Fred Hoyt's Travels

Those of you who have followed my blogs over the years know how fond I am of noting that Xi’an in China was the capital for over 1000 years, most recently 1000 years ago.  Imagine my joy in being in Istanbul, which for over 1000 years was the new “Rome” (under the name Constantinople), and for the next  nearly 500 years, as Istanbul, was home to the “Scourge of Europe.” It’s pretty obvious that whoever wrote the song which gave the title to this blog entry was drawing on the creation of the Turkish Republic from the wreckage of the Ottoman Empire in 1923.  All three parts of this brief history are apparent in this city of 15 million that spans two continents (East of the Bosphorus is Asia Minor, which as I told a student is like Asia Major, but with 4 fewer classes; that’s an IWU joke).

The efforts of Kemal Ataturk, who fought to reverse the Allied partition of Turkey after World War I, are obvious in his efforts to secularize a Muslim state.  He abolished the Caliphate when the last religious leader of the Muslim world died in the early 1920s, and as we walked the city today, while some were in traditional garb, most Turks wore more European dress; also, it was Sunday, the day of rest in Turkey, but not much of the Muslim world.  Many of the churches, which Mehmet the Conqueror (the 21 year old Sultan who led the troops that captured Constantinople in May 1453) turned into mosques (including Hagia Sophia, which we’ll see in the next few days) became museums.  And people smoke and drink (though the pastry shops far outnumber the bars), which again is not common in the Middle East.  Turkey is a secular Muslim country.

The Byzantine period lasted over 1000 years, from Constantine, the Roman Emperor who founded it early in the 4^th century, through 1453, when Constantine XI Palaeologus died fighting the Turks.  The remains abound, and one of the purposes of my aftertour is to visit the Byzantine remains.  One of them is obvious from the ride in from the airport—much of the massive fortification is still present.  Indeed, the conquest of the city required a major siege, some subterfuge (the Byzantines chained the river to prevent the Ottoman navy from joining the battle; Mehmet hauled the ships overland and bypassed the chains); and some strange behavior (a Christian cannonier offered his services in making a huge cannon to the Byzantines).

Broke—partly because  of the fourth crusade, when the overzealous crusaders sacked and occupied Constantinople—the source of much of Venice’s wealth, including the famous horses in St. Mark’s,  Byzantium never recovered. By 1453, the Eastern Roman Empire had pretty much been reduced to the city of Constantinople and its environs. Rejected by the Byzantines, the Christian cannon builder offered his services to Mehmet, who thus acquired the firepower needed to breach the walls.

Many of the churches and mosaics remain from the Byzantine period, and I am especially eager to see the Chora Church and the Archeological museum (the Hittites were here, too), and the underground cistern system.  The old aqueduct still stands—a testimony to Roman engineering.  Indeed, one of the major accomplishments of the Byzantine Empire was in keeping the barbarians out of Europe, with the exception of the Mongols; Greek scholars also kept alive Greco-Roman philosophy and literature at a time when Europe was in the Dark Ages.

When the Turks actually bore down on Constantinople, the Emperor offered to convert to Catholicism if the European countries would send troops.  Perhaps if there’d been an EU in 1450, it’d still be Constantinople!  I saw another reminder of the cosmopolitan nature of the city under the Byzantines—the Galata Tower and the Yoros Castle (at the end of the Bosporus—more later on that) which were defended by the Venetians and Genoans who lived in the city, and whose trade was so important to the Byzantines and to the West.  Indeed, Constantinople at one time was one of the termini of the Silk Road to China.

The role of the Osman family (Ottoman) is the most pronounced in terms of tourist sites, and the history and culture of contemporary Turkey.  At varying times cosmopolitan (the Ottomans welcomed Jews driven from Spain, and the physicians to the Sultans were usually Jewish), it’s sometimes difficult to remember how rich the country was—though it is easily remembered how powerful it was.  Suleyman’s defeat at the gates of Vienna marked the westward limits of Turkish conquests, but I’ve seen battlefields in Poland and Russia, and indications of the occupation of the Balkans, Greece, and Hungary that are neither forgotten nor forgiven.  We will be seeing the Topkapi Palace tomorrow, which should give our students some insight into what being rich meant in the 16^th and 17^th centuries. It helped Professor Pana and I to understand it when we went to a “traditional restaurant” whose recipes were based on the cookbook of Mehmet II.  As we sat in the shadow of Hagia Sophia, we ate like a king for a night.  We’ve set up a “farewell dinner” in a similar restaurant tomorrow, near the Chora Church with its world famous mosaics.

We got a look at the city and the Bosporus on a tour today, a four hour ferry ride to the Black Sea.

The importance of Constantinople/Istanbul, economically, is that it links the Russian breadbasket and the Mediterranean worlds.  The progression of the summer palaces north of the city—built by Sultans and grand viziers, mostly—showed the increasing wealth of the country.  The forts along the way revealed the importance to Turkey (and the Ottomans and the Byzantines) of guarding this “competitive advantage.” Russia’s quest for open ports to the south framed much of Russian history, certainly from Catherine the Great (who captured the Crimea from Muslims, thereby depriving the Ottoman armies of the best cavalry in the world) to Putin today.

Speaking of Russia (and the EU), Putin, when asked whether Russia would join the EU, reputedly said, “The EU should join us.”  We hope to get more information on Turkey tomorrow.

