A Year of Oliebollen

One of the advantages of living in a new country is experiencing new foods. While I've had most traditional Dutch dishes (except herring because I can't stand the thought of it), there was one I had never had before: oliebollen. This treat is hugely popular during the Christmas and new year period. I had one for the first time just before Christmas last year and absolutely LOVED it.

Groningen's Oliebollen stall

Oliebollen are basically round balls of dough with raisins or cranberries fried in oil then covered with powdered sugar. In Groningen, on the Grote Markt, a wonderful oliebollen stall was set up at the end of November. Which meant, of course, that each time I went past on my way home from work or the shops that I indulged in one or two. Still warm from the oil and covered with powdered sugar...so good!

To make at home!

Unfortunately, I caught a rather horrible 'flu and missed out on oliebollen for most of the month of December. I couldn't believe it - of all times to catch an illness...right when oliebollen are readily available at the end of my street! I've recently regained my appetite, thank goodness, and went immediately to the baker's and stocked up on oliebollen, appelflappen (apple turnovers), and appelbeignets (like apple filled donuts). Some people make these at home, but you can also buy them from the shops. The baker on Terschelling has a special stall open on New Year's Eve, and the queue forms quickly as they are particularly yummy with the island's speciality of cranberries.  

Stocking up on oliebollen

Last year I was lamenting the fact that oliebollen were only available at this time of year. How could something so tasty only come round once a year!? However, I luckily discovered that whenever the kermis (carnival/fair) came to Groningen, there was also a stall with oliebollen. I was so overjoyed! So, throughout the year of 2014 I've been able to enjoy this tasty Dutch treat.

Oliebollen w/ powdered sugar

I suppose that because they aren't readily available whenever the fancy strikes makes them that more special. I've got an entire bag full to enjoy as we bring in the new year and I'm very much looking forward to it!

Happy New Year, everyone - I hope you enjoy your own tasty treats this evening! 

Remembrance Weekend

People often ask me, "don't you miss it?" And whether it be in reference to a previous country of residence, a job, or university, my answer is always inevitably, "no." There is no point, in this short life, to miss and pine. What has passed has passed, and there is only ever the future. However, (you knew that was coming, I expect...), there are brief moments during the year that I do miss being a part of larger body of commemoration; a sense of oneness and selfsame purpose with the nation around me.

November 11th, the end of World War I. Armistice. In the States it is called Veteran's Day; in England it is Remembrance Day. Each year this time is observed and remembered, not only marking the end of conflict in 1918, but all those that followed. It has always been for me a moment of great solemnity, of thankfulness, and of most fervent prayer that we should never find ourselves in the midst of such horrors again. We often think of those who fought during the first two World Wars when thinking about Remembrance Day, but of course, there has been numerous conflict since. In my own life time there have been two major conflicts in the Middle East.

This year marks the centenary of the First World War; the 70th anniversary of the landings at D-Day; and last month we saw the last British troops leave Helmund Province after a thirteen year campaign.  It has, in short, been quite the year for commemorations.

In reality it does not really matter where in the world I am, since I can remember the fallen anywhere. But I will admit it is at times like this that I miss being a part of it all. Sat watching the Festival of Remembrance at the Royal Albert Hall on BBC1 tonight, I was as ever moved and humbled. I'm rather hopeless when it comes to things like commemorations, because I usually begin to blub before the first ten minutes is through. It is meant to be emotional though, and as we saw, there were many people in the Albert Hall moved to tears as well. A wonderful, human expression that we all share.

I've been doing research for the last few months for a bit of writing that deals with both World Wars. Reading personal stories as well as the bare facts of military manoeuvres. I've also been reading fictional books that deal with WWII, and all across the BBC there have been nods to Remembrance. This immersion brings it home all the more. At the Festival a young German lad recited part of a poem, and although I've said this before in previous posts dealing with commemorations, it still gives me immense hope to see the reconciliation that comes about during these times of remembrance.

It also gives me hope to see how involved the younger generations have been; remembering is part of this reconciliation, no doubt. Some might say, all this remembering and parading...wouldn't it just be better to leave it in the past? I don't think it would: the example above of the young German lad being part of the Festival is case in point. We all suffered and lost and grieved. There is an old quote about being equal in death, but are we not equal in suffering too? A mother's son is a mother's son, English or German. Perhaps my generation, that much more far removed from both World Wars, can afford to be objective about it. For us, Germany means Oktoberfest; for them, Britain means Primark. I'm joking of course, but my point is this: our generation have explored the World Wars in staggering detail during the course of our schooling. From a young age we know and are told, and this, in one way or another, leaves its impression.

I remember the pancake breakfasts held in the Parish hall every Veteran's Day when I was young. Our school would go to help out; we would serve food and drinks, sing songs we had learned, and say the Pledge of Allegiance. Most of all what I remember besides the smell of bacon and coffee and mouldering hymnals stacked out of the way, is the old men in uniform, medals gleaming on their chests, who sat and told stories and shook our little hands with their old, gnarled ones. These were men from WWII and Vietnam mostly; many of the veteran's from WWII will have passed on by now.

Equally, I will never forget the Remembrance Sunday service in King's College Chapel, Cambridge. It was the wettest day outside and the place was packed to rafters. If you have ever been inside the chapel, you know it is a overwhelming place. When it is packed for services such as this, or Easter or Christmas, a mass of humanity all feeling especially reverent, the place lit up with candles, reverberating with the life pulse of the great organ piping out 'Abide With Me', and the voices of the innocent raised in boyish purity... well, my words cannot do it justice. It is magical and moving.    

I will miss it; but then again, my thoughts are there, and that's all that matters. I hope those who are close to London have gone to see the poppies at the Tower of London. Incredible. But, I should point out I'm now in a country that celebrates Liberation Day with as much solemnity and reverence as my two "home nations" do Remembrance Day, so nothing has been lost, but merely gained. 

In a way, it's perhaps best I'm not in church this Remembrance Sunday belting out 'Eternal Father' or 'Guide Me, O Thou Great Redeemer' ... I never make it through without welling up. The same goes for the Last Post: I cannot hear it without subsiding behind a hanky...

It only leaves me to say: We we will remember them.
 

