Sunday, 27 November 2011

Sardegna

This weekend I flew to the italian island of Sardinia where my friend Gavino lives and goes to school. Ryanair offers very cheap flights ($45 round trip) so I couldn't pass up the opportunity to visit him in his hometown. The following is the journal I kept while there (Warning, it's long. You may just want to skip to the pictures)

Left my bike at Amsterdam Centraal. Took a train 1.5 hours south to the dutch city Eindhoven. It is a city home to Philips which historically has employed the majority of its population. I explored the city and visited an interesting modern art gallery. Beautiful building. Reminded me of a smaller, cosier Museum of Modern Art (New York) with its atrium of shifting volumes, its modern white walls as backdrop to the art, and its style of exhibitions. Couldn't stay long because I had to catch a bus to the airport (Ryanair doesn't fly out of Amsterdam). After arriving at the airport, security seemed lax compared to my last experiences in north america, and I experienced no customs or passport checks.

Sunset over the Alps

The flight was beautiful. It took ten seconds to get above the fog that blanketed the Netherlands and then it was all sunset on the 2 hr flight crossing the Alps, the Mediterranean and the french island Corsica. Despite its bad reputation, Ryanair wasn't so bad. The seats are the tightest I've ever seen, but the flight was only 2/3 full and most people were sitting near the entrances so in the middle of the plane I had an entire row of 6 seats to myself. Also, there are no assigned seats. We landed twenty minutes early in the northern Sardinian town Alghero.

Gavino picked me up from the airport in his Fiat and we did a quick tour of Algher at night before heading back to his apartment to put some groceries in the fridge (including a huge tiramisu his mom made). Then we were back in the car and off to Sassari (which is the largest town in northern Sardinia) for italian pizza. We met up with 5 of Gavino's friends for all-you-can-eat pizza cooked in a traditional brick oven. These guys mostly didn't speak english, but it gave me a great opportunity to observe how true the stereotypes are of italians talking with their hands. The hands were everywhere, always gesturing and emphasizing. The pizza was amazing, and we ended up ordering 14 different savoury pizzas and 2 sweet ones. A surprising type that is quite common and popular there is a pizza covered in french fries (the table behind us had several of them). Anchovy pizza wasn't as good as I'd hoped, but there were 13 other pizzas to try so it was okay. The dessert pizza was very interesting. It had honey for sauce, lemon as a topping, and then the same dough and cheese as the normal pizzas. Served hot. At this point I wasn't feeling much like consuming more pizza but I ate a piece and it was quite good. The whole meal, complete with Sardinian beer "Ichnusa", bottled water, and rich italian espresso cost a measly 10 euros (the average meal at a sit down restaurant in Amsterdam is 20 euro without drinks). Did I mention the espresso was incredible? We took our very full stomachs to a local bar/cafe where live bands played covers of American rock music. While most of the people there don't speak english, we left around 1:30 to everyone joining in the singing of "Sweet Home Alabama". Go figure.

Conveniently, Gavino has two single beds in his room and I slept well the first night, awakening to my alarm clock and a beautiful blue sky. The weather forecast had called for cloudy skies, so we joked about how nice the cloudy skies were in Sardinia. I couldn't believe it was November as I spent the whole day outside in a t-shirt quite comfortably.

After a breakfast of a croissant and italian espresso (despite still feeling full from the night before) we went to Sassari to pick up Gavino's friend Antonio and then headed north to Porto Torres to see some nice Sardinian beaches. We stopped at three beaches and a town and I waded into the Mediterranean for the first time in my life. They claimed the water was freezing but it felt quite nice to me. We checked out the church in Porto Torres (the oldest in Sardinia) and some Roman runes (including a bridge still used today) before having a lunch of local cheeses, sausages, and breads at a beach. I must say, after spending the last 3 months praising Dutch cheese, it just doesn't compare with the fresh mozzarella I was eating at lunch.

