of the outdoor tables before we had to catch our flight to Liverpool later that evening.  http://alamortsubite.com/ 

we did not try to steal these glasses



Galarie du Roi

That was the extent of our

abbreviated 11/2 day beer stay in Brussels. We spent the remainder of Saturday evening walking through the Grand Place and Galarie du Roi. These two heavily touristed destinations were beautiful. Dodging elbows at both we marveled at the ornate Guild houses, the Hotel de Ville and the Maison du Roi of the Grand Place, some of the buildings dating back to the 1600's and we oohed over the chocolatiers that filled every other shop window in the Galarie. I was surprised to learn this Galarie du Roi is older than the Galleria in Milan, Italy. Both are glass covered shopping arcades. At one shop we purchased confections to munch on as we strolled. Typical of us old folk we retired early to our fancy hotel.

The VFH team

I awakened several times during the night to the revelry on the streets of this city. Shouts and hoots kept going until 6 am and as I struggled to sleep I resolved to drink more beer the next I visited Brussels just so I could be knocked out.

Sunday, was not a beer day. Apart from our final visit to A la Mort Subite our day was disappointing. We had other beer joints on the official VFH Brussels Beer map, but sadly they were not open. One place that looked particularly inviting was Le Bier Circus, but it was shuttered. We pressed our faces against the glass hoping to make eye contact with someone, but to no avail. We gave another place, Le Cerceuil, the Coffin, a wide berth. Evidently it has glass topped coffins for tables and skull shaped mugs for the beer, but we had enough edgy fun in Brussels. Instead, we strolled through the Parc de Bruxelles and sat for awhile to listen to a Jazz band play in a Belle Epoque styled gazebo. It was free. We got some Greek takeaway food for a light lunch and strolled through the Grand Place once more before packing up our bags and heading out to the airport via the train system. We had asked the hotel for a late check out and they obliged us for an extra hour.

I know this is very late. Hope you're still reading though!

Gueuze and Delirium

Beer is the reason the VFH crew decided on Belgium as a travel destination. Bellying up to a bar has proven to be a time-tested way of experiencing destinations cheaply. There’s nothing comparable to chatting with locals at a wayward gin mill, and when you factor in the Belgium beer angle then you can't go wrong. Belgian beer is considered by many as the best in the world and we like our Belgian beer. Now, a bar with silly characters is a plus whatever the choices available, but , but if you add the selection of beers at some of the places we have been at in Belgium, well traveling has never been so fun.

At home we have sought out places because of their beer lists, or what they may brew at a craft brewpub and Belgium has been the same. We scoured the internet and read about the various types of Belgian beer and we sampled as much of the product back home in the States. We then made “beer maps” with places of beer interest for both Brugge and Brussels. Taverns made the list either for their intrinsic value, charm or the amount of beers offered.

So far in our travels this past summer to Belgium we were fortunate enough to drink some very good and in some cases very rare beer. Often we were confronted by lengthy beer lists that were difficult for to navigate because we were unsure what to sample next, but advice was usually offered by the bartenders or wait staff. Although, it was best to know at least the style of beer we were interested in drinking. We did seek out the Westvletern 12 because we had read that it is considered by many as the best beer brewed in the world and the rarest. We had great luck in drinking the Westy 12 and the 8.

Through our research we had learned that the Lambic and more specifically the Gueuze beers are very highly regarded in some circles. We had dismissed them out of hand as fruity beers, but with each glowing review we read or were offered to us by people like Bier Tempel guy; our helpful guide at the store in Brugge; these beers become more and more alluring.


