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Thursday, December 29, 2005

"Mountain" biking


This is what we usually do when we go to Schoorl in North Holland. Believe it or not this 15 KM mountainbike trail in the dunes above the village offers some great single-track for The Netherlands and even has three decent lung-busting climbs in it.

But today was not for biking. It’s Christmas and we’re out for our traditional day of hiking and exploring. We started out in these dunes to be sure that Sage got a nice long walk under her belt, and then worked our way south to visit the towns of Bergen, Egmond aan Zee, and Egmond Binnen. Once again we had great weather and were pleasantly surprised by the people we met and things that we saw.

Hope you had a great Christmas as well! Enjoy the pics.

Kerkje?


A lonely little church in the dunes.

Strand


No Christmas day hike here in Holland seems complete without a bit of time on the beach. It was very crowded, but really nice to see so many people out and about in the nice weather.

Pigeon Power


This castle ruin was pretty cool. Parts of the church in the background were built in the 10th century. But you have to look very closely at the statue to see the real highlight of this stop. Can you see the water dripping off the base near the guys feet? There is a jet under the surface of the pond that shoots a quick burst of water at the statues head every 5 minutes….to keep the pigeons away!

Lighthouse


A light house above town with a storm brewing in the background.

Sculpture


I loved this outdoor sculpture. For me, it really captures the turbulent relationship that the Dutch have with the moody North Sea.

Thursday, December 22, 2005

Kerstboom


That’s “Christmas Tree” in English in case you Americans aren’t sure these days. It’s been another great holiday season in Haarlem. Last year I gave you the run-down on the various celebrations here, so this year I’ll just post a few pictures of our home town. I hope that you enjoy your holiday season, however you celebrate it.

Ollie Ballen


As soon as December rolls around these mobile bakeries start showin up all over town. "Bakery" might be a bit too strong of a word...maybe "deep-fried doughery" is a better description.

Las Vegas


Of course not. It's the main shopping street in North Haarlem (General Cronjestraat). It's really a very nice street for shopping, but the way that the Christmas lights reflect from the covered walkways give it a much more modern look.

Boter Markt


The old butter market is a favorite hangout of ours. On Saturday afternoon we often stand at the fish stall set up here for a great hot cod sandwich and on almost any evening you can wander into one of the local pubs for jazz or blues.

Oldie but goodie


This is the back side of one of my favorite buildings in Haarlem. It is situated on a narrow alley across from a great Tapas restaurant. There are always torches lit in front of the restaurant which give this building an eerie glow at night. Add in the Christmas trees and rickety bicycle and it is very "Dutch gezellig".

Grote Kerk


These lights hang across all of the streets in the old center of Haarlem and are designed to look like the Grote Kerk on the main square. I found this shot on a little side street where the actual church silhouette is directly behind the lights...pretty cool! Posted by Picasa

Gracht


A cozy Haarlem canal at night.

Cobbled Street


A great narrow street to explore in the heart of Haarlem.

Why is this Santa smiling?


Let's just say that those red lights aren't Christmas decorations....'nuff said.

Tuesday, December 13, 2005

Fright Night Flight

Sometimes it can be very healthy to hear about the misfortunes of others, allowing you a new perspective to reflect upon a particularly negative situation that you might be encountering. So today, I want to help you by giving you a little something to think about the next time that you find yourself in an airport and things don’t seem to be going quite as planned. Just remember this story and smile. Things can get a lot worse.

November 29, 2005

Beth and I suck at marital arguments. We don’t fight often, but when we do it is a very slow-burn, drawn-out ordeal. We had been going at it for a couple of days and aside from the occasional flare up, things were generally bottled up and boiling over for both of us. She dropped me off at the airport with one large suitcase full of clothes and Christmas presents, one small backpack with a few basic necessities in it and two SAP calendars packed in large 3 foot by 2 foot flat cardboard packages - presents from Beth for our fathers.

Beth then gives me a sisterly peck on the cheek and drives away.

None of this back-story really matters much except to expose my frame of mind as I started this journey. I was just about as far from “happy camper” as you can possibly get.

9:00 AM, Central European Time (CET): I am two hours early for my flight. I go into the airport and check in the large suitcase. I have to carry the two SAP calendars in large flat cardboard boxes onto the plane because they can not be checked with my other luggage. Perfect. Oh well. It’s a direct flight. I shouldn’t have too much trouble with them.

I then go into the waiting area and sit to relax with my book (Angela’s Ashes by Frank McCourt…talk about suffering…you gotta read this book!). The plane is supposed to begin boarding at 10:30 and depart at 11:10.

10:30AM CET: Some pseudo-self-important uniformed thugs from US security come in (because the flight was to Washington, DC - Dulles) and rudely clear everyone out of the waiting area so that they can set up an additional security check. No “excuse me”. No “please”. Just simple, unadulterated arrogance. Great for our image abroad.

10:45 AM CET: Having now thoroughly disrupted the waiting process, the arrogant security thugs leave without a word of explanation.

11:00 AM CET: By now, the huddled masses of passengers pretty much know that we’re not going to depart on time and we start asking questions of the few KLM stooges milling around. “Sorry, we don’t know anything at this time.”

11:45 AM CET: The KLM stooges finally call us into the boarding area. We all file past the abandoned post set up by the US security thugs and wonder what the hell is going on. We’re told that an announcement will be made when everyone is in the boarding area.

12:00 PM CET: After they’ve shuffled everyone into this tiny boarding room, packing us in like lemmings, they make an announcement that our plane was struck by lightning on its way into Amsterdam and its electronic control system has been “fried” (their exact words). The flight is cancelled. We’ll have to go to transfer station T8 to get other flights.

12:00:37 PM CET: Even before the announcement is complete, all hell breaks loose. People are running and shoving each other to get out of the tiny boarding area back into the main airport and to transfer station T8. We’re squeezing through the narrow openings that the arrogant US security thugs left blocking our exit.

Do you remember the Seinfeld episode where someone yells “fire!” at a child’s birthday party and George pushes over the old lady trying to save himself? Picture that scene on steroids. With no laugh-track. Strollers were flying, people were falling…it was pandemonium…and the less experienced travelers had no idea why they were even running…but they were running anyhow...like cows to a newly filled corn-feeder.

12:02PM CET: My marathon training pays off. If you have no other reason to get into shape, do it for the outside chance that you will someday have to make a mad dash to Transfer Station T8 to rebook a cancelled flight.

I ran like hell. My small backpack and two SAP calendars in large flat cardboard boxes were flailing around wildly and creating a tremendous amount of aerodynamic drag, but I still managed to beat the overweight and out-of-shape masses to Transfer Station T8. I was second in line.

The only line.

There was one attendant at Transfer Station T8. 276 very angry people were stacked up behind me.

12:10 PM CET: I began working with the one guy behind the counter at Transfer Station T8. I felt a little guilty at having so easily sprinted past the "supersize me" crowd and I made the mistake of trying to be a nice guy. Since I was going to drive to Pittsburgh from Washington Dulles anyhow, I thought that I could leave an additional seat on the Washington flights for someone who really needed to be there.

No clue. The one guy at Transfer Station T8 was completely dumbfounded by the notion that I actually might want to get to Pittsburgh instead of Washington. Any attempt at explaining this apparently bizarre concept was met with furious key strokes on the computer, a confused twist of his face, and a curt clarification that KLM does not fly to Pittsburgh. My best chance of reaching America today was to fly to Toronto, then connect with Air Canada to Washington National Airport. Apparently no other city in America existed to this guy at this point.

Hold on a minute.

“That doesn’t make any sense. You’ll fly me on a different airline to Washington National, which by the way is also a different airport than my original destination, but you won’t fly me on a different airline to Pittsburgh?”

That little comment got me a really nasty look, more furious key strokes on the computer and a non-confirmed booking on a flight to Pittsburgh through Boston.

I glared at the stooge.

He glared back.

He had to help 276 angry people behind me and I knew that he was going to screw me if I took the unconfirmed flight through Boston. I carefully weighed the “what-an-asshole” look on his face and accepted the flight from Washington National via Toronto.

The one printer at Transfer Station T8 was not working, so he shoved a handwritten boarding pass at me and called for the next schmuck in line.

01:30 PM CET: Almost two hours later I walked past Transfer Station T8 on my way to board the KLM flight to Toronto. There were now two stooges behind the desk, and at least 200 weary people from my cancelled flight still waiting in line for transfers.

02:10 PM CET: I board the flight to Toronto, putting the SAP Calendars in the large tattered flat cardboard packages into the overhead bin and settle in for the long first leg of my new flight that overshoots my intended destination by more than 500 miles.

4:20 PM EST (more than 8 hours later): Our plane lands in Toronto. We are told that any passengers destined for Washington National will have to pick up their luggage at customs, then recheck it onto our next flight. Lovely.

5:30 PM EST: The last luggage rolls off the belt from the flight from Amsterdam. My bag (along with about 30 other peoples) is not on the belt. Some folks are starting to ask questions. Tempers are flaring. I turn and sprint for the lost luggage counter for KLM.

One KLM guy is manning the counter but again my marathon training pays off - I am first in line. He sees the crowd converging on him and pounds furiously on the keyboard of his computer, but finally admits that he has no idea where mine, nor anybody else’s luggage from the flight ended up. I fill out a form for lost luggage, leaving my parents address in Ligonier as the destination – more than 200 miles from the airport.

The 29 people behind me have been anxiously listening in on my transaction and are obviously in similar situations. They are missing connections and growing really angry that only one guy is here to help them. It was a pathetic display of humanity when they started to verbally abuse the guy behind the counter. He calls airport security. I don’t wait around for the “show”. I take my lost luggage receipt, my small backpack, and my two SAP Calendars in large tattered flat cardboard packages and head for the nearest airport bar.

7:30 PM EST: After two gigantic Sam Adams and a plateful of fish-n-chips I head for my gate to catch the 8:35 PM flight to Washington.

8:30 PM EST: The plane has not yet boarded. There has been a flight stoppage into Washington National due to weather.

8:50 PM EST: The airport in Washington is reopened and we board our flight. The captain tells us that we’ll have a “few bumps” climbing out of Toronto and that they are expecting some “mild” turbulence for the duration.

9:15 PM EST – 10:40 PM EST: It is pure hell. As soon as the wheels leave the ground the plane starts to pitch and wobble. High cross winds are wreaking havoc and the plane maintains a constant shudder with the turbulence. I’ve done a lot of flying in mild to moderate turbulence and it doesn’t really bother me too much, but the comments and whimpering from some of the other passengers raises the tension level in the plane.

About 25 minutes into the bumpy flight, the captain comes onto the intercom and says that we will be crossing a mass of cold air and with the hot air in the jet stream it will probably cause the flight to get a little bit bumpy.

All the color drains from the face of the woman sitting across from me and her eyes are as big as a two Euro coin. She is not dealing well with the bumps that we are already experiencing and I can tell that she will be easily broken by anything more.

2 minutes later, a tremor shudders through the plane as it is shoved violently sideways. The “impact” is strong enough that a book flies off of my tray table and lands under the seat across the isle. Several people scream. The plane feels like it drops a few hundred feet, leaving a sickening rollercoaster pit in my stomach. More screaming.

Looking out the window makes it worse. The blinking lights on the wings are shrouded in a deep, deep fog. There is no context or reference point.

The plane skips and shudders through another burst of heavy shock waves. More screams and another woman behind me begins to pray loudly, rocking in her seat like some lost autistic child.

For the next hour the plane continues plowing through wave after wave of severe turbulence. The screaming, crying and praying persist for the duration of the flight. The woman across the isle from me is mumbling to herself in a dazed state of shock. The woman behind me is loudly promising all sorts of whacky things to her god if he’ll just let the plane land safely. I understand logically that turbulence doesn’t bring down airplanes, but the whole atmosphere is starting to wear on me and I find myself tensing up with every pitch and weave of the 737.

Through it all, the pilot is so damned calm. As we start our approach into Washington, the turbulence is as heavy as ever. He comes across the intercom and says that he’s sorry that he couldn’t find any smooth air, but we’re almost there and he’ll just have to make a right turn here and then drop into the airport. We’re about 40 miles out and already flying at less than 10,000 feet.

The thought of a right turn in this gale makes even me a little nervous. When a violent shudder goes through the plane as we’re tilted at what feels like a 45 degree angle, I grab my armrests, pull down sharply on my seatbelt and take a deep calming breath.

We level out, but the air stays viciously frothy as we descend toward the airport.

Only one other flight has made me this nervous. That was a trip out of Seattle right before a hurricane hit. I am still convinced that that plane almost never made it into the air after a gale caught us on takeoff and nearly slammed the wing into the runway….but that is a different story. Here we are on the final approach after a hellish flight…almost there. I can see the Washington Monument now. We’re only 1000 feet off the ground, still shaking and shimmying our way toward a safe landing.

500 feet.

The pilot suddenly jerks the plane at a sickening angle to the right. It feels like a freefall and people are again screaming and crying. 3 or 4 seconds later there is an equally sickening jerk of the plane to the left. Some sort of last minute adjustment. We level out and connect with the runway about 10 seconds later. It feels like a very, very close call.

“Welcome to Washington National Airport” comes a happy voice from the cockpit. He is greeted by loud cheering and clapping from the passengers.

Saturday, December 10, 2005. 10:45 AM CET: 11 days after leaving it with a ticket agent in Amsterdam, my bag arrives via “lost luggage” courier at our home in Haarlem. The goat cheese that was a Christmas present for my sister has “ripened” nicely.

Monday, November 28, 2005

Volkstuin



Volkstuin - The Peoples Garden. It sounds like something out of Communist China, doesn’t it? I think this notion is pretty common in most major metropolitan areas where space is at a premium. Here in Holland, they’ve mastered the concept.

The idea is that each city sets aside numerous large parcels of land to be used as green space. Some of that land is earmarked for parks, other chunks are used as sport fields, and of course you all know about the Holland’s famous “WandelBossen”, right? But in addition to all of that, a significant amount of ground is set aside for Volkstuinen. A city the size of Haarlem has probably 20-30 Volkstuin parcels. Each of these large parcels is carved up into hundreds of small plots which are then leased out to people in the community resulting in thousands of plots scattered about the city. Anyone owning a lease can then have their own private plot on which to grow vegetables, trees, fruits, berries, marijuana, whatever. It’s Holland’s version of the “Ranchette”.

Well call us Urban Cowboys and sign us up! We’ve just leased a nice 200 square meter plot (2200 square feet) across the railroad tracks in the nearby village of Bloemendale. We’re sharing the costs with our friends and will be anxiously planning the garden throughout the winter.
The plot that we picked looks out over a horse pasture and has a small shed and a nice patio for summer evening Barbeques. There are numerous fruit trees and berry plants that are already in production so we’re guaranteed a harvest the first year. Of course, the first thing that we’ll have to do is build a small pen for the dogs …

A37


Plot A37, both sides of the walk and obviously in the sun! ;-) Posted by Picasa

Schuur


Our ugly brown shed....but it has this advanced watering system. Posted by Picasa

Wednesday, November 23, 2005

House Swapping


It seems like winter is coming on fast and strong this year. We are expecting snow this weekend here in North Holland and there has already been over a foot (33 cm) of the white stuff in Garrett County. I’m heading back to America next week to get our house in the mountains ready for winter.