While we were packing up the lunch and taking it back to the car, a police car rolled up and asked to see our identification. Apparently it's a normal procedure here and I suspect they were looking for another car that looked like ours as they were more interested in the license plate than our identification and they barely glanced at my passport once they knew I was Canadian. One of the police spoke some english and commended my friends for knowing english and that it was a big problem on mainland italy that few people spoke it. Maybe it was a comment brought on by the economy of late? I like the idea of being in a place where no one speaks english (provided I have my friends to translate :P )

View from Castelsardo over the village below

The sun was getting low in the sky and we continued eastward along the noth coast, stopping to see a church built on a cliff over the water and eventually reaching Castelsardo as the sun was setting. The castle is built on a high rocky outcropping above a small village full of steep awkwardly angled streets and colourful sardinian houses. Picturesque Italian village I'm telling you! We rose up above the village, parked the car at the base of the castle and walked up to the battlements just in time for the sun to light up the few clouds on the horizon and provide a spectacular view. After many pictures, we headed back to the car and back to Alghero for a dinner prepared by Gavino.

This dinner deserves its own blog entry. It is officially tied for the best meal I've ever had (with Colleen and Wilf's Indian dinner). Everything we ate was grown and produced within 50 km. For drinks, we had the local Ichnusa crude beer, as well as a red and white wine. For appetizers, we had a spicy sausage, a strong dry cheese which I thought was the best cheese I'd ever tried until the fresh Ricotta came out. So soft and flavourful. Put a thin slice on a piece of Sardinian flat bread (think really thin toasted tortilla) and it's heaven. Also, rosemary breadsticks (thin and crispy). Then the first came. A pasta of thick shells with a tomato and meat sauce. Fresh grated parmesan on top. Then the second (and for me, along with the ricotta cheese this was the show stopper). Lamb with olives and fennel. Homemade olive oil. I thought I was full after the pasta, but I loved both the lamb and the fresh olives (and I usually don't get excited for olives). Finally dessert, which was in two rounds. First, a pastry filled with cheese and lemon and sprinkled with sugar (freshly fried by Gavino). Then, his mom's tiramisu came out of the fridge. I think we all know how good a rich creamy tiramisu is. This was top notch. For the second time in two days I was completely and utterly stuffed. Our dinner ended and we went to bed, setting the alarm early because my flight back to the netherlands was the next day at 1:30.

Walking down the stairs to Neptune's Grotto

We wasted no time in the morning, exploring Alghero's city wall along the sea, driving up the coast to see beaches and old towers, and experience breathtaking views of rocky cliffs rising from the Mediterranean. Our destination was 'Neptune's Grotto', a series of natural caves accessible from the sea or a long flight of stairs perched precariously down a vertical cliff face. I think the pictures speak for themselves here. The 1000 stairs down the cliff were probably more exciting and beautiful than the cave itself, but both were a great experience. A tour guide led us through the caves which were discovered in the 14th century by fishermen. Some beautiful spaces where the stalagmites reflected off crystal clear pools of saltwater. We eventually had to leave and raced back up the stairs to get to the airport in time. I had just enough time to get through security before my flight started boarding. Lifting off and looking down at the hot dry climate that reminded me a little of home in the Okanagan, I knew I was going to miss Sardinia, even though my trip has been so short. Gavino was an amazing host and fit an incredible amount into a very short time. I ended up with 550 pictures in the two days and managed to get it down to about 150 for the album. Please enjoy the pictures, and I would be happy to show you the rest when I'm back in Canada.

Monday, 21 November 2011

Covered in Fog

It's as thick as pea soup and the netherlands has been covered in fog for almost three weeks straight. At least its not raining? I'm headed to bed so this will be short but I thought I would just send out an update and a link to some new pictures. This last weekend I visited the Rijkmuseum and Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam and the Mauritshuis in The Hague (three of the best museums in europe apprently) and spent a good deal of time looking at Rembrant, Vermeer (my favourite), Hals, and of course Van Gogh (even got in some Dali, Monet, and Picasso). Did you know Van Gogh only painted for ten years before he killed himself?

