12 Hours in North Holland

Before I post about the brief visit, I am aware of the distinction between Holland and the Netherlands thanks to YouTube :-)

According to the almanacs, it was the coldest March that Europe has had in close to a century.  Leave it to chance that our travel plans coincided with such an historic moment.  Regardless of the bitingly wet and cold wind, we tried to see glimpses of the Dutch countryside.  Amsterdam was an option in our plans, but having visited the quaint city recently and separately, we decided to go for the countryside, where the idyllic Dutch life may be witnessed.  Tough luck, however, as most Dutch people were indoors.

En route to Marken we ignored the GPS and travelled right next to a dyke.  It was incredibly windy and bleak.  But it was amazing to see the quaint towns and houses situated so close to a menace that is the body of water, only tempered by earth only a few metres away.  

Only people about were other tourists that came by bus.  And the warmest place in town was this clog making factory that sold all sorts of souvenirs and Dutch kitch paraphernalia such as miniature windmills.  

Then we ventured to Volendam where there is supposedly a bustling seaside town with its shops.  Traditional costumes were to be tried on for photographs.  No such luck.  Cold day but we managed to find a restaurant and had fish and chips (which is one of two suspects for a future travel nightmare - more on that later).  Bought stroopwafels and dashed to the rented car.  A bike ride was planned for this town but due to chicken-shitness, we opted for warmth.

Here are other sights and towns visited during our short stint in the Netherlands.

Town of Edam (like the cheese); opted out of a cheese farm tour due to aforementioned chicken-shitness brought on by weather.  Maybe next time.

Zaanse Schans with its museum-preserved windmills.  And they were working that day!  Notice ripples on the water, courtesy of the wind.

Haarlem, capital of North Holland and visited Frans Hals museum.  Portraiture. Not sure if today's artists know that photographs are the new paintings.

I wish Holland was more springlike in weather but perhaps it will be on another visit.  Regardless of the less than ideal wind conditions, this mini tour was a good warm up for the rest of the holiday.  

Oh La La

After having conjured up reasons and excuses for avoiding to make decisions about where to go after a visit of Istanbul, a large piece of the puzzle has been decided today.  It brings me back to this most glorious city in the springtime and several days roaming of through this valley of the kings. This decision, though difficult as it was to make, brings enormous smile on my face.

What a fantastic way to start 2013!

P.S. As I had proclaimed 6 years ago for missing the hours of operation of the catacombs, my "I shall return" promise will soon be realized.  

Wanderlust II

The inventor of cameras has to be proud not only for creating artifacts of momentous events but also for inciting sentiments associated with those moments.  As I was scanning through my mounds of digital albums as I had a) recently upgraded mobile devices, thereby requiring the need to update such technology; and b) being a budding shutterbug, I am always with my camera and with it, many photo files.  And I have become a photo-phile.  I have a difficult time deleting these frozen glimpses of time, a captured smile, a smirk, a blink, a flare.  But as I rifle through this ever growing pile I am somewhat struck with those sentiments that those inventors serendipitously, probably, invented. I have a sense of nostalgia for the places I have been, for the life that once was (i.e. youth - five years is a tremendous leap in maturation) and a strange feeling of homesickness - yes.  I know that these places of travel are not my home.  I am neither that cosmopolitan nor worldly, but I do feel this longing to go back or to keep going.  Both are not diametrically opposed as going back is to keep going, to keep traveling.

Puppy's Breath

I woke up early on Sunday morning, not for excitement of church, but for yet another day of freedom, after aforementioned church, of course.  Breakfast is usually served late on Sundays so I wandered to my friend's house and found that he and I shared the same circadian rhythm.  We strolled a few more houses west and found some sort of commotion.  This would be out of the ordinary for any given time, but given that it is a day of rest, this was extraordinary.  In the middle of this chaos were these 4-legged fur balls, otherwise known as puppies, loud, rambunctious, and precious. Curiousity brought us closer to the madness, only to find ourselves in the midst of the chaos, and to chased by these cuteness.

It felt exhilarating to feel the breath of a puppy on my heels.  I was wearing flip flops that morning; it was an early summer morning and the alternating slapping sounds of my sandals were audible and increasing in pace.  Soon the sound would form only one long slap with no pause to denote left foot from right foot.  I was fast.  Excitement turned to worry as I realized one possible outcome.  What if I'm not as fast?  In retrospect, it is surprising that I have not developed a phobia from this Sunday morning experience.  It is even more incredible to think that I outran my chaser as I made a quick turn around the back of a parked car.  A parked car on someone's lawn.  In this frenetic chase, I had lost track of my friend.  I didn't know how far I had ran.  This was no longer my neighbourhood.  As I squat closer to the grass to scope out my hunter, I felt a squish of warm blob on my knee.  It was a summer morning and I was wearing shorts.  The minutest drop of dew would have registered high on my skin that morning.  I was hypersensitive.  A foul stench suddenly evaporated to my senses as my current crouched position has brought the source closer to my sensor.  In my cautious state, I failed to look down.  The dogs, after all my efforts, won.  

