round 9: Witmarsum and Pingjum, and a bit o' the North Sea, Holland.

Question: who has two thumbs and comes home from a walk beet-red, swollen, and covered in hives? Answer: THIS GAL. Got in a quick walk Wednesday afternoon before the rain set in, and saw the youngest lamb I've ever seen, about three minutes from my front door. Went home to get the camera to document the occasion, and by the time I was in my apartment, the aforementioned condition had set in. NO. IDEA. WHY. And who doesn't love a good, spontaneous, allergic reaction with an unknown cause?? Not to worry, it mostly went away within 12 hours. Although my face is still a little swollen, what a delight.

Anyway. This post may be a short one, kids: these towns were tiny. And why did we go there, you might ask? We went to Witmarsum and Pingjum because of Menno Simons, an Anabaptist preacher in the Friesland (far north) territory of what is now Holland. Simons was ordained as a Catholic priest in 1515 or 1516, then moved to Pingjum in order to be the chaplain there. In the course of studying the Bible, in order to resolve his questions concerning transsubstantiation, he came to the conclusion that infant Baptism was not a Biblical concept; after a transfer to neighboring Witmarsum, he came into contact with his first Anabaptists, some of whom were Münsterites. The tragedy in Münster, and its Anabaptist connections, moved Simons in two distinct ways: he rejected the fanaticism and violence of the leaders there, and believed the Münster Anabaptists were extremely misled, but he also admired their conviction and zeal. Reflections on the event, and on his Biblical discoveries, led Simons to a spiritual decision: he left the Catholic church in 1536 and began preaching the Anabaptist doctrine in Holland. His scripture-centric writings, emphasis on nonviolence, and baptism as an adult brought him notoriety, and he was forced to take his beliefs and his ministry on the run. During the course of his travels, he met with Anabaptist and Reform leaders in Holland and Germany, gaining influence and rejuvenating the movement as he went.  His prominence as an Anabaptist teacher during this time is reflected in the name of the Dutch Anabaptists who followed him--the Mennonites. The modern variety of which, as we've learned, are the descendants of the Anabaptists whose trail we've been following north. Naturally, then, we had to go see his home town and the monuments dedicated to him there.

Entering Witmarsum: some houses here have thatched roofs. Seriously.

These little towns are neat, quiet, and postcard-adorable, with their tiny brick houses with colorful shutters, and their canals with bridges and whatnot.

Needed a bathroom and directions to the Menno Simons monument, so we strolled into the Otterbar...the only open place we could find in Witmarsum.

Looks and sounds unappetizing, but don't kid yourselves: double-fried french fries + peanut sauce = crazy delicious. 

The current Mennonite church in Witmarsum, built in the 1960s.

Across the street was this family loading these noisy little goats into trailers.

And then there was this kitteh, whom we first saw rolling in the seashell "gravel" next to the little church in the city. He followed us over to the church for copious pettings.

The "meetinghouse" sculpture was built here in 2008 to honor the founding of the Mennonite community. The variety of shapes and colors represents the varied, but still united, nature of the contemporary Mennonite church.

The Menno Simons monument, built on the site of the hidden church where Simons preached the Anabaptist message (according to tradition). 

And then, to Pingjum! Lovely tree-lined drive.

TOO. CUTE.

YET MORE CHARM.

Wee church in Pingjum.

Another of Menno's hidden churches.

View of Pingjum's main church, from Menno's hidden church.

These guys were watching us quietly until I got a little closer to take a picture...and then they went nuts.

Delicious cappuccino from the kind folks at the Pizzeria Pingjum. The only place open, and the owners were extremely friendly and spoke fluent English.

Mostly flourless chocolate cake at Pizzeria Pingjum. So tasty.

These guys were all over the place, quite literally: Friesian horses. 

Seeing as our tours of Witmarsum and Pingjum combined took under two hours, we decided to go see the North Sea and headed to Zürich. Zürich, Holland, that is. 

Signs in Dutch and in a Frisian dialect (of which, naturally, there are many).

It's the Zürich Bank. 

Climbin' to the North Sea.

Aaaand the North Sea itself.

This being Holland, there are, of course, sheep grazing at the North Sea.

Wee little brick church in Zürich.

The drive to Amsterdam, across this crazy long and straight dike (it's called "Afsluitdijk," if you must know.)

