My own little Camino de Santiago!

If there was one thing worth doing at this time was to sit down and listen to all the stories of the pilgrims around me. The whole area in front of the cathedral was packed by hundreds of pilgrims who had walked a long way just to come here at Santiago de Compostela. 

 The pouring rain was not strong enough to disperse them away. Nothing will dampen their spirits. They survived and conquered their fears. They all came from different directions, nationalities from all over the world, either by walking or by bike, fulfilling their promises of doing the Camino de Santiago.

Camino de Santiago (Way of St James) is one of the most important pilgrimages in Europe. While the proverbial saying about all roads leading to Rome was true, it was also reputed in the olden days that all roads lead to Santiago de Compostela. Indeed, with the throng of well-wishers and pilgrims coming from different parts of the world, Camino de Santiago is slowly gaining its ground as a very important religious journey to the catholic community.

          

Santiago de Compostela

The Way of St James traced back its origins at around 9AD.  A hermit living in the cave saw a bright light emanating from the ground and soon discovered the tomb of the apostle. Words travelled all over Europe and thereafter groups of people peregrinated to reach the town presently called now as Santiago de Compostela.

The town grew bigger and houses were built around the tomb. A small chapel was built and demolished thereafter for a bigger one. Still, it couldn’t accommodate the tons of pilgrims coming into the city that King Alfonso of Spain ordered to build a bigger Cathedral. The Moors came and destroyed the church but the occupation was shortlived. The Crusades came and drove the Moors away. It was for this reason that so many religious relics were kept and protected in this little town of Santiago de Compostela.

The Apostle

St James found himself a home in this region of Galicia. He preached the gospel and converted the population into Christianity. This was, after all, the marching order from Jesus Christ. When He rose from the dead, He commanded all his disciples to spread out and tell the people about the good news. St James did his duty and built a church in this side of the world. But when he returned to the present day Palestine, he was arrested and condemned to death. Two of his loyal companions stole his body and sailed out into the Mediterranean and brought him back to Galicia. They gave him a proper burial and continued his work of preaching the gospel. This was around 3AD. 

Among the many saints who also have travelled and performed the Camino was St Francis of Assisi. A beautiful story about his Camino was that St Francis lived in a poor man’s house for months. When St Francis was about to leave, he told the poor man to build a church for him. He told him that a treasure full of gold was to be found on a specific place that would be used in setting up the church. The poor old man did what he was told and went to the nearby monastery to buy a piece of land. Truth be told, the poor man was able to build a church but he didn’t own the land. It was leased to him until the day he died.

The Pilgrimage

For so many hundred years, Santiago de Compostela continued to invite pilgrims from all over the world.

There are three routes nowadays that lead to Compostela. The first one is from France, a distance of approx. 700kms to reach Santiago. They call this one as the French way. The second one is what they call as the English way. This one starts from the southernmost part of Spain, say; Sevilla and walking up north to Santiago de Compostela. The third one which is slowly gaining some popularity is the Portuguese way. This commences from the southernmost part of Portugal up to the north and crossing the border to Santiago.

As times are changing, so are the ways in getting there. A new way of doing the Camino is by bicycle. The camino by bike could be a pilgrimage version of the Tour de France. The only difference is that no cameras are following you while you take the road less travelled by. Not only that you have to be physically fit but spiritually too as the road could be treacherous not only for the tires but also to your soul. Of course, there is no comparison really but doing the camino in itself has nothing to do with how strenuous the walk you did but the spirituality behind it.

One particular biker caught my attention. He was alone. He stopped in front of the Cathedral and lovingly took in the grandeur of the edifice. The Cathedral definitely is a work of art. It so massive that the steeple is close to touching the heavens. The most early part of the Cathedral was built in the true Romanesque style. The façade was built decades after, taking in the Gothic movement at that time.

The lone biker was teary-eyed. He kneeled in front of the Cathedral and poured his heart out. He was crying while making the sign of the cross. I was moved. It must have been an ordeal and definitely not an easy task to come here.

The lone biker was just one of the hundred of pilgrims that did the Camino. Pilgrims are very easy to be spotted; so they say. They all carry a stick, a shell, walking boots and raincoat. And in addition, according to my local friend; they should be limping too.  A friendly joke just to show you the distance that manifested on the physical body.

