Wandering in Belgium

I say "wandering" in Belgium because there were quite a few moments of well, I think this it the right train...my gut says I should go with this train, and hell - if it isn't, I'm in no hurry.

Such is the luxury of time. I began by leaving a very sunny Groningen on the train, sitting opposite two seven year olds taking over the world on their iPads. As we sped west, it became cloudier and darker. I reached Roosendaal, on the border with Belgium about one o'clock. The train that would take us across into Belgium was a great lumbering beast left over from about 1970 if the bright orange interior was anything to go by. The conductors' wear rather jaunty caps that kept reminding me of an episode of Poirot. These days, the only satisfaction one receives when crossing a border in Europe is when one's mobile phone pings with a text message that reads, "Welcome to such and such country, texts and calls will now be 10 cents more expensive...Enjoy your travels." At least my telephone company is polite.

We arrived in the bowels of Antwerp station half an hour later - it has about five levels, the local trains leaving from the top platforms. It was rather a mad dash, and the signs were slightly confusing. There is a beautiful façade to the station on the upper level - part architectural delight, part pure art. Needless to say, I made it to Brugge (Bruges) - by the way,  henceforth I will be using the Dutch spelling rather than the English or French, because hey, it's Flanders (Vlaanders) and they speak Dutch. 

Having studied the map before leaving home, I knew where I needed to go to find my hostel (famous last words); on crossing the canal into the old town the streets became narrow and cobbled, so that I feared for my ankles. My hostel was near to the centre of the old town, easy to find, and in the midst of renovation. In fact, the whole North Belgium seemed to be under reconstruction...time of year I expect. The great thing about this time of year, ie: the Off Season, is that there are less crowds of annoying tourists. Nevertheless, Brugge seemed full of disgruntled Brits and moody, cigarette smoking French. (Honestly, I'm not just doing my usual stereotyping - there were actually these kinds of people there!) I don't know why people are so grumpy when they go on holiday - I mean, really - you are on holiday!?

Brugge by night

Brugge is best seen by night, when all the old buildings are lit up. It looks very picturesque, and what I imagine many Hollywood directors would go weak at the knees for when they need to shoot in a "typical" European city. The main market square looked very impressive all in lights. They say it's a "Romantic Destination" city, but I think that is a load of marketing bosh.  It is pretty, and I love the architecture and atmosphere of the place.

I sat in a pub the guidebooks rave about; the guidebook also warns you won't meet any locals because of all the tourists. Perhaps the writers went in the busy season, because it was happy mix of both locals and tourists. It was a cosy place, just around the corner from the cathedral, and I sat next to an older, local man, born and bred in Brugge, who was delighted to tell me all about his wonderful city. We had a nice chat in Dutch over the course of one beer, and I left the pub with a bit more history of the place in mind.

Madonna and Child in centre

The next day dawned bright and sunny, and while I strolled along the canal towards the Begijnhof I stuffed myself with pastries (I'm on holiday!), enjoying the sun on my shoulders. Admiring the supposedly famous geese at the Begijnhof, I basked in the quiet and peace of the early morning - nuns from the Order of St Benedict have lived there for yonks, which probably leads to some of this serenity. Next stop: to see 'The Madonna and Child' sculpture. As I mentioned in my previous post, I was coming to see this because of the interest inspired by the new film The Monuments Men (if you still haven't seen it, get yourself to a cinema tout suite!). It is the only work of Michelangelo's to have left Italy during his lifetime. Well, it was a lot smaller than the film made it seem, but incredibly beautiful. It resides in Onze Lieve Vrouwkerk (Our Sacred Lady Church), which is also undergoing reconstruction. So, basically, there was nothing much to see except the sculpture as the rest of the church was covered in drop-clothes.

Wandering towards the main market square, my next aim was to climb the belfry. Would you believe it cost me 8 Euros (EIGHT!?) to climb up and then back down again 366 steps, be nearly deafened by the ringing of the bells once I did reach the top, and if one wants a guide with any information, it is most certainly not included. I tried getting through as a student with a student card (6 Euros), but the lady looked at my card, then at me severely and said, "But you are over 25." This being an adult malarkey is a costly thing. The view over Brugge was spectacular, however.

View from Brugge Bell Tower

Hopping on a train I went next to Gent (Ghent) for the afternoon, intending to see the famous Gent Altarpiece (also in the film, The Monuments Men.) Gent is sometimes called "Belgium's hidden gem" - I don't know who calls it that, because it most certainly isn't. Maybe I was there at the wrong time of year, but it felt dirty, noisy, busy and just rather rubbish all round. Maybe coming from Brugge, which is unique, left me a little jaded. Anyway, I saw the Altarpiece, which was interesting; then I had a wander round the Cathedral, and even had a look at the crypts, which I'm ashamed to say I found more interesting than the Altarpiece. I know, I know...but they were full of treasures and stuff...