I’m looking forward to seeing friends and family in the States, but I am also a bit sad to be missing a few important holidays and parties here in The Netherlands. If all continues to go well, by this time next year we hope to have everything in place to be able to enjoy the best of both worlds - a house in North Haarlem as our home base and some key enhancements to our place in Maryland so that we can spend a few weeks per/season there.
It seems to me that would cover just about everything….except some consistent sunshine. What do you think Beth? Go for a third? ;-)

Tuesday, November 15, 2005



Old Fart

Well, today it’s official. Beth and I have both crossed the 40 year barrier. This brings us into a whole new checkbox category on government forms. What is the standard label beside our new box - Middle aged? Elderly? Old Fart? I guess that it all depends upon your perspective. When you look at someone like Beth’s pap, who is still going strong at 94, we would probably be considered carefree youngsters.

All in all we’re both pretty happy with 40. Oh sure, it would always be better with a few less wrinkles, a few more hairs, but I suppose that those types of things are to be expected. As long as we’re wearing out hiking shoes faster than couch cushions, we’ll stay young at heart and continue waking up with a smile - just like this morning, right Beth? ;-)

Cheers!

Dan

Monday, November 07, 2005

Road Trip!!!!!


We pulled out onto the deserted streets of North Haarlem at 4:30 AM on Friday morning with the wipers quietly swooshing a foggy drizzle from the windshield. The weather seemed to improve with elevation as we climbed the Ardennes in Belgium and by the time we were at the foot of the French Alps it was a warm, clear blue sky. 20 hours of beautiful scenery and 1 questionable flophouse later we were shedding our fall clothing for shorts and t-shirts on sun drenched Mediterranean coast of Spain. What a difference a few thousand kilometers can make!

Our friends Frank and Natasja invited us to join them for a week at their vacation home in the traditional Mediterranean village of Pego, which is less than 10 kilometers from the sea, but light years from the tourist trammeled beaches between Alacante and Valencia. The entire Pego valley maintains its roots in authentic Spain.

The trip centered around remodeling the kitchen in their vacation home. It turned out to be a complete gutting and restarting from scratch. The work was fun, the food was outstanding, the scenery was beautiful, and the company was gezellig. Hope you enjoy the pics! Posted by Picasa

Morning view


Our morning view from the main terrace while eating breakfast....breathtaking! Posted by Picasa

Our hosts


Frank and Natasja - our generous hosts along with Franks pride and joy....Paellea! Posted by Picasa

Working?


Some of us helped put in a new kitchen.... Posted by Picasa

Scotsman


Can you guess Alan's nationality? He was very proud of the 2 Euro tartan shorts that he bought the night before in Benidorm. Posted by Picasa

Still relaxing?


It seems to me that this was taken much later in the day...Beth is STILL on the deck lounging! Posted by Picasa

Sunset


Sunset over Pego from the pool deck.Posted by Picasa

Outdoor kitchen


Since the indoor kitchen was completely gutted, we cooked on the outside terrace in this second kitchen. Beth is trying to learn how to make Paellea. Posted by Picasa

The work crew


It was late. We had already downed too much wine. The picture is terrible....but we all have big smiles on our faces. Posted by Picasa

Pool


Great tile work and a nature preserve give the pool a private Spanish feel. Posted by Picasa

Orange Groves


The main terrace overlooks a valley of orange groves. We were awaken one morning by a group of loud Spanish fruit pickers...obviously they didn't have the same late night that we had. Posted by Picasa

Calamari


Not the best picture, but check out this Calamari...it's the whole damned squid! Lekker! Posted by Picasa

Montpellier


We couldn't drive through Montpellier, France without stopping to visit old friends. We had a great meal out and enjoyed walking around my old haunts. I've spent so much time in this city that it feels like a second (or would that be third?) home. Posted by Picasa

Luxembourg


We also spent a night in Luxembourg. The city is on the UNESCO world heritage list for it's intact medevial architecture. It reminded us of a Walt Dinsey attraction...a little too sterile and pretentious for our taste...although the setting was georgeous. Posted by Picasa