My first Gueuze was Girardin. Served in a champagne type bottle, it came very highly recommended by Bier Tempel dude. Research culled from the websites by Danny Van Tricht  http://www.trappistbier.be/ and Chuck Cook http://belgianbeerspecialist.blogspot.com/, both beer writers, opened the world further to the Gueuze style of brewing. There is a good read for the brewing process: http://www.detroch.be/brewing.html so I'll not belabor you with the details, but the slightly sour taste is pleasant and refreshing and the opposite from the heavier, sweeter beers like the Westys or the hoppy American IPAs that are so prevalent back at home. Each of these beers are an acquired taste, but the Gueuze was something new and after drinking Girardin, team VFH decided it had to have more. We consider it very important when visiting a new region or foreign country to delve into that culture and cuisine. It is a "when in Rome" mentality. One should not immediately seek out a Corona in Belgium or a Jack Daniels in a whisky bar in Edinburgh. Why leave home if that’s all that you are comfortable with tasting or experiencing?

Our first stop....after viewing the Manneken Pis statue was Chez Moeder Lambic Fontainas situated in a busy little square not far away. The name translates to Mother's Lambic House. It is the second of two Moeder Lambics in Brussels, but the other one was too far away in the in the St. Gilles section. So, we opted to walk lesiurely to the newest version of Chez Moeder Lambic and sat at one of the outdoor tables under umbrellas and lingered over a few beers. I had a Gueuze Tilquin after having read about this newest blend of lambics in a Chuck Cook article. It was refreshing as we sat in the shade and watched Brussels amble past. Inside, the bar was modern and neat, but sitting outdoors amid the bustle and sunshine was more appealing. My second beer was a Cantillon Lambic, brewed in Brussels. We could have lingered over the lenghty beer list, but our time in Brussels was relatively short and we had more beer joints to visit. http://www.moederlambic.eu/

Jeanneken Pis

Next stop on our Brussels pub crawl was a bar we've heard quite a lot about, for it seems that quite a bit of the world has visited the Delirium Cafe, and for good reason. Located on a little dead end alley named appropriately Impasse de la Fidelite the Delirium Cafe is a serious party place. It boasts 2000 beers! three floors of mayhem and drunken debauchery and across the alley that is littered with drunken souls there is the female version of the Manneken Pis, the Jeanneken Pis. It's a statue of a little girl squatting and peeing.

Despite the incredible selection and the fantastic array of beer advertisments adorning the walls and taps everywhere, there was a decidedly edgy feel to the Delirium Cafe and we suspected the rowdiness racheted up as the day advanced, after all the place closed at 4 or was that 6 am ...As a couple of old folks we at team VFH prefer our mayhem on the silver screen and our beer epiphanies gentle and our thirsts slaked by wondrous brews in calmer locations. Delirium was indeed a great location, but it was readily apparent that this was a party place. We hightailed it after watching a fellow order a beer so large he had difficulty carrying it with two hands and weaved through the warren of extremely streets and alleys brimming with revelers and tourists to seek out the next place on our beer map. 

I know.. I know... there has been quite a delay between entries. It's football season now and I've been working a lot! Thanks for your patience...

Manneken Pis

This is an ongoing dilemma for your absolute favorite mooch crew. There are not enough hours in the day and not enough downtime to document our endeavors. It has been a whirlwind of activity for the VFH team and I am the first to admit that I have been lax in being a journalist. So, with an enfeebled attempt to catch up with our antics in Europe, today is our new entry.

You may recall the drunken soiree that was our travels last month in England, Scotland and Belgium. It started with Janet’s daughter getting married in Nantwich, England. Following this we took a train up to Edinburgh, Scotland for a two day visit. There we visited the Glenkinchie distillery and drank several whiskies at a proper whisky bar, The Bow Bar, just off the Royal Mile.

Afterwards we visited Brugge, Belgium. This medieval city was the site of several of our lengthy pub crawls. Some of the taverns were in buildings that were centuries old; one dated from 1515. All of them featured extensive beer menus offering upwards to 400 different beers! For beer lovers it was quite the place to visit. Looking back it’s hard to remember why we left that lovely city with its canals and windmills and cobblestoned streets, its bustling Markt with the cafes and the ominous bell tower. Oh… now I remember… it did not have a statue of a pissing boy.

