Looking towards St. Servaas church in Vrijthof square in Maastricht. 11:00 PM. Photo: JH.

We’re in Maastricht, Netherlands, having arrived late yesterday afternoon, for The European Fine Art Fair known as TEFAF which opens to the public tomorow. Our flight from New York to Amsterdam, scheduled to leave at 10 pm, was delayed by four hours because of “mechanical troubles with the aircraft” (which had been delayed in Amsterdam).

DPC in the airport business lounge.

We were fortunate to be flying Business and therefore had the comfort of the Business lounge which provided a buffet dinner and drinks of all kinds, as well as comfortable chairs (and internet connections) to lessen the stress and inconvenience of the delay. Nevertheless. Although flight delays are an ordinary occurrence these days, as almost anyone who flies knows.

Above and right: On our walk to the gate, we discovered we weren't the only ones waiting for our plane to arrive. Below: Model planes in the lounge with our KLM Boeing 747 taxiing on the runway behind; Breakfast is served on the plane an hour before we land in Amsterdam.

TEFAF may be the greatest of all the world’s fine art and antiques fairs just in terms of scale, size and the museum quality goods that are for sale, the value of which, it is said, now runs into the billions. About 200 dealers come from all over the world and the clientele is just as international. Over the course of the next week or so, hundreds of thousands of people will visit the Fair. Maastricht itself, which is the oldest city in the Netherlands was started by the Romans, is a university town with a healthy corporate population. It survived the Second World War without bombings and is therefore intact with many of its beautifully maintained buildings dating back five and six centuries.

Looking over the city wall at the spires of St. Servaas church on our drive into Maastricht.

Because of its central location -- less than an hour from Belgium and Germany and within driving distance from France -- Maastricht is a weekend destination for a lot of Europeans. It has more restaurants per capita than any other town in Europe. It has wonderful shopping with many attractive art galleries and boutiques for men and women carrying the international luxury brands. The oldest part of town manages the automobile traffic brilliantly so that it is very pedestrian friendly, and there are a lot of cyclists, both young and old. There are lots of outdoor cafes surrounding the squares, as well as ancient churches and cathedrals. It is, in a word, beautiful, and as a mere visitor, it looks like the local citizenry is very happy with their lot -- lots of smiling faces, happy chatter everywhere you go. This is our third year visiting TEFAF and the first night’s walk through the town to get to dinner served to remind what a beautiful and beautifully maintained little city this is. It was cold out. We went for dinner to a bustling little restaurant called Witloof. It is owned, started two years ago, by a man in his late 20s named Ad Fiddelers.

Beef Stew and baked Chicory which we already sampled.

Belgian symbols for men's and women's rooms at the restaurant Witloof in Maastricht.

The fare is Belgian and while not unfamiliar to the American pallette, just different enough to be interesting and tasty. An onion soup that was lighter than we are used to, less cheese, more onion made with a beef broth. Our main course was a beef stew that had been marinated in Belgian beer which gave a slight tangyness to the sauce. It was excellent; accompanied by a salad of baked chicory and cheese, as well as a large collandar of very good Belgian Fries served with sides of mayonnaise and of applesauce (although they don’t call it applesauce).

Clockwise from above left: Angelina Akinci and Farra Rypimi; A big basket of Belgian fries served with mayonnaise and apple sauce; Strawberry soup with lemon ice cream; The placemat depicting a family meal at Ad's, the restaurant's proprietor.

Dessert was a Strawberry Soup surrounding a scoop of Lemon Ice Cream, and also a separate scoop of Ginger Ice Cream. The bill, which included two beers and two (very small) glasses of vodka came to 81 euros which by yesterday’s calculation was about 124 bucks. Last year that same bill -- 81 euros -- would have been about 107 bucks.

Bicycles line most streets in Maastricht.

Peering through the wrought iron gates of the Church of Our Lady at Onze Lieve Vrouwekerk.

It was about eleven o’clock when we made the fifteen minute walk through the mainly empty, cobble-paved streets back to our hotel.

Clockwise from above left: Leaving Witloof, we took a quick look around as most restaurants were closing up for the night.

Vrijthof square, lined with bicycles, the choice mode of transportation in Masstricht.

Looking east across Vrijthof square.

The south entrance of St. Servaas church, a few steps from our hotel, the Kruisheren.

