Healing Qualities of Music

Why I am consistently amazed at how freeing music can be, I'll never know. Each time it happens, I always think: "Yes, this is what life is about!" And then I promptly forget it until the next time...So, now I'm making sure to write it down.
You see, the thing is, we allow everyday life to barge in and grip us by the throats. It gives us a shake and says, "Don't you know this is reality!? Come on now!" And there we are, trembling at the horror of it, forgetting all the things that make us happy and carefree.

It has been a busy few months here; hectic, sometimes unfulfilling, and often frustrating. So, it was with great joy that I went to see a tribute band play last night - time to let my hair down and indulge in some music. That they are tribute band to The Band and Bob Dylan's music, well, indulgence on a platter, really.

Over the last month I've been so focused on other things (namely trying to settle in a new country...oddly preoccupying) that I've rarely picked up the guitar; though sacrilege in itself, I've also hardly listened to music. It has only been when I'm speeding in trains hither and thither that I've been able to put on my headphones and listen. This last week, over the Christmas period, I discovered loads of great music through Amazon's free music deals. It was such a joy to just sit and listen to new music.

That being said, listening to old favourites is equally soothing. On my most recent foray, I put on what I like to call my "travel songs" - a sort of justification for the life of wanderlust I lead. Two of these are "Into the West," and "Brother Wind" by Tim O'Brien. I met him many years ago at a Folk Festival; a pleasant fellow and such a talented musician. I've devoured all his music since. Anyway, I sat there in the train with a silly grin on my face because I knew, that once again, I was doing what I was meant to do. I have listened to these songs on so many occasions when I was unsure of my decision to "take to the wind" as it were, and each time it has worked out. Nice to be reminded.

As I stood listening last night to The Band's songs being breathed into new life by the tribute band, with me singing along to my favourites, I finally felt reinvigorated. The same shocking feeling as previous times of "Golly, this is the life!" passed through me.  Maybe I don't get out to concerts enough...Anyway, my point is that music is something I desperately enjoy - both the playing and listening of it. It is always such fun to watch a live band, to see how they play, to feel their energy, and to hopefully take a part of that joy of music home with you.

I think part of it is that music has a certain healing quality. It puts things in perspective. Cans things be so monstrous if good music can still be played? It brings all types of hope: can I learn that riff and better my own guitar playing? Beautiful lyrics that whisper of shared experiences; moving melodies that speak their own language that needs no translation.

The ironic thing is that music is part of our everyday lives: we hear it in the car, on advertisements on television, radios at supermarkets, some youth's blaring headphones, damaging their hearing before they even know how to listen, elevators - truly everywhere. And yet, I think it is only when we participate actively with it - that is to say, becoming involved in the music by listening and allowing it to change you in some way, be it mood or whatever, can we really appreciate it.

So, let your troubles slip away - take ten minutes (about two and a half songs!) to listen - I mean really listen to some music, whatever strikes your fancy - and see where it takes you.

My Top Three Films of 2013

Cinemas, theatres, concerts, art galleries, and so on, are all great places to escape from the world a bit. Visiting these places were regular occurrences for me when I was living in Cambridge, England. To lose oneself in a painting or within the depths of music is almost a sort of preservation method. Being able to get away "from it all" and turn the mind to something else besides the drudgery of the everyday is something I both need and relish. To celebrate art in all its wonderous forms is a lovely thing.

For me, the cinema is almost a weakness - much like bookshops. I can hardly pass one without going in. When I travel I usually make a point of checking what films are playing, as foreign cinemas can be quite fun! (Especially when you realise only too late that the entire film has been dubbed...thank you, Germany...). With a cinema, I prefer the small, independent types that are usually cosy and slightly funky. 