My Little Camino

I first heard of Santiago de Compostela when I was in college. We were so busy arranging pictures for an exhibit about Spain and its cities. The church picture had left an imprint on my brain. It was such a magnificent sight. Soon, in the not-so-distant future, I encountered this place again in 2007. And like a recurring dream, it has manifested again through discussions among friends and acquaintances.

I was in La Coruna at that time but somehow the tour to Santiago was already sold out. I begged to no avail. Looking back, I realized I wasn’t ready at that time. Camino didn’t ring a bell to my consciousness. It was only by accident that I was listening to a couple talking about their camino experience that made me realize what I was missing for so long in my life. I prayed so hard to God to bring me back to Santiago and if it happens, I’ll make sure to get inside the church.

Getting inside the church was not a piece of cake. On an ordinary day like this and raining heavily, I waited for almost an hour before reaching the gate. Everybody wants to attend the afternoon 12 o’clock pilgrim’s mass. My umbrella surrendered to the heavy rains and winds brought the rain from different sides. I could feel the water dancing inside my shoes. My pants were so wet and I kept arranging my shawl. The line was not moving and I was wondering if they’ve closed the gates. I raised my body up and tried to assess where the line was going. My brain was doing a quick math whether if it was still feasible to continue the wait. It seems that I was in the middle and going back from where I started was the same to the distance I was heading to. I decided to stay put and endured the continued onslaught of the rain.

The rain is just an ordinary thing here in the region. Historians posited that the weather was one of the reasons why the Moors did not really fight so hard for Santiago. They couldn’t stand the wet weather. That’s why every pilgrim must be ready with a raincoat or anything that will keep them dry at all times. In fact, an umbrella or a raincoat are just two of the famous souvenir items here in Compostela.

The Church

The Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela can be seen in a mile or two-mile radius. It is such a towering beauty. This beautiful edifice has withstand lots of wars and reconstructions. The moment I went inside, the beautiful altar piece stole my attention. As the mass was ongoing, my eyes followed the contours of the ceilings and slowly looked around my bearings inside and back again on the ceiling, and again on the altar. Everything was ornately designed. I felt like acting on a film, moving in a slow motion, while the camera panned from the priest to the small, brown asian guy, trying to find his spot in a fully congested church.

Inside were hundreds of pilgrims. Tired and weary, they all had a prayer book and from what I can deduced was a reflection booklet. While listening to the priest and singing, their eyes reflected hope, love and peace. This was the culmination of their journey. To attend the mass will be forever imprinted on their minds. Some were lying on the floor while others held hands with their companions.

I wanted to hug them. I wanted to tell them how much I admired their courage. Indeed, change is inevitable and definitely a wonderful thing for those willing to embrace it. I stood among them. Gratitude and submission to His will flowed from my heart. Though it may seemed easy, but coming here to Santiago was almost an impossible feat for someone who used to live in a small town, almost 10,000kms away.

My hometown

Taft, Eastern Samar is my hometown. For those not familiar with my country, this is one of the small towns, down south of the Philippines, facing the Pacific Ocean. Every 25^th of July we celebrate the town’s fiesta in honor to the patron saint, St James. It is the biggest event of the year in this side of the earth. And looking back, I’d only realized how naïve I was to the origins of our beloved patron saint.

St James has been with us since I was born. I grew up, along with my friends and classmates, celebrating his sainthood but never fully understood how he lived. Aside from the different legends how St James protected our town, I knew nothing about his life other than him being one of the disciples. But with my visit to Compostela, I learned so much about his sacrifice and his undying faith in God. I, too, was forever changed and will look now at my town’s fiesta with a renewed faith. A lot more different from what I used to. And every 25^th of July will be a moment of reflection and celebration that once in my life, I was tasked to travel and preach the word of God.

This year was the holy year as the 25^th of July falls on a Sunday. This year commanded the highest number of pilgrims ever recorded in Santiago de Compostela. Though, one can do the Camino any year but everybody seemed to have waited for the holy year. And they say that the next holy year would be in ten years or so. But I wont wait for that. I’m writing this memory as a prelude to my camino. My plan is in the next two years. Money, time and courage are some of the things I have to work out soon.