As we left Athens this morning for the Peloponnesian peninsula, I realized that the Battle of Salamis may serve as a metaphor for both the past and the future of Greece.  The past is easier to discuss.  It’s much of what we’ve seen.  Today, for example, we were on our way to visit two wondrous ruins of the ancient world when our guide mentioned that on the coast we were passing Salamis, where in 490 BC Greek sailors defeated the Persians, one of the telling battles that led to the ascendancy of Athens and the building of the  world-class Acropolis.

We were on our way to two sites, one nearly 1000 years earlier than the Acropolis, reflecting the civilization of the Mycenaean period, the other, a third century theater, paired with Greek medicine, that today has acoustics and seating for 14,000 that still draw entertainment  from performances of Aeschylus to symphony orchestras, with acoustics at the top as clear as at the bottom—and no electronic magnification.

The trip took us about 100 miles from Athens, into the Peloponnese,  an area that rivaled Athens, and ultimately, in the Peloponnesian Wars (read your Thucydides, considered one of the early historians), across the canal—considered by Alexander the Great, begun by Nero, completed in the 1890s—that cuts through the isthmus of Corinth, saving shippers the trek around the peninsula.

The theater is stunning, set in pines in the mountains, but its origins were to celebrate the god of healing, Asclepius. The Greeks had developed medicinal practices, ultimately ordered by Hippocrates (in the Hippocratic Oath that doctors still take today), that included therapies borrowed from Egypt, and home-grown therapies such as shock treatments (putting people in with snakes)!  I’ve seen a similar complex in Pergamon, which apparently rivaled Epidavros, but today, what’s left at Epidavros is the theater.

We then went to Mycenae, which rekindled memories of Homer and the Trojan War, the Iliad and the Odyssey, and the first humanities course I took in college. Mycenae, located by the famous German archaeologist, Heinrich Schliemann, was supposedly the home of Agamemnon, commander of the Greek forces during the Trojan War, which was fought to reclaim Helen from Paris of Troy, who had kidnapped her.  Once considered pure fiction, the current thinking is that Agamemnon was a real king, but the “mask of Agamemnon,” one of the most famous pieces in the National Archeological Museum (did I tell you they close all museums save the Acropolis museum at 3 pm to save money) is about 300 years off.  We saw the citadel on the acropolis, distinguished by a double lion gate, and the beehive shaped tomb where Schliemann found the mask. We also saw ruins of many other citadels, proving that Greece had both civil wars (the Peloponnesian War marked the end of the ascendancy of Athens) and wars with the Persians, and later others, including the Turks, who conquered the country shortly after the fall of Constantinople, and the Venetians, among others.

Back to the Salamis example I started with.  As we passed the port there, our guide pointed out what might be the future of Greece: Russians and Chinese had each leased a section of the port, which they were developing for export and import into the Southeastern states of the European Union, which after July 1, will include Croatia.  In fact our guide was hoping for Chinese tourists to cause the industry to rebound. Tourism, she pointed out, is down.

Hard to tell tonight as we had dinner in a traditional tavern, complete with folk dancing, in the shadow of the Acropolis.

Early tomorrow we depart for Istanbul.  Hope you’re enjoying the memorial day weekend

We’re at the limits of the European Union—in more ways than one.  We arrived yesterday (though it seems longer ago) in Athens, 1100 miles from Berlin, via Warsaw on Lot Airlines—no doubt an event to be celebrated.  We’re in the city with 5 million people, and it’s  easy to talk about the birth of democracy.  It happened here, and we’ve seen the love affair that Europe has had with Greece reflected in the museums in London, Paris, and Berlin.  The independence of Greece from Turkey, in the 1820s, was partly Europe’s payback for that love affair.

The heyday though (and Greece continues to cash in on it) was the Golden Age. Flush with its victories over the Persians in the 5^th century, Pericles and his cohorts constructed on the Acropolis a literal “city on a hill” that has become the second most-desired site to see in the world (second to Angkor Wat). We visited the Acropolis this afternoon as part of our city-of-Athens tour, and really the major highlight of it.  Perched atop the highest flat hill in Athens, the Greeks built temples to the main gods of the city, Athena (who supposedly gave the city olive trees), and Poseidon, who was the lord of the seas.

What remains from 2500 years of wars, Christianity, Islam, and pollution is still impressive. The Parthenon, the virgin Athena’s apartment, with its massive Doric pillars; the second temple to Poseidon and Athena has the Caryatids that support the roof, rather like the Museum of Science and Industry in Chicago.  There’s also a temple to Athena Nike (victory) and another smaller temple at the entrance. The Acropolis was used by the Greeks, the Romans, then converted to a Church when the empire went Christian, then converted to a Mosque when the Turks conquered Greece, then reconverted to the Acropolis.  One of the features we noted in London was the “Elgin Marbles” (saved from pollution and depredation, says the British Museum; stolen illegally, say the Greeks), the friezes that make up the story of the procession of Athena on the frieze at the Parthenon.

That was part of our city tour, though there really isn’t a lot to see in Athens; there’s a lot of temples from Greek and Roman days–the Romans adored Greek civilization, and helped spread it throughout the West.  The emperor Hadrian (2^nd century) had a special place for Athens, completing the Temple of Zeus, begun 5 centuries earlier and a triumphal arch, etc.  Athens, unlike Rome, wasn’t really the center of an Empire. Rather, our guide’s family background exemplifies the spread of Greek civilization; one parent has roots in Istanbul (Constantinople) and the other in Smyrna (Izmir in Turkey).  Greek colonies dotted the eastern Mediterranean and the former Byzantine empire, lasting really until Ataturk in the 1920s fought to preserve and define a Turkish state that resulted in massive population movements of Greeks to Greece and Turks to Turkey.

