28th Birthday

Happy Birthday to me,
Happy Birthday to me,
Happy Birthday dear me,
Happy B…. Oh god, only two more years to 30.

Birthdays are strange. Everyone younger then you comments on how old you are but at the same time everyone older then you remark on your youth. As a result you are both young and old at the same time. Either way it means I am still too old to have Bobo the Clown at my birthday party. At least I can go out celebrating by having a few drinks with my friends and making a clown of myself.

Merry Christmas

I’ve managed to resist the urge to feel, shake, prod, probe and x-ray the presents under the tree so far but there is not much longer to wait now.

I hope you all have a great Christmas and New Year. Don't forget to be good for Santa.

Flying

This weekend I flew back to England to spend Christmas with my family. It’s a trip I’ve made quite a lot in the last few years. The flight between the two countries is so short that I suspect the airplane takes a run and jump towards England rather then actually flying through the sky.

This might also explain why the music from Back to the Future always pops into my head as the plane speeds down the run way like Marty McFly in the time traveling Delorean. However, I am fairly sure that a plane has to be going faster then 88mph to take off and there is little danger of it traveling through time when it does so. If it did a wide range of new holiday options would suddenly become available.

I have only experience bad turbulence once in all the years I have been flying (a fact that I am not too upset about). It was during a flight in the winter. The plane was constantly shaking and dropping a few meters. Every time it happened everything within the plane seemed to stay suspended in the air for a second before realizing they too should be affected by gravity (I believe this is called the Wily E. Coyote theory of course and affect).

A lot of people were starting to get worried, including myself. There were cries of panic, a near by child threw up; all that was missing was Scotty from Star Trek screaming, “She canna’ take much more captain!”

Things were looking very bad. Then I noticed something that almost made me laugh. At the front of the plane there was a group of English tourists returning from a weekend in Amsterdam. Every time the plane dropped in one of its stomach churning losses of control they threw their arms into the air and cheered as if they were riding a roller coaster. Suddenly the situation was no longer scary and a short while later we landed safely.

If comedy can make a situation like that seem alright then maybe airlines should think about having a trained comedian onboard and replacing the oxygen masks with Helium.

Hang Over

Today I am very very hung over. Last night was the office Christmas party and I am now suffering for my abuse of the free bar and my bright idea that I should order as many drinks as I could carry (at least three) on each visit.

However, not everything about a hang over is bad. Once you get past the pounding headache and the ill stomach there are some benefits to having a hang over.

I don’t have to be intelligent, fast or witty today. I can be as slow and dim witted as I want. I don’t have to expect anything from myself so I can freely walk around in a daze. This also means every achievement, no matter how small becomes an epic accomplishment. Even the act of rolling out of bed this morning takes on the same level of achievement as climbing Mount Everest. Being able to write this post with a hang over may even be equivalent to the greatest accomplishment of non-hung over man kind.

I'm going to crawl under my desk and hide now until the hurty pain goes away.

What Not to do in a Power Cut

Sometimes I think I have an unhealthy dependency on Technology. It could almost be called an addiction. It makes me wonder how I would survive if I found myself trapped on a deserted island with out working electronics.

I realized the level of my dependency on technology a few days ago when a power cut suddenly plunged everything into darkness while my flat mate and myself were watching TV. It did not take us long to work out that the power would be out for a while and we would have to make preparations.

Our first challenge was to find illumination. After lighting a few candles this problem was easily solved and at the same time gave the room a Charles Dickens like atmosphere.

The second challenge was to save the frozen food. We took the easy option and didn’t.

Challenge three was to find non-technology based entertainment to keep our selves amused until the power came back on. This was a problem for us.

However, we were in luck. The battery in my laptop still had power so we could use it to watch a DVD. I turned it on and we started the lengthy debate about which movie to watch. Selecting a film is not a straight forward choice. There are several considerations that have to be made. Do we want a mindless movie with scantily clad ladies and explosions? Do we want a movie that demands our attention with a plot that has to be followed? Is the porn on my laptop hidden well enough? Can I trick my flat mate into watching Ghostbusters for the millionth time? We spent sometime pondering these issues. In fact we spent so much time thinking about it that just as I was putting the DVD of choice into the laptop the battery suddenly died and we were right back where we had started. Turning it on at the start didn’t seem like such a bright idea any more.

However, there was another option and a few moments later we were crowded around my PSP (Play Station Portable) watching Serenity (I had suggested Ghostbusters) on its tiny 4.3inch screen. It was a sad act of desperation. We must have looked like a group of lost arctic explorers desperately clinging onto their last source of heat. A few scenes into the movie we both decided we need to get out more.

I think I know what I would be doing on that deserted island now. As everyone else tries to builds shelters, find food and treat the injured from the plane crash I would be working on a way to power my PSP with coconuts and debating with the islands monkeys what movie to watch.

Jogging

Red faced, gasping for breath and trying not to collapse after finally catching up with my flat mate during my first evening jog in a long time I was barely able to wheeze out the words:

“Dam… I can’t… even keep up… with a thirty-three… year old smoker… with a bad… back.”

Yes, I have decided it is time to get back in shape again. It might take a little while but it seemed like a good idea to start the New Years resolution early.

If you see a red faced ginger Englishman in a jogging outfit face down on a Dutch street as he tries to recover from lung collapse you will know it is me. Wish me luck.... then call an ambulance.

Meme: Ten Things I Will Never Do

I’ve tagged by Alan from Random Burblings to inform every one of 10 things I will 'never' do in my life time.

1) Enjoy an Adam Sandler Movie:
I have never found Adam Sandler funny and I never will. I am still scarred from the time I was forced to watch ‘Little Nicky.’ That movie stole time from my life that I want back. I look forward to the day when audiences can sue the makers of bad movies. I've got a long list ready.

2) Be a morning person:
I can never wake up in the mornings and I don’t like coffee. I just stumble around for a while like a zombie in search of the shower and pass out again on the train to work.

3) Think Paris Hilton is a talented person and a good role model for the youth of today:
I’m not even going to start on this subject. I’ll only get angry and burn down every store stocking copies of her album.

4) Remember my college summer ball:
Drinking student punch at a pre-ball party is not a good idea. They make it very strong. My only memory of the actual event is waking up in a hallway in the recovery position after my friends had put me there. I was up and about again in time for the last song.

5) Understand how to use a Mac:
I’ve tried. I really have but I can not work them out. PCs might not be perfect but neither are Macs. I also don’t like the way a Mac is more like a fashion statement then a computer or Apples patronizing and inaccurate representation of PC users. Can’t we all just get along? If a Mac user ever tries laughing at me because my PC is not cool I just make them cry by asking when they will be getting the latest games release.

6) Be able to dance with out having a few drinks first :
It’s not easy getting the ‘sober and embarrassed vs. drunk and stupid’ balance right but when it is achieved I can dance the night away with out feeling shy or falling down.

7) Approach a lists like this seriously:
It’s just not in my nature.

8) Work in food retail again:
For a lot of my college life I worked part time in Iceland (the frozen foods store and not the country). I hated every second of it.

