9~You Will Never Forget the Little Town of Apeldoorn

Rain hammers down in the little town of Apeldoorn. Apeldoorn (translation: apple thorn), Eve’s hometown; exactly a 58 minute train journey away from Amsterdam South- Dutch public transport is pretty damn punctual. I am sitting in a quiet restaurant and could not feel further away from the city that presently holds my heart- my Amsterdam. I listen to the sounds of a hopeful kitchen, preparing for the possible Sunday evening diners. Shops are closed on Sundays (across Holland in the smaller cities and towns) and little Apeldoorn’s centre is somewhat deserted. Eve croggies me here, heading on to visit with her grandmother. Nothing much will be open, she had warned, it is not Amsterdam.

We arrange to meet at this particular restaurant, chosen purely for the fact it is open, in an hour. So, itchy feet and my general disposition of curiosity in new places, I decide to wander first, revisiting the areas and shops we had perused just the day before. I retrace our steps: a ghost town now in contrast to the low key bustle of the Saturday market place and main shopping street of yesterday.

The sun was actually shining at this point and so I meandered on, adventuring further. I watched two friends enjoying an ice cream on a sun-drenched bench; a couple walking slowly, hand in hand; a child hopping and counting to 10 (I wanted to join in, as I too, was just mastering this myself this morning under the patient teachings of Eve’s mother); a lone cyclist, who as if in slow motion, biked through the town and all was quiet.

Surprised to see an intriguing looking deli open, I headed in after passing it twice. A little hungry, I managed to hit my Apeldoorn jackpot. Such a friendly young woman, seemingly in charge of this impressive Delicatessen, chatted away, interested in my story. This young deli owner, who let me sample her specialty homemade pesto on water crackers (perfect for a Friday night hors dóuever with friends, she tells me), delivers the same dialogue as many other people I have met here in little Apeldoorn: So, you are staying in Amsterdam while in Holland? Oh, yes, it is a great city- but only for a day or two. Much too fast! I am always glad to get back to the quiet of Apeldoorn. I guess I am surprised because she likes to rock out the fancy crackers on a Friday night and I somehow equate that with the cosmopolitan attitude of the big city. How could she not want to live, be or just have more than the obligatory and occasional capital city visit? But, I too, feel the same in England, returning from London or Bristol to my hometown. I can completely relate: I snuggle and settle in to the more rational pace, the lack of distance to cover and travel, everything within easy reach: my little English Apeldoorn.

As I walk away with a lovely bag of treats, I almost shake my head and laugh out loud. Wow- had I so easily become one of those ‘big city living is the only way to live’ types?? Amsterdam is all I have known (and LOVED) in Holland. I hadn’t really contemplated life further afield… This conversation, concerning big city as opposed to smaller town living is certainly something that must be echoed worldwide. I love the calm demeanor of the smaller city but god, do I miss my Amsterdam. The quiet here seems to have created some sort of tension in my neck.

I sat on a bench and unpacked my treats. It was still curious to me, that this Deli, without one customer (aside from one little random wanderer: me!), had a plethora of fresh treats in abundance, counter tops full of lovely nibbles and samples. Who in Apeldoorn would be here to eat all this delishiousness before it goes bad? I mean, I could put in a pretty good effort with the crackers and Ecuadorian chocolate but I don’t think even the dent I could make would suffice. This lovely girl had prepared a take-out box of rice with leeks and a side of vegetables, warmed up and with plastic crockery and napkins. Also packing me up with a few freebies: cocoa dusted caramel covered almonds, a sample bag of the fancy nuts she has just ordered in (I do believe that they were in a jar that was labelled ‘Weekend Nuts’) and a dessert of two little brownies for ‘my friend and I to have when she returns from meeting her grandmother.’ So sitting in the silent town, I eat and feel touched by her kindness, her interest, her generosity.

 

We return to Amsterdam tomorrow- Apeldoorn just a momentary blip in the whirlwind of our Amsterdam life. Time, however slower it seems, does not stand still in Apeldoorn. We have already experienced a lot here, even in the slower pace of existence: My honorary Dutch parents take us out on Saturday night (I do believe each Saturday in Amsterdam we have in fact opted for nights in

or a yoga class…); we go to quite possibly the most happening place in Apeldoorn- an all you can eat within two hours. It is actually really good: fresh food you can choose to be stir fried in woks in front of you and the most delish kokos mousse (coconut) of which I had two! We have gone for a run in the local neighbourhoods. Gorgeous greenery with stunning houses dotted on the perimeters of the local parks. Spring has sprung here, with the flowering bulbs and ducks all around. The birds are the only noise we hear. That and the odd car, the footsteps of one or two passer-byes and the laughter of a small child in the distance. We visit Eve’s sister and her new baby niece. We sleep in Eve’s bedroom- her in her single bed and myself, snuggled in floral bed linen on a bed on the floor. I look at old photo albums, chat and learn Dutch words with her (very patient and encouraging) mum. Her mum waits on us hand and foot. We go to bed early. We rise, sleepier from the 9-10 hours we soundly slumber. The traffic, energy and sounds of the Overtoom, sounds of the neighbours seems worlds away, not just the hop, skip and jump it actually takes (well, bike, foot, train, possibly croggy).