Now, here are some of the films that I saw in 2013; I hope you will indulge me by reading on - you never know, there might be something for you! Here are my top three:

Jagten (The Hunt): I will admit I am somewhat obsessed by all things Scandinavian...However this Danish film is incredibly well done. It left me thinking back to it for weeks. The acting was superb and Mads Mikkelsen did a great job in this difficult story. It isn't an easy film (and not because of the subtitles), but the subject matter. Mikkelsen plays a teacher, Lucas, who is accused of indecent actions in a kindergarten. The child who told the lie (yes, the audience knows the entire time that it isn't true, which makes it all the more painful to watch his journey), is the daughter of Lucas' best friend. In a small community, the rumours and mistrust spread like wildfire, and Lucas' life begins to spiral out of control. The film is riveting; true to Danish filming style, the landscape is bleak, and scenes understated. Aficionados of Scandinavian films/tv series will recogonise a few faces.
(I did actually see this in Dec 2012, but it was released in most of the world in 2013...)

The Great Gatsby: I would categorise this as the most surprising film of the year. I went in to it with a "well, we'll see..." feeling, since I loved the book and the first film with Robert Redford (Redford in a cream suit...what's not to like!?). Typical of director Baz Luhrmann, the film had been spiced up with modern music, and in the trailer it looked as if all the debauchery in 1920s New York was being let loose at Gatsby's party. (Which it probably was...) So, I was nervous to say the least. It could be good, or it could be a mistake. For me, it came somewhere in the middle - neither brilliant, nor a mistake, just somewhere happily in between. The casting, I think, was inspired - Leonardo DiCaprio did a wonderful job as Gatsby, and Carey Mulligan played Daisy, Gatsby's former lover, very well indeed. The film is beautifully shot, but the costumes rather hit you over the head, screaming, "This is the 1920s!" Still, beautiful clothes, and anyway, I'm a sucker for well dressed men and jauntily set hats...The modern music somehow worked, and I left the cinema feeling relieved - it hadn't been ruined, merely reinterpreted in a pleasing way. (Unlike the catastrophe that is The Hobbit...)

And finally, perhaps the best for last:

The Book Thief: I saw this film on a cold evening in Washington DC in a lovely little cinema on E Street. I had just come from the Holocaust Museum, making this film all the more poignant. I had read the book years and years ago - the style is odd, and the story dances along an unusual time line, but I flew through it, enjoying it very much. So, as always with books that have been made in to films, I was slightly apprehensive.
With a great cast, the story follows a young German girl called Liesel (the book thief), just before the Second World war, and through the wars years. The story is narrated by the lovely deep timbre voice of Roger Allam - the narrator is in fact Death, which is such a unique perspective. Geoffrey Rush is wonderful as Papa, but the two children who play Liesel and her best friend, Rudy, by far stole the show. They will be ones to watch out for in the future of film-making! What struck me most in both the book and the film is how reading and writing are so important for Liesel, and how she uses this as a weapon. It's as if reading allows her to hold on to humanity. She learns the power of words from Max, the Jewish man they have hiding in the basement. The story is a tear jerker and leaves you thinking - this film really shows the humanity of people... and how it shines through in times of dire inhumanity.

So, these are my top three for 2013 - they are closely followed by Django Unchained (Tarantino doing what he does best!), Star Trek: Into Darkness (Benedict Cumberbatch is a villain with the loveliest voice since Alan Rickman in Die Hard); also Summer in February, mainly for Dan Stevens wearing lots of woolly jumpers and it being about Cornwall's school of painters. And 2013 isn't over yet - I still have more films to see that have come out recently!

I'd certainly recommend these however, and encourage you to see them. If you have seen them, I would be interested to hear your take on them!

Terschelling: A Windswept Island

Windswept beaches and dunes

It is with some alarm when, being unfamiliar with a seafaring community, that people describe the weather in terms of wind. It brings about sudden and terrifying visions, I must say. In the village here on the island of Terschelling one might often hear the word, windkracht, which literally means "wind strength."

