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. 

"A rose by any other name..."?

Ah, the sweet and pungent smell of summertime in the city! Is there anything more thrilling? Except that this week, the smell is rather more pungent than sweet...thank goodness it hasn't gone above 21C (70F).

On Monday, Rubbish Collectors in the major Dutch cities (Amsterdam, Utrecht and Groningen) went on a a three day strike in support of better pay. As this article outlines, "Waste will not be collected, rubbish bins will not be emptied and there will be no street cleaning." They weren't kidding.

The waste begins to pile up on street corners

It is beginning to feel like some dodgy neighbourhood of Hamburg around here. The Grote Markt looks like a disaster zone. We're much better off than Amsterdam, from what I've seen from photos. Can you imagine what the tourists must think? Amsterdam already smells. (And I say that with the greatest affection as I quite like the city.)

More to the point, what will visitors to our humble northern city think? Now, I'm all for people expressing their rights; and let's be honest, those in the waste removal facilities do a ruddy awful job and deserve a decent wage. I hope they are successful (partly so this mess doesn't happen again).

Equally, I began Monday morning with the hopeful thought that if people saw how much rubbish gets left about the streets, they would be shamed into a self concious realisation. I innocently thought that the Dutch people, with their eco-friendly this, and wind energy that, biologisch everything, bicycle riding mania, recycling, and free thinking, would look around themselves and say, "this isn't on" and the streets would be fine. 

I'm overgeneralising (I know, I know, I do it a lot), because there are many Dutch people that are wonderful in regards to being responsible about their rubbish. However, the current state of the City Centre (including the street I live on: thank you very much, 13 year old schoolchildren from across the road who feel it is perfectly acceptable to leave lunch remains on the front doorstep and windowsills...) is appalling. Completely and utterly appalling.

So it is my hope, that besides the bin men getting fair pay, that the citizens of our three major Dutch cities realise that we too have a responsibility. Thinking "the street cleaners will get it" just won't cut it. In this country, unlike in England, there are bins every few feet - so there is no excuse! In my old city of Cambridge you would be lucky to find a bin within one square mile!   

What also worries me is that the overwhelming infestation of pigeons and seagulls will now fly around with our rubbish in their bodies. It will kill them eventually. Infestation or not, it isn't particularly fair. And what of the rubbish that is now filling the canals after gusts of wind takes them from the street? The rubbish is also undoubtedly attracting underworld gangs of rats and mice, and their cunning counterparts, street cats. Bags are opened for the hope of food, and thus, the contents are dragged all over the streets. (In Colorado, this kind of strike could never happen: we would have bears, coyotes, foxes, and any number of other animals wandering in...) Striking is all well and good, but do we not also have a responsibility to the animals and waterways affected? 

It is, perhaps, a moot point, since the strike has happened, the rubbish has piled up over the three days, and life moves on. However, it is an interesting thing to think about: our responsibilities as a city dweller, as a citizen, as human caretakers of this earth. The actions we take always have an affect. Let us hope that some good can come from the ones we've seen this week. 

Waste will not be collected, rubbish bins will not be emptied and there will be no street cleaning. - See more at: http://www.dutchnews.nl/news/archives/2014/06/bin_men_strike_in_amsterdam_ut.php#sthash.QdX33d4A.dpuf

Waste will not be collected, rubbish bins will not be emptied and there will be no street cleaning. - See more at: http://www.dutchnews.nl/news/archives/2014/06/bin_men_strike_in_amsterdam_ut.php#sthash.QdX33d4A.dpuf

Waste will not be collected, rubbish bins will not be emptied and there will be no street cleaning. - See more at: http://www.dutchnews.nl/news/archives/2014/06/bin_men_strike_in_amsterdam_ut.php#sthash.QdX33d4A.dpuf

Waste will not be collected, rubbish bins will not be emptied and there will be no street cleaning. - See more at: http://www.dutchnews.nl/news/archives/2014/06/bin_men_strike_in_amsterdam_ut.php#sthash.QdX33d4A.dpuf

A Generation of Dreamers

While I had intended to wax lyrical about Holland's recent triumph (slaughter?) over Spain in the World Cup (1-5!!) and go on about rock concerts in the Grote Markt (Bløf!), another thought struck me today. It is Father's Day, and naturally my thoughts turn towards my own, and it goes without saying that I think he's the best. I also thought, however, about all the other fathers who are equally great. I look around at my generation and begin to notice a trend. Our parents are pretty cool!

My peers and I are nearing thirty and most of us have been in (and out) of quite a few jobs, been through higher education, moved around, loved and lost, travelled. All before thirty! Someone once said to me when giving an account of my adventures, "But you're so young - how can you have done all that?"

Because our parents encouraged us to dream. I am not saying that other generation's parents didn't, but I do rather think we've changed our mindset. More and more of us are picking ourselves up and saying, "No, no, I'm miserable in this job/city/relationship. Why am I doing this again?" We have always been taught to question; most importantly we've been told over and over again: Do what makes you happy. So we are. We aren't afraid to start over again and again (and again). It makes me so glad to see people living for their passions.

