Koningsdag: Celebrating the first King's Day

For the uninitiated, I rather imagine the vast expanses of orange across The Netherlands this weekend was a surprise. In the centre of town yesterday I saw a group of American tourists being led on a sort of city tour. The guide was holding up one of those paddles with a number and an American flag attached; you often see them in European port cities during the summertime: cruise tours..."Do Venice in a Day"... I do wish I'd been able to hear what the guide was saying. "Here we see the Dutch in their natural habitat, quaffing lager and donning the national camouflage."

One of the many beer stations

It is incredible, really, to see the Dutch turn out on a national holiday. It is as if all the rules have suddenly been thrown out the window. I have also never seen so much beer ingested as I have this weekend. (My part in this was very minor, I assure you...). This weekend was the first King's day (Koningsdag). (The first in over a hundred years, I might add). Last year, Willem-Alexander ascended the throne to become King - what a marvellous day it was too! Such a party atmosphere and national celebration. I was curious to see how it would be this year. Would it be quite as grand? Would the music be just as good?

It was 'no' on both accounts, merely because if the country had huge parties every year, there would be no money left for things like housing and schools. The national spirit of celebration was still in evidence though. On Friday night (Koningsnacht) I went out to join the throng in drinking and dancing and revelling. Everyone wore orange or the the flag's colours, red, white and blue. It was a great atmosphere. It was rather like wading through rubbish on the market squares though - the ground sticky with spilt beer and other unmentionable things. As I've said, the amount of beer being consumed was just mind boggling. The crowd felt very young (or maybe it's just me...they all looked about 18...) and I was glad to leave them to it after midnight.

Decked out in orange!

I woke several times throughout the night from revellers on the street below the attic room. At one point a woman was yelling for her young man, "Marco, Marco? Marco!" I was very tempted to put my head out the window and yell, "POLO," and be done with it. The bells of the Martinitoren began pealing at about 8 o'clock - a lovely, melodious sound, but not really what I wanted to be knocking around my head after a late night.

I put the telly on right away and sat down to enjoy a morning of coverage from De Rijp and Amstelveen, where the Royal Family would be visiting. In both cities along the streets were stalls that helped to explain the history and heritage of the place. It was lovely to see the family all partaking, shaking hands, listening to each stall vendor, giving a hand to make cheese, taste local foods, try a bit of sport....children sang for them, there was dancing, the mayor gave a few words. The typical sort of Koningsdag. It was great to see how easily everyone interacted. The Dutch Royal Family is beloved by their people, which has been said before many times, and on days like this we can really see it.

Vismarkt Muziek

Throughout the Netherlands, each city had festivities with music and food. I found a vendor selling Oliebollen and immediately bought six. Little piggy, I know, but since you can only get them at Christmas, New Year, and Koningsdag, I have to make it count. Why they aren't sold year round is beyond me. I would have them every week!

Oliebollen!

The weather was unseasonable warm (I went without socks - in April!). In Groningen there was a lot of music going on throughout the city. There was also a Vrijmarkt set up where one can find anything and everything, second hand. As I say, a really nice atmosphere throughout the city - everyone having a party. In a way, it is nice to see everyone taking to the streets. You get caught up in the atmosphere of it all, and it leaves you tingling.

Such excitement and fun!

ANZAC Day

Five years ago today I was crawling out of bed at 4:30am in the hushed pre-dawn darkness in Newcastle, Australia. Joining my fellow International and Aussie students, we boarded a bus that drove us down to Nobby's beach. The day was just a mere hint of pink on the horizon.

2009, Nobby's Beach. ANZAC service

ANZAC stands for Australia and New Zealand Army Corps. There is day to remember these soldiers that is observed each year on April 25 - the day the ANZAC forces landed at Gallipoli. Thousands of men were slaughtered on the beaches there in 1915.

When we arrived, Nobby's beach in Newcastle was already busy. By the time the sun began inching up, the Military band was welcoming the day. Flags were raised, and men in uniform both young and old marched in. There were speeches, someone read a poem (The Ode of Remembrance, I believe), and there was also a prayer; commemorative wreaths were laid out and the Military band played 'Waltzing Matilda' as well as other patriotic songs. 500 metres up the hill, four canon shots were fired from Fort Scratchley. The service ended, of course, with the Last Post.