What they are referring to is a scale that was devised in the early 1800s - the Beaufort scale. Apparently, it came about because one sailor's take on the breeze can be quite different from another's. It is a subjective thing, I would agree. So, Francis Beaufort devised his scale to make a standardized way of recording the weather out at sea. The scale ranges from 1 - 12: 3 being a 'gentle breeze', 6 being a 'strong breeze', 9 being 'strong gale', and 12 being 'hurricane force'. In my last post, The Power of the Sea, I shared photos of from the storm that hit in the first week of December. That storm was categorised as windkracht 9. Here was the weather report for that particular storm - Terschelling is to the right of the number 10 in the top of the coast. As you can see from this map, most of the North Sea was 9 or 10 - 'strong gale' and 'whole gale'.

(I can't help but think of a man saying in a posh accent, "Yes, the wind is rather strong today.")

Drenkelingen Huis (Drowned Man's House)

Anyway, the point is, on a coastal island, the wind is always blowing. It is a rare day when the wind is still. This week, I had the luck to be driven out onto the beaches to the far end of Terschelling. Islanders call it "the hook". Once past the high dunes there is an area called "The Bosplaats". It is a nature reserve of salt marsh, dunes, and beach. Without the protection of higher sand dunes, it is a desolate, weather-beaten place. Especially in wintertime.

Centuries of wind and water have shaped the coastline of the island, and it is constantly changing. Here too, inland streams form with the rising tide, changing the interior of "The Bosplaats" daily. Huge communities of birds live in this area, nesting and feeding on fish from the sea. Seal colonies can be seen resting on sand bars in lower tides. It is almost like another world on this end of the island. (Which, considering Terschelling is only about 34 km (21 miles) long, is impressive).

The "Hook" at the end of the island

 Centuries of storms have also left the island surrounded by shipwrecks (jolly exciting!), and sometimes bits and pieces wash up on shore. Near the Drenkelingen Huis (Drowned man's house) we saw the stump of a tree that was hundred's of years old - that part of the beach had once been forest, and that single stump was all that remained. It was black and smooth, like petrified wood; slowly, it is being reclaimed by the sand and sea.

What I found so thrilling about the end of the island was that it seemed so empty and barren, like a wasteland, and yet it was brimming with life. We saw more birds there than anywhere else along the coast line. There were also tracks, further in the dune, of wild cats - "Dune Cats". They were, appropriately, following the tracks of rabbits...

Heading homewards along the beach

As ever, I respect the weather so much - even more so on an island stuck out in the middle of the North Sea. Out here, there is no getting away from the power of both wind and wave. The combined force of these two over the years has created a new landscape: one that is rugged, austere, and exposed.

It is also incredibly beautiful...

The Power of the Sea

When I was in my early twenties and living in Australia, I went one day to the beach with some mates. Not having grown up around the ocean, I was terrified of it. (Plus, in Oz, everything will probably try to kill you...jellyfish, sharks, undertows, spiny urchins). But with no shark sightings that day, the safe zone set up between the flags flying merrily, incredibly hot lifeguards just in case, and encouragement from my friends, I went in. The waves were 7 or 8 feet high (small waves for that beach), but I learnt quickly the way to bob about in them and how not to lose my swim top. As my confidence grew, I felt able to try what my friend was doing - jumping through the wave as it rose. No worries.

As you might have guessed, I failed miserably. The wave hit me directly in the chest and sent me under to be pummelled mercilessly by fresh waves. I knew they would go out again, so didn't struggle (luckily, as there would have been no point), and allowed myself to be half drowned. When I did surface, nose and mouth full of saltwater, swim top askew, and glasses half way out to sea (which were promptly rescued by one of my quick thinking friends), I suddenly grasped just how powerful water is.
Under the rush of the waves, face pressed into the sand, and unable to move, it was as if a large hand was pushing me down and down. Dragging and pulling at me, the ocean roared and crept into every corner, and wrapped me in its warm swells with terrifying intimacy. If it wasn't for logical reasoning, I would have thought I was about to die. And people do this larking about in the waves for fun?? I walked away humbled and overwhelmed, suddenly understanding why hurricanes, tsunamis and rivers in spring are such devastating things.