Actual windmills! Four of them! We kept an eye out for these bad boys the whole time we were in the Netherlands, and saw probably no more than 10. (It's all wind turbines now.) (And I apologize for the from-the-car shooting.)

What I'm reading: finished The Sweet Life in Paris, by David Lebovitz, vignettes from his experience moving to Paris and learning about the culture...and since he's a pastry chef, the book includes recipes. Sigh. Every book should be this delightfully written and include some seriously delicious-sounding recipes. (I've only tried one, but it was fantastic: a plum and raspberry custard, super easy to make and quite, quite tasty.) Loved this book. Next up: The Rape of Europa: the Fate of Europe's Treasures in the Third Reich and the Second World War, by Lynn H. Nicholas. I've read a similar book within the last year or so, but having recently been in Berlin and having gone to some serious art museums in the last month has rekindled my interest in the subject. It's a pretty interesting topic and one I'm looking forward to reading about, again.

Next up: Amsterdam. Such an interesting city.

round 8: Münster.

In the course of trying to plan the itinerary for Dad and Mom, several cities were added and/or dropped, but one place remained a constant: Münster, Germany. Dad kept saying it was the site of the single instance of Anabaptist atrocity, and was completely sold on going there, although we had no idea what, if anything, we'd find there. As it turns out, Münster has not lost sight of this particular phase of its history, but has an excellent couple of rooms dedicated to the 'Münster uprising' at its city museum, and oh yeah...THREE PEOPLE-SIZED CAGES HANGING FROM THE BELL TOWER OF ONE OF ITS CHURCHES. Which have been there for the majority of the time since 1536 (!).

Brace yourselves, kids: history ahead.

Beginning in about 1531, the rising popularity of Humanist ideals amongst Reformers, commoners, and (secular) guilds led to a series of peasant uprisings, which helped to create in Münster a refuge for Anabaptists from moderate to extremely radical. Under the protection of the guilds, a few radical Anabaptists gradually "occupied" all formerly Catholic churches within the city; eventually, anyone who wouldn't agree to adult baptism was driven from the city, and the city government was overthrown and claimed by a handful of the-end-times-are-upon-us-so-let's-create-the-"New Jerusalem," full-on crazy-pants* Anabaptists. They seized all power for themselves, essentially abandoned all good tenets of the radical Reformation, and instituted their own reign of terror mandating--among other delights--polygamy, shared distribution of goods, and violent resistance to whomever and whatever (e.g., dissenters, women who refused to marry, art and literature, etc.) they felt merited it. Outside the city walls were the massed Catholic armies of Bishop Franz of Waldeck, who, unamused by the wild-eyed Protestants taking over a portion of his territory, began laying siege to the city in 1534. Impoverished and fearful Anabaptists who had immigrated to the city seeking safety from persecution were trapped inside the city walls, duped into believing that the radicals were divinely inspired and that the kingdom of God on earth would soon arrive. Bands of these men were sent out as "apostles" or as armies to fight against the Bishop, and most perished. It was during this time that Anabaptist (in name only...!)  leader Jan van Leyden declared himself king and took 16 wives, executing all who opposed him, amassing a fortune, and sending the elderly and sick out from the city in order to conserve supplies; and Leyden's cohort Jan Mathijs decided he was Gideon, or some reincarnation thereof, and attempted to fight off the Catholic armies with a band of 30 men...an undertaking which ended in the mounting of Mathijs' head on a pole, paraded around the city as a lesson. The final lesson occurred in June of 1535, when Waldeck's armies were let into the city by a disgruntled and terrified guard; most of the male population of the city was slain, and Leyden and two of his lieutenants were tortured to death. (Torture instruments are on display at the museum in Münster...ick). Their bodies were hung in the cages on St. Lamberti's church as a warning; the bones hung there for 50 years, but the cages are still there. The Anabaptist cause suffered irreparable damage as a result of the Münster episode, even to this day: the Anabaptist label henceforth was associated with the atrocities committed there, the Münster tragedy was taken as cause to persecute even the most moderate of Anabaptists, and the Catholic church seized the opportunity to publicize the uprising in an attempt to wipe out not just Anabaptists but Protestantism as a whole (which, obviously, wasn't terribly successful in the grand scheme of things). Oddly enough, even into the 20th century, the Münster uprising became something of a tourist draw; fiction and poetry were written both about the tragedy and about the Anabaptists (vampires! thieves! and what have you), and candies, liquors, medallions, and other goods were branded with images, names, and dates from the time, all of which portrayed the Wiedertäufer (Anabaptists) as evil figures to be feared. (You are all welcome for this, my condensed version of this story. If you've made it this far, and just can't get enough, here and here are my main sources. History nerds unite!!)