Autumn Colours in Groningen

It dawned beautifully on Saturday. A day on which sleeping in is allowed, but I was, for some reason, awake at the crack of dawn. After a hearty, porridge breakfast I went back to bed with my crossword and then left the house about mid morning. I've mentioned the Saturday markets before, and I just love visiting the stalls which have such fresh produce and friendly people. The day was beautiful, so it all seemed to shine!

The great thing about waking up early is it means you can sneak in a second breakfast (and possibly even elevenses!). I realise I sound like a hobbit, going on about all these meals, but walking around a market without eating is nearly impossible! And such yummy things they have too. After devouring a rather embarrassing large appelflap, I set off to take some photos of the autumn colours that are really beginning to show here in Groningen. Especially in the park, Noorderplantsoen. Here are a few from my lovely Saturday morning jaunt:

Canal

Noorderplantsoen

Noorderplantsoen

Little lake in Noorderplantsoen

By the lake in Noorderplantsoen

Bright sunshiny morning

Earthquakes in Groningen

It isn't everyday one feels an earthquake. Especially when one is located in inland, mainland Europe. But things in Groningen aren't always as they appear. For instance, we have the largest gas fields in Europe and provide the entire Netherlands with gas for their homes, as well as our neighbouring countries. The large tracts of gas fields in the province of Groningen have proved to be controversial, however: they bring in billions of Euros in revenue, and yet the extraction of the natural gas has caused thousands of people problems. I'm no scientist, but perhaps we can think of it like a Jenga set: the extraction of gas is like removing the pieces at the middle and bottom, creating an unstable top layer that is attempting to resettle. Plus, the layers are also subsiding, which isn't ideal in a place that is nearly below sea level as it is!

I first heard about these aardbevingen when a student gave a presentation about how her family and the farm they lived and worked on north east of the city were affected. The deep (and numerous) cracks in the family's farmhouse was quite shocking to see. For many people, it is something they live with daily. It is understandable that there is real worry and anger about the earthquakes: it isn't as if they chose to live on a fault line (eg: the San Andreas Fault line that affects San Francisco). No, these earthquakes are caused from something within our control: gas extraction.

Since the gas fields create so much revenue, it is doubtful that the extraction will stop altogether. It has been reduced in the worst affected areas. In all reality, it is probably cheaper for the companies like NAM to just pay the damage claims. I haven't an opinion either way, and it is easy as a city dweller to put the issue out of one's mind as "well, that's far away from here". Which, of course, it isn't.

On Tuesday, as I was giving a class in a building hundreds of years old, I felt the ground shudder. It felt just like a massive lorry was going past, and I thought nothing more of it. It lasted about 30 seconds and keeping a handle on the lesson was more my focus. It was only afterwards when I saw the news that I realised what had occurred. It was 2.8 on the Richter scale, which is a wee quake compared to other parts of the world, but for the Netherlands is fairly significant.

On my way home I'd seen RTL Noord television vans around the city, and there was a general air of intrigue about that made me look twice. Some students had been interviewed for the nightly news and they explained how their wardrobes had moved back and forth and some things had fallen off a shelf. The mayor felt it in the Stadshuis, the city officials tweeted about it...suddenly, a far away issue had just come a lot closer. It is another reminder: the city is no stranger to tremors, but it is considered unusual.

The earthquakes are expected to become worse, so it will be interesting to see how things progress in the near future. It is not just an economic debate, but it is also a political one. I've never experienced an earthquake before, but there is a first time for everything... and I have a sneaking suspicion that this will not be the last.

For more information about the earthquakes, have a look here.

Sojourn to Blighty

There is something about the pre-dawn of day that gives off an element of the ethereal. As the mist hung over the polders, I sped towards Amsterdam and shivered from the excitement that being back on the road always brings. Flying over the North sea towards the east of England is something I will never tire of. It is a familiar view: a patchwork country from up above.

It used to be a view of coming home and now it is merely one of coming back. Returning 'home' to Cambridge and seeing it rebuilt around the edges gave it a feeling of some place new. But once I was in the Friday afternoon bustle of the centre, it was once again timeless. I walked up Trinity Street as I had done all those years ago, letting myself feel the anticipation of seeing King's Parade and King's Chapel appear at the end of the street. It is still a beautiful view that will always bring a smile to my face. It was at that moment, years ago, that I decided (after about twenty minutes, mind) I would live there, work there, make a life there. Which I did. One long ago September I began a new adventure; therefore, Cambridge in September is always a special time. A time of new beginnings. The cobbled streets are filled with leaves and students, and the Great Tree outside of King's Chapel begins to change colours. The wind changes, bringing a nip from the north-east.

It's a funny thing, returning to a place. An odd mix of nostalgia and longing for old memories and the people you've known. For me, content as I am in ever looking forwards, it was but for the briefest of moments. I was happy to see it, to catch up with old friends and family; but I was just as happy to leave it in the knowledge that it hasn't changed much, even though I certainly have.

I left Cambridge to go north, at a painfully slow pace thanks to British Rail and its signalling issues (nothing changed there, either!). I had a wedding to attend in the far north of Norfolk, which was an adventure in itself. It took me two buses to get to the village, and during my trip I reflected on the thought that the English language is rapidly declining. Now, perhaps this is just because I live in a non-English speaking country, but each time I return to England I can't help but think..."is this really English I'm hearing?"

It seems to get worse the deeper into East Anglia I go... It began at the airport when a person asked me, "All right, darling, yeah?" After speaking Dutch (which can be at times quite formal) and "International English" it was rather a shock to suddenly find myself addressed thus. Then again, I wasn't exactly flying with British Airways...anyway, it happened again in Cambridge when paying for my stockpile of tea and biscuits (Dutch tea is lovely, but there is something about Twinings that I miss... and thankfully, Scottish Shortbread has not just become a foreign import...). On the train the calibre of conversation was pitiful...how do people survive such day to day dramas? And then finally, on this bus journey, when everyone who got on seemed to know everyone else: it was a constant stream of, "Hallo! Or'right?" I can't quite understand how people in the West Country and East Anglians (opposite sides of the country!) manage to sound the same when addressing one another.