That Sunday morning, I did not eat my scrambled eggs for breakfast.  It was a beautiful summer morning memory and I must have been 7.  

No Fool Here

I recently endeavoured to read World Without End by Ken Follett.  After having read massively popular and under-edited epic that was Pillars of the Earth, I thought it was worth a shot.  After all, I had enjoyed reading the saga and watching the adaptation of themes of good vs evil, the church vs the people, the kingdom vs the people, the etc.  I thought it was going to be somewhat different from the first novel in that it is not necessarily a sequel of the same characters...

Alas, it was just mildly different. Although it is only centuries later and the characters being the descendants of the first characters, it was aggravating to read the same plot and same themes as the first.  After having wasted my time reading half of this book, I decidedly threw the book away, digitally speaking.  Spoiler alert: good people, while doe-eyed will triumph over conniving, greedy, and power-hungry characters.  Eventually.  Not before experiencing pain and humiliation and devastation and suffering, etc.  Turn the other cheek.  Play the victim.  Oh, well. It is the will of God.  It does not give me pleasure to read what seemed to be incredibly and solidly smart characters to be so oblivious to the dark motives that surround them.  In the end, what I am surmise from this is that good will always prevail but it is wrongly based on the presumption that good is not smart or wise.  Follett underestimates one of his readers.  Good can be wise and can learn.

In case I haven't been clear: I hated this book.

Massive Sense of Survival

I haven't been on here for a while for a variety of reasons - but mainly it's because of time.  My sense of timing, more precisely, has been poor.  I have not been indulging in my naps as much, I have not been to the gym in many lunar cycles, and I have not seen my old self in a long time.  The fact is, this is now the new me.  I have grown increasingly busy over the past several months - thanks to my own doing.  I have enrolled in graduate studies, I have a new added role at work - to which I applied for, and I balance this by maintaining somewhat of a rigid schedule.  Sometimes I feel so confined in my boxed time allotments that I can do nothing but watch myself waste those times away.  It's a weird feeling - watching myself.  It is as though I have transcended my physical reality and have levitated above my motionless body and thoughtless mind, and would watch myself pitifully, scratching, supposedly doing something meaningful or obligatory. My friends have been understanding.  I have probably turned them down more than I would care to count.  The fact that they keep inviting me and encouraging me is a testament of their support, or their stubbornness.  Regardless of which case it is, I benefit from it.

I am here, right now, when it is supposed to be my pumpkin time.  Right now, I am watching myself, type, think.  I suppose it is better than watching a robotic or even catatonic version of me.  For the first time, in about a year, I managed to finish a book.  Let me clarify that.  I managed finish an audiobook.  And for the first time in many moons, I have cried.  It profoundly shook me that I could not and would not allow my Type A self to revert to my regularly scheduled programming for the evening.  For tonight, it felt like I needed to feel.  Hence, I am here.  I have not felt like this in a long time.  To be honest, I have not felt in a long time.  Although I am confident that I will go back to my rigid schedule of doing research and writing papers and marking papers and planning lessons, I plan to also throw in there a bit of crying time.  Some laughing time.  With friends. And try to be a bit more human, and a lot less of an automaton.

My hope is a sign.

Pathetic

I am giving myself a timeline of 2 years to get one of these.  It's like the carrot at the end of my academic stick.  Every night after finishing some philosophical read or write, I navigate over to the realm of internet transactions called Kijiji.  And I desperately search for one of these - and then I melt with warmth because I am awesome.

I have also learned from those that came before me that it is important to keep one's interest piqued periodically.  So I have multiple carrots spread out over the next 24 months.  This week: camping.  Next weekend: Vancouver.  In eight months: Gobble Gobble.  :)

RIP, Ben Matlock.

Andy Griffith's character, Ben Matlock, holds a special place in my heart.  My mom and I used to watch him in his grey suit, act all lawyer-y and be charmed by his wit and by his supposed innocence.  We bonded through Matlock.

There was something charming, caring, and wise about him - something grandfather like, some part of him that I wanted to be. We also used to watch him because, you see, back-in-the-day, our English wasn't as sharp.  It still isn't.  I still dream in different tongues.  Thank you, Ben, for giving us a reason to stay up late at night. Rest in peace.

8-10: Vertigo in Vienna

The last leg of our trip was in Vienna. To get there, we took a very posh Schlafwagen, or a sleeper car. The accommodations come in various configurations.  Ours was in the form of three bunk beds, complete with a sink, a closet, and our own private steward.  Posh, I know.  See swag (chocolates, champagne, etc) also for proof.