If you do not believe the old truth that the worst thing about working in retail is the customers (followed quickly by the employer) then I have a story to tell you. An old man once approached me and asked where he could find our ice-cream. It was a rule that we had to show customers to the location of something rather then simply point out the direction. As I led the way I suddenly felt his hand brush across my ass. It was worrying but it seemed like it could have been an accident coursed by walking too close, an embarrassing but innocent mistake. Then it happened a second time and there was definite feeling. I started walking a lot fast in a panic, pointed out the ice-cream and kept on going. My pace got even quicker when I heard him ask if I would reach into the freezer and get him an ice-cream from the bottom. To hell with customer satisfaction.

9) Be able to think of a number 9 in the list of 10 things I will never do:
I’m drawing a blank… um… I’ll never have an army of robot zombie mice. There you go.

10) Spell dyslexic with out the aid of a spell checker:
Dyslexix, dyslxix, deslxic….. bugger.

(Tag: BlondButBright, Bonestorm, ChickyBabe and VallyP but only if you want to)

Boom Chicago

As someone who has worked in the theater industry I am used to running around unseen in the shadows backstage while actors perform before their public. However, I am not accustom to actually standing on stage in the presents of an entire audience who are waiting for me to say something funny, only equipped with a microphone to defend myself if things turn ugly.

I’ve been to the Boom Chicago Comedy Theatre in Amsterdam a few times but my first visit will always be the most memorable for me because it was when I found myself in the above situation. The show is a mix of improvisation and sketches and it was during one of the improvised scenes that I was called up on stage.

I was enjoying the performance with a friend (who was visiting from England). At first we didn’t really know what to think when one of the comedians asked the entire audience to stand and were only allowed to sit down again as he said things such as, “sit down if you have a tattoo,” or “sit down if you’ve had sex in the last 24 hours.”

Since I didn’t have a tattoo or a love life I remained standing. In fact I remained standing for quite a while as other people sat down. When there were only four of us left I realized two things: (1) I need a tattoo and/or a girlfriend and (2) something embarrassing was potentially about to happen.

It was not long before I found out because I was the last man standing and had to go on stage to help with the next improvised sketch. I was given the simple task of coming up with the title for a song but my mind went blank with embarrassment whenever the microphone was pointed towards me as if it was some kind of Kryptonite. Inspiration finally came to the rescue in the form of the logo on the T-shirt I was wearing but at the cost of turning me into a walking nerd stereotype in one simple sentence. “Atari is cool.”

I'm still not sure why I said it but when the title was rejected for being too short (artistic differences) I came up with a new suggestion and the smash hit, “Atari is really cool,” was born.

I thought I was off the hook as the comedian started to sing this moving tale of 80’s computer games but every few lines the song would suddenly stop and I had to provide the next line. The ballad told the epic tale of me on a heroic five hour Atari playing marathon, ignoring anything that stood in my way, end of level bosses, sore thumbs and a nagging girlfriend (who could have prevented me having to go on stage if she was not fictional). Suddenly I was a god amongst geeks and I had groupies.

Any heckling was quickly silenced with a shout of, “Shut up! This is Stuart and Stuart ROCKS!” from the singing comedian. There were chants of, “Stuart Rocks,” during the rest of the show (which led to other sketches about me).

A few weeks later I took my parents to see the show. When it came to the same part of the performance I was quickly off the hook when we were told to, “sit down if you have ever been on stage.” However, my mother was still standing. She remained standing for quite a while. In fact she was still standing when it was down to six people. At this point I started to worry but I was able to breathe a sigh of relief when she finally sat down (third to last). I was relieved for two reasons: (1) I did not have to be embarrassed while watching my Mother on stage and (2) she had sat down before the, “have you had sex in the last 24 hours,” question and no child should know that much about their parent’s sex life.

Cooking Disasters

I lived with my parents until I moved to Holland. This made moving out a double shock. Not only was I going out into the world by myself for the first time but I was also doing it in a completely different country. I had to learn to cook for myself (or choose from less appealing options such as McDonalds or starving) but at the time I could hardly even boil an egg.

My early cooking attempts met with varying levels of success, including giving myself food poisoning from under cooking chicken. Since then my need for a stomach pump has reduced as my kitchen skills have improved. However there is one simple food item that I have not yet been able to master. Many of my attempts have met with bitter failure both figuratively and literally. For some unknown reason I am unable to cook rice properly. The mysteries of this simple ingredient continue to elude me and something always goes wrong.

During my first attempt I discovered that rice expands as it boils. Unfortunately this revelation came when it was too late to do anything about the oozing volcano of rice that was slowly pouring out over the kitchen.

One of my more recent attempts was awarded the title of worst tasting rice ever. At the time this statement seemed like an unfair over reaction. How bad can rice possibly taste? When I sampled it for myself I found nothing wrong. In fact it was light, fluffy and all the other things that rice should be. At least it was for the first few seconds before the hidden after taste kicked in. Suddenly it tasted as if a sickly rat with bad breath had decided to end its life by jumping into the boiling pot of rice when I had not been looking. Luckily it was only because I had accidentally let all the water boil away.

Rice is my kitchen nemesis and the source of much amusement for my friends (as long as they don’t have to eat it). The sound of rice boiling in water might as well be the sound of mocking laughter.

However, there can only be so many ways to get rice wrong. One day I will get it right even if I have to burn the kitchen down doing so. Then I’ll eventually be able to move onto the next challenge, boiling an egg.

Considering

Mum: "Have you got any plans for the 19th? Your Dad is trying to arrange something."

Me: "No, nothing at the moment. Why? What is he organizing?"

Mum: "I’m sworn to secrecy but we’re going to book tickets and it should give you another funny story for your blog."

Me: "Considering that most of my funny blog entries involve me getting trapped in lifts, breaking bones or some other kind of physical injury, should I worry about what you have planned?"

Sinterklaas and Zwarte Pieten

Imagine that you have been living in Holland for half a year. You are still unfamiliar with most of the countries customs and quarks. You are walking down the local high street one chilly but pleasant afternoon in late November. It is an ordinary day like any other. Suddenly you hear some kind of commotion up ahead. Imagine your surprise when you suddenly see coming into view a parade of men and women dressed in what looks like Renaissance jester out fits. You would find it a little strange wouldn't you. However, my description does not end their. Visualize that they are all white but have covered their faces in black shoe polish, painted their lips bright red and donned large fake afros upon their heads. If you do not find that extremely strange then you might be perplexed by the group of children cheering and singing as they pass.

If you can imagine this scene then you might understand my introduction to the Dutch custom of Sinterklaas. This is exactly how I experienced it for the first time. I did not know it but I had just witnessed a parade of Zwarte Pieten (Black Piets). At first I thought I had found myself in the middle of an Al Jolson appreciation ceremony or something much more sinister.

The Zwarte Pieten are the helpers of Sinterklaas who arrived in Holland again this weekend and should not be mistaken for Santa Claus. As every Dutch person will inform you they might both be old men with white beards who dress in red and give out presents to good children but they are nothing alike.

