Amsterdam

 Starry, starry night. Paint your palette blue and grey, Look out on a summer's day, With eyes that know the darkness in my soul. Shadows on the hills, Sketch the trees and the daffodils, Catch the breeze and the winter chills, In colors on the snowy linen land. Now I understand what you tried to say to me, How you suffered for your sanity, How you tried to set them free. They would not listen, they did not know how. Perhaps they'll listen now. Starry, starry night. Flaming flowers that brightly blaze, Swirling clouds in violet haze, Reflect in Vincent's eyes of china blue. Colors changing hue, morning field of amber grain, Weathered faces lined in pain, Are soothed beneath the artist's loving hand. Now I understand what you tried to say to me, How you suffered for your sanity, How you tried to set them free. They would not listen, they did not know how. Perhaps they'll listen now. For they could not love you, But still your love was true. And when no hope was left in sight On that starry, starry night, You took your life, as lovers often do. But I could have told you, Vincent, This world was never meant for one As beautiful as you. Starry, starry night. Portraits hung in empty halls, Frameless head on nameless walls, With eyes that watch the world and can't forget. Like the strangers that you've met, The ragged men in the ragged clothes, The silver thorn of bloody rose, Lie crushed and broken on the virgin snow. Now I think I know what you tried to say to me, How you suffered for your sanity, How you tried to set them free. They would not listen, they're not listening still. Perhaps they never will...

Listening to Don's song about Vincent,

I was transported to my so welcoming imaginary world. It is one of my favourite songs and as soon as he strikes the first notes; I picture my son Anthony.  Not as much as the trapped genius depiction of  Van Gogh in this song, but what he, Vincent considered to be his freedom-his art, his paints!  My son is to me that representation of freedom, a creation that is perfection with colours, shapes, sounds and is perfection to the admiring eyes of the person who captures that essence embedded by the artist. 

He is my butterfly, my Iris, my Sunflower, all colours of the rainbow and more.  As Vincent put it on his letters...... painting with my favourite living colour bright yellow, Anthony is that to me the colour that gives me life.  Images by now were pouring in my mind and a tear slowly slide down my face. I opened my e-mail inbox and looked at her note, “ I am back in Holland let’s meet!”  The e-mail was from my online friend Amy, we met five years earlier and had countless chat nights telling each other almost everything.

  Amy was now living in the Philippines the lucky girl had saved enough money to help her retired back to her natal home with her husband.  We continued talking through letters and send invites to each other to meet.  When she was in Holland, I thought I had a better chance to travel and meet with her but when she moved to the Philippines I knew that it was going to be a little bit difficult. 

She brought a smile to my face when I read she was back in Europe for one month, rapidly I started to look at travel costs, hotel, everything that could make this happening.  I suppose it was meant to be, because as soon as decided to go, another friend of mine called me and without hesitation I asked her “do you want to come to Amsterdam?” Without hesitation she answered “Yes”

So in less than 24 hours we were set to go and visit Amy, I was ever so excited to do this, but also  this trip meant that I was to tick one box on my “wishes list” where written under number 12 is Visit the Van Gogh Museum- Amsterdam. 

We arrived, we got ready for our first day in Amsterdam. At the city centre, Mient a good friend of mine received us with his very own beautiful smile.  We walked a little, eat a lot and have a cigarette or two.  We were in bed by 1 am.  Ready for the next day to meet Amy; we got up quite early, watched the news and the preparations of the “Amsterdam gay pride parade” pink being the colour used, I thought that my beautiful leather pink bag will do tribute and show solidarity.  The call from reception came “ your friend is here for you” I grabbed my handbag and rushed downstairs to meet her, I saw two nice tall good looking men and  Amy was behind them, So like her to be in company of good-looking men, they were her children accompanying her to the big city.