God’s immense love

My little camino had opened so much in my life. I may not have walked over 100kms but I could say that I had been traveling for years now. Traveling in both the literal and figurative sense of the word. The visit had opened my heart and soul to the immense love and power of God. This has been an answered prayer. It waited some time and prepared me to be the person I am today.

As I went up the staircase in the main altar of the church and hugged the body of St James, I forgot all the prayer requests that I have prepared. I didn’t know what to say. I just stood there and hugged him. A small voice of gratitude came from the inside.  This was more than what I have requested for and I could never express my gratitude enough.

They say that one will never walk alone while doing the camino. All you have to do is trust youself and Him. Everything will just go smoothly as planned. Aside from the ocassional detours and humps, nothing really to be afraid of. Sometimes, it’ll take time. But don’t just lose hope and interest. Soon, you’ll get there and realize how easy it was.  Someday I’ll pray that you’ll live just another camino of your life. And when that happens, it’ll be just memorable and beautiful and overflowing that you have no choice but to share it to the whole world. 

Love Life, Drink Wine and Travel to Bordeaux

Probably the worst thing about traveling is when you were drunk the night before. Or even to put it mildly, a bit intoxicated the previous night and is still feeling that imaginary headache that puts you in a state of neither here nor there kind of feeling. You board the bus and stare blankly at your surroundings and suddenly your eyes start closing. The sounds of the wind outside are very demanding and either they keep you awake or put you to sleep could generate an argument. Though in this case is very helpful to loosen you up.


This is what I am feeling right now. My soul has just left my body and drifted somewhere outside the bus window, flying listlessly into the air, along the northeastern highway from Bordeaux en route to the wine appellation of St. Emilion. Just another wine tour, I hissed. But in all honesty something that I am so looking forward to learn about eight or ten years or so.

Bordeaux is a city of myriad expectations. For one, it can be a place where artistry and beauty can be found in the most simplest of things. For another, it’s a place where one constantly is looking for happiness. And in doing so, one can always hope for the best the following year, simply shrugging one shoulders and moving on with life. And in my brief stay here in the city, I found out that Bordeaux has more to its reputation of a bottled-rich and soul-consuming wine region in the world.



The sound of our local guide disturbs my thoughts. She is so lovable and so passionate about wine. I could hear bits and pieces about the different wine appellations of Bordeaux. Her name is Brigitte. I smiled upon hearing Brigitte Margot. I heard that name before but my wine-enriched memory is having some lapses at the moment-especially if we are talking about names.

Interestingly, she said that wines in France are not labeled according to the name or variety of the grapes. Instead, wine is characterized and labeled by its origins, the chateau where the grape was harvested or simply the region where that particular vineyard belongs to. In the new world; like in the States, Australia perhaps or South Africa, wines are labeled according its grape varieties. Hence most of us would be looking for either Merlot, Cabernet Sauvignon, Malbec, etc. Here in Bordeaux and France in general is different and almost all wines are classified and ranked according to its place of origin or simply put; appellation.



I love wine and coming from a country where wine is not culturally a part of the society, I don’t want to sound like a connoisseur. But it would be helpful for those who view wine as an expensive commodity and something that strips our confidence layer to know that wine is for everyone and not only for those select few. Truth be told, I am intimidated everytime I order wine. I don’t want to be judged as someone who wants to be different or simply someone that knows wine so much. Sometimes its just hard to explain that I simply love that reddish work of art, flowing down my throat and evoking immeasurable emotions. Of course, I choose red wine as example but doesn’t mean that I don’t enjoy white wine or the rose color. Because when I say wine, I mean the encompassing wine. The reddish color, on the other hand, is in both ways unwelcoming and redolent. Ergo, a perfect example!

If you can follow my thoughts, you would soon notice the vast expanse of the Chateau La France, almost 90 hectares of vineyards that belong to Appellation Bordeaux, 20 kms away from the city. The green foliage dominate the horizon and what makes a vineyard appealing to the eyes is its beautiful symmetry in either horizontal and vertical manner. The main house, or in this instance called the ‘Chateau’ is built in the middle of the vineyards. That is just simply dramatic and often than not elicit warm feelings just by looking at it. Chateau La France produces almost 300,000 bottles of red wine, mostly merlot and cavernet sauvignon or a mixed of both.