To avoid confusion I have put together a quick reference of the key differences:

1) Santa Claus delivers presents on December 24th but Sinterklass arrives in Holland during November, does some sight seeing, delivers presents on the 5th of December and returns home in time to enjoy a quiet Christmas.

2) Santa Claus rides on a sledge pulled by 12 over worked reindeer but Sinterklaas rides a white horse and saves money on animal feed.

3) Santa Claus comes from the North Pole but Sinterklaas comes from Spain (by boat) and saves money on his yearly heating bill.

4) Santa Claus puts presents for children under a Christmas tree but Sinterklaas puts presents in children’s shoes regardless if they are smelly.

5) Santa Claus gives a lump of coal to children who have been naughty so that they might learn from their mistakes. Sinterklass on the other hand has a zero tolerance policy and orders Zwarte Pieten to throw naughty children into a sack and drags them back to Spain while beating them with twigs.

6) Santa Claus has an elf equal opportunities program which has helped keep the fairytale creature unemployment rate down. However, Sinterklaas employs a 1920s racist stereotype which most other countries have not dared to mention since the 50s apart from in movies about racism (but it's not intended to be offensive).

Undercover Englishman

After five years of living in Holland I have come to a conclusion that has not been easy to accept. I have been trying to ignore this revelation for some time but I must finally accept it. I would be a terrible spy. The child in me has taken this as a heavy blow. During my day to day life in Holland I regularly find myself in situations that would result in my cover being blown if I was an undercover spy.

It can happen in a supermarket queue, on a train platform or any other place where random people gather together in close proximity. It might begin with an observation about the weather, a comment about something amusing or any random topic that can spark a conversation between strangers. All that matters is as soon as someone says something to me in Dutch that I do not understand I only have a moment to decide; Apologize and tell them I don’t understand or react as if I did understand (and hide my identity as an Englishman).

Being honest usually results in a look of sympathy with out the comment being repeated in English so I often try to hide my lack of linguistic skills with a smile and a nod. It’s a simple plan designed to avoid the awkward moment but it usually back fires.

The fake response is sometimes so convincing that it starts an actual conversation. Although it is sometimes possible to continue this sham for a short while ‘something’ usually happens that brings the whole charade crashing down to the ground.

Even if it’s impossible to understand what they are saying the rising inflexion at the end of their sentence is unmistakable. They just asked a question, a question that demands an answer, a question that can’t be answer with frantic nodding and smiling unless I want to appear very simple and slightly scary.

If I was living in a World War 2 Spy movie (in Germany) it would probably not be long before I was dragged away to a basement to spend sometime in the company of a man who has an unhealthy interest in dentistry. However, my Dutch language skills would not be a complete loss. If my interrogator asked if I ‘had a bonus card,’ or ‘wanted mayonnaise on my fries,’ as he was pulling teeth I would be able to reply convincingly and still hide my true identity as an Englishman.

Luckily this extreme example has not happened yet but my failed attempt at blending in does mean I course myself much more embarrassment then I would have. This is why I would be a terrible spy but maybe it also means the Dutch would make great interrogators.

Nieuw Nieuw Straat

English co-worker: "The bar is on new new street? There is actually a street called new new street? Cool."

American co-worker commenting to Dutch co-worker: "New New Street? Floris your people are dumb."

English co-worker: "And that's coming from an American."

Train Ticket Criminal

I am a criminal. I have broken the rules of our society and paid the price. People will judge me for the rest of my life. As I walk down the street I already feel their disapproving eyes on me and I hear their hushed whispers to each other.

“Look… there goes the guy who forgot to buy a new train ticket.”

My crime is forgetfulness. Anyone who travels on the train with a monthly pass knows it is all too easy to forget it needs renewing during the early morning half asleep walk to the train station.

I only realized my mistake when I heard the familiar call, “Kaartjes Alsjeblieft,” from the train conductor who had entered the carriage to check everyone’s tickets.

I am an honest person. I didn’t try to pass my ticket off as being in date. When she approached me I apologetically explained my mistake and felt rather stupid. From the look on her face that followed I instantly knew I was in trouble. She was looking at me like she had just caught a hardened criminal stealing charity money from a children’s hospital. Apparently I had also taken their teddy bears just to be extra mean and make them cry.

“You don’t have to tell me if you do not wish to but why did you not buy a ticket?” She asked me with a stern face. It didn’t have the same ring as “you have the right to remain silent” but she said it as if trying to achieve the same level of seriousness and authority. Obviously no one messed with the train service when she was on patrol.

Over the course of the ‘telling off’ she asked me the same question several times. It was as if she was looking for a hole in my story, waiting for me to make one slip that would bring my whole web of lies (as she believed) crashing to the ground.

“I didn’t realize it had run out at the start of the week.” I told her truthfully. “I forgot to…”

“The start of the week?” She interrupted through clenched teeth. “You’ve been traveling with out a ticket for more then one day?”

She made a move that suggested she would have reached for a can of mace if she had one. From the way she talked I was half expecting to end up face down on the floor as she forcefully handcuffed my hands behind my back.

Suddenly the train carriage began to feel like a police interrogation room. I thought about asking for a lawyer or turn snitch and give up the names of other people with out tickets. There was no way I was becoming someone’s bitch in the slammer. Luckily I only had to pay a fine and I could put the plans for my prison break on hold.

I can live with the fact that I had to pay a fine for forgetting my ticket (even though I would have rather kept my money obviously); it might help me to remember next time. However I did not like the smug way the train conductor acted during the whole event. I was obviously a liar and a thief in her eyes. I got the impression she had failed the police force entrance exam and was taking it out on me.

The moral of the story: Never equip train conductors with firearms. Innocent people will die if they have had a bad day.

Trick or Treat

Halloween is upon us once more and the undead walk the earth looking for candy. As a horror movie fan I always enjoyed this time of year and the basic special effects make-up techniques I was taught at college come in handy when creating costumes for Halloween parties. However, they also resulted in a few awkward moments as I traveled to my first Halloween party in Holland.

I had decided to go to the party as a zombie and spent an hour in front of the mirror molding morticians wax and latex into mutilated burnt flesh on the right side of my face (a little extreme I know). With the addition of fake blood and a dirty boiler suit I almost looked like a bootleg version of Freddy Kruger. Close enough in appearance to be mistaken for the well known movie villain but different enough to avoid copy right infringement. I could have been Fred Crewger, the killer from A Nightmare on Elton Street.

Since I knew it would take a while to get ready I decided to prepare at home and travel on the train to the party. It was not until later that I found out how much of a mistake this was. I thought people in their costumes traveling to parties would be a common sight but it turned out I was wrong. Halloween is not a very well known holiday in Holland (until recently). This is especially true amongst the older generation who must have been more then a little surprised to see a zombie buying alcohol at the local super market for a party. I probably looked like an off duty horror movie killer taking a break from murdering lost teenagers in the woods.

As I browsed the shelves for booze I heard a small scream and turned to see one of the regular checkout girls running towards me with a look of horror and concern on her face. She franticly asked me what had happened as I tried to calm her down and explain it was not real. I could have used the opportunity to ask for compensation money for extreme freezer burn from the frozen foods section.

The look on her face was similar to what I saw later on the faces of my fellow train passengers during the two hour journey to Rotterdam. However, they expressed a lot more horror and a lot less concern (unless you count concern for their own safety). As each of them boarded the train they would look at my face with worry before looking at my hands, going wide eyed and moving very quickly to another part of the train. In retrospect covering my hands with fake blood might have been a bad idea as well.

I wanted to explain to all of them that I was going to a party but at the same time I did not want them to run off screaming before I had time to elaborate that I meant a Halloween party and not some kind of serial killer reunion party. I decided to sit quietly and avoid eye contact which probably made me look like a very shy serial killer.

Eventually I arrived at the party and was no longer out of place amongst the vampires, zombies, witches and other party goers. Everyone was very surprised that I had traveled so far in my costume. It made an amusing story during the consumption of alcohol.

The next morning I discovered that pulling latex off the face is even less pleasant with a hang over and fake blood dyes skin orange. I only got a few strange looks on my return journey due to the orange rash like marks covering my hands and face. Luckily there was nothing in the newspapers about a shy serial killer timidly stalking people on the train to Rotterdam.

Next time I think I’ll go as a ghost under a sheet.

Drunken Train Fiasco

Post Drunk Check List:

Hangover: Unfortunately
Bones: Intact
Location: Home, thank god
Dignity: Warning! Major damage to the load bearing structures!

I’ve been less accident prone lately. In general this is a good thing for me but it also means I have less silly accident prone stories to write about. I was probably tempting fate when I stated this to a co-worker on Friday night during a company outing to a local pub. We were all quite drunk and I’d already been asked to re-tell the broken ankle story again twice. I should have realized that was another sign that something would happen.

However, everything was fine while I was at the pub (even though I drank more then I intended to). There were no problems during my stumble to the station and the train departed with out incident. Unfortunately I was not on it because I was on a different train bound for another destination. This only dawned on my drunk brain when I realized the train journey was taking longer then normal. My suspicion was confirmed when I slurred out a question to a fellow passenger.

At the time I thought I must have been on the fast train to Hilversum. I know people in Hilversum so (although it would have been embarrassing) I could have gone over to their place if there were no more trains running. Unfortunately Hilversum came and went with out a stop. My train station of salvation passed by in a blur of speed and I realized I had no idea where I was going. Another slurred question and I was informed that the train was going to Utrecht. Utrecht is quite far from where I live which is why I then proceeded to pace up and down and look quite worried.

When I arrived at Utrecht it was obvious that I would not be getting home via a train. There were no more until five in the morning. The station was deserted apart from another worried looking individual who seemed to be in the same situation. The only place that was open was the nearby Burger King.

For a little while I stumbled around the station wondering what to do next. Given my past track record I did not want to temped fate any more by trying to find an alternative method of getting home and sleeping in a 24 hour fast food restaurant was not an experience I wanted to repeat. So I did the only other thing I could do. I phoned my flat mate and asked him to pick me up in his car. I felt like an drunk idiot teenager who had just been forced to call his dad to bail him out of a tricky situation. Luckily he did not mind helping me out. The only damage done was to my dignity but it did make me wonder what might have happened if my flat mate did not have a car.

In the future I’ll be paying much more attention to train signs.

Need Sleep

I am not a morning person. I never have been and I probably never will be. I usually stumble out of bed looking like an extra from a zombie movie as I search for the shower (instead of brains). This would not be so much of a problem if it was not for the other thing I have never been; a coffee person. Because of this my main method of communication during the first few hours of the day is a mix of grunting and yawning, usually in reply to conversations that I am not awake enough to understand in the first place.

I have not helped matters recently by ignoring the suggested cure for tiredness, sleep. Over the last few nights (few meaning weeks) I’ve tried to maximize my waking hours (waking meaning computer gaming) by staying awake longer into the early hours of the morning. However, this has backfired on me and it is now harder to stay awake during the traditional time for being conscious, the day. Even as I type this I am finding it hard to control my yawning and resist the pillow like invitingness of my keyboard. In fact, am I typing this or only dreaming of typing?

I have diagnosed the symptom of my stubbiness when it comes to bed time as Bachelor-itus or (as it is better known by its more common name) Single-male-itus. Insomnia fueled computer game playing is not the only side effect of this condition.

Other known symptoms include:

• A growing cultivation of beer in the fridge
• An increase in the kitchen curry paste count
• An out brake of the interior design method known as ‘guy’s place’
• The inability to be in a room with out a computer or games console without feeling weak

(At this point in typing I had to stop and take a nap)

For a long time a girl-friend or wife was believed to be the cure for this condition but recent research has uncovered that this only treats some of the symptoms and not the course. This condition can still be controlled but if it goes un-checked it can develop into the rather more serous Mid-life-crises-itus. If this should occur the surgeon general strongly advises against the use of so called ‘alternative treatment’ such as buying a sports car or motorbike.

I have a long way to go before I reach this stage but I still need to sort out my slumber pattern before the sleep deprivation hallucinations start to set in or my blog entries become a collection of random letters as I pass out on the keyboard. If only I could use the computer while sleeping.

Anyone want to read me a bed time story?

Dutch Reality Game Shows

Holland could be considered the birth place of the reality game show (despite being one itself). Many of the reality shows now airing on TVs around the world originated from the country. Big Brother, Fear Factor, and that show about that woman’s search for a sperm donor all came from the land of windmills and tulips.

Calling them reality shows seems like a bit of a stretch since neither the producers nor contestants appear to have a grip on the shows genre, reality.

The following are actual shows on TV in Holland. I promise I have not made them up:

The Golden Cage
It might sound like a strip club in the red light district but it is in fact the new incarnation of Big Brother. Contestants spend a minimum of a year in a Villa worth 2 million Euros (which is also the prize) but there is no voting off. The show goes on indefinitely until all but one person has left voluntarily. All participants can do is wait for opponents to get home sick or annoy them until they leave. The show is probably only a few seasons away from the ‘beat your opponents to death to win the prize’ rule with product placement weapon sponsorship.

Undercover Love
One member of a couple has to pose as singles as they take part in different challenges designed to test how far they are will go to keep their (soon to be over) relationship secret. All this is done while their partner watches via TV. The person who manages to keep their relationship secret wins the prize money which will probably come in handy for any divorce settlements or re-pair costs when their former partner slashes their car tires (or worse).

Weet Wat Je Date
A group of four singles stand behind a glass barrier in their underwear while a contestant picks out which one they would like to date before they know anything about them. All the producers need to do is put a red filter over the studio lighting and they have a televised version of Amsterdam’s famous red light district.

Fear Factor
I’m just waiting for the season that makes The Running Man seem less fictional as contestants are hunted down by a fat man on a motorcycle waving a chainsaw about.

For The Hord

I have a confession to make. I have not been honest about who I am. I have hidden my true identity in a web of lies and secrets. The Stuart you might think you know is a work of fiction. I am really Sneed, mighty troll shaman, defender of Azeroth and champion of the Hord.

I have faced mighty foes such as Darkmaster Gandling, Hakah the Blood God and the bunny that decimated my vegetable patch last week. I am skilled in the arts of the sacred totems, the wielding of a staff weapon and touching my nose with the tip of my tongue. I fear nothing (accept the dark, the sight of blood, the alliance, thunder and the bunny that decimated my vegetable patch last week).

Not really but the rainy weekend gave me the perfect excuse to start playing World of Warcraft again, something that I had not done for a few months. When I logged on it was also raining in the virtual world of the game which seemed ironic and maybe defeated the purpose of staying indoors to avoid rain. However, where in Amsterdam would I be able to go questing before I found myself confined to a tiny jail cell and charged for running around the city with a big stick and screaming, “For the Hord”, as I ambushed tourists. It would not be long before I was then transferred to a mental asylum for claiming, “The goblin told me to do it,” as my defence. There are some activities which are best confined to the boundaries of a fantasy virtual world.

Playing a massively multiplayer online game can be a strange experience. Sometimes it is easy to forget that a player’s character is not an accurate representation of the player them self (they are not really Elves or Orcs). The reason some players might seem to have the maturity of a 12 year old is because they actually are 12 years old and most of the female characters in the game are probably male players who either go along with the flirting as a way to get free in-game items or because they are a little bit creepy.

During the summer I managed to go with out playing the game for a while but like most addictions I only thought I was over the habit. After just a few hours of playing I found myself hooked again, happily hunting through the land of Azeroth for quest items and evil monsters to slay (or run away from). I even managed to get one of my old characters up to level 60 (the highest level in the game).

I’ll probably be addicted to the game for a few more months (before I’m arrested in Amsterdam for confusing fantasy and reality) so if you see a cowardly troll named Sneed or a clumsy tauren called Oakhammer running around on the European Scarshield Legion server fell free to say hello. If I’m not running for my life from some scary angry creature I’ll stop to reply.

Rebuilding Amsterdam

Amsterdam seems to be in a state of constant renovation and re-building. Ever since I arrived in the city something, somewhere has been under going reconstruction (BlondeButBright has commented on this too). The big projects at the moment are the addition of a new metro line and the re-building of Amsterdam Central Train Station (or Amsterdam Central Building Site as I like to call it), an undertaking that will not be complete until 2011.

Mini building sites can pop up any where in the city with out warning like black holes. At the start of this week one such construction zone appeared right outside the office where I worked. The street is currently being pulled up in preparation for a re-construction of the canal side.

The water supply to our office has already been cut off due to a miss calculation with a pickaxe and the strength of a water pipe. As a result our H2O was spilling out over the street and into the near by canal for most of the day. By the end of the week we might have a full defensive moat or we’ll all be floating out into the harbour on our desks when the building falls into the canal. Dutch safety laws do not seem to be the strictest in the world (if they exist at all).

The mishap with the water has also created one of the many daring obstacles I now have to navigate in order to get to work. There are JCB diggers to dodge, raging rapids (that was once the office water supply) to avoid, mounds of sand to navigate, holes to side step and various other building site perils to brave. All that is missing is a tense but adventurous movie soundtrack, a giant rolling bolder and a few treasure hunting Nazis. However, Indiana Jones might shy away from this one and even Bob the Builder would give up.

Don’t Drink The Canal Water

Amsterdam is well known for its canals and although they are one of the cities main attractions they are well known for not being very clean. It’s not a desirable place to go for a quick swim even if you are diving for abandoned bikes. Drinking the water would most likely end up in the mutation of a third arm or eleventh toe. Given my accident prone nature it might be surprising to know that I have never fallen into a canal myself. However, I do know someone who has.

After leaving a house warming party late one night with a small group of friends we stumbled around the streets of Amsterdam looking for something to do while we waited for the trains started running again.

When a pile of bricks was discovered by a canal an impromptu game of ‘throw the brick in the water’ began. Despite the very simplistic rules I did not want to not take part. The first of the group picked up and threw his brick, almost reaching the other side of the canal. The second person grabbed a brick and did the same but his did not go as far. Then the drunkest person in the group decided it was his turn.

The drunken Scotsman picked up a brick, pulled back his arm and flung out as hard as he could in an awkward move that looked like it might dislocate his shoulder. The brick tumbled forward a few inches and landed just in front of his toes. However, he did not let the rather girly throw dull his determination and another brick was picked up for a second attempt. This time he decided a run up would give his projectile the acceleration it needed.

He took a few steps back, breathed in a deep breath, held the brick up high and ran towards the canal edge. Using the momentum of the run he extended his arm out into a powerful throw. He used all his strength to send the brick into the air. It looked like it could fly for miles. At least it might have if he had not forgotten one important thing. He forgot to let go.

The brick with the Scotsman still firmly attached flew a short distance before plunging into the brown water of the canal. There was panic all around but most of it was coming from the now soaking wet Scotsman who was trying to paddle back towards us. Baywatch might have made life guard duty seem glamorous but there is nothing sexy about fishing a drunk Scottish friend out of a murky Dutch canal at 3am on a Saturday night.

It only lasted a few seconds but as you can imagine he was very happy to be back on dry land again. He let us know this by screaming, “I’m alive,” every few minutes and sounding very surprised of the fact himself. Sadly the same could not be said of his mobile phone which was announced dead on arrival.

We dragged him back to a nearby friend’s house so he could dry off and shout out a few more times about his mortal status. This also gave the owner of the house (and the bathrobe the Scotsman had to borrow) a surprise when we turned up on the door step. The joke, “you look like you’ve been swimming in a canal,” didn’t really work at the time.

The next morning we were all very hung over but still amazed by what had happened. There was a lot of talk about what might have happened over breakfast as well as a few failed attempts to revive the drowned phone. Since that day I think the Scotsman has had a new respect for canals and to my knowledge he has never grown a third arm or eleventh toe, not yet at least.

Strange Dream

I’ve always been fascinated by dream logic. I think it’ one of the reasons why I like writers like Neil Gaimen. So it is interesting when I can remember my dreams with such detail like the one I had the other night.

The dream started in an old Wild West town. I was there with my father (who has a great interest in the Wild West in real life). We were trying to fit in so the locals would not realize we were outsiders. My father was blending in perfectly but I was in trouble. All my clothes were too modern so I had to hide in the house as I tried to search for something close to a cowboy outfit. The best I could find was a checker shirt and jeans.

Then the dream suddenly changed location as they often do. I was in a hospital which was in my parent’s house. Although I did not remember arriving there I knew the reason for my visitation was to find a solution to my problem of not blending in. I spent what felt like ages waiting in the corridor. Every now and then a slightly over weight hospital orderly would come over and apologize for keeping me waiting.

Then the dream changed location again and the corridor was a locomotive pulling into a large train station. Some how I knew I was on my way to see a hypnotist to help me with my problem even though I could no longer remember what the problem was. I had a feeling of suspicion about the whole situation.