Amy stand up  and I fully appreciated the whole 4 feet 11 inches of my sweet friend, we hugged and hugged and kissed and talked to each other in unison, the happiness was very obvious in our faces.  After that we set up to be in the city.  We went to the Wax Museum and took many pictures with the famous wax figures of Madame Toussad, we enjoyed this very much, then we proceed to see the famous Red Light District where Amy discovered a restaurant called “Kama sutra” displaying an ad for waitresses, the pay was good but we concluded that we were not bendable or elastic enough to take on a demanding job so we moved on in search for a steak house as our stomachs were starting to grumble and asking to be feed.  We found a cosy steak house and went inn, Amy and my companion friend wanted to smoke and we moved from the inside of the restaurant to the outside.

Amy and I were talking and reminiscing about our friendship that I completely forgot that "when in Amsterdam or any big city one must be careful with thieves or pick pocketers", well, I am sure that we were being observed because not 5 minutes of being outside a stranger sat in front of me, I was a little aware but when one of the waiters came outside to move him, This gave me a false sense of security and I took my eyes from the ball, at that exact moment Amy wanted a picture of the two of us, when the picture was taken I turned around and the fellow was gone, so I become again aware of the dangers of the city and wanted to position my handbag safe, but it was too late , the stranger was such an opportunist that it only took him those 5 minutes to steal my handbag.  OH well! I had to report this to the police go over the story, I kept saying "I was stupid ", and the lady officer kept saying that I was not alone that these people are highly trained to steal things, kept re assuring me. I smiled at the officer who looked ever so young to be a police woman, but for some reason I knew that those strong shoulders on her were not just there by mere nature, I am sure she was capable of breaking something with her hands so I continue smiling at her.

My friend Rita who travelled with me to Amsterdam came accompanied by another waiter, and she stayed with me until I signed the papers, the waiter left her with me reassuring me that at my return to the restaurant my food will be cooked and warm.  We signed the police report and walked back where we found Amy flanked again by her tall security guards, she had called her sons to be with her for a while as she awaited our return.

Amy was feeling so gutted that this had happened to me, but I reassured her that it could have happened to anyone and that really, we needed to forget about it and make sure we enjoyed the rest of OUR day which we did.

At 7 pm her children came back to collect her from our hotel and with sad goodbyes I saw my friend Amy walking accompanied by her children and in my mind again all memories of her, past and present felt firmly imprinted and I smiled as I went up the stairs back to my hotel room.

We talked about the happenings of the day as we showered and changed ready for an evening with Van Gogh, however when at the gates we saw a notice saying that the museum was closed.  Such bad luck! So we went to the reception of the building feeling very sad, we enquired with the security guard and she informed us that the museum will be open early and we walked back to the hotel with smiles after hearing such delightful news. These news were so good and so welcoming as I thought that perhaps it was my last chance to visit the museum as we were to depart the very next day from Amsterdam.  I slept soundly that night, I knew that I had no money, salvo five euros, and the money that we left for the taxi.  I had no resources. Rita was to pay for our breakfast, our lunch and our entries to Van Gogh, I knew that she came to Amsterdam for a reason!! I made a mental note "next time don't forget to bring Rita"

Van Gogh, I love him!  His art is my son; his colours are my son, and what he sees I see in Anthony. I wondered as I stood and admired his painting “Blossoming of an almond tree” I remember this painting clearly. I saw it when I was 17 years of age, and thought of Van Gogh admiring this tree with the heart of a  child, admiring these flowers the whole scene and I thought of how incredible his imagination was, that he captured the living essence of the tree and its flowers, such perfection represented in colours and shapes in a still painting, I thought of him as a child, because I could only imagine children seeing everything as it is, unaltered perfection, as nature always is.   Standing there watching the original the sensation was tremendous, imagine that, the first time I saw a poster copy of his painting and it made me excited and incredible joyous: you cannot imagine what I felt when I saw the original. Looking at the painting I thought of a child, I thought of my son, I thought of starry starry night.

Back in the UK, I looked at the pictures sent to me by Amy, as my camera and the videos were stolen with my handbag, and I thought of my two days in Amsterdam.   Unaltered perfection just as it meant to be.  Van Gogh once said.........”There's an art of lines and colours, but there's an art of words that will last just the same."
 

So this is today's blog from me.

AguaClara August 8 2010