This work week will be short as Thursday I fly to the Mediterranean to visit my friend Gavino in Italy. I must say I am looking forward to the 20 + degree weather and some good italian food. Did I mention my flight only cost 32 euros ($45) roundtrip?

Anyways, here's a link to the new photos (they're in an album with pictures from brussels and berlin so you may need to scroll down past Sinter Klaas to find them)

Hope you're all doing well. Less than a month until I'm back in Canada!

Sunday, 13 November 2011

Sinterklaas has arrived!

Yes it's true. I saw him. Sinter Klaas has arrived in Amsterdam on his Spanish steamboat along with his horde of dark skinned helpers. He's not quite like Santa Claus, so I thought I would paste in this funny article that explains the guy:

Six To Eight Black Men

By David Sedaris

I'VE NEVER BEEN MUCH for guidebooks, so when trying to get my bearings in a strange American city, I normally start by asking the cabdriver or hotel clerk some silly question regarding the latest census figures. I say silly because I don't really care how many people live in Olympia, Washington, or Columbus, Ohio. They're nice enough places, but the numbers mean nothing to me. My second question might have to do with average annual rainfall, which, again, doesn't tell me anything about the people who have chosen to call this place home.

What really interests me are the local gun laws. Can I carry a concealed weapon, and if so, under what circumstances? What's the waiting period for a tommy gun? Could I buy a Glock 17 if I were recently divorced or fired from my job? I've learned from experience that it's best to lead into this subject as delicately as possible, especially if you and the local citizen are alone and enclosed in a relatively small space. Bide your time, though, and you can walk away with some excellent stories. I've heard, for example, that the blind can legally hunt in both Texas and Michigan. They must be accompanied by a sighted companion, but still, it seems a bit risky. You wouldn't want a blind person driving a car or piloting a plane, so why hand him a rifle? What sense does that make? I ask about guns not because I want one of my own but because the answers vary so widely from state to state. In a country that's become so homogenous, I'm reassured by these last touches of regionalism.

Guns aren't really an issue in Europe, so when I'm traveling abroad, my first question usually relates to barnyard animals. "What do your roosters say?" is a good icebreaker, as every country has its own unique interpretation. In Germany, where dogs bark "vow vow" and both the frog and the duck say "quack," the rooster greets the dawn with a hearty "kik-a-ricki." Greek roosters crow "kiri-a-kee," and in France they scream "coco-rico," which sounds like one of those horrible premixed cocktails with a pirate on the label. When told that an American rooster says "cock-a-doodle-doo," my hosts look at me with disbelief and pity.
"When do you open your Christmas presents?" is another good conversation starter, as it explains a lot about national character. People who traditionally open gifts on Christmas Eve seem a bit more pious and family oriented than those who wait until Christmas morning. They go to mass, open presents, eat a late meal, return to church the following morning, and devote the rest of the day to eating another big meal. Gifts are generally reserved for children, and the parents tend not to go overboard. It's nothing I'd want for myself, but I suppose it's fine for those who prefer food and family to things of real value.

In France and Germany, gifts are exchanged on Christmas Eve, while in Holland the children receive presents on December 5, in celebration of Saint Nicholas Day. It sounded sort of quaint until I spoke to a man named Oscar, who filled me in on a few of the details as we walked from my hotel to the Amsterdam train station.
Unlike the jolly, obese American Santa, Saint Nicholas is painfully thin and dresses not unlike the pope, topping his robes with a tall hat resembling an embroidered tea cozy. The outfit, I was told, is a carryover from his former career, when he served as a bishop in Turkey.

One doesn't want to be too much of a cultural chauvinist, but this seemed completely wrong to me. For starters, Santa didn't use to do anything. He's not retired, and, more important, he has nothing to do with Turkey. The climate's all wrong, and people wouldn't appreciate him. When asked how he got from Turkey to the North Pole, Oscar told me with complete conviction that Saint Nicholas currently resides in Spain, which again is simply not true. While he could probably live wherever he wanted, Santa chose the North Pole specifically because it is harsh and isolated. No one can spy on him, and he doesn't have to worry about people coming to the door. Anyone can come to the door in Spain, and in that outfit, he'd most certainly be recognized. On top of that, aside from a few pleasantries, Santa doesn't speak Spanish. He knows enough to get by, but he's not fluent, and he certainly doesn't eat tapas.

While our Santa flies on a sled, Saint Nicholas arrives by boat and then transfers to a white horse. The event is televised, and great crowds gather at the waterfront to greet him. I'm not sure if there's a set date, but he generally docks in late November and spends a few weeks hanging out and asking people what they want.
"Is it just him alone?" I asked. "Or does he come with some backup?"
Oscar's English was close to perfect, but he seemed thrown by a term normally reserved for police reinforcement.
"Helpers," I said. "Does he have any elves?"
Maybe I'm just overly sensitive, but I couldn't help but feel personally insulted when Oscar denounced the very idea as grotesque and unrealistic. "Elves," he said. "They're just so silly."
The words silly and unrealistic were redefined when I learned that Saint Nicholas travels with what was consistently described as "six to eight black men." I asked several Dutch people to narrow it down, but none of them could give me an exact number. It was always "six to eight," which seems strange, seeing as they've had hundreds of years to get a decent count.
The six to eight black men were characterized as personal slaves until the mid-fifties, when the political climate changed and it was decided that instead of being slaves they were just good friends. I think history has proven that something usually comes between slavery and friendship, a period of time marked not by cookies and quiet times beside the fire but by bloodshed and mutual hostility. They have such violence in Holland, but rather than duking it out among themselves, Santa and his former slaves decided to take it out on the public. In the early years, if a child was naughty, Saint Nicholas and the six to eight black men would beat him with what Oscar described as "the small branch of a tree."
"A switch?"
"Yes," he said. "That's it. They'd kick him and beat him with a switch. Then, if the youngster was really bad, they'd put him in a sack and take him back to Spain."
"Saint Nicholas would kick you?"
"Well, not anymore," Oscar said. "Now he just pretends to kick you."
"And the six to eight black men?"
"Them, too."
He considered this to be progressive, but in a way I think it's almost more perverse than the original punishment. "I'm going to hurt you, but not really." How many times have we fallen for that line? The fake slap invariably makes contact, adding the elements of shock and betrayal to what had previously been plain, old-fashioned fear. What kind of Santa spends his time pretending to kick people before stuffing them into a canvas sack? Then, of course, you've got the six to eight former slaves who could potentially go off at any moment. This, I think, is the greatest difference between us and the Dutch. While a certain segment of our population might be perfectly happy with the arrangement, if you told the average white American that six to eight nameless black men would be sneaking into his house in the middle of the night, he would barricade the doors and arm himself with whatever he could get his hands on.
"Six to eight, did you say?"

In the years before central heating, Dutch children would leave their shoes by the fireplace, the promise being that unless they planned to beat you, kick you, or stuff you into a sack, Saint Nicholas and the six to eight black men would fill your clogs with presents. Aside from the threats of violence and kidnapping, it's not much different from hanging your stockings from the mantel. Now that so few people have a working fireplace, Dutch children are instructed to leave their shoes beside the radiator, furnace, or space heater. Saint Nicholas and the six to eight black men arrive on horses, which jump from the yard onto the roof. At this point, I guess, they either jump back down and use the door, or they stay put and vaporize through the pipes and electrical wires. Oscar wasn't too clear about the particulars, but, really, who can blame him? We have the same problem with our Santa. He's supposed to use the chimney, but if you don't have one, he still manages to come through. It's best not to think about it too hard.

While eight flying reindeer are a hard pill to swallow, our Christmas story remains relatively simple. Santa lives with his wife in a remote polar village and spends one night a year traveling around the world. If you're bad, he leaves you coal. If you're good and live in America, he'll give you just about anything you want. We tell our children to be good and send them off to bed, where they lie awake, anticipating their great bounty. A Dutch parent has a decidedly hairier story to relate, telling his children, "Listen, you might want to pack a few of your things together before you go to bed. The former bishop from Turkey will be coming along with six to eight black men. They might put some candy in your shoes, they might stuff you in a sack and take you to Spain, or they might just pretend to kick you. We don't know for sure, but we want you to be prepared."
This is the reward for living in Holland. As a child you get to hear this sto-ry, and as an adult you get to turn around and repeat it. As an added bonus, the government has thrown in legalized drugs and prostitution--so what's not to love about being Dutch?

So here are some photos from the SinterKlaas parade today:

His steamboat he arrives from Spain on

Many many children were dressed up as "Black Peter"

One last note (for my dad): Go Tiger Cats!

Sunday, 6 November 2011

Bike Trip: Edam

This weekend sported good weather again in Amsterdam (although a little too overcast, at least it didn't rain!) with temperatures in the mid teens so I felt it was a good opportunity to bike into the north holland countryside. With the help and advice of my coworkers, I planned a 65km route through a large nature reserve (Twispe) to the seaside towns of Edam and Volendam, and then back home through the town of Marken which used to be on an island until the Dutch built a dijk to it. Marken actually had a lot of incest problems until that dijk was built.... Maya joined me for the trip and we managed to not get lost without looking at maps or gps (I wouldn't let Maya look up our location on her phone =P )

It turned out to be a great trip which started about 9:30am and ended around 3:30pm. We rode for hours past fields dotted with sheep, goats, and little cheese factories (cows). The countryside is starting to look a little less pretty with the leaves gone now and overcast skies flattening the landscape (and I thought the Netherlands couldn't get any flatter). Edam was delightfully quaint (and not-touristy like its neighbour Volendam).

Maya's mom has arrived to stay with us for a few days on her way home to Ottawa from a trip to Kenya. Tomorrow's her birthday and we're planning to go out for dinner to celebrate, possibly Portuguese food! They went shopping together today while I biked around Amsterdam photographing its best modern architecture.

Meanwhile, I'm preparing for another week of work, as well as the arrival of Gavino on thursday evening and Sinter Klaas on Sunday afternoon. Excited for both!

Here are some pictures of the bike trip to Edam. Clicking one should bring them all up in a slideshow :)

Dutch countryside in November.

A little cheese factory scratching his head on a tree.

A swan in the grass. Yea, that's the description.

Trees are planted in the Polder to block wind and prevent soil erosion.

Tree-lined bicycle lane.

Who needs maps with all these convenient signs?

Entering Edam

Sleepy houses in Edam.

Edam's Bell tower

Edam's main canal (Keizergracht)

A cute street in Edam.

Lots of wind in Holland, and lots of windmills.

Marken!

Lots and lots of waterbirds in Holland.

The narrow dijk joining Marken with the mainland.

Marken's city centre.

Wednesday, 2 November 2011

Halloween in Berlin

So I am finally back from my 4 day weekend in Berlin and finally rested enough to write a bit about it. Beware, this may be the longest blog entry to date!

Let's start with the trip there. I booked a night train for Friday night and left work at 6pm (after being hit-on by a 50 year old Montreal woman at an inter-office party). My train left Amsterdam Centraal at 7pm on its 10 and a half hour trip to Berlin through the Dutch and German countrysides. The unfortunate thing about night trains are that you don't see anything. The only thing I saw the whole time was the huge cathedral in Cologne (as we sped by). A Dutch man I befriended during the trip told me it was a very nice way to arrive in Cologne during the day, to cross the bridge and then get right up close to one of europe's best cathedrals.

Okay, so the night train sucked. You can't sleep on it because the seats don't recline, the person across from you is bumping knees with you and, of course, you're booked into the middle seat. The journey continues...

Finally arriving in Berlin at 5:30am, I leave the station and started to follow the google maps 4km walking directions to get to my friend's house in Neuekoln (an up-and-coming part of Berlin). The first direction leads me down a street and right into a large building. After going around the building and finding myself back on the right street, a missing street sign leads me about 1km off track and after turning around and backtracking to find the right turn, I eventually find the right street and have no more problems.