I stepped out of the train onto the platform expecting someone to meet me but there was no one around and yet the platform was crowded with people at the same time. Someone called out my name and I looked around to see a smartly dressed train station conductor. His hat was pulled down low over his face so I could only see his mouth under the caps peak. He was obviously trying to hide his identity so I took his hat off and discovered it was the hospital orderly I had seen earlier. Suddenly I knew I was being set up for something bad. Even though I knew this I followed him to the lab but I phoned my Mother for advice as we walked. She agreed that the way they had contacted me was bad (although she said it with many more swear words then she ever would in real life) but suggested going along with the experiment anyway.

I was introduced to the doctor who would hypnotize me. He explained that I would be taking part in a month long experiment to help people improve them selves through hypnosis. They promised they would not wipe my mind but I was still a little suspicious. Then with out warning they suddenly put me under. I was in a trance but I was fighting it so I could hear what they were trying to do to me. I struggled to keep my eyes open as the hypnotist instructed me to paint more and express myself on canvas. It didn’t sound like such a bad instruction. There was a second instruction. I know there was but I can not remember what it was and shortly afterwards I woke up.

It was a dream I kept on thinking about during the day and imagining what the out come might have been. I wondered if the suspicious behavior had been a set up to get me into the right frame of mind and what I thought was the experiment was just a distraction from the real experiment. Maybe at the end Darren Brown would have appeared from behind a curtain.

I still can’t remember what the second instruction in the dream was but if I suddenly start barking like a dog or try to kill a famous celebrity after someone says a trigger word one day I’ll know it must have worked.

Zombies

Friday - 3:55am - 5 hours after the incident:
No one really knows how it started. All they can do is unimaginatively suggest scenarios from late night horror movies they have seen. "Maybe it’s a virus like in that movie based on that computer game," or, "It's a curse just like that movie starring Bruce Campbell," they say.

But the truth is it does not really matter how it started. We only have enough food to last three more days and the looks of mistrust have already started. It won't take long for that mistrust to turn into something much worse but that does not matter either. Our improvised barricade will fail long before that happens.

I don't know how bad the outside situation is. Maybe they have already spread across Holland or even the whole of Europe. Either way there is only one thing left that I can do. It's time to gather whatever weapons I can find, go outside and take down as many of the zombie scum with me as I can...

That or I could just turn off the games console and go to bed.

Friday - 3:55am - 5 hours past my bed time:
I might have spent a little too much time playing the zombie slaying game Dead Rising this weekend. On Friday night alone I was laying waist to the undead until 4am which left me feeling very tired and zombie like myself for most of the Saturday and Sunday. It also caused me to have some very strange zombie themed dreams. If I had carried on playing my sleep deprived brain might have blurred fantasy with reality, causing me to board up all of the windows and start shouting questions of, “Have you been bitten?!” at my house mate.

If there really was a zombie scenario in Amsterdam I don’t think anyone would realize for a while. For the first few hours it would simply seem like an influx of stoned tourists who have spent too much time in the local coffee shops. However, when the stoner’s ‘attack of the munchies’ takes on a scary new meaning panic would set in as the population realize what is happening.

At this point the government would put into effect an emergency plan to systematically destroy the bridges around the city. The spider web pattern of the canals would make it possible to isolate areas and at the very least slow down the infection. However if anything was to be the cause of a zombie invasion in Holland I bet it would be the canal water.

With the bridges destroyed the few survivors left would live on islands of what was once Amsterdam (who knows if the man trapped on the newly formed Red Light Island would be happy or not). Life for the non-Dutch survivors would not be easy. All the remaining food supplies would be covered in mayonnaise or pinda (peanut) sauce and Dutch music would be played to lift people’s spirits. At that point I think I would swim back across the canal and take my chances with the zombies if they have not already been scared away by the Dutch music as well.

So You Want To Move To Holland

A few people have asked me about the process of moving to Holland and what they might need to do with in the first few days of arriving. For this reason I am going to take a break from my usual style of writing and attempt explaining a few things which might be useful.

Most of the information I am going to give will be from personal experience so I would still suggest checking other sauces of information for more details. Most companies will also help new employees with moving to the country and give them information on the essential things they need to organize upon their arrival.

The Move:
It may not be necessary to bring everything with you when you move to Holland. There are a lot of stores in the country where you can buy everything that you might need for modern life. The question you have to ask yourself is will it cost more to transport all your belongings or buy new ones?

Stores like Hema and Blokker are good for essential kitchen, bathroom, cleaning and other house hold items. Media Markt is a place where you will find lots of electronic equipment you might need and there is no shortage of clothing stores either.

A lot of Dutch towns also have second-hand ('tweedehands') shops if you are looking for cheap furniture and other items.

Residence Permit:
If you are a non-EU citizen one of the first things you will need to do is apply for a Residence Permit so you can stay in the country. For EU citizens a passport is enough to allow them residency in the country. Although a Residence Permit is optional for EU citizens it can still prove useful as an extra form of identification when organizing other things.

Tax:
EU citizens do not require work permits. However, they do need a Sofi number to register in the tax/financial and social system (non-EU citizens also need one). This is usually straight forward and can be done by taking your passport to a local tax office and asking for a Sofi number.

Finding a House:
Finding a reasonably priced place to live in Holland is not always easy if you are looking for accommodation in Amsterdam, Utrecht, The Hague or Rotterdam. However it is not impossible.

If you are looking for a place to rent you will normally be asked to pay a waarborg (deposit). This can be between one and three months rent. Some employers will help new staff find a place to live (maybe as a temporary situation) if the job is the reason for them moving to the country.

Opening a Bank Account:
If you are planning to stay in Holland it is advisable to get a Dutch bank account. There are several major banks in Holland such as Rabobank, PostBank, Abn-Amro and ING Bank.

Health Insurance:
You will require health insurance when living in Holland. There are a few companies that offer different packages (from basic to premium). Some employers also have health insurance (and pension) deals that employees can join.

You will also need to register with a general practitioner in your area. Most medical insurance companies will provide you with a list of general practitioners near your home.

Basic Translation:
If you do not know anyone who speaks Dutch but need something translated Babel Fish can come in handy. However, it is not the most accurate translator so you may wish to try other means as well.

More information:
I hope this information has been useful for those of you who may be thinking of moving to the land of clogs and windmills. If you are looking for extra information I can also recommend:

• Expatica
• To Holland
• British Embassy in Holland

They Came From Holland

I have never been someone who is easily scared by spiders. However, when I saw Arachnophobia as a young teenager in the early 90s I have to admit that I was creped out for a few days. As a result I felt uncomfortable walking under lamp shades and I could not look at pop-corn the same way again. However, it was only a movie and the chances of a spider attack on that scale really happening seemed highly unlikely….. until a few days ago.

Earlier this week I noticed a rather strange amount of spiders in the Dutch town were I live, much more then you would normally expect to see. Most of them were near some form of foliage and if there was no spider in sight there was at least a very big web that looked like it was still in use.

