And we went last evening through the town square (Grote Markt), we went around the crowds which were gathered at the big stage listening to Jazz (Michiel Borstlap Band). We meandered through and around the throngs to our usual Thursday evening Jazz venue “In den Uiver” to listen to Boris van der Lek & Rudd de Vries (saxophone), Nick Vos (guitar), Pablo Nahar (double bass), and Daniel van Dalen (drums). I can only assume these were the people as we had 2 saxs, drums, guitar and double bass.

The music was great, the atmosphere interesting, and some of the evening began to remind me a little of last years Jazz festival.

That is our front row seats with our wine and my water were great.

And we were surrounded by people we had not seen there before, that is the regulars (which we now count ourselves as), were not there. Did they know something that we didn’t? Were they at another venue for something different? Where were they???

Now I know why they were not here with us.

As the evening progress we were surrounded by people. Yes I know I said that before – but between us and the band; and it was a great jazz band, there was only about 6 or so feet. In that space, over a period of about 1/2 an hour there materialized at least 10 tall and some tall & wider dutchmen. Now the women, when they came in they found places to stand against walls. They did not interfere with the view or with the sound. The men – they considered it absolutely okay to walk in and stand in front of the band, with no consideration to any other people, including us who were already seated in front of the band. I mean, come on guys, we came early to get seats, and they just walked in and stood – in front of us and all the other seated people. (serious indignation)

True – we could also stand, and further block those behind us, and still not see or hear any better because we are both vertically challenged here. Best Beloved less so, but a shorty no less here.

We chose to go home at the first break.

The room at “In den Uiver” is small. The fan on the ceiling is by far the smallest ceiling fan I have ever seen, and it must be 50 years old, and it moved the air ever so slowly. And we were behind many taller than us Dutchmen.

The music was great!

Such a pity!

**It reminded me of being surrounded by tall Dutchmen at the 2009 Haarlem Jazz Festival when standing at the outdoor concerts, the best of which was Bowlegs at the Groenmarkt. This time was more difficult because we were seated with nowhere to go**

We have set 4 traps (we do know it is not mouse friendly to do so – so do not remind us of that fact please), and we are pleased to report that no mouse has entered a trap since our first post on this matter – and even better – they have left home.

There is no sign of meeces.

The dutch mice I have to report have not been enticed by cereals, dark chocolate, peanuts, peanut butter, fluffy bits of stuff with a hint of vanilla, ham, or even Dutch cheese.

Maybe they like French or Danish cheese.

No matter they have packed their belongings and gone on a journey to a new home. Should they or their buddies read this – the absence of these tenants is appreciated and we do not wish new tenants – thank you.

Yes we picked blackberries, Yes there were plenty, but we were wearing sandals and that is not a very good thing when inside the blackberry bushes trying to reach the tastiest and biggest berries. Now neither Best Beloved nor I are very tall here in the Netherlands. Yes I know what you are thinking – that I am not very tall anywhere, but here it is also true that Best Beloved is not very tall either. The blackberry bushes are very tall and one needs to lean down to the lower bushes or try to reach higher than tall Netherlanders to collect berries.

Both options are fraught, in fact all options are fraught if you are wearing sandals.

Still we did gather a few, we (Best Beloved) was trapped in the blackberries, and had some difficulty extracting himself. I only got one large prickle in my big toe.

And we ran out of liquid on this blazing hot day – and there are very few public toilets out in the fields and I don’t have the picnic equipment that Best Beloved has – so we decided to ride to Sloterdijk – to use the toilet at the station and then replenish our liquid supplies. Which we did.

I just don’t know why we didn’t just go home at that point – we had already ridden 16 or 17 k’s on the bikes and collected blackberries.

No, me and my big mouth – I said why don’t we just ride into Amsterdam, you know, just for the fun of it. And so we did. It was a lovely ride, we have great pictures of great sculpture and delightful vistas, and at about 22 or so k’s nearly in the heart of Amsterdam, by Prinsengracht – we (I) decided we should turn back.

And you know the old story, the Johnstons are out riding, the wind says here they come – lets get them, and we rode back into the wind all the way home to Haarlem. It was truly exhausting and very slow riding.

So our little meandering journey became 42 + k’s just like that, and about 20K’s of it was riding into the face of the wind.

I need a zip on my mouth – so that our journeys are not extended too much when we are out there.

