Bossche Blog

Back in Bier

2011-12-07T14:04:00.001-08:00

Bock-static

You'd think that with the somewhat recently updated, seemingly more user-friendly blog post-creation format, that I'd have more regular updates on this blog. Well, there's plenty of proof already that that's not the case. Though I have been writing posts for friend's blog for the last six consecutive weeks. I guess when there's a deadline involved and I'm not my own editor, then I'm a pretty dependable writer. Doesn't bode well for a freelance career, necessarily, does it?

Much has happened since the last round of updates, not the least of which was my learning that there is a direct Dutch translation and usage mimicking of the saying 'the whole shebang': 'de hele mikmak'. I love it. Often with American-English expressions, there may be a direct translation in Dutch, but no useful meaning - it's just not the way the Dutch would say it. This one, however, I'm told, is good for both.

There's also been a bachelor party weekend in Prague, a pre-honeymoon 3rd-wheeling weekend in Paris and our rabbit Bob Ross continuing to gain weight, despite our feeding him significantly less on vet's orders. He prefers to be referred to as 'fluffy', but we try not to bring it up at all. Oh, and I guess there was a 'knowing each other anniversary' weekend with the girlfriend in Munich quite a few weeks back as well. That's me, Mr Jet-setter.

But enough chit-chat: let's get down to beer-ness. It's been even longer since I've featured a tasty brew. This one was more than deserving of my persevering through formatting obstacles and the like.

The Texels ("tessels"; a microbrewery on a namesake small island of the Netherlands so far north, it's practically Norway) Bock has been an award-winner in the Netherlands for the past two years and recently captured the overall championship at the 34th annual PINT Bokbier Festival in Amsterdam. I was at that festival, though sadly too late to sample the stuff. The kegs had run dry. Fortunately there were a few others to sample. And fortunately I happened upon a 75cl bottle on sale at one of the local Den Bosch liquor stores. It performed, well, like a champion.

It pours a dark, rich ruby-mahogany with a hearty tan head. At the festival I sampled several that fell on either side of this appearance - some more red, translucent and sweet, some more pitch black (don't get me started on the 'smoked' entry) and bitter - and for the style, there's not so much snobbery as to poo-poo a little creative exploration of appearance, texture, etc. But personally, I like the strong German-style lager about in the middle, and that's exactly where Texels sets their Bock.

Both smell and taste carry a strong amount of roasted and dark-chocolate/dull caramel flavor, striking a wonderful harmony of savory and sweet. A little unusual for a lager, I suppose, there's a tingly complexity to the 'mouth feel' that I more typically experience with a strong ale. The effect is taste buds do-si-doing with the flavors for a bit longer than they might otherwise. It also means it might be a little intense to drink vast quantities of, but we're living in an era of portion control anyway, right? Right?...

Though I haven't been around the US for the last two years to really be a part of the burgeoning microbrew consumer community, from what I have heard and seen, it seems creativity and diversity are the order of the day - from chocolate milk double stout IPAs to honey raspberry brown bourbon ales (ok maybe slight exaggeration) - rather than picking a handful of styles and just trying to do them really well. Texels has done the latter here. They didn't try to innovate, rather brew the best-possible continuation of a generations-old traditional style. Even Steve Jobs would appreciate this approach.

2011-10-26T15:57:00.000-07:00

The fox trying to match the mouse's fleetness

I read tonight that Robin Pecknold is 11 months younger than I am. Man. Sometimes, I wonder if I shouldn't have just studied and gone to swim practice less in high school, and learned to play guitar and form a folk rock band instead.

Additional discovery of the night: the Grolsch 'Herfstbok' (autumn bock beer) is pretty much just as sweet and syrupy as last year. Still not a big fan. There's a bock beer festival going on in Amsterdam this weekend and I'm contemplating attending. So far, the best bock (not too dissimilar from a porter or stout, though a little lighter/sweeter) I've had in this little country is from semi-micro-brewer Hertog Jan.

It was sad to look at my last post prior to this one and read my optimism over a 2-0 Wildcat football team. Sad because that was the last time they've won this season, meaning they're sitting at a rather uncomfortable 2-5, losing to Army, Illinois, Michigan, Iowa and Penn State, in that order and in increasing strength of pain. This weekend they face a not entirely unthreatening 1-7 Indiana Hoosier team in Bloomington. (Their homecoming, I believe - people just love scheduling NU for their homecoming. Go figure.) Still, it's probably one of our last best chances of winning a game yet this season. A win will actually still enable the 'Cats to go forward and 'win out' to become bowl-eligible. With just 6 wins, it's not likely they'd be selected to go to a bowl, but, you know, it's nice to be available to be asked.

Monday night after work I was lucky enough to go to a concert by Throwing Muses at the Paradiso in Amsterdam. If you're not familiar, imagine Stevie Nicks fronting Nirvana. It was a little like that: short, sweet, angsty, angry, trancey, grunge-rock songs with very little speaking in between from lead guitarist/singer Kristen Hersh. She had these empty, yet intense, dark eyes floating in her cobra-esque constantly swinging head - you couldn't help but be drawn into her affected music-making.

And then it was September

2011-09-11T10:42:00.000-07:00

Mr Robert J Ross

It's so hard to believe we moved to the Netherlands 19 months ago. Maybe because there didn't seem to be a summer this year (see multiple previous posts referencing lack of season-appropriate weather), the past season and a half have gone especially fast.

Since coming back from Mongolia, things have been pretty exciting, I have to say. Well, at least there have been many occurrences of note.

I played in a weekend-long ultimate frisbee tournament just outside of Amsterdam, called Adam Hat. About 70 players from the Netherlands, Germany, Austria, the US and assorted other countries were put into randomly assorted teams and played 7 games (not counting the final) over the course of the weekend. Each team was named after some kind of occult organization - I was called to be a member of the Free Masons. Everyone camped on-site and the weather was marvelous, unlike the rest of the month.

I met up with a friend from college and her younger brother in Amsterdam, as they were trekking around Europe together. One night we went to see the most excellent pop-folk-rock duo The Avett Brothers play in the Paradiso. They stopped the show in the middle of a song because a couple of guys in the crowd were fighting. Just stopped the song dead in its tracks and stared at the assholes, who were eventually escorted off the floor. The brothers picked the song back up where they left off and, incredibly, were at a point where the lyrics referenced learning to use words to settle differences rather than fighting. In addition, they had a cellist in the band who wore his instrument on a neck strap so that he could dance around the stage with it. At points, he held the thing completely horizontal and strummed it madly like a guitarist. It was Yo-Yo Ma meets Jimmy Page. Amazing.

Upstairs that night, we saw aging Dutch punk band The Ex perform in the venue's smaller hall. They were pretty good, helped out by a couple of younger brass players that helped add more of an exciting ska edge to the performance. My favorite number was when the group's female drummer came front and center, whipped out a cow bell and proceeded to sing and bang the thing in a rather surprisingly reserved manner. Still pretty badass, though.

The following Monday, my girlfriend (who had just returned from an adventurous jealousy-inducing two-week trip to Siberia, Moscow and St Petersburg) and a couple other friends went to see the Arcade Fire play at the Heineken Music Hall that's right across from the AJAX football stadium. Incredible show, so-so crowd. We ran out after the last number, partly because we had to catch a train or risk not making it back to Den Bosch and partly out of a light disdain for the modern encore. Not to mention the Dutch give a standing ovation to absolutely everything. Not that anyone was sitting for the show, but in general, there's something lost if bands just expect to deliver an encore every time.

Yesterday I went with the girlfriend's company on their annual retreat. This year it was to a nearby theme park called Efteling. Nothing really to write home about, but they've got a wooden coaster with dueling trains that's pretty fun. We also enjoyed just the experience of seeing co-workers out of the office and in the company of their significant other(s), especially those with children. You get a little sense of what their home lives are like, which I think any of us with office jobs (and I use that term loosely, admittedly) are generally curious about.

Bob Ross, or as we've occasionally taken to calling him: Bob-o Fresh, appears to be doing well and seems fully adjusted to having had his manhood removed a few months ago. He's still curious and energetic when given the chance to hop giddily about the apartment. If you don't know about Mr Ross, I apologize for the awkward confusion the previous sentences may have caused you. Bob Ross is a painfully cute lop-eared rabbit who has been leading a rather luxurious life in our apartment since early spring. He figures to be the sole subject of numerous subsequent posts: his behavior and personality are probably not uncommon for a rabbit, but they're still worth critically analyzing for undoubtedly comedic effect.

As of yesterday, my Northwestern Wildcats football team is 2-0 on the season, after handily defeating the Eastern Illinois Panthers. Interestingly, EIU, in Charleston, Illinois, is west of Northwestern. But who's counting? It was great to see our recovering starting QB Dan Persa dressed to play, even though he never took a snap. Last week against Boston College he did even put on pads, so I guess that's progress. I stayed up after the game to watch the first parts of the Nebraska-Fresno St and Michigan-ND games. Evidently I shouldn't have turned off UM-ND, though I saw enough to appreciate that ND is developing skill at shooting themselves in the foot and Denard Robinson is really good at having freakishly talented receivers make up for him only heaving the ball in their general direction. Scary for our lackluster secondary later this season.

Finally (and congratulations and thank you if you've paid attention to this whole long and rambling scribble) some co-workers and I have been training to run a 16k race taking place next Sunday, called the Dam tot Damloop. It's a massive run between Amsterdam and outlying village Zaandam. I figure it'll take about 2 hours to complete, which is the longest run I've ever done. I'm not expecting any kind of high-placing finish, but it should be a fun challenge to work through and our company is running for a charity that works with helping girls in Africa get a formal education. If any of you happen to be reading this and are interested in donating to sponsor organization through my organization (i.e. helping our team's fundraising effort), let me know and I can facilitate that.

Updates from a summer-less summer

2011-08-28T04:19:00.000-07:00

My friend Jason modeling safe transportation for the East Coast

To all my friends and family in the furious path (or midst) of Irene, I hope you're all staying safe and haven't yet had to resort to flushing the toilet with stockpiled water from the tub.

The only thing we're in danger of on this side of the pond is some general depression brought on by the lack of anything resembling typical summer weather. As September is coming up this week, all of us over here can't help but lament at least a little about a severely modest June-August bloc that had more than its fair share of chilly rain and clouds. Wah-wah.

1 August officially marked 1 year of full-time employment at the magazine in Amsterdam. Fittingly, I wasn't at the magazine at the time; my girlfriend and I decided to participate in a two-week Habitat for Humanity build-project in Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia, that took place the first two weeks of August.

The trip was inspired, in part, by my girlfriend becoming eligible this summer for her company's incredible 1-month, travel + lodging paid, sabbatical program. She'd done some work for HFH before in the States and we liked the idea of taking up part of the month with some kind of charitable work. As it worked out, I wasn't able to go traveling the rest of the month with her - funny that other companies (especially monthly magazines) are less inclined to let employees take a month of vacation at once. But my half of the trip was still absolutely amazing and unforgettable.

Building houses for two weeks certainly wasn't a warm & fuzzy holiday. We worked most days from 8am to 3:30pm with short breaks for snacks, water and lunch. The sun spent a lot of time being high and hot, but in reality I doubt it reached 90F and there was some shade available, especially once we had walls and a ceiling up.

Our group of 13 was split into two groups after it was discovered the first build day that there just simply weren't enough tasks or ability by the Mongonlian only-speaking lead builder to divide the labor to keep everyone busy. So we worked on two separate houses the first week. The houses are pretty simple, I suppose: single-family homes with four walls, a ceiling and a two-sided roof; wood-frame walls with styrofoam and fiberglass insulation; red brick exterior; either cement or wood floors; two to three windows and a door; minimal electricity and no running water.

But all the families were upgrading their living conditions drastically, either from tiny shacks or gers, the traditional round mobile home used by herders and other Mongolians living in the countryside. These felt and wood tents are handy for a nomadic lifestyle, but are terribly inefficient and therefore expensive to maintain for more permanent, urban dwelling. The Habitat houses are a big improvement. We were also told the next generation of HFH house in Mongolia is expected to be much more Green and efficient than the current model. Pretty cool.

Also pretty cool was that the families we were building for were very much present the whole time. Sometimes, if they were able, they'd help with various tasks like moving bricks or mixing cement, and others they'd offer us traditional consumables like meat and potato soup or fermented mare's milk. We essentially finished the first two houses we worked on at the end of the first week, so we were lucky enough to attend a dedication ceremony/party at each house at the end of the second week.

These were pretty emotional and moving. Having the families welcome us into their wallpapered and furnished 'homes' that we had seen on the first day as nothing but cement foundation and dirt floor was truly fulfilling and heart-warming experience. I get it now, President Carter.