We had about two hours of free time which I used to do what I love to do—wander aimlessly, exploring.  It gave me a new sense of ancient Greece because I went to areas that I’d never been before, which are not really accessible by bus.  The area is Monastiraki, an old monastery area at the base of the Acropolis, that is really the old town.  One after another sights—the Roman baths, the library of Hadrian, the Tower of the Winds—all part of the ancient city artifacts, and all closed as of 3 pm.  Can you believe that?  Only one museum in the city is open after 3 pm….

The other question was partially settled at our visit to PWC (no, not with an alum, but set up by Jim Majernick, with Price Waterhouse Cooper, who was a student on one May term trip in 2001 which went around the world—and I’m glad I kept in touch with him).  PWC is a global accounting firm, which gave us an introduction to both Greece and the company.  There’s no doubt that Greece is one of the problem children in the European Union.  The unemployment rate is staggering—almost 30 per cent in the country, and over 60 percent among people under 24. Even the optimistic folks at PWC admitted that Greeks have lived beyond their means, and needed some of the discipline imposed on the country as the price for the bailout funds that have kept it afloat.  They were quick to note, however, that the press, especially CNN, has sensationalized the protests in Greece, hiring someone to launch tear gas for better pictures and a better story.

Whatever the truth (and we’re not going to Delphi for the oracle to predict the future or even give us a reading on the present), it’s pretty obvious that the EU is not the United States. The cultures, languages, histories, economies, are speed bumps in a flat world.  Economically, for example, of the 27 countries, 17 use the Euro, which means that there is one monetary policy for 17 countries, and 17 fiscal policies for those countries, not to mention the other ten. I think the folks in Brussels who called it an “unprecedented experiment” and “a work in progress” may have described it best. It’s too entangled to be untangled easily.

We mused about this on our way to having dinner on the Saronic Gulf, watching the sunset over the ocean.  I must say that the Olympics (we visited the 1896 site and passed by the 2004 village) in 2004 gave Greece a great public infrastructure, with a clean subway, but contributed part of the debt that, in the days of easy money, made everyone happy in the European Union.  It’s pretty obvious we tourists are now among the happiest people in the European Union.  Dining on saganaki and mousaka certainly helped.

Tomorrow we visit places that predate the golden age of Greece.

We started the day at one of the best views in Berlin—at the US Embassy in sight of the Brandenburg Gate. Our ticket there was Karin Churchey, a 1993 graduate of IWU who earned a MA in International Economics and Politics from the Johns Hopkins University; her career shifted from State Farm to State Department and found her in the political section of the Embassy in Berlin.  She was kind enough to invite four of her colleagues to explain the structure and work of the Embassy, and in turn, they gave us a quasi-official view of current issues in the European Union.  By and large, they were pleased to be posted in Berlin and rather optimistic about the European Union and Germany’s place in it.

The political and economic officers, for example, mentioned that Germany has asserted leadership, both within the European Union and also on behalf of the European Union in world politics—it’s got a number of troops supporting US efforts in the Middle East, for example.  German support for the government’s handling of the economy registers in the 70%, while Europe as a whole averages under 10. Even the support of Germans for the efforts to prop up the Euro are applauded—provided the mechanisms for responsibility and accountability are put in place. Germans do not generally accept debt as readily as Americans do—the German word for guilt is identical to the word for debt, he stated, and was one reason Germany did not get burned as badly as the US did in 2008; another is that the economy is still weighted toward industry, rather than services.  He also pointed out that Germany has become a bigger economic trading partner with the Chinese, something I’ve seen on my trips to China.  Germany has benefitted from both travel (2 million Germans get US visas; 1 million Americans reciprocate), and, with the lowest birth rate in Europe, from immigration; 20% of Germans are “first generation.”

There’s no doubt that Germany “runs the economic show” in Europe, too, and has become an economic as well as a political force.  One of the officers began by mentioning a number of US cities, including Spartanburg, S.C., which were home to German auto transplants.

The State Department folks mentioned internships, and I think one thing our students are discovering is ways to return to Europe and to become better positioned to work in Europe.

Our more traditional business visit was to a BMW motorcycle plant—the only manufacturing one in the world, which is in Berlin.  That provided a fascinating look at a German company that is global, and one that demonstrates the industrial  competitive advantage of Germany.  BMW has been manufacturing motorcycles since 1923, and despite the cost (the cheapest one, I thought he said, was 7000 Euro, or about $10,000; the top-of-the line is $23,000 but it can go up to 310 Km an hour—that’s about 180 miles an hour! ), has a 25% market share in Germany, with about 80% of the 110,000 cycles exported.  Some of them are assembled elsewhere, especially in Brazil.  When I asked about outsourcing, the tour guide said some subassembly is done in Austria.  The bikes are all presold, and you can design any way you like (that’s why the bikes are top-of-the line.  You can make it in 46 colors).

The guide told the story of a Middle Eastern sheik who asked whether BMW could make a gold motorcycle.  When asked what he wanted to pay for it, he replied, “No limit.”  The plant shut down all production to make the car for him. The factory has 100% quality check, too, which, as I said, provided an impressive case study of German competitiveness in manufacturing.