I realize as well that we have not climbed any serious stairs since we have resided in little old Apeldoorn. I thought thigh crunching stairs were a Dutch thing. It is a Dam thing; where living quarters, yoga studios, cinemas, restaurants, dance lessons all seem to be situated high in the cityscape and are part of the toll, the daily work out in the big city. Climbing high, multiple times a day. I fear that when we return, my new stair legs will have forgotten and the not very princess huffing and puffing will be back in full force with every climb.

 

Eve’s high school pal, Reinier,  joins us for my very first (very lovely it is too!) Dutch Sunday family dinner. He lives just around the corner. Easy. Eve’s friends in Amsterdam are spread far and wide. They mission it and select compatible calendar moments to group together for a dinner or a drink out, rarely spending time or sharing meals in their homes. Our family meal is so lovely: traditional fare with meat (salmon for non-meat eaters), potatoes, green veggies, red cabbage and apple sauce. Toasted with a lovely glass of red. Post dinner, Eve, Reinier and I enter into dangerous

territory: gaming and puzzling. The parents retire to the living room and we, the children, play games. Turns out, these two have a history of gaming and the gloves are off. New game: Wermgenner. Worms. You have to be 8 or older, be lucky with the dice, slightly strategic and a willingness to prevent fellow players from a win by stealing their worms. I am so addicted (and humbled by my loss in the gladiator arena of these Worm experts), that I challenge poor, unsuspecting Konstantinus (lovely Starbucks man) in Amsterdam the following day. I  whoop his ass-


Konstantinus is introduced to Regenwormen

he takes it pretty well, even offering to buy me some jelly worms as a reward for my win.

Reinier, although fierce in battle, blows us away with an extremely thoughtful and kind gift. A box of tricks for two princesses in  the ‘Amsterdam Jungle’.  Reminding us that life is about the little moments. His kit includes: chocolate, wine, craft items, face masks, candles and a new game of Cockroach Poker. What a beautiful box of gifts to take from Apeldoorn. We can also put into our special box the peace of a quiet town, family love and special moments.

Extremely touched and moved, we gather our bags and precious gift box the following morning. We watch the news with Eve’s parents before our mid-morning train. Barack Obama is helicoptered in to the Museum Plein, heading to the Rijksmuseum which is literally round the corner from Eve. He is met with a flurry of excitement (security controlled of course) and Eve and I look at the familiar museum and area spread across the TV. It is the first time an American President has made an official visit to Amsterdam. Den Haag (The Hague) is normally where it is at. It is kind of cool to see all the area closed off still when we cycle back from Amsterdam South just an hour later.

This flurry of energy, felt through the TV and this special event, reminds me of Eve’s arrival in the restaurant in the square of Apeldoorn, where I waited for her the day before.  I wrote: I presume Eve is delayed because of the rain showers that appear and sound very heavy. Rain can hammer it down here, the sun can shine. It will always be quieter and slower than Amsterdam, that is the nature and beauty of small towns. Then, Eve slides into the booth across from me- a flurry of energy, as if arriving on a special helicopter flight, chartered just for her. ‘Hey girl! My God, it is so quiet here!! It is FREAKING me out!” I nod, raising my eyebrows. But, like Eve’s mum said as we drove through the fairytale-esque wooded areas near the palace (the Dutch royals have a weekend home here) and Eve’s grandfather’s house: ‘Jessica, you will never forget the little town of Apeldoorn.’ Apeldoorn, charmed, a pleasure to meet you. I have loved the  hospital home of the Kollers. I will be back, Apeldoorn. But for now, home sweet home, to Overtoom 32. We pull away, on our punctual Amsterdam bound train. I smile at Eve. She smiles at me. ‘Not long now, Princess and we will be back in Amsterdam… How about a game of Cockroach Poker?’ Just two fancy little town girls, playing a game and heading home, to the big city.

