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