I enjoyed being in Flanders - good beer, friendly locals, beautiful architecture, chocolate, lace, did I mention Belgian brewed beer?, and they speak the same lingo (Dutch), albeit with a different accent. It's a cute accent (I don't think the Flemish would like me saying that...) but it really is. Hearing them speak Dutch with the Belgian accent makes me want to giggle a bit. Belgium actually has three official languages: French, Dutch, and German. The signs are immense, accommodating them all. I had fun speaking Dutch with some of the local people I met - I think they found my accent bizarre, and I was usually asked to repeat myself.

One thing that is nice now that I live "on the continent" is that little trips like this are so easy. In Belgium I was able to speak the same lingo, use the same money (Euro), stay in the same timezone, and I can just hop on a train and be there in about five hours. 

In some ways, Belgium reminded me a lot of Germany - the cities are dirty and noisy, covered in graffiti, but the amount of money that people fling about is crazy: VW and Mercedes and BMW dealers on most corners, perfume shops with 400 Euro bottles of scent, all the top designer brand shops on the streets. It's an odd thing, and I don't know nearly enough about economics or Europe in general to begin to explain it. It is a country with a fascinating and long history, and today is the home of the EU headquarters (Brussels) and NATO (also in Brussels). An enjoyable holiday, and a place I very much hope to visit again. My favourite place was Ieper (Ypres), which I will talk more about in my next post. Until then...

A Lively Week in Groningen

I have been in Groningen two weeks now (still no bicycle, by the way - got out of that one!). I'm already feeling right at home, but I must confess that with this feeling, there is also a sense of bemusement. It's like watching a live painting from outside the frame...I'm apart of the art, but outside it too.

I think many expats feel this way. You can live for years and years in a country, but still be an outsider. At the moment, I'm finding this a positive thing because the people I've met so far in The Netherlands are politely curious about foreigners, enjoy the fact that you are butchering their language, and don't seem to mind that none of us know the rules of bicycle lanes. (Fifty points if you hit the American, Klaas.) I'm joking of course...

A hundred points for knocking an American off his bike, surely?

My point is, I have experienced a week of feeling incredibly welcomed here in Groningen. People have seemed genuinely interested in where I come from, and are curious to know if the US is really like they've seen it on the sitcom, Friends. It has been great sharing cultures and ideas, beer and bitterballen, and discussing the history of the places we come from. It is normal to be asked the question, "where's home?" when you are first meeting people, and especially in such an international, student city. Of course, for me, that requires a lot longer and more involved answer. (Good for practising Dutch though!). So, a pleasant week of settling in further and coming to terms with irregular verbs.

"Easy Reading" (Makkelijk Lezen)

One thing that pleased me very much was seeing Ernest Hemingway's The Old Man and the Sea sitting on the shelf of "Easy English Reading"in the library for those learning the English language. However, to access the lovely pile of English books the library has, one must join. For 45 Euros per year!? Bizarre!

It's been an altogether bizarre week actually: discussing the best places to to go for...er..."Amsterdam koffie" (weed)... in Groningen, and which koffie shops have the best hash brownies with classmates and teachers in the break time is certainly odd. And the frank question of if I've indulged came as quite a shock, before reminding myself that it is both legal and normal here.

The cinemas are also great: you can buy beer (by the can OR six pack) to enjoy during the film, and millions of snacks ranging from healthy sandwiches to sweets (perfect after that pit-stop at the koffie shop...); the cinemas are incredibly clean and trendy, and it is a great chance to get a peek at the national films. The previews for Dutch films, usually really strange Rom-Coms or very serious historical pieces about the 80 Years War (1568–1648, Dutch independence from Spain), give an interesting insight into Dutch film making. I'm quite interested in film (as you may have noticed), so I find this fascinating. You don't often hear about films from The Netherlands; the best film to come from here in recent years would be Black Book, with the very talented Carice van Houten. However, there is a whole slew of talented Dutch actors/actresses making their appearance in films. Have a look at the credits next time you watch a big blockbuster. The only negative thing I have to say about Dutch cinemas is, like many cinemas in Europe, they have assigned seating. The computer tends to group people together, and I find it very odd sitting crammed together with twenty other people in one section of the cinema while the rest of the hundred other seats are empty.