The second bus I took, driven by a Sikh, managed to squeeze and manoeuvre its way through impossibly narrow country lanes. I was deposited in the village, which is really more a hamlet, right outside the pub. Fantastic! As I went in, everyone at the bar turned to look at me. "Or'right?"

At last, I was here. Away from town and bustle and the confining city, in the open. Out here, where it is all sky and fields, and the birds overhead; where a person can breath. There are many places in the UK that are beautiful in a stunning, enchanting sort of way. In the wilds of East Anglia, it is a subtle beauty that comes with an easiness. Like slipping on a favourite pair of shoes. The rich, arable land rolls and tumbles towards the sea in a gentle fashion; the late summer sunset that burst with pink and red have a peaceful quality; the frozen sharpness of the air that bites reminds one of its wildness; and the earthy smell of the dirt is so thick, one can almost taste it.

Having grown up with dirt and animals, surrounded by ranches, this tract of land made useful by farmers feels somewhat familiar. A place of retreat as well as hard work. It is a place that I could quite happily escape to, indulging in wellie boots, thick jackets, and the companionship of dogs. This was my youth, a world away, and being back in a place surrounded by open spaces brings to mind such memories. I enjoyed looking out at the horizon and finding it waiting for me, beckoning me, rather than taken up by buildings.

The wedding was beautiful and wonderful; traditional from the service to the country dancing. I hadn't attempted country dancing since Australia, but found my rhythm eventually after a few times of skipping about and going in circles with the best man. Quite fun really, and certainly beats a disco. I think from now on all discos should be replaced with country style dancing - can you imagine it? All the bright young things dancing like Elizabeth and Mr Darcy rather than grinding and bumping their way about a "dance" floor. Time to bring some old fashioned romance back into modern day...

It was a delightful weekend on many levels. I was glad to get away from it all for a while and breath the country air. To feel some space around me and get my boots dirty: a wonderful escape for a time. Now, it is a new week, very nearly a new month, and there is no peace for the wicked. After a few days of fresh air and hearty meals, I feel ready to take it all on again.

Music Idols

It's not often one gets to see or even meet their music idols. In fact, depending on your taste in music, it can be nearly impossible (eg: they are no longer living...). I've been very lucky to see a few of my favourite musicians - multiple times in different countries, on opposite ends of the world even.

As a singer/songwriter and folkie (a folk musician) my heroes include, to name a few: Bob Dylan, Joan Baez, Tim O'Brien, Mark Knopfler, The Band, The Beatles...and so on (it's a very long list). The last two were obviously not an option when hoping for concerts, but the others...

I've seen Bob Dylan three times: once in Albuquerque, in London at an Irish festival of all places, and in Nottingham when he played with Mark Knopfler. I've seen Mark Knopfler in Denver too. Tim O'Brien frequented the local Folk and Bluegrass Festival in my home town when I was growing up. An incredibly nice guy when I spoke with him, and he had some great tips about song writing. And Joan Baez.

Joan Baez at the Oosterpoort

Last weekend Joan Baez came to town. Which was both fortuitous and slightly random - I mean, Groningen isn't exactly the first place one thinks of when you hear the name of a top American musician. I had the very great fortune to see her in Cambridge three years ago and meet her as well after the show was over. She was lovely, as you might imagine, beautiful and full of energy. She had played all my favourite songs - songs that I cover during my own sets - and it was all rather surreal. 

This time she was playing at the the 'Take Root Festival', which is an American music roots festival here in Groningen. I was pleasantly surprised by it, as I didn't really know what to expect from an indoor festival. It was quite simple and relaxed actually: four different stages, different bands scheduled throughout the evening, plenty of beer and food: voila! I was able to stand near the stage and listen to Joan Baez sing and tell stories to the crowd. It really is incredible to hear songs you've listened to so many times, sung a mere ten feet away. It is also very moving; her songs are powerful in their own right, but being present always gives them more weight. A most wonderful start to the evening.

There were also plenty of other bands to see once Joan Baez had finished her set. Some rock bands, a folk singer, and a six piece country and western band. With cowboy boots, Stetsons, and steel guitars! I was in my element! Country music was a big part of the culture of where I grew up, and the first songs I ever learned to play on the guitar were country songs. It gets a lot of flak these days, and it is true that it isn't the same as it used to be. It's more rock and pop with a country flair, which doesn't quite cut it.

One reason I loved living in Australia was because country music is quite big there - Tamworth is the country music capital; Keith Urban is from Oz; and country music is often heard on the radio. Living in England, however, was like a country music desert. My oasis: a one hour weekly slot on BBC radio that I listened to regularly. And goodness, trying to explain what a tailgate is... But there was a great collection of English ballads and Celtic inspired music that filled the void, and that too was good.

Therefore, I never expected to move to the Netherlands and suddenly find myself in the midst of an Americana reboot. After all, what was the Netherlands' entry at the Eurovision Song Contest? Calm After the Storm - a country song by the The Common Linnets, a Dutch Americana band. It took Europe by storm and came in second place. And it's not just the Netherlands either: a Danish film maker has just made a Western film with Danish, Swedish, and English actors: The Salvation. A Danish Western...dark and broody with excellent story telling, no doubt! I can't wait to see it. Everywhere I turn I seem to find this interest in Americana: cowboy hats and boots; belt buckles; the rise in popular fiction of "the cowboy" and Western genre. I can think of at least three films coming out in the next few months that are Westerns, and pubs aren't just full of jazz bands, but more often country and western bands - both original and cover bands. It's wonderful!

Anyway, my point is that I found it very inspiring to see my music idol, Joan Baez, as well as get back to my roots a bit. As a musician I believe it is very important to put down the guitar at times and go listen to others. I walked away from that festival with a whole slew of new song ideas and new chords patterns I want to try. When I get to see my music heroes, it always takes me back to when I first heard their music. Back to those first few times I tried to play their songs, learning the tabs and chords. It's like coming full circle, you see: very special. I look forward to sitting down properly and making music after this!

Open Monumentendag: a day of National Heritage

I'm slowly realising that even for a small country, the Netherlands is quite big on celebrating things nationally. What's brilliant is that the entire country gets behind these things, so it feels like a jolly great party! This weekend is Open Monumentendag, or 'Open Monuments Day'. This year's theme, celebrating 200 years of the Kingdom of the Netherlands, and 300 years since the Treaty of Utrecht (lots of history that I won't be going into, but basically this year is all about anniversary's...), is 'Power and Glory'. And as I've learned, small nation or not, there is a lot of history and past glory to be explored.