Yes, throw away all the enchanting vistas, the cozy pubs with their pleasant chatty owners, the quiet lanes where the only sounds came from our clattering heels, we were off next to see the Manneken Pis…The Little Man Who Pisses…. In Brussels.

Janet said she had wanted to view this statue that perfectly represents the frivolity of this capital city for the past 25 years. When planning this leg of the trip we went back and forth about where to go. We thought of Gent and Antwerp. We considered renting a car to tour the countryside and to visit a monastery or two. But Janet pressed her wish to see this pissing boy statue.

She said she had to, ahem, go….

So, we went.

It is about an hour by train between the two cities and the station was just two blocks from our hotel. Brussels is a city, where Brugge was a small village in comparison. The hotel was a fancy one, especially by VFH standards, but Janet with her phenomenal researching got us a room at the Royal Windsor Grand Place Hotel for a fraction of the 350+ Euros price. After we freshened up, we grabbed our beer map of Brussels and set off in search of the Manneken Pis.

Brussels is a bi-lingual city by decree. The country of Belgium is split between Flemish and Walloonian cultures. Though Brussels, the capital, lies in the French influenced south, everything, state correspondence, menus and street signs are listed in both Flemish and French. We eventually found the little street urchin at the corner of Stoofstraat / Rue de L'Etuve and the Eikstraat / Rue du Chêne. Janet had waited 25 years to see him, and when we finally found the little square it seemed like all of God’s creation also wanted to gaze upon this little pissing boy. Hordes of tourists crowded the corner vying for positions to photograph the little scamp, mimicking his hand to his crotch gesture.. Signs warned of pickpockets. A tavern we thought to visit was directly across the narrow street. The outdoor seating was filled to capacity. We never caught the eye of a server and never got a beer there even when we went inside and after enduring the drunken revelry of a table of French speaking men nearby. Outside on the corner, a pushcart sells escargot. The roiling crowds were the complete opposite of our experiences in Brugge, but here was the iconic statue that embodies the frivolity and whimsy that is Brussels. To me it just seemed like chaos. This statue is Brussels’ Effiel Tower, he is their Empire State Building. So, important, and yet, he’s just a meter tall. Standing higher than the gathered throng, his flow splashes playfully at eye level. Thankfully he is ensconced behind a gate, lest some zealot decides to shake it for him. This has happened before. The first Manneken Pis was erected…no pun… in the early 1600’s, but vandals destroyed him a few years later. Another was put up in his place.

here's looking at you

Not only was the intersection choked with tourists, but the shops surrounding it sold likenesses of the little fellow in every conceivable form: key chains, bottle openers, miniature statues on Brussels pedestals to garden statuary. A waffle / ice cream shop had huge plastic versions of the little guy in front, one hand on his accouterment and the other holding a plastic waffle. Even the city of Brussels officially gets into the playful nature of the statue by allowing him to be clothed in little costumes made especially for him. It is a tradition that started years and years ago. When heads of state visit Brussels, they often bring an outfit for him to wear and the Manneken Pis is dressed up in clothing that is representative of that country. I wonder if they make him wear a diaper…. One of the 800+ outfits makes this wicked pisser little fellow look like Elvis Presley. One can marvel at the entire wardrobe at the Museum of the City of Brussels - Maison du Roi, Grand-Place. 

don't stand too close

http://www.bruxelles.be/artdet.cfm/4202

After basking in this glorious, delirious vision we moved on. Personally I was pleased to have seen the Manneken Pis. I had not heard of the statue before Janet told me about the little squirt and it was good to visit this busy little intersection. This frivolity whetted our appetite and it was time to start our Brussels pub crawl. Janet too was done after awhile. In our heads danced visions of Lambic and Gueze, Trappist Ales and a compadre of Manneken, the Jeanneke Pis.