Snack bar (Kroket: middle picture, sausage looking thing)

Another bizarre thing is Dutch fast food: often it comes out of a wall. You might say, a fast food vending machine...On many corners there are Snack bars which consist of a wall that looks rather like postoffice boxes, with different fast foods. You pop in a Euro (or two), open the wee door, and there you have your patat or kroket waiting for you, soon to be resupplied by a man covered in splatters from the deep fat fryer.

It is surprising popular. For a country that cycles everywhere and has great health care, they aren't actually all that healthy. (Another bizarre thing). So many people smoke like chimneys, eat these fried foods regularly, and drink like fish. And yet they all remain their striking, blond haired, blue eyed, good looking selves. There's a secret there somewhere...

I have a whole list (yes, a real one, written on paper with pen) about the curious things I've seen around me in this city. Many revolve around men wearing astonishing red trousers (I really must snap a photo next time so you believe me), the lack of curtains in front rooms, and hair gel.

I shall endeavour to go out and find photos of these things for next time; in the meanwhile, I'm off to Belgium (because I can!). I saw The Monuments Men last week (do see it, it's very good) and became interested in the Ghent Altarpiece and 'The Madonna with Child' sculpture they went to such lengths to save from being destroyed in WWII. These are both in Belgium, and because I can hop on a train and be there within six hours, I thought I'd better take advantage of this.

More again soon from Bruges and Ghent!
 

Being A Bicycle Passenger

If the Dutch have one thing down really well, it's riding bicycles. They seem to learn to walk, swim, and ride a bike all before the age of five. It is incredible to see a small child riding alongside their mum or dad in the bicycle lane on a road. (Incredible and heart stopping - the roads aren't exactly quiet country lanes!). I've mentioned previously the hordes of mad cyclists who seem able to race along bicycle paths while texting, carrying their three children of different sizes, the shopping, and any other numerous endeavours. It is extremely intimidating. I don't think the Dutch walk anywhere either (walking, that's so last year...) because I keep getting a fright as cyclists will continue popping out of small alleyways, side streets, zebra crossings, behind buses...buildings (true!). Really, now.

Today, I experienced it all as a bicycle passenger. And I don't mean on a bicycle made for two...It is quite common to see a person sitting on the back of bike, ankles crossed, hanging on to the person pedalling. I've wondered at this from afar, marvelling at the apparent ease. It makes sense: bicycles are used more than cars, buses, and trains (and possibly even legs...), they have the right of way in most situations (which, if you don't know the rules, can make crossing the road an adventure...). So, for example if a young man comes to pick up his lady friend, where does she go? On the back of the bike, happy as can be, even when dressed up in high heels!

Well, it isn't easy, however it may look, and it is TERRIFYING. I think if you've been doing it since age dot, then it isn't, but to a newcomer, it is a type of thrill seeking. Move over roller coasters! Like many Dutch people, I have long legs, and I thought there was no way I would be able to sit on the back of the bike and avoid a) dragging my legs along the road or b) killing us both by getting my feet caught in the spokes.

And this was all before I even hopped on. Here is how it works: the pedaller, whom we will call Person A, sets off. The passenger, Person B, trots along behind and then jumps on, holding on to Person A. (White knuckled, in my case). Person B must cross their ankles and balance, trusting that Person A will not run them into any other cyclists, cars, lorries, buses, small children, dogs, trees, and/or signposts.

The other Dutch cyclists don't just cruise leisurely past either. None of this, "oh it's a beautiful day, let's take the bikes out" - no. It's a mad rush of hither and thithering, bicycle bells and squealing brakes. There should be speed limits, honestly.

A quiet crossing on my street

I live beside two schools; at 3.30 about a million thirteen year olds retrieve their bikes and begin to make their way home. I learnt very quickly not to go out at this time of the day if I cared to see the next morning. Cycling is a good thing, I know - great for the environment, health, traffic, and so on. But rush hour cycling is something to behold. I think there is "City Cycling" too (like city driving but without the safety of windows and a roof.) The aggressive, "I had to be somewhere five minutes ago, don't you know where you are going, you idiot", bell ringing, tutting, kind of cycling. And it isn't like in Cambridge, where I used to live, which is also a cycling town. There, people signal with their hands, wear helmets and reflective gear, and are generally fairly well behaved. Here, it's a free-for-all; organised ruddy chaos, that strangely seems to work efficiently. 

Anyway, I think it didn't help that my pedaller had never had a passenger before, so it was a very wobbly ride in which a lot of small screams kept erupting (and not just from me). It isn't particular comfortable either - a lot of balancing is going on, and each bump leaves you rather sore.

