Happy Christmas

Three little words I’d never thought I’d end up writing in the same sentence: December, Netherlands, warm.

Yes I’ve just returned from a last minute Christmas shop and I’m positively boiling, despite the fact that I replaced big winter coat with middleweight jacket. I even wore canvas shoes instead of boots. Yesterday,it was warm enough to sit outside when I met up with a couple of friends for lunch, and we didn’t even need the patio heater and blankets provided by most Dutch cafes for those hardy souls who will brave the outdoors whatever the weather  (aka smokers). 

There’s part of me that thinks this is great, and another part which wonders if I am being lulled into false sense of security. Short term, of course, there is the worry that the price of all this pre-Christmas warmth will be a big New Year freeze – and of course long term, the worry about global warming. And in any case, if I am going to have unusually high temperatures I’d like them in the summer please – not the winter. It’s all right basking in the sunshine now, but where was it June and July? It certainly wasn’t shining in the Netherlands (incidentally a lot of Dutch people  think the summer of 2015 will go down as a good one, which is very worrying).

But despite the warmth, Haarlem is finally feeling very festive. Albert Heijn have introduced their range of feestdagen goodies – chicken roulades, pork joints and some very suspect looking stuffed eggs and ornate pats of butter-cream in a display that takes up only one end of a cold-cabinet.  After watching BBC2’s Back In Time for Christmas (Back in Time for Dinner has to be one of my fav programmes of the year) I realise I have become commercially brainwashed by Christmas in the UK and the ‘need’ to go overboard to stock up on Christmas gifts and goodies.  Here in the Netherlands they do it the old fashioned way. Christmas doesn’t begin until the week before the 25th December; there is no need for mammoth shopping expeditions and crazy check-out queues. There I was bemoaning the whole I can’t buy any decent wrapping paper thing, and now I realise, so what? It’s wrapping paper. You rip it off and put it in the bin. It’s what’s inside that counts – and even that doesn’t really matter. The Dutch give each other very little in the way of presents. What is important  about this time of year is counting your blessings, not your gifts, and spending time with the people you love and care about.

This Christmas will be extra special for my family because we will actually all be together in the UK at the same time. It doesn't happen every year. 

So children, if you don’t like the way I've wrapped your present, and in fact your present isn't what you wanted at all, remember the real treat is being with me. 

Happy Christmas!

Feeling Festive

There is nothing like Christmas to get the creative juices flowing again. I’ll be the first to admit that I haven’t been particularly inspired to post any blogs just recently – life in the Netherlands ticks over very simply and quietly  (dull is another description which immediately springs to mind). Nor do I do an awful lot to write about.

However, daughter No 1 moved to Budapest this week, and had published her new travel blog within hours of stepping off the plane.  It made me realise I need to get back on track. What sort of writer am I if I can’t make my mundane everyday life in Haarlem sound interesting enough for people to want to read about?

So let me start with my evening in Amsterdam. I’ve met some new friends through an international women’s group, and this week’s activity was a walking tour of Amsterdam’s Christmas lights.  

I like meeting new people, I like being ‘included’ but I’ve come to realise, a bit like in the US, that not liking coffee is holding me back. Sitting in a café with a glass of boiling hot water (I really don’t get why you would ever put boiling water into a glass with no handle) and a selection of very weak tea-leaves is no fun.  If I want my tea to taste of anything other than hot water the tea leaves need to infuse for a good 30 minutes, by which time my very hot water is cold and everyone else has long finished their Lattes and is ready to move on.

So – no more cups of tea for me, I’ll stick to wine. With a half hour wait before the start of the walking tour one new friend suggested we share a bottle of wine (don't panic - there were five of us!). We called over the waiter. Ten minutes later no sign of bottle of wine, and I started to get slightly agitated.  Just as we decided we’d cancel the order, wine arrived. It was quite tempting to ask for paper take-away cups, but funnily enough, none of us actually had a problem downing a glass of wine in ten minutes (which says an awful lot for the life of an expat wife).  It’s just that when I’ve paid six euro’s for my glass, I’d have quite liked to savour it. Dutch service can sometimes leave a lot to be desired.