During the middle weekend, our group took a 1.5-hour bus ride out of downtown UB up into the foothills and moderate mountains of Terelj National Park. We spent two nights in a camp of gers, went for a horseback ride, an incredibly steep but beautiful hike and spent most of a day traversing a 13th-century museum complex in the countryside: gers set up and decorated as they would have been while Genghis Khan was in power.

But in the countryside with the museum, we saw a number of 'modern' gers and natives herding cattle, goats, etc. You could see the person's whole life: their family, their home, their livelihood, their recreation (more or less) - all in the space of 1oo square meters or so. Despite the expansive sky and landscape, the world seemed very small looking at these people.

I've posted my pictures in galleries on the facebook. You can look at them by clicking on the public links here and here. There's still much more of the Mongolia story to tell and gaps to fill in, but I'm not sure which direction to go at the moment. If you, reader(s), have anything specific you'd like to hear about, leave a comment and I'll write a follow-up post. Sooner than two months from now, I promise.

Edinburr-uh

2011-06-26T08:18:00.000-07:00

Edinburgh textural intersection

It's been a very not-summer-like June in the Netherlands. Dutch people I've talked to just respond 'for how many Junes have you lived here?' Apparently, 50-60F and rainy is pretty typical. Other than for roughly a week in late April (or was it May...), we haven't had much of a semblance of summer. Of course, once it does eventually get sweltering (we had about a week of unbearability last year), I'll just miss the cool dampness. But along with an actually hot summer come elements I'm currently missing: more outdoor meals, 'beat the heat' cool and fruity drinks, regular shorts & sandals-wearing, etc - all things that help you appreciate the passage of time: you must go through a 'proper' summer in order to properly appreciate the transition to fall and winter. If you don't experience the hallmarks of the stages of the overall cycle, then you just end up feeling out of sorts - disjointed - like you slept through something important and regretted it later.

And to 'get away' from this current non-summery climate, where did we venture? Scotland. Perfect. Good thing the trip wasn't actually intended as any kind of escape; rather, it was just, we've wanted to visit Scotland and this was good timing to do it. Three-day weekend, decent airfare, available b&b. We got pretty much what we expected: rain, mist, other degrees of mist and rain, but also delicious whiskey, cask ale, hard cider and hardy comfort food beyond our most stereotyped dreams.

No Rick Steves this time, either. Portugal was great with Mr. Steves close by our side, dictating many of our stays, eats and doings with his pithy and experiential advice. But for the better part of three days in a country that for the most part speaks English, we figured we'd be fine exploring on our own.

So explore we did, spending most of our time on foot, outside, trying to avoid getting sucked in to the super touristy attractions along the 'Royal Mile' of heavily trafficked street between Edinburgh Castle and the Queen of Scotland's residence.

As always, we did some pretty solid food tourism. Katie tried some prepare haggis (with a cracking Pimm's Cup, no less) for lunch one afternoon, while at the same meal I went for a lamb shank shepherd's pie (mated to a tasty pull of Brewdog's 'Alice Porter'). Consulting our handy whiskey bible, we sampled a couple scotches that we'd only ever read about and aren't likely to find (at least as cheaply) in the NL or US.

One of Katie's favorites was the lighter Dalwhinnie 15 year old, while I really enjoyed the heavier, spicier (but not too heavy or spicy) Glenlivet 18YO. A true find, though, was not a scotch, but a limited edition bottled beer: the Innis & Gunn (local Edinburgh crafter) Canada Day 2011 Scottish Bourbon Oak Cask-Aged Beer. In addition to being a pain-in-the-mouth to order at a bar (fortunately, we were seated and I could just point to the menu), it was incredibly tasty. Consistent with whiskey barrel beers I've had before, it was dark, rich and robust, imparting plenty of sweet, smoky bourbon flavor without being overpoweringly boozy. It struck a great balance of its parts, which I think spells success in any drink.

But back to the city: yes, we did more than just eat fried food and drink whiskey. We saw the street where Sir Arthur Conan Doyle was born, climbed lush hills, wandered through ancient parks, gardens and cemeteries, chatted with a precious gem excavator/jewelery designer-street vendor who lives in an actual tree house outside of Edinburgh, strode through a vintage Bentley car show, spoke of buying kilts and other tartan accessories but never followed through on the threats and reflected on how bagpipes sound much better from far away than up close (which must explain the popular iconic imagery of a solitary piper on a bleak highland bluff).

Since I don't have that much space on Flickr yet, I've posted pictures from the trip on good 'ol the facebook.

Less traveled?

2011-05-28T08:21:00.000-07:00

We now interrupt your regularly scheduled Portugal programming. There are a few more days from the 'Week in Portugal' series yet to go and, believe me, they're on their way. If anyone reading needs instant Portugal trip recap gratification, here is a public link to one of my many photo albums on the Facebook. Should keep you busy for a while.

In the meantime, however, I just wanted to wax ever so slightly philosophical. This morning I went for a long run (1 hour is pretty long for me) into the large, grassy park just on the outskirts of Den Bosch called Het Bossche Broek. I've walked and run around parts of it several times, though my typical, shorter route just takes me around have of Den Bosch itself. But that's not important. Since I had decided it would be a longer run and I didn't have anything for which I needed to be back home at a certain time, I decided to follow some paths I hadn't been down before and explore a little more of the 'broek' (which actually means 'pants' in Dutch, but apparently has a different usage here).

Most of the paths crisscrossing the Broek are paved, though a few aren't - and seem like they may be less traveled by common recreationers because they more provide access to the grazing areas for cows and sheep than easy, flat, traversing. As I got to the back of the Broek (as it approached a major roadway on one side), I saw what definitely looked like just a service road of trampled grass leading straight into some trees. I kept on the paved path, even though I hadn't been on either before, and at the moment it reminded me of how basically every canned graduation speech I've ever heard has somehow referenced Robert Frost's 'The Road Not Taken'. More than almost any other time of the year, graduation time just gets me reflective.

What interests me, I guess, is what graduates are really supposed to get (and are actually applying) from that poem. Right, right, we all know the closing: 'I took the one less traveled by,/ And that has made all the difference.' What I remember from speeches is kids saying that this is a metaphor for not just taking the easy way out, that once we graduate from whatever institution we happen to be sitting in the large athletic arena of, the 'next stage' of life isn't going to be easy and so, rather than just sit on our laurels and coast through this 'next stage' like, presumably, every one else, we should go for the less common approach of digging in, grinding our noses and not slacking off ever, and ultimately we'll feel better about that course of action.

But it doesn't seem like just plain working hard to get ahead is so uncommon anymore. In fact, I can't say I know too many people in my generation I'd characterize as slack-offs or bums. Going somewhere is the norm. Don't get me wrong, I don't think people should stop going to grad school in droves or stop trying to rocket up their corporate ladders, continually striving to develop 'marketable skills'. I absolutely admire the sheer drive, motivation and execution I see in so many of my peers.

Maybe the message from Frost for grads of the moment is about taking risks. Entering a new phase of life is never without built-in risks. You can choose to venture after them or shy away and do something that seems more familiar. I certainly can't say that folks who go the law school route or the TFA route aren't taking risks. Those roads carry huge risks, not the least of which for the former are the risks of loss of sanity and financial independence, at least according to law school friends. But none of them has said law school wasn't worth it; quite the opposite.

I don't recall any outgoing seniors drawing this conclusion, but maybe Frost is saying that it's ok, actually commendable, to do something completely bat-shit crazy as you traverse, something people rarely do - really rock the boat or create something unique out of your action that's characterized by premeditated abandon ('I doubted if I should ever come back'). Because, like I said, forward progress to gainful employment and higher-higher education is much more the norm than it is 'less traveled' and certainly not 'not taken'. Not that there's anything wrong with that: I am DEFINITELY NOT taking a shot at anyone that may fit into one of the categories I've mentioned; NOR am I trying to indirectly boast that I think my decision to quit my job, move to Europe to follow my girlfriend and try my luck in a completely different career field is any better life choice to make or closer adherence to any of the interpretations of what we've so often made out to be an encouragement from Mr. Frost than anything my peers have done.

Maybe, Frost's poem just isn't cut out for a graduation speech. Maybe, there just aren't that many 'not taken' roads that lead to what most people set out to achieve when they graduate: financial, vocational, spiritual, domestic success - in a word, happiness.

I'm curious if anyone out there has any other thoughts about Frost's poem and how it relates to graduation, where folks go and what they do afterwards, and if Frost is actually trying to give advice, how should we follow it?

Obidos to Nazare

2011-05-15T12:16:00.000-07:00

Monday, 25 April – Obidos to Alcobaca to Nazare

Best shower of the whole trip, hands down. Never have I opened the door/curtain of a shower to look directly out a (albeit small) window on to a luscious, green Portuguese countryside. It was just a magical, naked way to greet the day.

Since we hadn’t had too much daylight to go exploring in Obidos upon our evening arrival, we took this bright, quite warm already, opportunity to romp around the walled, historic city. There wasn’t a ton to see, to be honest, but the views from the ancient castle walls were pretty incredible and it was entertaining to walk amongst the obviously Spanish (‘Venga! Vaminos!’ – numerous feisty abuelitas) tourists who were also enjoying the sunshine and scenery.

After an hour or so, we packed up and hit the road, northish towards the beach city of Nazare, named for Joseph’s Nazareth. (Note: I’ve omitted copious amounts of accent marks, one of which should come on the final ‘e’ of Nazare – I’m sorry, but it just takes too long to do the symbol=>insert.) On the way, we made a brief stop in the city of Alcobaca (‘all-co-bassa’) to check out their massive monastery. Rick Steves suggested giving the city a day, but, again, that was for a two-week itinerary. We managed it in under two hours. We were going to the beach, after all.

Alcobaca, like so many appropriately named cities, was named, appropriately, after the bodies of water running through it: the Alco and the Baca rivers, which meet right around the city limits. We came upon each as we strolled back to the car from the monetary. Churches, cathedrals and monasteries we visited all contained pretty historic bodies: this one bears the tombs of King Peter I and Ines de Castro, Portugal’s ‘Romeo and Juliet’.

Around lunch time, we roll into the one-time fishing village of Nazare. Our hotel was less than a block from the ocean, as can be seen from pictures I took looking out from our room (some are towards the sea, some are looking up at the cliff-top city of Sitio.

At Mr. Steves’ encouragement, we had our first (of many!) picnic of the trip out on the beach: chorizo, fresh white bread, light white cheese and, of course, cold vinho verde. It was hard, actually, to conceive of the reality of the situation. We were hardly two days removed from our ‘real lives’ in Den Bosch, with daily commutes and apartment cleaning and work. It felt like we’d never been on vacation before, like this was a whole new world of relaxing experience. Maybe that’s just the green wine talking.

After the picnic, we strolled the boardwalk, admiring the young, impossibly ebony-haired women and the outfits of the short local grandmas: we saw pairs and trios of them walking together, each with layers of really loud, plaid skirts over basic black frocks – all doing a little bit of strutting. We changed into swimsuits and went back to the beach, enjoying some late afternoon sunshine and a little more of the VV.

For dinner, we took the ‘funincular’ (hill-climbing trolley) up to Sitio to check out a few of Mr. Steves’ restaurant recommendations. At the top of the hill, we went out to some observation points and bought a few appetizers from some street vendors, including corn nuts (corn nuts, it’s been so long!) and ‘percebes’, sea barnacles that’ve been cooked just right for consumption – the edible parts are basically little strips of muscle you must crack out of a thin shell; Katie and I agreed they just take like the sea, like an oyster: delicious and fresh.

We walked past a bullfighting ring (unfortunately we really couldn’t see into the ring and there wasn’t a fight going on [apparently it’s slightly less violent and embarrassing for the bull than Spanish-style]) and a rather short and stout palm tree before settling in for dinner at a seafood restaurant. Suffice to say, being next to the ocean, we had copious amounts of delicious fresh fish.

A week in Portgual: Day 2

2011-05-03T13:17:00.000-07:00

Checking in tonight from the (walled) city of Obidos, Portugal. This morning we work up fairly early (checked out before 10:30) and walked from our hotel down into down-town Lisbon (the old center or Baixa). It was great to walk up and down hills again. Katie and I each remarked several times that the whole area is reminiscent of California: green, hilly, by water, has Golden Gate bridge (complete with Rio-esque giant Jesus statue at one end - apparently the architect of the actual GG is also responsible for this replica)… We could live here, in other words.

Along one of the main plazas looking out on to the Tejo river, Katie bought some hand-painted porcelain for a friend from a street vendor while I looked on and was continually asked if I wanted to purchase cheap imitation sunglasses or hash marijuana from sketchy fiftysomethings clad all in black. I thought this might be a one-time occurrence but it turned out to be the norm. Sorry, no hash for us. Strangely, I couldn't find these guys on the one sunny morning I forgot my own Fake-Bans.