So we were keen to see first-hand what the Dutch have come up with to protect themselves and the natural environment at the same time.  Alas – our research was inadequate – we arrived in Rotterdam at ten AM to find out that the defences are actually 96 km from Rotterdam, and that the next public transport opportunity would have us arrive at three PM.  And that the whole shebang is closed to the public at 5:30 PM.  We also found that they all-day guided tours of all of the sea defences, but only on a Wednesday!  (Oh well, we will plan a break later this month and go there on a Tuesday evening, do the tour on the Wednesday and carry on to Belgium to visit Brugge and Antwerp and maybe Ghent.)  So, what to do next, in Rotterdam with no other plans?

We had a coffee, then went to an information centre where we found that there is a Matariki exhibition of Maori artefacts in one of the main centres.  What a fine irony, we thought, let’s go there.  Bugger – one has to make an appointment two days in advance.  (Sigh) – add that to the plans for the return visit.

OK, that leaves the architecture.  When the Nazis invaded the Netherlands in 1940, they gave the Dutch an ultimatum – surrender or we’ll bomb Rotterdam into oblivion.  The Dutch, knowing what the Germans had done in other countries, and without air defences, did the wise thing – they surrendered.  The Nazis went on ahead and destroyed Rotterdam anyway, with no apparent reason other than to demonstrate to the rest of the world that they could.  After the war, Rotterdam was rebuilt in a modern style.  Now, there are two ways to do build large-scale in a modern style.  One is to do it as cheaply and unimaginatively as possible – that’s what the Belgians did in Brussels, a town so ugly that the French coined the term “Bruxellation” to mean any very ugly urban reconstruction.  Brussels in not in our Belgium “must-see” list.  The other way is to insist on high standards in both aspects of architecture – functional engineering and art.  That’s what they did in Rotterdam.  And in their own way, the buildings of Rotterdam are as admirable as the fine old buildings of our beloved Haarlem.  We saw, we marvelled, we photographed, until we grew hungry.

On a whim, we turned away from the complex of buildings close to the station, toward the centre of town.  On the way was an Irish pub called O’Sheas Rotterdam showing the Bledisloe Cup match on a huge screen.  We had a table with a great view of the action, ate lunch and had a couple of drinks – dry whites for my Darling and pints of Guinness for me.  Served in plastic glasses, for heaven’s sake, as there was a Carribean summer carnival beginning in town, and the police didn’t want drunken hoons using beer or wine-glasses as weapons.  While we were there enjoying the food, atmosphere and the game along with a group of very happy Kiwis and some very quiet others (Ockers, perhaps?), four armed police arrived.  One stood outside while the other three went through the bar to ensure nobody was drinking from a glass.  The All Blacks triumphed over the Wallabies, to our great pleasure, and on screen Graham Henry raised his arms in delight while Robbie Deans frowned.

It feels very satisfying, to be half-way around the world and and able to watch the Bledisloe, especially when you did not even know it was on at that time.  And especially when the ABs win.

What to do????

We have 2 spunky mouse traps – that capture the offending bench crappers and kills them, neatly.

BUT what does one use to attract these mice. Nothing according to the mouse trap literature (in Dutch), but it isn’t working. So we have added peanut butter to the trap – they don’t like peanut butter these Dutch mice. I added some shaved ham today, they don’t seem to like that either.

Maybe, just maybe Dutch mice like cheese!!!!

Tomorrow we will replace the peanut butter and the ham with cheese.

The reason I know we have mice is because they shit all over the bench top. The other reason I know we have mice is because Best Beloved has sat silently at our dinner table and observed the mice, duh!@#$#, more than once.

He didn’t rush with swords blazing to eliminate these little furry pests. He quietly watched them and he thinks they meander along and across and over everything on our bench top with such style and charm.

I don’t think mice have charm and style. I think they should leave because surely I will eliminate them even though Best Beloved likes watching them.

Please don’t tell grandson, he will be looking for mice to observe in New Zealand if he knows his grandad observes them here. He might even take up a mouse or two as a pet, heaven forbid.

Horrors in my house

Mouse horrors in my house.

I want them to leave – and so far only one mouse has suffered the indignity of being caught. Fortunately Best Beloved didn’t bring it to me, he disposed of it. He didn’t try to convince me that it was sweet and alluring and gentle and……

But the shit goes on

Please free my house of mice

Yeah, right.  Except the Orange brigade, that is.  The World Cup build-up in the Netherlands was intense and orchestrated, as Nederlanders got themselves ready for the event.  All is Orange here.

Today, at our stamcafe the Coach House Inn, I watched Nederland play Brazil in the quarter-finals round.  Saturday is a normal shopping day, but most small businesses closed before the game started.  Everyone wore something orange.  I never thought I would ever see a little orange number, but now I have – some women even wore little orange dresses.  After all, sport is a serious matter, especially when the national team is playing.