Martinitoren

After a week of feeling poorly, having caught a cold from my lovely students, getting out and exploring was probably a good idea. Pulling on my favourite pair of bluejeans and my Chacos, which have taken me over four continents and always remind me that there are more paths to travel, I was ready to step away from "cough-cough" and into "tourist mode". What I found most fantastic about this national event was that I got to poke around all of Groningen's old buildings, being utterly nosy for free!

Carillon at the top of the tower

First stop was the Martinitoren. I've been wanting to climb the tower of this famous church since I moved here, and now I finally was doing it! One dizzying climb of 260 steps later, I was being gloriously deafened by the bells, inspecting the inside of the clock, gazing out over my wonderful city, and watching a man play the carillon. He gave us some history of it too - can you believe there have been people playing tunes from that tower since 1525?? Wonderful! He played us some Bach, and you could really see what a workout it was. The largest bell he has to sound with his foot is just under 8000 kilos(!). It is all no doubt mechanized, but he did have to stamp a bit. What a sound! I had the time of my life, but was more than pleased to get down to solid ground again.

Groningen's Grote Markt

With the city echoing with the sound of bells, my next stop was the University Museum. I pass it each day on my way to work and have been meaning to go in; again, now I had no excuses! It was filled with mostly portraits of rather dour faced Dutchmen, who all had something to do with the Uni. The rest were artefacts and jars filled with ghastly specimens. Floating bits of bodies, bizzare deformities studied by scientists, preserved things...you know, the sorts of things you can't "un-see".  It is interesting of course, but I couldn't help but feel glad that someone else can deal with those sorts of things.

Academie Building

I moved on to something more cheerful: The Academie Building, the main building of the Rijksuniversiteit Groningen (affectionately shortened to RUG). The RUG has many beautiful buildings from its 400 year history (did I mention this was an anniversary year?) but the Academie building is truly gorgeous. It was a reminder, if I needed one, of how lucky I am. I have the great privilege to give lessons there! This is also where I saw King Willem-Alexander a few months ago.

Great Hall in Academie Building

The room where I give lessons!

Ducking away from grandeur, I went to visit a tiny church called the Doopsgezinde Kerk. It is also known for the Mennonites, and has an interesting history as a radical reformed group from the Protestant branch. It all goes back to the 16th Century, but you can look it up yourself as this isn't really meant to be a history lesson, fascinating though it may be. Afterwards, I went across the road to have a look at maps, which is always fun. In Het Calmershuis they had all sorts of books filled with pages of maps. As a seafaring nation, the Dutch were responsible for "filling in the map" as it were, and it was interesting to see some of that history displayed.

Pump from 1729

Many of these places had free drinks and hapjes (snacks), so I wasn't becoming the least bit faint on this exploration. Which means I still had energy to drop by the Armhuiszittend Convent which was started in the 15th century for the poor who needed somewhere to live (basically). There is a beautifully restored pump from 1729 in the garden. It is located just beneath the majestic Aa-Kerk. I had a wander through this church, but prefer the Martini Kerk for inside beauty. They are much the same in regards to simplicity (nothing like the grand cathedrals of Europe, all gilded in gold), but their histories are quite different. The Aa Kerk started out as a Catholic church, and there is still evidence of this in the frescos on the ceiling.

Tiled hearth with painting

I also passed through the Stadhuis (City hall) and lastly, the Provinciehuis (Province House) which is a beautiful building. There are many wonderful tiled hearths and paintings from important Dutch artists. It is incredible that there are so many treasures hidden away in these buildings that the public aren't aware of.

This open day was a great chance to get to know my new city. Not only was it great being nosy, but I learned a lot as well. I feel a lot closer to Groningen now, having seen it from all different aspects. Now when I hear the Martinitoren sound out the hours  I will think of the man up in the tower, stomping out the tunes for the city below to enjoy.

A Day for Pie

Today called for pie. After a long and heavy week of classes full of eighteen year olds, my Friday afternoon called out desperately for something restorative. My solution: a slice of Apple pie. Sometimes it really is the little things.

I've realized that the problem with living in a university town is that it is full of students - ones that carry on in the streets (or perhaps just the one below my window) until all hours, leave rubbish everywhere, and inconsiderately ram you with their bicycles as they over take even after you've signalled a turn. After nights of broken sleep and near death experiences behind the handlebars, desperate measures were needed. The sort that comes in sweetness and calories. 

What this city really could do with is an American diner that serves breakfast all day and unhealthily large pieces of chocolate cake. Since this isn't an option, I opted for a cafe that has an expat feel and apple pie on the menu. It is the sort of place that has lazily turning ceiling fans, vast potted plants, sunny terraces, and wooden blinds that create cosy corners. Where they play jazzy, upbeat music that allows them to charge extortionate prices. And also typical to Holland, it's the sort of place the waiters leave you to die of thirst, avoiding your eye and frantic waving at all costs. It always amazes me these places stay open at all! 

Gosh, this sounds all rather negative, when it should really read as "frustratedly affectionate". The apple pie will never be quite right (served cold, with chocolate??), the peace and quiet of my youth was apparently my quota in life, and I must remember to never venture into a cafe in any state of hunger as it is likely I will starve first...but I do love it. 

This is what being an expat is all about: shrugging one's shoulders and accepting that if it was all the same, life would be awfully dull. (Though a decent night's sleep wouldn't go entirely amiss...) It's wonderful to wear red trousers and cycle about madly like the locals; to sit on terraces and quaff light beer, wear loads of gel in my hair, and have a calendar of birthdays in the downstairs loo.

I'm rather pleased with myself actually in regards to the cycling. I've been to-ing and fro-ing to the university for the past three weeks and I've lived to tell the tale! I took my mother's advice about walking in New York City (elbows out and look like you mean it) and applied it to my cycling. In addition, I've been jumping in front of traffic and inching my way past others on the cycle lanes. Everyone else seems to throw themselves into the gaping mouth of death quite happily on a daily basis, so why not me too? (How the Dutch don't all have ulcers from the stress of getting to and fro in one piece is remarkable...) Perhaps it is just us buitenlanders who have all the stress? Anyway, I'm beginning to find the cycling enjoyable, and I'm arriving everywhere in half the time, so hurrah! 