The rest of the afternoon was on our own, and Professor Pana and I came back to the Museum Island, where there are five major museums, for a stab at another. One of the highlights of the collections here is a colorful bust of Nefertiti, discovered by one of those German archaeologists I mentioned yesterday in December 1912.  Consequently, the museum (ironically, it was in the “New” Museum; the “Old” Museum has Renaissance and later painting!) had a special exhibit celebrating 100 years of the bust, which featured the workshop it was found in—it was involved in the Akhneton period, when Egypt turned to the Sun God; I think his son was King Tut, probably the best known non-Biblical pharaoh. I’m glad the Greeks (there was an interesting exhibit on the Greek/Roman world, down through the middle ages, which included materials on the Germanic tribes) et al., had so much art; there’s extensive collections around the world, but there’s still impressive collections that we’ll see beginning tomorrow in Athens.

I wish Ms. Churchey had been able to join us for dinner; the German government had invited her to a Spargel meal (that’s the white asparagus that’s in season here, and a real delicacy, as I discovered the other night), and she begged off.  She did recommend the Hofbrauhaus, which is around the corner for us, so we celebrated our last night in Berlin with pig knuckles and other delicacies.

We leave at 6 am tomorrow for Athens, the far reaches of the European Union.  Better pack up and click off.  Goodnight from Berlin.

Today was a religious holiday in Germany; though no one could tell us what it celebrated, no one seemed to object to having the day off (that’s very European—the numerous holidays; one’s initial job gets frequently 4 weeks’ vacation! Plus 10 holidays!).

Most museums were open, however, so we spent a big part of the day on a hop-on hop-off bus touring this city of 3.6 million people. As befits a city whose history goes back over 750 years, there was a lot to see—even if 70% of the city was bombed to rubble toward the end of World War II. There was just enough left to remind one that 19th and 20th century Berlin was a sophisticated, major capital of one of the great European powers. There are also reminders of the Nazi period, including the Reichstag building where the Nazis started a fire and blamed it on a Dutch Communist, using the episode to end the Weimar Republic and begin the push that would create the Nazi dictatorship. There’s the bunker where Hitler committed suicide, ending the horror he had caused, and the area where Valkyrie, the attack on Hitler, took place. There’s reminders that Berlin once housed a thriving Jewish community of 160,000, whittled down through voluntary exile or involuntary holocaust to around a tenth of that today.

Post World War II is also present, and I can remember some of the episodes as Berlin stood out, transformed from a symbol of Naziism to the reminder to Eastern Europe of the differences between Soviet promises and the West’s reality. One of those symbols was the Berlin blockade (by the Soviets; Berlin was administered by the 4 Allies after World War II, but it was surrounded by the Deutsche Democratic Republic, the Soviet-created and -allied state), raised by non-stop flights of supplies (by the West).

Another was the momentous change that occurred on November 9, 1989, before our students were born, when the Germans tore down the wall that the East German regime had erected in 1961 to keep East Germans from escaping to the west (the East German judges probably gave that move a 10, as they did at the Olympics for any East German athlete). Parts of the wall still remain, artistically painted over with themes of the still elusive peace. Indeed, the reunited Berlin is virtually festooned with artistic monuments dedicated to the future. In fact, one of Professor Pana’s comments is that if you come back in 20 years, you won’t recognize Berlin; the city has almost as many construction projects as Shanghai, befitting Europe’s strongest economy, and I believe, its most populous country.

As a great imperial city, Germany has outstanding museums (including museums remembering the Holocaust as well as East Germany, among others). We chose to take the class to the Pergamon Museum, one of the finest collections of the ancient Middle East, the result of German archeologists frequently supported by Kaiser Wilhelm. Wilhelm cultivated the Turks in particular, as a make weight against Russia, and more or less contrived to push Turkey into World War I. If you want to read a fascinating study of his efforts to create a jihad in the Middle East (urging Arabs to avoid killing Germans and Austro-Hungarians), the Berlin-Baghdad Railroad is stranger than fiction.

The Pergamon Museum was named for the altar a German archeologist brought back to Berlin from Pergamon, one of the Greek cities on the coast of Turkey. As I told students, Greece’s efforts to create a “European Union” did not result in an imperial Athens, but rather colonies which spread Greek civilization (a move that Alexander took militarily, and the Romans borrowed shamelessly and took with their legions). The museum has some other splendid relics, including another massive structure from Melis, also on the Turkish coast, which resembled the library of Ephesus, but also had a temple dedicated to Trajan and Hadrian, Roman emperors we’ll find active in Athens as well. The Ishtar Gate from Babylon is also in the museum—3,000 years old—from the palace of Nebuchadnezzar.

On the way back, we stopped in the Berlin dome, the largest Protestant church in Germany. It’s neo Baroque, built in 1905, and has the distinction of housing the Hohenzollern family graves—not including Wilhelm II, who built it; he fled Germany for the Netherlands, and is buried there.

Some of us found our musical program—at the Staatsoper. I saw that the Flying Dutchman was playing last night (part of a 200th year of Wagner’s birth celebration), and went to try to get tickets, only to find it was sold out. There were a few tickets left for a Tchaikovsky ballet, based on Symphonies 5, 6, and Capriccio Italien, which was great fun.