Brazil was expected to win by all the world except the Dutch, and even some of those admitted to pessimism.  Hans the proprietor had the big screen going in the bar, and set up a TV screen in his terrace.  I sat there with a large extended family and watched the action.  They all had orange banners, balloons that said “Hup Holland Hup”, and orange horns to blow or play.   Hans and his part-time assistant served food and beer throughout the game.  The family was even more entertaining than the game, abusing the referee’s decisions when they went against Holland, gasping with horror when Brazil scored or even looked like scoring, cheering when a Brazilian was red-carded, roaring and blowing horns when Holland scored, moaning and swearing when Holland missed opportunities.  And at the end, screaming and hugging and kissing everything that moved.  Two-one to Holland – Brazil was knocked out of the competition.

Immediately, we heard the dreaded three-note sound of an ambulance siren.  Pity, I thought, when there is so much celebration.  But not to worry, there was no emergency.  As the ambulance came into sight, the driver had his hand on the horn, and his fellow paramedics were leaning out the windows, waving and cheering.

Everyone knew that Holland was a step closer to the final.  Every bus that passed honked continuously, the drivers and passengers waving as they passed.  Car drivers, normally sedate, flew Dutch flags and orange balloons and bunting, revved their engines and honked their horns.  Groups of youths on bicycles hooted and whistled and made as much noise as possible.  We have written before about how the Dutch celebrate, but this topped anything I have seen so far.  If this is what we get when Nederland beats Brazil, what will happen if (when) Nederland takes the cup?

The NZ rugby, racing and beer culture is often criticised.  It takes a healthy dose of a soccer, speed-skating and Genever gin culture to put that into perspective.

Footnote:

NZ, with three draws, was unlucky not to proceed into the second round of the World cup.  Hans told me that in 1982, Italy also drew in the first three games, but proceeded to the second round and eventually won the cup that year.  Oh, what might have been…

All will be very orange in the Netherlands for the World Cup 2010

The World Cup is coming!

and we are so very sad to announce that we will miss all the madness as we will be in New Zealand for a very special small persons birthday, and other family gatherings, during the very mad times ahead for those here in the Netherlands.

I know it will be mad times – because already the world is steadily becoming increasingly orange. Now I know we have seen orange here before for Koninginnedag and so on – but this will be much bigger than anything we have experienced so far here in the Netherlands.

And now the Horse has new shoes – new Orange clogs, and the little cafe (pub for the English) closest to us is covered in Orange – that is it is now a seriously Orange building.

The outside walls are covered in orange plastic – all over except the windows, the flowers are orange, there are orange pennants, orange balloons, orange plastic wrapped around the posts like a fence at the side of the road and I am sure if we made it inside the door that the inside is bound to be very orange as well.

There you are – I do have a photograph of this wonderful old building – I do not know its age, but it is far older than any we have in Auckland City, New Zealand and it is positively orange. I will hunt out further orangeness – for you all to see – if I have the time and before we leave for New Zealand very sadly, very soon.

It hasn’t actually even started yet – has it? the world cup I mean, really, properly.

The orangeness certainly has.

The madness begins.

We were minding our own business. We had been for a quiet walk around town for about an hour, across to the Spaarne and back across the Grote Markt and home down Nassaulaan. Suddenly we saw coming towards us a traffic officer with flashing lights, and we scurried across the road at the bridge over Niewe Gracht – because we thought he was going to be going somewhere in a very big hurry. Easy assumption because when the flashing lights go on they usually are hell bent on getting somewhere pretty quickly.

Not this one, he seemed to be coasting along with his lights flashing and we did not have to scurry at all. We stopped to see what he was up to – rubber neckers – that is us. We watched, and suddenly there were people with whistles and orange vests and skates of some kind or other. Well what would you think, were they on some sort of exercise – learning about crowd control or something. One stopped at Niewe Gracht on each side of the intersection of the bridge and others went past us and stopped at the other side of the bridge – one at each side of the intersection on that side. And then they came – Hundreds of people, all shapes and sizes, in all sorts of gear, normal clothes, sports clothes, clowns clothes (they were gorgeous), orange vests, whistles and wheels – skates, inline skates, roller skates, and roller blades – and they just kept on coming.

All ages, all sizes, all shapes, some crash helmets and knee pads, and elbow pads, and shorts, and skirts and skates – at great speed – like lemmings – they flowed by us while we stood on the bridge and watched open mouthed.

Hundreds more it seems – suddenly we jumped into action – camera – oh s…………. no camera, camera phone, maybe but it was a bit dimm – the light, I mean. Best Beloved took some photos with his phone and he will upload them tomorrow if he can and I shall post them if any are okay.

From what we could tell -there is be an event – and I don’t know, maybe this was a warmup. When we see the paper tomorrow, maybe we will know more. Best Beloved is managing reading the local papers quite well now – so if it is there we will report back.

