Home is not a place it's a feeling.

Home is not a place it's a feeling...ain't that the truth says the girl with a "home" in three different countries! I was reminded of this when I returned to Massachusetts for a visit earlier this month, my first trip "home" in over a year.

My first stop was to stay with a dear friend who has just returned from her ex-pat life in Toronto to live in Wellesley. Although I understand how hard it is to say goodbye to a home in a foreign country I can't help but be pleased that she has moved, as I can now spend time with her on my return visits to MA! We spent hours sat around the kitchen table catching up on news that first morning, such a delight chatting with someone that you have history with! Melinda was one of the first people to welcome me to Massachusetts when we moved there in 1999, a "company wife" that was given the job of be-friending the newcomer. I remember clearly driving to her home, in Beverley at the time, and thinking I'll stay long enough to be polite. Well, we started chatting....and never stopped! She babysat my kids, taught Bex and Thom to bake cookies, shared her dogs, talked books and movies and became the most wonderful friend. It just goes to show that you must sample everything offered when you move, there may be something delightful on the table.

Melinda and me....Where's the squirrel!

After my "Melinda-time," which included a visit to the Peabody Essex Museum to see the stunning Alexander Calder exhibit....and lots of laughter, I moved back "home" to Topsfield. Another dear friend (I am lucky enough to have many!) took me in as a semi-permanent house-guest...a true test of friendship! Mary is another gift from my life in Topsfield, a sister in every way but by birth. We met across the coffee machine in Proctor school not long after she started to work there following a stint at Masco as a writing tutor. When I introduced myself as Jackie Harding she responded with, "Not Thom Harding's mom...I love Thom's writing!" Well, of course I immediately warmed to this lady and we became firm friends, working and playing together, sometimes at the same time! Myself, Mary, Helen and Kathy, all Proctor employees, formed a strong bond of friendship and formed a loosely structured book club, as my kids called it, "The Drinking Club" and we came to know ourselves as The Fab Four. We have laughed together (a lot!!) experienced a transvestite cabaret show, walked on the beach together, supported many local bars and breweries, read the occasional book, supported each other through tough times, cried and mourned together....friends that will stay connected always. Sadly, Kathy is no longer with us but whenever I am in Topsfield the three of us visit her grave and drink a beer with her, something she would get the biggest kick out of.

Fabulous Mary & Helen

Plum Island

Proctor school filled my life with friends. Many who have stayed in touch and one has even braved the Atlantic to visit me in NL. (I'm hoping for more visits in the future!) Teachers and support staff I have worked with have become wonderful friends and I treasure my Proctor time for that very reason.  This visit I didn't spend as much time visiting the school as in the past, I have started to feel more removed as old faces leave or retire and new faces appear. Of course there are still lots of old friends there and they made me feel very special when they all made the effort to meet at Mary's home for a small party, at a time of year that is crazy busy for everyone. If I visited for two months I would still not have enough time to spend with everyone who is important to me so this is the alternative, not perfect but an opportunity to touch base. I did get to spend some one-on-one time with a few friends which was valued greatly...I even went to Dunkin Donuts for a coffee at 7.30am to meet one teacher friend! That just shows you how important these friendships are to me!

The Proctor crowd

The rest of my time in Topsfield was wonderful and I filled up my "tank" with all the wonderful meetings and experiences. The coffees, dinners, and lunches with friends, long chats, and walks on the beach will be taken out and re-examined in those lonely days all ex-pats experience occasionally. I wasn't lucky with the weather as it rained for most of my visit but that did mean I managed to do all my shopping, both groceries and Christmas gifts. I felt so at home driving around my "home town" listening to the Christmas channel, admiring all the Christmas decorations and colorful homes. Obviously my spirit is still wandering around Topsfield as several people hadn't realized I had left! I did enjoy the looks on the faces of some people that knew I had left, when they bumped into me in a store! That look of confusion...priceless.

Midas and Mary

Of course I didn't just shop! Mary and I visited the Jamie Wyeth exhibition at the MFA in Boston. He is one of my favorite American artists so I was very excited and had to walk around twice just to check I had missed nothing! Mary, Helen and I took a very blustery walk on Plum Island beach, the sign of true friendship....accommodating a crazy friend! I had a wonderful day in Boston with Melinda which was filled with... giggles as the octogenarian docent muddled his way through the facts in the Nichols House museum, Beacon Hill, controlled mild hysteria as an extremely friendly squirrel ran up Melinda's leg in the Public Gardens (not once but twice!) and shared joy over the wonderful wreaths on the doors in Beacon Hill. When Melinda left to get her train I treated myself to a walk along Commonwealth Avenue, through the fairy light trees, up past Frog pond and along to Faneuil Hall, soaking up the feeling of Christmas, past and present.

My time in MA will be tucked away and treasured, as are all times spent with friends. I do miss those special people but I am reminded that they will always be there for me and I shall just look forward to the next round of laughter and fun to be had together...whether it be curled up by one of Jerry's famous fires, in our PJ's, watching cheesy TV programs or fending off tree rodents!

Heesbeen, Netherlands

Flying Officer R.O Brigden, Pilot, Royal Airforce. 1st September 1944, Age 21 are the words inscribed on the only Commonwealth War grave in the churchyard of sleepy hamlet of Heesbeen, close by to Heusden. One of 18,265 identified Commonwealth war graves in the Netherlands.


Bob was only 16 when Britain declared war on Germany in 1939, and an 18 year old married man when he joined the Royal Airforce as a pilot in 1940. For awhile he was flying a  Douglas A-20 Havoc or "Boston bomber" over France dropping leaflets but in 1942 he was transferred to Malta, flying a De Havilland Mosquito for eight months protecting the convoys and the island.

F/O Brigden

As his navigator, Tom Harris, wrote, "Bob and I completed 50 sorties. Closing down Italian/German Aerodromes to help the RAF Wellington bomber squadrons, canon fire into west coast electrical railway 
transformers, bombing or strafing fuel depots, army bases, etc. Eight hectic
months - we lost several good mates." 

In 1944 he returned to England as a flying instructor but, after D-Day, returned with his navigator, Tom Harris, to 605 (Intruder) Squadron in Manston, Kent flying a "Mosquito"over Luftwaffe bases in the Netherlands, destroying aircraft on the ground. It was on one of these operations that their plane was hit by anti-aircraft guns at Gilze-Rijen, near Breda. Warrant officer Tom Harris was able to parachute to safety but F/O Bob Brigden, 21, was unable to eject safely from the plane, as it was flying too low, and he died when the plane crashed near Heesbeen, leaving behind a wife and two young sons. Tom Harris was captured and taken to Poland as a prisoner-of-war and young Bob Brigden's body was buried by the local people in the churchyard of Heesbeen.

F/O Brigden

A sad story heard only to often when learning about WW2. What makes this story more personal is that Martin "googled" F/O Robert Brigden after visiting the grave recently and discovered, in all the information, an email address to a person he could only assume was a grandson of this fallen pilot. Taking a chance he made contact, just to say he had paid his respects to the F/O Brigden and back "pinged" an email saying that he was indeed the grandson and that he had been very touched that someone British had visited his grandfather's grave....something he, until now, had never had a chance to do. But, he was coming over this summer, with his son, to see the grave and meet with the son of the people who had found his grandfather's body, as it was 70 years on September 1st that his grandfather had crashed...would we like to meet up sometime?

So that is how we came to be spending the evening with Tony Brigden and his 12 year old son, Harry in the pub in Heusden. A lovely evening spent with two interesting people whom we had only connected with through the magic of the internet. Tony and Harry had spent a week's vacation together touring some historic sites, both WW1 and WW2, such as Arnhem, Dunkirk and Ieper, before coming here to Heusden. The following day they attended a two hour Dutch service at the tiny church where Tony's granddad and Harry's great granddad is buried, quite a challenge for any Brit, let alone a 12 year old! Then Kees van Everdingen, son of the local Dutch people who witnessed the crash, took them to the crash site, where they scattered poppy seeds in remembrance. Tony said that his grandmother had visited in the late1940's but had never really discussed her deceased husband's history, and it was only when Harry was born that he decided to find out more about his grandfather. As we chatted I couldn't help but think what a powerful history lesson Harry was getting. Not only had he visited places many kids only read about in history books, but he had made a connection with a great grandfather who had died to keep safe the Europe he was now growing up in. As Theodore Roosevelt said, "The more you know about the past, the better you are prepared for the future."

Heesbeen, Netherlands.

With many thanks to Tony & Harry Brigden.


http://www.basher82.nl/Data/eethen/brigden.htm

http://en.ww2awards.com/person/45378

http://translate.google.com/translate?hl=en&sl=nl&u=http://www.bd.nl/regio/den-bosch-en-omgeving/heusden/bezoek-graf-opa-maakt-veel-emoties-los-bij-tony-brigden-1.4511218&prev=/search%3Fq%3Dtony%2Bbrigden%2Bheesbeen%26hl%3Den%26biw%3D1280%26bih%3D625

http://www.bd.nl/regio/den-bosch-en-omgeving/heusden/bezoek-graf-opa-maakt-veel-emoties-los-bij-tony-brigden-1.4511218?layout=switch

"Wake up, wake up, first day of school, first day of school," as Nemo says in Disney's Finding Nemo.
Summer vacation's over & all over the northern hemisphere parents and children have been facing the fact that school days are starting. Most children are starting their days with a groan and most parents are finding a small smile creeping onto their face! Apart from the parents who's kids are doing those monumental "firsts"...starting their first school, high school or starting that even bigger school, college.

I have been thinking a lot about that recently, as I observed friends photos on Facebook, of children donning school uniforms or standing bravely by a college dorm, and reflecting on what words of wisdom I could share having, "been there, done that." Honestly, the only thing I could come up with was, "don't blink, you'll miss their childhood!" I'm shocked to realize that it was 23 years ago that I first put my son, Thom, in uniform and waved goodbye to him at the classroom door! How did that happen! In those 23 years he's learned to read and write, had girlfriends, travelled around the world and gained a degree, all done in what seems to be a blink of the eye. My youngest child, Becky, started school in 1996, which takes on it's own enormity for a mother as the baby of the family clambers out of the nest, to explore.

When Thom started school he had a good day, although I spent those hours anguishing over whether he would eat his lunch, would he like his teacher more than me and would he make friends? Of course everything was fine although the following morning, when told to get ready he said, "I don't need to go to school today, I did that yesterday"! When Becky started school a dear friend invited me in for coffee, where I shed a tear or two on her shoulder, as I imagined my little baby cowering in the corner of school, hiding from a Trunchbull-like character, (as in the book Matilda by Roald Dahl)! Did that happen? No, she came skipping out with a new best-friend and a shiny book bag. You have the same feelings as you wave them off to university and college, fledging adults so assured and yet so vulnerable, their adult plumage still a little awkward on them. They also survived that transition, although it takes more faith from you, in their abilities, and your trust in them having learned from you about "good choices."

I can vaguely remember my own first days of school, although I mostly remember how high up the coat hooks were and a card game called Woodland Snap...for some strange reason those cards had a huge impact on me! I do remember a "big" girl being assigned to look out for me but have no memory of school lunches or even the teacher. Of course, my first school days were hardly "a blink of an eye" away I'm afraid to admit, but having worked as a classroom assistant I had the opportunity to re-new my "first day of school" for many years. I was never sure who was more crestfallen after the excitement of the first day wore off, and we realized we had to come back the next day, the teaching staff or the students!

Woodland Folk Snap, now an exhibit at the V & A museum, as it's so old!

So, I suppose my advice is as follows: trust your children, they will always love you even though the teacher is "awesome," thrill to the sight of your child loving to read and treasure the first time they write their name, cherish the stories of the school day and be ready with tissues when it doesn't go so well with the new friend, learn to use Skype so you can see that your college student is really eating, and rest assured that there rarely ever is a teacher like The Trunchbull.....well, hardly ever!

The Trunchbull, illustration by Quentin Blake

The Beautiful Game

I have bags under my eyes, my throat is sore from shouting and cheering, and my husband cringes every time the word Brazil is mentioned but I'm ready to "de-tox" now....the 2014 World Cup is over!

I enjoy international football/soccer and thrill to the experience of the World Cup but this year has been even better, partly because it was a great competition and partly as a Brit, living in The Netherlands, with a US passport and a host of international friends, it has been so much fun!

So let's start with the Brit part ~ every Brit knows the meaning of 1966! I was too young to enjoy our last & only World Cup win but sadly it remains the hook we hang our World Cup football scarf on. It's rather like being a Boston Red Sox fan, only we hope that we don't have to wait 86 years to celebrate again! This was not the year...at all! But was I sad? No...I had the USA and Netherlands to support so bring it on, and bring it on they did!

The Dutch love football and the USA are still discovering soccer, so the experiences of living in these two countries couldn't have been more different. Our first WC experience in 2002 was interesting as the only TV channel showing the games was the Mexican channel! So we learned to shout "GOAAAAAAAAAAAAAL" and our much loved family phrase now, "Michael Owen, muchos pantelones"! What a bizarre experience for a British family, to have to watch football in Spanish and have no one locally to chat with about the game, as no-one was interested, even though the national team made it to the quarter finals! The US is still discovering soccer but my kids generation have grown up playing it and the country was bitten by the bug this summer so I live in hope that, despite the American columnist Ann Coulter's cynical comments, this may be the beginning of something big for the sport.

The Dutch love football! They support with gusto and a lot of orange! What a different experience, orange flags thread across the streets, any items of clothing in orange are long gone from the shelves and the red, white and blue Dutch flag flies against the sky. You are in no doubt as to where you are! We followed the Dutch and US teams progress from The Hub, an international meet-up club that hosted every evening game complete with flags, beer, dancing and even hot tubs! The Dutch like to party as much as they like football! What a great experience to be surrounded by Dutch and international fans alike, all dressed in orange, cheering loudly and shouting "Hup Holland Hup." The shared groans and jubilation felt so powerfully when en-mass.

For me though, the spirit of the competition was never felt more so than with the social media communication with my international friends. Sat with messages flying back and forth on the computer, as we watched each other's national teams compete....supporting Netherlands, Belgium, France, Germany, America, England (briefly!), Greece and Australia. Truly a world experience and one time when Facebook really felt useful! Our version of "water cooler chat"! I changed my profile picture to the appropriate flag so many times I was getting dizzy! But it's over now, the orange shirts washed and folded for the next time, the profile picture back to normal. 2018? Maybe my international friends and I can meet up in person in Russia and celebrate/commiserate over a shot or two of vodka? Thanks Brazil for an unforgettable experience.

From Partition to Biker Expedition.

Europe is a history lesson, events that we all learned at school and some lived through, embedded in the very continent I am lucky enough to live in.

I am constantly reminded of events in history as I travel around Europe but none more powerful, or more recent as the two world wars and it's consequences. Of course the USA was involved in both theaters of war but, unless you are visiting Hawaii, you are unlikely to come across visual reminders in America of those world shaping events.

This past weekend I was traveling on the back of Martin's motorcycle around the region of the Harz mountains in Germany. A popular biker destination, with it's curvy roads & open spaces, particularly popular to those of us who live in the "lowlands" and crave hills and mountains!

The group of six bikes and seven people was made up with bikers from the international biker group, started by Martin. I always enjoy the eclectic mix in a biker group but the international flavor means a very varied group of people and nationalities. This time we had two Greek brothers, a lady rider from Romania who was engaged to one of the Greeks, a Russian nuclear physicist , a Scot and us, the Brit/Americans! As you can imagine the conversations over the weekend were culturally interesting and funny, and we all learned a lot about life on an oil-rig, Greek traditions and each other! There was much laughter and a great deal of support and kindness, brought on by the extremely hot temperatures....motorcycling in full gear is not pleasant in temperatures of 33C (91F) and yet no-one lost their temper or caused ill feeling.

International Bikers

The Harz is an area of 2,226  square km and is in Lower Saxony, with a national park, 17 dams, lakes, mountains, a steam train and towns full of timbered houses, it really is a beautiful area to explore. Of course I was there with bikers so it was all about the riding so no hiking for me this visit! The area is full of history, from being one of Goethe favorite places to the weird Walpurgis Night, a sort of Halloween when witches cavort, apparently naked, in the forest!

The most recent of Harz's history was what made me sit up and think. Through the Harz area ran the infamous dividing line that ran from the Baltic to Czechoslovakia, splitting Germany in half and Eastern Europe from the West, the "Iron Curtain". Here I was riding freely in an area that was once fringed by electric fences, patrolled by soldiers armed with machine guns, that divided towns, families and the world's opinion for 45 years. I remembered watching the changes in 1989 as Europe became whole again and marveled that I was riding here.... with a Russian! How Europe has changed since those post war years, but it continues to experience "growing pains" and I feel so strongly that a unified Europe is absolutely what we owe ourselves. When "the Wall" fell 100,000 Germans climbed to top of the Harz  mountains, to the Brocken peak, to celebrate ....a peak once denied them as it was home to one of the East's "listening posts." The bonus of the traffic-free border zone is that it became a rich nature reserve over those 45 years and now is a prospective conservation/memorial area with the European Greenbelt Initiative, a nature reserve running for 12,500 km through Europe....so out of something so tragic, something positive for all of us and our planet is occurring....... an ecological  phoenix.

http://www.europeangreenbelt.org

http://www.erlebnisgruenesband.de/en/startseite.html

Would You Like To Boodschappen With Me?

One of the every day, common experiences that become a daily adventure for ex-pats is the thrill that, here in the Netherlands, is known as "boodschappen"......grocery shopping! You might think this unlikely to become a thrill but, believe me, until you have wandered the aisles of a foreign supermarket and successfully checked items off your list you haven't experienced the frisson of fear or the exhilaration of success!

When I first moved to America I was overwhelmed by the sheer size of the supermarkets....the aisle just dedicated to cereals involved stretching exercises & a good pair of sneakers! The whole event of filling my trolley or cart took me hours, partly due to the fact that I needed a map to find my way around but mostly due to having to learn new products and brands. Which laundry detergent to choose? I had always used the one my mum used but now I had to make a "blind" choice...when you meet the new locals you don't automatically say, "So nice to meet you and, what detergent do you use?" Which teabags...very important to a Brit? What on earth is cheese in a can? What is cilantro? Which of the 200 types of chips/crisps? All these things seem so small yet on that first visit I felt close to tears. The moment that turned it from being an overpowering experience to one of humor was when I found a small amount of British items stacked on a shelf; some Cadbury's chocolate, Irish teabags and a packet of digestive biscuits. My first reaction was quickly tempered from joy to a chilling sense of reality, here were "my" foods next to the Mexican & Jewish sections...I was a minority!


Of course I was soon indoctrinated and the amount of favorite British goods that were shipped over in suitcases became less and less (other than teabags and chocolate....America really can't fill those shoes!). I felt at home wandering the aisles of Shaws or Stop'n'Shop and soon could dispense with the GPS completely. The irony of all this is that now, as I live in the Netherlands, I occasionally long for those vast supermarkets and the immense selection of goods....life experiences change us!

