Diamonds and Pearls – Prince 1991

I had never been to the Netherlands, and now in one cold, grey and rainy day I have discovered three of this waterlogged nation’s most famous cities; Amsterdam, Delft and The Hague. A wholly unholy trinity that could be best described as Sex, Mud and Politics. 

Few people apart from themselves know that the Dutch discovered Australia. Over two hundred years ago, Van Diemen, who had obviously had an argument with his wife and wished to distance himself from her beyond the usual limit of the barn, set off from Holland to find the farthermost point he could attain in a wooden boat while wearing wooden shoes. He got there, he saw Tasmania^, and then distraught to discover it inhabited by small satanic marsupials that scream and inbred bogans with a penchant for flannelette shirts, he got back in his boat and went off to find something more interesting.

Indonesia.

That Scampi Stuffed Yorkshire man James Cook would ultimately lay claim to the Great Southern Land. The English invaded and turned it into their island prison. More fool Mr Van Diemen who had to settle for sugar, the death sentence for cannabis importation‡ and Nasi Goreng while Cook got deadly spiders, deadly jellyfish and deadly snakes.

  The omnipresent Stag Do.

Given I do not partake of the two main services offered in Amsterdam, you will have to settle for my ramblings about canals, narrow buildings and paintings. But just one word.

That exemplary specimen of masculinity that woke up one day after a particularly harrowing argument with his wife and said, not only will I make it legal for women to sell their bodies for sex in an effort to earn a living in a patriarchal society that provides her with no viable alternative…but she should then subject herself to the humiliation of perching upon a bar stool, two stripes of fluorescent Lycra protecting her modesty, in a street level shop window, for the viewing pleasure and carnal delights of drunken tourists trundling by…on organised walking tours…should be hung in a town square gimp style so that we the apple-tempting women can laugh at the diminutive stature of his penis.

I will leave you to guess at my sentiments regarding Amsterdam’s most renowned tourist attraction. But rather than obsess over Girls with Pearl Necklaces, I was after a decidedly classier lass, she of the Pearl Earring.

Waking up at twenty to sparrow’s fart*, so I could catch a train to Delft, home of Johannes Vermeer# and his Girl with a Pearl, is never an easy start to a weekend morning. It is an even worse start when you arrive in the serene postcard perfect town of Delft and discover that the Girl, her Pearl, and all related items are in fact up the road next door to the International War Crimes Tribunal in The Hague.

Delft - minus Colin

As it was, I was in Delft, at least until I could figure out how to get out of there, so I made the best of it. And Delft, a beautiful town suspended between bridges and hovering upon canals is famous for only one thing apart from a smouldering Mr Darcy-esque Painter – blue and white pottery.

So let’s talk about the Pottery.

 

Nothing like repetition to drive home your point.

Is it handmade by golden haired virgins who eat truffles, abalone, oysters and saffron suspended with yellow diamond and platinum harnesses over beds lain with silk who use the hair of albino minks to paint crushed lapis lazuli upon ivory baked clay…? No it is a cup made of dirt mixed with water. Then why is it so damned expensive?

It is not a bionic ear, an aerospatial computer or an unbelievable thigh deflator, it is after all a milk jug or a plate or a dodgy bathroom tile depicting a boy pissing onto a sheep or some other such nothingness. So why is it worth it’s weight in uranium?

Spending almost as much on the stuff (I love you Motherbear) as I would have if I actually bought Johannes’ Bejewelled Girl, I left Delft, broken with disappointment and also just plain broke, in search of the Girl and just maybe, only because he would actually hurl his stunningly beautiful Italian wife into a canal and love me forever if only he met little old me, Mr Colin Firth himself. Or maybe not.

10 minutes and I was in The Hague.

  Beatrix' House

I have to imagine that Beatrix, the geriatric Queen of the Netherlands (not Beatrix ‘Peter Rabbit’ Potter) is as averse to having the netherlands of fluoro-backlit semi-clad Estonians thrust onto her retinas as I am, and that is why she chooses to reside in THE Hague. I have to imagine that Dutch politicians, when not engaged in the bloodsport that is extreme-right-fundamentalism would be too tempted by the semi-naked wonderland in Amsterdam and so they made THE Hague home to Dutch Parliament. I have to also imagine that when not burning alive or raping and pillaging the opposing tribe, that war criminals might too be overly desirous to take off the edge with a spliff, and so Goran and his mates are also sent to be tried in THE Hague.

Who cares!

THE Hague is so out of this world and from the pages of a Grimm Fairytale Bee-you-tee-ful that I am glad the Girl was not in Delft if only so I could wander the streets of this place so important it gets its own definite THE article. I am only sorry that the powers of God, Buddha and Zeus himself united to throw all the water on earth upon this picturesque place, as I happened to be partaking of said aimless wandering and so I took refuge in the Mauritshuis.

  Maurice's House

The Mauritshuis, or Mazza’s Joint for those of you who don’t read Dutch, is a tiny collection of Dutch artwork adorning the walls of a classical princely house in The Hague, home to the Paris Hilton of Flemish Portraits, Girl with the Pearl Earring, and several oeuvres from Holbein, Brueghel, Steen and the Mick Jagger of the Flemish School, Rembrandt. Whatever you like, I loved this little gallery. It was not too busy; you could actually see every single one of the paintings on the walls and there was just enough to see to make a visit worthwhile, while not being so overstuffed with Rockstars that you needed to lie down afterwards. Uffizi, Louvre, are you listening?

My unplanned visit to THE Hague will certainly not be the last.

Someone Else's House

Back to the Dam, her girls without pearls, Heineken in Buckets, diamond factories and an explosion of red light sins for the senses, and don’t even get me started on the Cheese!

Do Good what?

Men Ogle - Women Jiggle

 

 

 

 

 

^ Van Diemen’s Land is the ancient name of Tasmania and in fact New Holland was the first name of Australia

‡Is the irony lost on every one but me that the most famous criminal in the prison of the former Dutch colony, Bali, is an Australian Beauty Therapist who stuffed Amsterdam’s finest flower, cannabis, into her Boogie-Board bag?

*For the French - Sparrow’s Fart is crude and disgusting Australian slang for ‘very early in the morning’

#Yes, I only care because Colin Firth played him in the movie. But Vermeer is also a master of light and shade upon canvas in the style of Caravaggio and Rafael, my favourite non-British bonnet-drama smouldering actor painters

Comments

[Tonybullant@gmail.com]

Entertaining and informative............. as always.

[MM]

Thanks UT..glad to keep the family tradition of 'taking the piss' alive in the North