“ Do you get grapes from other vineyards in case you need more?”, a gentleman from Michigan asked the cellar master yesterday while we were looking at hundreds of barrels stored in Chateau la France. Those barrels were from last year’s harvest. We visited this vineyard not only it was accessible fom Bordeaux but also for its vast area of vineyards. Of course, its one of the famous appellation in Bordeaux and highly rated one at that. The cellar master answered coyly that with their vineyards alone of almost 90 hectares, getting grapes from other vineyards was really beyond of their wildest imaginations. But he said with some note of seriousness that the French government is very strict when it comes to winemaking. Wine is strictly categorized thus getting more grapes from other vineyards is a no-no both in literal and figurative sense of the word. It’s illegal, to put it mildly.

As we continue driving along the northeastern highway en route to St Emilion, I notice an empty Mcdonalds on the side of the highway. The entrepreneur side of me asks why they built a highly commercialized commodity on a side of a street where the surrounding areas are vineyards. I felt sadness upon seeing the establishment. This is the third time I notice this franchise. That’s just wrong, I thought. Of course, my opinion is unwarranted but maybe I am only seeing the tip of the iceberg. Nevertheless, the wine region surrounding Bordeaux are far scattered and most of them facing some major corporate and family changes. As the cellar master said, having a vineyard takes so much of your life and maintaining one requires devotion and a strong heart.



The St Emilion appellation is one of the most famous wine prospect in the Bordeaux wine region. The town itself is seven hundred years old and it’s evident with the discovery of the monolothic church. The names comes from a hermit called Emilion that resides in one of the natural caves and only after his death that the town flourishes. As we’re getting closer to the town, I feel so excited and undeniably bubbly. I just couldn’t believe that I am travelling in this side of the world.

My love affair with wine started almost 8 years ago when I went for a three month scholarship to Italy. We were introduced to the Sicilian wine and was served almost every night in the table. I am smiling while writing this as I just remember how cautious I was back then. It was an awkward feeling holding a particular wine glass and observing my colleagues drink their wines. Slowly, I got accustomed to it and got so wasted just by drinking wine one night with the Filipino community. My initial reaction the next morning was shock and blurted out “ that was a strong wine and never thought I’ll ever get drunk”. Of course, as time goes by I got to attend seminars and discussions about wine, holding a glass and so forth.



Moving forward a bit in the early part of 2006, I came home from Chile with 4 bottles of award-winning wines. How did I know? Because it was written on the label and Chile is so famous for its red wines. They were so expensive that I just force the memory into oblivion on how much I paid at that time. But what made me look back was the fact that I never got the chance to taste those wines. My mom and my sister just decided to have a wine night and called me the next morning that they consumed those bottles. I was just beyond words upon hearing it that the surrounding Taal Volcano fade slowly from the distance. I was about to ask if they had a good time but my mom interrupted me by saying how much she loved it. From then on, she was always looking forward to buying at least one bottle per month. It was out of the budget really but somehow she managed to squeeze it.



A smile appears while this memory keeps on playing on my mind. I guess, this love affair with wine has been genetically passed by my wine-loving mother. The thought of bringing back wine from this appellation is so strong and I could just imagine the happiness on her face. Just to let you know that again I’ll be paying a fortune but what the heck, happiness comes to those who search for it.

The Chateau Couspaude belongs to the famous Appellation St Emilion Grand Cru. It is beautifully located just outside the old town of St Emilion. This is smaller from Chateau La France and only produces thirty thousand bottles a year. I notice right away the presence of roses in the beginning of the symmetrically arranged vineyard. The owner gladly responded that roses are very good indicators of pests and vine diseases. If the rose plant is being afflicted with certain kind of pests, then the vines would follow in a matter of days. That of course will give the cellar master some time to prevent that from happening. I was just impressed how roses play an important role here and not just a colorful piece of decoration.

But what struck a chord in my heart is how the vine grows and give so much love to its fruits. The cellar master is a bit emotional on this part while he gives us an overview of growing grapes. This is the reason why I started writing this article on my mind. Amidst the different wine seminars that I had attended in the past, this one gives us the heart to understanding wines.