We had a good walk and a chat, admired the lights – which really are very pretty indeed – discussed the merits of various Amsterdam eateries, marvelled at the Bijenkorf’s window displays and lamented the demise of C&A in the UK.

Most of my new friends are just like me – husband at work, hours to kill. They play cards, attend book clubs,  meet for lunch, go for walks.  I find myself turning invitations down. Does that make me unsociable? I want people to like me, yet…if I am out all day walking, lunching, swigging wine or sipping hot water, then I don’t have the time to write…and how am I ever going to get a second novel finished, and never mind having the time to try and find a publisher and/or self-publish the first….and then also I don’t particularly like telling my new friends that I need time to ‘write’ because then they always want to know exactly what it is I write, and what I've had published (and that's where the conversation always ends!)

So should I be highly sociable and non-productive, or a productive-recluse? It’s a dilemma.

Meanwhile, back to the Christmas festivities. People travel all over Europe for the Christmas markets and we are lucky enough to have one right here on our doorstep. Haarlem’s Christmas market only comes for the weekend, but it’s probably long enough – after all how many fir cone angel tea-light holders do you really need?

Christmas over here is generally very low key – our local Albert Heijn has a meagre selection of three different rolls of Christmas wrapping paper, two which aren’t very festive at all (and could double up as birthday paper – which probably suits the Dutch sense of frugality) and another which depicts Zwarte Piet (definitely a no-no). Anyone who lives near me back in the UK will know that you can’t move in the local Tesco for shelves of gift-wrap. Still at least  lack of choice speeds up the decision making process.

Also this weekend, Mr T’s Christmas work-do and a rare opportunity to dress up and wear heels. The dress and the heels had to be specially purchased – no point having heels in Haarlem because of the cobblestones, and the dress was bought in the UK because I wanted something above the knee (I am too short for the Dutch fashion industry).

A good evening was had by all – although Mr T and I did realise after the event that we were actually the only guests staying in the hotel, but I think I might save that story for another post...

The Concept Shop

I was not familiar with the concept shop before I came to the Netherlands.  Is it a shop? Is it a coffee-bar? Is it someone’s front room?

There are a growing number of these stores popping up in Haarlem. Concept shops sell everything from  designer clothes to handicrafts, ornaments, odd bits and pieces of furniture, and kitchenware.  Some of them are quite compact with a rather sparse eclectic mix of high-end and  vintage stock. They specialise in those added little extras for yourself and your home; you don’t need it, and lots of cases you don’t actually want it, but because it is in a rather exclusive setting, you think, well, it must be highly desirable, mustn’t it? 

Go on, spoil yourself. How many button necklaces and alpaca purses does a woman need?

To be fair, Mr T and I are  are not immune to the lure of the concept store. We have bought decorative items for our home. Who isn't attracted by the thought of owning something a little bit  unique?

Sometimes we don't go to buy, we go to have a laugh. 'Industrial cast-offs' are very popular right now. There is one particular store in Haarlem that has been trying to off-load a 'vintage' dentist’s chair for the whole of the past year. Of course everybody wants one of those in their front room.

I know the Dutch are very keen on recycling, and they really do hate throwing things away, but there are some items that don’t belong in anyone’s front room, they belong in a skip.


It’s out with the new and in with the old. Nolstagia is what it's all about. Mr T and I stumbled into a shop in Amsterdam this weekend and discovered a shelf of old leather footballs. Wow, said Mr T, look at that, just what we need. For what? 

Personally, I rather fancied the rustic looking hand-knitted pouffe. Since the cold of last winter I have filled our large living room with lots of additional ‘stuff’ in an attempt to give it some extra warmth. We have acquired  another sofa, a few more lamps.  I could easily find room for an extra pouffe, and as Mr T continually complains about Ed ruining the furniture, something that already looked like a cat had scratched it to pieces would be perfect.  

Just because something is old, it doesn't mean it is any good. Likewise, hand-made isn't necessarily  best-made. 

Many items on sale in these stores are expensive. Exclusivity comes at a high price.  There’s only one tatty battered school desk left. Buy it, quick!