 

 

 

 

8~Die Fancy Girls Dan Gewoon Lekker Gaan Puzzelen

Our puzzling stays within specified times to keep some form of control and so my trip here does not descend into puzzling mania. The three of us, Leon, Eve and myself, must only work on it as a trio. It is like an initiation for our future roles as top secret spies. So we arrange to meet the following Thursday evening, a mutually convenient time in our busy schedules (for Leon work, for us it is yoga, yoga, shopping and hanging out). It seems a far way away but something to look forward to. We need a decent amount of time to move forward and give the puzzle the attention it deserves. I go to sleep that Sunday dreaming of puzzle pieces, parallels that jigsaws and puzzling have to do with life: new  paths, creating, changing, evolving, growing. Sometimes staying the same (like that 12 minute search for one piece).

Theo, Eve’s friend, finds our puzzling activity endearing: “Wat ik nou zo leuk vind is dat twee van die fancy girls dan gewoon lekker gaan puzzelen. Heerlijk!” Translation for us non-Dutch speakers: “What I like so much is that just two fancy girls sit down and go puzzle. Lovely- I love it!” My crush (yes, girlfriends, rejoice that I have managed to form a vague interest in a man and Sally was this your chakra work?!) at the local Starbucks is also slightly bemused when I share our weekend activities with him. So, what have you done today? More shopping? I am a little offended because although I want him to believe me to be princess, I do not want him to think of me as that type of princess. No, I have been puzzling and gardening. He looks surprised and needs more information. So I blab on about the unicorn and show him my scars from the brambles, just to prove the multi-dimensional sort of princess I am. (I do not mention that Eve has booked me in for a manicure and pedicure!)

 

Our weekend was not just wrapped up in the puzzle. Saturday featured a spot of gardening. Unusual, maybe, here in a city of tall buildings and apartment living. Eve’s friend had sent an email calling on people to help her clear her garden. She was in need and we were willing to give her some of our muscle and time. Why not? Cue: mission on a Saturday morning across Amsterdam in search of this garden. A little tired from our Friday night (double class of yoga is enough partying for these princesses) and a bit of a slog on the bikes (sometimes it is not completely blissful as I may have led you to believe) looking for the right area, we were fortunate to cross bike paths with a princely type. He not only knew where the gardens were, he was heading there himself and would be our escort. Like a jigsaw, things falling into place. He also had beer; this was not particularly impressive to us but I guess good to know he was an organized type of prince, who could provide party beverages. I respected his Saturday gardening style, although our bottle of water and snacks of apples, nuts and licorice suited our princess tastes.

We felt pretty out of town, although the bike ride home highlighted that we were not too far from city life. Gardening in the Dam shed a new light on Dutch living for me. I guess it is the equivalent to our allotments back in England. Allotments Dutch style. A picture perfect miniature Dutch suburbia. Paths (fit for cycling, of course) with little gated gardens; small houses, all so individually designed; small canals running through the little neighbourhoods and friendly gardeners here and there, greeting us and chatting weather and all things green. So we set to. Working with the other friends that heard the plea. What a great community feel!

When we head to the toilets we see what a hive of activity this little surburbia world is hosting. Eve’s friend explains that the people that own these gardens are obligated to do works on them the first weekend in March in order to maintain this haven of green. In fact, people do stay in their little houses in the summer months. I thought they looked too adorable and trully house-like to just occasionally sit in, during gardening breaks or for shelter from unexpected weather. There is no electric but people use gas and make a little cosy place for themselves on summer nights. (Where did that Prince go? He has some palatial digs right here in the secret heart of Amsterdam. Apartments and living quarters tend to be small here and he has a castle with green grounds! ) I LOVE it. It reminds me of ‘The Cabin’ in Point Roberts. This was the place of miniature outdoor living back when I was a kid, growing up in Canada. Owned by the Burritts (I wanted to be adopted into this family, even though my family were and are amazing!), staying in this cabin, that overlooked the ocean was an enchanting retreat. A home from home, everything smaller and everything more simple. A perfect getaway in nature. Kate Burritt and I, around 8 years old, had the most lovely of adventures that are imprinted forever in my memory. These came flooding back as we biked around the miniature world, admiring all the different houses and gardens.

We stayed for a bit longer, determined to complete the patch of garden we had started on. The others had gradually disappeared, other commitments and Saturday activities to get to.  So there we were, just Eve and I. Lost in this lovely Spring Saturday, lost in childhood memories, weeds and bramble bushes…Just two fancy girls, gardening.

 

7~(Magic) Leon

Meeting new people can be great, meaningful and enriching. Amsterdam has been a place that has held some really special people in my life. There has been a real hub and interwoven worldwide links here. One of the weekend visits a year ago made this apparent. Fee (now living in Hull where we originally met a few years ago), delivered me to the Overtoom to spend the Saturday with Eve. Eve and I then went to Sally’s (now in Morocco, originally from Australia, met a few years ago at a wonderful yoga retreat, lived and worked here for many years and shared some Magical Moroccan memories just recently!) yoga class and then the four of us girls grouped together for a coffee. Very cool.

