There comes a time in every young devotee's life when they have to make a journey of he highest of importance; failure to do so will close the doors of salvation. For me it isn't going to bathe in a river with a few million of my closest friends, or going on a crusade, and don't worry, I haven't joined a wierd Dutch cult. My journey was to go to the Van Gogh museum, the sistine chapel of post-impressionism. I'm not going to crap on about how incredibly fantastic it was because I know to many people Van Gogh's paintings are nothing more than pretty designs for coffee mugs. But to an art nerd like myself... lets just say I wasn't dissappointed.
For me, that is the great thing about Holland, and I assume, the rest of Europe. It is so art-minded. I won't start an argument by saying that New Zealand doesn't have art. I'm sure there are many wonderful artists. But over here it starts from the bottom. Children are actually taught handwriting and drawing at schools. There are museums in every town, and the tradition goes back hundreds of years. Van Gogh would be a colonial artist in New Zealand, but over here he is modern. This is not to say that all art in Holland is good art. There is a fair share of art that is a pile of crap. One such pile of crap is called "Mother Earth", which is (excuse the euphamisms) giant mounds of earth in the form of a female body. Parts are covered with bushes and trees, and you are invited explore, perhaps while walking your dog. The brochure invites you to "enjoy the view" from the forehead, at a dizzying altitude of 5 metres. Sure, it's winter; it was muddy and the flowers weren't in bloom, but it seems to me that an art school graduate was trying a little bit too hard here.
Anyways, as I was saying... The Van Gogh Museum is located in Amsterdam. So I went to Amsterdam. Most tourists have a very different reason for going to Amsterdam. And it is a tourist town. But there is so much more to Amsterdam than just coffee shops. They also have souvinir shops. The amount of souvinir shops is baffling. Amsterdam has such a high concentration of tacky souvinirs that it affects life expectancy.
Note: Before I got on, I must admit that my commentary is not exactly balanced. Being from Rotterdam (Feyenoord) I have been raised to hate Amsterdam (Ajax). I haven't personally been in an organised fight, but I was happy to hear that Ajax lost 4-1 on the weekend.
Amsterdam also has 1402 cafes and bars, and 755 restaurants. This means that in a city of just 700,000 Amsterdammers either can't cook or are to lazy to. Just like they would rather buy a good soccer player than develop one, they would rather eat out. I also had some encounters with the locals. Most of them asked me for loose change, and the other offered to sell me drugs. Being from small-town New Zealand I am so naiive. I just saw a black guy smile, so I smiled back, thinking "hello friendly negro!". But then he followed me muttering in bad English words like "good stuff", "speed" and "herion". He must have confused me for an American tourist. It wasn't his fault either, there are more Americans in Amsterdam than in Iraq. Too soon? But it's so bad that English is basically the first language there.
But apart from the people, Amsterdam is a beautiful city. I really enjoyed wandering around the streets, alongside the canals, past magnificent buildings, houseboats, bridges, monuments, markets... all the while clutching my camera bag incase one of the local drug addicts needed a hit. It was a little bit pathetic going to Amsterdam on my own. Not as pathetic as going to Paris on your own, but then I wouldn't know of many people who could spend 4 hours at the Van Gogh Museum anyways. So that was a very exciting adventure, but not as exciting as...
Going to the Customs and Taxes museum. No, I'm not making this up. It does exist, and I went along. Probably because it was free (although, isn't it slightly ironic how a tax museum is free? It sounds a little bit suspect to me).
And I also visited the Maritime Museum. Rotterdam has the largest sea port in the world, and boating is part of the Dutch mentality. This museum visit was my preparation for my next big adventure. Living out a childhood dream. I was an honorary sailor for a weekend.