This week, many years later and on a different continent, I got another up-close look at just how powerful water can be. Northern Europe experienced a low pressure system; within low pressure systems, air rises, and over open water it allows the sea to sort of bulge. This storm surge, combined with heavy winds and uncommonly high tides, can be bad news for coastlines. On the island of Terschelling, situated in the North Sea off the coast of the Netherlands, these squalls are no strangers.

Frothy sea

Since the island is well prepared, having built the harbour wall a long time ago after a particularly bad storm, people here tend to just batten down the hatches and watch eagerly as the tides begin to rise. It's the sort of weather than makes animals and small children go nuts. Horses are frisky, the dogs run in circles as if they've gone mad; birds squawk incessantly in the most annoying fashion, and the children seem to be more hectic than normal. We all could feel the storm coming, and that in itself was exciting!

It began on Thursday with heavy winds whipping the sea into a fury. By the evening, as the high tide was coming in, the jetties were being covered, and soon the road would be under. It was 2.81 metres higher than normal high tide, as I understand it. (That's just over 9 feet!) By 11pm, when the tide was at its highest point, half the village was out looking at the water. It was incredible to see something transform before your eyes - a harbour suddenly underwater, and the shivering thrill as water rushed up to the walls, and seeped through sandbags. In the dark and cold, feeling the strong wind in my face and hearing the whoosh of waves rushing in to claim the higher ground, I understood once more just how powerful water is.

I've grown to love the sea (from the comfort of land...) but I fear it and respect it more than anything else in mother nature. Have a look at some of these photos and see what I mean:

Sea rising to the walls

The harbour going under water

Sandbags at the ready

Sinterklaas

In The Netherlands there is a celebration on December 5th and 6th called Sinterklaas. A sort of alternative Christmas in the way of gifts and songs. It is based originally on the feast day of the patron saint of children, Saint Nicholas (Sint Nicolaas), who later became the figure on which Santa Claus in the States was based.

The story goes that the Saint came by boat to the Netherlands from Spain, bringing with him his mischievous, Moorish helpers, Zwarte Pieten (Black Peters). And this continues today, with Sinterklaas arriving at the end of November, making his way across the low countries, visiting each town. Wearing red cape and white, flowing gowns underneath, Sinterklaas arrives on his grey horse, Amerigo. The children sing traditional songs to welcome him, and the Zwarte Pieten hand out sweets and gingerbread like cookies called pepernoten. (There are huge debates currently raging about Zwarte Pieten: if it is politically incorrect or offensive. Most Dutch people think the debate is ridiculous. However, they've come up with a PC reason for Zwarte Piet - poor old Piet is covered in coal dust from the fireplaces when delivering gifts...)

Sinterklaas on Amerigo with Zwarte Pieten on Terschelling

As soon as Sinterklaas is in the country, children put one shoe by the fireplace or back door at bedtime, usually with an apple or carrot for Amerigo, in the hope of a sweet or coin in return. Only if they've been well behaved, of course. On the 5th the small gifts are opened, brought in a huge burlap sack by a Zwarte Piet (or Papa!). Little poems about the receiver are usually written with the gift - these can be sarcastic and often poke fun. Sometimes the gifts are packaged in funny ways (called a surprise, pronounced "surprees"). It is a fun time, and not just for the children!

What I really like about this holiday is that there are loads of songs and there is a real "togetherness" in the whole spectacle. It is also quite creative, with poems, surprises, and music. Now it is also a huge thing on television, with live coverage of Sinterklaas' arrival, and programs especially devoted to games and song.

Traditions vary across the Netherlands and Belgium, but this is essentially what happens during the beginning of December, as far as I understand it. So, Prettige Sinterklaas, allemaal!

Rooms to let...

Trailers for sale or rent
Rooms to let...fifty cents.
No phone, no pool, no pets
I ain't got no cigarettes
Ah, but..two hours of pushin' broom
Buys an eight by twelve four-bit room
I'm a man of means by no means
King of the road.

-Rodger Miller, King of the Road, 1964

Usually, I wouldn't have considered myself a sucker for punishment, but here I am again, looking for a new home in a new country. You would think I'd have learned the first few times, but no, I'm pigheaded like that. Because, you see, trying to find a flat or room in a new city, in a new country, using the metric system (metres!?), and in a different language is, frankly, bloody hellish.