 

Eating with the girls at a fancy restaurant.

It is always nice to meet new people too that are not new to your friends. So a dinner with Eve’s girls at a fancy restaurant one night and seeing her circle of people is lovely. The people you choose to have in your life reflect and tell so much about you.

Leon, the chair provider and scrabble contender on Doorstep, Overtoom 32, is someone that Eve may end up sharing a new apartment with. He is a pretty compelling character and worthy  of a blog entry alone. His manner, how he sees the world made my think of a book that we used in Year 3 Literacy: ‘Leon and the Place Between’.
Leon is from Russia and has lived in Amsterdam for over a decade. He was actually passing through here on his way to Canada but ended up staying- he says he loved the city, the cycling, the vibe of the place. His English, like Eve’s is amazing and he speaks four languages. Dutch, Russian, his local dialect from Russia and English. How he constructs his English is pretty perfect but coupled with his accent and manner, I find it entertaining. At some point Eve enlists his help for the kidnap of myself. We can not let her leave Holland. "Sure, sure I will help you with this, Eve," Leon says casually as if the act of kidnapping me comes as no surprise. Later, that day when they begin to speak in Dutch, I suspect they are hatching the plan. Whenever Eve speaks in her native tongue, I wonder whether or not she is a spy (how can it be that this entirely different sounding language flows so freely from this girl??). When I mention this, Leon has a fantastical thought that we could all collaborate and start afresh as a trio of agents, a small network. We would combine forces and utilize our skills- he would feign ignorance and speak disjointed English with a heavy Russian accent. Eve and I both impressed and very amused with his improvised sketch demonstrating this. Eve would use her looks, intelligence and language skills to ensnare. I could perhaps cook dangerous recipes spiked with poisons; laying traps using an innocent demeanour as decoy. These two impress me endlessly with their language skill.

Leon's first ever game of scrabble (played in English because my Dutch does not stretch very far, although he did teach me to say: ‘There is a bee in my pocket.’) and he and Eve lay play easily, only occasionally running a spelling by me. I liked the way Leon saw the board. Noting the words that went together- IQ and nerd. Eve and zen. Wanting to make beautiful words, contemplating whether there should be a winner by points and a winner from beauty. New to the game, he wanted to make the words go backwards, to the side and it all seemed very creative and abstract. Leon is vague, gentle and looks for the beauty in things. He is a gentleman, a capable manly builder but in touch with all the loveliness in the world around.

He joined us intermittently on the doorstep, between jobs and breaks. He talked about how he could build a little pool, sheltered by bamboo where we could relax. His vision seemed pretty out there as he gestured to the nearby drain that was covered in leaves and a few cigarette butts. Or we could have a pop up restaurant, with tables and chairs and pass the food from the basement windows- he did have the keys for the place. Maybe we needed a umbrella, extending from the restaurant next door to shade us from the midday heat.

 

Leon took me and Eve to the beach with our 1000 piece puzzle (we had deliberated on buying it the previous day as we had no space in our not so palatial sized princess apartment). He supplied us with the perfectly sized board on which to puzzle the day away. As we walked with our picnic to the beach, a beach new to Eve, he talked about the beasts. Two beasts which lived on this land, that we must not disturb. I was thinking of ‘The Gruffalo,’, a little bit of BS on his part and this great ability to see the world in a different way. He talked about meeting the beast last year, the fact there is two of them, they are surrounded by flies and one time he even approached the beast and attempted to stroke him. He said if we saw the beast, we must not show fear. Hmmmmmmm, okay, then. Leon, you are a funny storyteller. We deliberated where to sit. Magic Leon discovered the perfect spot and helped us up the steep and sandy hill, where we could set up camp in the sheltered grasslands, with a perfect view of the ocean.

Our unicorn puzzle, it turns out, is actually a picture of a horse. Galloping on a beach during sunset though gives it a unicorn feel. And we had to get it after I relayed the story to Eve of a very drunken Steph, cuddling into me and banging on about how she could do the splits in Mama Wolff’s unicorn slippers (Fee pointed out that there was absolutely nothing unicorn about these slippers and that they were in fact rather plain and ordinary; Steph swears even now that there was something unicorn about them and they will aid her to perform the splits). As we began to puzzle, the conversation became very limited. The edges took us over an hour and I, at first doubted Leon’s puzzle skills. His abstract brain and approach didn’t seem to be getting the job done! Concentrating again on a beautiful piece, finding the unicorn’s eye and noting it a special piece- Leon, the edges!!! But, he achieved more in one corner of the puzzle than me and Eve who flitted from one part to the next. It was thrilling to find after many seconds, sometimes minutes searching, a piece that was right. This is a REALLY hard puzzle. Stephanie and Lydia Wilson, the last time I puzzled was with you and you two do not look at the picture…I am sure this would take us years if we did not!