We worked our way up picturesque hilly streets until finally arriving at St. Jorge Castle. Jorge is an incredible old fortification in the Alfama neighborhood overlooking much of the city. For lunch, we stopped at a restaurant recommended by our trusty guide, Mr. Steves, where we enjoyed a fish lunch (Katie had grilled sardines and I had a swordfish fillet) and a bottle of ‘vinho verde’.

Up until then, I’d only read about the ‘young’ wine, which is white but with a fruity effervescence ('green' just means the wine-making-to-drinking process transpired pretty rapidly. It’s definitely one of the most refreshing things I’ve ever had to drink, despite the fact that we’d already been up and walking for several hours and were probably a little dehydrated. The food was decent but the restaurant also featured periodic ‘fado’ guitar + vocal performances. Actually, one of the more memorable aspects of this lunch was that from our seating to asking for our ‘conta’ (bill), there was one female proprietor (she never actually waited on us, though she did help set our table, manage seating traffic and sing a few fado songs herself) who just made great, discreet, cool eye contact with us to move things along efficiently. Katie remarked a number of times that they seemed to run a tight ship, despite the super French couple next to us apparently not getting their entrees fast enough and shoving off after just an appetizer. Aww, muffins. Hat tip, Mr. Steves.

We didn’t spend the entire day in Lisbon, however. At the suggestion of Mr. Steves, we rented a car from the Lisbon airport and drove one hour north to the walled, becastled city of Obidos. We may think of Den Bosch as ‘walled’, but this place has (or at least had) an honest to goodness Roman aqueduct running on to its premises. Sorry, Dutch canals, but this was something else.

It’s amazing – it looked like we were driving up to Camelot. The streets are cobbled and curve around one another in a hilly maze, making it one of the most interesting driving experiences I’ve ever had. They were definitely not built with cars in mind. Or knees, for that matter.

Our GPS didn’t actually know where our hotel’s address was, but based on a few educated guesses and a lap or two through the city to get our bearings, we eventually stumbled upon our quaint little hotel and parked, next to a castle wall, just a dozen or so meters away.

The city is really kind of a time capsule: it almost seems wrong that there’s running water and electricity in our room. Why aren’t the street lamps candlelit? We had a great dinner in a side of the road restaurant – Katie had grilled black pork and I had grilled squid and shrimp – and then we retired to a Ginja bar that we’d passed earlier. This hole in the wall had all the best old, musty, generations-old glass and stone smells, in addition to large quantities of the Portuguese-special cherry liquor ('jean-ja'). It’s close to port, I suppose, but with a very fresh, natural cherry sweetness. It had me longing for New Glarus' Belgian Red.

Back in the hotel now, as mentioned previously. Tomorrow the plan is to wake up, again fairly early, do a little more walking around and picture-taking in Obidos (which, by the way, is missing an accent on the 'O' and is pronounced ‘oh-bee-dosh’) before hitting the road and going a little further north to the city of Nazare (missing an accent on the 'e'). Naraze is known for having amazing views and pretty nice beaches, even for a coastal country, and since it’s been pretty warm (70s, probably 80s), looks like we might even get to do some beach-bumming (Katie’s dying to try out her brand-new swimsuit). That’s the plan, anyway; then spend the night in Nazare and move on to Coimbra (a little further inland, then farm for the next day/night.

Amazing day, this, though. Feels like we were in at least three different cities. Portugal has already won us over with its charming mix of big/small cities, friendly people, hills, close proximity to a large body of water, greenery, amplitude of fish and delicious wine and less expensive standard of living/touring than basically any city/country we’ve ever been in. And we’ve only been here 24 hours; bring on Monday thru Sunday! Of course, it didn’t hurt that today was seriously God’s gift, weather-wise. We've already been spoiled in the Netherlands with long, sunny days, but this was something else. The lazy sun, life-affirming breeze, big sky clarity, coastal freshness – it was just awesome. You can’t, just can’t, ask for anything nicer. This vacation could end now and I would be 100% content with what we’ve done, what we’ve seen. So everything that happens from now through the next 6 days? Bonus.

How to spend a week in Portugal: Day 1

2011-05-02T14:12:00.000-07:00

We didn't have many of the intertubes available at our various lodgings, so I'm just going to post one of my journal entries per day for the next week in something of a recreation of the adventure. So here's what we have for Day (night) 1:

Saturday, 23 April, 2011: Amsterdam to Lisbon

I’m currently writing from the Hotel Fenix in Lisbon, Portugal. We just checked in for the night about an hour ago after taking a short cab ride from the Lisbon airport. We’re taking a week-long holiday around this little country, stopping in several cities between Lisbon and Porto.

Since our fight didn’t get into Lisbon until after 9pm local time, by the time we got to the hotel and settled in, it was basically too late to go out and do any exploring – that’ll happen tomorrow. We’re spending most of the day either in down town Lisbon or the nearby area Belem, before picking up a rental car in the evening and driving north to Obidos.

We’re basically following a truncated version of Rick Steves’ recommendations for a two-week Portugal trip. We’ve each read (or mostly read) his guide book for the country already, but I think the plan is to reread sections in the car on the way to each new destination and pick out landmarks, restaurants and ‘walks’ to do and see on the fly.

Definitely haven’t seen much of the city of Lisbon so far, but here’s what I’ve learned about Portuguese: ‘thank you’ is ‘obrigado’ (literally, I’m obliged, I believe); and the language sounds almost Slavic because pretty much any time there’s an ‘s’ in a word, it’s pronounced as ‘sh’, making the language very, well, mushy-sounding.

The hotel is nice enough. We didn’t pay a ton for our first-floor room, which we only booked about a week ago, so it is what it is. The stay we’re really looking forward to is further north; we’ve booked a night in a ‘traditional’ Portuguese farmhouse B&B, where we’re doing dinner as well. Should be really cool. I don’t know any more details, but my plan is to do a little light journaling each night. And hopefully it will be a little more interesting, informed and insightful than this entry.

It's February. Better start posting again.

2011-02-08T16:14:00.000-08:00

All the Austrian cool kids had canes

Sure, January 2011 already happened, and here's some fruit from labor that occuring during that month: my feature story for the classical section of our February issue:

With a running time of about 100 minutes, Gustav Mahler’s ‘Symphony No 3 in D minor’ is one of the longest pieces in the orchestral repertoire. Performances are visually and sonically overwhelming, often with a stage-busting orchestration of more than 100 instrumentalists, two choirs and a vocal soloist. It’s not surprising that a live concert doesn’t happen too often. This month at the Concertgebouw, listeners will be treated to the work’s melodic magnitude twice.

Amsterdam’s all-amateur CREA Orkest and the professional Berlin Philharmonic will each embark on the six-movement behemoth, by no small coincidence: 2011 marks the 100th anniversary of the late-romantic Austrian composer’s death. Over the course of the year, various ensembles will offer additional performances, each with its own vision. Amsterdam, however, needs no special occasion to love Mahler; the city and the composer go way back.

Drawn to the acoustic superiority of the Concertgebouw, around the turn of the 20th century Mahler premiered his own creations in the prestigious hall 11 times over the span of seven years and developed a strong professional relationship with the Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra’s long-time chief conductor, Willem Mengelberg. These premieres were generally well received by audiences that were altogether excited by Mahler’s fame as a composer, allured by the high-profile aura of the Mengelberg connection and conditioned to appreciate (or rather, desire) Mahler’s style of complex and layered music from like-minded Dutch composers of the time, such as Alphons Diepenbrock.

These weren’t short musical sketches Mahler was sharing with Amsterdam, either. Many of them were brand new symphonies, vast emotional works that he agonised over and revised for several years. ‘We’re talking about huge sound poems – sometimes based on the texts of Goethe or Nietzsche – not the easiest to digest,’ explains Sven Arne Tepl, artistic manager for the Stichting Nederlands Philharmonisch Orkest, ‘but Amsterdam was ready for that challenge. In the culture of that time, people were very much searching for deeper meaning in things.’

A tradition of repeated Mahler performances developed as trust between artist and audience grew. This was helped by Mengelberg passing musical values (original scores with notes from the master himself and revolutionary conducting theories) of Mahler on to his successor, Eduard van Beinum. From Van Beinum, Bernard Haitink inherited the Mahler influences and continued to keep the composer as a part of the orchestra’s core business.

Even today, seasoned Concertgebouw performers still feel the Mahler love while in the hall. ‘The audience knows just what they are hearing,’ says Andreas Wittman, oboist and orchestra chairman for the Berlin Philharmonic. ‘It changes the quality of the concert, the atmosphere is different and it’s an inspiration for the artists.’

Tepl agrees. ‘It does something to you as a performer, when you stand exactly on the place where Mahler stood 115 years ago,’ he says.

A new generation of young performers will get to feel that when the CREA Orkest performs a Mahler symphony on the historic stage. Jonah Stunt, a 25-year-old anthropology and medicine student who plays first violin, says she’s particularly excited for the deeply emotional and eerily beautiful final movement titled ‘What love tells me’. ‘It’s so great, I get chicken bumps,’ says Stunt.

The CREA Orkest will feature the symphony by itself, while the Berliners will frame it with short works by Hugo Wolf and Brahms.

Mahler’s music has an independently captivating essence that hasn’t lost anything in 100 years, proving our city’s classic good taste. ‘It’s always the situation of how you come in and listen to it,’ says Tepl. Hearing the soul-searching struggle in Mahler’s epic ballads of harmony and discord, ‘you get confronted with your own struggle, with yourself,’ he adds. ‘It will always meet you at exactly that moment and open you up to reinvent yourself.’

More November pieces

2010-11-08T12:07:00.003-08:00

Here are two smaller pieces I wrote for the 'Totally Non-Boring Museums' feature in our November issue. To be fair, this first one did not actually appear due to space constraints. Here we go:

Hemp Gallery

While the ever-popular Hash, Marihuana & Hemp Museum Amsterdam is getting an overhaul so that it might become a bigger, badder, hashier version of itself in February 2011, its adjunct Hemp Gallery (owned by the same folks) provides a nice alternative high for those still burning with cannabis curiosity.

This cosy ground-floor-only extension showcases hemp’s many uses through the centuries, though the tour can be a bit disorienting. Ostensibly, it tells the story of hemp’s utility from braids of hemp that served as ship hull caulking between 400BC and the 19th century, to elixirs and tonics based on hemp oil (a spoonful of one was known to cure a horse of colic). A laminated guide, available in seven languages, describes the corresponding objects in the vitrines. That said, its numbering system doesn’t actually give you a logical tour of the gallery, so it’s almost better just to wander aimlessly.

The far-out trance soundtrack and laid-back ticket-taker set the mood in this surprisingly well-lit gallery. The main draw (taken both ways), though, is the popular attraction on loan from the Hash Museum: the vaporiser. Live demonstrations are offered by a lanky, bearded Ohio native who identifies himself only as Joseph, who tends to the conical metal machine six hours a day, five days a week, giving visitors a chance to take in THC vapour under the pretext of historical research. In between puffs, he’s happy to talk weed politics (i.e. current developments on the legalisation front) give tips on chemicals used for growing, or just blow some smoke.

De Pijpenkabinet

When is a pipe not a pipe? When it’s collected, fetishised and displayed for its artistic, cultural and historic value; when it becomes an artefact.

Some 2,000 local and international pipes fill grand wooden display cases lining the pristine sea green-walls in this circa-1680 canal-side time capsule. The Pijpenkabinet, with its worn wooden floors and burgundy ceiling beams, contains a collection of pipes that narrates the story of smoking in style. For those touring: smoke ’em if you got ’em (that is, if you brought ’em) but don’t think about lighting up one of these beauties, they’re just for show.

The museum really comes alive when you’re greeted by the lone tour guide Benedict Goes, a lean silver fox from the southern Netherlands, whose crisp tenor voice practically sings the history of each of the museum’s objects. Follow him up the steep, creaky stairs and emerge, face to face with some rare gems of Dutch history: dozens of meticulously arranged white clay long-pipes dating back to 1600, made of clay imported from Belgium. As we make our way through the exhibition, Goes comfortably rambles off topic but re-situates us in our tour with the refrain, ‘Back to the pipes…’

In the next room, there’s a long formal dining table surrounded by rigid, high-backed chairs that suggests a guild hall with regal airs – but which apparently isn’t much used. Each cabinet in this space houses hundreds of pipes, organised by specific region and time period, from rare cactus-shaped bowls made by Mexican Indians dating back to 500BC, to ornate Chinese opium flutes decorated with hand-painted floral designs. Additional trophies include hard-edged pink agate pipes from Austria and pearly luminescent seashell-based pipes from Australia.

However enamoured Goes is of these as objects, he’s more interested in talking about how each one was used in its society, for ritual, political purposes and expression of personal style. This month, the museum hosts a mini exhibition from New Zealand’s Maori tribe: 12 wooden pipes carved with tattoo designs from 1900-1920. You can look, but no smoking the artefacts.