This is just as a passenger. Tomorrow, I'm taking the bull by the horns and going to see a possibly suitable bike. (Do you know, I'm rather hoping it is awful so I can prolong this "not having a bicycle" thing.) I've put it off for two weeks fairly successfully, but now I'm getting strange looks.

Someone said to me today, "How long have you been in Groningen?"
Er, two weeks or so.
"And you haven't got a bicycle yet?"
Um, well, no, I, er...
 
Wish me luck.

Groningen: City of Love?

I highly doubt the guidebooks would be quick to point to Groningen as a "Romantic City Destination" ... and I would agree. However, today is Valentine's Day, and even cold, northern cities can bring out their best for such occasions.

On my walk to class this morning the two markets of Groningen, the Grote Markt and Vismarkt, were awash with blooms for Valentine's Day. Roses by the ton and bright flowers in creative bunches spilled out of the market stalls, destined to surprise someone. Rather nice to see such a display of brightness first thing in the morning, and I do love freshly cut flowers.

I've never had much time (or patience) for Valentine's Day, having always written it off as a "Hallmark Holiday" (Hallmark, as in the makers of greeting cards.) Today, I rather surprised myself, and I do hope you'll forgive my lapse into sentiment.

I spent the most enjoyable evening with a group of people I'd never met before at a film event, watching one of my favourite films, Before Sunrise. (And I would implore you see it at once!) It's a film about two young people who meet on a train headed to Vienna. It's classic '90s in most ways, but Ethan Hawke and Julie Delphy give outstanding performances. The entire film moves along through dialogue; it is incredible engaging and such a sweet story. It is a modern look at love, perhaps, and we had a great discussion afterwards about it.

A couple who has been married for 47 years led this group discussion, and they talked about the changing views of love. Someone asked them about romance in marriage...doesn't it just fade away? I think we young twenty somethings look at the idea of over forty years of marriage as remarkable in this day and age. It is almost hard to believe - will we find ourselves in similar positions in forty years time? This couple were so charming in their answers, which revolved around working at a marriage, having faith and trust, and friendship. It struck a chord with me, because it was a very honest answer. Marriage may not be perfect (nothing is, of course) but it can be good, and that is perhaps something we hadn't considered.

I walked home in the late night drizzle, suddenly with eyes looking outward, rather than in. It didn't matter a tuppence that I was walking by myself; I didn't mind in the least. Groningen was all at once teeming with life. All around me couples were walking along hand in hand, deep in conversation with one another. Lovers were tumbling from the doorways of cafes and ristorantes; a young man cycled past with his girl on the back of the bike, her bright pink suitcase rumbling along after. Two men walked across the markt companionably; a pair of sixteen year olds cycled along the road, hand in hand; two ladies walked past me, eyes only for each other; an older couple walked slowly along the wet pavement, each in their best coat; a man gave a lady a rose.

The city was alive with peace and happiness. It was like something had come over the entire place - there was a sense of calm, and everywhere I looked there were soft smiles and tender touches. It was a most beautiful thing, and I felt so buoyed by the pleasant evening and the feeling of peace around me.

Love and friendship do exist - I saw that in the streets of my new city tonight. Perhaps having a day to celebrate that isn't so bad, Hallmark cards aside. I think, though I haven't spent the day in the "traditional" way, it has been a wonderful Valentine's Day. It has been full of friendship and laughter, good deeds, and a hopeful insight into the love filled streets of Groningen.

I hope you all have had a similarly wonderful day!

Remembering to Conjugate the Verbs: Dutch 101

There is something decidedly wonderful about learning a language properly. More specifically learning said language in the country in which it is spoken. It's double the motivation because it can be used just beyond the doorstep. After four years, I've become a student again: I began my Dutch language class yesterday here in Groningen, and I walked away feeling both extremely encouraged and overwhelmed. (A surprising mixture...)

The class is a perfect size: ten of us, nine girls and one poor, shy chap that might be regretting his choice. We are all about the same age and around the same level of proficiency as well (intermediate). It is incredible to hear Dutch spoken with so many different accents in one room! We are all well motivated for our own reasons, and everyone helps each other out if we make mistakes. It felt very encouraging and wasn't too intimidating. With such a friendly group, by the time the mid-morning coffee break came around, we were all chatting and gossiping (kletsen in Dutch) easily. Such fun!

