I think it might well be the first ‘christian’ book that I’ve ever finished; Blue Like Jazz, by Don Miller, was recommended to me by at least 3 people, and I finally got round to reading it. I can’t really sum up what it’s about, but I found it really enjoyable. If you don’t know it, I’ll direct you here to look at what the author himself has to say about it. For those who have read it, what did you make of it?
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What does one do on a Saturday in Holland, but go look at tulips, windmills, and see clogs made? I felt like I was on holiday for the day in this country, attempting to soak up authentic Dutch culture. Sadly, the fields are still a little green, and not radiating with the colours of the rainbow, but I did see a few patches of bright flower heads.
Onward our merry band of travellers went to Zaanse Schanse, featuring a cheese museum, clog museum, clothing museum, pottery museum, and quite a few windmills, including a working paint mill. I must stress, the word, ‘museum’ leaves a little to be desired in each specific location, being as they are only singular houses with the appropriately attached shop. However on the whole, the place is very enjoyable. One question confused me all day though: who buys clogs for 20 euros, and makes full use of them upon returning from vacation?
It’s late on Sunday night, and I’ve returned from our first ‘20-30′ group at church; we called it that, because to call it ‘Brian’ would have been a bit odd. It was just 6 of us have organised banter and a film.
Not that I myself do much social stuff in church, but we felt we needed some structure and formality, in order to make other people feel welcome to meet up with us. So it was, with Iain, Deasy, Vikki (a bloke), Doushana, T’Elswood and I watching Garden State together. I’ve always struggled with the concept of watching a film with friends (it’s just sitting in the dark whilst not talking to anyone), but it served its purpose in getting people together. Most of us should be going to see some tulips on Saturday as well. Oh, the high jinks that I get up to…
I also found a couple of programmes on the TV tonight while channel-flicking, both produced by the christian production company Evangelische Omroep. On NOS 2 was, ‘Helpdesk Live’ with this week’s poser, “I can’t survive this!” NOS 3 was displaying ‘Hotdog’ hosted by Arie Boomsma. It had geeks discussing the header, “Gaming is an addiction,” and talking about how much ‘World of Warcraft’ they play in an average week.
Mr. Boomsma, if you remember, also hosts this, so he’s quite the man-about-town at the moment. We tried to get him along to an event we were organising in February, and his agent asked for €2,500 for the privilege. Needless to say, we declined the quote.
The EO, while they’re not busying themselves with making serious television, also make a quiz show titled, ‘That’s The Question’. Having watched it a couple of times, I can safely say it’s nothing compared to Countdown or Fifteen-to-One.
Yes, you guessed it, it’s Ajax, or “Eye-yaks”, as the Dutch would have you say it. Sunday afternoon brought the most insignificant football fixture of the season to the “Amsterdam ArenA”, Ajax against Excelsior. To celebrate such an event, Robert, Erjo, Tom and I decided to visit the stadium and spectate this most magnificent of occasions.
Excelsior are the best team in Rotterdam, besides Feyenoord, who themselves are rather good. Lagging as they now are, they appear perilously close to accepting relegation from the Eredivisie; I might classify them among such great Premier League outfits as Bradford and Swindon.
Ajax knew from the outset this would be an easy game, so they took the obvious step in angering their own fans by not scoring within the first 25 minutes. Without singing from all but one corner of the stands (the hard-core Vak 410), a chorus of booing resounded. In my view, this gave Excelsior the impression that they were doing rather well, only for their true form to shine through soon enough, letting two goals past before half-time, and another two after the break.
I was left a little disappointed that the fans have come to expect such a high standard of football, that support has become a game of expectation and disappointment, rather than hope and apprehension – the former being English fans, and the latter being Scottish.
The day before, 10 of us played five-a-side in Amsterdam Zuid Sporthallen – one of the best laminate-covered pitches I’ve played on in many years. A classic tie was proposed: Germany versus The Allies (two Brits, two Hungarians and a Dutchman), which the Germans won 6-5. I think we shouldn’t have played on, and escaped through the tunnel during the interval, like Sylvester Stallone suggested in Escape to Victory.
Crossing the Dam square the other day, I noticed a banner for an exhibition on Afghanistan, with the words, “A nation stays alive when its culture stays alive,” emblazoned across it. Apparently the phrase just sounds ridiculous when translated into Dutch, but I couldn’t help feeling that it is exemplary of something endemic in The Netherlands. In many European countries, the lingua franca (sic) of that land is used less in such situations, and thus indigenous culture is being eroded, and with it, the individuality of that particular society.
Maybe I’m reading into it too much; this is a exhibition for tourists, and in trying to appeal to the masses, English is used, merely to reach a larger audience. “C’est la vie,” as we say in Britain.
4 days. That’s all it took for me to finish Down and Out in Paris and London. I state this because it’s rare that I finish books at all, let alone so quickly.