This particular piece of bugle music never fails to get me choked up. In the minute of silence afterwards you can not help but feel grateful to those who fought and those who continue to fight to this day. That I had the opportunity to stand there on the sand, free and young and full of life - how could I not shed a tear for the brave and the few?

Military band on Nobby's Beach, 2009

I am not Australian, so why should ANZAC day feature in my calendar, you might ask? Well, I did live there; the Australians and New Zealanders also fought in two World Wars in both the European and Asian theatres. In conflicts on such a global scale as these, we are united.

Australia holds a very special place in my heart, and my remembrances on ANZAC day extend beyond the heartfelt thanks to past and present soldiers. It is also a day where I can think back to my time there, the experiences I had, the people I met. You see, Australia played a huge role in shaping me into the person I am today.

Sun just up over Nobby's Beach, Australia, 2009

It started before I left: growing up I watched The Man from Snowy River and programmes like Skippy and The Crocodile Hunter somewhat religiously. Steve Irwin was, and remains, my hero. Some Aussies may scoff at this as he was quite a wild character. However, to a twelve year old a world away, learning about new animals and understanding the importance of wildlife conservation was eye opening. There was a world out there that needed saving, and I spent months climbing trees with an old video camera filming all sorts of animals in the back forty. (A rather lovely American idiom that means a section of land, usually quite large.) I was determined to go to Australia, pitch up at Australia Zoo outside of Brisbane, and offer Steve Irwin my knowledge of wild animals. Sadly, I never got the chance as he died in September of 2006. I learned of his death while sitting in my 8am Anthropology lecture.

Two years later I spent weeks planning out how I could get to Australia. Come hell or high water, I was going. After welcoming in 2009, I hopped on a plane in LA in January. I spent a few weeks with my college room mate exploring New Zealand before arriving in Australia in February. I jumped on a train from Sydney's Central station and began a journey from which I have never ceased. I was beginning the rest of my life in that moment. I have never looked back.

One of the many commemorations of a True Blue Aussie

I did go to Australia Zoo; I had nothing to offer but my tears. Silly, perhaps to grieve a childhood hero that one has never met, but there we are. I'd made it at last, and it was one dream I had fulfilled. How wonderful it is that Steve's legacy and his life's work continues to live on through his family and colleagues.

The things I miss most about Oz are naturally the friends I made there, but also the food (Arnott's biscuits in particular!), the bizarre (and often dangerous) wildlife, the fact that one can get away with saying "mate" in every sentence, and making each thing you say into a question. I miss feeling entirely at home in a culture that often seemed like an odd mix of American and British. I miss the scorching heat and the hospitality I experienced. I could go on for days, really. It is a wonderful country - if only it wasn't quite so far away. I often think that if I go back, I will go back for good.

ANZAC day has come and gone in Oz, a day ahead of the rest of us. But now, in the Netherlands, on the eve of a national holiday here, I am dreaming of a sunburnt country.
Let's crack open a tinny, mates...

Easter in Groningen

You may be thinking, "What? A post about Easter already? It's only Good Friday!" I know, I know, but so much has happened already! Yesterday, Groningen was host to a HUGE spectacle called The Passion. Every year on Witte Donderdag (Literally, White Thursday, or what is known as Maundy Thursday - the day before Good Friday, when the Last Supper was meant to have taken place...) this huge musical event is staged in a city in the Netherlands. This year, as luck would have, it was taking place about five minutes from my front door!

The stage set at the Vismarkt. Security tight too.

The Passion is put on by all the different Christian organisations within the Netherlands. It is national event. You might be thinking, how do they make "The Passion" into a musical event? At first it seems almost blasphemous - pop music intertwined with the story of Jesus' last days? However, it is done very well.

The story, set in modern times, was filmed in and around Groningen. What was so cleverly done about it was that while the singers sang in the clips on the big screens, the music was being played live on the massive stage in the Vismarkt. There were also live performances on stage. Famous Dutch singers (Jesus being played by Jan from 3JS, no less!) were singing popular Dutch songs that even I knew. Songs that are regularly played on the radio.