All the excitement of the prospects of a new place with new people seems to ebb away with the drip from the cracked sink in the "room", the questionable stains, and caution of, "oh yeah, watch your head." And that is just the beginning! House hunting isn't fun in any country (or perhaps I'm doing it wrong...?).

Moving to a new country is never easy - there is so much you have to research, things to think through, flat or room to find, bank account to set up, and perhaps worst of all: job to find. However...this is also why it is the most exhilarating, terrifying, and enjoyable thing.

People always say to me, "Gosh, you are so brave to do it." I never think about it in terms of bravery, it's just moving to another country after all, people do it all the time!  I'm one of the the lucky ones that understands the lingo well enough and has family down the road to stay with. What I have come to realise, however, is that it does have to do with conviction and confidence. You desperately need to want to make it happen, otherwise, you'll be back at where you started from, and that isn't really an option. The only thing worse in my mind than failing is being back at where I started. Then I would have achieved nothing. (Some might say I haven't, in this day and age when love and money seem to mean everything and nothing.) This is where that pigheadedness comes in handy....

The beginning is the hardest - when the excitement mingles with the disappointment and frustrations. And it isn't just about finding a room either; it's about finding a place where you will fit in, a place where you will happy. This may apply to the room or flat, to the city you've chosen, the people you've suddenly met. The panic sometimes hits after seeing a particularly bad place that looks nothing like the photo and when the price has magically doubled. What have I done? I've left everything and everybody...oh hell, I'm crazy for doing this.

This is natural. And we are crazy, those of us that do "up sticks" regularly. We leave everything we've ever known, to settle in a new country for the sheer joy that we can. There are some of course (I call these the organised ones), that go to new countries because of jobs. They live in nice flats, their children go to International schools, they have lunch on golf courses with fake grass. It's brilliant.

But, in that cosy equation there is none of that panic, doubting of sanity, intense relief of finding a half decent place, or the learning curve that comes with it. That recognition of achievement of something important. The first time around this was really tough, and it is now (why am I doing it again...?), and I'm sure it will be the next time too, but goodness me, you sure know you are living. I have grown so much and have learnt so much about myself - to trust my gut, to try to keep patience (and we know how hard that is...), and to perhaps have faith. I'd love to have the nice flat and the jet setting job and the kids and the husband with a background of white sand beaches, but I don't. I've got the tougher road, and I love it. It is my life - all my own, and I get to make of it what I will.

So, I'm feeling impatient and frustrated, and I have certainly been doubting my sanity, but I know it will sort itself out. Maybe not right now, but soon enough. Hell, this is the "easy" part. I've got to find a job next, and that is a much bigger task. But do you know, the honest truth is, part of me doesn't even care. Yes it is hard, and it sucks, and it makes you want to sit in bed drinking tea all day - but I am living. I worked hard for years and skimped and saved and went without so I could do this now. I'll work again, somewhere, and I'll skimp and save, and I'm sure I'll do it all over again. We are, as humans, creatures of habit after all.

It feels great to wake up everyday, to take that first breath before the panic of reality and the world's pressure set in, and think "I am living." It's crazy and wild, irresponsible and lonely; it's unsustainable and heart-rending; it's tangible and real so that you can almost taste it. It is life. I wouldn't change that for the world.

Like the hobo in the song mentioned above, I'm one with means by no means and I'm "king of the road." I'm richer by far for my experiences, and I wouldn't want it any other way. For all my complaints on the frustrations of moving to a new country, I would say to you, "try it, please - push your boundaries and experience something different", but I know we can't all be irresponsible. Perhaps I would say that it can be done though, and one is often better for having made the journey than not at all. It doesn't mean you've got to move to outer Mongolia, but a new adventure closer to home may be an option. Who knows, your state might have trails to be explored, mountains to be climbed, sea to surfed, etc.