The overwhelming bit came when I suddenly realised, in the middle of conjugating the verb "to go", that I would have to relearn everything. Yep. Start again from the beginning and learn it properly. I have come in "off the street", as it were, whereas the rest of the group have come from the previous class. My knowledge of the Dutch language has come from being surrounded by it with family, copying other people, listening and repeating, and so on. So, my grammar is substandard to say the least. I can say a sentence correctly, but I can't tell you why - I just do it.

Suddenly faced with parts of a sentence, tenses, and irregular verbs, my heart sank: this was going to be Hard Work. I spent the afternoon curled up with a grammar book, and began the homework we'd been set with a revived gusto. Half way in I had to stop, as I was getting my sentences back to front and my conjugations were becoming steadily worse. I put it aside and didn't look at another Dutch word for a few hours. It can sometimes become too much. Speaking and listening is fine, but when the brain has to really engage and do tasks that you've been set, it is much more tiring. Going to the butcher for my grandmother is one type of test; sitting and writing out essays is quite another.

In the evening there was a meet up at a Taal Cafe - a language cafe - where both Dutch and International students come together to practise the language. I went with some girls from class, and it was a huge success! There were lots of people there from all over the world, and we were all communicating splendidly. It was very neat - English is often used as the lingua franca (or "bridge language") between countries, but last night, we all found common ground though an entirely different language. For many Dutch was their third or fourth language. It is only my second, so I rather felt like the poor relation. I spoke to one chap who said Dutch was his fifth (!) language. I found it reassuring that a Dutch guy said to me at one point in the evening, "You have no accent? But...you said you aren't from here?"

Best pick up line a Language student can ever hear...

Most of us left after about an hour and a half. As more people arrived, the harder it became to hear each other. Once back at home, I put the television on to catch up on what's been happening at Sotchi. It looked far too cold and I have no real interest in skiing, so I flicked around, only to land on an episode of Borgen (a Danish television series about a female prime minister, amongst other things). So, as you might have guessed, it is subtitled. But being on a Dutch channel, the subtitles were not in English as I am used to when watching my Nordic Noir series. Needless to say, after an entire day of immersing myself in Dutch with speaking, listening, writing and now reading, I was exhausted. I went to bed with an aching head, only to lay there thinking in Dutch.

It's a long road ahead until certification; I know that, but I'm excited. I want to learn it properly and not just fly by the 'seat of my pants'. Doing something, and doing it well are quite different. It is important to me that I learn it properly because I'm a bit of a perfectionist, but also it means that the history of my family isn't lost or forgotten. Hundreds of years of my family history are flowing through my veins, desperate to be understood. The Dutch language is for me, both intuitive and mysterious. I think every language has those exceptions you just have to know. I can see my own progress, which helps my confidence. I know that if I do get it wrong, the Dutch, in their wonderfully blunt way, will just say, "What!?" and I will try again.

Language is representative of culture in so many ways. I think there is so much to be gained from speaking another language.

Stayed tuned for more conjugation updates from de zolder kamer (the attic room)...


(And if I can just take a moment to add: I've just become a featured blogger on ExpatBlogs. There is a link to your right that will take you to a page where you can review my blog. So, if you enjoy reading this, please leave a quick review to help push me up in the rank and file of Netherland blogs. Thank you!)

The Precarious Position of Travel Planning

It's been raining for nearly three days here. The type of rain that leaves you completely soaked within minutes, feeling rather stupid for not owning an efficient umbrella. That kind of rain. So, I've been holed up in my new attic room, listening to the rain pitter-patter and the wind howl, while being pleasantly warm and dry. Being stuck indoors doesn't make me stir crazy, in fact I rather enjoy it. The weather is a fantastic excuse to remain indoors where it's comfortable, and to catch up on reading, writing, guitar playing, episodes of NCIS, and exploring the many ways to enjoy Nutella. (Most recent insight: Nutella on shortbread fingers. You can thank me later...)

I sat back this afternoon, having very much enjoyed my weekend of cosiness, and my eye fell on my World Atlas. And thus began a very dangerous endeavour: armed with the atlas and a stack of new Lonely Planet guides (they would go and have a 50% off sale last month. It's like they know I can't help myself. And then the taunting "FREE shipping if you spend X"...), I got out my pencil and paper and began to think about the places I would like to see this year. This is why it is so precarious - I end up wanting to go nearly everywhere and the list gets very long. In the course of writing down my ideas, I flipped through the notebook and found a list I'd compiled three and a half years ago when I first moved to Cambridge. Surprisingly, or perhaps not so, the list was nearly identical, with only eight places marked off the first list.

Planning extravaganza!