Remembering a True Blue Hero

Tiredness does strange things to the mind: for instance, I was sat staring into space after a shattering day and suddenly I did what can only be described as a triple take. The sun was trickling through, making a dappled sort of pattern on bright green ferns, and just in front of it, on a iron gate, ringed tail hanging down from a brown body, was what I thought was a monkey. It was, in fact, a rather odd looking cat, but I did begin to wonder. It was certainly time for a cup of tea! But thinking about animals in odd places reminded me of a time when animals were everything. 

Today, September 4th, is not a day I easily forget. It's a bit like someone's birthday - you know it's coming up. Eight years ago today, the world lost an incredible man: a wildlife warrior of the highest calibre, Steve Irwin.

It feels almost childlike to say it, but he was my hero. I couldn't get enough of his wildlife programmes as a youngster. He was a man who was passionate about conservation and preservation - crucial things if we are to sustain any sort of existence, really. He was crazy and wild, running about in khaki and jumping on crocodiles - I suspect the Aussie's groaned at this national export. Crocodile Dundee and Fosters was bad enough, but now this? For me, it endeared me to a nation that I have since fallen in love with.

Family tribute at Australia Zoo

I was in my first week of college, brand new to life away from home and learning responsibility, when I heard the news. We had an 8am Anthropology lecture, and my professor said far too casually that Steve Irwin had died. I didn't want to believe it, but with a sinking heart, I knew it had to be true. After class I ran home and switched on the news; and there, sure enough, was the headline. He had been killed by a sting ray, of all animals. I rang my mum of course, for what else do you do when you are unreasonably sad? I had never met him; didn't know him personally; and yet I cried such tears and felt such loss. Still do, in fact. Why should such a good man, doing so much for animals and our earth be taken away?

And why was he my hero? Well, it was not simply because he was a wildlife warrior, championing for animal's protection at every breath, but he was also a teacher, explaining the how and why. A world away, these magnificent animals existed - the dangerous, the cuddly, the beautiful ones, all in a mind boggling harmony. It was utterly fascinating, and whenever a new episode came out, I was sat glued to the television.

He was also a man who showed his emotions, not afraid to cry or show fear, or to be off the wall enthusiastic. He bled real blood and broke real bones in front of the camera; he took real risks. He was a man who lived. I suppose it all captured my imagination. He had a rather wonderful message to the world that reads: "If we can teach people about wildlife, they will be touched. Share my wildlife with me. Because humans want to save things that they love." What a terrific role model.

Steve Irwin was a huge part of the lives of my generation; I think he took the world by storm - and surprise! He was just a true blue Aussie bloke that believed passionately in wildlife conservation, and he touched so many people through the work that he did. Sure, he was over the top, but his message was clear: we need to look after our world.

Only a small example of the tributes to Steve at Australia Zoo

I went to Oz like I always dreamt; made my way to what had once been a small flora and fauna park in southern Queensland, now a major site called Australia Zoo; I spent an entire day admiring my hero's life's work and crying at the sheer amount of tributes to him that had been left outside the zoo upon the news of his death. He was not just my hero; no, he was the animal's hero, the world's hero.

One that is, by crikey, sorely missed.

Cross Border Catchups

It was a weekend of catching up with friends, which is a good weekend any way you slice it! The great thing about travelling and living the life of a wanderer is that one gets to meet so many people and make many friends. The less great part about it is that one usually ends of miles and oceans apart. Thank goodness for technology!

My weekend really started on Thursday with a trip to Amsterdam. Meeting up with people you know in random foreign cities is by far the best; going home is nice, but if there is a chance to wander around a city while catching up...well, I'm sold. The friend I went to see is the lead singer of a rather wonderful band out of London. We met through a mutual friend a few years ago, and we three all share a love of music. Not only is the band, The Statue Thieves, really, very good, the lead singer also has an encyclopaedic knowledge of '60s music, which made for fascinating conversation while walking along Amsterdam's waterfront. My favourite track off their first album, Statues of Realisation, is 'Broken Beat'.

There is nothing broken about it however, as it is one great toe tapping tune. It is my 'go to' up-beat song. What I like about The Statue Thieves music is that is makes me want to pull on a black turtle neck or an A-line skirt and be driven around on a Vespa... The chaps have a bit of 'The Mod' look about them too, and they are a delight to watch live. Such (dare I say it) groovy energy. Craig, Alex, Iván, and George have great music to share, and would you know it: a free download available at the moment. Do give them a listen!

Talking about music is always lovely and my time spent in Amsterdam with someone who is so passionate about music was very inspiring. Ran home and finished writing a song in fact. (Well, I took the train...but you get my point...)

I also chatted with two of my oldest friends from high school and my uni days at the weekend. I never feel homesick, but for once, this weekend I did a bit, and I was incredibly grateful to chat about old familiar places and people with those who have known me for ages. Something about this time of year - the mountains and whispering aspen leaves only just beginning to change colour have been very much on my mind. So there you have it: wandering and living the globetrotting life is great, but there are moments when remembering old times is just the ticket.

It was also a very rainy weekend, so a lot of holing up in the attic room with pots of tea. Was just what I needed to get ready for the start of classes this week. I also went through my entire music collection, which to be honest really isn't quite the same on a computer. I know as a globetrotter it really is more handy to have it all on hard disk, but there is something lovely about leafing through albums...and don't even get me started about the joys of listening to vinyl. No wonder people needed the entire downstairs cast of Donwton Abbey when they used to travel...I imagine I would be weighed down by a typewriter, record player, and about a hundred books.

So, perhaps instead of watching another mindless television programme tonight: pull out your favourite music and remember the joys of just listening in the comfort of your sitting room. (I've been rocking out to 80s music all afternoon...for a change...)

The End of Vacation Time

You know it is the end of the vacation period when you've at last returned home, thrown absolutely everything in the wash, bought in rations to last you more than a week, and dusted off your work bag. It's been years since I've had a proper summer vacation, and I've enjoyed this one immensely. Not only did I have the chance to race around Europe, reads heaps, watch entire television series, play music and write - I've just spent a wonderful week at the one other place in this world I can think of as 'home'. A little island in the middle of the North sea: Terschelling.