Serendipity in Bruges

Life is good at Hotel Asiris

After another expansive breakfast at the Hotel Asiris in Bruges, it was time to get on with our travels. Next stop was Brussels. But first about those breakfasts... the portly proprietors put out a spread of hard boiled eggs, cold cuts and cheeses, homemade pies, milk, chocolate milk, breads, pastries, containers of chocolate spread, cereals, orange juice and most importantly coffee! I'm sure I've missed an item or two, but the food was good and a lot of it. With the breakfast included in the price of the room, this was quite the hotel, and your VFH team recommends staying there.

A big window at one end of the overly decorated, somewhat tacky, breakfast room allowed views of the street. Breakfast debris was placed in a plastic hard boiled egg that sat on each of the tables. A husband and wife couple ran the hotel and she periodically lumbered in to replace items, but largely the breakfast room was quiet with voices of the guests muted. We ate our fill, and then some, and then checked out of the hotel. The tall, burly, gruff looking husband with a wire brush of a moustache said northing to us as we paid our tab, but then again, he hardly said anything to us throughout our stay. The decor and the rooms of the Asiris Hotel were the complete opposite of the owner. Asiris offers clean rooms and a cheery, playful decorative touch in the lobby with Teddy Bears sitting astride pumpkins, etc., it was obvioiusly his wife's influence. But, he was helpful with maps and information so his abruptness was a part of the charm. We were happy to have stayed here and sad to leave this beautiful city. With the wheels of our luggage clattering down the cobblestoned streets, echoing off the canals, we made our way to the train station to get our asses to Brussels.

http://www.hotelasiris.be/

Detail from Bruges

On the way we tried to avoid the crowds of the Markt; it was a Saturday morning and figured the crowds would make walking through it a difficult task. We consulted the map to take a somewhat circuitous route to the train station. Winding streets followed the canal. It was quiet and pleasant and we had none of the commotion had we tried to cross through the Markt. But, once we stopped at an intersectionto get our bearings a bicycler stopped and offfered us directions and told us we had to go through the Markt to the get to the station. We thanked him and continued on our own way. Serendipty eventually led us to 't Zand square where the Saturday morning farmer's market was in full swing. Families, couples, elderly and young locals, and tourists like us milled about the rows and rows of food and non food stands. We bought coffee and stood like all the rest at little tables and pondered a double plus sized pooch waiting patiently for food to drop. We bought some bread and a half kilo of St. Bernardus Trappist cheese for our train ride to Brussels. We oohed over a stand of olives and smiled warmly at children playing in the sunshine, their parents nodding approvingly. It was a lovely end to our visit to this beautiful town.

We caught the next train to Brussels and were there in just over an hour. The trains were cheap, about 13 Euros, cheaper during the week. Once in Brussels we walked two blocks to our hotel. Janet had found a good price for an expensive hotel just around the block from the main tourist attractions like the Grand Place or Grote Markt in the Old Town. After freshining up we headed out into Brussels and discovered how it was completely different place than Bruges... but that's another blog entry...

Stay tuned... I'll get to them.. Sorry that we're a bit behind in our recollections.... Thanks for reading.

greg

Happy Birthday to me....

Don't worry... I still have several entries for VFH's trip to England, Scotland and Belgium. I have fallen behind, but will catch up soon. I have a good reason though. Today, August 1, was my birthday and the more intelligent half of the VFH team, Janet, made sure it was a good one.

We had breakfast at Sneddon's in Lambertville.... good food... bad coffee... but I have been going there for a long time now. One of the waitresses shares the birth date and so I have to go in there and wish her well.

Then, we went to Gunnison Beach at Sandy Hook. Readers of this blog will remember our escapades at this popular clothing optional beach that is part of the United States Park system. I went for a run while there...

Then it was a Mexican meal at a place in Highlands, NJ... just across the bay from Sandy Hook and then a couple of drinks at the beach bar at Donovan's Reef, in Sea Bright, NJ...

It was a good day....but don't worry... I'll be writing soon about our trip....