Now in the Netherlands my challenges are different, caused primarily by the language. The first time my daughter and I went shopping it took us hours...not because of the vastness of the stores (believe me Dutch supermarkets are tiny!) but because we were trying to work out what wasverzachter was! It's fabric softener! After three years I am able to read, and find, most things on the shelves, although occasionally the translator app comes in very useful. Foods are different and interesting when ever you travel. The Dutch love...hagelslag- sprinkles, every Dutch child has these on bread for breakfast before school; Drops - licorice, salty and sweet; stroopwafels - caramel cookies; pap -ready made porridge and lots of bread and cheese just to name a few basics. The Dutch system is, admirably, anchored in the idea of keeping the small independent stores thriving and so the supermarkets remain small (read that as cramped!) and locals shop at the butcher, the baker, and the candlestick maker with the weekly visit to the wonderful markets. I do still miss the brightly lit, colorful, familiar US supermarkets but can visit Sainsburys in the UK for the taste of home.... or Carrefore in Belgium or Leclerc in France (how European!)

Ask me what I totally detest about shopping in a Dutch supermarket....the lack of packing help! In the UK the smiling cashier will help you pack your groceries, or find someone to help and in the US there is always someone at the end of the checkout packing your purchases away. In the Netherlands there is no help, no matter how much you have spent or how big the supermarket is. Picture this....the cashier scans and moves your goods down to the bagging area while you start to pack your stuff in your reusable (of course!) bags. When the area becomes too full does she/he stop to help or slow down? No! They just force everything down, forcing, jamming, cramming until the pile threatens to spill over the sides and she smiles and says, very nicely in Dutch, "That's €80 and would you like the receipt?" You pay whilst looking frantically at the pile of goods yet to be packed, now comes the time where you break out in a sweat, as the next person's shopping is scanned the cashier rams the divider onto your section causing your goods to be crushed sideways as well, and you are sharing the area with another shopper. Obviously the Dutch expect nothing different and seem to take this calmly and in their stride. I'm the one who is by this time stressed, frantic and sweating!

So, after you've wandered around your familiar cheery grocery store, and as you watch your shopping being packed into bags and loaded into your cart by someone, spare a thought for me and thank those kind folk profusely for helping make what is a boring chore just a little less stressful. Me, I'm the one leaving Albert Hein with a red face, sweat stains on the back of my t-shirt, struggling with a cart full of overloaded, badly packed bags...heading to the nearest bar for a calming glass of something reassuring!

"The War To End All Wars."

This year is the 100th anniversary of the beginning of World War 1 or Great War, an event that we, as a world, should remember and never forget.

I recently visited Ieper/ Ypres in Belgium with Martin and my dad and paid my respects to the thousands who gave their lives for their countries in Flanders. We all grew up learning about WW1.. endless facts that don't connect us to the reality and it's not until you have the opportunity to visit some of the war cemeteries and battlefields in Belgium and France that you really begin to appreciate the human impact of the First World War.

Iepers/Ypres, a beautiful city, was my first shock. Only once inside the In Flanders Field Museum in the stunning 13th century Cloth Hall did I learn that the whole city of Iepers was completely obliterated during the war. This area was strategic in the fighting, with the Allies trying to prevent the German advance into France. From 1914 to 1918 three major battles, including the battle of Passchendaele, were fought in this area and was also witness to the horror of the first use of chlorine gas in 1917. Here we were in a bustling market place, full of Sunday visitors and restaurants, with no evidence that this old city was a recreation, the re-building of the Cloth Hall only completed in 1958.

Ieper 1917
 www.english.illinois.edu

Cloth Hall Ieper 2014

Iepers was razed to the ground after four years of war, the only things left that were identifiable, the street network....not a house remained. Look around the town you live in now and imagine that! The British had wanted the city left as it was, as a reminder of the devastation of war but understandably the Belgians wanted to return to their city and try to rebuild their lives.

But it is not the city or it's tragic history that makes The Great War tangible...it is the visual reminder of the cemeteries that staggers you, or the iconic Menin Gate, with it's 54,896 names of Commonwealth soldiers with no known graves. In Belgium alone there are hundreds of cemeteries with thousands of graves. New Irish Farm cemetery contains 4,800 burials, of which 70% are unidentified, the brooding German cemetery of Langemark with it's mass grave of 24,917 men and over 10,000 marked graves bring the total buried there to 44,304 and Tyne Cot in Passendale is the largest British war cemetery in the world with 11,956 Commonwealth graves. My dad observed that the impact is even greater when you imagine each of those well tended white gravestones as a person, standing in uniform. The average age is 21; young men, from both sides, fighting for their country and following orders to keep forging ahead until they were killed, or wounded enough to be sent home.

Tyne Cot 

It is sad to see these places filled with the dead, guaranteeing this tragic time in our history is never forgotten, but there is also something peaceful and sentient as you wander through the graves, the chance to honor the sacrifice made by so many. It is always peaceful there, flowers blooming on this land that was once torn apart by men, trenches filled with darkness, "hell on earth," and remarkable to me that there is always a bird singing somewhere.

In Flanders fields the poppies blow

      Between the crosses, row on row,

   That mark our place; and in the sky

   The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

   Loved and were loved, and now we lie

         In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:

To you from failing hands we throw

   The torch; be yours to hold it high.

   If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

         In Flanders fields.

John McCrae

www.visit-ypres.com

www.inflandersfields.be

Dutch carnaval through ex-pat colored glasses!

You know spring is coming in the south of The Netherlands but not because of the crocuses painting the roadsides in the city, or the heightened chatter of the garden birds but because of the strange actions of the locals. The weekend before Lent people start to change their dress style from the typical dark jackets and boots to, um, tiger outfits, pink tutus, super-heroes and neon onesies. Then the town and city names change, for example s'Hertogenbosch becomes Oeteldonk (Frog Hill). What on earth is going on, a stranger would think as he steps off a train into a crowd of singing, flamboyant, crazily-dressed Dutch people? Yes, it's carnaval!!

Oeteldonk (Den Bosch) centraal station 

Dutch carnaval, or vastenavond, is traditionally celebrated in the catholic south from the Sunday before Lent for three days, although the Dutch ever ready for an excuse to party usually start on the Friday. On Sunday the keys of the city or town are handed over to the carnaval prince and he rules! Den Bosch is the home of the original carnaval, begun in the 14th century but the tradition lay dormant for many years and was reinvigorated after WWII, after all they had suffered under Nazi rule for five years, an annual party was well deserved.


Is carnaval like Rio de Janeiro's carnival or Venice's carnavale?  Sort of, but done in typical  Dutch style and without the masks, bikinis and feathered headdresses. Here its more fancy dress, from the bizarre to the clever with the added necessity of thermal underwear and a rain coat! Everyone, and I mean young and old, dress up and standing in the train station yesterday was like being transported to an alternate universe! Believe me I have felt the odd one out in fancy dress before but never because I wasn't in fancy dress! The costumes are loud and colorful and usually involve a neon wig, although some are incredibly detailed and clever.

The main event is the parade with some crazy looking floats, that groups have spent months preparing. I am not sure of the background of the characters but they all seem to have an almost cartoon like appearance and are motorized and enormous, and, I believe, some make political comments or poke fun at city powers. It's quite something watching them negotiating some of the tinier cobbled streets in the smaller towns. Along with the floats you also have marching bands, some of whom seem to strive to be loud but musically challenged and, of course, you have people handing out shots of jenever, Dutch gin!

Now at risk of alienating my Dutch friends I have to warn you about carnaval music. It is truly dreadful, with its "oompah" beat and "la la la's" often accompanied with an accordion and is often a recognized pop song with it's lyrics adapted, or one full of sentimental lyrics that everyone knows, loves and sings along to. Despite its lack of panache there is something rather endearing hearing a crowd of Dutch, young and old, singing along with gusto....and if you don't know the words just sing la la la...they'll never know!

http://youtu.be/bsdunw27ERc

Of course with partying comes drinking and there is plenty of that! Every bar in the city is opened and extended to allow more people in, and the partying goes on all night. It's not just the young it's the young at heart, as you will often see a 70 year old knocking back a shot or two dressed in carnaval uniform with patches from every parade he or she has attended, stood next to two giggling young girls dressed in neon wigs and feather boas. 