If you want a future darling, first you must get a past. Among the news from New York this morning: one of the top glossies, the toppest, with the most gravitas, is preparing a profile on Veronica Hearst, the widow of Randolph Hearst, who died eight years ago at age 85. This work in progress is being interpreted by some that the knives are out, so to speak, for the widow Hearst, who has not been faring so well financially since her billionaire husband died. As the third wife of the last of William Randolph Hearst’s five media princes, it is well known that when her husband was alive, she was not particularly friendly toward his five daughters. In fact, she made no effort to make it easy for the daughters to see their adored and adoring father. In fact, none of them felt very welcome in their father’s house with Veronica ruling the roost. In fact none them got much chance to even approach the threshold, let alone cross it, while Madame was maitresse de maison. It is also said they are not objecting to the upcoming piece on their father’s widow.   Veronica Hearst Why she was so unfriendly toward her stepdaughters remains a mystery to this day because her husband, their father, was never alienated from his children, or vice versa. Furthermore, the Hearst daughters have always been a close family by today’s standards (and even yesterday’s). Nevertheless, stepmothers will be stepmothers and some, especially the Cinderellas among them, even have their wicked ways. The handsome and once exotically beautiful Mrs. Hearst comes from a mixed European and Middle Eastern background and has been married more than once before. By the time she became Mr. Hearst’s third wife, she was well known in international circles for her feminine charms. There is no doubt that her last husband was under her spell, at least at the time of their meeting. Randolph Hearst died a billionaire in that he was a principal heir to his father’s multi-billion dollar estate, all of which is tied up in a trust that is considered unique in the annals of American estate tax. Created at the time of his death in 1951, its income is available only to blood issue of the late newspaper tycoon, and its principal will be available to their heirs only after the death of the last grandchildren living at the time of his death. There were quite a few grandchildren sired by his five sons and many of them are now middle-aged and still in very good health. So when Randy Hearst died, all that he could leave his widow was whatever he had accumulated from his investments made with his multimillion dollar annual income, but not one thin dime of the fabulous family fortune -- all of which automatically went to his daughters. His widow’s acquisitions included their large apartment at 834 Fifth Avenue (the last one in that building that sold -- two bedrooms -- went for $27 million), and some other real estate, as well as personal contents and private investments. Unfortunately he died just days before the final quarterly check (said to be in the neighborhood of $3 million) of his eight figure annual income was cut, so it went elsewhere. Not long before her husband died, Mrs. Hearst had purchased for $27 million, a palatial mansion on the ocean in Manalpan, just south of Palm Beach, called Villa Venezia which had been built in the 1920s by Harold Stirling Vanderbilt, the youngest child of Alva and Willie K. Vanderbilt. Villa Venezia in Manalpan   Mrs. Hearst’s real estate purchase was controversial at the time because it was known that Mr. Hearst was in no position, health-wise, to commit to such a large real estate investment, and so there were questions wandering around as to just how Mrs. Hearst could or would come up with such a large sum. It later became known that this purchase, made during the so-called sub-prime real estate boom, was the result of some nimble financing which presumed that the boom would go on forever and which, as many of us have since learned the hard way, did not, leaving Mrs Hearst in the (somewhat luxurious) lurch. A couple of weeks ago, it was learned that the palace is in foreclosure, and that Mrs. Hearst had joined the millions of other Americans caught between a rock and a hard place now known as the sub-prime mortgage debacle. Evidently Randolph Hearst had originally intended to leave his wife whatever he could. It has been said that he informed his daughters they would not be receiving much from him personally (although they were the direct heirs to his multi-billion dollar share of the Hearst fortune). However, he evidently changed his mind at the end and each daughter was said to have been left a six-figure sum with directions to purchase something of value and beauty (like jewelry,etc.) for themselves in loving memory of their father. Did this reflect the man’s changing attitude about his wife? Right after his death, his widow quickly shed her weeds, so to speak, when Mrs. Hearst’s name was linked with that of David Rockefeller, yet another elderly surviving son of another American financial legend. This “relationship” however, was mainly something created in (and by) the gullible press and had no reality whatsoever. So now, as the story goes, it would seem that Mrs. Hearst’s fortunes are somewhat dimmed by several strokes of bad luck and timing. Ironically, because of the good nature of her late husband’s daughters, she might have enjoyed their natural generosity toward a kind and loving stepmother. Would that she had only been. So let that be a lesson to those of you out there who follow those golden paths of primrose, that, alas, as they say, all is vanity, and it is often not so fair.