Considering I've also been to lots of places that weren't on the list, I didn't feel too badly about this. Actually felt rather relieved I had achieved as much as I had, considering Egypt is not the easiest of places to visit any more. The world is constantly changing, making travel both easier and more tricky. So, it was with renewed fervour that I delved into my new Lonely Planet guides, drawing up ideas of things I want to see. Some ideas being: Ypres, as it is 100 years after the start of WWI and might be historically interesting to see; Russia (EasyJet flies there now for ridiculously cheap fares - brilliant!); Vienna ... and Salzburg - to investigate if the hills are, in fact, alive. The list goes on (and on).

Living on mainland Europe now has opened up a door to more access to these places. I think looking at the train timetable is even more dangerous than the atlas. Because The Netherlands is quite small, I can be practically anywhere else in Europe within a few hours. Berlin for the weekend; Bruges for a day out? Don't mind if I do! You wouldn't imagine a channel making much of difference, but I think it does. It feels much more tangible here in the north of the Netherlands. Europe's doorstep, perhaps. Time and real life are rather a factor, of course.  They keep getting in the way...

I've think I've decided to be rather irresponsible this year. (This year, I hear you say...). Why not use Groningen as a base to see more of Europe? Travel is something that makes me very happy, and I don't do nearly enough of it. I do travel a fair bit, but it is like a hunger never quite sated. It only ever grows, and my greediness for experiencing new cities and new cultures dances in the back of my mind most distractedly. So, perhaps rushing about Europe once the thermometer goes over 16C (60F), isn't such a bad idea? There is such a thrill of stepping on to a train with just a backpack slung over your shoulder, knowing that new things await you. Being able to wear the same clothes day in and day out, with no one minding; getting your fill of museums and art; trying new foods and attempting new languages; learning and experiencing.

Planning a trip is nearly as fun as setting off on the adventure itself. Figuring out how to get from one place to the next; what to see and do. What is the history behind the place, etc. It certainly kept me pleasantly occupied on a cold and rainy afternoon!

How do you plan for your travels? Do you often get itchy feet and the desire to visit new places?

Introduction to Groningen

Irish singer/songwriter, Luka Bloom, who I once met briefly after a lovely gig, wrote a song about his time in this city of Groningen. It begins:

I came into this city on a cold winter's morn,
Needing human comforts just to move along.
I sang and played the music as in many towns before,
Here I sang my heart out, you gave me so much more-
Reminding me to live and love life with a smile
And all of my frustrations became worthwhile...
....In Groningen, in Groningen
You had so many beauties I will never know,
But your peace and your wisdom help me grow...

Perhaps I hope to find the same joy. I suspect Groningen can be a most enchanting place.

My new city is not one many may have heard of outside of The Netherlands. Certainly it is not as famous as Amsterdam or Den Haag (The Hague) or even Utrecht. For those of you wondering where on earth it is that I've actually taken up residence, let me explain:

Groningen, the city, is the capital of the province of Groningen in the north of The Netherlands. While it looks like it should be pronounced, "Groan - again" (which you may well do after a visit to one of the many bars...) it is in fact pronounced thus: Guh (the "G" sounds like you are coughing up phlegm...) - rrrr (roll the "r") - then "own", and then sort of add "again" to it. All together now: Groningen!

(I never said this was going to be easy).

Despite the city's name using muscles unbeknownst to me, it is an interesting place. I came through one day at the tail end of a visit to the Netherlands many years ago at the height of spring. Which is to say, it was still cold but everyone still made a point to sit outside cafes in the sunshine. It isn't much different from any other Dutch city: canals, koffie shops (yes, those kind), sex shops and a red light district, mad cyclists, cobble stone roads, and a rather impressive church. I think why I liked it is because it still has a market town feel (much like my old home, Cambridge). It is the only big city in the north, once a large trade hub, and yet it doesn't have the same grungy feel as other large cities do. It stuck in my mind because of this. It is also a student town, full of life and fun.

In fact, students makes up a fair bit of the population. Something like half the people living in Groningen are under the age of 35. The Rijksuniversiteit Groningen is 400 years old this year and is in the top 100 universities. With loads of international students and being close to family, I thought it would be a good fit. (Though nothing is far away here - you can drive across the country in about three hours. That's insane. In Colorado it takes six hours plus to drive from one end of the state to the other!)

Martinitoren

The Martinitoren, just over the canal from where I live, chimes the hours merrily with its 62 bells, and looks rather grand on the edge of the Grote Market (literally, Large Market). It withstood the 'Battle of Groningen' at the end of World War II, and looks a lot like the Domtoren in Utrecht, but perhaps a bit less gloomy.