I arrive at Manjula's at 7am; we sleep for a few hours before going out for a nice breakfast at a local bagel bakery. I meet her flatmate Sophie, an architecture grad from Berlin who has a super cute accent (unfortunately also a boyfriend!). We explore the immediate area, drop by the grocery store for some supper ingredients, and head back to the flat to make pumpkin soup. Sophie is very excited to be celebrating her first halloween and carves her first pumpkin. The pumpkin soup is excellent and some of Manjula's coworkers (interns from Italy) join us. Costumes are donned (not the most creative, most of them revolved around fake blood and white powder) and I sacrifice my canucks t-shirt (I take halloween seriously) to become a werewolf of sorts. We find our way to a halloween dance party (rare in most of Europe, Berlin is quite international however) and dance until 6:30am.

Waking up the next morning, we strike out on bicycles to see Libeskind's Jewish Museum. The time change is not good for sight-seeing. It's getting dark at 4:30. We stop for cappuccinos (cappuccinis?) in Mauer Park. A large crowd (300?) sit around an outdoor karaoke venue. We drink mulled wine as we paruse a nearby market. Sun has set. We walk down residential and commercial streets before arriving at Alexanderplatz, the glitzy tourist part of Berlin (one of them). Still walking, we stop for icecream before crossing the bridge to Museum Island (my favourite part of Berlin). In the labyrinth of giant 18th and 19th century museums, we stop and listen to a duet of violin and piano street performers who are clearly professionals. They are fantastic, and I give them 2 euros (and I never do that). We walk past the Berliner Dom, perhaps the most impressive building I've witnessed to date, and down the Unter den Linden and arrive at the Berlin's iconic Brandenburg gate. We walk past and see Norman Foster's renovation to the Reichstag before heading back to the flat (its quite late, we're quite tired from dancing the night before, and we promise to get up early the next morning to see more during daylight).

Monday morning and we're up early enough to see Sophie leave for work. We return to the Jewish Museum and line up to go inside. Very interesting building. Libeskind has three spaces I find emotionally stimulating. The holocaust tower is chilling, the garden of exile surprises me (and is my favourite part of the museum) and the stairs of continuity are beautiful and clever. The memory void is comparably disappointing. U-Bahn to the Berlin Art Gallery (Berlinische Galerie) and see two amazing photography exhibits that I find very inspiring (see Eva Besnyo and Freidrich Seidenstucker). We stop by the touristy Checkpoint Charlie for a quick picture to compare to the picture my dad took while the wall was still up. We are very hungry, stop for an Indian meal at a place Manjula recommends (she speaks Hindi to the waiter). Very stuffed (for a good price, not like the restaurants in Amsterdam) we head back out as the sun sets. Arriving in Potsdamer Place (Berlin's Times Square) we walk west to Mies' Neue Galerie, the most amazing building I've seen in Europe. We stop by the Sony Centre, and Eisenman's Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe before heading back to the flat to enjoy a few beers with Sophie before bed.

Tuesday morning I'm up early and leave Manjula to go to work while I wander through Berlin for my last few hours. I sample currywurst (surprisingly delicious) and eventually board my train around noon. The trip home is 7 hours, and a beautiful trip through the german countryside. I catch glimpses of Hannover, Wolfburg, and Westfalen before crossing back into the Nederlands as the sun sets. After transferring trains in Hilversum, I arrive back in Amsterdam at 7:30pm. Enough time to bicycle home and stop by the grocery store for some food for lunch at work the next day.

It's late here, and I don't have the energy to proofread my writing. Hope it's mostly understandable. Please email me questions if I was unclear about something. The following pictures are exclusive to my blog (they won't be found on facebook). They look small on the blog, but I think you'll find if you click on one a slideshow will open up and you can click the directional arrows to cycle through them. Bon Soir! (my dutch is still terrible, such a hard language to learn)