That’s the other thing I don’t get. The Dutch won’t spend their money frivolously. Everything has to have a use, but are there really people out there who say, hey I’m not going to waste my money on a brand spanking new storage unit and a soft, comfortable sofa, I’m going to buy an old drawing office filing cabinet and a couple of old cinema seats instead…Surely not? 

Forget all this trendy up-cycling. I've a sneaking suspicion the whole concept of the concept store is to appeal to people with more money than sense. 

When the Boat Comes In

It’s that time of year again. Even though we knew what to expect it still didn’t make the spectacle of Sinterklaas’s arrival in Haarlem any less bizarre.

In the UK Santa arrives in a sleigh. In the Netherlands he arrives by boat from Spain, and with him comes his helper, Zwarte Piet (Black Pete). When they disembark Sinter rides through town on a white horse, while Zwarte Piet dishes out sweets to the waiting children.

Over 100 people were arrested in riots protesting against Zwarte Piet throughout the Netherlands in 2014. I thought Black Pete had had his day. 

Retailers appeared to have got  the message that Black Pete dolls and memorabilia doesn’t actually make attractive, appealing window displays. I've seen Christmas wrapping paper in the shops with images of pale-faced Zwarte Piets. This year, I had heard, Sinterklaas' helper would have soot on his face, not black-paint. He would be a chimney sweep.

There were definitely  less blackened-up faces amongst the eager young audience as Sinter’s ship sailed up the Sparne, but unfortunately the organisers of Sinter's arrival in Haarlem didn't appear to have got the message at all. The merry musicians and all the other grown-up hanger-ons masquerading as Zwarte Piet were out in force in their curly wigs and blackened faces.

Sinterklaas' arrival is a huge event, but it is wrong on so many counts. Strangers in fancy costumes handing out sweets – don’t you warn your kids about that one?

Even more wrong – who told the kids at the swimming party to stand in the window, in their swimmers, to watch the procession go by, waving at all the happy snappers outside.  The elderly gent dressed up as Zwarte Piet in front of us loved that one. 

Maybe my own 1970’s childhood memories have become so tarnished that I see bad in something that is just an innocence piece of traditional fun. But grown ups, dressing up, knowing they will cause offence? That's really not a good lesson to be passing down to the next generation.

Berlin

It was probably about four hours into our six-hour train journey to Berlin that I started to think, umm, maybe we should have flown…

We’d chosen the train because we thought it would be something different, no waiting around at airports, lots of leg-room in our reserved first-class seats (only 10 euro’s extra), and plenty of opportunity to enjoy the wonderful Dutch-German countryside. Of course the Dutch-German countryside isn’t wonderful, but the autumnal colours added an extra interest and the German countryside did undulate, just a little more than the Dutch.

Once in Berlin, those negative thoughts about the journey immediately dispersed. I liked it instantly. The city is still very much a work-in-progress. 25 years after re-unification and there is still a lot of building work going on. A new metro line is being constructed through the heart of the inner-city and several buildings were under-wraps, but we could get the gist of the place.

Naturally we had to see the wall – or what little is left of it. We wanted to stand under the Brandenburg Gate and visit the trashy tourist trap that is now Check Point Charlie.  We did all these things and so much more. Check Point Charlie House is a privately run museum dedicated to telling the story of the daring escapes across the border. It would have been quite possible to spend all day there reading the individual stories of hand-dug tunnels, home-made zip-wires, collapsible  ladders, customised suitcases and concealed-hidey-holes under the bonnet of cars, people desperate to escape from the East and join their families and friends in the West. Sadly, these stories resonate today with the current immigration crisis. Desperate people resort to desperate measures and the more you walk around Berlin, and take in its history, you realise just how much this beautiful city has suffered over the years.

And it’s not just the Wall that makes you stop and think. There are plenty of reminders as you walk around the city of Germany’s troubled past.  The Topographie des Terrors built on the site of the former SS headquarters chronicles the rise and fall of the Nazis, while Hitler’s Bunker is now a car-park, but still you feel compelled to see it. Just a stone’s throw away is the holocaust memorial, 2000 or so slabs of concrete, which I couldn’t help but think somebody in years to come, might just regret commissioning. I suppose they are supposed to look like graves, and I know they had to create something solemn, but maybe something just a little more hopeful and reflective?  It didn’t seem a particularly creative or fitting memorial – more like an opportunity for coachloads of tourists to play peek-a-boo. 