Wine is a living product according to him. The vine is a generous plant like mothers or parents in general. They grow easily and even survive in the most direst of situations. The vine roots dig deeper into the soil, almost two or three meters deep only to find nutrients for its fruits. The vine has to suffer for the grapes to be better. Its no wonder to see almost a dying vine with few leaves but a fruit so rich in minerals and other characteristics. This is the best grapes that will give you the best wine. Of course, other factors come to play like temperature, humidity and the type of soil for the vines to grow. But the mere idea on how much struggle the plant has to do in order for its roots to search for food is mind-blowing.



This has been running back and forth in my mind as I continue exploring the barrels of wine in the underground cavern. St Emilion is famous for its wine caverns, an ancient way of storing wine back in the middle ages that said to be a perfect place in keeping the barrels’ humidity and temperature. A vine in addition does not have to bear so much grapes. In fact, it should only bear grapes enough for a bottle of wine. It’s the quality that matters and not the quantity. It’s how rich the grapes that matters the most.



To sum everything up, I come to appreciate life even better. It’s kinda funny to think that I have to suffer just so my life will be better. But it’s true. I have to work hard and even harder to find something good in this life. I can only be good in one thing and I do intend to be best of it. As I am taking a photo of the vineyards, the cellar master’s voice reverberates in my mind. “ It’s not enough that this kind of vine produces good grapes in three locations. You should find only one perfect location among the three. For the best wine doesn’t depend so much on the grape varieties but more so on that one perfect location where that particular grape will perform the most. And when you find it, then you have to plant it, monitor it, check the weather, find the best time to harvest it and pour your heart into it”.

I inhaled the rich smell of the Grand Cru Classe of St Emilion. Against a white cloth you’ll see a semi deep red in color, almost like ruby. You shake the glass a bit before the deep, rich liquid touches your lips. You can taste the wood, others more about the grape. They say that wine is a bottled poetry. For only wine elicits such myriads of sensations from one person to another. And after that, you’ll check the label. Ahhh, it was 1998. Only then you’ll realize how a good year that was!

The City of Hundred Spires- ROUEN, France

One could easily fall in love with the City of Rouen- the capital of the Normandie region and the undisputed city for impressionism. Claude Monet for one has rented an apartment facing the Notre Dame Cathedral and had painted the facade of this beautiful gothic church twelve times. Another master, Camille Pissarro had even called it 'as beautiful as Venice'. Indeed, the city became a laboratory for "new painting' and attracted traveling artists like Paul Huet, Jean-Baptiste Camile Corot, Johan Barthold Jongkind to name a few.




Although the city was heavily bombed during the second World War as pictures of the aftermath were posted inside the Cathedral, still the city maintained its charm as evident of the wondrous works of architecture scattered in the old part. The colorful timber houses along the streets of the old town, the St Maclou Church with the jaw-dropping perfection of gothic architecture in the most flamboyant style, St Ouen Abbey and the magnificent Notre Dame Cathedral towering all over the place made Rouen the City of Hundred Spires.

Overlooking the city from St Catherine, a viewpoint where Monet made one beautiful impressionist painting with only the Cathedral and the St Maclou church visible at that time, one would notice the great expanse and the green forests surrounding the place. A new bridge on the far side, previously named the 6th bridge, was recently renamed as the Gustave Flaubert bridge. A native to Rouen and counted to be one among the greatest Western novelist, Gustave Flaubert had lived on the side of the river Seine while writing the famous Madame Bovary. Rouen was where Joanne D'Arc was burned to death too. A beautiful contemporary church in her memory was erected on the same ground where she was burned to death. Facing from the opposite of the street is a museum dedicated to her life and beautiful waxed structure reenacting that tragic day.

Indeed, the city of Rouen is considered to be a museum town as everywhere you go has always some stories to tell. One thing that made my trip very memorable was my visit to the Musee des Beaux-Arts which had a special exhibition of Monet's impressionist works in Rouen, alongside Pissarro and Gauguin. Indeed, it was such beyond pleasure to see all the 12 works of Monet of the Cathedral's facade being gathered from all over the world. I couldn't contain my excitement as my eyes caressed the Monet's mastepieces, the series of bridges made by Pissarro and Gauguin. This museum of Fine Arts is must see for those visiting Rouen for a day. The paintings in this museum would give you a glimpse of what the city was like during the early 18th century. And through these years, it seemed like nothing has changed except for the new industrial buildings on the outskirts of the city. The River Seine, the churches, the timber houses, the cemetery, the museums-everything within walking distance and no wonder Victor Hugo said when he arrived at Rouen, 'I've seen everything'.
 