Germany is back in business tomorrow, and so are we. The reunited Germany moved the capital from Bonn in 1991 back to Berlin, which accounts for the efforts we saw today to return Berlin to its place as one of the great cities of the world; and it accounts for our visit to the US embassy, where we’ll be hosted by an IWU alum.

A carefree day at Sans Souci, (which means carefree)

Frederick the Great, King of Prussia (1740-1786) met the other Frederick today (me) and only one of us is still standing.

Fortunately, it’s me.

The encounter was at Sans Souci park in Potsdam, the summer home of the Hohenzollern family, which transformed Prussia from a minor principality in Northeast Europe to the feared Huns of World War I. The Hohenzollern family became king of Prussia in 1701, and lasted until the defeat of Germany in World War I.  Prominent in the transformation was Frederick the Great, under whose rule the Prussian military waged war against much of the rest of Europe, and Frederick emerged as the equal of his contemporaries—Maria Theresa of Austria and that German princess turned Czarina, Catherine the Great.

Usually adored by the philosophes in France, Frederick cultivated a court with musicians and artists (he composed flute and other concerti; I purchased an album), and the two castles we spent some time at today have ample concert halls, theaters (he wrote a play, too), and “writing closets” that are 3X the size of my office with Schinkler cabinets and desks that probably are literally priceless, and silk-damask furniture that would cost roughly 1 million Euros to replace.  Frederick’s influence on the architecture—a florid and showy style called rococo—gave rise to Frederich rococo, since he persisted in the style long after it had gone out of fashion.  Though he cultivated the intellectuals, Frederick preferred his uniform to civilian clothes, and called his uniform his “death gown.”

The Sans Souci palace was a “pleasure palace” built early in his reign to mimic a similar toy the much wealthier Louis XIV built at Versailles (the Grand Trianon, where the treaty was signed disposing of the Austrian Empire in World War I). It is much more complete than the other palace we saw, despite Kaiser Wilhelm having taken 59 wagon loads of family loot to the Netherlands when he abdicated in 1918, and the Soviets (Potsdam having been in East Germany) having done much the same in 1945.  The palace allows only 2,000 visitors a day, and we had a guide and the place pretty much to our own—a treat after the zoo at Versailles.  Frederick built the vineyards first (I told you it was a pleasure palace), and gave prominence to his quarters and those of his guests; his loveless marriage meant his wife had her own palace elsewhere, and I think we were told she set foot in Sans Souci once. One other item the guide discussed fit in well in the theme of our European Union explorations: she discussed the cost of bringing goods into Prussia, the tariffs on them, and the eventual creation of domestic industries in Prussia to produce porcelain (replacing Messian) and silk.

The other palace,  the “New Palace,” was built after the 7 years war (as Europeans call the French and Indian War), which marked Prussia’s entrance as a great power.  As I recall, one other manifestation of that was its participation in the partition of Poland, the consequences of which reached to World War II, with the massive resettlement of Germans and Poles as the borders of the Soviet Union moved farther West.  The building is mostly stripped of its interior decorations—by Kaiser Wilhelm and the Soviets–but the sumptuous rooms and floors remain.  We had to put on kind of an overshoe to walk on the floors, and we were not permitted in several rooms which could not stand the traffic.  One room had three or four huge mythological paintings with a lot of nudes.  The guide told us that they were originally painted for the court of Austria, but Empress Maria Theresa, scandalized, ordered them sold.  The fervently anti-Austrian (part of it was Protestant Prussia and Catholic Austria) Frederick bought them and installed them in his palace.  The other item of interest was that Kaiser Wilhelm of World War I fame, moved his family permanently to the “New Palace” (it had been the summer palace, with the main quarters elsewhere in Berlin or Potsdam) and modernized it with toilets and electricity.  It was in this palace on August 1, 1914 that he signed the order to mobilize the German army, a decision that ultimately triggered the First (and the Second) World Wars.

It was fitting that we had our first pleasant weather of the trip, probably in the 70s, with no rain and little wind.  We were literally Sans Souci.

When I saw our original schedule, I saw that we were spending an hour changing trains in Cologne; I went to the German train schedules and saw almost hourly service from Cologne to Berlin, and asked our agent if it would be possible to spend a  few hours in Cologne before reembarking on the express to Berlin.  No problem. Happily.  I had been to Cologne a few years ago on a Rhine cruise, and knew the city merited a stop, not just a look at the train station.

We left Brussels at 7:29 (it’s been a loooong day) for the approximately two hour ride to Cologne (which went through Aachen, where, on Christmas Day many years ago, Charlemagne was crowned as the first head of the Holy Roman Empire–Voltaire said it was neither Holy nor Roman nor an Empire, but it lasted until Napoleon abolished it). We stashed our luggage in the train station and had two “business visits” as well as a look at the superb Gothic Cathedral that at one time was the largest church in the world.

I had not gone to the first business when I was in Cologne—the Chocolate Museum—partly because, as a chocoholic, I try to avoid temptation. But this is a business credit trip, and I was pleasantly pleased that the museum was more than a “pay us, see how we make candy, then go through our shop and buy some” though it was indeed that as well.  Sponsored by Lindt, one of the candy makers in Europe, it had really interesting business information—including material on the futures market for cocoa, which has attracted speculators since the 2008 crisis, sometimes making the price more than simple supply and demand; the plant (there was a hothouse that grew the cocoa tree) was given its name by von Linnea, the originator of biological classification, and means something like flavor of the gods; about a third of the cocoa is used in Europe (I enjoy my chocolat chaud for breakfast with a pan de chocolat); and that most of the cocoa comes from developing nations.  And we did get to shop.  I’m still trying to decide whether I like the Belgian chocolates better than German, but I’m still doing empirical research on the question.