Arriving for my return flight at Edinburgh airport, I thought it best to put my luggage in the hold; my bag had grown somewhat in size since my arrival, and I didn’t want to drag it round departures, knocking maltesers off the stands in WHSmith and what have you. So, upon forgetting to extract any reading material before checking-in, I was left with a passport and a boarding card as literature. Fast-forward 3 minutes and I’ve finished “Conditions of Carriage” and Her Majesty’s request for safe passage, so I go into Borders looking for something a little weightier in content and find a copy of George Orwell’s Down and Out in Paris and London.
As the title suggests, Orwell found himself out of work for a period in the aforementioned cities, and although not everything may be completely true, it certainly makes for a good insight into a world the vast majority of us will never experience.
Working as I do with homeless people in some of my projects, it gave me a fresh insight into the trials and tribulations that many encounter while without a job or perhaps a roof as well. The problems Orwell faces are very different to nowadays, but the innate feeling that he cites of being at the bottom of society is something I see all too readily in visitors to the drop-in centres, but that is very difficult to understand for oneself.
The journey that Orwell takes in the novel appears to bring his socialist tendencies out, as he says at one point that he held no political views; his support for the welfare state is clear throughout. Thus this perhaps was the catalyst that eventually led him to Spain, and his civil war participation there. Homage to Catalonia, which speaks of his time fighting against Franco, is also a very enthralling read, if you ever fancy it.
To those who took the time to meet up or put me up in Edinburgh, in whatever form last week: thank you. It was great to see you.
Despite my attempts to hide from the truth of the matter, I had to face up to the fact that I cannot go 46 days without coffee. Especially at the reunification of 4 certain individuals. This did make me think – is coffee just a social addiction for me? There are many places at my work projects where the chance to get a caffeine kick is available, but not desirable. The lenten fast from alcohol still goes on though, unabated.
I had my first ‘tosti’ this afternoon – everything on the menu was a cheese and ’something’ tosti. Apart from peanut butter. The literal Dutch translation of this is ‘peanut cheese’, so even peanut butter is thought of as cheesy.
The immortal words of Paul Heaton have been begging to be used, ever since I arrived in The Netherlands, just so I could write a blog with such a title. On our EVS seminar in Den Haag, we spent an afternoon in the industrial capital, to go on a city safari. The idea was to see a side of the city, which we wouldn’t get to see normally. For our group, this included visiting an art project for homeless people, an introductory Tai Chi lesson, and a look at some koi carp, in the back garden of an old couple.
The nice thing about the tour was to meet real people who were passionate about their work, not tourist attraction employees. Take Milan for example, who worked at the art project: he made music in his spare time, liked making fixed gear bikes and was also part of a graffiti “collective” (what do you call a group of graffiti artists?).
Erjo’s surprise (or why you should be careful what you wish for)
Published Wednesday, January 30, 2008 Mission House Leave a Comment“I want a surprise for my birthday,” Erjo had said. This didn’t go down well. Why should we him what he demands? But on Monday evening, with no birthday present purchased, we needed a way to make sure he wasn’t disappointed. Thus, the plan was born.
At 10.45, he was handed a note, telling him to meet Robert at 11, outside the Film Museum, in the Vondelpark.
“I’m busy! I’m not going.”
“Erjo, you have to go. It’s your birthday. Work can wait.”
“OK,” came the cautious reply. “Should I take a football?” Trying to second-guess a surprise never really works.
Upon meeting Robert, he was given 4 digits, and told to meet Sian at the American Book Center. There he was given 3 digits, and told to meet me at the ferry station in Amsterdam-Noord. There I gave him 3 more digits, guided him promptly back across the water, into the train station, where we met Sian again, and went to Utrecht, to have a cup of coffee in his favourite watering hole as a student there: Cafe Flater.
Tired from constantly being on edge as to what might happen next, Erjo then had a meeting with his mentor, Jantina, at 4, back in Amsterdam. She gave him 4 more digits, and told him to reverse the whole sequence. This gave him a telephone number which returned an SMS to him, telling him to meet at another certain cafe after work that evening. As luck would have it, two of Erjo’s friends from school had made an impromptu visit by the flat to see him, so they were able to be part of the final surprise too. He eventually received his birthday present too – Spanish for beginners.
The moral of this story: those who ask, sometimes do get.
Marken – not a place for the faint-hearted. At least not when you went there by bike, and you’ve got a headwind all of the 10 miles home. The place would be an island if it weren’t for a dyke that juts out to meet it. A very wind-swept dyke at times, I can tell you.
I blame Ferdinand, it was his idea. Nevertheless (or ‘desalnietemin’ as they say here), and set off, all sporting sunglasses and waterproofs. This would be uncharted territory for me. I hadn’t been across to North Amsterdam yet, let alone out of the city on my own power. The village itself is very picturesque, with little wooden houses and a small harbour, with expensive cafes dotted along the front – the price you pay for remoteness.
The ride was back was exhausting – despite (and probably because of) the lack of hills, the wind proved to be quite a challenge, but we made it eventually, back across het Ij canal, and home. The next big idea: the final seminar is in De Glind again, and we’re going to cycle there. A rough calculation makes this to be about 40 miles. The big prize? €8,80 in travel expenses. I think it’s worth it.
In other news, the Mission House website has a lot more on it, including articles and such. Please check it out using the link on the right.