There's another kerk (church) at the end of the other square in Groningen, the Vismarkt (Fish market), called the Aa-Kerk. This one is more rounded, with a smaller tower, but equally beautiful. At one end of this kerk is a huge hall that used to be a Wheat Exchange which they have now, depressingly, turned into an Albert Heijn supermarket.

City Hall and Grote Markt (empty)

At the open air markets you can find everything you'd want; the train station is a work of art in itself; there is a sort of harbour at the end (or beginning?) of the canal system with the most magnificent ships; there are millions of shops and cafes. There is one cafe called 'The News Stand' which looks just like the sort of place expatriots would go to drink strong Dutch coffee and read English newspapers. I like it a lot because they let me sit at the bar and drink tea.

There are also a few museums. Not as many as I would like, being a museum afficianado, but one mustn't be picky. There is a rather lovely Nautical Museum which gives a concise look at Groningen's maritime history. There is the Groninger Museum which has lots of paintings, photographs and sculptures. The building was designed by an Italian and is often the first look of Groningen people coming off the train get. It's right across from the station, built in the middle of the canal. I think you either find the architecture inspired or off putting. For me it is the latter, but I will give it a go. There is also, oddly, a "Strip Museum" which is full of famous Dutch comic strips. Not exactly what I imagined when I first heard of it, I must say.

There is also a huge park called Noorderplantsoen where a huge music festival takes places each summer. I think Groningen will really come alive once the temperatures go above 18C (65F). It is half an hour from the coast, and also the border with Germany. It's quite exciting living so close to a border (not that they count for much these days in the EU...). But still, it is Germany! 

So, plenty to explore and read up on about Groningen. They have a dialect and a strong accent in this part of the country, so now I have to train my ear all over again. Mastering another language is tricky at the best of times... I realise I haven't given a very good outline of the history of the town. It will be my homework for next time. I think I've got enough to be getting on with: museums to see and old cobble stone side streets to be explored! 

The Starving Artist

If I were to receive an owl from Hogwarts (rather too old now, but one can hope...) I believe the address would look something like this:

Attic Room
Stairs of Death
By the Canal
Freezing North

Stairs of DEATH

The stairs will eventually be the death of me, I'm sure of it. Either that or the mad cyclists. I understand the concept of space saving, but really, this is rather the limit. Imagine if you will, steps that allow only enough space for your toes; or if you go down sideways, the side of your foot. The first time I went down these stairs I wondered for a moment if I shouldn't be wearing a harness and saying to some trustworthy person above, "on belay?" (climbing term for, "am I safe to begin descending?" said to the person guiding your rope...as I remember. Climbing friends correct me if I'm wrong...).

And when you come in...well, there is only enough space for the door itself, so you have to climb the first step, and push the door behind you. All this while holding mountains of shopping. Plus, another set of stairs to get to my bit...while they aren't as steep, they are narrow. The Dutch architects who came up with these stairs have a lot to answer for...

Aside from navigating the impossibly steep stairs with my shopping, the place is beginning to feel cosy; I'm settling in and adjusting to being in a city again. It's an old house, so let us just say that it has its share of character. 

As it is, I'm rather enjoying playing at "the starving artist". It suddenly struck me as I was speeding across Holland in a train that this is what I'm doing. I don't mean for a minute that I'm comparing myself to Van Gogh, or a poet living in penury. What I mean is this: some of my favourite authors, such as Hemingway and others of 'The Lost Generation' were all living in Europe (Paris, mainly) in the '20s and having a fine time. They were drinking the town dry while turning out some amazing work. You read about Hemingway living at the top of some building in a flat without much furniture, writing in the dawn light until his first wife and son would wake - doesn't it just sound so romantic? (Mind you, if his stairs were as awful as mine, I can begin to understand why he drank all afternoon...) Anyway, the image has always stayed with me, and I loved the idea of it.

Or Christopher Isherwood making his way through Berlin as a tutor and writer, capturing the place with his words. Or even all the many artists and folk singers of the '60s over in New York. Those of the 'Beat Generation'... There is such a romantic image surrounding the authors and artists of earlier times: living in pokey places without much of anything (except alcohol). Fuelled by their art alone, perhaps.

While I am by no means a starving artist (I wouldn't survive a week - according to my mother I eat like a dockworker...), I am revelling in the fact that I'm living in an attic room, able to write until all hours of the day; to play my guitar and craft new songs and rework old ones. I've always had a sort of dream that I would one day either live in a pokey flat like Hemingway, or a Cornwall cottage with only the sea for company like D.H. Lawrence - to write all morning, then nip out for fresh air and a baguette or a walk along the sea...