Despite the horror of that particular era, Münster somehow survived and thrived and is now a truly delightful and interesting little city. Quite bustling, in late July, and full of interesting little shops, good restaurants, a university, a palace, and a handful of really old churches. I quite liked it and wished we'd had a little more time there...especially to sample the bratwurst they were grilling on the market square in front of the main cathedral. That was the best-smelling sausage ever.

Gargoyles on St. Lamberti Church (built between 1375 and 1450 AD).

The interior: a little spartan, compared to a few other churches we've seen.

Standing under the pipe organ, looking up. This thing is suspended...no floor support at all.

The exterior of the church, which would be fairly impressive on its own, given its Gothic stylings...

...and then you notice the cages on the bell tower. CREEPY, CREEPY, CREEPY. I'm with Dad on this one: pretty much wherever you are in town, you can see this spire, and it's hard not to look at it. Almost like it's following you.

Lest you think we spent all of our time in churches...Principalmarkt, the street in front of St. Lamberti. Medieval gabled houses and shopping arcades on the square, although most of them had to be reconstructed after WWII. 

Check this out: not one, but two manhole covers celebrating 1200 years of Münster.

This one has the cathedral on it.

European flower markets make my heart happy. FLOWERS, EVERYWHERE.

The city Wine House (1615). 

On the left is the historic Town Hall, where the Treaty of Westphalia was signed to end the Thirty Years' War in 1648 (and parts of the building date as far back as 1250).

Stadthaus tower. Built between 1905 and 1907 and the only remaining part of the city hall dating to that time.

Müenster's cathedral is located inside this interesting little city-within-the-city. This curving wall of shops is the exterior of the interior city. (Get it?)

...and now back to churches. St. Paul's cathedral, inside the city center. Sadly, all closed off for renovations while we were there. (Building started in 1225 and is apparently still going on.) I hear that they have an astronomical clock inside that goes through the year 2071; take that, Mayans.

Überwasser Church, dating back to 1340. A hurricane took the top off of the tower in 1704. This city has heaps of churches, all of them interesting and old.

Münster's palace, built 1767-1787. This particular week, it was hosting both a hybrid car expo and Münster Verwöhnt (Spoiled Münster), a high-end foodie fair. If we hadn't already had dinner reservations at a well-regarded bastion of local Westphalian food, we would have probably dropped loads of money trying all of the food 'n drink here. It was pretty spectacular.

A slightly closer view of the palace, which was currently hosting a graduation party for University of Westphalia-Wilhelm** students. It looked like a good time.

Münster is yet another town I'd like to revisit, if for no other reasons than to see the cathedral and their promenade park around the city center, and to stuff myself silly with whatever good food I can get my hands on. Speaking of which, we had dinner that evening at the Altes Gasthaus Leve, which, according to their website, has been in existence since 1607. That's kinda awesome. The interior is this crazy beerhall-style place, with dark wood-beamed ceilings, walls covered in little blue-and-white tiles, and ceramics and copper/pewter pots hanging all over the place. Very old-school, and the menu was fantastic: we started with a bread basket with schmaltz (it sounds gross, but it tastes so good in spread form!) and a plate of local cheeses (yum!), then Dad had a pork schnitzel with sweet pepper sauce and fries; Mom went for the pork steaks with garlic and rosemary cream sauce, which came with potatoes fried with onions and bacon; Mike had the sausage sampler (complete with bloodwurst, liverwurst, and a handful of other small and local sausages) with sauerkraut; I went for what I thought might be a small-ish/healthy-ish plate of broad beans with ham, which turned out not only to be slathered in some sort of creamy sauce, but also came with an actual slab of ham, and one of bacon, a local sausage, and boiled potatoes (I definitely won for quantity); and we finished everything by splitting a bowl of cherry quark (a sort of curd-like, creamy, super mild cheese) topped with a splash of rum and some pumpernickel bits. Fantastic, heavy, authentic German food...what's not to love?