The next visit was to the Farina Eau de Cologne museum, which I had visited and found fascinating.   The museum is housed in an Eau de Cologne shop (imagine that), and I had no trouble when Mrs. Hoyt and I visited it.  When the 28 of us appeared, however, the cashier said we needed advanced reservations, but she would give us an introduction to the history of eau de cologne.  The Farina family, which still owns the brand, created it in 1709 when Mr. Farina came to Cologne; being Italian, he was unable to join any of the local guilds. Entrepreneur that he was, he developed the business, which was important in a Europe that did not believe in baths (something happened after the barbarians drove out the Romans, because there were Roman baths and toilets and sewer systems here and elsewhere in the Roman world). Napoleon was apparently brand loyal, and had his boots made with a compartment to carry a bottle so he could smell good even on horseback.

The piece de resistance, however, is the Cologne Cathedral, begun in the 13^th century (the site had been a church for 500 years of so, and had such a pilgrimage following that Cologne built a larger one).  It dominates the city, but perhaps the neatest feature of it for us was that a school choir was rehearsing in the church when we were in it, and the Latin Gloria, Agnus Dei, etc. lent verisimilitude to the experience. I just sat there and drank it in.

It was also good to see the Rhine, which has been one of the main trade arteries for Europe.

When we boarded the Cologne Berlin express, I was struck by two features: first, it posted speeds of over 200 km, which is roughly 125 miles an hour.  And second, and this is quite unusual in Europe, we had to wait half an hour for another train which was being added to our train, hence we were late coming into Berlin. Being late is so un-European! I thought I was on Amtrak.

Some of us took advantage of this cool rainy afternoon to view the battlefield that marked the end of an effort to create a “European union”—the battlefield where Napoleon (if you remember the 50s song) met his Waterloo.  I did not realize it was close to Brussels, but it’s less than 10 miles outside the city; being a fan of short megalomaniacs, I had to go see it.

When Napoleon escaped from Elba, and rallied his soldiers, he thought he might have a chance at splitting the coalition reunited against him if he struck a quick blow.  At Waterloo, he tried to keep the Prussian and Anglo-Dutch armies from uniting against him.  Slowed by rain (imagine that!), in June 1815, his armies struck too late to prevent the Prussians from joining with Wellington, and, according to the movie, allowed Wellington’s armies to gather where they could not be destroyed by French artillery.  In a 10 hour battle, around 170,000 troops decided the fate of Napoleonic France.

In a sense, the battle underscores what we’ve been learning in Brussels—the difficulty of unifying Europe short of war.  That’s the message we’re taking from our visits to members of the European Union civil service staff—the people most committed to making “Europe” work.  For example, yesterday’s speaker raised a point I had not considered—a simple but complex one involving the basis of legal codes.  While the British have evolved common law (it’s common to us, too), much of Europe uses the Code Napoleon.  As I noted to the speaker, Louisiana uses the Code Napoleon in the US, which should give Europeans hope that the legal systems can actually mesh. His comment: “the EU is ahead of its time.”

Today’s speaker gave a slightly different view of the origins of the European Union that helped me understand some of its functioning.  I think he described the evolution in terms of “shared sovereignty”—in which the members have given up authority over certain areas, and created an organizational structure to oversee laws in those areas.  In other words, if the treaties have conceded pollution controls to a “High Authority” (as the European Commission was once known), the legislation Parliament passes on that topic is enforceable in all countries—whether they voted for it or not. His comment was that it is an unprecedented “experiment.”  When he noted it has been going on for 60 years, my response was that after 60 years, the United States had not yet sorted out many of the issues that “We the People” wrote a constitution to settle; I hoped it doesn’t take a civil war to resolve Europe’s issues.

One other thing we’re taking from our EU visits is the focus of the European Union on social issues—and more general r&d support.  I remember from my last trip in Eastern Europe that much of the infrastructure support for roads, for example, in the Baltic countries, came from EU support. In addition, one of our speakers in Paris was a  Ph.D. (from Illinois) working on a project involving DNA, that was based on a 7 billion Euro grant. Think about an American working on pure research in Europe….

If you want a business epigram on why the EU needs to continue to exist—when I left London, I had not spent or exchanged all my British pounds.  I took a 20 pound note to the exchange, worth about 31$ and got back (after fees and commission) about 15 Euro, or about 21$. Imagine doing that every time you crossed a border!

As for Brussels itself, home to NATO as well as the EU, cold wet days are not uncommon—and they are ideal for spending time in museums, which we’ve also done.  My three favorites included two as impressive for the buildings as for the contents—the buildings were art nouveau, and the museums helped spare the wrecking ball.  One was a  comic strip museum—after all the adventurous Tintin came from the brush of a Belgian artist—who has been translated in dozens of languages around the world. The second museum of note was the Musical Instruments Museum, housed in a former Art Nouveau department store.  When I entered, I was given an audio guide; as I passed the exhibits, the instrument featured played.  If you’ve never heard a cabinet organ, you’ve missed a real treat, as I would have had I not gone to the museum. The third museum is on the grand place, a medieval square I mentioned yesterday, with Gothic and Baroque homes.  Professor Pana and I went to the “House of the King,” which was a wonderful Gothic building with period pieces, art, sculpture, and pictures of the city, some of them following Louis XIV bombardment that leveled 4000 houses.