Setting up the big screen in the Grote Markt

There was also a enormous white cross that was carried from the Oosterport, through the Grote Markt (where I was), to the Vismarkt. The local news company had a team of reporters in amongst the crowd and walking along with the cross interviewing people. A reporter stopped two ladies at one point asking about why they had come, if they were enjoying it, etc. They were mother and daughter; the daughter said she didn't believe, but wanted to come along to see what it was all about with her mother, who did believe. To learn why it was important to her mother. I thought that was splendid.

Last night it poured with rain (even with a brolly I became quite damp), and yet the paper reported this morning that 20,000 people attended The Passion, with 12,000 people alone in the Vismarkt. (De Telegraaf said it was a "sea of umbrellas", which I think is quite apt). While it was certainly a religious event, it didn't feel overly so to me. It actually felt more like a summer concert. There were all sorts of people there, of all ages. The atmosphere was lively, people sang along, and everyone just enjoyed it. It was a positive vibe, very moving if you allowed yourself to become wrapped up in the spectacle, and overall a wonderful experience. 

Right at the end it stopped raining. Grote Markt screening

I don't know why I'm so astonished. I suppose, 20,000 people out in the rain (and according to another newspaper, 3.2 million people watching at home) is something you don't see every day. I am so pleased I was able to go and see it for myself. What an experience!

Afterwards, as I followed the crowds away from the Markt, I walked past the Martinikerk and wandered in. Churches are fantastic for just wandering in - art galleries too. There was a sort of an "after event" with free tea and coffee, stalls with information about programmes going on in Groningen, volunteer programmes, and even a quiet room with an organ playing. You could light a candle there. It was very lovely. Along the back wall of the church was art work to do with the Crucifixion, which was interesting. All in all, a most pleasant evening. 

Today, we seem to be playing host to bus loads of Germans. (Along the canal by my house, there were eight buses...I am not entirely sure why they've all come.) [Don't mention the war!] It was rather odd when walking into town to see cafes advertising 'Kaffee und kuchen'. The parking garage even had a German flag on a sign that said "German parking" ... I suppose, being near the border, Groningen is a holiday destination?

The gorgeous Martinikerk

Well, anyway, I was heading to the Martinikerk to enjoy a spot of singing for Good Friday. Even though the entrance was free, I ought to have picked up a ticket beforehand. I explained to the lady manning the door that I didn't have a ticket (in my best Dutch). She said something back and I looked at her blankly before asking politely if she wouldn't mind repeating herself. She said, "Oh, sorry, I thought you were German."

Now, I know I've got a funny accent, but really. I've been called many things, but German is not one of them. I didn't mind in the least, but was instead doing my best not to laugh. She asked if I was alone and was I here to listen to the music? Yes on both accounts. She shoved me inside without further ado. So, blagged my way out of that one!

It was a lovely, peaceful concert. The inside of the Martinikerk is beautiful. Simple, yet elegant. Hearing the organ going at full tilt was spectacular as well. What a wonderful start to the Easter weekend! The rain from yesterday is gone, leaving Groningen looking bright and clean. I hope it is just as lovely where you are. Happy Easter!

(If you would like to see the enormity of the crowds and hear some of the songs, have a look here).

Groningen Life: Weather, Cycling, and Adventures

The weather is being quite contrary today here in Groningen. There is no other word for it. I woke to the rain pattering on the attic room's roof (and when I say pattering, I actually mean deafeningly pounding...), an hour later the sun was shining; then the wind began to gust. Every time I looked up from my work today the weather was doing something different. When I went into town, I forsook my bicycle in favour of my own two feet, thinking I'd be more likely to stay upright. The wind was gusting like crazy.

In town it was as if a bicycle massacre had taken place. All the free standing bikes had been bowled over by the strong gusts, scattering the pavement with their awkward frames. The ones attached to railings were clinging on for dear life. A road sign had been brought down, rubbish was blowing across the Markt like tumbleweed in old Western films, and small dogs were being gathered up by strong bursts of wind....all right, so maybe not quite, though I did see an empty child stroller whisking past at one point. I was very grateful today that I make it a point never to wear skirts. In this sort of weather it can only spell disaster.

However, I'm not here to talk about the weather. In fact, I really wanted to give an update on my cycling adventures. As you can see, I haven't died or become maimed by other mad cyclists, so hurrah! I'm slowly learning the rules (IF you can call them that).