Two days probably wasn’t long enough to appreciate everything Berlin has to offer, but the train journey home certainly was.

Only In The Netherlands

I’m thinking of re-titling this entire blog ONLY IN THE NETHERLANDS – although I think that blog might actually already exist.

Every country has its little peccadilloes. I’ve remarked numerous times how hardy and weather-resistant the Dutch are. So, when you have an almost unbroken 130 km stretch of North sea coast, why not invent an annual autumnal mega beach cycle race? What better way to spend a  quiet Sunday than cycling on sand for four and a half hours (and that’s the quick people).

We literally stumbled across this race as we decided to explore the small Dutch seaside town of Wijk ann zee. Like most Dutch resorts Wijk had already packed itself away for the winter. The beach restaurants have been dismantled, even most of the cafes in town were closed. But as we fought our way through the fog (and it was a VERY FOGGY DAY) to the beach we realised we had arrived in the middle of some major event. At first we thought the beach was the end of the race, as crowds had gathered, but then we were told this was only about half way – the race had started at the Hook of Holland at 9.00 am in the morning, and continued all the way up to Den Helder. The only reason we had passed cyclists on the road heading towards the beach was because the cyclists have to detour inland to cross the North Sea Canal.

It was had enough walking on the heavy sand of Wijk beach let alone cycling, and it did seem to be a particularly good place to stop and watch several tumbles as the cyclists hurtled down the dunes to continue racing along the tide-mark.

It was an unusually calm day. As the friendly Dutch observer who was explaining the race to us remarked, almost with a trace of disappointment in his voice, can you imagine how much tougher it can be in the wind?

Yes I could. Rather them than me. 

Rotterdam

Many moons ago, I can remember learning all about Rotterdam in my O level geography classes – Europort, the biggest port in Europe, very industrial, lots of oil tankers and container ships. Rotterdam never struck me as the sort of place I’d want to go and live, let alone visit.

One year into our Dutch experience and there is talk that Mr T’s project is forging ahead of schedule. Soon the emphasis will shift from the engineering contractor’s office on the edge of Schipol airport to the Rotterdam refinery itself. We may have to move. I have already staked my claim on our next move – it’s home, back to the UK, but Mr T may have to re-locate. So we thought, we’d take a look at Rotterdam.

There is a direct train from Haarlem, but for some reason it wasn’t running, so we had to get the metro out from Den Haag to Rotterdam instead. The connection worked perfectly, the metro winds its way out of Den Haag and across some very flat looking countryside through estates of new-builds. Why don’t they do that in the UK, I thought, build a new housing estate and connect it the nearest town by metro, or tram, instead of road? The Dutch do have some good ideas.

A bad idea, however, is the cube house. This was one of the things I wanted to see in Rotterdam (I’d read the guidebook and realised there was actually a lot more to Rotterdam than oil refineries and shipping containers).  The majority of Rotterdam, a bit like our home town of Southampton, was flattened during the Second World War, and unlike most of the Dutch towns we have visited so far, there wasn’t a cobblestone in sight. Rotterdam has been rebuilt, and the 50’s and 60’s, as anyone who lives in Southampton will know, wasn’t a time for brilliant architecture. However, the Dutch, being the Dutch, overcame this problem with a bit of experimentation. In the 1980’s they came up with the cube house – a sort of three-storey glorified garden shed.  A claustrophobic concept, similar to my own black carpet dilemma – designed by someone who never had to live with one.

(Yes, the building behind the cube houses is supposed to look like a giant pencil!)

The black carpet is another reason why I am hankering for home. I’m fed up of living in someone else’s house. I’m fed up of vacuuming black carpet.  Maybe a move to a modern swanky Rotterdam apartment wouldn’t be such a bad thing.  I could live with the city’s circa 1970’s concrete shopping precinct, I’m used to that. I don’t need gables and canals.

