Den Haag

In Roberto Saviano's book 'Gomorrah' he makes the claim that the Port of Naples handles ‘20 percent of the value of Italian textile imports from China, but 70 percent of the quantity’. This is by way of saying that Naples is the great smuggler’s port of Europe. Yesterday we were at the Port of Rotterdam. We heard legal discussion on maritime arbitration and carriage of goods issues and the resolution of liability disputes. And we had an impressive overview of the whole operation from the Port Authority before touring the man-made canals to see the vast container towers for ourselves. There was no mention of smuggling. It was interesting to contrast what seemed the orderly world of shipping in The Netherlands with the operation I’ve been reading about in Naples where amongst all the other macabre pursuits of organised crimes it’s possible to have your frozen body packed into a container and shipped back to China for burial (illegally of course).

As you can see I’m now at the pointy end of my time away, and a bit strung out by the amount of eating, drinking, chatting, sight-seeing and ‘exchanges of ideas’ that the last few days have consisted of. But as ever with the IALL conferences it’s been good. Amongst our speakers have been law professors, judges and historians. We’ve sat in the Court of Arbitration and the International Court of Justice and taken a Port Cruise aboard a splendid floating palace of snacks and drinks and been received in the Burger Zeal (City Hall) in Rotterdam. Tonight we go to the very grand Societeit De Witte in the heart of the ‘old City’. For this I have brought my pearls!

Although I personally haven’t sampled any of the ‘cigarettes’ which can be bought across the street at the local coffee house, one of our number has. A disappointment apparently; about on a par with smoking a Drum rollie. Perhaps the (not exactly) legal nature of dope here could be a trade-off with its milder form. And the availability of this stuff has lessened some drug related problems in Holland. Euthanasia is the other great topic which has come up for discussion both amongst our speakers, and amongst ourselves. We were addressed by Eugene Sutorius, the Dr Nitschke of The Netherlands. In the past he acted as counsel defending doctors on trial for so-called assistant suicide. But with voluntary euthanasia in existence since the ‘Termination of life on Request and Assisted Suicide Act 2002’ he now advocates an ‘out of free will’ amendment to the requirements of the Act (which seems quite close to our own fleeting NT Act). That is he aims at giving the right of citizens (over 70) to medical assistance in ending it all, without needing to meet the medical requirements of the existing Act. This seems a melancholy end to choose.

This morning I'm cutting class to go to the Mauritshuis - lots of Rembrandts, Jan Steens and Vermeers there (including Girl with the Pearl Earring).   Not sure if I'll have time to add more so vaarwel my friends, until we meet again en blog.

Seven swans a swimming

Last night after dinner we toured the nabe (Amsterdam Central), which meant joining a massive throng of tourists circulating around the canals. I suppose there was a residual charm about the buildings (old and quaint) and the swans (beautiful and numerous). But the window girls were a disappointment, even though waxed and plucked and tanned and clad in ever more amazingly tiny bits of cloth. But frankly it was all a bit samey. I guess blokes are happy just to gawp on by, but I was looking for a little more of a narrative beyond the hand poised at the door handle in expectation of a customer (YOU!) stepping into their looking-glass world. I had a good stare into the cells. There’s a narrow bed with a towel folded upon it and a loo exactly like a prison cell. No doubt there’s also an eftpos machine and a till. But a lot of the beauties were so openly bored they were yakking on their cell phones, just like shop assistants in department stores when all you want is a helping-hand. (‘Sorry to interrupt your LIFE but I’d like a little relief if it’s not too much trouble.’) There wasn’t quite enough light for my little camera but I took a few pix anyway, and that encouraged a door or two to open on my behalf. But not caring to mix my pleasures I declined all offers. We did see one man go through the pink doorway with his chosen one. I suppose they were negotiating terms. But it was all a bit over-populated and, well, tawdry. There. Now I’ve said it.

[View from my window at night]

The hotel I’m staying at is one of the ‘railway’ hotels, just across the canal from Central Station. I thought it might be a bit of a ‘frat’ house when I got here, because of the huge number of yoof swilling around out in the street.

The non-stop blend of people, cars, bicycles and trams is chaotic, and a little frightening. A woman hit by something (hopefully not a tram) was sitting in the road surrounded by ambos as I dragged my luggage through the huge central station entrance. I copped a bit of yelled abuse myself for stepping onto the sacred cycler’s thoroughfare at the wrong time. How it all took me back to the days when walking the river pathway to QUT meant getting a death stare from under every passing helmet. Sometimes those cyclists can go rogue, and then - watch out

I had two intentions when I got here and this morning did one of them and that was to visit Rembrandt House. I even bumped into an Australian acquaintance while I was there, loitering in the great man’s studio.

Rembrandt managed to go broke at the height of his career (created his own one man GFC). He was also was attacked in his kitchen by an enraged mistress seeking better palimony terms. The red light district would have been just the ticket for Rembrandt, but I don’t suppose it was quite so energetic in those days. Anyway I love the paintings he did in his old age, and some of those are viewable at the Rijksmuseum, which I’m hoping to get to tomorrow morning before I take off for Den Haag.

The other thing Rosemary and I planned to do, and actually succeeded in doing was to get together for a rijstaffel and here we are, settling to our first gossip of the season: