Haiti

This post doesn't deal at all with the current travel adventure that I've been fortunate enough to undertake (the next post will go back to normal), but I wanted to share some thoughts about what has happened in Haiti.

Like pretty much everyone on the planet, I've tried to make sense of it. Most of us (myself especially) tend to try to fit every tragedy, personal or public, into some kind of box, to try to understand it and define it. This one doesn't seem to fit any box, however.

Why would such a brutal event occur to a people who were already so devastated by decades of violence, poverty, and corruption? Why, despite some struggles along the way, do so many of us in the Western world continue to get mostly a free pass? And there is no answer.

A more obscure thought occurred not only concerning what I was reading when I first learned about it, but where I was reading about it. Just how warm, comfortable, and well-fed was I at the exact moment it came up on my screen via the Globe and Mail website from Canada? And how much did I actually appreciate where I was at that exact moment, in light of the petty mental meanderings about my uncertain future, occasional bouts of expat lonelineness, lousy weather, government red tape hassles, and so on?

How many of us were in our office at the time of first reading about it, possibly grumbling to ourselves about the $50,000/year job again; or were watching on our high-def TV in a warm home, stewing over some idea that our partner was not meeting our selfish needs at the moment?

Of course there has been a massive outpouring of charity and aid from so many people for Haitian relief, and most of us really do the best we can on a daily basis juggling family, relationships, work, finances, kids, health and so on - so this is not some finger-wagging commentary at all.

But personally, hopefully, thoughts like this cut a small groove in the brain, one that stays there and provides me with a good 'hey, idiot, wait a minute' before I'm the guest of honor at my own psychological pity party the next time I encounter a hardship that really doesn't mean anything at all.

Vondel Vinter

My Dutch friends will forgive me if I don't share in their delight at the novelty of snow appearing on streets, bikes, and in parks this winter. Having left Canada after 37 years, I've seen enough of the stuff to last a lifetime. But I understand their glee - it can go years without snowing here, so a blanket of the white stuff must seem like a nice change of scenery. I could just as soon do without this anomalous avalanche of a winter though.

To mes Amsterdam amis: to put to my "bah, humbug" attitude into perspective, imagine going to Canada for a visit and having cheese fall from the sky; a bunch of us natives would be making cheesemen and throwing cheeseballs, laughing all the while, and you might be a little reticent about it all as you've seen plenty of kaas your whole life.

Rather than sit in my apartment and wait for the melting to begin, however, I decided to take advantage of the photo op this latest frosting provided. It's also interesting to contrast the Vondelpark with similar photos taken in early November as seen in this post. It's not the best way to survive winter, but for today it was more than Gouda enough.

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Bad blogger!

I apologize for the paucity of posts in January folks, and will re-dedicate myself to 2-3 per week again. I was buried in a work project for much of the past six weeks, so my energy was elsewhere to say the least.

So keep checking back... I haven't abandoned the practice, promise.

Getting from A to B

Take a good look at the map above (and it works even better when you double-click it). You'll notice, by the design of the city, that there is no direct route between any two points.

It actually serves as a very fitting metaphor for the process of living here, of getting things done, in many ways. And it can be incredibly frustrating for the foreigner.

Some meandering examples:

• a conversation with a relative or co-worker rarely comes to a quick "yes. Instead, a 5-10 minute circuitous route is required to arrive at what you both essentially agreed upon from the start

• the purchase of a mobile phone takes weeks, with each subsequent visit to the store revealing another nugget of information of what you need to bring in the next time

• without an EU passport, getting a job requires a work permit. But getting a work permit requires getting a job offer

• asking for any missing cutlery with your food involves at least two trips; the first for your set, and the second for your dining companion's, who should've known better than to stay mute in the first place

Every society has its own internal logic and wisdom that baffles outsiders, I suppose.

Here, as in life, getting from A to B can be maddening and is rarely straightforward, but if you change your perspective you also see some other things along the route that you wouldn't have seen otherwise.

Barca

Move over Paris...

What a city, Barcelona. For this post, tune into iTunes and grab Ottmar Liebert's "Barcelona Nights"...

The restaurants, the beach, the friendliness (although I'm told the Catalans aren't normally all that friendly, according to some friendly Catalans I met), the transit, the style, the language (hearing Dutch again when stepping on the plane, after five days of being surrounded by sublime Spanish patter, is a little like dipping my ears in acid), the architecture.

I figure it's a trade-off - all other things being relatively equal in terms of food, culture, general awesomeness, let's give the edge to Paris for better monuments and to Barcelona for coastal allure.

It might sound like I work for Barcelona Turisme, but no. I just happened to become a big fan of the city within the first few hours. It may have something to do with seeing palm trees for the first time in 18 months. Or the tapas on every corner. Or the way people smell there - for those that say Barcelona's sewers cause quite a stink, I imagine the people compensate by smelling great - you always catch a whiff in a restaurant entryway, a metro car, an elevator.

Explosions

Every few minutes - the streets explode with fireworks on and before Dec 31's night of Netherlands nuttiness.

• 68 million Euros spent on personal fireworks this year, without including black market purchases
• 7 million Euros in damages, mostly arson
• Over 800 injuries (loss of eyes, fingers, burns), including two Dutch policemen who had fireworks shot into their van

Every few hours - the building's common front door, shared with my otherwise awesome upstairs neighbor, explodes with her comings and goings.

Every few days - explosions of a more metaphorical kind...

There are intense explosions of longing for:

• my home country
• my parents, siblings, nieces and nephews, friends
• exes past and partners future
• actual customer service
• steel-cut oats (seriously - please send some)
• interesting sports
• a shared joke with someone with a shared history,
• books under $15 and bathrooms over 15 square feet (4.52 square meters)
• something besides bread for lunch
• interesting sports
• nature

Laid Back radio guy

Yet these are met equally and regularly with explosions of excitement, exhiliration and new experience, brain-expanding opportunities that come about only via travelling, with almost every day offering a chance to see the world with new eyes and hear it with new ears:

• Portuguese New Year's Eve - cod and 80's music
• a male Indian version of Elaine from Seinfeld ringing in Christmas Eve with completely carefree (and even more completely, rhythm-free) joy
• passionate Italians and dispassionate Dutch
• Australian writing partners and American football partners
• Dutch pastries and red-light pasties
• house parties that always end up as living-room dance parties
• discovering new music from Laid Back Radio from Belgium to Novaplanet in France
• cafes in Amsterdam that are cooler and cozier than anywhere else
• culture and a sense of history that dwarfs North America

Such is the plight of the voluntary expat, so nothing above should be seen as a complaint nor a boast. The trick I suppose is to balance it all out, and find a way to soothe the soul when the corrosive explosions occur.

Irony

It's fairly ironic that the worst part of travel is, well, travel.

While it may sound glamourous to say I'm heading to Paris, London, Barcelona, Zurich, Prague all in the months of December and January....well ok, it is a bit better than Red Deer, Lacombe, and Edmonton, I'll grant you that . But the act of getting to each place is a little less enviable.

Where to begin? On the Eurostar from Paris to London, on a train made only for those under 5'6", I'm seated directly facing the world's most affectionate couple. I'm not sure what the Chinese word for Schmoopie is, but I'm pretty sure they said it every few seconds. I'm also not sure what happens when one of them has to go the bathroom, but it must be devastating. I don't think they did, actually. But after watching them, I sure had to.

Glamour also wears off quickly in places like the Paris Metro, when you're being packed like Twinkies into Oprah's mouth, and having someone cough directly into your cornea. Or on the famed London Underground, where at 8:45am on the 9-hour day back home (see newspaper headlines above), a 30-something guy, without sound or warning, expels the most massive amount of vomit since Britney Spears' last album. Had I been standing a foot closer, I would have been wearing it the rest of the day.