 

Dialogue  (or more like three different monologues) went as follows: “Blue, blue, blue with a little yellow…Where are you? Ocean pieces. You have the ocean pieces. This is a very beautiful piece. Unusual. Horse. Horse hair. The nostril of the horse. The nostril of the horse…”. Our utterings, should anyone have been around in this deserted location, would surely have been deemed very strange. Eventually, edges complete we packed up our belongings and I noticed the moon was watching over us.

Leon, entrusted to carry the puzzle, ensured us that if the beasts (apparently heard by him earlier as we were puzzling) approached, he would not sacrifice the puzzle. He would indeed distract the beasts as we ran to safety. Uh huh, do not under any circumstances let ANYTHING happen to this puzzle. It had taken us three solid beach hours to complete the edges. I did not care how dangerous these (imaginary) beasts were. We walked along the path and lo and behold: the beast on the hill, watching. As if by magic. The rabbit that the magician promised pulled out of the hat. “I believe it is from Scotland, Jess. So perhaps if he approaches, you can speak to him in some native language?” said Leon laughing. So the beast was really a beast. A bison that roamed this patch of Dutch countryside.

We almost were out of petrol and in the distance a petrol station appeared. Later, after we got back in the Dam just in time to eat and make our yoga class, we ambled on our bicycles home. Amsterdam looked so beautiful and the moon was prominent, canal waters glistening. Our minds felt so empty and our bodies quite surrendered: the fresh beach air, puzzling and yin yoga had quietened down all the usual chatter. A cyclist sped by, overtaking our snail pace. Eve, was that Leon?? Same hair, bag, jeans?? “Leon does not move that fast so it really cannot be.” Yes, you are right. We mused on: Does Leon even have a bike? Nooooo, he has to. How could you live here with no bicycle. But then again, what planet is Leon on anyway? (This is meant as a compliment, if you are reading, Leon).

 

Here in Amsterdam, you have to apply for a parking permit and must own your vehicle before you apply. It can take two years to come through and you then have to find somewhere to park it out of the city before you get the permit. Sort of awkward! The following week we are waiting for Leon to head to a Zouk dance class. We miss him on the street. He was driving, so one of use would croggy on our bikes. He is heading to the centrum, on foot, to meet us there. Eve doubts for a moment he will find it. Oh no, I am sure he will. Somehow, the universe, slipping through time and places, he will be here. Turns out he had been practically in Germany the day before, collecting special parts for a new building project and he has been racing (well, more moving, transcending through time and place) around and working this morning, pushing to make it in time for Zouk as he promised. He appears with seconds to spare only to find our class is cancelled. “This is so sad.” His reaction has me creasing up. He croggies Eve home as his car is back at Overtoom. He does in fact have two bikes. Maybe not so extra-terrestrial, after all.

 

While we bike home, I think of the story a story on our drive home from the beach about driving home to Russia a few years back. He likes to drive and has done many long drives across countries in Europe. Driving home that Christmas though to Russia was particularly memorable for Leon. He describes the change in the radio, hearing the sounds of the Russian voices and language, the below freezing temperature outside, the snow covered forests and mountains bright in the light of the moon and how he felt like he was being transported, back in time. That these beautiful landscapes were frozen in the moment, like a beautiful winter wonderland fairytale.

 

Zouk for the moment will remain frozen in time, maybe chance to try this dance again another day. Well, more time for puzzling. The next stage in our game. Conspiratorially, as Eve negotiated other dance classes, he tells me there is a terrible problem and our puzzle is missing. BAD NEWS.

The puzzle is found (Eve had a feeling it could be under the bed in the flat where we had left it, moved by the owner when photographing the property) and our euphoria and motivation to puzzle was spurred on, accelerated, by the momentary thought that it could be lost. When did you discover this, Leon? When did you think it may be lost? ‘Well, days ago and my heart was broken. The puzzle, you know. Our amazing puzzle and works, gone. But I could not break the hearts of two girls too.” So these things work out. But that is the kind of magic about him… Reminding me of that book we studied: ‘Leon and the Place Between’. Not everyone can see the magic, but Leon can and that opens up all sorts and casts beautiful ways in which to see the world around and also the places between.