Our bunk bed on wheels

Stuff We All Got

View from the 3rd bunk.  

Who's scared of heights?  The person sleeping on the 3rd bunk, obviously

It felt weird falling asleep horizontally on a moving train.  Being rocked by the twisting motion of the train through the Alps was something extra special - so special that it left us with motion sickness the following day.  Pretend standing upright.  I say "pretend" because as soon as we tried to do that, we all leaned to a side like the Tower in Pisa. Weird sensation.  A bit of vertigo.

Vienna was not supposed to happen but mom insisted on visiting another country.  Frankly, I would have just enjoyed staying in Italy some more.  To say that it is different in feel from Italy would be an understatement. Perhaps its distance from the equator that made it less..., I don't know what adjective to use.  Less dynamic?  More reserved?  Classier? Whatever it was, it felt more like home. Something not so foreign.  Save the language, navigating around was a cinch.

If Strauss and Mozart could see this town now...

Vienna has its own flair, however.  This is not to minimize its character.  If Rome had Romans in gladiator outfits roaming the streets, selling Gladiator type of attraction to tourists, Vienna had Viennese in justaucorps and powdered wigs, selling classy opera, ballet, symphony tickets to tourists.  For people who appreciate those kinds of art, Vienna would be a blast.  We decided to purchase a show (ballet, opera, symphony hybrid) at the Schönbrunn Palace (kind of like their royalty's Versailles).  When in Rome, eh.  Or Vienna, I suppose. At first, the novelty of the show was refreshing.  Then it all started to sound the same. Then I felt really hot.  I had to excuse myself from my seat so I can sit closer to the exit.

Stefansdom

The Danube River

My memory of this city is not as crisp as the other ones for two reasons; firstly, I've delayed blogging about it for so long that I need to play the film reel in my head again.  Secondly, I was ill for the most part of this leg.  It was to be determined days after having visited a medicentre here in Canada that I had a strep infection...(more on this later)

The Gloriette in Schönbrunn Palace 

After visiting the Palace, I was in no shape to roam around Vienna. So to be fair, my assessment of it is rather tainted.  I would like to do it over.  Maybe soon. I stayed in our hotel for most of the two days we had remaining there.  I recall sweating profusely at night then getting the chills later.  This was to be the theme not only for the next two days but also how I was going to feel on the plane ride home.  I do recall, however, getting up during those two days, showering, and then deciding to go across the street for some soft ice cream.  It was not gelato.  It was some Austrian version of a gelato.  Regardless, it was a treat!  While I was bedridden, my parents naturally decided to roam around the city.  From their accounts, it is a glorious one at that.  :((( (The photos are from my camera - which only saw a day in Vienna)

Schönbrunn Palace, painted with a popular shade of yellow called Schönbrunn yellow

Fast forward to my flight home.  Being ill and having my parents on a different flight meant that I had to rely on good ole me to get this body back home.  I was supposed to catch an early flight in Frankfurt but since my outbound flight from Vienna was a tad late, it was going to be a tight layover.  Throw in the enormity of the Frankfurt airport (yeah, that was me, running in between terminals and swearing in German - apologies), my diseased body, and a random selection for a technology search, Frankfurt was brutal.  And need I remind myself that Frankfurt fucked us over on what would have been our first day.  I survived.  I got home.  I got antibiotics. I am fine now.

There was this moment on the plane though, in between shivers and sweats, that I recall talking to an elderly gentleman from Essen, Germany.  He was originally from Afghanistan but has been a citizen of Germany for many years and was on his way to visit his daughter and meet her kids (his grandkids) and her husband in Alberta for the first time.  It warmed my heart.  That could have been the contagion. But I like to think that it was the genuineness of his excitement that got me all smiling.  It was a rather nice part of my flight home, not only for the very reason that I got to practice my German, but because this man reminded me of my grandfather.  Not only did he sound like him, but he looked like him as well.  My grandfather passed away many years ago so this was particularly moving for me.  When I told this to my mom, she said I was probably hallucinating.  I know it happened.  It was a very nice moment on the plane.

And I hope I didn't make him sick.  Eeek.

N.B.
And in 9 months, I have something else that I'm really looking forward to.  And no, it's not a baby.

I'm a Mess

The thing about getting a new doctor is that you have to introduce yourself to him/her.  And it's not like you can easily lie about yourself.  There are physical evidence to show otherwise are, well, self-evident - if the intent was to fudge facts like how often one runs on the treadmill or how often one eats red meat.  The thing is I've been complacent.  And the thing about complacency is that it is comfortable.  It is easy to slip into it and hard to get out of.

But there is nothing glaring evidence of being such a mess to spark one's desire to wake up and smell the running shoes.  It's sweating time.