Cello-brate good times

2010-11-02T15:59:00.000-07:00

Yes, that is actually the title that I half-jokingly proposed for this story, and that actually ended up running in the November issue of the magazine. Here is the text:

The cello is not exactly a spotlight instrument. But at this month’s third Amsterdamse Cello Biënnale at Muziekgebouw, its rapidly growing solo and ensemble repertoire is getting an overwhelming amount of play, quite literally.

‘You may only hear a great cello soloist a few times a year,’ says Maarten Mostert, the event’s founder and artistic director. ‘Suddenly in one week, we have 36 top soloists and ensembles.’

When he was a student, then later professor and performer, Mostert always felt his instrument was getting short-changed, in spite of the skill and music acuity required to play it. There have been national violin and viola competitions in the Netherlands for years but nothing for cello; even at the IJsbreker Café, Amsterdam’s one-time primary (albeit tiny) contemporary music performance hall and predecessor to the Muziekgebouw, the visionary Jan Wolff programmed highlight weeks focusing on different instruments other than the cello. For its 2006 inaugural run, Mostert called in all the friends and favours he could manage to create a weeklong cello-bration so epic it would need two spotlights.

‘Everyone knows the cello but they don’t realize how beautiful it is,’ says Mostert. ‘It’s close to the human voice, has a great range and a warm sound. You can love the flute but you can also hate flute at times. There’s not so much reason to hate cello.’

This Biënnale will give listeners 37 reasons not to hate the cello. It will show off the cello as an artistic, virtuosic and versatile element in its own right, from its warm, croaking low notes to the silky smooth upper range that retains a cool, dark character.

The staggering number of performances and master classes jam-packed into nine days and nights (5-13 November) span generations and genres, from an evening with Beethoven’s ‘German dances’, performed by the Frans Brüggen-directed Orchestra of the 18th Century, to an afternoon with Melo-M, a Latvian cello trio that plays special arrangements of pop songs. From respected classics to freshly inked experiments, the theme this year is maximising exposure to all styles of music for cello ensemble, including brand new commissions.

Since its 2006 inaugural iteration Mostert has just about doubled the composition premieres every two years: 4 the first year, 8 in 2008, and this year 15 brand new pieces. ‘I’ve dared to programme more of them, knowing the audience is there,’ he says (2008 saw roughly 20,000 visitors). ‘Now that we’ve been around, I have the confidence to go there.’

One world premiere is by Chiel Meijering, a 56-year-old Amsterdam composer who’s credited with more than 700 compositions. His piece ‘Arco Arena’ is scored for two solo cellos and a full mini orchestra of ASKO | Schönberg ensemble members. The soloists are meant to be ‘fencing’, metaphorically competing as their two parts overlap to create the piece’s central melody. In the piece’s second part, ‘The actual fight is the most noticeable: who has the smoothest muscles, best conditioning, endurance, etcetera,’ explains Meijering. ‘It’s the moment of truth.’

In addition to new compositions, the Biënnale’s inner series of ‘Take Five’ concerts is intended to showcase the festival’s spiciest modern music, each evening at 5 pm. Otherwise, Mostert’s structure remains largely unchanged, apart from a few critical upgrades: a hot meal (included in ticket price) offered before each morning’s ‘Bach & Breakfast’ performance of a single, unaccompanied cello suite and an open lounge following each evening’s final performance, at Muziekgebouw’s Star Ferry restaurant.

‘The atmosphere was good the past two times,’ says Mostert. ‘But how can you keep it from going down? Like Nero: give the people bread and games.’

Allegaartje

2010-09-12T04:18:00.000-07:00

Yes, an old image, but apparently pics from Saturday's game cost $

Google translate tells me that means 'mixed bag', and I'm typically inclined to believe GT, though there are plenty of translations that are pretty far off the mark, according to Dutch-speaking friends.

Yesterday my beloved Northwestern Wildcats 'American football' team downright pummeled the Redbirds of Illinois State. Despite lots of googling and a fruitless attempt to see the game by buying an internet TV subscription (I got desperate), as well as tireless efforts by a good friend to pursue his known methods for internet-based US TV watching, we ended up simply listening to the game through much more dependable sources: WGN and WNUR radio. This actually allowed us to sit on his porch and grill brats while enjoying the game away from his TV - all in all a great and satisfying experience. In fact, we got even more enjoyment out of hearing the Chicago accent-heavy WGN announcers ('and Deeanny Peersa' drops back to peeass') and the truly unbridled enthusiasm of the student broadcasters ('How DARE you throw a screen while Corbin Bryant is in the backfield?!'). Sorry, ESPN and BTN, it's tough to duplicate those intangibles. We did find a (slightly) more dependable method for watching ESPN without having to throw down any euros, and thus were able to catch the first half of the OSU-Miami game (during the sloth-slow second quarter I began succumbing to a veritable beer-brats-post-Wildcat-victory-coma). It was a great night, remotely.

This is a bit behind, but shortly you'll see the second section-leader story I wrote for the August issue of the magazine. The Grachtenfestival it references is an annual music event that features a week of performances at various spots on and nearby Amsterdam's main canal district (just recently named an UNESCO 'World Heritage Site'). I know it's not timely any more but I'm still proud of the few things I've gotten published - my blog so my prerogative to post things when I want ;)

From Classical & Opera, August 2010

Four violas, four tubas, four baritone saxophones, two marimbas (with four players), eight cellos? Is Grachtenfestival 2010 partnering with Sesame Street’s Count von Count? No doubt the caped purple number-cruncher would be giddy over this programme, but festival organizers claim not to have enlisted his help in booking five groups that play up their identical instrumentation to the fore.

Though the over-arching theme this year is ‘Undercurrent’ – which is defined by organisers as a reinterpretation of the musical status quo – several subsidiary themes lend a little more structure to the more than 150 performances and events. In the past, for example, the festival has featured ‘Voices in Residence’, a popular series presenting groups with shared vocal parts, at the Amstel Hotel. This year organizers decided to apply that same concept to the instrumental world and showcase it at a new festival venue, the Museum Werf ’t Kromhout.

Concertgebouw tubaist Perry Hoogendijk formed the Amsterdam Tuba Quartet last year specifically for the Grachtenfestival and made quite a splash. Festival organizers jumped on this success for 2010. ‘That is indeed no coincidence,’ says Grachtenfestival spokesperson Ilonka van den Bercken. ‘The quartet series was deliberately set up because we thought it would be interesting to see what is possible.’

The four homogeneous quartets include: the Zemtsov Family Viola Quartet, Amsterdam Tuba Quartet, the Four Baritones (saxophone) and a marimba quartet featuring famous Dutch percussionist Niels Meliefste. The Cello8ctet Amsterdam will perform separately in front of the Hotel Pulitzer, but even Big Bird would agree: they are like the others.

Typically ensembles require a variety of instruments to cover the broad range of pitches and colours necessary for a balanced sound. But these groups are discovering how the right instrument can cover all the bases. ‘The baritone is the only sax in the family which has the advantage of the low register as well as the most beautiful upper register,’ says the Four Baritones co-founder Niels Bijl, being perhaps a little tongue-in-cheek.

Not only are these groups transcending performance norms for their respective instruments; their mere existence has opened the door to all kinds of new compositions. ‘At our first concert people in the audience were so blown away by the quality of the ensemble that they immediately started writing for us,’ explains Bijl. ‘Within 48 hours we suddenly had an hour’s worth of extra repertoire, transcriptions ranging from Josquin des Prez to Led Zeppelin. That’s when we realised we were on to a good thing.’

Cello8ctet Amsterdam has inspired similar creativity. Starting in 1989 with only two pieces on the books written for cello octets, they’ve since arranged and transcribed their way to an extensive catalog ranging from Argentine tangos to Philip Glass symphonies. In all, the group has debuted more than 70 works from 20th-century elite including Glass, Pierre Boulez and Arvo Pärt.

Even with such an impressive library, the octet really thrives on stage because of its ‘collective’ mentality. Member Stephan Heber explains there is ‘slightly more competitiveness than in a mixed-instrument ensemble; we all know the instrument so well and what the others are capable of. But moving past the initial tension allows for greater potential: the cello can play all parts of an arrangement, so then we operate like a perfect team composed of imperfect individuals.’

Their afternoon Grachtenfestival concert will feature mezzo-soprano Karin Strobos and spirited 20th-century dances from Argentina’s tango master Astor Piazzolla and Spanish classicist Manuel de Falla. There may not be much room for actual dancing, as the group performs op de pontoon, but don’t be surprised to see more demonstrations of the cello’s versatility if the seas get rough.

‘It’s probably the most expensive, ineffective boat you can imagine,’ says octet manager Brendan Walsh. That’s eight ruined cellos. Ah, ah, ah.

Where have you gone, Zommer?

2010-08-29T07:35:00.000-07:00

Yet another wildly successful Google image search!

It seems like June, July and August have just been a blur. And a short one at that. It doesn't help that summers in the Netherlands never rise much above 80F - this year was no different - so though we had about a week of "heat", in that way it's almost as if the season never happened at all.

Now as August is on its last legs, the weather oscillates between beautiful, sunny ('sparkly' as Katie likes to say) fall-like cool splendor and cloudy, cold and wet depression. But hey, that's Holland for you. I'll take the sparkly days I can get.

A great many things have happened since I last wrote, weeks ago. One of the greatest, and the reason I'll be able to afford to stay in the Netherlands for at least a little while longer, is I was offered a full-time editor position at the Amsterdam magazine I've been interning at since April. I'd be lying if I said this hadn't been a far-off hope of mine - that they'd offer me something more serious - but things being as they are I wasn't really expecting anything beyond perhaps the opportunity to be a contributing writer. But here we are. And no offense to Nordstrom, but I'm really excited to add the job experience of 'intern-managing copy editor' to my resume. Look out, Boilen and Glass, I'll be knocking on your door soon enough.

With that, here's a piece I wrote for the August issue's 'Worth Leaving Town For' section:

This month, the bantamweight town of Zeist – situated right outside of Utrecht, just a 45-kilometre jaunt from Amsterdam – transforms into a musical heavy-hitter. For two weeks, it is hosting scores of conservatory students and professional musicians who will perform in chamber music concerts for the public. The goal, according to artistic director Alexander Pavlovsky, is to open up the chamber and let in a fresh breeze.

‘Many young people think that classical music is boring and depressing,’ says Pavlovsky. ‘But there are many lessons we can learn from classical music for our lives. We just have to find a way to bring them in and make them interested in what we do.’

Pavlovsky and organisers of the Stichting Zeister Muziekdagen, the foundation behind the festival, are bringing in a talented, youthful cadre of ensembles and packing the programme with a nice variety of composers, from Romanian folk dances to jazz-inspired preludes. Reduced ticket prices for anyone under the age of 28 won’t hurt either.

Although chamber music is often a string-heavy genre, Pavlovsky has invited several players of stringless instruments to perform. Clarinettist Paul Meyer will join the Warsaw-based Szymanowski Quartet for a Brahms clarinet feature, for example. Pianist Robert Kulek signs on with Pavlovsky’s own Jerusalem Quartet for Schumann’s ‘Piano Quintet in E flat’; and the Amsterdam Concertgebouw’s oboist Alexei Ogrintchouk will perform on the ‘Fantasy Quartet’ by Benjamin Britten and the ‘Oboe Quartet in F’ by Mozart.

The Szymanowski Quartet will also bow in with lively pieces by Haydn and Mendelssohn, adding a contemporary flourish to the bill with works from Argentinean tango composer Astor Piazzolla and the group’s Polish namesake: composer Karol Szymanowski – both from the early 20th century.

‘It’s our responsibility to play the current music to see what’s good, interesting,’ said Grzegorz Kotów, one of Szymanowski’s two violinists, ‘and then show the audience there’s something new to discover.’

Pavlovsky and friends haven’t neglected very young patrons, either. The Dutch Matangi Quartet, known for its genre-blending crossover projects, should cater to the kiddies (the programme notes indicate it’s good for age six and under) performing Claude Debussy’s lyrical ‘Children’s Corner’ suite. They’ve made their efforts transparent: they want to prove that chamber music can be as entertaining and attractive as any genre, to any audience.

Although it dates back to medieval times, the back-and-forth, intimately collaborative nature of chamber performance keeps it very current, says Kotów. ‘It is really a mirror of our lives,’ he says. ‘In a quartet, four living people are sitting there playing music, and they are discussing, talking with each other.’

Profilific

2010-07-06T12:22:00.000-07:00

A delicious not-Dutch beer

My 'Profile Writing' assignment for class:

He was already seated by himself in a quiet bar, in the striking inverse shadow of a lit-up St. Jan’s Cathedral. ‘The Rode Pimpernel’ is not a premiere night spot in ‘s-Hertogenbosch. But like his home town of Kerkrade, Limburg, the faces here are familiar and the not-Dutch beer is very, very good. It’s the only place that serves Murphy’s Irish Red op de tap.