Well, we leave Brussels for Berlin via Cologne with good memories of Brussels—the Manneken-Pis (look that one up; it’s the symbol of the city); the chocolate (world famous!), and lapin (rabbit) and moule (mussels) meals. That moule meal was facilitated by an IWU alum, George Kambouroglou, who works as a software supervisor at the EU.  We’ve been in touch with George as soon as we learned he was in Brussels, and the ’93 graduate of IWU bent over backward to make sure we had as much information as he could find, and, even though he left with his family for the US this morning, joined us for dinner last night at Café Leon to reminisce about his days as an Acacia/physics major at IWU.

On to Berlin.

From what’s been called Europe’s last “artificial” country—Brussels

I don’t know why I’d not considered going to Brussels before this trip; it’s only an hour and twenty minutes by train from Paris.  It’s also considered the “center of Europe” (so the guide told us) because it’s close to the Netherlands, Berlin, etc.  That’s of course been one of its hazards historically, having been on the invasion route between France (which pummeled the city under Louis XIV) and Germany, which came through Belgium in 1914 and 1939.

Studying the European Union as we were, we had to come here, and in the next two days we will be visiting with officials of the EU.  Today, when we got here from Paris, we got an introduction to the rather lengthy history of the area, which has been “Belgium” since 1830. It’s a kingdom of 10 million people, 20% of whom work for one government or another.  There are three federations within Belgium—the French speakers in the south, the Dutch speakers in the north, and the city of Brussels, where signs are in both French and Dutch. In medieval times, the city was the center of trade—there were over 30 guilds, and for a time, the Low Countries were battled over by Spain and France especially. Charles V (king of Spain, the Holy Roman Empire, etc.) was born here, and Charles Quinz is the name of one of the 1000 beers that are locally brewed, many of ancient duration, and many in monasteries.  The most famous come from the Trappists.

Skipping ahead to the Napoleonic wars, Brussels was awarded at the Congress of Vienna to the Dutch, but in 1830, rebelled successfully, became “Belgium,” and “hired” King Leopold, whose family still rules as King of the Belgians.  The royal family’s palace is enormous, but not really visible from the road; it was the wealth of Leopold II, gained from his personal possession of the Congo, which he ruled personally and ruthlessly, bringing much of the wealth to beautify the city.  He was so ruthless that the Parliament took the colony away from him, though the Belgian Congo continued to exist until 1960 I believe.

The guilds give the city its outstanding central area, a town square with two of my favorite architectural styles: a palace and a town hall that are Gothic (the town hall has a steeple that could be mistaken for a church) and the other buildings, mostly built to house the guilds (the baker, the brewer, etc.), are from the baroque period, stylishly including the gold trimming characteristic of baroque, and resplendent tonight in the setting sun.

Until the 1960s, Belgium was one of the more industrial countries in Europe, possessed as it is of coal.  As such, it was part of the initial organizations—the Coal and Steel Community—that presaged the European Union. Ironically, one of the directives of that community was to phase out the coal industry in Belgium, forcing the country to diversify.

The result has been a country that has turned to government (as I mentioned above, 20% or so of its citizens will be working for one of the government offices here), and to some specialty products like chocolate (for a chocoholic, this place could be deadly), and at least here, tourism.

I think you can see why I wanted to start with being here, because yesterday I was happy as could be in Paris.  That was a million years ago—or at least yesterday.

The day started badly for me because I was convinced I wanted to participate in the bicycle tour de France, or at least as much as I could get early in the morning. There was a bike stand nearby, but for some reason, it would not take the credit cards I had as down payment—the rentals were cheap (about 2$ a day, plus time), but required a $ 150 bike deposit against a credit card.  Annoyed, I went for a walk that resulted in the discovery of a restaurant (more later about that).

Most of the day we spent with an alum, Miranda Crispin, who graduated IWU in 2000 with a degree in musical theater, and for several years afterwards she taught musical theater at colleges in Michigan, Indiana, and Wisconsin.  She realized that what she needed if she wanted to continue her career in teaching was more experience in theater, which led her back to Paris.  I say back here because she came to IWU because she wanted to study abroad, and our university was one of the few which allowed her to travel to France and still graduate on time.

She came back and started a travel company that has been successful, but

With Miranda Crispin (2000)she has also started a musical theater group to bring off- Broadway plays to the City of Lights.  She gave us an unusual look at the life of an expatriate in France, and a different view of the EU (the International Herald Tribune yesterday noted that  French opinion had swung from 60% in favor of the EU a year ago to 40% this year, partly because of the 11% unemployment in France).

She also introduced us to a friend of hers, a young woman from Sydney, Australia, who is working for Radio France doing their English language broadcasts.  She regaled us with stories on how journalism is more opinionated in France than in the English-speaking countries.  One example was of the flight of millionaires from France because of a recently enacted tax increase.  I remember reading about a film actor who renounced his French citizenship in favor of Russian.  She said the headline in the news was roughly, “Good riddance.”  As I said, it was a very different view of life in the European Union!

Professor Pana and I went out to the restaurant I had discovered on my morning walk–in the Place de Vosges, a square that dates to the 1620s, with a covered arcade around it, and a statue of Louis XIII within it.  We went to the Palais Royal restaurant, which was next to the house of Victor Hugo (when he wasn’t living in Brussels), where we had a quintessentially French meal—coq au vin and leg of lamb.