So next time someone tells you, whether they're bragging or just plainly recounting, that he/she is jet-setting around various overseas locales, take heart that you may actually be enjoying a much more pleasant ride while couch-surfing at home.

London Calling

A pre-Christmas Paris-London trip wraps up - and it was possibly the least glamourous one possible, given the very unusual snowfalls in both cities and the holiday travel crunch.

I will expand on what made this trip particularly unsexy in a post later this week. For now, here are some nice images from a sunny Sunday morning in Hyde Park and Kensington Gardens...

This City Keeps Calling

...and I keep answering.

I can hear the conversation with Paris in my head - "you know it'll never work"... "the age difference is too great"... "you are too high maintenance"... "I think we should see other cities"... "Your coffees are as big as a thimble and you sometimes smell like urine"... you know, all the classics.

Yet I have an irrational, addictive, unhealthy love for this city. I have been here four times in the past 17 months - a sure sign of trouble.

A few more photos of the object of my affection, taken yesterday at dusk from Parc Belleville and this evening from Quai des Jemmapes... more as I have more time in the next week or so. You can also visit any post listed under "Paris" along the left-hand side of this page - there are some nice shots from October '09 as well.

Did You Know?

• That Dutch people love Michael Buble?

• That there are in fact three red light districts? There's the main one which everyone knows about, and two others in predominantly residential areas. You're walking along a quiet canal-side street, looking casually at the classic walk-up apartments lit up warmly with candles in the window and maybe a cat sleeping on the windowsill...then BAM! Almost-naked woman in a window, framed by neon red lights. Oddly, a nice mix... To my urban planning geeks back in Calgary - take note.

• That the majority of taxis in Amsterdam are late-model Mercedes? Given the rates they charge, the only surprise here is that they're not Ferraris.

• That if you were offering the clerk a million dollars in cash, Michael Buble tickets, and a puppy, you still couldn't get an iPhone through T-Mobile here? It's insane what non-residents need to go through to get one.

• That riding a Dutch bike is highly addictive, and helps clear your head no matter what kind of day or night you've just had?

My ride. 75 Euros - money well spent.

• That those douchey, pouting teens from Twilight are just as ubiquitous here as in North America?

• That "gevulde speculaas" is not an uncomfortable gynecological instrument, but rather an amazing Dutch cookie-like treat with almond filling?

• That clicking on the ads on this page really does work? I made $12.31 (U.S.) in October thanks to you people - that's enough for several pounds of gevulde speculaas. Thank you, and keep clicking every day!

Sinterklaas

Piets on the Streets

Sinterklaas. Saint Nicholas. Or Sint, for short. December 5th sees Sint all over the Netherlands, aided often by his helper Zwarte Piet (Black Pete).

The Feast of Sinterklaas resembles the North American Christmas - although it is celebrated 20 days earlier, and with a few subtle differences.

First, and most commonly expressed by the naive expat from Canada or the U.S., is "Holy crap is that ever racist", upon seeing Zwarte Piet.

Dressed in blackface, with afros, and acting mildly slavish (think Santa's elves, maybe in Mississippi circa 1950), these little imps are explained in various ways, as the Devil (who is enslaved by St. Nicholas), to just straight-up slaves, to the totally benign kid-who-climbed-down-a-chimney-and-is-now-covered-in-soot. Piet throws candies to the kids in parades, hands out gifts, and causes some mild mischief throughout the month.

So we'll adopt the latter definition above, as most Nederlanders prefer to do anyhow. And there doesn't seem to be any malice nor any sinister undertones to people of all ages dressing up as Piet, so we'll move on. But the lingering impression is an uneasy one, and you won't see me or any of the expats I've spoken to about it smearing on the blackface anytime soon.

Both kids are eye-balling the gifts instead of Sint

Anyhow... back to Sint. I had the good fortune of spending a pretty authentic Sinterklaas feast with family, and the uncle provided the full entertainment as a very impressive version of the old gift-giver. Sint comes over from Spain (know why? I don't. Fill us in on the comments below - first correct answer wins a pepernote). I'm thinking it's because he prefers to spend as little time getting rained on in Holland during November and December, and it's a heck of a lot warmer than the North Pole.