Eventually all the skating people had gone by – and the orange vested, whistle blower skaters fell in behind – and they continued away up Nassaulaan – at great speed.

It is amazing what you meet in Haarlem in the evening when out on a quiet walk on a beautiful evening.

There was a young man – just a little way along the bridge – and he said “That was cool, that was so cool” – I agree, yes it was cool.

It was nearly a great day – this Bison hunting day.

We left home reasonably early, and as we always do we took clothes for the rain, and clothes for the wind. We had to stop about 1k from home to add clothes to protect from the wind.

Now Morgan has given us both a special Swiss bag for carrying across the body over one shoulder and it has pockets for everything. It is a great thing for hiking as they do in Switzerland and for cycling as we do here in the Netherlands.

Mine contained my little Samsung camera to take those all important Bison photos, my puffer for my asthma, my strepsils for my sore throat, and my sun tan lotion for the sun, tissues for you know what, and did I say it already; probably, but I also took my little Samsung camera to take the all important Bison photos.

I know you are saying out there – what am I on about.

Well, I added a sleeveless sweater vest thing to stop the wind. I took off the wonderful Swiss bag, the gift from Morgan, put on my Vest thing, and reduced the affect of the wind. I rode off happily without my Swiss bag, my camera, my puffer, my suntan lotion, my strepsils, my tissues, and oh dear, my camera.

We rode for nearly 5k’s before we realised. That is we rode to our destination – the Bison Park, well it isn’t called the Bison Park, but just now I cannot remember what it is called. But we rode there all the same, stopped the bikes, started to lock them up and I realised I didn’t have the bag, the wonderful Swiss bag from Morgan.

and that Best Beloved rode gallantly back to see if he could find the bag – not a hope.

But the best thing that happened on this day is that there were no Bison to be seen anywhere. So the camera wasn’t needed.

But I would like 4gb memory card back

So if you found the bag – you can have it, I just want the photos I have not downloaded from our boat day the day before.

So if you have the bag and camera and all the other bits and pieces in it – we can swap – I will give you the charger for the camera battery and you will give me the 4gb card with the photos on it still.

Message for Morgan don’t buy us another bag. We can replace it ourselves, as well as the camera. I just hope we get the memory card back.

Well, here in the Netherlands one really does stoodge about, or mess about in boats. We have seen it many many times – walking over the many bridges over many canals, and we have experienced it personally as well.

We did do a RIB (rubber inflatable Boat) trip last year – 6 of us in a RIB riding around the canals and up the Spaarne River and it was fun, but it was not just messing about in boats – we had a time frame and people who were leaving to catch planes. Of course it was fun and we will do it again ourselves – which may well qualify as messing about in boats.

And of course we have been on canal tours – but that is also not messing about in boats.

On Saturday we were going to ride our bikes slowly up beside the Spaarne and listen to live jazz at the Cafe Terras in the afternoon at Fort Zuid. It was to be a test to see how we are both doing as this spring has affected us both quite negatively.

But as it happens we changed our plans as we were invited for a ride around the canals in a private boat. Now that was really messing about in a boat. We had lovely food, lovely company and a tour by two wonderful locals who know the canals and all of Haarlem extremely well. The boat was quite large, has sleeping accommodation for up to 5, small bathroom, kitchenette etc. It also has a Coots nest (black and white bird a bit like a pukeko) on the platform by the rudder. An exceptional living arrangement.

This tour was fabulous. We were told all about the buildings lining the canals including one which used to belong to Napoleon, and many other interesting facts. We also passed a small boat – maybe 15 to 20 feet and I will update that figure after confering with Best Beloved.

When these two were very young and very much in love the took a boat of such size and shape – across the English Channel and up the Thames. Wow! it was a very small boat – not designed for ocean travel. It clearly made it because these two are still together and they still mess about in boats. It seems that they were a little nervous in parts of that earlier journey.

We explored to the end of the canals where this boat was too substantial to go under the bridges and continue. I seem to think we have done that before in the RIB – although in the RIB we pressed on regardless – laying flat in it, so that we could negotiate under the bridges. This boat was too big for the little bridges, and we jiggled and jiggled (don’t know that that is a nautical term) around so the boat could turn and go back where from whence it came.

We drank lovely Rose and ate Cheese sticks, nuts and fishy stuff on melba toast and just simply enjoyed a lovely few hours messing about in a boat.

And we saw Haarlem with new eyes – odd for us really because we see most things with new eyes. But from a boat the world is a different place.

I actually enjoyed messing about in this boat with Best Beloved and these lovely locals.

Thank you