I hereby recommend staying in Rouen for a day or two. The city has a lot of things to offer. From shopping to gastronomie, there's always something for everyone. Below are just few pictures of this quaint city and let your eyes be the judge of the city's unique charm.

Amazing Amsterdam

Below are just some pictures I took while wandering around the capital city of the Netherlands.

An Ode to Van Gogh

The bed looked inviting when I came back. The sheets were nicely arranged and my two pillows looked cozy and warm. I decided to lie down and put a pillow behind my legs. My sister was always doing that before going to bed. “My legs need to be relaxed and to prevent varicose veins” she would always tell me. For the first time, I prescribed myself to follow her lead. Tired legs would sound an understatement as I was a bit limping already towards the latter part of the afternoon. After almost 5 hours of long standing and non-stop walking, I heard or could be that I felt one of my veins just broke apart- like an electrical chord that has been worn out over years of excessive use. Maybe exhausted could be a better term or bone-tired. Yes, my body may have had drained itself but my thought was so alive. It seemed that it had awaken from a long slumber and suddenly trying to get out. I closed my eyes momentarily and let it out freely on a cloudless Amsterdam night sky.

Three hours ago, I went out to have some night shots of the city. Excitement level rose to an unprecedented level. This was after all my first night out in Amsterdam where I wouldn’t be worrying much about work and how things would turn out to be if I’d go out. These seemed like two same ideas but there was more to these rather than mere apprehensiveness. I needed to unwind and gather my thoughts. The whole day was just too much information for my not-so-artistic brain. Or maybe, it was just so colorful that really showed so many shades of life. Whatever that was, maybe a walk along the many streets of the city could be my buffer solution. So with a bit of layers and a shawl, I embarked to discover the fuzz that gave this area rather a funky and stoned reputation. This area was the Red Light District.



Coming from the Central Train Station and entering one of those narrow alleyways, I came out to a lively colorful street. Moulin Rouge was shining in that sexy deep red letters in one of the houses. I smiled to myself with the idea of Nicole Kidman as Satine would suddenly emerge from one of the glass doors. Instead was a burly man, dressed in that don’t-mess-with-me kind of black shirt standing in-front of the door. Looking back, I didn’t even remember seeing his eyes and could be that he was wearing black shades too in that smothering dark evening. Following the next house and you’ll see a different strobe of lights, flickering with that kind of trance that your brain slowly got accustomed into. Reason would tell you to explore and delve more, thus; commanding the neurons on your legs to join the maddening crowd. And before you knew it, you were already inhaling that smooth smell of cut-grass, slightly-burnt aroma, slowly whisking you off to another street and then go on for the next one, walking like an angel around the lively and dreamlike prospect.



Pause and stop. And maybe rewind a bit further and you’d see me walking towards the Museum district. I just passed the former Heineken Brewery which now stood as a museum. My thought was just so excited to tell you the concoction I’ve made inside the brewery. A bit pricey though but good enough to give me that chance of brewing my own beer. Time was around 2pm and I knew where I was heading to. The Van Gogh Museum. My hands were looking and trying to feel something. Yes, I remembered that I only have 10 euros and urgently looking for a money changer. Four euros and some more maybe for lunch. Darn, I was hungry then. So many damn reasons for converting my hard-earned dollars into euros.

It seemed like an eternity before I finally purchased my ticket. Contrary to what I’ve heard and read before, there was no queue at all. I was even more surprised to note that the lobby was almost deserted. Where are the people? I stood in the middle and quite hesitant to move further. This happened to me so many times. I don’t know whether to eat first before I start my museum trip or whether to purchase the headset. I was so restless and couldn’t gather my thoughts. It was like you were in a middle of highly-charged concentration place and every corner pulls your thoughts. I decided to go to the restroom first. On my way, I couldn’t help but look at the ticket. It has the Sunflowers painting on it. Interesting, I thought.



My fascination with Van Gogh started when I was in high school. I was researching some famous artists and found some snippets of his life story. I was intrigued and after reading it, sadness engulfed me. A friend of mine back then told me why he was not interested anymore to enroll in Fine Arts. ‘Artists just die miserably and I don’t want my family to starve!’ Partly true but an inner voice begged to disagree. Sometimes it’s not anymore about money.