The next morning we indulged in our hotel's fantastic breakfast (featuring fresh-squoze orange juice, and all manner of fantastic meats, cheeses, breads, jams, fish, fruit, yogurt, cereal...I LOVE EUROPEAN BREAKFAST!), and Mike picked up our rental car for the drive to our next destination: tiny little Pingjum and Witmarsum, practically on the North Sea, in Holland.

Next up: tiny little Pingjum and Witmarsum, practically on the North Sea, in Holland.




*Why yes, that is the correct historical term for them.
**Ok, it's really called the Westfälische Wilhelms-Universität, but that's hard to type.

round 7: Wittenberg.

It's finally raining and cloudy! What a strange thing to be excited about, here in Zürich, the land of  it-rained-all-of-July-and-August-again. We've had roughly three weeks of just the opposite--sunny and hot and extremely humid--and I'm actually relieved, for at least the very short time being, to have a break in the heat. And I think the weather might be playing a small role in our plans to actually stay home this weekend...and with no houseguests, to boot! I can't decide whether that's a good thing: is it all right to indulge in a little bit of quiet time, after 8 weeks of travel and/or hosting people, or are we dropping the ball as Europe-dwellers by not taking advantage of all potential travel time? I think it's just my natural tendency towards laziness and homebodiness (it's a word now, isn't it.) that has me excited about doing nothing.

But back to July! Although my Dad's primary purpose in coming to Europe was to learn more about the Anabaptists, it was unavoidable that we would encounter some mainstream Reformation, as well (e.g., as with Zwingli and company in Zürich). Because Wittenberg was roughly a 45-minute train trip from Berlin, we decided to make a day trip out of it in order to go visit the church where, in 1517, Luther committed arguably the most incendiary act of the nascent Reformation. He nailed his 95 theses to the church door, declaring, among other things, that the sale of indulgences was unbiblical, and claiming that salvation was only bestowed upon man through the grace of God to those who believed in Jesus Christ. Naturally, these ideas did not sit well with the Pope and the Holy Roman Emperor, who had him excommunicated and declared an outlaw. Luckily for Luther, among his patrons was the elector Frederick III of Saxony, who was able to keep him safe from arrest and death at the hands of agents of the Pope and the Emperor. There's much, much more to Luther's story than this, but the most revolutionary act of his life occurred in Wittenberg, and so there we went.

The former Augustinian monastery (and later, partly converted into Luther's home) which was dismantled after the start of the Reformation; Luther first served here as a monk, and after the monastery's dissolution, lived, worked, and lectured here.

The town hall, with some sort of emergency services fair blaring techno music (not kidding) in the market square in front. (Statue of Luther barely visible on the left.) Later, Dad got to see them cut apart a car with the Jaws of Life. NEAT.

The right side of the market square, with the towers of the St. Marien City church (the state-sponsored, "official" Protestant church) visible on the left.

Approaching the castle church of Wittenberg, with its crazy-distinctive tower, and the first line, in German, to the hymn "A Mighty Fortress is Our God--penned by Luther, of course--printed around it. This is where the 95 theses were hung, and where Luther and his Reformer pal Melancthon are buried. (Interesting trivia: It's called "castle church" [Schlosskirche] 'cause it's a portion remains of a castle built here in 1489 by the elector Frederick the Wise.) The church's foundations are over 500 years old, but most of the existing building was constructed in the late 19th century.

Luther's grave in the Schlosskirche.

I don't know why, but it seems that the choir stalls are always the fanciest part of a church. These date to the 19th century and were donated by a handful of the princes of Germany, whose crests they bear.

I'm not going to kid you, the interior of this church was pretty foofy. I guess that's what you have to do when you have a couple of electors and famous Reformers buried there. 

Look at this insane pulpit...not only is it seriously ornate, but the staircase to it goes around and through the stone pillar.

My favorite of the princes' crests on the choir stalls. Who wouldn't think "bug-eyed bull with his tongue sticking out" when designing the family crest?

The so-called "Theses Door," as it is now...a bronze door inscribed with Luther's 95 theses in their original Latin. The original door with the actual nail hole was destroyed in the Seven Years' War (1756-1763).

I thought the city of Wittenberg itself was extremely charming and clean...and with a few unexpected Art Nouveau-y touches. (Ok, we're in Germany...I should start using its proper German name, Jugendstil. It's just so much prettier in French.)

Look! An adorable wee little baby canal! 

Too charming. Although I think all the cleanliness (and restoration of the city church, Melancthon house, etc.) is gearing up for the 500th anniversary in 2017. 