I liked Rotterdam. I liked its parks and its waterfront (there’s miles of that, after all).  It had a good feel, not a drunken-stag-party sleazy feel like Amsterdam. It has the feel of a place on the way up (quite literally with some of the sky-scrapers) as opposed to on the way down. I liked the fact that we didn’t step out of the central station into a fug of pot fumes (top tip for anyone travelling to Amsterdam for the sole purpose of buying cannabis –  don’t. Save your money and just inhale everyone else’s).

So, all in all. A pleasant surprise.

Some more sights from Rotterdam.....giant rabbits

and the Dutch don't worry at all about being PC...

 (or is it just as un-PC to call it crazy??)

Dark Days

It’s only the middle of October and already the mornings are very dark here in Haarlem. It’s times like this, especially after two and a half weeks’ away, that I have to remind myself, continually, how lucky I am to be having this ex-pat experience.

It’s not that I don’t enjoy living in the Netherlands, I do.  I just hate the thought of at least six months now of the seven o’clock alarm going off in what feels like the middle of the night. My legs now won’t see the light of day for probably another nine months (some people might think is is a good thing). I came back from my holiday and packed my T-shirts away. It’ll  be jeans and jumpers until next May. I've already had to buy extra gloves, socks and hats. Surely even the most upbeat, happy-smiley people would find that  just a tad depressing.

So how to fight off the bleak, black thoughts? Get out and about. Last weekend the temperature might well have been down in single figures but the sun was out so we went to Muiderslot - a medieval castle just a thirty minute drive away.

It’s a hands-on type of place - an ideal outing if you have a family of young boys. Mr T enjoyed himself very much.  Perhaps we were still on a Dubrovnik/Games of Thrones  high (we’ve ordered the box-set). There were dungeons and turrets to explore, a jousting simulator (that’s a first) and inter-active canon ball games up on the ramparts. There were medieval costumes including a suit of armour to try on. You could waggle swords and handle a cross-bow. The Dutch know how to keep kids entertained. 

Of course the alternative to getting out and about and exploring, is shopping. We all know the suger-rush high from retail therapy is NOT A GOOD THING, but it certainly helps. There are lots of sales on here at the moment!

Or, I could just batten down the hatches, stay indoors and take selfies with the cat.

A Change of Scenery

I don’t need steaming volcanoes and grand river canyons, but two and a half weeks away from the Netherlands has made me realise how much I miss ‘scenery’. The Dutch landscape is very flat. It’s very samey. It's fields of grazing cattle and sheep. It’s bulb fields – a blazing glory for six or seven weeks of the year and then bare earth until the spring.  In this part of the Netherlands, sand-dunes are strapping peaks.  Dutch bikes don’t have gears – there’s no need.

The first thing I noticed when we emerged from the Channel Tunnel and drove through the rolling Kent countryside back in the UK was the rich variety of colours in the fields,  like a patchwork quilt,  arable crops, the wheat ready for the harvest,  the hedgerows and trees. There are no mountains in Kent, but there are hills and slopes. Hampshire is the same. The M3 cuts through cliffs of chalk, the village where we have our UK home is set in a river valley – a valley – you have to walk down to reach the water, and then you have to walk back up. It’s all very good for those defunct calf muscles which get no exercise at all no matter how far I walk in the Netherlands.

And then we flew to Croatia. Croatia has scenery – masses of it. Mountains, dramatic cliffs, rocky coves, inaccessible islands, crystal clear water. Dubrovnik is not a city for the elderly, or the infirm, or anyone in a wheelchair or with a pushchair, (athough since it has been rebuilt following the Yugoslav wars in the 1990’s it has apparently been made a lot more accessible than it used to be). Flights of stone steps lead to tiny narrow alleyways where you have to weave your way through restaurant and café tables, gift shops and craft shops, and shops selling Games of Thrones memorabilia. I’ve never watched Games of Thrones, but I am going to have to now, even if it is just to keep getting a drip-feed of the wonderful Croatian scenery.

I loved Dubrovnik. I didn’t care about the zillions of cruise passengers on their guided walking tours of the city in their plastic pac-a-macs and flip-flips who would abruptly stop in front of you to take a picture with their selfie-sticks.  Yes it is a tourist trap, but a very beautiful tourist trap and I don’t blame the locals for milking it for all it is worth.