We puzzle on and make incredible progress, over a full afternoon and evening. Leon notes that sometimes you find a piece and think it might not be quite right, but you want it so badly to be and suddenly it miraculously, magically slots together. A conversation ensues with a brief and loose understanding of scientific theories. Quantum physics says that everything is energy, so everything is influencing each other. As humans, we are looking it and changing it and it does the same back. Like the power of intention. So our vibrations and intentions are working together and are pulling this monstrous jigsaw to near completion. Within the next minute though, Leon has no longer got the magic pieces that slot so satisfyingly together, but meditates in the search for a singular piece for at least 12 minutes. Bedtime, 11:00pm. Where will we put the puzzle? Shall we not leave a note on it in case? Leon assures us if anyone returns that they will see the progress and leave it well alone. Have you not got a pen and paper in your bag of tricks, Leon? He suggests we leave a knife on top of the puzzle and that, rather than a note, will speak for itself.

My obsession with a section of the ocean will not allow me to retire. Just this one piece will complete the row. “You want that piece? I will find this piece for you. Yes, I will. I can do that,” says Magic Leon. “We will, girl,” says Eve. And  then, as if by magic (team work, intention or Quantum Physics) the piece is found. Slotting perfectly into place. Thank you (magic) Eve.

 

6~At Home in Holland: I Love Doorstep 32, Overtoom

Well, it is pretty clear, that I love Amsterdam. This city with a spoonful of daily  sunshine has meant that I have fallen just that little bit deeper in love. In fact I am pretty much head over heels. I particularly want to bring you to the main location that Eve and I have frequented over the last week: her doorstep.

This doorstep is pretty awesome. I sat on it day 1 when I could not work out how to get back in (the key was a little stiff). I had just collected some groceries from over the road, so I knew I would not starve and hoped Eve would eventually come and find me here. She did. But I wouldn’t have minded had she been longer. Munching an apple, this doorstep was pretty sweet; it is sheltered from any wind, has a panoramic view of the busy street and is a complete sun trap.

Capitalising on the beautiful weather, our days began to consist of yoga and doorstep living. Quite an evolution occurred over the following days. What started as perching on the step, became quite different over the following days. Leon, a friend of Eve who was doing building works next door, provided us with chairs. The following day, when I headed down with my morning porridge, I was slightly offended to find a cardboard box strewn in our sun bathing arena (the doorstep). Turning it upside down, I fashioned it into a table that we continued to use days after- it even hosted a game of scrabble. Snacks of handy pieces of fruit turned into dinner with cutlery. Bottles of water changed to a kettle and cups of tea and one afternoon to a bottle of wine and glasses.

Eve and I marveled at two little girls from the neighbouring house as they put on quite an unusual show. They played with a tennis racket and ball. This was short lived and through the basement window they fetched a football. Pretty dangerous with the traffic and cyclists so nearby. Next. A ball and string you attach to your foot and jump over. Then a skipping rope. A scooter. It was getting more extreme. We could not believe it when a pair of stilts were pulled out of this window that kept giving, like a magician’s hat. And the eldest sister hopped on and paraded up and down the street. We were impressed. Completely entertained.

 

I think we really set a trend because the following day, the neighbours beyond, were at it too. Their snacks, bench and doorstep abode looked pretty cool too. Reading and writing, chatting to passer-bys and neighbours, we felt like we had it all. On this little doorstep 32, Overtoom.

 

One day was a little weird. Fresh from yoga, we stayed in our work out gear, determined not to miss the sun. I nipped upstairs and came back to hear Eve had been called a slut by some girl. When Eve went into the house and left me later that day, I ended up chatting to a Peruvian woman for what felt like an hour. Well, I say chatting. She certainly had a lot to tell. Some difficult to understand and some dubious. I was pretty blindsided. Two days later she showed up again and I was alone again! I wanted Eve to meet her so she would not think I was making it up. Eve did and she railroaded us both. She told a lot. I was lost between the exorcism currently taking place, new rooms to rent, her family history and questions about whether or not English men made good husbands. But I felt for her, she seemed kind and just seemed like she wanted to chat.  Well, this perplexing array of topics at least had a nice closing sentiment (we had had to pack away while she was chatting to draw things to a close). Many of her stories were punctuated with a hand flourish and the comment: “This is life, you see!” So as we stood, blankets, scrabble, kettle in hand, she said, with a swing of her elbow and a stance of a bullfighter, her statement punctuated with a stamp of her foot and puffing out of her chest: “We are strong women and this is good.” A sense of camaraderie . I can get on board with that (I chose to ignore that earlier it seemed there was a lot of chat relying on men, for decent apartments, happiness, marriage and an exorcism, apparently). That closed our spell for the time being on Doorstep 32, Overtoom. The weather promises to now be cloudy. Our adventures promise to be further afield. Wonderful though, how much fun you can have, right on your doorstep.
 