 Crikey. Lunch at the Wittenberger Kartoffelhaus: YES, PLEASE. I think I've finally come around to the realization that the humble potato is, in fact, possibly my favorite food. There's nothing you can do with it that's bad...and so a whole restaurant dedicated to it was exactly in my wheelhouse. Somehow, I managed to not write down what everyone ate here: I just know we started with a plate of flat, fried potato cakes topped with cheese and tomatoes, and then ate the German equivalent of a twice-baked potato, and that my dish (pictured here) involved potatoes and bacon and eggs. It could have benefitted from a slathering of cheese, as well, but that's about the only thing that could have improved it. (Also, we got stuck here during a quick-and-violent rainstorm, so the kind folks at the Wittenberger Kartoffelhaus let us move indoors, and then served me the largest bowl of milk-with-a-splash-of-coffee ["cafe au lait," but more lait than cafe] I've ever seen. Or consumed. That was a lot of dairy.

Post-lunch, we paid a quick visit to the St. Marien City Church, the dual towers of which you can see in two photos above. The front was completely covered in scaffolding, and for some reason, I was unaware that we could take photos inside until we were on our way out 'cause they were closing the place for worship, so this is the best I came out with. Bits of this church date to the 13th century; Luther was married here, and his children baptized here; and he preached here regularly. The gold-ish painting you can see at the left is the 1547 altar piece by Lucas Cranach the Elder, with a panel each for the Lord's Supper, a Baptism, and Confession, featuring Luther, Melancthon, and other Reformers. 

This cool little picture of the castle church that someone painted on an electrical box. Nifty.

What I'm reading: just finished Evening, by Susan Minot. It's fiction, and definitely a departure from my usual light fare, but I think it's good for me to branch out every once in a while. (This is gonna get a bit heavy here, but bear with me for a moment.) I really, really struggle with the idea of loss; just having friends move away, or even losing touch with people I've valued, is difficult for me, and contemplating the idea of anything more significant--the death of someone truly close to me, for example--is enough in and of itself to induce a fluttery panic in my chest and tears in my eyes. I don't like thinking about any of this, and when I do, I cannot even imagine how I might survive loss on that kind of scale. So every now and then, I feel compelled to read things that will convince me that if others can survive these things, then I can, too. (Although I've had Joan Didion's The Year of Magical Thinking on my shelf for a few years now, and can't quite manage to get to it just yet... But I did get through What Remains, by Carole Radziwill, a while back, and an essay here and there in the various autobiographies I've read recently...the reservoirs of strength that people find in themselves never cease to amaze me.) That, along with the fact that this was an interesting premise, convinced me that I should read this book. Anyway. Evening is the in-and-out-of-lucidity recollections of a woman, on her deathbed with cancer, of her multiple marriages, her children, and the one true love of her life, with whom she spent only a weekend. It was maybe not my favorite book of all time, but it kept me reading, with the way it wove together the clear memories and hallucinations within the main character, with the interactions of her children, visitors, and nurse as auxiliary characters. the and it had some really nice passages in it. The surreal bits where she's hallucinating were tough to get through (lots of stream-of-consciousness and running on), but the clear memory portions are extremely descriptive and somewhat sympathetic. While I had a difficult time connecting with the love-at-first-sight affair of the two lovebirds (they were shallow! impulsive! manipulative! but that's just my opinion), this book  is gorgeously written. My favorite part was a brief,  lovely, if slightly sad, stream-of-consciousness remembrance of the marriage proposals of all three of her husbands. It was just beautiful and amazing how much emotion and storytelling the author can pack into one looooong paragraph/run-on sentence. Now that's writing, folks. 

And now, for something lighter. Well, depending on how you prepare it. My favorite things: I feel as though I should tip my hat, here, to the noble potato, given my revelation earlier in this post. Scalloped! Fried! Baked! Mashed! Broiled! Pureed! Stuffed! Topped with just about anything! In stews! Soups! Burritos! Pasta! (See: gnocchi.) With or without skin! (Take that, banana.) With anything, under anything, as a side dish to anything! What's not to love?? Really, a boiled potato is the potato at its most unimpressive, in my opinion, but that's certainly not the potato's fault. Even just a little salt can fix that right up. The potato: always a winner.

Next up: Münster. A lovely, bustling little city with a really dark Anabaptist episode in its past.