AMSTERDAM MUSEUMS
5/28/2012
I bought a three day pass to Amsterdam – I AMSTERDAM, costs E60 and allows free unlimited public transportation as well as entry to many museums over a three-day period. These two days are going to be my museum days. Since none opens before 10 am, I can still go through my ritual with The Lake. It is so rejuvenating; I will not give it up one single morning for the entire week, rain or shine, an experience that will change me by the end of the week. I never liked swimming in the cold water when I was younger. the Aegean was and still is one big bathtub anyway, I was too spoiled. I remember concluding one year, the Russian tourists swimming in the Aegean in February or March were insane. That wasn’t my cup of tea until this week by The Lucky Lake. This Alpine, rather North Sea lake and the week in her bosom will become an exposure I never had in my humble swimming history. Wait, I have to take it back. How can I forget my memorable first from Ireland when I had traveled to its west coast with Bill.
The fond memory takes me all the way back to a small beach on the north west coast of the island. It was July, the peak of swimming season in Turkey, thus it must be in Ireland, too, it was an island after all and on the northern hemisphere, surrounded with the Atlantic on all sides. How could I resist swimming? That particular day was the one when the temperature, outside ambient temperature, that is, was just right, the sun was shining, the surf was calm and we were finally on this, one of the rare small sandy beaches. Bill, still cautious in his jeans on the beach, praying silently, I bet, that I’d come back to my senses and give up the idea of swimming. Alas, here I was jumping into the embrace of the Atlantic. For a moment I felt like I was electrocuted. The next, covered with millions of needles outlining the contours of my body, I was convinced one could die of a sensational shock from cold water. And in the next moment I figured out if I didn’t start moving fast, I could become an amorphously shaped ice cube floating toward either Greenland to join an iceberg or better yet to America.
It has always been my instinct to swim toward the horizon once I am in The Water, and that’s what exactly I did off this lovely beach of Ireland on that relatively warm July day. I swam and swam and swam, that’s how it felt. I am sure, though, it wasn’t any more than 5 minutes or so when I decided to turn on my back to see how far I was from Bill. Oh my! Bill was but a tiny dot on the shore, I could recognize him from his dark blue jeans and black shirt, which was his adorable uniform, pretty much all his life. For a moment, I wondered how in the world I could swim that far in such a short lapse of time without flippers. Right the next moment, all my physics and geography came back to me from 3 decades before. My goodness, I was fast on my way to America whether an ice cube or not, within the embrace of the Gulf Stream, or one of its side limbs. I will never forget the silent panic that engulfed me at that moment. One of the bonuses of being a physician is that years teach you to keep your cortex in charge even when storms or hurricanes inside may do their best to call the amygdala to leadership. That skill was the only tool that saved me from the tight grip of the Gulf Stream that day without making a fool out of myself to the entire beach residents. After half an hour of agony trying to break free of whatever undercurrent was carrying me out to the open sea, Bill gradually started growing bigger and bigger, eventually back to his life size. When I finally got out, not only the needles had altogether and long gone, but also my body was boiling over in a soup of adrenalin, hot blood, and shaking muscles, and a touch of disappointment. That would be the end of my daring with the Atlantic at least in Ireland. One more time I longed for the serene, cool not cold, wild but not savage, adorable coves of The Aegean.
It has always been my instinct to swim toward the horizon once I am in The Water, and that’s what exactly I did off this lovely beach of Ireland on that relatively warm July day. I swam and swam and swam, that’s how it felt. I am sure, though, it wasn’t any more than 5 minutes or so when I decided to turn on my back to see how far I was from Bill. Oh my! Bill was but a tiny dot on the shore, I could recognize him from his dark blue jeans and black shirt, which was his adorable uniform, pretty much all his life. For a moment, I wondered how in the world I could swim that far in such a short lapse of time without flippers. Right the next moment, all my physics and geography came back to me from 3 decades before. My goodness, I was fast on my way to America whether an ice cube or not, within the embrace of the Gulf Stream, or one of its side limbs. I will never forget the silent panic that engulfed me at that moment. One of the bonuses of being a physician is that years teach you to keep your cortex in charge even when storms or hurricanes inside may do their best to call the amygdala to leadership. That skill was the only tool that saved me from the tight grip of the Gulf Stream that day without making a fool out of myself to the entire beach residents. After half an hour of agony trying to break free of whatever undercurrent was carrying me out to the open sea, Bill gradually started growing bigger and bigger, eventually back to his life size. When I finally got out, not only the needles had altogether and long gone, but also my body was boiling over in a soup of adrenalin, hot blood, and shaking muscles, and a touch of disappointment. That would be the end of my daring with the Atlantic at least in Ireland. One more time I longed for the serene, cool not cold, wild but not savage, adorable coves of The Aegean.
This lake is different though. It is not scary as the huge Atlantic was. It is as cold, but I can manage the cold now much better than ten years ago, thanks to changing hormonal life, definitely much better than my youth. Having showered with hot, hot water after my chilly bathing in the lake and filled up my belly with a light breakfast, I am now on my way to Amsterdam again. It is overcast, good, in case it rains being in the museums will not be that bad.
This is how Lucky Lake looked like on that very morning, isn't inviting to eternity?
My first stop is Rijks Museum, unfortunately larger wings of the museum are closed for renovation. What is open is still spectacular with lots of Rembrandt, and his contemporaries. One painting for some reason strikes me more powerfully than others. Gerard de Lairesse depicts the myth of Selene and Endymion. Mythology goes: Handsome mortal Endymion was lulled by Zeus into eternal sleep, giving him everlasting youth and beauty. He was kissed to sleep every night by his lover, the moon goddess Selene, who remains faithful to him despite the fact that he would never be Hers again. Cupid, right next to Her is also depicted on the painting, which for some reason stirred in me lots of philosophical, psychological, and humane questions. On the other hand, as famous as he became during and after his time, Rembrandt’s paintings were clearly in the service of the ruling class of his time. And I will learn in two days when I visit his residence, which is now a museum, he had to paint the rich and able in order to have the lifestyle he had to which he ended up succumbing due to his flamboyance and extravagance.
Selene and Endymion
Selene and Endymion
To me, the most impressive art museum was the Van Gogh museum. Hundreds of Van Gogh’s paintings (he painted 900 some throughout his short life) and sketches were such a feast, one that was stimulating mentally, sensually, and psychologically. The story I learned about how Van Gogh’s art was preserved was most impressive. His brother Theo was not only brother to him but also his best friend and support, both financially and professionally. Theo was an art dealer and whatever Van Gogh sold while alive he did so through his brother. However, Theo died shortly after Vincent did, but not before asking his wife Johanna to preserve and collect Vincent’s art and never sell what they already had at hand piece by piece. Johanna turned out to be true to her word and not only collected Van Gogh’s art and preserved them but also triggered Amsterdam elites, which she was somewhat connected to, to establish a museum in his name. Certainly there were self serving motives as well as hopes for giving a wealthy future to her own son, but that doesn’t change the fact that she gave the humanity the gift of Van Gogh and his art.
Two of Van Gogh's famous paintings
Time to go back to Lucky Lake. A beer by the waterway toasting to the setting sun feels like the right thing to do in an hour. Good night Amsterdam, one more time.
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