This may be the key: this strive to be happy; this refusing to settle. It can overwhelm us, of course, but I am seeing more often the positive effects of this. No longer is it this 'Mad Men' ideal of a career that will see you into retirement, with a house in the suburbs with 2.5 kids and a Golden Retriever. There is nothing wrong with this either, but I just think our priorities have changed. We want more from life than ever before. We want to live. By making decisions that a few generations ago would have been seen as ridiculous and foolhardy, we are taking charge of our own personal happiness.

Our poor mother and father's have had to bite their tongues and smile in the face of hearing, "I'm off to India for two months...", "No, I'm going to quit; the money's great but I can't stand the job...", "I think I should move to New York so I can play music..."

We've taken the first step by even saying, "no, we want to be happy."For that we have a lot to be thankful for.

Parents of course want the best for their children, and it is only natural that stability and security are a part of this. So far, we're making it though. By the time we are thirty, my friends and I will have had more jobs and seen, and possibly done, more than our parents ever did. It must terrifying them; certainly terrifies me. Stability sounds nice! But goodness me, how exciting it is to live for one's passions and dreams. When I think back to my graduating classes of high school and university and look where my friends and I are now, I am pleased to say that the majority of us have followed our passions. A rare thing perhaps in a world dominated by money and power.  

Yet this positive energy coming from young people being happy and passionate about things is causing a stir. We want to change things, make things better. Young people always have such enthusiasm for change, and I realise it isn't always a possibility. But we want to try anyway - just think what might be achieved! Ours is a generation that knows and has tried lots of different things in life. I like to think we are living with gusto. There's no point otherwise, is there?

So, thank you, brave parents, fathers and mothers, who have allowed your children to dream!

Summertime...and the Livin' is Easy...

The problem with "getting away from it all" is that every good intention of being a regular blogger tends to go out the window. I don't travel with loads of technology, and thus, I'm very behind in this "not quite a travel blog."

Last week, after being drenched in a downpour of epic proportions and deafened by the bustling humanity outside my window, I escaped gladly to the island of Terschelling for time with family and some peace and quiet. It's always a joy to go back to the only place I can really think of as home.

On June 6, I sat watching the D-Day Remembrance service in Normandy on television. It was attended by all the state dignitaries and Royals of the Allies. I was glad to see Angela Merkel there too, representing Germany - it is a relief to know there has been enough time for healing to begin properly. Veterans from the Allied forces who had landed on the beaches of Normandy were there; the Prime Ministers and Kings and Queens shook hands with them and thanked them. President Hollande of France was the host of the event. He looked rather weary of greeting nearly every country in Europe and her allies (though, as we know from our history, not Spain, Portugal, Switzerland, or Sweden...). Hollande did, however, give a marvellous speech. It was in French and the television gave Dutch subtitles, so between the two I managed to understand it all. I found his words very moving and hopeful, and he spoke poignantly about remembering our troops as well as the German victims of Nazism.

An old photo of the bunkers in the dune

Sitting not 200 metres from a German WWII bunker on the island, while watching this service was, in a way, surreal. As I have previously written, seeing the War from an occupied country's eyes is quite different. Hearing the memories of this day from family members is fascinating: the utter hope they felt is very moving even to this day. Listening to the BBC broadcasts on secret radios and passing on the message: "They've landed in France! They've arrived!" I can't even begin to imagine how it must have felt - the beginning of the end of the War in Europe.

It was a humbling afternoon of remembering; I felt glad that I am of a generation that is, thank goodness, coming to terms and understanding the full meaning of "forgive and forget".

My marvellous view from the port deck

It was a good weekend away, getting my fill of summer sunshine, sand, reading, cycling through the dunes, eating far too much, and building sandcastles with children. The Netherlands has a lot to offer when it comes to the outdoors, I must say. I headed back to Groningen, taking the slow ferry boat. I could have easily taken the fast one, but I had a little bit of time before needing to be back in the city. There is something rather wonderful about travelling purposefully. To enjoy the process for itself alone. It was a perfect day on the sea: hardly any wind and a blue sky. I found a perch on the outer, port deck and sat writing with pen and paper for two hours, watching ships and sail boats pass us by. Glorious!

In the harbour town of Harlingen I resolved not to run like a madman for the train, and instead walked the kilometer through town to the other train station. They've installed loads of informational boards about the harbour and canals, talking about the history of this once busy shipping port. I arrived perfectly on time to catch the train home. I wrote in the train too, finding that by hand, writing takes a lot longer and allows one to think carefully. We are spoiled by our computers sometimes...

Grote Market, Drie G'Zusters

Groningen was loud and hot and sticky when I arrived. I missed the fresh sea breeze immediately. The last few days have been full: mind numbing noise from the street below (honestly, who starts machinery at 6am...?!), and going to and fro.

The constant noise that summer seems to bring to the city is driving me slightly batty. But, it is summertime, and as the old song says, the livin' is easy. Each day is a blessing.

World Cup fever is very much abuzz here, and I can't help but fall in with the feeling. Holland plays tonight against our old rivals, Spain (on Friday the 13th!).  Hup Holland, Hup!