I joined my Uncle and his crew as we sailed inland through Holland to deliver 1250 tonnes of coconut oil in Dusseldorf, Germany. I know this may sound like a far-fetched story. Sailing inland to Germany, and how we got coconuts in Holland (maybe an African Swallow brought it over, except they are non-migratory...). But it was a fantastic way to see the real Holland... And Germany. Holland is a nation of trade, and the 5000km of navigable inland waterways are the lungs of the country. All the important towns have always been along the rivers, I don't think there was a point during the 20 hour trip where a church spire wasn't visible. We sailed past at a leisurely-but-fast-for-a-boat pace of 12-18 kmph. From the control room you got beautiful views of harbours and ports and other boats. And the typical Dutch scenery of small towns, fields with cows, a nuclear powerplant that has been turned into a family amusement park, and a nude powerwalker on the riverbank. Okay, I'm kidding: the powerplant and powerwalker were of course in Germany.
It was a great, and unusual trip. It's strange to think that I went all the way to Dusseldorf, spent the night there, but never set foot in Germany. I wasn't sad about that, I enjoyed having sea legs. The life of a sailor is far from the world of the Van Gogh museum and the Customs and Taxes museum, but Holland is filled with adventures.
Monday, January 30, 2006
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
I'm in a strange place. Yes, Holland, but what I mean is that I have an unusual status. I'm not really a foreigner, and I'm definitely not a local. I'm not here for work, and 9 weeks is too long to be called a vacation. Basically I'm retired in my country of origin: a hometown tourist.
This seems to confuse other people as well. For example, I've been introduced to some guys who play basketball. I've played for as long as I can remember (about 20 minutes), and I've never been a vocal player. I try to make my hard work speak for itself. However, when playing over here, many players took this as a sign that I spoke no Dutch. They hear I'm from New Zealand, my strange accent, and maybe my english swearwords when I make a mistake, and suddenly refuse to talk to me. I trained with a a club team, and for the whole 2 hours I had a personal translator. He obviously enjoyed showing off his English, and I decided to go along with it. It was so entertaining watching people talk to me through a translator. It was as if I diddn't exist. Unless they could say what they wanted with wild gestures or a single word they would immediately turn to the guy who spoke English. But mostly, 2 whole hours we communicated through the international language of basketball.
Well, the most entertaining part came when I was about to leave. I somehow got into a Dutch conversation with a couple of the guys, including my translator. It was priceless to see his face. It was as if I learnt to speak Dutch within the 2 hour training. Its not such a hard language after all.
This is of course not true. You could never learn Dutch in 2 hours. You would need at least 5. In fact, there are millions of people in Holland who can't speak Dutch, and this has become a hot topic amongst politicians. One recent proposal is to make it a deportable offence to speak any language other than Dutch in public. The problem is that many immigrants come here and don't even try to learn Dutch. It is too easy to survive here without learning Dutch; everyone can speak English anyway, of the 30-odd free TV channels, only about half are in Dutch, and there are communities of certain countries which have their own shops and culture. I personally enjoy these communities. I accidentally found myself in a part of Rotterdam which seemed more like a Frankenstein of all foreign countries. I walked around the shops, noticing the disturbingly high number of shops which sold food and human hair. Anyways, I just bought some chicken breast from a Turkish butcher and left.
But I'm enjoying having an accent. I've always found it a shame that I have a flawless New Zealand English accent. Just once, I would love to have someone ask me "You're not from around here, are you?" Some people (and by this I mean my Father) find this annoying. I'm beginning to understand why. Many times when I say something to a shopkeeper, they hear an accent and begin speaking English to me, or give me an English brochure without asking. They are trying to get me deported! Well, soon I'll be leaving on my own accord. I know when I'm not wanted.
This seems to confuse other people as well. For example, I've been introduced to some guys who play basketball. I've played for as long as I can remember (about 20 minutes), and I've never been a vocal player. I try to make my hard work speak for itself. However, when playing over here, many players took this as a sign that I spoke no Dutch. They hear I'm from New Zealand, my strange accent, and maybe my english swearwords when I make a mistake, and suddenly refuse to talk to me. I trained with a a club team, and for the whole 2 hours I had a personal translator. He obviously enjoyed showing off his English, and I decided to go along with it. It was so entertaining watching people talk to me through a translator. It was as if I diddn't exist. Unless they could say what they wanted with wild gestures or a single word they would immediately turn to the guy who spoke English. But mostly, 2 whole hours we communicated through the international language of basketball.