5~At Home in Holland

Schipol Airport. An airport I know quite well now. I visited Fee De Hoog two years ago and will never forget my time with her here. Captured not only within her photography skills but also completely by my heart. The biking is where it is at. Quite simply it is the most liberating form of transport I have ever experienced. I cannot imagine it comparing to a luxury yacht or private jet. Biking here feels like the flying; sailing through the streets, weaving in and out, passing traffic and trams, covering the city with ease, circling Vondel Park. Free as birds and I lucky to flow and fall into the slipstream of acclimatized cyclists- just had to follow Fee. These Dutchies are born on bikes it would seem.

Fee had expressed annoyance when she had met me from the airport, that first time I came to the Dam. She was irritated to have to use her ‘walking legs’ as we had to collect her second bike in a different location so we would then both be on wheels. Having two bikes is completely commonplace for someone living in Amsterdam and around. I began to understand. If you could soar on a Dutch bike or trudge on your walking legs, which would you prefer?

Looking back on the photos that Fee shot on this happy trip, something really resonates. It was a feeling, a shift that had happened within me. A freeing sensation, a yellow brick road appearing and developing in front of me. Changing can be difficult, especially when you are pretty happy and have a good deal, but I knew there was something in my life that needed to change. Letting go can be a long process. I was shedding, had begun to leave old baggage behind. At a lovely surprise leaving party I had back in January, it struck me that Amsterdam had been part of the trigger and process. Beautiful Jess had made a very lovely placemat for each guest at this surprise meal. On it were pictures of me from childhood to present; centrally placed, Jess (pulling the picture from FB archives) had put a photo that Fee had taken during that first Holland trip.

I recognized two things: I was wearing exactly the same dress and exactly the same face as that photo taken years previous. Now the same dress 2 years later, some might say that perhaps it is time to go shopping but friends would know that I am certainly not in need of any more frocks. But the expression- happy and open, a readiness and hope. Jess must have seen that too.

That special trip, finding my Dutch cycling legs, had propelled me further on my path and was captured in picture by Fee that May half term.

Months later, after that trip, I met Eve in Koh Phi Phi. “You will come and see me in Amsterdam?” Yes, I would. I know it, I feel it. A year later: two weekend visits, a five week trip in Asia and now the full month of March in  Amsterdam with Eve. And yes, in answer to the questions asked, Eve has a month leave from her work. So a home from home holiday for her, a staycation. We can explore her city together. But only with a bike each- as much as croggy-ing is the norm here, I think a month of this would kill our thighs.

Cue: mission. On my arrival, poor Eve was in the possession of just one bike. Her other bike had been seized for being incorrectly positioned at the station. Authorities are apparently strict in these areas, so even experienced cyclist Eve fell foul to these rules. We had hope we could retrieve the cycle. There is a place where all the taken bicycles are…

A tram, bus journey, walking legs in full swing, we headed out of the city and into the industrial outskirts. Presuming we must be lost, we decided to walk that bit further just to make sure and were quite amazed to see before us a sea, a whole ocean of seized bicycles before us. Rows and rows. Look! We both spotted a little girl’s bike which stood out in all its pink glory, streamers, training wheels, basket, the lot! That seems terrible; we imagined the little girl returning with her ice cream to find her bike gone and how upset she would have been. Well, for Eve this was very similar. More expletives though, less tears.

Fingers crossed, her bike would be here. Reporting to the office, I observed as Eve gave details of when her bike was taken and what her bike was like (her ability to switch between perfect English and then Dutch always amazes me), the lady stuck a post-it with a few scribbles on it near a door.

A man, in red overalls, appeared from the door, took the note and Eve and I followed him as he zoned into one area. Like a Dutch Santa Claus of seized bicycles he found it for us. The bikes here are just the ones seized from the last 3 months. If they are not in good nick, they get destroyed. If they are decent that get sold or re-homed. So one bike accumulated, I croggied Eve to the station and we took her baby home! Collected her other bike and we were set. We flew on our bikes, first sorting a month membership out at Delight Yoga for myself and secondly we went for a well-deserved lunch (at the very place Eve first took me when I visited). The sun began to shine and my cycling legs back in play, I began to feel, once again, at home in Holland.

 

4~Morocco to Manchester: The Journey and the Destination

 

 

A slightly delayed plane from Agadir to Manchester, left Steph and I racing to Piccadilly station in order for her to make her train for Bristol. This (racing through stations and across cities) is all too familiar- I often find myself cutting it VERY fine. Booking connections tight, leaving last minute = racing and sweating, juggling luggage, coffee, green tea (sometimes both) and emergency snacks. This way of travelling is not for everyone. Ralph Waldo Emerson- ‘Life is a journey, not a destination.’ Well, for Mama Wolff, this way of journeying does not work! Certain and timely arrival at the destination is paramount, dithering around and acquiring coffee is not part of the journey when you are cutting it fine. Glaring at me as I bought my teas and snacks in Kings Cross, she did not enjoy pushing it to the last minutes before we boarded our train and found no comfort in this quote, merely responding with that raised eyebrow look only a mother could give her child.  So, I do try to fall into a different mode for my mom and my roomie from back home because my mode is more for the lone or like-minded traveler.