Of course with party revelers comes problems. Crime in the larger cities is increased on this weekend as as much as 71% of the revelers in the carnaval cities were out-of-towners from the north, according to a local paper. It is a great opportunity after all, who's going to stop a guy dressed as a burglar carrying a sack of swag! 

The drinking goes on, visiting pub to pub until the revelers stagger home, either with or without their bicycle and the streets turn quiet in the early hours of the morning, with only the rustling of the forgotten paper coils and the rattling of empty Bavarian beer cans. The confetti blows listlessly along the streets awaiting the street cleaners and, surely somewhere, is used to line the nests of other residents celebrating the arrival of spring.

New Year Goes Off With A Bang And Many Whimpers!

New Years Eve, is an international phenomenon but is celebrated so very differently around the world. Living in the Netherlands I've seen the way the Dutch celebrate this year and it gave me to wonder how other cultures celebrate.

New Years Eve in the UK and the USA is generally parties with friends, some firework displays (new in my life time), the electrifying moment of "watching a glass ball slide down a pole" in New York, and a rousing chorus of Auld Lang Syne. The London firework display has attracted thousands since the Millenium and this year a quarter of a million people congregated to experience the multi-sensory firework show with edible snow & confetti! When we lived in Boston, USA, we were keen participators of "First Night", the celebrations held in the city since 1976. A family affair for all ages with concerts, dancing, iceskating, ice sculptures, parades and fireworks. We first experienced this at the Millennium and I have fond memories of watching the world celebrate on the big screen on Boston Common with our young children. I also have not so fond memories of one bitterly cold First Night, when we literally could not feel our feet after a time!

London

Of course if you are Scottish and celebrate Hogmanay then you hold the bar high for the rest of us! "First Footing" is a fun tradition when you are the first person to cross someone's threshold bearing gifts of coin, bread, salt coal and whiskey (the preferred choice) which represent prosperity, food, warmth and good cheer

In Spain a grape is eaten for each clock chime at midnight, whilst wearing red underwear and grossly, in Russia, your wish is written on paper, burned, placed in your champagne and drunk! I guess many Russians are to be seen choking at midnight!

The Dutch New Year is based, it would seem, upon getting as close as possible to maiming or death! They celebrate New Years loudly & all day! From breakfast onwards the children (and I use that term loosely as teenagers seem to enjoy it too!) seem to get endless pleasure from throwing firecrackers into the street and into buckets! In my experience un-patrolled firework lighting always ends in tears somewhere. (My cats hid under the furniture rolling their eyes in derision most of the day and are now in therapy!) There are few organized "safe" firework displays, just the delights of family fireworks and local children continuing to throw firecrackers and fireworks....in our case at the car as we drove home, causing my husband to almost veer off the road, making me feel rather like an embedded war correspondent  (I had had a few glasses of champagne at this point!). Then there is always the bizarre New Years Eve ritual in some towns, where the local youths set a car on fire....ostensibly an old car! Not sure of the deeper meaning of that tradition, worship of the pagan god DAF maybe, but everyone is surprised when the police & firetrucks get involved. What party-poopers! Another way to brush with death or dismemberment is that, bizarrely, public transport shuts down from 8pm until the following morning...in other countries public transport is free, to encourage people not to drive on the evening that many over-imbibe! To round off the taunting of death you then eat artery hardening "oliebollen" a delicious, when fresh, dough ball that is deep fried and coated in powdered sugar. Happy New Year!

Staggeringly, in the Netherlands, the number of injuries were high....a man died after his fireworks exploded, 46 people were treated for serious eye injuries and eight people actually lost an eye due to firework injuries. Numerous cars destroyed, fire emergencies and arrests rounded off a good celebration it would seem!

So, celebrations can be fun, life-threatening or just plain silly but at the end of the day we all close the old year and start a new one with hopes, wishes and dreams of a better, healthier, happier twelve months.....hopefully with both eyes!

Amsterdam

http://www.dutchnews.nl/news/archives/2014/01/one_dead_hundreds_of_arrests_a.php