Cranberry cheesecake

I think of it as home for a few reasons, not least because our family has lived there for the last few hundred years. It was a place I always vaguely remembered from childhood, and since we lived on the other side of the world, have no memories of growing up there like all the rest of the family. I first properly got to know the island when I was in my early twenties, which is another sort of growing up altogether. I came to love it and now know it like the back of my own hand. I can wander through the dunes or go along the paths with my bike and I don't have to think at all. I can let my mind wander and feel a freedom one only seems to experience when the sky is open and far stretching.

Having vacation at home with family is great. Not only because it's seeing family which is lovely, but they always seem to think I need fatting up. Which means three square meals and the ice cream rule still applies (ie: ice cream, any time). It means long sleeps, hot baths, copious amounts of tea and cake, and naps. When I'm on the road, travelling around Europe or wherever, I tend to race about because it's all jolly exciting and there is so much to see. I catch a meal when I can, fall asleep all over the place to restore my energy (on trains and buses especially), and climb into bed most nights to sleep like a log. Which is brilliant, of course, but sometimes it is actually nice to do nothing on holiday.

Heather in bloom

'Do nothing' sorts of things like sit on the beach in the sun and just watch the waves and the world go by. This trip it was more like watching screaming children and their harried parents go by, but there we are. It is great to temper a busy holiday with a bit of peace and quiet too. To visit museums and learn about other cultures as well as to walk through the dunes and admire the heather in bloom or catch sight of rabbits in the evening. To go to bed exhausted from fresh air and long bike rides.

Yes, the vast beauties of Europe are wonderful to behold, but I wager that the long white strand beaches at sunset are just as priceless.

Now to return to work and real life, which luckily enough for me, is often just as enjoyable. I try to live my life like I'm on holiday: to encapsulate that zest for things into the everyday. True I don't live by the ice cream rule all year round (one must try to be sensible), but I like to believe life is meant to be enjoyed.

Europe Tour: Two Weeks of Heedless Exploration

On my flight ticket stands "World Traveller" and I have to smile, thinking they've summed it up rather well. I have had great opportunities to travel and live the life of a wanderer, and each time I embark on a new adventure I realise just how precious these moments of exploration really are. When else is ice cream totally acceptable at 11am?! With the newspapers and nightly news full of death and destruction, some seemingly on Europe's doorstep, and a plane with my countrymen being shot out of the sky in all its horrible reality, it was high time to do some living while there was the chance. You might say this is pessimistic, but I like to think of it as optimistically practical. Semantics. Either way: I was off!

(I've included some snippets from my day journal - things I wrote down as I thought of them, to bring some immediacy to these rememberings. This is rather a long post - you have been forewarned!)

I began in Sweden, as each summer trip starts, seeing an old friend and catching up. I don't know why I haven't moved there yet, as I love it so much; the towns centred around waterways, the full, lush green forests, ice cream, excellent food and friendly people, Ikea furniture everywhere...fantastic! Though I will concede that I've only ever been in summertime, and perhaps I should die of the cold in winter... I fell in love with the town of Uppsala (so watch this space!) and thoroughly enjoyed seeing the sights of Stockholm. I would wager it is the most beautiful capital city in the world - certainly that I've seen.

Uppsala in summer

Stockholm in evening light

Next, I went to Berlin; I'd been before, but this time it was hot and busy (if one will go in the busiest period, what can one expect?). On my way through southern Berlin from Schönenfeld airport I wrote this:

"The coming dark is tinged with pink and red. A dirty, sprawling city, still half under construction - yet there is something about it; familiar almost. It feels almost American with its wide streets; yet the large blocks of flats that scar the horizon remind me I'm very much in Europe. This too, is at last beginning to feel familiar..."

After a few sweltering days I went to Dresden for lunch and a wander around before hopping on an old fashioned train (with compartments!) to Prague. I was as giddy as a school girl and hastily scribbled this:

"We're winding our way down through thick forests, following the Elbe River out of Germany. It is wide and peaceful; everything is green and bright. We are in an old fashioned train compartment: six young people, strangers, all on their way to adventure! The buildings and low slung farm houses are delightful. To see the hills again and pine forests pleases me."

It was then I also said to myself: true happiness is having a destination. To move ever forwards and rejoice. I do not think I stopped smiling the entire way to Prague. I love the place unreservedly; it was difficult at first, trying to find my way, but I rather like a challenge. I'd studied the maps, poring over them for ages before I'd left, and for once I had a good sense of direction. Still dusty from travelling, I set out to see the city, losing myself amongst the architecture with delight. I was lucky enough to take in a sunset that I won't soon forget. It is a city with such old world charm.

Church of Our Lady before Týn, Prague

Sunset over Charles Bridge, Prague

On another train with compartments I raced across the Czech Republic; past fields and farms, industrial towns, places with intimidating fortresses and equally challenging names. I arrived in Vienna slightly travel weary, and wishing I could have stayed on that lovely old train forever. I wasn't much in the mood for buildings of splendour and grandour after Prague; in Vienna it seemed almost fake. And I had no patience for long queues to museums. So, Vienna was spent eating a great deal and making new friends; long evenings on the banks of the Donau and sitting back to watch the world go by. Rivers are good for that.

I was at last leaving the cities behind and going back to nature; always a mountain girl at heart, I felt such infinite peace as the Alps came into view on the outskirts of Salzburg. (It is now a toss up between Uppsala and Salzburg for 'most favourite place'). My hostel was on top of a hill, built into the fortress walls and overlooking the Old Town. Again my forward map planning came in handy, and I eventually found my way, perspiring in the hot sun and feeling so wonderfully alive. Nature trails; thick, shaded woods, beautiful architecture, good food, green and cultivated gardens, The Sound of Music, and best of all: mountain views. I wrote this while losing myself to the view:

Storm over Salzburg fortress

"Watching the dark clouds of a mountain storm gathering, wind whipping itself into a mild frenzy, I am happy. The smell of rain is on the air and the backdrop of the Alps is like balm to an unrealised scratch - I miss the mountains with an ache. There is an old fashioned beauty here that feels both real and ethereal."

