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?