Well, the most entertaining part came when I was about to leave. I somehow got into a Dutch conversation with a couple of the guys, including my translator. It was priceless to see his face. It was as if I learnt to speak Dutch within the 2 hour training. Its not such a hard language after all.
This is of course not true. You could never learn Dutch in 2 hours. You would need at least 5. In fact, there are millions of people in Holland who can't speak Dutch, and this has become a hot topic amongst politicians. One recent proposal is to make it a deportable offence to speak any language other than Dutch in public. The problem is that many immigrants come here and don't even try to learn Dutch. It is too easy to survive here without learning Dutch; everyone can speak English anyway, of the 30-odd free TV channels, only about half are in Dutch, and there are communities of certain countries which have their own shops and culture. I personally enjoy these communities. I accidentally found myself in a part of Rotterdam which seemed more like a Frankenstein of all foreign countries. I walked around the shops, noticing the disturbingly high number of shops which sold food and human hair. Anyways, I just bought some chicken breast from a Turkish butcher and left.
But I'm enjoying having an accent. I've always found it a shame that I have a flawless New Zealand English accent. Just once, I would love to have someone ask me "You're not from around here, are you?" Some people (and by this I mean my Father) find this annoying. I'm beginning to understand why. Many times when I say something to a shopkeeper, they hear an accent and begin speaking English to me, or give me an English brochure without asking. They are trying to get me deported! Well, soon I'll be leaving on my own accord. I know when I'm not wanted.
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
It has been a very different type of holiday the last few weeks. Instead of travelling the length of Holland (about three football fields) on a daily basis, I've been taking it easy. This doesn't mean I've been wasting time. I've been staying with a family in the outskirts of Schiedam (pronnounced: "shkchgg-eeeee-dom"), which is my hometown. From here there are many interesting paces you can easitly get to by bike. So I've had to learn to ride a bike again, which is an adventure in itself.
You see, the last time I rode a bike (please skip this paragraph if you have heard this story before), I was biking to my last exam at university when, and I swear I am not making this up, my front wheel fell off. This type of accident, while extremely comic, does leave its share of physical and mental damage. But you know what they say: "get back on the horse, even if it has only two legs".
Luckily Holland is a country of bicyles. There are bicycles everywhere: at everyone's home, at train stations, at the supermarket, at the bottom of ditches etc. And the Dutch have a system of bike paths which are truly the arteries of the nation. In a country where it is not unusual to have a total length of 300-400km of traffic jams at one time, it is a good idea to have a bike.
This is really the way to see holland. It is the equivalent of taking a camel ride in Egypt, travelling across America in an SUV, or exploring New Zealand by bungy. There is nothing quite like biking through 600 year old Dutch towns, over canals, past old churches and windmills. Or, biking alongside the dykes, looking over the crayola green fields filled with birds, passing boats, going over bridges and stopping every 500 metres for another postcard photograph.
So I've been having a true holiday of relaxation. Only, usually you'd go to some tropical resort for a relaxing holiday; its about 25 degrees too cold for that here. It is far from tourist season. The tulips are below the ground, its rainy most of the time and all the trees are bare. But in fact, this is the ideal time to have a holiday in Holland. I realised this at Kinderdyke, a famous place where there are many windmills all in one small area. What was notable was the absence of tourists (read: Japanese tourists). The only other people there were walking their dogs, riding their horses or rollerskates. This is the true Holland which I came to see. So my advice to everyone is this: Visit Southeast Asia in monsoon season, go to Israel during elections and Norway during the winter. Only then will you have a true holiday.
You see, the last time I rode a bike (please skip this paragraph if you have heard this story before), I was biking to my last exam at university when, and I swear I am not making this up, my front wheel fell off. This type of accident, while extremely comic, does leave its share of physical and mental damage. But you know what they say: "get back on the horse, even if it has only two legs".
Luckily Holland is a country of bicyles. There are bicycles everywhere: at everyone's home, at train stations, at the supermarket, at the bottom of ditches etc. And the Dutch have a system of bike paths which are truly the arteries of the nation. In a country where it is not unusual to have a total length of 300-400km of traffic jams at one time, it is a good idea to have a bike.
This is really the way to see holland. It is the equivalent of taking a camel ride in Egypt, travelling across America in an SUV, or exploring New Zealand by bungy. There is nothing quite like biking through 600 year old Dutch towns, over canals, past old churches and windmills. Or, biking alongside the dykes, looking over the crayola green fields filled with birds, passing boats, going over bridges and stopping every 500 metres for another postcard photograph.
So I've been having a true holiday of relaxation. Only, usually you'd go to some tropical resort for a relaxing holiday; its about 25 degrees too cold for that here. It is far from tourist season. The tulips are below the ground, its rainy most of the time and all the trees are bare. But in fact, this is the ideal time to have a holiday in Holland. I realised this at Kinderdyke, a famous place where there are many windmills all in one small area. What was notable was the absence of tourists (read: Japanese tourists). The only other people there were walking their dogs, riding their horses or rollerskates. This is the true Holland which I came to see. So my advice to everyone is this: Visit Southeast Asia in monsoon season, go to Israel during elections and Norway during the winter. Only then will you have a true holiday.
Saturday, January 07, 2006
A main objective of coming to Holland was to relearn the Dutch language. Its a funny thing really. You wouldn´t ever learn Dutch unless you were, in any sense of the word, Dutch. I am very fortunate to have been born in Holland and moved to New Zealand when I was young enough to learn English simply by watching the teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (and the accompanying commercials). Within 3 months I was just another annoying little New Zealand kid, with my Turtle-Power figurines and my Raphael mask.
But I was also lucky that my parents would punish me severely for speaking English in the home. I guess I understood why they did it at the time, but I diddn´t like it. For years I carried my Dutch ability around like a dirty secret. I will never forget the times that my parents told me off infront of my friends. Lets just say, it quickly taught me to never be out of line. There could be no worse possible punishment. But in the end, I more or less kept my 4 year old Dutch speaking ability, never adding much to it. This meant I never was able to win an argument with my parents. My childhood was an unusual case of a language barrier within the direct family.
My time away from Holland slowly ate away at my Dutch like a disease. And thats why I'm here, to get some Dutch therapy. Its difficult to describe my level of Dutch, but the best explanation I have come up with is that it is like I'm missing the part of my brain that stores certain words. I could be talking normally, and in mid-sentence I might stop. The word I want to say just doesn't... you know... its not there. It makes me feel so stupid sometimes, as if I'm the Dutch equivalent to George Bush.
People who speak only one language don´t realise how much their language controls their thinking. English did quickly become my "first" language, but since I grew up with the two languages simultaniously, sometimes I can't separate English from Dutch. I might try and say something a 20 year old might say, but when I adapt it to my 4 year old Dutch vocabulary I end up looking like an idiot. (ie. George Bush). I know I shouldn't worry too much about it, everyone in Holland speaks gooder English than the average New Zealander, and I have been out of the country for 17 years. In Japan noone expeced me to speak Japanese (nor would they believe that I could), but technically I'm not even a foreigner in Holland. I'm just a late bloomer.
In a way, I'm resuming my life in Holland. I´m living once again through the eyes, and ears, of a 4 year old. And yes, 4 year olds do understand everything you say. Especially if its naughty or crude. And boy can Dutch be crude. Its not just the things they say, but how they say it. As Billy Connolly once said, hardly anybody swears properly anymore. But the Dutch, with their comically rolled R´s, and impossibly ground out G sounds... they can make a swearword sound truly offensive. Its fantastic. They can spit a swearword right into your eye. And that is something that, as an influentiable 4 year old, I aspire to.
I figure that just being here is helping the cause. I just need to take in everything around me, and watch a lot of t.v.. I haven't found the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles yet (I did find Spongebob, but his voice is completly wrong). And if I don't improve, then I can rest assured that I have a long political career aread.