When choosing our interview spot, the 25-year old Limburg native simply texted, ‘meet u at the pub, 21.30?’ We’ve been to a number of bars in the city, yet I knew exactly where we were going to meet. This is his place.

His head full of spikey, dark brown hair was bent over a black laptop computer. Atop his bright orange t-shirt emblazoned with a company name, the computer’s supplier, he looked like an absurd PEZ dispenser. A strange description, but not quite so much as his action here: working outside of office hours.

The Dutch are supposedly known for keeping their 40-hour work week well in check. He may be an exception, but perhaps working late is how to keep a decent job in Holland these days. ‘It’s a big shift for me to have a job that’s actually a bit challenging, that takes up some time,’ he says, comparing his current work with the temporary positions he held back in the languishing Limburg.

Dutch Limburg has been experiencing both significant ‘brain-drain’ and ‘ont groening;’ both educated individuals and not necessarily educated youth are all leaving the province. He is part of the former. He loves where he’s from – he just couldn’t get going there economically. The Dutch government is neglectful, and the Dutch public, disrespectful.

His old apartment was ten minutes from Germany. Now he lives in Nord Brabant, where few, if any, consider his home part of Holland. What’s a person from Limburg? A Belgian who thinks he can speak German. Given negative regional stereotypes, this is not exactly complimentary. Despite what everyone thinks about their beer.

Not directly harmful, Limburg jokes evince a deeper lack of respect for the governed province. Many revolve around the coal mining that features in its economy, along with gravel and peat. Limburgians mined, North-Hollanders owned the mines. You do the math. But the low, low-landers are having their voices heard louder than ever, as Limburg native and Dutch Freedom Party leader Geert Wilders has been on a fast break in recent Dutch elections. ‘That’s a result of having a province where there are a lot of people without jobs,’ he says. ‘They’re not satisfied with what’s going on. They’ll just latch on to the first demagogue who offers them a solution.’ But so far the offer is just words. In Dutch.

At home he speaks a dialect, a mixture between Dutch and German, almost unintelligible to either. ‘Dutch started as a dialect of German and what we speak is still stuck at that phase of being somewhere in between the two,’ he humbly explains. From social interactions prior to this interview, I actually thought he was German. ‘Many people do,’ he jokes, still with an air of pride.

Members of each town have their own version of dialect, changing about every ten minutes by car. Locals can detect slight differences from around the province but he feels a special kinship regardless, as long as you’re speaking the language. ‘Even if you’re being pulled over by the police - if they speak dialect and you do, you’re probably fine,’ he says.

Dialect may not be as strong a unifier as ideology a divider, he observes. ‘For every Dutch-German marriage - two people that met in a bar or club on either side of the border - there’s been huge fights, almost like battlefields between young Dutch Socialists and Germans on the Right. But Limburg has Neo-Nazis as well as Germany does.’ The re-emergence of Limburg as an international gateway location has only helped fuel these interactions as such groups routinely cross each other’s borders in search of drugs and paraphernalia.

But he still regularly visits his hometown. The warmth of his boyish face is genuine as he describes it, for better or worse. ‘It’s where I grew up. It’s where my family has been for a long time. It’s nice to speak dialect with people who have spoken it from birth, and not be mocked by people who happen to overhear you.’ The waitress brings him another Murphy’s. He shoots her a wide and true grin and he thanks her, in proper Dutch.

Gaga Redux, WP-style

2010-07-05T03:59:00.000-07:00

My mother just sent me this article from the Washington Post about our dear highness, Lady Gaga. I really like the article, mostly because I think Robin and I are pretty much in agreement. An outfit describer after my own heart, Robin really gets after the costume concept and makes a mountain out of the obvious comparison between Gaga and Madonna.

All well and good, except I don't remember hearing Gaga refer to herself as an 'icon.' Givhan references Oprah pretty much bestowing icon status on the Lady that gets blasted for the rest of the article. But where is the attack on Oprah, icon-status bestower? Givhan acknowledges that Gaga is exactly what she set out to be - a pop superstar with shocking fashion - and nothing more.

The thing is, I really don't see a lot of people looking to her as a fashion icon. Madonna's looks were attainable and so girls copied her. Gaga's 'Thanksgiving parade float?' Not so much ready for the streets. And people love that she's just a spectacle. No one really cares to get their style tips from her. They just enjoy being thoroughly entertained.

Fireworks?

2010-07-05T01:10:00.001-07:00

Dan's hair was a little shorter

Happy Belated 4th of July! The holiday still means a lot to me, but I'll be honest, the day loses a lot of its charm and excitement when no one else around is involved with the celebrating. Like drinking alone. Besides spending the entire day relaxing on the couch with Katie and Season 4 of Dexter, a highlight was chatting with one of my best friends who is currently serving in Afghanistan. Through the Facebook. God bless technology, right? He wasn't in the field yet so had an opportunity to spend some time in an internet cafe on base, across from a TGIFridays. Sounds like a hard life. We didn't talk for very long, just some quick blurbs about this and that. But it was a little surreal to feel connection with him at the 'front', actually in the war. He wasn't doing anything special for yesterday, just getting on the road in/to Kandahar, I believe. He seemed nonchalant, just business-as-usual. It was both calming and frightening. I can't imagine going in to work in the desert in a humvee, in violent hostility. But I'm not him. It's not my job and it's not my war. I pray for him and the others. We wished each other a happy 4th, and happy Canada Day, and that was it.

A week ago - better late than never - Katie and I went to the city of Nijmegen, the Netherlands, for a second week of Summer concert festival. Previously it was 'Dirty Dutch vs. The World' dance-stravaganza (blogged it a couple posts ago) and this time it was 'Rockin' Park', a Sunday full of concerts. A couple big names: Ben Harper, Stereophonics, Rise Against, a little band out of Seattle named Pearl Jam. But we went for The Black Keys.

'I didn't realize how nerdy they are!' was Katie's first response to seeing Dan and Patrick walk out on stage. They were pretty signature: Mr. Auerbach in a western-check oxford shirt and Mr. Carney in a tiny vintage 'Ohio State Nat'l Champs' tshirt. And glasses. Yes, they looked a little nerdy. But nerds harbor some of the most angst in society. And nerdy angst is like lighter fluid for guitars and drums. These guys have been on fire for several years delivering soul-deadening blues-rock to the underground masses, though the world finally began to like them about a year ago. It's always bittersweet when a beautiful lesser-known group blows up but, greedily, I love that I could see them play in Holland.

The show was perfect. Their set lasted for an hour in the early afternoon of an unusually hot Dutch day. Everyone was already pretty dirty and sweaty, which is probably why folks didn't bunch up close to the stage like at the previous week's dance fest. It was nice to have space to rock out, mere feet from Mr. Auerbach himself doing the same. But the heat and grit went perfectly with their industrialized blues. Theirs is not a clean music, musically. And not necessarily fast. Katie remarked 'It's the kind of music you want to dance to somehow, but you just can't.' You can only bounce, juke and nod your head.

Theirs is the great-great-great grandchild of the Devil's music. Inspired by Robert Johnson, Muddy Waters, Junior Kimbrough and the like: the soul of gospel with the driving repetition of slave songs and the profound hurt of love gone bad; The Black Keys electrify the sounds of their founding blues fathers in a simple yet full way that just makes your soul heavy. Which happens to be the name of one of their songs.

They played a great mixed set, opening with half a dozen tracks from various albums. Later they were joined by a keyboardist and bass player to run down some tracks from their latest, Brothers, then closed out with another half-dozen with just the pair again. No encore, no stupid dialogue with the crowd, just filling up the whole hour with as much rock as possible. Later, from the beer table we saluted them, souls on the floor.

Gaga recap

2010-06-25T00:49:00.000-07:00

Gyroscope! I knew I forgot an abstract descriptor!

My assignment for 'review writing':

‘What do you need me for? There are enough blonde wigs and tight skirts here to make plenty of Gagas!’ Melodramatic self-effacing is part of her paradoxical charm. By now she has concocted the perfect formula for pure, unadulterated pop fame but allows only her flamboyant faux nouveau costuming and mega vixen stage presence to convey her celebrity. She is quiet and shy in interviews but she is a diva.

She is the czaress of pop. This was no concert; this was a coronation. Her purple bus driver’s hat and enormous-shouldered purple blazer in the opening set enhanced her royal-militant image as reigning pop dictator. She does not offer you her sexy lyrics and Lycra; she demands you ingest them and come back for lip-smacking seconds and thirds.

And she brought a camp cast to help with the force-feeding. ‘Posh,’ a rippling black Adonis with a glam loincloth lead a troupe of choreographed followers: backing her, in awe of her. They are her fan-friends; what we all aspire to be - just with impossible bodies and actual dance ability.

On their way to the Monster Ball, a tornado ripped the group asunder and there is Gaga, alone, before an unadorned black grand piano. With a costume of just a square PVC foot, she was similarly black and unadorned. Suddenly, a truly beautiful thing happened: she began lightly fingering the instrument and eventually bled into her heart-broken ballad ‘Speechless,’ minus the synth-fluff. The result was also black and unadorned. And it was beautifully powerful.

For all her pop pomp and electro-sex circumstance, Gaga has maintained her NYU Tisch School musical chops. Her shrill voice soared above the masterfully tickled ivories. Before we were entertained; now we were hers. Now, we wanted her bad, her bad romance.

The audience knew when it was finally time. There would be no encore, only finale. They began to chant the song’s opening lines. Then from the electric darkness, the full glory of the ‘electro-pop orchestra’ shone upon us: ‘Bad Romance’ blasted the arena with full-frontal pop power. The arena shook with every pounding chorus of the super-song. It was like every little monster present had forgotten then simultaneously remembered how good the song truly is. And no one could command such an army like her. We needed Lady Gaga.

Classy

2010-06-22T14:57:00.000-07:00

Relevance? No, this is just what came up from a Google Image search for 'cultural journalism.'

For the past five weeks I've been taking a class offered through the magazine I'm interning at. The course title is 'cultural journalism.' Each week we've had a different assignment: interviewing, profiling, reviewing, etc. While I'm working on the write ups of the past month's travels I'm going to go ahead and put up the pieces I wrote for each week's assignment.

Preview writing:

Plenty are outside enjoying the sunlit patio, lounging through the late afternoon. But down the spiraled steps, the cool, dark inner chamber of Den Bosche’s Plein 79 is noticeably quiet and uninhabited, by comparison. An expansive wooden stage and raised bar flank the room and give the distinct impression that quiet is absolutely not something one comes to this place to experience. Like the basement recording studios of Motown, these ancient walls - the basement of one of the city’s oldest buildings, D’Morrian, dates back to the 14^th century - actively reverb from years of acoustic bombardment. It is a lively yet contained darkness, ready for its next coating of sound.

When South Africa’s own BOO! band blows into town at the end of August, Plein 79 will be anything but quiet. Musically self-described as ‘monki-punk,’ this trio’s mix of bopping horns, slapping bass and high-pitched yipping admittedly has a raucous, jungle fever-type vibe at times. But the details in their songs - delicately timed bell tinkling, multiple melodic section changes and whimsically harmonized vocals - prove they are far beyond primitive bush people.

The closest genre umbrella is the horn-heavy ‘ska,’ which is basically fast and angry reggae. BOO!’s sound has that feel on the surface but often deviates with slower tempos, actual melodic lines and just few absurd interludes. Lyrics are simple but catchy: ‘You’re my wishboan, you’re my shooting star, walk with me’ evokes a bit sweeter imagery than your typical punks. Then blaring trombone, thrashing percussion and grand synthesized keyboards drag you back to thoughtless irreverence.

Before disbanding in 2004 BOO! had racked up an impressive seven albums with roughly 800 gigs, spanning 17 countries and 14 states in the USA. Some might think such numbers are paltry for a career that lasted all of seven years, but fear not: these boys know how to work the stage after performing with the likes of hulking headliners The White Stripes, Slipknot and Franz Ferdinand. They were even recognized by their mother country with the South African Music Award (SAMA) for ‘Best Pop Album’ in 2002.

What better for the continued celebration of the group’s February 2010 reformation then, than the packed intimacy of Plein 79? The close proximity of the stage and backyard barn proportions should be perfect for a truly interactive band-to-audience experience. Expect clapping. Expect dancing. Expect ‘boo’-ing.

Creative head and featured electric bass player (read: ‘slapper’) Chris ‘Miss’ Chameleon will undoubtedly receive the most admiring ‘boos’ with his trademark cross-dressing and powerful voice that can go from soulful croon to inspired wail as if with the turn of a dial. Chameleon took some time after the band’s break to pursue a solo career, so be prepared for a fully fresh take the old body of work as well as completely new cuts from their upcoming album release: The Three of Us. Doubtless it will celebrate the renewed creative energy of the band’s reunification. Doubtless it will be loud.

