In the official 2011 Ghent visitor's guide, the alderman for Culture, Tourism and Festivities begins his welcome to the city with, "The people of Ghent are headstrong and obstinate. If we were not so proud of these labels, we would regard them as faults." To explain, he dedicates a full quarter of the third page of the brochure to the city of "noose-wearers" and their story.
A "noose-wearer" is any Ghent citizen, and the title dates back about 570 years when the city defied one of Emperor Charles' tax increases. In response to their insubordination, the Emperor ordered that the citizens be publicly humiliated, and on May 3rd of that year a procession of Ghent residents were forced to walk barefoot from the town hall to the royal palace, dressed only in a shirt and white-and-black noose.
They were made to kneel and beg the Emperor for mercy and, since that time, the nickname "noose-wearer" has stuck - and been embraced by - Ghent's citizens; enough so that the procession still plays a main role in the city's yearly festival. Further (and to my complete surprise), it's so prevalent that one of the first things my host proudly displayed to me was her noose.
Ghent's insubordinate obstinacy was just as endearing as it was pervasive. Everyone seemed to buy into it. From the tongue-in-cheek description in the visitor's brochure to the pub that hoisted shoes in the air until they got their glasses back, the citizen's were unapologetically themselves, and the vibrant atmosphere hovered between their city's streets and its overcast skies. Even law enforcement got involved.
On Ghent's main "beach," I passed a sign posted to prevent littering. In typical American conservatism, it may have read, "Don't Litter: $100 Fine." Here, however, 20 lines of Flemish listed off a "Mastercard: Priceless" promotion highlighting all of the things a visitor could enjoy for free (which included some pretty provocative activities) and the one thing that they couldn't: missing the waste basket.
Undoubtedly an unintended consequence of the Emperor's edict some six centuries ago, Ghent's attitude still prevails. About 45 minutes southeast, I witnessed another cultural quirk: the capitol city of Brussels literally displaying their comic books. Like the noose, I was unaware of the explanation awaiting me after I pointed to the building below, asking what it was.
The Lombard building, I was informed, is not only one of Brussels' most famous buildings, it's adorned by the famous European instigator, Tintin. An icon since the 1930's, Tintin's adventures and misadventures stemmed from Herge, one of Belgium's foremost cartoonists.
As we continued our vehicular tour downtown, every block appeared to own one of three things: a bakery, chocolate shop or wall painted with a famous Belgian comic strip (and, in most cases, all of them).
Upon further questioning, it was explained to me that one of the most typical new art forms for Belgium is the comic strips. After World War II, most Belgians grew up with Belgian comic strips. There used to be two schools : the French-language comics and the Flemish ones; both have been quite popular and proudly displayed by the city to liven up its sometimes solemn nature. If I wanted more information, Gaelle informed me that I could find it at The Belgian Center for Comic Strip Art.
Though neither of these nuances defined my Belgian experience, they unexpectedly authenticated the trip. It was pretty easy to imagine some of the old architecture before my trip, and I knew that chocolate and beer were big draws. But, cultural niches like prevailing stubbornness and an affinity for cartoons never jumped off the pages of my travel books. They were pleasant surprises, icing on the cake.
Further, they added a touch of humanity. I didn't visit a bunch of bores; these people had personality, easily shared it and I was happy to meet them. More interesting than their architecture that also withstood the test of time, I could see these traits pass through the generations in front of fires, in school courtyards and at festive gatherings.
By choosing to remember their heritage, the men and women of Ghent and Brussels made two cities worth visiting, whether by their plucky insubordination, affinity for a lesser-refined art or just the self-deprecating humor that doesn't mind most of their visitors coming to town to see a little boy peeing.
Thanks, Belgium, for sharing your culture, food, monuments, beer and international appeal. Til next time...
A procession of "noose-wearers" at the yearly festival
A present-day Ghent citizen
Ghent's insubordinate obstinacy was just as endearing as it was pervasive. Everyone seemed to buy into it. From the tongue-in-cheek description in the visitor's brochure to the pub that hoisted shoes in the air until they got their glasses back, the citizen's were unapologetically themselves, and the vibrant atmosphere hovered between their city's streets and its overcast skies. Even law enforcement got involved.
Those who sacrificed shoes to drink brews
Undoubtedly an unintended consequence of the Emperor's edict some six centuries ago, Ghent's attitude still prevails. About 45 minutes southeast, I witnessed another cultural quirk: the capitol city of Brussels literally displaying their comic books. Like the noose, I was unaware of the explanation awaiting me after I pointed to the building below, asking what it was.
Tintin's home
As we continued our vehicular tour downtown, every block appeared to own one of three things: a bakery, chocolate shop or wall painted with a famous Belgian comic strip (and, in most cases, all of them).
And in Ghent too...
Upon further questioning, it was explained to me that one of the most typical new art forms for Belgium is the comic strips. After World War II, most Belgians grew up with Belgian comic strips. There used to be two schools : the French-language comics and the Flemish ones; both have been quite popular and proudly displayed by the city to liven up its sometimes solemn nature. If I wanted more information, Gaelle informed me that I could find it at The Belgian Center for Comic Strip Art.
Though neither of these nuances defined my Belgian experience, they unexpectedly authenticated the trip. It was pretty easy to imagine some of the old architecture before my trip, and I knew that chocolate and beer were big draws. But, cultural niches like prevailing stubbornness and an affinity for cartoons never jumped off the pages of my travel books. They were pleasant surprises, icing on the cake.
Further, they added a touch of humanity. I didn't visit a bunch of bores; these people had personality, easily shared it and I was happy to meet them. More interesting than their architecture that also withstood the test of time, I could see these traits pass through the generations in front of fires, in school courtyards and at festive gatherings.
By choosing to remember their heritage, the men and women of Ghent and Brussels made two cities worth visiting, whether by their plucky insubordination, affinity for a lesser-refined art or just the self-deprecating humor that doesn't mind most of their visitors coming to town to see a little boy peeing.
It must have been graduation day
Amazing- sounds like an outdoor art museum!
ReplyDelete