Some of the arachnids have managed to spin webs over seemingly impossible distances from one tree to another, possibly with ambitions of catching a human. It is lucky that I do not suffer from Arachnophobia otherwise I might have started running through the streets screaming, never to return. The little eight legged freaks have spun webs every where around town. Maybe this is the start of a combined attempt to cocoon the whole of North Holland. Shelob’s little minions might already be at work in other locations around the country.

Luckily they are only European Garden Spiders (I think) and their bite is harmless unless you happen to be a fly. However, if they form an alliance (or worse, a hybrid) with the mosquitoes we are all doomed. At the very least I will likely get sued by every arachnophobia sufferer for coursing them emotional distress with this post.

The Invasion Continues

Most smugglers travel from Holland to other destinations with their illegal cargo. However, when I flew back into Holland on Sunday night I was smuggling supplies into the country instead. The flight itself was already a bit worrying when the plane hit heavy turbulence as it came into land but then I had to agonize about what would happen if customs stopped me as I collected my luggage. If they searched my suitcase they would have discovered that I was smuggling the finest British herbs into their country. Something so addictive it has millions of British people hooked. I was smuggling English Tea Bags, strictly for personal use of course. I was also carrying curry paste and catnip (for the cat not me).

There are some things that you simply can not find in Holland. So when ever I am back in England I stock up on supplies, cram them all into my suit case and wonder how confused the baggage handlers will get when they x-ray my luggage. However, I doubt it is as strange as the time my electric shaver somehow turned on in my suitcase during the flight.

My last few days in England were busy but fun. I went out to see my college friends who still joke about all the accident prone things I got up to as a student (I’ll tell some of those stories here some day). I also caught up with my old flat mate and even helped one of my friends and his girlfriend move into their first home.

Now that I am back in Holland I’ve lost most of my ability to eavesdrop on other peoples conversations. I also have to get used to being back at work again. I’ve already sorted through the thousand e-mails that were sent while I was away and deleted the nine hundred and ninety nine that were not for me.

I usually return to England for a little while every few months. My next trip is planned for Christmas. Hopefully the tea bags I secretly smuggled into the country will last that long. If they doesn't I might be reduced to using the catnip.

Return to the Home Front

After a short flight and a slightly bumpy landing I arrived back on English soil late last Friday night. I've returned to the land of rain, red buses and tea for a week of catching up with friends, family and trying to remember how much the British pound is worth.

After five years of living in Holland returning to England for a few days always feels a little strange at first. There are a lot of little (and a few big) differences between the two countries which I have to acclimatize to again each time. However, after a day or two I usually stop confusing the staff in London shops by saying, "Dank U," (Thank you) and, "Dag," (Bye).

The language change is also confusing in another way. When I am in Holland I filter out a lot of the background conversations of passers by (with out realizing it) because I can't easily understand most of them. Returning to England is like suddenly being cured of deafness. I can understand every conversation with in earshot again and it makes it hard to ignore them. I suddenly have a small window of insight into the lives of the people I pass in the street. This makes it more like getting my hearing back during a TV soap opera. It's hard to explain if you have not experienced it yourself but some of the strangest things I've heard in the last few days include:

"You better stop skimming money off the top before you get caught."
"I think I took too much of my medication. I can't feel my fingers or toes."
They could be lines from an episode of Eastenders.

There is also a big difference in atmosphere between London and Amsterdam which is most noticeable in the ambient noise of the two cities. The soundtrack to London is all bleeping traffic lights, police sirens and barking dog. For Amsterdam the soundtrack is bicycle bells, canal boat engines and loud tourists.

By the time I’m fully used to it all again it will be time to return to Holland and do the whole thing in reverse again. However, at least I don’t confuse Dutch shop staff as much when I speak English to them as I do when I accidentally speak Dutch to British shop staff.

Parents Visit: Day 4 & 5 – Old Holland and the Heron Invasion

As I stepped off the train at Amsterdam on the fourth day (of my parents visit) my phone started to ring. My mum was calling. Since they had booked their hotel before I knew I would be moving we were staying in different towns and had to meet up in Amsterdam each morning.

“Are you at Amsterdam yet?” She asked when I answered the phone.

“Yeah, I just got here.” It was the first time I was not late due to my inability to function in the mornings, something my parents kept on taking the Mickey out of me for.

“Ok… Well... We got off at the wrong stop and ended up at the Arena. We’ll be there as soon as we can.” She explained. I was finally able to take the Mickey out of them in return.

When they arrived we made our way to a traditional Dutch village near Zaandam. It’s an open air museum made up of old 19th century Dutch houses, factories and windmills all brought together from different areas of the country and restored. They even have the very first Albert Heijn shop from 1887. Albert Heijn is now the biggest chain of super markets in Holland.

We did not get lost trying to find the place like we had the other days. However, we did get lost trying to find our way back since we thought we could find a quicker way to return.

If you have not already guessed; both my parents love to travel and enjoy very long walks. Several people have commented on the amazing distances they will stroll in order to do a bit of sight seeing. I myself work behind a desk and spend most my days more or less stationary. I’m not used to hiking such long distances so by the fifth day I was starting to limp as I tried to keep up with my parents while they made jokes about young people having no stamina. Luckily this was the one day during their visit that we did not get lost.

We spent the morning looking around the Hortus Botanical Gardens and in the afternoon the Artis Zoo (both in Amsterdam). Since Artis is a Zoo there are a lot of animals (of course) but during our visit there were a few that were out of place. Our encounter with the Heron on the first day had seemed strange but the Zoo was practically under going a Heron invasion. They were every where, hiding amongst the flamingos, sneaking between the penguins, acting shifty around the camels. If there was food available in an open enclosure (and there was no animal likely to eat them) the Herons had taken over. Most of the animals had given up trying to chase them away. Luckily for us they did not try to nick our food when we stopped off for a bite to eat.

My parents returned to England the next day and I finally had time to recover from the week. I’ll be seeing them again tomorrow when I fly to England for the week to catch up with friends and family.

Parents Visit: Day 2 & 3 – The Blackmarket and Lost Again

We should have learnt from the first day (of my parents visit) when our search for a nature reserve led to us becoming lost in Amsterdam. However, both my parents are nature lovers so we tried out luck again on the second day. This time we were in search of ‘The Dr. Costerus Botanical Gardens’ in Hilversum and it did not take long for us to get lost again.

The map we had picked up from the tourist board (just a few moments before) was not very useful. It had no road names; in fact a lot of the roads were not even on it. The road signs were even less helpful largely due to the fact that there were none. So we ended up walking around the area, trying to find it. The confused looks on our faces must have shown because a very kind Dutch lady stopped as she was cycling by and asked if we needed help. She was able to tell us exactly were it was and it came as no surprise that we had walked straight past it. Not only was it down a small alleyway but the huge sign that stood over the entrance to ‘Dr. Costerus’ Botanical Gardens’ was also heavily over grown with some of Dr. Costerus’ ivy.

Although the name suggested it could have been a magical land of candy trees and chocolate grass (Willa Wonka’s Factory) or a creepy garden of freakish mutant plants and animals (The Island of Dr. Moreau) it turned out to be just someone’s back garden. We spent just five minutes looking around after half an hour of trying to find it.