Sinterklaas greets the adults as well

The tradition is to give gifts to the kids of course, and many adults do a Secret Santa gift exchange with a set monetary limit, just like back home. Often these gifts can be homemade, including elaborate wrapping for the recipient to wade through, like jello pudding made to simluate sheep guts (really, this is tough to explain - just trust me on this).

A marked difference is the more celebratory feel than back home - all the adults join the kids in singing a bunch of songs to usher Sinterklaas into the house, and poems accompany each gift - the giver needs to write a few lines to the getter, usually including some mild ribbing. On the downside, there is less of a turkey-gorging feast.

To celebrate the actual Christmas day on December 25th, there's still no turkey - European gobblers can breathe a sigh of relief while their cousins across the ocean get carved up - just nice dinner, this time sans Piet.

Filmofilia

The ceiling of the Tuchiniski cinema

Last week, I mentioned one of the primary benefits of being in a bigger city - having the added cultural selection.

The International Documentary Film Festival (www.idfa.nl) is the highlight for a lot of the 30+ crowd in the city, and is one of the best choices I've made so far here (aside from the decision to stop mentally converting Euros to Canadian dollars - it deadens the pain) .

It is basically 10 days straight of hundreds of films, from 10am to midnight every day. From bigger-budget Michael Moore fare to small-budget French movies, it's all here, and it really is international. Most films are in English with Dutch subtitles, which is a bonus for A) those who speak English and B) those who want to learn Dutch.

I saw two films this week... and I know what you're thinking - "wow, quite the movie buff there, Jeff. - hundreds of movies and you saw two." But wait. Little did I know - and now you know, so you can prepare for next year - that most of the movies were sold out well ahead of the start of the festival.

Inside the Tuchinski theatre

The Dutch, and the large expat community here it seems, are serious film buffs. And with the ability to purchase multiple screenings online, coupled with the regular amount of dreary November weather, the site read "uitverkocht" for a great number of movies.

Next year, should you be here - check the schedule early and start clicking.

I saw "Male Domination", a scathing look at male aggression and insecurity by a Parisian director. It focuses a lot on the 1989 Ecole Polytechnique massacre in Montreal, and also shows a number of first-hand accounts of domestic violence along with a small group of idiotic "masculinists", a society of troglodytes who think the way people did 200-300 years ago.

I found the movie very moving, but also limited in its scope (and it didn't help that it didn't paint a more global picture of the problem - Quebec comes off as a desolate, wintry, brutal society, and of course it is not; it's one of the more progressive ones, and there are far more severe societies around the globe). It also didn't dig deeper to see what some of the root causes are, nor the solutions.

To be fair, the director (who was there for a Q & A after the film) did say that he really could have made six films with all his footage to cover the scope of the problem.

Onto the second movie, which was "The Rainbow Warriors of Waiheke Island", a beautiful movie about Greenpeace and the story of the Rainbow Warrior which was sunk off the coast of New Zealand back in the 80s as it was protesting French nuclear tests that killed scores of South Pacific islanders and marine life, and left hundreds others disfigured or with birth defects.

It follows the people who were on the ship then, with footage of how they remembered it and of how they live their lives today. It had a particular resonance for me, having been to Waiheke Island in 1996. It's about a 35-minute ferry ride from Auckland, and is just an amazing place.

A stock photo of Waiheke Island

The movie had great scenery, great (real-life) characters, and a story that really has no parallel today. Although I'm way more on the green and the peace side of things in general, myself and millions like me wouldn't have the conviction to do what they did back then. We're too distracted by shiny things, the convenience of modern living, and willful ignorance.

The grey-haired, grizzled vets that they are today seem awfully content and well-adjusted, though - perhaps the by-product of a life lived with real meaning.

We were even lucky enough to have one of them in the audience also doing a Q & A after the movie - a definite perk of the big-city film festival.

Peace out.