But I was also lucky that my parents would punish me severely for speaking English in the home. I guess I understood why they did it at the time, but I diddn´t like it. For years I carried my Dutch ability around like a dirty secret. I will never forget the times that my parents told me off infront of my friends. Lets just say, it quickly taught me to never be out of line. There could be no worse possible punishment. But in the end, I more or less kept my 4 year old Dutch speaking ability, never adding much to it. This meant I never was able to win an argument with my parents. My childhood was an unusual case of a language barrier within the direct family.
My time away from Holland slowly ate away at my Dutch like a disease. And thats why I'm here, to get some Dutch therapy. Its difficult to describe my level of Dutch, but the best explanation I have come up with is that it is like I'm missing the part of my brain that stores certain words. I could be talking normally, and in mid-sentence I might stop. The word I want to say just doesn't... you know... its not there. It makes me feel so stupid sometimes, as if I'm the Dutch equivalent to George Bush.
People who speak only one language don´t realise how much their language controls their thinking. English did quickly become my "first" language, but since I grew up with the two languages simultaniously, sometimes I can't separate English from Dutch. I might try and say something a 20 year old might say, but when I adapt it to my 4 year old Dutch vocabulary I end up looking like an idiot. (ie. George Bush). I know I shouldn't worry too much about it, everyone in Holland speaks gooder English than the average New Zealander, and I have been out of the country for 17 years. In Japan noone expeced me to speak Japanese (nor would they believe that I could), but technically I'm not even a foreigner in Holland. I'm just a late bloomer.
In a way, I'm resuming my life in Holland. I´m living once again through the eyes, and ears, of a 4 year old. And yes, 4 year olds do understand everything you say. Especially if its naughty or crude. And boy can Dutch be crude. Its not just the things they say, but how they say it. As Billy Connolly once said, hardly anybody swears properly anymore. But the Dutch, with their comically rolled R´s, and impossibly ground out G sounds... they can make a swearword sound truly offensive. Its fantastic. They can spit a swearword right into your eye. And that is something that, as an influentiable 4 year old, I aspire to.
I figure that just being here is helping the cause. I just need to take in everything around me, and watch a lot of t.v.. I haven't found the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles yet (I did find Spongebob, but his voice is completly wrong). And if I don't improve, then I can rest assured that I have a long political career aread.
Friday, January 06, 2006
All good things must come to an end, as has my holiday. We drove to Schiphol airport, and I waved my family goodbye. It really has been a great holiday. Then we drove back to my grandads place. See, my holiday is over, but my time in Holland is just beginning. For the last 3 weeks my parents and I have been scouring the country for people that might know us and getting free food out of it. Some tried to give us heart attacks by feeding us Dutch cakes, biscuits and puddings which are made out of pure cholesterhol. Many others tried to poison us with coffee so strong that it confuses electronic equipment. They forget that we too are immune to such things.
We´ve been to big cities, small cities, small farming villages, windmill filled countryside, many different museums, Christmas markets, Dutch markets, a wildlife reserve (containing no actual wildlife), the zoo(a much better option, plus it has a playground!), an exhibition of ice sculptures of famous Rembrandt paintings in a hall kept at -8°C, a natural history museum, Germany and Belgium, and to get a real sense of culture we visited a Dutch trailer park. So its safe to say it was a very fun-filled holiday.
But now my parents have abandoned my like an unwanted baby. But this baby wasn´t illegitetimate or deformed. It was sick, and left for dead in a strange foriegn country while the parents went off to holiday in Hong Kong. Well, although I am much better than I was at New Years, I wasn´t able to shake off the sickness completely. Yes, I spent my first day on my own in Holland in the Doctor´s waiting room.
This did however allow me to gain a valuable insight into the state of the nation. Holland is well known for its excellent health system and I was honoured to be a part of it. After half an hour in the waiting room, I was feeling healthier already! The magazines even looked healthier than those in New Zealand- all new and crisp, but unfortunately written in Dutch. So I had a consultation, and I can happily report that doctors have a healthy income. From my calculations, they recieve roughly 500 euro per hour, putting them on a par with tobacco company lawyers. The chemist was also fascinating- a fully automaticcomputersiedmechanised system of counting pills, leaving the friendly staff free to dish out free stuff.