 And the next morning, over a cup of tea with misty mountains keeping me company:

"The bells from many churches are pealing, echoing round the hills. I take it all in: the view of the hills, forests, churches and the imposing fortress. My eyes seek the far off horizon of Alps like one slaking a thirst. Drinking of such beauty deeply, as if to keep me going in the claustrophobic cities to come. I am in the heart of Europe this morning and I am glad. Give me a view and I soon find my peace and freedom. "

Before too long I was headed back to Germany, this time to Munich. I was impatient being in the city again when the mountains were so close. I enjoyed the many markets, however, and ate my way through one or two. I spent a sombre afternoon at the Dachau Memorial site; I needn't share those thoughts I had here - they have been put far more eloquently by plenty of other writers.

I was glad to soon be on my way again, and I spent the whole day in trains, winding my way up the breadth of Germany.

"Up through the Rhine valley, headed north to Cologne is like a carpet of castles and towers - every hillside and tiny town studded with fortresses. The rain came in, chasing us up the river, but it only made it all feel the more cosy. How I do love the hills and dark forests and even better if they have castles!"

Cologne was a great stop off to see a friend and drink our way through a brewery or two. The Dom, with its twin spires was magnificent, and I was fortunate enough to be caught in a terrific thunder storm while wandering through the cathedral. I sat and listened to the organ as the thunder clapped around us, shaking the foundations only slightly. Truly atmospheric!

An excellent trip, full of sights, new experiences and things to eat; new friends and getting luxuriously lost; climbing every hill (and fording every stream!), most certainly following my dreams.  

100 Years Ago Today

It is not often I am moved to write poetry, but today is an exception. With my head stuck in the fusty pages of history, researching for projects and personal interest, I can not help be captured by the thousands of photographs of boys going off to war; to be touched by the letters recovered from families, recalling memories of the Front. The Great War.

It is an abominable thing, war. But we do well to remember those that have given their lives; Allies or otherwise. One hundred years ago is nothing in our lifetime. The papers have been full of death recently; the books I've had my nose in are full of destruction; it is enough to make one wonder where the beauty of this world has escaped to. Enough to make us wonder what it all was for if such things can continue. Today, I think about those who gave their all.

"100 Years Ago"

100 years today and yet not so long ago,
A distant past, on fields of shattered clay,
Boys and men readily volunteered to show
That they would join the fray.

Fathers, sons, husbands, brothers:
A nation of names and ranks and souls;
Wives, daughters, sisters, and their mothers,
Worked as one to bring them back still whole.

And what of the others on distant shore,
They are not so different, so to see;
Shall the mud and bullets make more
Distinction than us and them; you and me?

Aye, 100 years ago, and yet, not so very long;
They’ve heard our prayers as we wept our tears,
And sung our rousing, patriotic song.
We remember them, but what about their fears?

Lonely soldiers in a wasteland,
Borne of man and made a hell on earth;
With gathered strength, they made their stand,
Rising from the mud and stench in awful birth.

They fought for you, for me;
The enemy in hell they met:
For King, for God, for Country;
Lest we, the bonnie lads, forget.

A compilation: My great-grandfather during his service

Dutch Summertime

"Dutch Summertime" seems to have been officially declared this week (even though actual summer began June 21st). I am not entirely sure this is a thing, but it certainly feels like it. Suddenly, there are loads of posters with, "Our last event before summer! See you again in September...". Schools and classes let out last Friday, on July 4th, ushering in summer vacation. My first summer vacation in nearly four years! I wasn't quite sure what to do with myself at first, but if I thought I was going to be lost for something to do, I was wrong. Because, it seems, with the arrival of Dutch summer vacation, the spontaneous comes out in people. I've been having lots of coffee meet ups, rushing off to have barbeques, and enjoying cold lager or ice cream with others without having to plan weeks in advance! (That famous Dutch daily agenda being thrown right out the window...) Very freeing, I must say.

Additionally, with this ushering in of summer, last weekend was absolutely scorching. I haven't been this hot since Mexico, and I was flaking out about the place in a rather pathetic fashion. I don't 'do' heat... It was also a weekend of sport: some cracking tennis at Wimbledon and of course, the football. For one who doesn't play sport, I found I have watched more in the last few weeks than ever before. I'll be honest, my idea of a marathon is watching an entire television series box set or reading a book trilogy over a weekend...

Grote Markt big screen

We watched the match between the Netherlands and Costa Rica in a place called De Drie Gezusters (The Three Sisters) - an infamous pub here in Groningen. I'd never been in before as it is usually packed with undergraduates, but was pleasantly surprised.  It's decked out with potted plants and booths, with a long table down the middle where patrons can read magazines with their coffee. The booths look like something out of a 1930s film, and at the back, just off the bar, it's been made to look like an old fashioned railway carriage. But enough about all that: the match!

Well, we were there until the wee hours, tense and anticipating each try towards the goal. The Netherlands made it through on penalty kicks, which is always slightly miraculous, since there is nothing worse than penalty kicks when it comes to football. The atmosphere was great, everyone wore lots of orange, and from the Grote Markt came the cacophony of revellers for most of the night. There were police everywhere, even on horseback. Not entirely sure what they were expecting...

The semi-final match last night...not so great. Again we were in the pub, watching with mounting tension as the Netherlands took on old rivals, Argentina. I wonder if the Royal household was divided, with Queen Maxima being from Argentina? It went to penalty kicks again, and this time, we weren't so lucky. No revelling in the streets last night. (A bit of sleep at last!)

Arjen Robben (Dutch football player) is Groningen's golden boy

So, with sport aside, I've had a bit more time on my hands for doing...well, nothing. Isn't that what summer is meant to be about? I'm not actually doing nothing of course; writing, playing music at pubs in the evenings, reading, and travel planning have filled most of my days here in the sweltering attic room.

Today, I'd had just about enough of perspiring with every movement, so I took myself to my local bookshop (and when I say local, I mean like a 6 minute walk!) where they have air-con. The second hand section seems to have grown twofold and there was a sale on (a most dangerous mix). Upstairs they have a little café, and its layout reminds me of old American diners with its high counter tops. I was able to have a slice of appeltaart and buy two books, all for less than 6euros, which, lets be honest, is nothing short of a miracle in this day and age. So, feeling very chuffed indeed.