Thanks for reading!

love

greg

spending money?!

When we saw the 2008 black comedy film IN BRUGES, that starred Colin Farrell and Brendan Gleeson, we thought we would never ever go to the Belfort. I don't want to ruin the movie for you, but the climax of the movie, which was nominated for an Academy Award, involves a flying midget and the medieval era tower. It was ominous and scary, but the film put Bruges on the map for us and as VFH planned its trip to Belgium, Bruges made the cut over Antwerp.

The Belfort, Bruges



Presiding over the Markt square in Bruges, the Belfort was first erected in 1240, but over the years endured fires and lightning strikes and was partially rebuilt and added to over the years. Despite its checkered past it is quite a tourist draw and when we sat at one of the cafes on the far side of the Markt we watched people parading in and out of the place. People snapped pictures of the tower and we could see far above us people peering out onto this beautiful city.

We took a deep breath and steeled ourselves against leaping midgets and decided to visit the bell tower ourselves. After all, here we are in this beautiful city, already having paid so much to get here, that sometimes you have to knuckle down and be brave. Do as the Romans do, or the Americans, or the Japanese do in Bruges... go to the top of the Belfort and snap pictures of everything! So, we finished our coffee and walked over...

Now, as readers of this blog will know, VFH is a cheap lot. We walked through the arch that led to the courtyard of the cloth hall and admired the views from within...that was free. It was in this courtyard of the cloth hall, that Flemish cloth, manufactured in different cities, was sold to the rest of the world. Records from 1399, say there were nearly 400 cloth sales stands within the hall. Great history, but we were nervous. We scanned the crowd for ominous midgets, but everyone was of average height, so we were safe, that is until we saw the price to hike up the actual Belfort. It was 8 Euros...roughly $13 each. Janet, usually the more practical member of the VFH squad, immediately balked at the price. She recounted several places that charged outrageous admission prices, like the Leaning Tower in Pisa, etc., but she said this wasn't worth it, especially since there was a wait to get inside. I agreed, for the admission price was more than the cost of two beers! So, we left, but did not linger near the tower to photograph it, for fear a wee folk would land on us.

Kroegentocht

I am not proud of this, but I'm a cheap date. I can't drink a lot. My limit for martinis is one and it might as well be that same number for strong Belgian beers. With alcohol content in some of the beers hovering around 10% pub crawls are difficult. The limit for this sorry-ass beer lover in Bruges is short, and only if we scatter the stops over the course of an entire day and night.

Perhaps though, having this weak constitution for alcohol should be a requirement for membership in the rarified company of Vacations From Home. At least we don't spend a lot of money on alcohol.

But, what to do. Here is VFH in Bruges, Belgium, one of the top tourist destinations in Europe with it's medieval buildings and enchanting canals. Known as the Venice of the North, it is a UNESCO World Heritage site. This lovely place, where everyone speaks English along with their native Flemish, and where there is a chocolate shop on every corner, is in a country that is considered by many as the best beer producing country in the world, and we're limiting ourselves. We've already spent a substantial amount of money, by VFH standards, to get here. Also, typical of team VFH, we have done our research. We have read guide books and websites, sampled many Belgian beers at home and even made maps of Bruges (and Brussels) with the bars we HAD to visit marked with color coded dots. We were ready to drink our way along the cobblestoned streets of Bruges, but here is the dilemma, this would require us to drink many of the strong beers! And, there could be no sharing a beer. We each had to get our own. Pacing wasn't an option, it was the only way to survive the night!

Beetlejuice!