Last summer in Thailand, my friend Eve and I narrowly missed all three of our internal flights but somehow (a delayed plane, a sympathetic and speedy taxi driver, the skin of our teeth and running legs) managed to board and get to our destinations. Not always cool or a good look when you are hauling ass, lugging a backpack, sweating and panicking but we always felt some belief that the universe was helping us out, miraculously making it, managing to board and arrive at our destination. A little bit of faith and willingness to haul ass in a very inelegant manner is all that you apparently need!

Steph had this. Within the 5 minutes we had, she managed to grab her magazines and her Upper Crust (her little pleasure when she is travelling by train), even having time for a meaningful, sisterly embrace. Me, her little sis, at the doors of the carriage, foot in the door, guarding and ensuring her safe passage as she gathered her supplies. Little bit of sister protection payback time. Both sisters crying. Both smiling. Awesome holiday. I will miss ‘Brownie Camp’. I will miss you.

Alone. 18:00 in Piccadilly, so not alone but no sister by my side. Magical Moroccan memories in my back pocket and heart to take me on my way.

Next stop: East Didsbury. All the familiar comforts in the gorgeous home of Tom and Nicholas. Hmmmm. I suddenly had a dawning realization that I had kind of made myself homeless. Steph was going to her house and own bed. I would not be for a long time, even when I do/may return, I don’t really have a home to call my own. But luckily, being with old friends in a house I knew was a pretty good second call. Tom and Nicholas, both handsome in their school attire, joined me in the pajama option immediately after dinner. Cosy. Enjoying the homeliness and company, the fresh living room smells (Brownie Camp had lingered), I settled down with the boys. I could still feel the warmth of the Moroccan sun on my skin and when I went to bed, I caught sight of the slip of the moon in the sky, angled slightly differently to the moon I had looked at just the evening before in a sunset dinner at Tamraught beach. Moroccan stars were not there. When I squinted gently, I had a perfect picture of them. Comforted in knowing they were there, helping the moon to light up the sky, I snuggled on down, realising that there was no sister to chat to. I felt a little sad.

6:00am I rose to share an early hour with Tom. Coffee, chats and pajamas on the couch before he went off, suited and booted to do a day as Deputy. As the boys left for work, I wandered the house. Packed and repacked. Indulged in porridge… I had missed my porridge! I remembered just a few weeks ago when I saw a friend, Tabitha. She said that she had seen me earlier in the day and I was flying on my bicycle with a huge smile on my face. Why? She suspected my adventures that lay ahead. I suspected, somewhat sheepishly, porridge. Lovely Tabitha, understood this; she too, homeward bound from an early morning session at the gym, would craft porridge plans and recipes.

So after the porridge and more coffee, I finally got my act together and headed to the station. This part was not so whimsical. First time I really had to carry my backpack. Jesus. It was crippling! Definitely needed to consider emptying it in Amsterdam and sending some stuff to Mama Wolff.  I struggled in the midday heat and sunshine. While preferable than my usual Manchester weather of rain, come on! Sun, combined with backpack, bag, wearing all my larger items and Uggs, meant I had never been so delighted to be well within time for my flight (this girl would have had to dig very deep to quicken my snail pace).  Heavenly: dumping my bag and with hours to soak up airport atmosphere and time alone. I think there is so much loveliness in all parts of the journey. The quantum moments. The interim between destinations. Hauling ass, relaxed parts, little moments, interactions, exchanges, thoughts, views and landscapes- all part of each journey, no matter how big or small.

All of this, the simplest of things: reading the newspaper in the airport, buying some almonds, speaking with a kind old man matter in Manchester airport. They play a part. The journey is never ending and as many destinations I have on my ticket, much of the joy is in moments, fragments of the journeys and experiences that new destinations bring.

Bring on a month with Eve. Baroness Eve (as christened by Jones when we met and accumulated her on our summer in Thailand) an amazing friend and an AMAZING travel buddy. The world is still and alive with magic when I am with her. We can marvel and relish in all the small things and trust and believe together. Questions were fired at me before I set off, from family and friends alike: What will you do in Amsterdam for a month? Has Eve got any time off work? Not sure. Don’t know. With Eve and over time, I have learned that I can get on board, savour each step the journey and also reach the destinations (no matter how narrowly, ungraceful, out of breath or sweaty I am).