If this is what Dutch summertime is like, bring it on! More ice creams, lagers, music, festivals, and long, lazy afternoons on sun-bleached terraces, please.

Summertime Reading

It is hot. Hot, that is by Netherlands standards: ie, it's 24C (75F) and everyone is in shorts and dresses, drinking beer on terraces, and looking chic in their sunglasses. Tomorrow it is meant to be even hotter. The attic room is setting a course towards sweltering, and I'm sat dreaming of ice creams and lemonade (not together, obviously). And with a weekend of nice weather, playing music, bbqs, and time with friends looming, I'm one happy camper. I love summertime for all the above reasons (yes, even the sweltering...), but most of all, I love summer because it means time for reading.

As a young girl I spent my summers running wild as only one can in the middle of the Colorado mountains. I have extremely fond memories of it all. Equally, I distinctly remember going to the library as soon as summer vacation started to sign up for the Summer Reading Programme. My mother and I would go every week to collect books from the library. I was allowed to take out seven at a time, which I thought was heaps and I dutifully raced through them all each week. The idea of the programme was to log each book you read, and if you reached the goal, at the end you would get a goody pack with a free book based on your reading history, bookmarks, and other random items.

I think about this each summer, and really wish there was a reading programme for those over the age of ten...Can you imagine!? I doubt I'd be racing through seven books a week at this stage, but still, the idea of that voracious reading you do as a child is a pleasant memory. I used to find all sorts of ways to keep reading (usually involving a torch after lights out...), and can remember being sprawled in the most unladylike fashions in chairs, eating ice cream with a nose in my book.

And do you know, I remember all those books - those summertime reads that kept me company as the July rains rolled in across the mountains. I will never forget reading Little Women for the first time and wanting to be just like Jo; or being really chuffed I suffered through The Count of Monte Cristo, even though I doubt I understand half it; or re-reading the first three Harry Potter's (yes, there were only three at that time!), delighting in all things Hogwarts and wizardry. Falling in love with Tarzan of the Apes, and re-reading all of Enid Blyton's stories, wishing I too could go off on cycling holidays with ginger beer and tinned peaches...

So, sitting here, feeling rather hot and sticky in my attic room, with a stretch of free time ahead, and plenty of my old favourites sitting on the bookshelf, I think I shall enrol myself in my very own Summer Reading Programme. I'll be sure to try to sit in unladylike fashions and keep plenty of lemonade to hand (honestly, is there anything better?); I'll read both "trashy" and classic books with untethered glee, and make sure my torches have new batteries. In this rush and madness of the adult world, there are times when escaping with a book is just the ticket.

The Independent, and indeed many other newspapers, have recently released this year's summer reading list, but I shan't read any they suggest. a) Because access to new English books isn't exactly as easy as it used to be and b) they all sound rather odd.

 I would however, be interested to know what YOU are reading this summer. Happy reading!

There and Back Again from Blighty

'Returning' is always a difficult thing for a globetrotter; at least it is for me. Being back in Blighty was a bit like seeing an old lover again: briefly awkward at first; both having changed and moved on, and yet there is something in the other that makes me wistful. There were good times had here. However, it was only a lightening trip, so there wasn't much time for being wistful.

Flying from Groningen

Flying into London on a sunny afternoon was most pleasant; it was fun to be on a small plane (it makes me feel rather intrepid...) and the journey only took a little over an hour. It never fails to amuse me how much England looks like a patchwork quilt from above.

Patchwork Blighty

 I hopped on the train to the deafening sounds of young lads discussing football at the absolute top of their lungs. Though their voices had not yet broken, their language would have shocked a sailor. Ah, today's youth... And so I was back in Blighty, in amongst it all again.


Stepping off the train at Liverpool Street station, the city was at my feet. A quick jaunt through the bustling financial district and dropping my bags at a friend's place, and I was ready to take on the joys of London for the evening. Meeting up with an old friend, we wandered down to the river, having a bite and a chat in the sun. London is at its best when it is sunny, I think. The bright lights aren't so bad either, and we enjoyed the West End, stopping off to see my favourite Constable, The Hay Wain at the National Gallery.

Pie and mash

The next day was mostly 'Hen Do' fun, but we also had a moment to experience a bit of the East End. With Pie and Mash. What a glorious dish - hearty, warm and filling. I opted to go without the "liquor" - a sort of gravy you're meant to have with it, and had mine plain. I felt very much the tourist when taking the photo, but nevermind. I also made sure to stock up on tea (Twining's Earl Grey) and shortbread. There are some things you just can't get on the continent...

It was also incredibly easy having everything in English again after nearly half a year. I don't mind in the slightest that I have to use Dutch daily, but it was nice for a change. I rushed out to WH Smiths to buy magazine's and stopped at every bookshop in Charing Cross (there are a lot...) just to browse. I was very good, however, and didn't buy any books...hand luggage and all that...

London at my feet

 As much as I don't like returning to places, London is a bit of an exception; the moment you arrive you blend in with the crowd and become anonymous. I always feel like I'm on a film set whenever I take the tube or cross Picadilly Circus. There is so much culture around too, with each neighbourhood unique and lively. Additionally, it was London Pride this weekend, so the city was very colourful. Never a dull moment!

Which brings me to the football. (There is no escaping it, I'm afraid...) I made sure to arrive early at the airport a) because it was Sunday and British Rail is rather notorious and b) the Netherlands was playing against Mexico. I made a beeline for the nearest bar (which sounds like I was in need of drink, when in fact I was after a television with the match on...) and found my entire flight crammed in front of a telly. Typically, right as we were meant to board the match became exciting. The Netherlands were a point down, but they then scored in the 88th minute; half of us began to queue to board as we were told, while the other half remained in the bar. Luckily, the shouts let us know that the match was going in our favour. When the second goal happened, I think we raised the roof on that little airport. Needless to say, the flight back to Amsterdam was a jolly one, as was the train ride and walk through Groningen. The entire country was celebrating!

It was a lovely weekend with friends in London town, and as the summer gets well under way with football, tennis, BBQs and (hopefully) warmer weather, I will look to further enjoy this time.