The museum was nicely done. I moved with ease from one painting to another while reading all the notes on the wall. This was a good move for guests without the headsets. Though I am a sucker for information but most of the time, I just enjoyed looking at things and let my mind wandered around. As I moved slowly, I thought of my friend-artist and how much he would love to be here. I’m not an artist and unlike other visitors in the museum, there’s no way for me to tell whether Van Gogh was really good or not. If one painting moved me, that was good enough for me. And true enough, I felt his struggles as an artist and the changes in his paintings through time.



Now I know where most of the visitors were! They were all converged in the second floor and third floor. I’ve noticed a particular middle-aged man of thick glasses who was staring at one of Van Gogh’s famous painting ‘the Potato Eaters’ and slowly retraced his steps back to the other one entitled ‘ the Skull of the Skeleton with Burning Cigarette’. What an odd movement and what was he trying to piece together? I smiled to myself. I was here to admire his paintings and not to observe how people moved from one painting to another. When I finally found myself in front of the ‘Potato Eaters’, it seemed that the world stopped. This was so different from others. The colors, the expressions and how they gathered around the table. I fondly remembered my grandma when I was growing up in the province. My brothers and I couldn’t contain our excitement everytime my grandma would call to us to eat, I prepared something special! Almost the same kind of environment in a faraway land where food was nothing but simple agricultural crops. Enough to last you for the evening till the wee hours of the morning.



Time moved so fast while you are in the museum. You wanted to contain it while admiring the different paintings. I personally liked the Sunflowers, Garden in Montmartre with Lovers and the Portrait with the One-eyed Man. The Almond Blossom was a cute one too and gave me so much hope in this world. This was his gift to his brother Theo on the birth of his nephew. There was one particular painting that struck a chord in me but couldn’t remember the title. Please consider the fact that I was writing this in the middle of the night with an aching body and legs trying to write as many I could possible remember. The painting was a beautiful, beautiful wheatfield and seemed like a ghostly shape loomed out of that beautiful surrounding. The painting was so real that I almost felt it. At some point in our lives, we always feel like finishing things that we started years ago and unfortunately time is always the essence. I believe this was the Wheatfield with a Reaper. Very powerful painting that trancends beyond the human impression.

Excuse me if I had to transport your thoughts again but you are standing right now in front of the Dam Square. Around you are thousands of tourists that flock to this gorgeous city. I saw policemen in horses and that made me smile. Amidst the late afternoon light, they seemed to emit a different kind of light in those brightly-colored neon-green uniforms. I could easily paint them in a style that Van Gogh was so brilliant at-Pointillism. Funny but I saw these police officers again patrolling in the Red Light District. Now that seemed so surreal. I stopped and surveyed the surroundings. People come and go. Some were enjoying the company of their friends, chatting and laughing at the same time. Others were peeking on different stores while the rest were so much in a hurry in a direction that I had no business knowing about. And here I was, simply admiring these fleeting movements and crisscrossing among them on this beautiful solitary Amsterdam evening.



How I wish I’d seen Van Gogh’s Starry, Starry Night. Maybe it was in another museum that I’ll have to visit soon. But for now, I’m slowly liking the idea of having some glow–in-the-dark stars in my ceiling or maybe add some colors in my rather grey and off-the-beaten kind of bedroom. By the way, Van Gogh’s famous Bedroom painting was under extensive restoration and another reason for me to come back again. Maybe then, I could gather some thoughts on what might be the symbolism for his Tree Roots painting. I just feel sometimes that our brains are so capable of doing so many impossible things and beautiful objects are oftentimes constructed with so much pain and heartbreaks.

I opened my eyes again and started writing this piece. I have been to so many places in my life that I kept forgetting them so fast. This will remind me soon about my different impressions on places, the thoughts that came to me and lastly, why travelling could be so beneficial to our soul. Maybe, it is our way of traversing to a different universe where things are shown differently that could help us understand ourselves more. My Van Gogh trip resurrected so many facets of my life. By looking at his paintings would help you see life beyond the irises, sunflowers and cherry blossoms. Or maybe, that was all he wanted us to see in the first place.