All I know is, I've got it all waiting out there for me - it's time to go discover it!

Reflections on DC

I know, I know...for a travel blog (or something of the sort) I've not done very well at keeping up while travelling. Too busy walking myself into the ground and racing around interesting sights, as usual. But excuses aside, here's what I thought about my weekend visit to DC:

Washington DC, the nation's capital, is an iconic city. Many films and tv shows have been set there, so lots buildings are easily recognisable. Flying into Ronald Reagan airport was amazing. It was like coming into the back yard of the Pentagon. I flew in at night time, so all of town was lit up. Craning my neck, I could see the Washington Monument, the Capital building and the Potomac River, amongst other things.

I took the metro into the city centre, dropped my increasingly heavy and cumbersome bags off at my youth hostel, and set off. I walked first to see the White House (of course). It was neat to see, all lit up, but I must say that the building next door to it, The Old Executive Building is far more impressive architecturally. From there I walked down to the WWII Memorial and went along the long path to the Lincoln Memorial. I just wandered from there really, enjoying the city and coming across places like the Ford Theatre (where Lincoln was shot), the J. Edgar Hoover FBI building and passing lots of official looking buildings. (Next time, I want to go to NCIS ... give a shout out to television's favourite Special Agent...)

WWII Memorial and Washington Monument under heavy skies

Capital Building

The next day was a busy one. I made a bee line for the Capital Building. It is probably the most impressive building in Washington (in my opinion) and gorgeous to boot. I had hoped to go in, but you aren't allowed to take food, and I wasn't about to throw away my entire day's rations. (So, word to the wise, go at the end of the day, or don't bring food or water with you!) I went instead to spend many enjoyable hours at the Smithsonian museums: The Natural History Museum and American History Museum. I saw the Hope Diamond at the first, but left fairly quickly as it was full of screaming children and mums ready to strangle them. Besides, the Natural History Museum in New York is much better (again, in my humble opinion).

The American History Museum was delightful. I spent many hours there seeing all sorts of wonderful, random Americana. Bob Dylan's leather jacket, the first Apple Mac, The First Lady's Inaugural Ball gowns, and George Washington's writing case were highlights for me. The American spirit captured in a four-floored museum; wonderful.

National Archives

The other highlight of the trip was going to the National Archives to see the Declaration of Independence, Constitution of the United States, and Bill of Rights. They are set in a sort of semi circle, with informative boards explaining it all. We visitors sort of shuffled along, taking turns. I was behind a man and his son, and the boy said, "I can't read it at all, Dad, can you?"
He had a point - the writing was so looping and faint that it was a real struggle to make it out in the low, protective lighting.

"We the people of the United States, in order to form a more perfect union..."

The man had recited this first bit for his boy from memory as they moved on. I remained, finishing his recitation under my breath. Then, I was in front of the Constitution myself - the words I had just remembered there, in the flesh, as it were. I had been made to memorise the Prelude to the Constitution by my 8th grade history teacher. He was a brilliant teacher, and while memorising presidents and studying the Bill of Rights isn't really all that interesting at 14, I will never forget it.

At this point, in the 8th grade, I was not yet an American citizen. True, living in America is all I could remember, all my friends were American, my favourite food was peanut butter and jelly sandwiches - but on paper, I was not an American. I could never answer properly the question, "So, where are you from?" Nor could I ever really fit in ("Hey, your accent is funny!"). But there, at 14, I got an insight to this wonderful, young, powerful, great, unique nation.

Anyway, my point is that it was a great opportunity to explore the nation's capital, to admire the buildings and think of all the great things that take place behind their doors. Politics aside, a democratic nation is a wondrous thing.

After so many years spent away from this great nation, it was nice to feel so close to it again - to feel I was a part of it, as I had done in my 8th grade history class. And now, I've got the paperwork to prove I am a part of it all! I've voted many times and written letters to my Senator; I've queued up for hours in the cold to meet Presidential candidates - and those are moments I cherish. Freedom is a responsibility like any other, and it is ours to be a part of shaping the future.