Well, followers of this blog will remember that the first half of our first day in Bruges ended with a monk-inspired drowsy nap for the latter part of the afternoon after just two beers each. Later that evening we hit our favorite place in Bruges, Cafe ‘t Brugs Beertje, where we had two more along with a great cheese plate. My second  beer was a Westmalle Tripel from the tap! When we first had a Westmalle Tripel at the Eulogy Tavern in Philadelphia, it was a solemn event. It was the first time we had experienced the whole proper presentation and pouring of Belgian beer from a bottle and we had smiled at our luck. Westmalle is a Trappist monastery brew, but over here in Bruges, it was not rare at all and to find it on tap was common. In fact, beers that we had held with such high regard back home like Westmalle and Leffe were as common as PBR....okay that's a stretch in the metaphor. Still, these beers were shockingly available everywhere.

We ended our first night in this lovely wonderful city at a place we stumbled upon, the Rose Red Cafe. http://www.cordoeanier.be/en/rosered.php

It was very new. We walked by it earlier this morning while we were trying to find a place for breakfast and to get our bearings after our train ride from Brussels and later, Bier Tempel guy told us it was very good, specializing in Trappist beers, so it was a natural stop for us as we walked back to our hotel that first night. The Rose Red Cafe is avidly seeking the beer lover in it's approach as their menu asks that if you're satisfied with your visit to tell others in Trip Advisor, Ale Street News and Beer Advocate.  But, Chuck Cook, the beer writer who has visited Bruges several times to drink beers at 't Brugs Beertje had not heard of the place until I wrote to him about VFH's fine experience there. For, though Rose Red was actively pursuing the powerful tourist dollars, there was a quiet serene quality to the place. It was really just around the corner from the Markt and all the touristed areas, but it was another world.

Although part of the Hotel Cordoeanier, it was not strictly a hotel bar. Still, our barmaid was doing double duty at the front desk. I asked for a Westy 12, but sadly they had were not out, so I settled for an Augustijn Grand Cru and Janet a La Trappe Quadruppel. We chatted with the bartender about life and the difficulty with finding parking spots in Bruges. Life is the same everywhere, it's just that the beers are so much better. We weaved our way back to the Hotel Asirus along the empty streets, happy with our pub crawl. It was a successful first day. We were tipsy and had drunk five beers total this day.



Ambrosia....

The next morning I arose early to get in a run. In my travels through work and play I've prided myself on my runs in far flung locales. I've seen a lot of cities around this world through my running. It is a great way to see a place and sometimes when I've only been in a city for a day my finest recollection is of my loping along the streets. This particular run though was more than keeping in shape. It had two purposes. I have never run in Belgium and I was compelled to add this country to my ledger. The other one was the beer. You can drink more if you sweat out your alcohol.... 

I left Janet sleeping in the bedroom of the Asiris Hotel with the windows open wide to the street below. It was cool and the breeze blowing in made getting out of bed a diffcult decision, but the pursuit of a memory out weighed comfort. I ran along the canal passing bicyclists and a few other people making their way for their morning destinations. The canal empties into the River Dijver and the old part of Bruges ends here. I followed a multi-use path that skirted the river. Across the Dijver was the R30, bristling with morning traffic; another world. The river is narrow, not like the Mississippi, but barges slowly plied the water. One barge was moored by the side, a bike was chained to the gangplank. As I ran I passed four windmills, two of them were erected in the 1700's. You're able to tour one if you are brave enough to climb the very steep stairs and pay the 2 Euro fee.

Two of the four windmills of Bruges



Kruispoort

As I followed the path I passed Kruispoort one of the four remaining city gates that once comprised the walled defenses of the old medieval city of Bruges. This was a part of the city that fewer tourists venture into and at this early hour of my run I was alone with other runners and people walking their dogs and bicyclists. It was a great run. Later Janet and I walked along the path, hiked up one of the windmills and visited Kruispoort and then meandered through this very quiet area of the city and we shopped for chocolate, lace, Flemish language children's books and other trinkets. We took a tourist break at one of the many cafes lining the Makrt and we lingered awhile marveling our luck to sit in the shadow of the Belfort.

