Journey to the west

The train rolls out of my little town in Westphalia, and shoots straight and true to the Rhine, then over that fabled bridge at Arnhem, and into the Dutch farm country.

I really enjoy my annual visit to Germany, but there is always a sense of relief, even exhilaration when it comes time to go west.  However Germanic they may be at heart (and they can be plenty Germanic), everything feels different on the Dutch side of the river.  The landscape is more open, the sky seems bigger, and one feels a distinct sense of, what do you call it?  Oh yes, freedom.

It's hard to explain, because modern Germany is one of the most compassionate and egalitarian societies in the history of the world.  Every student at the university I visit has earned their place and attends at minimal cost, regardless of their parents' wealth or social position.  German politics is strictly moderate - displays of extremism are met with strong preemptive measures.

But the Germans are really into rules, and it can be a trial navigating your way through the day without getting the odd look or finger wag.  At no time in Germany do I feel quite myself...I always feel like I am being scrutinized (because I am).  And then there are the ghosts - about thirty generations of Swabian patriarchs looking over my shoulder, modestly interested in how my inevitable errors might blot the family escutcheon.

Usually I ride all the way to Amsterdam Centraal, but this time I hop off at Arena, home of Johann Cruyff's place, and a bunch of finance companies in fine modernist dress:

After dropping my bags at the hotel, I find myself taking a roundabout route toward the city center, generally aiming for Museumplein.  I wasn't really looking forward to the first part of the walk because there's not much...wait, is that a new Rem Koolhaas project?!  Oh hell yes.

Note that Rem is prioritized down below the wellness center and the 200 parking spots.  The Dutch don't like their geniuses getting all above themselves.  Yes, they named Amsterdam Arena for Johan Cruyff...but only after he died.  "Act normal," they like to say, "that's crazy enough."

Walking past the still-imaginary crystal palace Rem has envisioned, I find the entrance to Beatrixpark, a study in good public open space.  It is not monumental, like Central Park, nor elaborately manicured like the big parks in Paris.  Like De Oude Warand in Tilburg, it strikes a balance between the cultivated and the rustic.   It's definitely nice to look at, but if your kid rips a branch off a tree...well, that's probably not too big a deal either.

I'd like to linger, but time's a-wastin' and there's a man I have to meet.

Yep, right where I saw him last year, the self-effacing math professor who took down Alekhine to become the first and last Dutch World Champion of Chess.  I don't exactly know what Max Euwe means to the Dutch, but they don't build monuments to too many people.

(Alekhine should have known better.  His approach was to whip up complications and then use his superior strategic insight and combinatorial capability to emerge with a winning advantage.  Euwe, who played very sound and accurate chess, was not a great person to try this on.

Alekhine at least was smart enough to be a sportsman about it and said "I am proud and happy that the world of chess has a champion 
who is a gentleman. I am proud and happy that this gentleman is honorable. I take this opportunity to officially challenge my opponent [to a rematch - which he won]. And I am happy, without hypocrisy, that if I am not the champion, a Dutchman is the champion.”)

There's a coffee shop here I like, too, but there's no time, Museumplein can't wait.  I genuflect to Max, and move on.

A funny thing about Dutch pronunciation.  You pronounce dijk "dayk", or sometimes "dike".  But the Rijksmuseum is the RICKS Museum, and never ever the REICHS museum.  Not sure where that irregularity in pronunciation originated, but you could make some good guesses.

There's some famous art here, but that's not why I go.  This is why I go:

And if you look over your shoulder...

...Germany is very far away.