That I have been able to fulfil another of my dreams is very satisfying. And it is this that I will take with me. This feeling of accomplishment of having strived towards a dream, albeit rather unconsciously. I think I am just in the habit of doing what I love (as we all should be). And while my books may not find publishers, and my songs may not reach millions, the words pour out anyway. And I am glad.

I don't think I'm really a Bohemian (though my hair is rather bobbed these days, and I do have a Persian rug...), but I'm enjoying living like one for the time being. Living right in the city centre is quite new for me. It's so intriguing! I can pop out to the open air market and buy anything imaginable. And the people! I sometimes wonder if my life isn't like a film. For example, there is a chap in a flat directly across from me who sits at his desk by the window for hours, pulling at his hair. I feel I should write words of encouragement on a sign and prop it up in my window.

Downstairs someone has a moped with a dodgy motor and has to stamp on the starter for about 5 minutes before it roars into life. There are two schools on either side of me that ebb and flow with noisy children at ungodly hours. There are pubs and tanning salons, florists and corner shops. The church clock strikes every hour to remind us of the passage of time.

It is glorious. I feel young and alive - filled with artistic desire. Perhaps pokey flats and stairs of death do serve a purpose...

Super Bowl as Experienced in the Netherlands

Let me preface this post by saying I'm not a huge fan of American Football. For one thing, it takes far too long to watch. What are meant to be 15 minute quarters end up taking at least an hour each! I have neither the patience nor the free time. In fact, the only time we watched it was when the Super Bowl came around, and some friends invited my family and I to come watch. It was our state's team, so we felt compelled to have a look. That was 15 years ago, when the Denver Broncos won two years in a row. The days of John Elway.

Football, perhaps a symbol of America and the American spirit as much as Baseball, is something that baffles me. Not only does it take forever, but they hardly use their feet (so, why "football"). There is a whole language of "1st and tens", "yardlines", or "second downs". 300 pound American men throwing themselves to the ground and pushing each other over, while suited up to an immense level of padding. What is also startling is how over the top it can get. Cheerleaders and mascots running about madly, rabid fans painted to the gills, food that exists only to assure the longevity of cardiologists' careers...not to mention fireworks, marching bands and goodness knows what else.

And it is for this reason I rather like it. It is so...American. Being over here in the Netherlands I didn't expect to watch the Super Bowl. With the knowledge that my old state's team had played an incredible season of football and was headed to the Super Bowl, I felt once again compelled to catch some of it. Luckily for me, sports bars abound here in the city of Groningen, and one was having a right old shindig for the Super Bowl. Perfect!

It surprised me, in fact. I thought that here (where it is legal and fairly common), "Super Bowl" might bring to mind a rather excellent selection of...er...mind altering substances. Surprisingly, I found out the Dutch are fairly knowledgeable about American sports. (They probably know more than I do, let's be honest). They even have an American Football Team, the Groningen Giants, who were out in force with their cheerleaders. It was really most bizarre. 

Decked out in my best orange and blue (GO BRONCOS!) I sat myself down next to some chaps who were also rooting for Denver. Many people were wearing jerseys or team ball caps; others decked out in red, white and blue. American flags were hung all over the bar. I was terrified someone was going to ask me to explain the rules, but as I've previously stated, the Dutch know their way around a football field. Most of the bar was supporting the Broncos, which was great.  We could all shout at the television together. (And, unfortunately a lot of shouting was needed as they didn't play their best...). By Halftime, most of the bar had switched sides to support the Seattle Seahawks. Granted, it is much more fun to support a winning team...

I felt oddly nostalgic as I watched, sat in a comfortable corner of a bar in the north of the Netherlands. What a strange place to find myself! I felt an uncanny surge of patriotism and smiled fondly at the jets flying over, the marching band, the coin toss; what a spectacle! So over the top, loud, brash and so wonderfully, beautifully American. Such a performance would not work anywhere else in the world. It made me miss Colorado for a moment; I thought of all the people I know who would be out supporting the team. I slowly remembered the rules as the game got under way, thinking back to the cold evenings spent on bleachers with friends at the High School Homecoming game. The whole community came together. The smell of chili dogs and nachos, the sound of feet stamping in time to "Let's go Pirates, let's go" and people with painted faces waving signs and flags.

The Broncos may not have won, but it was still an enjoyable night for me. I liked seeing another culture get wholeheartedly behind a different country's sporting event. But now, I will turn my focus back on to 6 Nations Rugby, in which the men do not wear padding and do not stand about making 90 minutes stretch for hours.