Haarlem too has its fair share of tourists. It too is a beautiful old city, but I’ve realised now it just lacks a bit of drama. Maybe somebody needs to come and film something here, something raunchy, just to spice it up a bit. 

We did notice, however, as we walked along the street to the pub for the quiz on Monday evening that a few changes had taken place since we left.  What had been a second-hand clothes shop is now a fancy cake shop, a new shoe shop appeared to have sprung up – although it only appeared to be selling a very limited (and presumably very exclusive) line of shoes.  The chip shop was closed, the craft beer bar open (unusual for a Monday), another cafe had changed hands.   As I’m sure I’ve said before, small businesses here appear to be run more as hobbies, than going financial concerns. Or maybe that’s just the way the Dutch like to do things - low-key.  Just like the scenery.

Keeping An Open Mind

This weekend has been a bit of an eye opener.

If you’d have told me this time last year that I would be spending an entire Saturday watching a golf championship, I’d have said, no way, I’d rather watch paint dry…

If you’d have added, that I would then spend a Sunday afternoon, exploring the interior workings of a public swimming pool, I’d have laughed. Who me ? Learn about sand filtration and heating pumps….why I’d rather watch a game of golf….

Funny how things can change.

When we lived in the US, I took up golf, not seriously, but mainly I suppose, because I’d reached a certain age and it gave me and Mr T something we could do together on a sunny Sunday afternoon. Golf is very relaxed in Southern California; we could stroll around our local nine hole golf course in our shorts and flip flops. I had some lessons, and Mr T bought me a set of pink golf clubs. Golf in the cold damp climate of Northern Europe isn't quite so appealing, nor is it so easy to just turn up and play. Sadly, my clubs now sit in our Dutch shed, growing decidedly musty.

When Mr T heard that the Dutch Open championship was being held at the very prestigious Kennemer Golf Club near us in Zandvoort, he said we had to go. On Saturday morning we set off across the sand-dunes, following the signs to the KLM Open bike-park (can you imagine that for the British Open ?)

Once we had worked our way through the whole temporary village that had been erected to accommodation the hospitality suites and retail opportunities – your last chance to book that golfing holiday in Aruba, win that KLM flight to anywhere, and of course, drink lots of beer and wine – we made it out onto the golf course.

To be honest, I was prepared to be bored, but it was actually quite thrilling. We kept moving around the course to various holes, worked out which ones produced the most missed shots, (lots of oohs and aahs) and even saw a hole in one – right in front of us.  

How could we top off such excitement? By visiting the inner workings of the Houtvaart open air swimming pool as part of Haarlem’s Cultural Festival on Sunday. I’d been hoping to visit the Houtvaart  all summer – but had just never got round to it. Somehow it just never felt warm enough to want to jump into an open air pool – which I had been told wasn’t heated. Actually  the Houtvaart is heated,  no longer by water stored in a large glass water tank above the entrance, as in its heyday, but by hoses running under rubber matting around the pool. How do I know all this? Because just as Mr T and I turned up to view this iconic 1920’s piece of art deco architecture, just a five minute bike ride from our house, the attendant invited us on a tour of the underground workings.

  

A weekend of full of surprises! As they say, it is always best to keep an open mind.

Fast Cars & Fire Alarms

It has been a noisy week in this part of the Netherlands. No, not another music festival, but thunderstorms, a historic grand prix, and a failing smoke detector battery – you know the thing, intermittent chirps in the middle of the night.

The cat is petrified of thunderstorms, and at the moment these are occurring on a daily basis. Ed has now taken up permanent residence in the walk-in wardrobe, selecting a perch as high up as he dares. He doesn’t like noise – the vacuum cleaner has always sent him running for cover, but he doesn’t mind heights.  One of his favourite viewing platforms is on the six foot wall which divides our first floor balcony from next door’s. Last week he decided to leap off the balcony – he either slipped, or couldn’t be bothered to come back indoors and head down the stairs to get into the back yard. Fortunately he landed safely on the patio table. Needless to say he hasn’t tried that particular shortcut  since.

With his fear of loud noises, Ed would have hated the historic grand prix at the Zandvoort race track. However, there were quite a few people who had taken their dogs along to enjoy the spectacle. These were probably the same people who had taken their dogs to the Amsterdam Sail event the previous week.  If your dog likes to tour of vintage sailing ships, he’s bound to enjoy watching old motorbikes and Formula One cars whizzing round. 