The rest of the day was spent showing my parents the new house and town I now live in. They had visited the old house but I had never really had them over as guests before. I cooked dinner as they watched TV. It was kind of strange but also fun having the role reversal. The cat was very happy with the situation as well. As far as she was concerned it meant more people to pay attention to her. My parents both loved the new place and the playful cat.

We spent the third day (today) browsing through the stalls at the Black Market. No, my parents were not shopping for deadly weapons, non-rationed meat or illegally harvested body parts. Although the name suggests otherwise the Black Market in Beverwijk is a normal legal market. I heard so much Dutch music while we were there that it might have actually improved my Dutch language skills but I’ll probably have to do everything in song.

We spent the evening at an Australian themed bar in Amsterdam. They serve kangaroo burgers which are almost as big as my head. I am still digesting mine at the moment and might feel hungry again sometime in 2008.

I’m not sure what we are doing tomorrow yet but hopefully it will not involve getting lost somewhere.

Parents Visit: Day One - Lost in Amsterdam

My parents love to travel and they are visiting me in Holland at the moment. They have come over quite often in the five years that I have been here. It’s good because it gives me the opportunity to see them and visit parts of Holland I normally would not. All though both my parents are avid gardeners and love to visit the flower market there are only so many times anyone can explore Amsterdam and the surrounding areas before they want to see something new. So when ever they come over now my mum searches the internet for new places we can go to. One of the things my mum found this time as she explored the web was a nature reserve in the out skirts of Amsterdam.

The idea of a nature reserve in Amsterdam sounded a little strange but she had brought the map with her. However, the map itself was not very useful. It was sketchy at best and had no street names on it. However the print out did have a list of directions so we started a process of elimination by finding out where the location was not. In other words we got lost. After checking a few tram stop maps (and hiding from the rain that suddenly started) we managed to get back on track.

The directions were getting easier to follow as we got closer or maybe they were getting easier to follow because they were all left turns. By the third left turn my dad started joking that we would end up where we started. By the fourth left turn it turned out that he was right. We found ourselves looking down a street that we had been at the other end of 10 minutes earlier. This time I spotted something none of us saw when we had passed it previously; a one way street sign. We then realized the map we had been following was for cars. During our walk we had taken into account the one way road system with out even realizing. Although we had finally found the right road (Slauinenweg) there was no sign of the nature reserve. It didn’t even seem like the kind of place a nature reserve would be. So we gave up and caught a tram back, spending the rest of the day looking around Amsterdam.

However if we had not gotten lost we would have never have seen this huge Heron suddenly land right next to us on a car in the middle of the street.


Another highlight of the day happened when my dad coursed a small panic at the half built Amsterdam Arena metro station. Some gardening accessories he had bought fell out of his bag and clanged on the floor. Several worried looking commuters suddenly looked up at the leaking ceiling as if they thought bits of it were falling off.

My parents are still here for a few more days so I’ll have more of our misadventures to write about. If anyone has any suggestions on were I could take them while they are here please feel free to leave them in the comments.

Ik wil mijn fiets berijden (I want to ride my bicycle)

Fiets (bicycles) are a very common sight in Holland. They are a popular mode of transport and it is estimated that there are more then 16 million of them in the country. This number may or may not include the mangled, rusting, one-wheeled, non-roadworthy bicycles found chained to lamp posts, bridges or sunk at the bottom of the canals around the country. Even if it does there are still a lot of them in use every day.

Some bicycles look like rusty old frames that have been handed down through the family generation after generation. In most of these cases the locks seem to cost more then the bikes themselves and there is no need for a bell since the squeaking of the wheels is enough to give any pedestrian a fair warning. Some Dutch people like to paint or decorate their old bikes as well. When visiting Amsterdam it is usually guaranteed that you will see at least one bicycle chained to a bridge somewhere that has been decorated with plastic flowers or painted with bright circular patterns to make them more unique. Another reason for this could be to turn away bicycle thieves.

Unfortunately, Holland has a big problem with bicycle theft. It’s not unusual to see a shifty looking junky walking around with a stolen bike asking, “Fiets kopen?” ("Buy a bike?"). If they are able to sell it to someone for 10 or 15 euros it does not take long for that person to then lose the same bicycle to another junky later. It’s a perpetual cycle (no pun intended). It is said that having your bike stolen makes you a true Dutch person and it is a right of passage for all expatriates. I have not had my bike stolen yet but I did have it taken away once when the authorities thought it had been dumped (I got it back though).

Despite the risk of theft there are some more modern looking bicycles around (as well as the old) but the one thing you will hardly ever see is a mountain bike. This might be because you will hardly ever see any mountains, hills, valleys, declines or inclines in Holland and using a mountain bike for speed bumps would be over excessive. Holland is a very flat country but this is also part of what makes it a very good place for cycling.

There is over 4,500 miles of cycle path through out the country and a surprising amount of tourists mistake them for foot paths. This intrusion of territory (as they see it) is not always met with understanding by some cyclists. Some will leave it until the last possible second to ring their bell to let pedestrians (victims) know of their stealthy approach. When this happens the best thing to do is to pick a direction and jump because you won’t have any time to look around and judge the right direction to dodge anyway.

For a Dutch person a bike is not just a one person vehicle either. The rack on the back can be used as a second seat for a passenger who is willing to sit sideways and risk having their knees knocked off by any passing objects. I myself have accidentally jammed my feet into the back wheel of a bicycle (that I was the passenger on) in the past because it got too close to sign posts and parked cars for comfort.

It’s hard to say why cycling is so popular in Holland (compared to other countries). It could be because traffic laws favour bicycles over cars or that it is a way of staying healthy. It could also be that they are an easy way to get from one place to another and when all the available parking spots are full there are still lampposts, bridges, fences and other city objects that bicycles can be chained to. Maybe they simply like to terrorise pedestrians with them or they all liked the song Bicycle Race by Queen. Whatever the real reason is the Dutch seem to love their bicycles.

I'm not the only one who has noticed this either. A fellow ex-pat has also written about the Dutch fondness of the two wheeled transport.

Power Cut

They say silence is golden but I disagree. Silence is not so appealing when it is the result of a power cut you accidentally caused.

There are a lot of wires under my desk that power the computers, monitors and various other items of electrical equipment on my desk and those of the people near me. So when my foot accidentally caught the switch on one of the multi plug blocks today and turned it off all three desks (mine included) lost power. Half the room fell silent.

I tried to fix the problem as quickly as I could, apologizing while I crawled under my desk to turn everything back on but that turned out to be a mistake. The abrupt demand of electricity it caused when it all simultaneously came back to life forced the circuit breakers to shut everything down and the whole room suddenly went silent. You never realize how loud a computer fan is until they all suddenly go off at once. Silence is not golden. Silence is filled with the swearing of co-workers.

I had not just cut power to our room either. I managed to take out the power to a few of the servers used by the entire company at the same time. Everything is working again now but you can imagine how I felt.

I am Stuart. Destroyer of servers. Opps.