Edinburr-uh

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?

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

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

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

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.

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

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.