6 hours later I crawled home, clutching to my wallet. See the great thing about travelling with parents is that I never had to pay for anything. Welcome to the real (Dutch) world. I´ll be sure to cash in on my travel insurance, so one day, this story will have happy ending after all.
We´ve been to big cities, small cities, small farming villages, windmill filled countryside, many different museums, Christmas markets, Dutch markets, a wildlife reserve (containing no actual wildlife), the zoo(a much better option, plus it has a playground!), an exhibition of ice sculptures of famous Rembrandt paintings in a hall kept at -8°C, a natural history museum, Germany and Belgium, and to get a real sense of culture we visited a Dutch trailer park. So its safe to say it was a very fun-filled holiday.
But now my parents have abandoned my like an unwanted baby. But this baby wasn´t illegitetimate or deformed. It was sick, and left for dead in a strange foriegn country while the parents went off to holiday in Hong Kong. Well, although I am much better than I was at New Years, I wasn´t able to shake off the sickness completely. Yes, I spent my first day on my own in Holland in the Doctor´s waiting room.
This did however allow me to gain a valuable insight into the state of the nation. Holland is well known for its excellent health system and I was honoured to be a part of it. After half an hour in the waiting room, I was feeling healthier already! The magazines even looked healthier than those in New Zealand- all new and crisp, but unfortunately written in Dutch. So I had a consultation, and I can happily report that doctors have a healthy income. From my calculations, they recieve roughly 500 euro per hour, putting them on a par with tobacco company lawyers. The chemist was also fascinating- a fully automaticcomputersiedmechanised system of counting pills, leaving the friendly staff free to dish out free stuff.
6 hours later I crawled home, clutching to my wallet. See the great thing about travelling with parents is that I never had to pay for anything. Welcome to the real (Dutch) world. I´ll be sure to cash in on my travel insurance, so one day, this story will have happy ending after all.
Sunday, January 01, 2006
I wish you all a happy new year, and I hope you had a good New Years´celebration. Before I start, I want to say that, I am seldom, if ever, serious when writing (sortof like doctors when they write out prescriptions). But my point is, what follows is completely serious. There are many stereotypes about dutch people, and all of them are that they are weird. This is simply not true. They are fucking crazy. (I also seldom, if ever, swear, but I´m already breaking my first rule). Now you might remember my little spiel about the Dutch being obsessed with annoying flashing lights and child-droppingly cheezy Christmas songs, but even these have a certain charm to it. When it comes to New Years, however, The Dutch turn into lunatics.
Okay, I dont literally mean all the Dutch are lunatics, just the ones who spent a combined estimated 70 million Euros worth of fireworks (roughly 140 million NZ dollars) , and let them all off outside my window. The reason for my agitation could be the fact that on New Years eve, by some torturous turn of murphy´s law, I woke up feeling as sick as I´ve been in years. I was bedridden and just needed to sleep, but this had to be the worst day possible to get have a stinging headache. Now, 70 million Euros worth of fireworks wouldnt be a huge problem in, say the Australian outback. But Holland is a matchbox of a country, with I´ve heard, one of the highest population densities in the world.
70 million Euros worth of fireworks also wouldnt be a problem if they was, say, 580 million sparklers. But oh no. The Dutch seem to prefer fireworks with a lot of noise. See, the fireworks in New Zealand just fart out a few different colours, but in Holland... Well, lets just say that of of that 70 million, 20 million is thought to have been spent on illegal fireworks. Fireworks designed by the Chinese, terrorists, or some crazy kids like the ones found by police with a garden shed full of "New Years celebrations" that could´ve made Holland on average one more metre below sea level.
It also wouldn´t have been so bad if the 70 million dollars worth of fireworks all went into the air at the same time. It might sound a little bit crazy, but perhaps we could agree on, say, midnight? Im not exactly what the law says about letting off fireworks in Holland, but there is only a few hours on New Years day. Of course, it would would be stupid to set off fireworks during the daytime anyway. Right?