I've taken particular umbrage at a certain "rule" which says anyone coming from your right as the right of way. It's just silly. Does it mean that if I'm on a main road, do I need to brake for the chap coming in on my right from the side road?? I haven't taken the risk to find out, so have been braking madly every time I see someone coming up on my right. Although, logically, I'd be coming from his left, and therefore he would have to stop for me...?

I decided to be a good citizen and look up the Dutch Cycling rules, as obviously mimicking the locals will get me killed. The official manual has 84 pages, so I tried Googling the rules to get the general gist before having to devote my entire evening to reading up on "How to survive cycling in the Netherlands: Part 1"... One of the tips stated, "Be a Defensive Biker". Which is all well and good...however... Another website had a "helpful" FAQ section about cycling rules, in which one stated,

"Am I allowed to use my mobile phone while cycling?
    Yes, you're allowed to use your mobile phone while you're cycling. Research has shown that you're more likely to have an accident."  (source)
 

Haaientanden - or shark teeth

Is this just me, or is this a very Dutch answer? I love it! It doesn't use flowery language or suggest a nice alternative. No, it states a fact: Research has shown you're more likely to have an accident. Basically, if you want to be an idiot, we won't stop you, but you will more than likely become acquainted with the intricacies of tarmac. Klopt.

Also, there is a delightful road signal that is much clearer to understand: shark teeth. (Seriously, although no animals were harmed in the making...). Haaientanden show that those at the pointy end need to give way. I like this concept because you can easily see who is meant to do what.

Watertoren West

At the weekend, when the weather wasn't being quite so difficult, I went on an evening cycle to see more of Groningen. It is nice when the roads are quiet and I feel I can look about. On the other side of town by the canal I saw a large, round, tower. It is called the Watertoren West, and is 56 meters high. I looked it up at home and the most interesting thing that was said about it was: the top was damaged during the Liberation in 1945 by Canadian artillery because the Germans didn't want to give up their hold of it.

I also saw the bridge over the canal outside my house being raised for the first time. That was quite exciting (and luckily I wasn't in a rush...). On Saturday two boatloads of German tourists (I'm assuming) came cruising down. The voice over the tannoy was talking about the church in 16 something - probably the Martinikerk. However, I could be wrong as my German is appalling. Anyway, it was a nice opportunity to see how the bridge is raised.

The raising of the bridge over the canal

All in all, a fun weekend. Despite the weather, spring is really in the air. I saw men forgoing the red trousers and wearing shorts on Saturday. As per usual, I nipped down to the Markt to have a look around. It's a great excuse to buy pastries... I've discovered that going first thing really is the way to do it. The pastries get a bit blah after midday...

This coming weekend is Easter, which is quite a big thing here. Stayed tuned for more happenings in Groningen...

Museum Weekend in Nederland

I am steadily becoming more and more impressed by the Netherlands' national days/weekends/weeks of art, culture, and literature. Not only do the Dutch embrace life with fervour (or so it seems to me), the nation regularly turns out to experience and savour the finer aspects. Fantastic! This past weekend was "Museum Weekend" across the whole of the Netherlands. For an Euro or two you could visit a participating museum (of which there were hundreds). I heard about it through social media and immediately decided to visit my local Groninger Museum.

Normally, the adult ticket price for the Groninger Museum is 13 Euros (outrageous, in my humble opinion...), so you can imagine I was chuffed to be getting around that. The museum building is a work of art in itself (if you like modern architecture [which I don't] and that sort of thing). I think it is a multicoloured monstrosity, but there we are.

The Groninger Museum

Inside, we began in the temporary exhibitions. To get there you must walk along a corridor at water level. Quite odd to see the canal at eye level. One of the temporary exhibits was a collection of paintings by Marilyn Manson, which were suitably creepy. There was also an exhibit titled "The Club" which was (according to the plaque) attempting to represent the ideal of a gentleman's club. The light fixtures were shaped as breasts, so honestly I think it was just the artist having a laugh. But then again, I don't "get" modern art.

I gladly escaped to the Groningen history time line. They had a bit of the undercarriage of a Canadian tank from WWII which was fairly interesting, coins, an old bit of wood, a beautiful lace picture, and a clever recreation of the city from clothes. (See photo)

Groningen...in clothes!