We met the students later for the evening tour of the Seine, and then celebrated a birthday on the trip in French style.  I got to see “Midnight in Paris” and it wasn’t produced by Woody Allen.

One of the culinary treats in Brussels is moule (mussels), and as I told one of our students before we went out for dinner, “You can really get muscles here.”

There were a lot of tips today that we were in a world-class museum.  Here are some that spring to mind:

–          The line for admission goes half way around the block.  That’s for those who were smart enough to reserve via the internet.  The other line goes around the block and then some.  Fortunately, our guide gave us a few tips; get there early and go to the nearby tobacco store that sells tickets. That was almost an oops, too.  Ella and I got to the tobacco store in the Louvre Mall (you read that right) just as the mall opened (8:30) only to discover that we needed cash, and of course the first ATM machine was down.  Happily, there were several others nearby, and so we were able to get the tickets, so that when students joined us at 9:45 we were able to go right in.

–          On your way to the 24 pictures/sculptures on the list you compiled of “must sees,” you spot one or two that are not on the list and a light bulb goes off, “Oh, THIS is where THAT is.”

–          You are in to finding number 12 and three hours have already passed.  Part of it is that the map is largely useless because some corridor is closed for renovation, and like most maps, it’s most useful for people who don’t need a map.

–          You can tell where most of those 24 pictures are because the 8 million people visiting the Louvre today have chosen that time to get in front of you and dawdle while you’re trying to take the picture to prove that, yes, you did see the Mona Lisa (and realize it’s smaller than you thought, and not just because there are a hundred people between you and it)

–          One of the twenty four pictures you had to see is on loan.  If you want to see Delacroix’s Liberty, you’ll have to come back—or go the museum which currently houses it.

–          Your feet start hurting and you realize it’s only four hours, and there are still ten pictures and sculptures left.

–          In the case of the Louvre, you’re so dazzled by the art that you fail to realize that you’re in one of the largest palaces in Europe, one that might have shamed even Versailles had it not been pillaged during the Revolution.  As you sit down and pray for strength, you look up, and, by golly, there’s an enormous ceiling painting that some famous artist had painted just for the Bourbon family to see.

–          You can spend as much time as you want in the bookstore, but no book will capture what you saw; most will be expensive, and all will weigh too much to take home with you.

–          You are inevitably sidetracked by something you didn’t come to see—such as the wonderful  Greek and Egyptian exhibits you did not know the Louvre had—that all of a sudden you realize time is fleeting and you have 8 other museums, possibly today, or else you’ll have to come back to Paris (not all bad!).

I think you get the picture, which is what you should do at an art museum. The building is a treat, having been the home of one of the richest kings in Europe at a time when monarchs could spend the country’s wealth on themselves (wasn’t it Louis XIV who declared, “I am the state?” ) and like the Bourbons, whose former palace became an art museum, the Romanovs in St. Petersburg saw (those who survived that revolution) their Winter Palace turned into an art museum—the Hermitage.

Most of the traffic in the Louvre, not surprisingly, was in the European section, where it has a strong holding in pictures of and about the French Revolution (not the collection of the Bourbons!)—Ingres and David and Delacroix, for example, with the famous painting of Napoleon’s coronation ala Charlamagne, where I think he took the crown from the Pope and put it on his own head.

People scattered in the afternoon, but there was at least one more museum I had to see, and while it doesn’t qualify as a “world-class” museum using the criteria I ascribed above, and I’m glad it didn’t have the tour buses in front, the Guimet museum should be on the list of every Asianist who comes to Paris.

The chief attraction for me is the “largest Cambodian art display outside of Cambodia.”  Since Cambodia was part of French Indochina, and the French were into archaeology, some of the artifacts “came from Cambodia” (imagine the passive voice—came on their own?) to this wonderful museum.  A naga (snake, the protector of the Buddha) with a giant churning the sea of milk greets you; it used to be in Angkor Wat.

The museum has an outstanding collection of other Southeast Asian countries’ artifacts, including India, Indonesia, the former French Indochina, Burma, Japan, and China.  Having been to many of the places from which the art came to the Guimet, I could picture the statues in Pribanam or Borobudur in Indonesia, the Yungang caves in China (I was there last year), and so forth.  The temporary exhibit was an outstanding collection of Bronze Age Chinese treasures—all the collection of one man.  It was really worth my time.

I have to confess this is also an exciting city for foodies and for culture, and Professor Pana and I have been doing our best to savor both.  Last night we wandered into a delightful arrondissement next to ours, Marais, with narrow streets, local cafes, and nary a tourist/tour bus.  We went to a concert in an Armenian Catholic church (Armenia was the first country to embrace Christianity) that seemed in need of the increased revenue brought in by a soprano and a pianist performing before a crowd equally divided between people who saw the concert was on a donation basis, and the duo’s friends from the conservatory.  We stopped in a local bistro for dinner.  Tonight we went with a few students to St. Chappelle, another Gothic Church near Notre Dame for another concert, one that is probably replicated in most European cities—with Pachelbel’s canon and Vivaldi’s Four Seasons.  It was set in a church that might have had more stained glass (1113) than any church I have ever seen.  Dinner was at a café—with Margret du Canard (look that up) as the main entrée.

There is only one Paris, and tomorrow has our business visits—and our last full day, unfortunately.