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!