Cafes along Markt in Bruges

The first stop on our Kroengentocht was the Café Vlissinghe. It has been operating continuously since 1515! The beer list is relatively weak, compared to the other places we've visited in Bruges. The "Bieren van 't vat", on tap, offers just three, Jupiler, the Brugge Zot Blond, from the Halve Maan Brewery and Leffe Bruin. The bottled beer contain the usual suspects including the Westmalles, but what the place lacks in adventurous beers it more than makes up with its charm. Wood paneled, with the walls covered in art and plenty of chachkas, the place is lighted by sunlight spilling in through several floor to ceiling windows. There are several long wooden tables and a long flued wood stove at one end of the room providing heat in the winter. Locals and tourists mixed in the place and there was a convivial feel to the place. Bathrooms were outside stalls on one end of the garden sitting area that was serene and bedecked with flowers. Janet and I had a few beers and played backgammon at one of the tables before moving on to the next place.

http://www.cafevlissinghe.be/welcome.html

Serendipity is a byword for your VFH crew. When Bier Tempel guy recommended a couple of other places when we produced our beer map of Bruges; he even drew on the map and wrote the names down; we knew we had to make them a part of our pub crawl. Besides they were on the way from here to there and so a perfect excuse to drop in while crawling.

Comptoir des Arts and Poatersgat were directly across Vlamingstraat (Vegitmite Street for us) from each other.  The latter opened later in the evening and so we settled in at the bar at Comptoir des Arts for a quick one. It was more of a blues club in a cellar that offered a lot of beers and a good selection of liquor. The place was just opening for the evening, so it was quiet. The owners, a husband and wife, were friendly, spoke excellent English and told us about their recent trip to Las Vegas. We chatted with them for awhile. Janet drank a Val Dieu Triple at 9% and I had a Belgian Ale Urthel Saisonnière at 6, both recommended by the barmaid. We then we said our good-byes and already weaving a bit headed back to 't Brugs Beertjes and Daisy. You may remember  from an earlier entry of this blog that Daisy was very helpful and she too recommended a couple of beers for us.

It was then back to Bierbrasserie Cambrinus to give it another shot. We thought perhaps with a more vibrant night time crowd it may be better. We were mistaken. We still found it lacking in the charm of so many other places. Our favorite place was definitely Daisy's joint...Beetlejuice. Cambrinus still did not win out, although I did finally get to drink a Westvletern 8 there. Brewed by Westvleteren Abdij St. Sixtus, the 8 and 12 are considered to be some of the best beers in the world. The website Rate Beer gives it a score of 100.

http://www.ratebeer.com/beer/westvleteren-extra-8/4935/

A boy and his beer... a Westy 8



After getting into some hijinks with a Tibetan monk in the middle of the Markt... he didn't take kindly to my demanding more monk beer from him... We tottered to our last stop for the night...Poatersgat. It was a cellar bar and to enter I had to duck my head in the low doorway. The place was hopping, but when we took our place at the bar, the bartender told us much of his business was at an outdoor festival concert on the far end of town. It was plenty busy for us. Many of the tables in the dark place  were brimming with kids. The ceiling was low and pillars created alcoves. Music competed with conversations. It was nice, but we felt already it was too quick a pace for us... we are old folk afterall. Still the beer list was impressive and Janet went with a Gulden Draak, a dark brown triple ale at 10.5%! She balked a bit at my choice, a St. Bernardus Abt 12 because that's readily available back home. I read somewhere though this was as close to a Westvletern 12 as you can get. From 1946 until 1992, the Westvletern line was actually brewed by St. Bernardus under contract from the monks of Saint Sixtus and though that connection ended and the yeasts come from Westmalle, the beer was very, very good. It doesn't carry an "Authentic Trappist Product" sticker, but it was pretty close.

It was an act of self preservation that we left Poatersgat on Vegitmite street. We had drunk our fill of the Belgian beers, totaling 6 in all for the evening and as we walked along the canals and dark streets of Bruges back to our hotel we canoodled and giggled.

http://www.poatersgat.com/

The Markt in Bruges

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