Holland Holidays

Our first holiday season in Holland was starting to feel a bit grim. Since moving here in August, we always knew that the fall would be the toughest time of year for us. Back home in the Appalachian mountains of the Eastern United States the crisp fall air, brilliant changing leaf colors and smell of spiced rum in the apple press all portend the start of the holiday season. This is the traditional time of year when Americans gather to celebrate with family and friends.

In Holland, fall is a rather dismal time of year as far as the weather goes. Starting in October the jet stream shifts and brings endless waves of clouds and dampness to Northern Europe. There is nothing “crisp” about the daily fog and drizzle and a steady northerly wind cuts sharply through however many layers of clothes we manage to squeeze into. Worst of all, there are no traditional gatherings to look forward to. No Halloween. No Thanksgiving. No deer hunting.

Little did we know the surprises that our adoptive country had up her sleeves for us. It turns out that the Dutch love their holidays and they seem to be able to pull one out of thin air just when you need it the most.

Here in North Holland the holiday season starts with Saint Martin’s day. We began catching wind of this little gem one day in Mid-October in the dog park across the street. There is a really comical older lady with two pugs (Boris and Snitzel) who doesn’t speak much English. Oddly enough, everyone else at the park also complains about her Dutch….they say her thick Amsterdam accent makes it hard to understand her. Remember, Amsterdam is only 15 kilometers away from Haarlem so we’re not talking about remote linguistic relationships or anything. 15 stinking kilometers. I guess it’s like someone from a “blue state” trying to understand someone from a “red state”…never mind, bad example.

Anyhow, this lady took a quick liking to Beth and I. She is a real hoot to talk with even though we can barely understand a word she says. The only reason that we understand anything at all is because she uses her whole body to talk. And she is a “poker”. Every point that she makes comes with a “Ja”. And every “Ja” comes with a poke…and believe me, she always has a lot of points to make. Well one day, she started singing songs to us, in a very childish character voice, to try to get us to understand that Saint Martin’s day was approaching and that we should “prepare” for the festivities.

So I turned to the Internet for a coherent explanation, because she had Beth and I somewhat worried about going into this holiday “unprepared”. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find a lot of background information on Saint Martin. Apparently he was a pretty cool dude who lived back in the 10 century. One dark night he found himself almost starving to death with only a loaf of bread and a lantern to his name. Along came a beggar in worse shape than he and good old Martin gave the beggar half his loaf of bread and led him back to a church with his lantern. I think the “church” part is what got him the saint title.

Anyhow, 500 years later this event translated into a holiday in The Netherlands.

The tradition goes something like this: Little kids make plastic and paper lanterns at their schools. On Saint Martin’s evening (November 11) they walk around the neighborhood with candles in their lanterns playing the very appropriate role of “beggars”. As a homeowner, if you want to participate in the evening’s festivities, then you put out your own lantern on the front stoop. Having a lantern at a house gives the kids permission to ring your doorbell. You then open the door and stand there while they sing you some really funky singsong tunes. Naturally, all we could understand was the occasional “Sinta Maartin”, but when they finish singing, everyone claps and you give them a loaf of bread. Of course the modern version of “loaf of bread” is candy….lots of candy. We went through 4 bags.

This was actually a pretty cool holiday. The neighborhood was crawling with kids and families. There were more people out that night than I remember even in the best years back in Greensburg as a beggar kid myself. Laughter and singing filled the streets; and Beth, Sage and I had a great time listening to the same wacky songs over and over and over again late into the evening. The older kids (12) got the additional pleasure of burning their lanterns as they went running through the streets all hopped up on sugar, screaming and throwing molten plastic at each other. Now THAT is good fun.

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The next big holiday of the season is Sinter Claus. It starts almost immediately after Saint Martin’s day. Sometime around November 15th Sinter Claus comes to Holland from Spain (go figure). This being a seafaring nation, naturally he arrives by boat. It’s somewhat reminiscent of George Washington crossing the Delaware when he lands standing on the bow of a long rowboat. The festival starts with a big party at his landing at which time he switches modes of transportation to a horse and starts his journeys throughout The Netherlands. They don’t wind this one down until December 5th.

Sinter Claus himself is a saintly looking old guy, all decked out like the pope in a cheap Wal-Mart Santa Clause outfit. Or maybe it’s more like Santa Clause in a cheap Wal-Mart pope outfit. Either way he carries a long staff and brings with him “Zwarte Piet” - Black Pete. Black Pete is sometimes referred to as a Moorish Elf and sometimes, by those few less politically correct Hollanders, as SinterClaus’s slave.

Sinter Claus does all the “judging” stuff that comes standard with a religiously based holiday. You know, the typical naughty and nice routine. The kids put out their shoes each night and if they were good they find a small present or candy in it in the morning. However, if they were bad, they have much more to worry about than a simple lump of coal in their shoe. No, no, no. Their fate is much darker over here. A little kid that is deemed less than cherubic awakens to Zwarte Piet stuffing them into a burlap sack! He loads the nasty little buggers up and hauls them off to Spain! Fate unknown.

You have to reflect on the historical context of Europe to really understand this tradition. Spain brutally occupied large parts of Holland for several hundred years. Being dragged off by Zwarte Piet was a realistic punishment 500 years ago…and one that was not a pleasant thought for the little kids. Of course, over the past 499 years this has all been watered down and now Zwarte Piet is a smiling, overdone black faced minstrel-show character. Seriously. You should see this guy. As an American it’s actually kind of “cliché” to even talk about him. Just do a google search on “Zwarte Piet” and you’ll see what I mean. It’s an endless source of fascination for us foreigners, but it’s a perfectly natural caricature for them here. Zwarte Piet is always a white person, with black face paint, bright red lipstick, and a wild 60’s style afro wig. Even the children dress this way for Sinter Claus. I still laugh when I see it. It would cause “nights-o-fire” if someone walked down the street painted up like this in Detroit (or Dover for that matter).

Anyhow, from Mid-November until December 4, the kids put out their shoes each night and Zwarte Piet comes by and puts treats in them - because just like everywhere else in the world, Dutch children can do no wrong and are always little angels in the eyes of their parents. Finally, after many days of festivities, on December 5th Sinter Claus shows up and every kid gets a bunch of presents. And when I say, “shows up”, I mean literally “shows up”. I saw no fewer then 5 SinterClaus’s walking around various neighborhoods (with Zwarte Piet’s in tow) going house to house to visit with the children. He never carried a sack of presents so I guess it was just reassurance that the kids wouldn’t be sold into a life as a black slave down in Spain. Each neighborhood must pick a person to be Sinter Claus to do the rounds that year. I can just picture a group of nervous adults hovering around in a circle with an old geezer tapping each out-stretched fist as he chants “auka bauka stona crocka auka bauka boo, in goes Sinter Claus and out goes Y-O-U”.


The next holiday is Christmas. The real Christmas. December 25 and this one is for the adults (09061750). I was beginning to wonder if they celebrated this holiday at all since there were very few decorations up and everything seemed geared toward Sinter Claus. When I finally asked someone about it I uncovered a prime example of Dutch culture and how ambidextrous it can be at times. Ok, we all know that The Netherlands is one of the most liberal places on the planet, right? They smoke pot, they allow prostitution, they support gay marriage, and they generally have a very refreshing “live and let live” attitude toward their (and your own) existence on the planet. Then come the “rules”. These are those odd little codifications that just don’t seem to fit in Holland. Get this - It is ILLEGAL to sell Christmas trees or decorate the streets for Christmas until December 6th. They impose this restriction to protect their own unique cultural celebration of Sinter Claus and not water it down with western commercialization of Santa Claus. Don’t get me wrong, I actually think it’s pretty cool to limit the commercialization. But isn’t it kind of bizarre for such a liberal place to legislate the selling and placement of holiday ornaments? ….and not marijuana ?

Hmmmm……

Anyhow, here we are on December 12 and Christmas in Holland is in full gear now. Today was KerstMarktdag in Haarlem – the opening of the Christmas market. The main square was filled with vendors and echoed with the voices of a choir singing in Saint Bavo’s church, which was electronically amplified around the city. For those few nooks and crannies too far from the square for the music to reach, bands of singing carolers decked out in full period-costumes prodded a festive smile out of even the greenest of grinches. Hot mulled wine complimented with a soft puffy tart sold for a single Euro and helped to take the edge off of the chilly afternoon.

I know that several of you reading this are somewhat grinches yourselves. You’ve been tainted by the commercialism of “forced” gift buying. Or you’ve become hostile toward the secular evolution of December 25. The Christmas of “others” no longer carries a meaning or relevancy for you and you don’t like what it has become in the modern world. It’s a holiday celebration that is best enjoyed in your distant past.

For you, I wish that you could experience what Beth and I did today as we walked through the medieval cobble stoned alleys of Haarlem. The streets sang with laughter and the pubs and café’s overflowed with merry makers. The sights and sounds of Christmas were everywhere. And I hope that if you had experienced what we did today that it would have made Christmas yours again. That it would have planted a smile squarely on your face and put fluttering wings to your soul – just like you remembered as a kid.

Cheers and Merry Christmas!

The next two postings are also pictures of Sinter Clause (Zwarte Piet) and Christmas in Haarlem.

KerstMarktDag

Christmas Market on the square.

Zwarte Piet

The Moorish elf.

"Castleing"

Can the word "Castle" really be converted to a verb?

Sage and I went to hit a few of the local castles today. The castles in this part of Holland are primarily fortified houses/manors – nothing like what you see in France or Germany. These were simply large private landholders who had the means to build such fortifications and staff them with small private armies. From what we can gather, there was also some protection provided for the local villagers, but it was very limited.

We started out at Broederode Ruins in Santport Noord, just a few minutes drive from Haarlem. It is also strategically located on the way to one of Sages favorite dog parks so we were able to begin with an hour romp in the woods. This particular castle was sacked by the Spanish in the 14th century and it was never rebuilt. They have stabilized the ruins and now allow visitors to walk the grounds, climb the towers and generally explore all the different areas of the fortification. The main hall has been somewhat restored and the locals have evening fires and ghost tales by candlelight. I’ve also been told that they hold an annual Shakespeare event that has the actors and audience throughout the grounds….but we haven’t seen anything official about it yet.

We then drove a bit further north, under the North Sea Canal, and into the town of Heemskerk. This town has a castle from the 15th century, but it has been added onto over the years and is still used today as a venue for weddings and parties. Unfortunately, it was in use today so we couldn’t get onto the grounds for a closer look or historical overview.

The last picture is of Bruge, Belgium. There was room in the photo compilation for one more and thought this was a good one. I can still hear the “clomping” of the horse draw carriage echoing off the wet cobblestone.

Finally - any feedback on the photo compilations? Can you see them or are they too small?

Punctuating the move!

Dutch plates on the car are the final step in our move to the Netherlands. We now have all the trappings of local Dutch folk and can start to explore further afield, including a driving trip to a x-country skiing mecca over in Germany. By the way, the car is intentionally up on the curb. The streets in our neighborhood are pretty narrow and since the sidewalks are wide, most people pull up on to the curb to give enough room for other cars to get by.

Belgium

We spent the weekend in Brussels and did a day trip out to Brugge. Brussels was pretty nice...in my mind it was "just another big city", but there were a few highlights. The new EU parliment building was very impressive and the war museum was the best I've ever seen...although they did not have a Stuka...bummer.

Brugge was outstanding. It's a fully intact medevial town loaded with canals and cool nooks and crannies to explore. It's been a UNESCO world heritage site since 2000. Beth and I have hit a few places on the world heritage list now and have been very impressed. I think we'll start using it as a basis for future travels.

However, rather than just post pictures of monuments, museums and Euro scenery we thought you'd enjoy this little compilation. The first one is the world famous Mannekin Pis statue in Brussels....a bit cliche, but we thought that the Christmas outfit was hilarious. We missed them loading the fountain with beer by a week...a once annual event where the boy pee's beer.

The second picture is again from Brussels. Jesus Paradise Cafe - Peace, Love & Food Cocktail Bar. Now there is a religion I can deal with....only they ought to move it to Amsterdam and convert it to a coffeeshop!

Finally, some serious news upon our return to Haarlem. Mac, the little one year old beagle that was Sage's best friend in Zannenpark was killed by a car on Friday evening. It happened at the same park and at our usual 7:00 pm meeting time. Several dogs were playing in the hedgerow and Mac spotted something across the street. He bolted in front of a car before anyone noticed. Inclusief ga mogen u rust in vrede.

Pictures fom home 

Ijmuiden

Pronounced "eye mauw den", this is the seaway entrance for the port of Amsterdam. It sits just north of Haarlem and is bordered by the National Dune Park. I know that my last post was about wide beaches, but these shots really capture how wide they are. We enjoyed a beautiful sunset on the beach and then went to the overlook restaurant for fish -n- chips and beer. Superb!

Wide Beaches!

Now that we have the car, we're a bit spoiled. It only is a 10 minute drive to Parnacia Beach. These beaches are incredibly wide. There are 3-wheeled trikes that use sails to catch the wind and spin around in the sand. As you can see, dogs are allowed here year round. I hope that Sam doesn't get jealous! Actually, it was a bit "overstimulating" for Sage to have so many dogs around. We ended up having to put her on the line when we got nearer to the crowds....after she took out a woman when chasing another dog.

Mom - This one's for you!

You wanted to see a picture of me with the newly shaved head.

"Shaved" might be a little strong of a word. But Holy Cow - That's a LOT of forehead!

Same park - different worlds.

Here are a few pictures from Zannenpark right across the street from us. The wild animals get the cage.

TGV

My anticipation was building. I was standing on the platform in Brussels about to board the Cote De Sur express - French TGV service on the fastest train in Europe. It would wisk me the width of the continent in only 6 hours.

There was no mistake that this was my train. The letters TGV were painted onto the side of each car. The lettering style was modern graffiti…almost as if some punk had found his way into the rail yard the night before and defaced the gleaming train in front of me. The light grey, multi-tiered engine towered over me as I stood on the platform in awe. I was expecting a sleek, svelte bullet shape like the German ICE trains I had seen in Amsterdam Centraal Station. Those trains appeared capable of aerodynamically carving out their top speed. The behemoth in front of me looked more apt to bullying it’s way to the advertised 300KM/hour.

I found my reserved car and settled into a quad seating deck….4 seats around a small table. Only one other woman was in my compartment and she had staked out her own quad. The train started forward precisely at 9:25…right on time. It pitched and swayed as it climbed out of the underground station. The skyscrapers of Brussels glowed in the morning sun as we emerged from the tunnel. The train screeched its way across a switch and onto the outer track. Once on the proper track, it straightened up heading due south, but still refused to break it’s sluggish, methodical pace.

Ten. Fifteen minutes went by and the mighty TGV was still plodding along like some intercity tramway on the crowded streets of Amsterdam. We were now surrounded by open countryside and my anticipation was peaking. Surely they would start cranking up the massive engines now.

Five more minutes passed. I was starting to lose focus. Maybe the acceleration had been so steady that it would be imperceptible. But tracking the slow, steady pace of the passing scenery out the window confirmed the obvious lack of speed.

About 25 minutes outside of Brussels, just as I was starting to doubt the concept of “High Speed Railway”, an audible groan came from the engine. The sound vibrated down the length of the train. There was a perceptible tug in acceleration. I had the distinct feeling of being on a roller coaster as it clatters to crest the initial hill. Still climbing up, but oh so close to plunging down. We were there.

Faster. Faster. A broad smile came to my face as the train picked up speed. The farms in the distance were flashing by now and the feeling changed from a fun amusement ride to a commercial airliner barreling down the runway ready for liftoff. Only I was in a massive, earthbound carriage and there would be no assent skyward to break the perception of velocity. Just raw, in your face speed.
And terror. The terror that accompanies you on your first airplane trip; or on a 30 meter barrier reef scuba dive; or riding the bull in a 4 man raft on a class IV rapid. The kind of exhilarating terror that screams, “Hey! You are alive!” There was no turning back now…and no reason to want to.

Fifty Year Wedding Celebration 

Haarlem's Grote Market - This is the main market square in the center of old Haarlem. On weekends, during the day the square is filled with vendors hawking everything imaginable - from fish to dog food. The prices at the market are significantly better than in the stores, so it gets very crowded. In the evening, if the weather is good, all of the restaraunts and bars pull their tables out and the square turns into a giant, ad-hoc festival atmosphere.

North Sea Beach

We finally made it out to Zandvoort last weekend. The town itself comprises a lot of non-descript highrise apartment blocks, although there is a nice old downtown with shops, restaurants, and cafes. The main attraction is of course the sea. There is a large dune that hangs about 15 meters above the broad, flat beach. A wide boardwalk rides on top of the dune, overlooking a line of bars and equipment rental shops nestled between the dune and the water. There is a constant breeze from the sea, making windsports like catamarans, windsurfers, and parasails all very popular.

Ancient gates of Haarlem.

The city had a large series of motes, canals, and rivers that protected it from attack and controlled the flow of commerce (taxes). This is the only surviving gate that allowed people and goods through the defenses. It looks kind of odd now because the mote that it sits on is pretty much filled in and no longer functioning....but the gate is still really cool!