And then a month went by

2010-06-21T05:29:00.001-07:00

A month ago I started a whirlwind of concerts, traveling, and family time. Probably the most active start of a summer as I've ever experienced. Multiple countries, multiple states, multiple adventures. There is quite a bit to write about so for the sake of ease of reading/writing I'll just do one event/trip per post for the next couple days to make up for this month-long post drought.

First up: Dirty Dutch vs. The World 2010, Almere, The Netherlands, 19/6

This annual dance festival has moved around the country in previous years, but this edition occurred on a beach located about an hour north of Den Bosch by train. As we're approaching the longest day of the year we were planning to dance the night away in warm comfort and calming wake. Of course, Holland was Holland and it rained off-and-on all day, and got pretty chilly as the sun sank (not completely dark until about 22.00).
The festival featured several DJ stages with large wooden dance floors covering the sand.

This was probably for the best considering Dutch concertgoers don't really understand the concept of garbage cans. Plastic cups, frites cones and little bottles that once contained shots of neon pink energy-booze (called Flugel) carpeted the joints.

Over the course of the day we ventured from stage to stage and back, stopping periodically for a drink or a broodje. Though I enjoyed the various DJ sets, none were particularly memorable. Just plenty of good beats to move to.

One objective was to be in a decent spot under the event's main stage tent for famous DJ David Guetta and a surprise appearance by the hip-hop collective N.E.R.D. The latter weren't even on the program we got at the entrance but had been just recently added to the website, so we were pumped. As it got closer to the time for both of those performances we inched our way closer to the middle of what had become a tightly-packed, tent-covered mass of humanity.

I was reminded of the bars from Carnaval; people didn't really value personal space here. It wasn't the ideal situation for being able to dance. And people were continually trying to push through the group, often with sloshing drinks, even though it didn't ever seem there was room for them to do so. At one point we were behind what appeared to be a gang of overgrown druglords. They did not move when other people pushed in to move past them so the movers were deflected at us. We decided to push-out ourselves before the inevitable electrical fire and mass-hysteria trampling. Guetta had started performing by this point and it was just no fun not being able to dance along.

We found quite a bit more floorspace at the rear of the tent. Guetta played out his hour-and-a-half-long set with masterfully mixed tracks and a number from his latest album, One Love. They were a bit more melodic and sample-based than most of what we'd been listening to so I thought it was a bit more entertaining to dance along with. Afterward we went back out to the smaller stages for even more dancing room and fresh air. We found both, as well as a beautiful, albeit cloudy, sunset.

That boy is a monster

2010-05-16T05:50:00.000-07:00

Dear Lady Gaga,

Katie and I are going to see you in Paris next weekend. Long story but we were originally going to see you for a surprise Christmas present in Chicago. Things didn’t quite work out but while sorting through that situation a good friend checked your tour dates and casually suggested we see you in Paris instead. Paris is just a few hours’ train ride away from here. Aces.

When researching your tour dates and locations, I came across a press release that closely followed the release of Fame Monster album. You referenced the tour and described it as the world’s first “pop-electro opera.” We couldn’t be more excited to find out exactly what that means. You also said you expect all your guests to dress accordingly. A request from the artist to come in costume? YES PLEASE.

Weeks passed as we discussed the options for what kind of attire would be appropriate for her Gaga-ness. From the opera theme and our love for opulent evening wear, we initially thought some kind of vintage Victorian ball-wear would be good. Of course, we should also be zombies. Another idea we developed along the way: Space Vampires. Why? They’re sexy, glittery, and a wonderful negation of the Twilight series.

Your songs and costumes are all about exploiting as much pop-fluff as humanly possible; How far can you push the established trends of entertainment’s erotic bubblegum with lyrics and lycra (or the lack thereof)? We wanted to tap into this irreverent poppiness and still be comfortable jostling about a crowded concert venue. Space Vampires still works as a theme. But how do we achieve it? And on a budget?

As you can imagine there aren’t too many costume retailers in Den Bosch, the Netherlands. There are sneaker shops and posh furniture boutiques aplenty, but we needed to get outside the city’s fortified walls for this. A virtual survey of Amsterdam gave us a number of options, including some vintage shops and a pair of serious-looking costume joints.

We decided to check out Alternatief Kostuum on Amsterdam’s north side. They do rentals by outfit or individual piece, key if you want something ridiculous to wear once and not worry about throwing away later or taking home on a plane. We found them to have an entertaining array of costume elements organized by decade and theme, making things fairly easy to navigate. Naturally, we went straight for the 80s.

You should know that ‘Space Vampires’ was just a thematic idea we had. Neither of us really knew what they should look like in person. I imagine some kind of cross between David Bowie in Labyrinth and the alien villains from Superman II.

Seeing lots of Michael Jackson jackets and glittery jumpsuits didn’t exactly help our lack of specific vision. After some frustrating minutes we found a couple of solid items to build around.

When we get all the pieces together pictures will follow. For now: Katie found this incredible…thing, that I can only describe as a star-points torso-wrap. Silver and glittery, it goes behind the head, in front of the shoulders, then under the arms and connects across the back. It gives the dazzling effect of halo, popped collar, and planetary radiance, all at once. It was a must have. To complement the piece she found a shimmery dark silver Marilyn Monroe-esque top. It’s a killer combo. She plans to top things off with a creative up-do and pencil some colorful angles and shapes onto her face. Oh, and of course there will be vampire fangs.

I found a tight sleeveless top that looks kind of like it came from the Tron costume bin. There are thick black bars of black and silver, and the jury is out on the intended gender. It’s quite marvelous. We also found a black leather jacket full of hardware with a tall collar. The shirt is definitely spacey, and the jacket gives off more of a modern Vampire (think Kate Beckinsale’s pvc duster in Underworld) punk-toughness than your typical stateliness. Trust me, it works. To complete my look we decided some black jeans, bright converse hi-tops, and ridiculous shades would all go nicely. Yes, my mom did try to convert me from black sweatpants to jeans in elementary school and I resisted. Now I live in my Levis. Full circle and all that I guess.

Vampire fangs: We didn’t want your typical “mouth guard” style of plastic teeth. No, we and the costumes deserve better. We found another costume shop basically around the corner from the Anne Frank House. This place was loaded with makeup, masks, props, and hats. And fortunately for us, some rather real-looking vampire fangs. Individual caps that go over your canines. Complete with dental-grade putty for achieving a flawless fit. Now we’re talking. These things look downright vicious.

Also at the shop we picked up sparkly black tights and elbow-length gloves for the Space Vampiress, and some turquoise metallic Kanye shades for me. One can never have too many pairs of sparkly black tights. And fake blood. We knew we were in the right place when the nice-enough-but-still-pretty-nerdy clerk explained the different ways you could apply the stuff based on his personal use of the same product. He also reference different blood products I could choose from depending on the type of blood effect I was going for. Experience makes a great salesperson, and real-life fantasy role-player. I love it.

Amsterdam took care of us yesterday, even though everything is only open until 6. We’re starting to understand the curving streets that change name as you go across canals. What makes less sense is the continuing standoff between the city and its sanitation workers. Not the cleanest of cities to begin with, the ‘Venice of the North’ has gotten simply rotten over the past couple of weeks. There are piles of trash throughout the city that just keep getting bigger. Not so in Den Bosch. Glad we could come back to our own clean, quiet little city for the evening. And blast Alejandro. One week and counting, your highness, until we join you for a monstrous evening.

Your loyal little monsters,

Tim and Katie

Asperges Maand!

2010-05-13T04:33:00.000-07:00

Updates:

Things are still going swimmingly at my magazine internship. I’m working in to the Amsterdam office thrice a week and enjoying getting a few more heavy writing responsibilities. Through some less-than-honorable experiences I learned the value of old-school fact checking. Now I’m on the straight and narrow, calling sources left and right. There’s been a little trial-by-fire but it’s good to have real experiences setting the tone for how the job needs to be done correctly.

One of my latest projects was finding out about the “new” and “hip” aspects of the tattoo scene in Amsterdam. After doing some background research I went out into the field and interviewed a number of local artists. It was a great experience as I fancy myself a strong people-person, but not necessarily a talented journalistic interviewer. It can be hard getting people to give you a colorful quote. Especially if English is not their first or primary language. But I learned and got better as I went. The folks I talked to were all terribly nice and interesting to get to know. Several offered coffee and invited me back for less official hanging out. Friendly, talented people all. If only they didn’t smoke so much. But everyone around here does, so I guess I can’t fault them.

Last Saturday was National Asparagus Day (Asperges Dag) in the Netherlands. Why? Not sure. Apparently May is National Asparagus Month. I guess Den Bosch was putting special emphasis on the vegetable that day. In the Markt there was a plethora of white asparagus, the larger, sun-deprived cousin of green asparagus. Known for its harder skin, more tender and bland flesh, the white often gets used in soup. Apparently the white color is achieved by packing extra soil around the base so little or no sunlight penetrates, thus preventing the plant from performing photosynthesis and turning green. The things remind me of the Bunnicula books we read in elementary school. But how does the vegetable grow without sunlight? Well, my friends, since the Netherlands is effectively one big delta most of its “reclaimed” (water pumped out) soil is full of juicy, delicious nitrates. Perfect for growing all kinds of good stuff. Like white asparagus. We bought a sizeable bundle of it and then ended up cooking this a few days ago:

http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/Gratin-of-White-Asparagus-358429

I used crumbled croutons instead of bread crumbs and cilantro instead of parsley because, well, that’s what we had. And the grocery store didn’t seem to have bread crumbs for sale. Apparently Holland is practically in the culinary stone age. Bread crumbs, people!

Bread crumbs are not the only major food element missing from Dutch grocery stores. I still have been unable to find a replacement for the staple of my diet over the past several years, Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. Hollanders love cheese and have plenty of pasta. They also exhibit a proclivity for creamy sauces and salads. How have they not discovered the Blue Box? It escapes me. Then again, they don’t but peanut butter and chocolate together either. What?! I’m sure they would go nuts for either combination with it put before them. I could probably make some serious dough establishing a trade deal for peanut butter M&Ms and the Blue Box. All I know is I’ll have more than a few boxes in my suitcase when I return from my US visit in a couple of weeks. More on that trip soon.

Less Than Rainy Zaterdag

2010-04-25T04:56:00.000-07:00

April has not been particularly rainy, as you can see. I couldn't be happier, but I suppose May may not be as lush as a result. Oh well. I'll take beautiful now.

Things are heating up for Katie's area of her customer's project. She went in to work yesterday, Saturday. Believe it or not, being able to go and work in privacy seems to be good for her. So I didn't argue. Me, I went out to pick up some foodstuffs so we'd both be productive.

We didn't need a lot but I wanted to go walk around the Markt anyway. 'Snacks' was on my list so I stopped at a booth we visited last week, a Greek, Dutch-residing man with various homemade breads and tapenades. Really marvelously fresh stuff. We chatted a little about the differences among home, travel, and vacation. I excitedly asked him about living in Greece and to my surprise he commented that going back there to see family is actually a little boring. He has family also in Russia, California, and the Netherlands. Those places are all more exciting for him to spend time visiting than his native Greece. No offense to my Virginia home but I understand his points.

I paid the man and moved on to the grocery store. It was close to 5pm and the sun was just starting to take on that 'late afternoon' burnt gold hue. It was going to be a beautiful evening and I had plenty of time to get out with my camera after bringing home the groceries.

I grabbed the camera and my current read and biked out to one of the filled-in, brick-walled bastions on the city's outer ring. I snapped a few shots and enjoyed some page-turning under a tree. Here is my Facebook album where I've been putting pictures from the Netherlands. They go from old to new.

Updates Galore

2010-04-20T09:24:00.000-07:00

Here are a few updates on my new life in the Netherlands:

1. On Mondays and Wednesdays I have been going to Ultimate Frisbee practice with some friends I was lucky enough to meet through my girlfriend’s work. My prior experience with the game was purely recreational and much less organized than this game. For Pete’s sake, there are warm-ups and drills!

The formalized game play was a little overwhelming at first, but I’ve been getting the hang of it. It’s been great to play a team sport again and the whole practice is a great workout. Since most of the other players are native Dutch the practices are also a good opportunity to try out my Rosetta Stone language skillz.

2. I found a sports complex with a pool where I can swim fairly cheaply. Unfortunately the open hours are 7-9am and 12-1pm. Fortunately my current state of unemployment makes it pretty easy to fit these times into my schedule. But anyway, the pool is great. It’s not terribly crowded, which is great because they don’t put in lane lines during the open swim.

Going at the 12-1 window has been cool because it’s kind of like a group practice. I’ve seen a lot of the same people there regularly – we all go for the whole hour – and we all are showering and changing at the same time. This has given me the opportunity to meet some more Dutch people, make friends and practice the language. I even got a haircut location recommendation from my latest friend.

While learning something new is always exciting, it can also be humbling and frustrating. As much as I like playing Ultimate and learning new words for things, having a lot of new come at you at once can be altogether draining. Going to the pool has helped in that respect because swimming is something I already know how to do well (I’m no Olympian but years of training and coaching weren't in vain). Being able to go to the pool and be one of the more experienced and fast swimmers feels good. It’s OK to enjoy an ego boost to balance all the inexperienced newness. At least I think so.

3. At the beginning of the month I started an unpaid internship with an excellent arts and culture magazine in Amsterdam, written IN ENGLISH! Amsterdam, you say? Isn’t that on the other side of the country from Den Bosch? Yes, but it’s like traversing Maryland.

Most Dutch people, especially A’dam’ers, are used to a cross-town bike commute so the hour-long train ride it takes me to get there from Den Bosch earned me a couple of quizzical looks along the way. I don’t mind. It’s a far cry from the two trains + bus I had to take from Chicago to Skokie when I first worked at the Nordstrom’s there. This is a piece of cake. I got myself a discount train card (pays for itself after just a couple of uses) and the smooth ride is great for reading, writing and the occasional crossword puzzle.

I’ve really enjoyed the internship thus far. Initially I was asked to come in once a week. Now they want to see me thrice. Progress! I’ve had the opportunity to do some nuts and bolts work for them but some bigger writing opportunities are looming on the horizon. In addition, I might get the chance to do a little photography! Though it isn’t exactly gainful employment, I really like the magazine and the service it provides to Amsterdam residents and tourists. I was told that in some instances interns get the opportunity for a paid position of sorts. That’s my goal.

4. Since I am still waiting to hear back from some part-time Den Bosch jobs I decided to use my recent birthday as an excuse to realize goal of learning to play guitar and become the third member of the Black Keys. Having no experience whatsoever I decided to start from the very beginning.

Fortunately there is a small sales/repair shop at the end of our street and I found its sole proprietor to be helpful, friendly, and altogether cool. Having been a salesperson for a number of years I have a sense about selling personalities. This man is a musician and instrument repairman, not a seller. I figured I could trust him.

After making an initial visit to see options and prices I could compare against the online community, I decided to go back and pull the trigger on a folk/acoustic: Greg Bennett Design Samich D-5 with beautiful cherry-stained neck and sides. Of the guitars I tried it also made the biggest sound without sacrificing tone. If I’m going to play acoustic blues-rock some day that quality will come in handy.

In just a week and a half of lessons with various YouTube instructors I’ve learned about 9 major and minor chords, the pentatonic scale, and how to pick out Ode to Joy and Let It Be. Slllloooooowwwllllyyy.

Learning an instrument is no foreign concept to me, but it’s definitely a different beast from piano, French horn and mellophone. I’ve noticed my fingers and hand get tired quicker than my lips, though it was many years ago that I first buzzed on a mouthpiece. Endurance should come with time and practice.

I’m definitely enjoying the process, and I need to because I’m not to the point yet where I can enjoy the sounds that are coming from the guitar. But I do like practicing, which is a sensation I don’t remember having earlier on in my musical career. Maybe that’s also just maturity talking.

If you've made it this far, I appreciate your time and patience. I promise to write in smaller doses and more often to prevent the need for long comprehensive updates like this one.

I've added some more pictures to my Facebook album that you can also check out here. For pictures of my visit to the Keukenhof, famous Dutch tulip garden, here is the album.

Snap Snap Snap

2010-04-08T12:55:00.000-07:00

Camera phone! A couple of beautiful days in Den Bosch and Amsterdam yielded a number of pretty pictures. You can check them out in my Facebook album with this public link

Here is a little taste:

The Oude Kerk (Old Church) is smack-dab in the middle of Amsterdam's Red Light District.

This canal canal separates the Oude Kerk from the more, shall we say, action packed area of the RLD.

Then Out Came the Sun

2010-03-22T01:31:00.001-07:00

Sort of. It was patchy. At least it wasn't raining.

We pass this big Japanese Cherry several times a week while running, but yesterday Katie and I walked the outer wall of Den Bosch for a change. We soaked up Sunday's last bit of sunlight to cap off a pleasantly quiet weekend. More pictures from this walk, as well as other pictures I've taken in the NL can be found in my Facebook album here. Apparently it adds the latest photos to the end of the album.

Another weekend highlight was our Saturday night dinner with some friends at De Pino, an Italian restaurant just around the corner from our apartment. This charming little establishment is quite cozy - a kitchen plus a kitchen-sized dining room separated by narrow register/bar - as there seemed to be room for only 20-30 people. Upon walking in the front door you are practically in the kitchen, so we were immediately greeted by richly seasoned aromas of tomatoes, garlic, onions...I could go on but it's difficult to type on drool-covered keys.

For appetizer we had a dish highly recommended by friends, present company included, that can really only be described as "goat cheese heaven." I could have gone home and died a happy man just after finishing this divine dish of fresh French bread bathing in baked and shredded geitenkaas. As delicious as it was simple, the crisp yet fluffy bread made a perfect carbo-complement to the subtle sour creaminess of its goat cheese bath. Oh, to be that bread...

For an entree I tried the meat lasagna. This dish can be dangerous: I've seen blocks of cheese the size of your head, slabs of pasta overflowing the plate, etc. But this portion was well-controlled and creatively served in a short, walled dish, similar to the appetizer. This meant the lasagna itself could actually sit in ADDITIONAL tomato-cream sauce. Brilliant! Once the straight-from-the-oven heat dissipated I made quick work of this more modest-a pasta. Heavy on the tomatoes and herbs and more controlled with the cheese and meat, it was a well-balanced harmony of ingredients.

No sooner had my friend across the table (who had had the cannelloni) and I found ourselves in the similar predicament of having excess sauce then our waitress appeared bearing more French bread with garlic butter so mouthwateringly fresh, it was practically sprouting roots.

De Pino, your close proximity will doubtless become a blessing and a curse.

Back in the Saddle

2010-03-19T09:01:00.000-07:00

A friend recently asked me if I “found it quite different living abroad.” I’m guessing he meant to imply ‘different living abroad from living in the U.S.’ It is a pretty straight-forward question and I think ultimately the one I am often thinking about for writing in this space.

With the hectic excitement of moving to the Netherlands from America I did a poor job of taking any time to reflect about my initial impressions of Dutch people and their country. Now that I’ve spent good couple weeks here and the raw, tumultuous part of the transition is past, I’m starting settle in with the surroundings. And have a few simple thoughts about life being different.

My initial response to my friend’s question was, “no, not particularly.” Maybe that’s a pretty subjective assessment. But other than the absence of a day-to-day job, my way of life is not fundamentally different. I check email, read blogs and online articles, buy groceries at a large chain store, go out to bars and restaurants with friends, etc. None of those feel very different. And, arguably, they are not. We’re not living in a small, remote Dutch village –‘s-Hertogenbosch is a comfortably modern and globalized city that just doesn’t happen to have good BBQ, stuffed pizza, or Seven for All Mankind jeans.

Most of the activities I listed don’t require much face-to-face social interaction, and there is a reason for that. Even with the help of Rosetta Stone, I still find people speaking native Dutch at me to be very intimidating. My vocabulary, pronunciation and confidence are all improving, but the amount I am able to apply them outside the house and my circle of friends is only slowly growing.

Interestingly, the Dutch are not particularly intimidating people. In the past weeks we have visited IKEA, car rental stations, restaurants, bars, and stores and we quickly run out of Dutch things to say, reverting to “Ik spreek kleine Nederlands,” or “In Engels, alstublieft?” Most of the time person we’re speaking with is able to pick right up with pretty decent English. And most of the time they appear happy to do so. It’s a very warm and welcoming experience, though at the same time a little embarrassing.

I think it would be one thing if we were simply tourists, just trying to get around for a few days or weeks on our way to the next country. But in taking residence here I want to feel like I belong, fit in, am not a major imposition on these people. I want to feel like I at least come close to meeting the club membership requirements.

I do feel like less of a tourist with the small (but expanding!) amount of Dutch I can speak with local Den Bosch’ers. For short and or routine exchanges – such as the grocery store checkout line – I know most of the appropriate questions and answers. Even in a longer conversation when the other person realizes I am “amerikanse” and speaks to me in English, I still try to use as much Dutch as I know, even if it’s just nummers or kleuren. So far, people respond to this practice positively: more open body language, approving facial expressions, smiles, laughs, words of encouragement. I can tell they appreciate the effort, just like I appreciate theirs. Awwwwww.

No Shortage of Cloudy Skies

2010-02-25T01:57:00.000-08:00

After visiting a few job agencies yesterday I took a long and winding route home through the city. Overcast skies make it fun for shooting texture so I snapped a couple of the local cathedral in passing.

The scaffolding you see is just part of a much larger scaffolding monster helping restorers to revitalize the cathedral's exterior after years of acid rain. Eww.

Looking from the cathedral toward its courtyard (just beyond the trees) and the Parade (several restaurants, pubs and businesses lining the square).

And, just for fun, here is what I initially mistook for Marty McFly's DeLorean:

It wasn't. Ford Capri, probably early 80s. If I'm Dutch, I'm not really inspired to go out an buy American. In my head is the advertisement, "The New Ford Capri: The Ford that wants to be a Saab."

De Smaak Van Het Bier

2010-02-24T02:55:00.000-08:00

"The taste of the beer."

Leffe "Brune-Dubbel." Brown Abbey Ale, Alc. 6.5%, kost. 1.01€

A wise man once told me, "a man will drink a finite, predetermined number of beers during his life. Every bad beer you drink will decrease the number of good beers you will drink by one."

Following this advice and motivated by this story a friend sent me yesterday I picked up a few "good" bieren to go with dinner last night. Above I posted a picture of one of them. Immediate lesson: camera phone inside at night does not a great picture take.

Fortunately, and as expected, the beer looked, smelled and tasted much better than the photo.

This a brown ale, called "double," some descriptions say, because if you found this beer in a pub between its siblings of varying strengths its medium alcohol strength would be notated by some distinction of "2" on the barrel (vs. 1, 3, or sometimes 4).

The Dubbel is dark, frothy and sweet in appearance, smell and taste. Its slight carbonation imparts a tingly mouth sensation that builds and lasts over the course of the drink. The taste and "finish" are rich and light, making me think simply of herbs and caramel at once, as opposed to a "blond" or "tripel" that have different yeasts and often more complex citrus-y flavors.

According to my friend, Mr. Jackson, this beer is named for Notre-Dame de Leffe abbey in Dinant, Belgium. Similar to other actual abbey brews, the Leffe crew hasn't actually produced its own beer since the first Bastille Day. They resumed production strictly in order to raise maintenance funds for the abbey itself. Not because the beer tastes great and everyone wants to buy it or anything.

Pictures on the Facebook!

2010-02-24T02:39:00.000-08:00

As seen in previous posts I haven't yet found a way to post pictures any larger than a few inches square. The Facebook is a little more friendly with space so I'm going to continue loading images there and publish the public link here. That said, I'll make sure to keep including appropriate and necessary visual aids actually on this page.

You can find more just like this one by clicking HERE

A Few Updates

2010-02-19T02:59:00.000-08:00

QUESTS
Earlier in this blog I announced a number of quests I was undertaking. They may not be biblical in proportion but I view them as important nonetheless.

First, I am trying to track down and pictorially capture the sister of my old BMW that I saw but failed to successfully photograph on our last visit prior to moving. Not the most beautiful of unicorns, but she still has special value and I must have her. I first spied her parked in a roundabout in front of a business building down the street from the Den Bosch train station. Beautiful snapshot location. Guessing she belongs to a woman (I later saw a female driving her off into the late Dutch sunset - swoon) that works in the building I have visited the site several times at similar times of day. No luck so far.

Second: Macaroni and Cheese, in the same box. This quest is as of yet also unsuccessful. No, I do not expect to find Kraft here. But these people enjoy pasta, obsess over cheese, and value thrifty convenience - something is not adding up! Granted, my grocery store search field is thus far fairly narrow. I'm still optimistic.

PHOTOS
Though cumbersome, I've tried to take my camera around with me on bike rides and errands. Favorite photo subjects so far are buildings, street vendors and of course, fietsen (bicycles):

This is an example of a style called omafiets (grandmabike). Not in great shape but I thought it was thoughtfully placed in front of a brick staircase leading down to a canal (not pictured). Since the fietsen here have so much character own their own I want to just capture their profiles and immediate background rather than try to make an overly artsy, complexly framed shots.