We saved the best for last, however. The thing I like about Dutch museums (certainly not the entry fees) is that they always have a good smattering of the Dutch Masters. These are men like Johannes Vermeer, Jan van Goyen, Rembrandt; I adore them. I like even more however, one chap called Aelbert Cuyp, (the Fitzwilliam in Cambridge has a lovely collection of his work), because in nearly every painting he has managed to include a cow!

The Dutch Masters also are awfully good at seascapes, which are paintings I could stare at for hours. So, in the Groninger museum, I raced through the Portrait gallery and found myself in front of some lovely van Goyens, drawings by Cuyp, and some others I'd not heard of before.

1 Euro - Museum Weekend

In this section of the museum, each room has a saying that sort of gives the theme of the room. They are hung from the ceiling. The exhibition's overall theme is "Natural Beauty". It's quite pleasantly done, actually. They have one lovely Paul Cézanne - his paintings always make me feel warm because they are usually of villas and shining seas. There were also two Monets that I hadn't seen before, so I was in seventh heaven.

Not a bad way to spend a Saturday morning! (I still wouldn't happily pay 13 Euros for it though...). Three cheers for Museum Weekend!

Taking the Plunge: Cycling in Groningen

I've finally succumbed and bought a bicycle. It seemed a bit silly to be living in a country known for bicycles without actually partaking. I've been putting it off because Groningen has a rampant bike theft problem (not unlike most other Dutch cities), I can easily walk everywhere, and the cycle lanes are terrifying. But, let's face it: cycling is quicker.

My new mode of transportation is a second (third?) hand Batavus, blue, with two luggage racks (front and back). I've got two locks, a loop lock attached to the rear wheel, and a loose, German made lock to attach the bike to things so it doesn't get carried off (I hope).  The lights don't work and are slightly skew whiff as if someone rather heavy sat on them... The gears work...ish...first is useless pedalling, second grates like a blender, and third is impossible. And the brakes! The rear brake when applied moans like a dying cat and the front brake is so touchy it is a miracle I haven't already gone over the handlebars. So, as with most second hand bikes: situation normal! I am rather chuffed with it: it has got character. I am taking suggestions for a name, by the way...

New mode of transport

Yesterday, I used the bike to go get my shopping. It's very handy because I don't have to lug it myself, but I found I bought more than usual... I regretted it once I had to carry it all up the stairs of death...

Also, I haven't ridden since living in Cambridge and I'm very out of shape. Certain bits of me are rather sore now. The poor old bike takes a few clunking pedals to get going properly, so setting off from the traffic lights is slightly terrifying because everyone else starts whizzing past me and cars roar around me.

Even when I do get going, people still zip past. (Texting, carrying their three children, and hidden under mountains of shopping...I really must get with the programme!) I nearly had my left elbow taken off by one chap overtaking me. People don't seem to use their bicycle bells here, unless it is to get a friend's attention on the pavement. Brilliant. Don't even get me started on signalling... I think I've got to learn the Dutch rules of cycling. In Cambridge it was all rather orderly; people wore helmets and vivid green, signalled properly, and knew to keep out of the way the Lycra clad crowd (they used to tut very loudly if I got in their way during the morning rush hour...). Here, from what I've seen, is that cyclists have the right of way, always, and they can go anywhere (ie: no one actually follows the rules!). 

I'm very aware that I'm riding without a helmet, I must say. I keep sending up little prayers each time a bus comes near me. To make matters even more eventful, here in Groningen there are quite a lot of one way roads next to the canals. Quite early on I found myself on the wrong side of the canal (and thus the wrong side of the road), so I decided that following other people to get a feel for the roads would be a good idea. Alas, my journeys have been fairly circuitous.

Oh, and I have had the bicycle less than a week and already it has been wantonly vandalised. In front of my own home no less. No one ever tells you owning a bicycle in the Netherlands is going to be such a stressful thing. You've now been warned.

On the plus side, I must say however, it has been nice to be on the back of a bike again. When the roads are quiet and empty, it is fun to soar along feeling the fresh air in my face.  It is also nice being able to arrive most places within ten minutes. I'm still a tentative cycler, but with the onset of warmer weather I'm sure I will be out there more often in amongst the madding crowd, running down pedestrians.