Hamster Weken

It's Hamster Weken (Hamster Soak) month at our local grocer...what the hell does that mean?!?!? Do I really want to buy that new special sausage on sale in the deli case? And why is this hamster flipping me off in all the advertisments?

"Ja, ja, ja. Spike is a dirty old bastard!"

Kids Bikes for Katie & Jody 

Doggie Theme Park 

TERRORISTS!!!!!!

Tonight, as Sage and I took our evening stroll through Schoterbos, her favorite park here in Haarlem, Sage was the victim of a vile, premeditated, and perfectly coordinated assault. The only thing that spared her was her ability to cut a 90-degree corner while leaping 3 feet (1 meter) into the air. Osborn, an elderly and somewhat sluggish German Shepard could not make that cut. He was brought down by the attack. The events you are about to read are disturbing, and not for the feint of heart. I only repeat them here so that the rest of you can be warned and keep a vigilant lookout for these evildoers, these haters of freedom, these un-Christian doggie terrorists.

The evening started calmly enough. I let Sage run loose at the designated leash “disembarking” point at the far North West corner of the park. She likes to start out here because the Jan Gijzenvaart Canal gives her a place to drink and gain energy for romping with all of her friends. We then walked down along the community garden area, meeting up with Judy and Eddie, who we stopped and played with for 10-15 minutes. They were headed out, so Sage and I continued on alone to the main field where all of the dogs and owners hang out after dinner. As we rounded the corner it appeared that we were in for a great evening. It was a large crowd. Larger than any gathering we had seen here before. We recognized some of the dogs – Mozart, Pepper…ah, and there was Kye, one of Sage’s favorite friends. But there were also many new fresh faces to meet.

I was still 15 meters behind her as she loped across the field to join in on all the fun. . And then, at the center of the field, the most vulnerable point with no trees, no bushes, no cover, the terrorists struck.

The assailants were two Maltize/Shih-Tzu/Pekinese mixed types. Even you don’t recognize the name of the breed, you know this kind of dog. These are the little foo-foo lap dogs, fully adorned with yellow and red ribbons in their hair, yapping their way across the field toward Sage. They were coming in aggressively fast, shoulder-to-shoulder, nose-to-nose.

Sage stopped and eyed the two curiously. This hesitation seemed to bolster their confidence and they increased their stride. Their stubby little legs worked in perfect unison as if they were one dog, neither outpacing the other.

Sage didn’t like what she saw (and heard) from these two little vermin. She bolted to the left, tail between her legs. They smelled her fear, further fueling their adrenaline and giving them a speed that I’ve never witnessed in these ratty little dogs. They exploited the open field and quickly closed the gap to a single meter between them and their victim. Sage, sensing their closeness, cut right. They cut right. Sage doubled back and did an amazing jumping left twist toward the hedgerow. They made the same cut, in perfect unison, and were able to keep pace with Sages aerobatics.

I looked on in amazement at how these two dogs seemed to share a common brain, a common thought process. It was like nothing I had seen before; almost as if they were one entity, joined by some psychic link that allowed them to think for and with each other.

By this time, the incessant yapping drew the attention of the crowd of dogs and people over at the benches. They had all stopped their conversations and butt sniffing and seemed to be enjoying the spectacle unfolding on the field. Only Osborn, the older German shepherd was oblivious to the rising tension. He started trotting across the field to get a closer perspective on the action.

Sage was closing in on the hedgerow as quickly as the two little terrorists were closing in on her. A final cut to the left and she would reach the relative safety of the laurel bush. Osborn was close now and had distracted Sage’s attention. She stopped briefly to touch noses with him. The two attackers did not stop. At the last possible second, Sage leaped backwards and into to the hedgerow. She covered a full meter in a single bound. The speed at which the two assailants were able to adjust their target was truly impressive. They still had fresh meat in their sights. And that meat was now Osborn. Without breaking stride, one streaking furball went to the left and one went to the right of the large German shepherd, as if to circle and intimidate him. It was a beautifully calculated move. But neither I, nor obviously Osborn anticipated the full extent of this underhanded strategy. It caught us both off guard.

Osborn went down! Thrown to the ground as if his feet were yanked from underneath him. Then I saw the fine, silver chain that connected the two little attack yappers. The chain that brought Ossie down. This synthetic umbilical cord seemed to give them strength and courage not usually found in these little rodents. They puffed up their chests and stood basking in their accomplishment. In their short, nasal panting, you could hear the grunting snickers of Beavis and Butthead. The crowd cheered.