Well, far be it from me to say what is stupid. All I know is, I woke up in the morning sick as anything, to the sound of constant explosions. There were gangs or roving youths, thugs dragging huge santa-like bags of explosives around, and letting them off as quickly as they could. (For all purposes sake it would be more convenient to ask America to do another pre-emptive strike on our behalf, but I wont go there). I am not exaggerating when saying that I doubt there was 20 seconds that went by that I couldn´t hear explosions. This went on from 9am to well after midnight. It honestly sounded like a warzone. This made for a very productive day of bed rest.
Luckily, there were some people in Holland who can read the time, and from midnight to 12:30 there was a magnificent amateur light (and noise) show, in my gradad´s usually peaceful neighbourhood, and beyond into Rotterdam. This gradually died down, and by 2am, there were momentary silences that interupted the noise of explosions.
To give a general idea: The forecast for New Years day was overcast, 7 degrees and fog due to firework smoke. All the post boxes in the country were nailed shut for the last few days because in previous years thousands had been blown up. And generally it was a peaceful celebration with only 3 deaths in Rotterdam. So it has been a very interesting (and/or Dutch) New Years. And now that the fog, the ringing in my ears, my headache and my cynicism has gone away, I wish you all the best for 2006.
Okay, I dont literally mean all the Dutch are lunatics, just the ones who spent a combined estimated 70 million Euros worth of fireworks (roughly 140 million NZ dollars) , and let them all off outside my window. The reason for my agitation could be the fact that on New Years eve, by some torturous turn of murphy´s law, I woke up feeling as sick as I´ve been in years. I was bedridden and just needed to sleep, but this had to be the worst day possible to get have a stinging headache. Now, 70 million Euros worth of fireworks wouldnt be a huge problem in, say the Australian outback. But Holland is a matchbox of a country, with I´ve heard, one of the highest population densities in the world.
70 million Euros worth of fireworks also wouldnt be a problem if they was, say, 580 million sparklers. But oh no. The Dutch seem to prefer fireworks with a lot of noise. See, the fireworks in New Zealand just fart out a few different colours, but in Holland... Well, lets just say that of of that 70 million, 20 million is thought to have been spent on illegal fireworks. Fireworks designed by the Chinese, terrorists, or some crazy kids like the ones found by police with a garden shed full of "New Years celebrations" that could´ve made Holland on average one more metre below sea level.
It also wouldn´t have been so bad if the 70 million dollars worth of fireworks all went into the air at the same time. It might sound a little bit crazy, but perhaps we could agree on, say, midnight? Im not exactly what the law says about letting off fireworks in Holland, but there is only a few hours on New Years day. Of course, it would would be stupid to set off fireworks during the daytime anyway. Right?
Well, far be it from me to say what is stupid. All I know is, I woke up in the morning sick as anything, to the sound of constant explosions. There were gangs or roving youths, thugs dragging huge santa-like bags of explosives around, and letting them off as quickly as they could. (For all purposes sake it would be more convenient to ask America to do another pre-emptive strike on our behalf, but I wont go there). I am not exaggerating when saying that I doubt there was 20 seconds that went by that I couldn´t hear explosions. This went on from 9am to well after midnight. It honestly sounded like a warzone. This made for a very productive day of bed rest.
Luckily, there were some people in Holland who can read the time, and from midnight to 12:30 there was a magnificent amateur light (and noise) show, in my gradad´s usually peaceful neighbourhood, and beyond into Rotterdam. This gradually died down, and by 2am, there were momentary silences that interupted the noise of explosions.
To give a general idea: The forecast for New Years day was overcast, 7 degrees and fog due to firework smoke. All the post boxes in the country were nailed shut for the last few days because in previous years thousands had been blown up. And generally it was a peaceful celebration with only 3 deaths in Rotterdam. So it has been a very interesting (and/or Dutch) New Years. And now that the fog, the ringing in my ears, my headache and my cynicism has gone away, I wish you all the best for 2006.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)