Turfmarkt, Beestenmarkt

Sept. 19-21

We took a slightly different route on Thursday and chanced on the street market.

Actually, we were near the Old Church when Joanna noticed an unfamiliar spire. That’s not the New Church. No, it isn’t.

So we strolled down a narrow alley that led us to a wide street called Brabantse Turfmarkt. It was filled with vendors’ stands under tents. 

We stopped at a stand selling dried fruit and other snacks in bulk. Joanna bought a bag with vegetable chips, almond brittle, and a light, nutty confection whose name I don’t know. We’ve been nibbling out of that bag on and off for the past couple of days.

Joanna asked the vendor if the market is a regular event. He said yes but it is usually set up in the central market square between the New Church and Town Hall.

That’s the area that has been taken over by carnival rides, so the market was here, a short block or two from the usual place.

We weren’t in the market for produce, meat, or other groceries, but we strolled around anyway.

The spire, we found, is on Burgwal, a side street by the Turfmarkt. It is a 19th century building housing a Catholic parish, dedicated to the Virgin Mary.

The name, Maria van Jesse, threw me off a bit, but Wikipedia gives an explanation. The title refers to Mary as the root or sprig of Jesse, the father of King David, who was also one of Mary’s ancestors.

According to the Wiki, Jesus was originally considered the root of Jesse, but then he became identified more as the bloom from the tree. The Latin word for twig, or shoot, is “virga,” which is easily confused with “virgo,” as Mary is usually called.

A short way from the church we found another open space, called the Beestenmarkt. I like this one a lot. It’s ringed with bars and the central square is dedicated to tables.

There’s a funny cow on a pedestal in the middle of the square. The pedestal is marked black and white like a cow’s hide. The cow is in primary red, yellow, and blue.

The site once held a Franciscan monastery, but it disappeared during the Reformation and eventually the space that was left became the site of a cattle auction, until some time in the last century.

It’s here that we got to spend an hour or more engaged in one of the most enjoyable pastimes in Europe. We drank beer—well, I drank beer; Joanna had hot chocolate—at a sidewalk cafe.

This one was the Belgian Beer Cafe Belvedere. And the view was truly beautiful. We sat across the street from the square, which is shaded by huge plane trees. The buildings are of various ages. Some could be 300 years old or more.

Joanna took the photo of the day, Harry doing what he does best, unwinding at a table in front of a glass of beer. 

Besides the primary colored cow on the cow-colored pedestal, there is a strange drawing on the pavement in the Cattle Market. It’s a picture of a painter drawing various subjects, but he has a long head. 

Footprints on the sidewalk show where you are supposed to stand. We tried it, but couldn’t get the joke.

Then a couple came along and photographed the painting. The man showed us the result. You can’t see it with your unaided eye, but a camera can uncover the illusion. The painter’s head appears to emerge from the pavement. 

Later we went to dinner at Lef, a restaurant across from the hotel. We had a grilled turbot, which was fun, and a dish of cous-cous with vegetables. Then we called it a day.

We enjoyed the Belvedere so much that we decided to spend our last afternoon in Delft there.

We strolled along the canal, admired the swans, snapped shots of the New Church spire—all the usual stuff. Then it was time for a pint.

So, with all the unshakable confidence of the uninformed, I led Joanna to some place in the wrong direction.

I had to get my tourist map out and look for Brabantse Turfmarkt. I had been there yesterday and had forgotten the way. Oh, the humiliation.

But we found it. We took a table outside the Cafe Belvedere and ordered sandwiches. Joanna had a burger with cheese and bacon, which she said was right up there with the artery-clogging number she had at Vortex in Atlanta last winter.

I zeroed in on another part of the menu and opted for old cheese with fig compote. 

White bread or brown? Brown bread, please.

It was as terrific as it sounds. So was Joanna’s burger. I know because she needed help finishing it.

After a break for a couple of hours at the hotel, we went out again for a light supper. After those sandwiches, we weren’t in the mood for a full meal. 

We had a caprese salad at Fontanella, near the hotel.

Saturday, we were due to check out at 11. We left the bags at the hotel to go to the curio market, which was being held near the Old Church.

Joanna bought a silver wire loop that fits around her neck to hold a pendant.

It’s funny. There was a time I’d have gotten a kick out of looking at all this curious stuff—everything from old 45 rpm records to crucifixes. Now all I see is clutter—I guess because I had to pay so much to have my house cleared out when I sold it.

We took a cab to the train station. We might have taken the tram, but I didn’t want to lug the bags.

The ticket machine wouldn’t accept my card because it don’t have a PIN. Get this: I had to pay in coins—56 euros, one at a time, for two tickets.

That said, I still hold that European trains are far and away one of the best ways to go. They make American trains look like a joke.

After we left Delft, we had to change about half way to Antwerp at a station called Breda. We ran into a problem there because of work on the tracks. 

The trains to Antwerp had been rescheduled, but there was no way for us to know that.

We saw that one, due to leave at 2:25, was canceled. That was confusing. According to a board downstairs, the train was supposed to leave at 2:42.

We found some help below. We asked some railroad people about the discrepancy and the cancellation.

That’s when we learned about the rescheduling. Even the track number was different from the normal Saturday track. Good thing we asked.

We wound up getting to the Holiday Inn Express in Antwerp around 4:30.

The hotel is a short distance—pretty much walking distance—from the historic old center of town. But we are in a modern Euro neighborhood that actually reminds us of the area where we stayed in Geneva a year ago.

We went to Da Giovanni, an Italian restaurant not far from the hotel, for osso bucco. That stuff is so good. You pull apart the meat with your fork.

We had that with an ample supply of Montepulciano d’Abruzzo.

We finished with tiramasu and a glass of nero d’Avola.

A nice way to end a day of frustrating travel.

Be well, all, and don’t forget to check your directions.

Harry