Dit is De Markt mit bloeme. A little tough to see at this resolution but this flower cart was one of the last vendors remaining in the town square yesterday evening. On the left is Town Hall, still sporting its Oeteldonk decorations. Dead center is the mouth of our street called Vughterstraat. We're about a five-minute walk from the Markt.

LANGUAGE
Finally I wanted to give an update on my Dutch-learning. At numerous suggestions I purchased level 1 of Dutch Rosetta Stone (Thanks, Mom & Dad! Seriously). So far I have found it both easy to use and very helpful. If you aren't familiar it employs a refreshing mix of vocabulary, listening, reading and speaking exercises based on picture-voice association. The narrators are supposedly native speakers, and compared with television and people on the street I can safely vouch for that authenticity claim.

The repetition, review, and building block style are nothing new to me after studying Spanish and Russian in high school and college. The program has brought back memories of the logical layout and progression of lessons, grammar worksheets, partner speaking exercises, etc. The amazing part is I feel like I've covered more ground in just a week than I would have in a quarter of classes (Honestly RS is not paying me).

My first "milestone" was a conversation situation where slides of two people in a campsite moved across the screen. The people looked at the camera and addressed Me using a mix of questions and answers I've learned up to this point. Without any other prompt besides timing, I was supposed to ask and answer appropriate questions with appropriate pronunciation. It was fairly short exercise but after making it through successfully I was a little surprised to feel a genuine proud sense of accomplishment. I still have a long way to go before even having a basic conversation with a live person, but this was just Milestone 1.

ExBeerience Één

2010-02-17T02:43:00.000-08:00

Trying to avoid falling down the slippery slope to Barney Gumble Town.

I'd be lying if I said I don't love beer. Don't get me wrong; there are some piss-poor, mass-produced excuses out there you'd have to pay me to choke down. Good beer can be delicious, thought-provoking, satisfying. Good beer can connect you to your fellow man as you appreciate the time, care, creativity and craftsmanship that went into brewing it. Good beer can be sublime.

Water is still my favorite thing to drink in the whole wide world, but beer is right up there. In a recent conversation with my mother concerning my drinking habits I confirmed what I already knew is a pretty moderate habit: 3-5 per week aside from slightly elevated consumption on weekends or nights out of the house. Feel free to disagree with me on how I'm judging that.

The Dutch and their neighbors also love bier. They have for quite some time. Our little corner of Europe with The Netherlands, Germany and Belgium is the cradle of some of the oldest and best-tasting brews in the world. I find extremely interesting the breadth of styles, brewing methods, geographies, cultures and histories of these "cradle" bieren. So in this space from time to time I would like to offer an an ExBeerience - just a few thoughts about what I had, what I liked or didn't like, etc. Don't worry, Mom, you won't see these too often.

1. Amstel "Gold Zwaar Bier": ALC - 7%, Kost - € .71 (bought as a single), name means "Heavy."
Amstel, if you haven't seen the commercials, is locally produced in Amsterdam, right alongside the river for which the brewery and the city are named. It is not really known for fine beverages, especially after the larger rival Heineken purchased it years ago. For some strange reason I thought this "Gold" version might be better than the "Light" that we see in the US. It was a letdown. Yes, its color was slightly more amber-y than the US sibling and it did exhibit a few simple notes of caramel down the stretch with a short, bittersweet aftertaste (as you can see I of course finished it). But to be fair I had simultaneously eaten some delicious Jong Goudekaas (soft Gouda) and brie along the way that may have prettied things up.

Drinkable? Yes. Got what I paid for? Probably. Like? Nee.

After one sip Katie summed this one up best: "Better than piss."

Still, my new companion Michael Jackson's Great Beer Guide mentions an Amstel "Bock" style as being the most worthwhile and actually flavorful of the line. I'll have to hunt that one down.

2. Westmalle Trappist "Tripel": ALC - 9.5%, Kost - €1.25 (bought as a single)
It probably wasn't fair to drink these two bock-to-bock (dit is een beer joke!). Complete 180. Remember when I mentioned beer can be sublime? Pure spiritual creaminess. Naturally, it comes from an abbey in the village of West Malle in the Antwerp region of Belgium. You know what else comes from Antwerp? Diamonds. Yes, this is the diamond of bieren. Michael Jackson agrees. According to the late "Beer Hunter" this particular bier is a benchmark for the stronger, paler "Triple" style of Abbey beers that started becoming popular in Belgium after WWII.
Just to open this bier is a little like getting a cool spritz of orange rolled in sage. A full sip only intensifies that sensation with a sparkling fruity fullness. The bright mix of citrus and herbal flavors make your mouth come alive, while the creamy texture lets you wash it all down with a easy calm. Most beers I taste. This beer I can feel.

Katie, fighting back sleep, allowed me finish hers. That's love, folks.

The Sun and the End of Oeteldonk

2010-02-16T15:57:00.000-08:00

I don't know how these people do it. For the fourth straight day the costumes, marching bands, bier and polka-esque party anthems have carried on. These are marathoners, I tell you.

Today I ventured out for some light groceries and witnessed the glorious emergence of the sun. Here are some of the fruits:

On the Markt with of the Patch bands. Oem-pa!

Some Oeteldonk decorations

If you look closely, the Den Bosch Dragon is sporting a Carnaval scarf!

Serenity now.

A view down our street Vughterstraat from the Markt.

My nieuw (actually fairly old) herenfiets in front of our place.

Carnaval in Oeteldonk!

2010-02-15T04:24:00.000-08:00

I did not take this picture - swiped it from the interwebs - But I think it does a fair job of illustrating the fantastic weirdness that is "Carnaval in Oeteldonk" ("Oo"). You can find a better brief description on Den Bosch's Wikipedia page but essentially this holiday is a roughly four day celebration of time running out before Lent. Mardi Gras is analogous, though having not experienced it in New Orleans firsthand I can't make a direct comparison.

Interestingly the Netherlands as a whole does not celebrate Carnaval. It is mostly confined to the North Brabant region (of which Den Bosch is the provincial capital). The story is not clearly defined in any of the resources I checked but this region has a more heavy Catholic history than the rest of the kingdom. That probably explains these people putting more weight on Lent and thus the bigger pre-Lent stress release. Den Bosch is reported to be one of the biggest celebrations in the low countries.

If you didn't read it in the aforementioned Wiki page the city of Den Bosch actually magically transforms into the Carnaval city of "Oeteldonk" for the duration of the holiday. In fact, the Mayor officially abdicates in favor of the Carnaval Prince in a ceremony that I probably slept through because we had no idea when it was happening. There isn't a direct translation for Oeteldonk. I just think the whole transformation helps with the everyone living in a suspension of reality during these few February days.

To finally address the picture above, I decided a list of 'Carnaval in Oeteldonk' rules (as I experienced them) is appropriate:

You must wear a costume. There are several major categories to choose from:

Animal, vegetable or mineral (or cake) - several shops in Den Bosch sell full-body, one-size-fits-all coverings made of various synthetics. Katie was een kat (a cat) while I was een hond (a poochie). Some of our friends dressed as a mouse, cow and penguin. I saw everything else from human cigarettes to refrigerators to a pack of sheep. These costumes were both simple and effective. And made us feel like dancing all the time. And were a smart pick for warmth as we trolled the streets in the still-cold Dutch winter.
Vintage America, circa 1950s-1970s - Elvis is still alive in Holland; I spotted him and his pompadour-and-gold sunglasses-sporting disciples of all shapes and sizes at almost every turn. There were additionally afropuff wigs all over the place, pinup wannabes and hordes of fake fluorescent wigs. Viva la disco!
Patch Adamses - I'll draw your attention back to the photo. On the left-hand side is a man in a blue blazer wearing a scarf with the official Carnaval colors red, yellow and white. Scads of people had (and still have) on some variation of this theme. The patches all represent certain bars or events with unique Oeteldank logos. Many jackets are riddled with them, as well as little stuffed frogs. The frog is another major Oeteldonk symbol, so pervasive it looks like there is a plague.

You must make noise. One popular method is to play an instrument in a bad. I'm sorry - meant to say band. There are probably dozens of groups (comprised of the Patch Adamses) ranging in size from a handful to multiple ranks that troll around the city. Made up of trumpets, euphoniums, trombones, saxophones, sousaphones and various batteries of percussion, these units make their way from bar to bar spreading good cheer and terrible renditions of American pop classics and traditional Oeteldonk songs.

Every bar would also play these songs on loop, with the occasional "Sweet Caroline" or "Dancing Queen" thrown into the mix. They were another major contribution to the noise rule. It was hard not to feel like you already knew the words to these repetitive yet catchy party anthems. I can only think to describe them as some kind of strange offspring of polka, klezmer, and the standard march. At some point years ago the Carnaval Prince must have recorded all these himself because the same dark and somewhat creepy baritone features in most of the tracks.

Two words: Kerrie Saus. This tangy curry has just a hint of BBQ and is on pretty much everything from frites (fries) to wurst (sausage) to hamburgers to balls of hot dough (ex. "oliebollen"). I could probably drink it straight from the bottle. The delicious condiment has been flowing nonstop this weekend, primarily from the numerous street vendors conveniently located in streets and squares across from the pubs. Friday night we had a dinner plate-size tray of frites with kerrie, fritesaus (effectively mayo) and diced onions. The Dutch call this "frites special." Saturday night we actually strayed from the kerrie and feasted upon a pair of "doner" wraps with lamb and yogurt saus. Sunday we ventured back with a footlong "currywurst" inside a mini baguette paired with a paper cone full of frites with fritesaus. These were offerings from giant mobile food rigs (a la county fair) set up next to some massive beer tents (a la the circus) all contained in a cobblestone square directly adjacent to one of Den Bosch's main cathedral. Hot food, cold weather, lots of costumed drunk people and their families. Glorious.
You must also endeavor to cram into as many crowded bars as possible. Beginning late Friday afternoon most pubs in the city (there are many, and most are long, single rooms) are packed with revelers. Literally. We've been to several on each of the nights so far and they pretty much follow the same formula. You wait in line for a handful of people to come out of the bar before being admitted. Once inside you're confronted with a wall of drunk humanity. Moving to the bar or across the floor to meet friends requires you to become very friendly with your fellow Dutchmen. Fortunately it is cold out so despite being face to face with dozens of disguised lowlanders things never get too hot for comfort.

You do not have to drink alcohol, though its inhibition-lowing effects do make most situations in the pubs and streets like I just described much more palpable. Cheap beer is the lifeblood of this holiday it was pretty much flooding the streets (Heineken is based in Holland and has a major operations center in Den Bosch) in the hands of young and old. Interestingly I did not see the effects of binge drinking I've become accustomed to in the US. People have been drunk, loud and overly celebratory for the better part of the last 96 hours but hardly have I seen any violence, vomit or other substance abuse-induced indecency. Sure, remnants of massive public partying are littered all over the streets, but that seems to be the worst of the damage.

I know I could not in mere words and stolen photos capture the entire essence of Carnaval in Oeteldonk. But you get the gist. What I still find most striking about this festival is that every segment of the population is included. I've seen representatives from every living generation, each face-painted, costumed, and holding a bier. Everyone is included and everyone is out to enjoy themselves. There is no distinct message besides having a good time. With frogs. There is no bigger agenda. Besides frogs. It is a simple holiday, really. Frogs.

Hertog-podge

2010-02-12T07:49:00.000-08:00

A couple of things:

I am undertaking a quest to find the closest Dutch equivalent to Kraft "Blue Box" macaroni and cheese.
I am also undertaking a quest to find and photograph the sister vehicle of my 1980 BMW 320i that I spotted on the last trip here. I spent several minutes photographing for familial posterity, only to later realize I had no memory card. She will be mine again, oh yes, she will be mine again.
Tonight is the beginning of CARNAVAL, an epic festival of costumes, booze and frogs that is similar to Mardi Gras. Much more to come on the local specifics of this phenomenon in the near future.

Finally Underway!

2010-02-12T05:16:00.000-08:00

After several months of planning, preliminary visits, a perilous caravan with my mom from Chicago to Virginia and finally, a blizzard-beating sequence of flights, trains and taxis, I have arrived in De Nederland!

To give this statement and blog context: I am an American expat that came upon the unique opportunity to retain legal residence in the Netherlands. My also expat girlfriend works for a US company with a base of operations in the Dutch city of 's-Hertogenbosch, or just Den Bosch. They allow her residence, she sponsors me and...Voila! I get to stay too!

My goal in this space is simply to comment on everything that I have the chance to see, do, eat, drink, hear, read and experience while living on this side of the pond. This will not be any kind of objective study of the exotic; I won't point a finger and say, "Oh! Look how different it is here!" Rather, I just want to tell an annotated story of our little adventure.

If you find yourself reading and have a question or comment I would absolutely appreciate hearing from you.