A surprising number of people had also taken their young children – many of whom were in tears. Yes, it was that noisy. I know it’s not cool but the ear-plugs were essential – that’s if I was going to hear anything for the rest of the week.

Like the bleeping smoke detector battery. I could have done without hearing that. Why do these things always go off in the middle of the night? It’s never day-time, and our ceilings are so high, it’s not simply a question of standing on a chair and removing the battery to get a decent night’s sleep. It had to be left to bleep. Not being blessed with the height advantage of  native Dutchmen, our alarms can only be reached via a proper ladder – which lives in the garden shed.

So, with the roar of Formula One still ringing in my ears, an irritating intermittent bleep, and the continuous rumble of thunder, it is very tempting to join Ed in the darkest corner of the cupboard.

Can you spot the cat?

Just One Scorpino...

As I’ve said before, the Dutch don’t need much excuse to party. A bit of sunshine usually does the trick, but this weekend – not just sunshine, but jazz and ships, the perfect excuse for a mega party!

Haarlem has been hosting its annual jazz festival.  A large stage has been erected in the Grote Markt with two smaller stages competing with each other just around the corner of the church.  There are also performances in various bars and clubs. You can move from one area to the next – a bit of funk here, a bit of soul there, and some Dutch talent contest winner somewhere else. 

I've no idea who these performers were,  and from the reaction and size of the crowds in town, I imagine some of them must have been quite famous. But still, now that we are pseudo-Dutch, we didn’t really care. Friday evening was dry, it was warm, it was the perfect evening to stand in the square listening to music with a Scorpino or two.

I have only recently discovered  the Scorpino. It  appears on the dessert menu in several restaurants, an intoxicating combination of lemon sorbet ice-cream, Prosecco and Vodka. How can you go wrong?  It now ranks above apple pie as my favourite Dutch food, although technically, if you leave it to melt, it’s a drink.

On Saturday we braved we the crowds and headed into Amsterdam to see the Tall Ships taking part in Amsterdam Sail. This was a spectacular event. I’m not particularly fond of ships but even I was impressed – even more so when we jumped  on board a 95 year old traditional wooden sailing vessel to go on a cruise around the harbour. (OK jumped isn't probably the correct term to describe a precarious walk across a gangplank. I'm not good on boats, even less so when they are actually moving on  water.)

 I’ve never seen so many ships in one place – or so many people.

The event took place in an area of dockland which has been transformed into swanky apartments. It was probably a right pain for the people who lived there, and the Dutch being Dutch,  some of them still insisted on riding their bikes against the tide of visitors, or taking their regular Saturday morning jog along the waterfront. There were also people who had insisted on bringing their dogs – because we all know how much a Chihuahua loves to look over an old sailing boat.

The afternoon grew hotter and hotter, and Amsterdam busier and busier.  I couldn’t wait to get back to the relative quiet of Haarlem, where after an early evening BBQ we headed back into town for more jazz, and dessert, of course.

It's A Jungle Out There

This is mostly a pictorial post to showcase some images from two recent trips to the Hortus Botanicus  in Leiden and De Hortus in Amsterdam.

 We visited the gardens in Leiden a few weeks ago, and called in at the one in Amsterdam this weekend. The primary purpose of the visit to Amsterdam was to stock up on some supplies in Marks & Spencer. However it would seem sacrilegious to visit one of the cultural capitals of Europe with the sole purpose of buying cheddar cheese and English sausages, every trip has to be combined with at least one sight-seeing activity. The weather was decidedly dodgy but we decided it wasn’t quite wet enough to justify a museum (you can get cultured out in Amsterdam) so instead we headed for the botanical gardens.

Amsterdam was teeming with tourists, but De Hortus was a little oasis – a hidden gem amongst the hustle and bustle of the city. After all the excesses of the Haarlem Culinaire weekend, it was the perfect place to recover.

And some pictures from Leiden

And Miffy - a Dutch legend!

Oh and after last week's triumphant second place in the quiz - this week bottom of the league!