Splashing About

As I mentioned before, Niels turned 9 a couple of weeks ago. By way of a party he invited 8 friends over and we took them all (in two cars) to a swimming complex in Haaksbergen, called De Wilder. It has a long water slide, several jacuzzis, a huge pool, whirlpool, etc and is the pefect place for kids to burn off their energy. After an hour and a half of swimming, climbing on the massive inflatable toys in the pool, shooting down the slide and swinging out into the water on a Tarzan rope we fed them some chips and then they were off for another hour or so. Perfect! Brithday parties in Singapore were always easy in that respect; down to the pool with some new toys and the kids were sweet for the duration.
By 4:30 they were all looking a bit tired so we herded the boys and girls off into the changing rooms. Yes there were girls present; for the first time Niels has invited girls! We had to stifle a laugh when he explained that he has a crush on a girl in his class. However he didn't invite her to his party because the boys in his class had teased him about liking her and he didn't want to encourage them! Ah, young love.

We had planned to get some photos of the pool party but we were (a) too busy and (b) too wet, so only ended up with this one:

But wait...who is that little Bhudda lounging there like a prince? Let's take a closer look...

Lucky 13

Today is our wedding anniversary...13 years and counting. It's hard to believe the time has passed so quickly, and when I look at these photos we just seem so...well...young is the right word I guess! We were married in Vorden castle, with Holger and I travelling there in a carriage drawn by two beautiful Fresian horses. It was a gorgeous day; the fennel was blooming in clouds of tiny white blossom along the roadsides and as we clip-clopped through the forest on the way to the ceremony we felt like the only people in the world. Nervous, jittery, but so excited! After the ceremony, as we rode back through the woods the journey seemed so peaceful. Returning in the spring sunshine as man and wife, anything seemed possible and we felt very different to the people we had been just an hour before.

A lot has happened in those years of course, and we grew from a fresh faced couple to a family of four, moving away from Holland to Singapore and back again, changing jobs, buying a house, building up a life and home on the foundations of this one happy day. A lot of people think that there is no point in getting married any more, that if you're living together a marriage is just an expensive party and a piece of paper that doesn't make any real difference. However Holger and I feel completely differently about it. For us, getting married was the first step to building a life together, an opening chapter on 'us forever' rather than 'us until whenever'.

We may be a little older now, the wedding clothes may not fit quite as well and the faces are a little more lived in. But what we started that spring day has carried on and grown like a snow ball rolled across the ground and wherever we end up, we will look back and know that this is where it really began.

Happy 9th Birthday Niels

The face says it all... It's hard to believe Number 1 is already nine. Next Saturday he parties with 8 of his friends in celebration, today was a family get together and, of course, presents!

Tabitha Spring Silk Fair; Mark Your Diaries!

For those of you lucky enough to still be living in the steamy tropical shopping paradise that is Singapore, a highlight of your annual calendar is about to take place: the Tabitha Silk Fair. This is a fantastic event where you get the chance to purchase outstanding silk clothes, bags, home furnishings, etc for truly excellent prices, and all in the name of a good cause. Ladies, need I say more? I've blogged about this event before here if you want to see some photos.

As usual the fair will take place at The Shophouse, at 22 Lock Road in Gillman village. This year valet parking is available but in my opinion taxis are the best way to get to this location. You'll be so dazzled by the brilliant rainbow array of silks on offer who could possibly focus on driving afterwards! On Tuesday and Wedensday 11-12 May the Fair runs from 9am to 6pm, and on Thursday the 13th from 9 to 1pm.

On the Wednesday evening you can also attend a ticketed event to meet the Foundation Founder, Janne Riskes to hear her inspiring story and learn about the hundreds Cambodian of women and children helped every year by this wonderful organisation.

Check out the website Tabitha Singapore for full information, and take your credit card! Over 95% of the proceeds go directly to helping Cambodian families to earn a living and become self-sufficient.

Brushing up My Language Skills

I've recently taken up doing crossword puzzles again. I've always loved doing crosswords, a passion no doubt insired by my Mum who is a crossword fiend and still is rarely undefeated. We've passed many an hour bandying clues backwards and forwards, filling in puzzles at home, on holiday, or wherever we happened to be.

At university when I shared a house with friends there was a friendly competitiveness to see who could finish the New Zealand Herald crossword first. While Sudoku can be fun to pass the time I'm really a word fan; I love that light-bulb moment when you suddenly find the one missing word that makes the whole puzzle fall together.

However since moving to Holland I haven't often indulged my penchant for puzzles, mainly due to a lack of English language ones in the stores. Take my word for it; as a native English speaker, doing crosswords in Dutch sucks almost as much as playing Dutch Scrabble. Just what are you supposed to do with all those w's and v's?

However I've been digging out puzzle books left over from Singapore lately in an effort to sharpen up my English a bit. Being editor of an English language magazine demands a certain proficiency in the language and lately I've had the feeling my vocabularly has reverted to that of an 8 year old.

It doesn't help that hubby speaks such good English; whenever he's home he will be in the middle of saying something then suddenly demand; what's the English word for fakkeloptocht, or gemeentebestuursleden, or grondwerktuigkundige. And he means RIGHT NOW, as in this second so he can drop it into the conversation. It's almost impossible to suddenly come up with the exact word or phrase on the spot and my feeble attempts have so often been met with snorts of derision that over the years my standard response has become "dunno". And I'm supposed to be the wordy one.

Lately I have the feeling that having to speak a different language most of the time is taking it's toll on my English. At work I have moments where I'm staring blankly at the screen trying to figures out a better alternative to a word I'm over-using in an article. My pet hate is 'increasingly'. As in: it's increasingly obviously that my language difficulties are becoming increasingly apparent to an increasingly large number of readers. See what I mean?

And now the kids have started. "Mum, what's the Dutch word for a Hun? What are hunnenbedden in English? And are the two related? Why are Egyptian and Egyptisch spelt differently?? And if February in English is spelt februari in Dutch, why is a leap year a schrikkeljaar and how do you spell it?"

Honestly, it's starting to do my head in. A while ago when Carl discovered the singular of boobies was boob he thought it was hysterical. He and Niels ran around the house for days springing out of doorways and surprising each other with yells of "you're a BOOB!" followed by shrieks of laughter. Hopefully the neighbours won't understand what that was all about.

Generation Gap

My kids consider me to be an impossibly cruel, uncaring and dysfunctional mother for one sole reason: I refuse to buy them a Play Station. Neither do they have a Ninentendo DS or a Wii or any similar machines designed to suck out their brains and turn them into couch dwelling zombies. How often has Carl whined "but my friend xxxxxx has one! And his Mum lets him do ANYTHING!"

Do I think I'm a better parent because I won't buy them one of these toys? No, I don't. But I do believe that my particular kids - those incredibly active bouncy little boys who sometimes seem to be composed of dynamite, amphetamines and adrenalin bound together with a hefty dose of testosterone - are a lot better off without a Play Station.

However none of us lives in a vacuum and as a type of compromise I have bought the boys two plug-and-play games you connect straight to the t.v. The first is from Pixar and has four very cute and entertaining (the kids would translate this as BORING!!!!) games based on Toy Story and other kids movies. The other has a whole bunch of different games, all fairly low resolution and frankly kind of retro. Fortunately it doesn't have the high tech programing or graphic gore that seems to be chronically addictive and they don't get it out very often.

Yesterday it was pouring with rain and we were all a bit stuck for someting to do, so we sat down to play with this game. I've never bothered before because frankly gaming just doesn't interest me. So we were sitting there and as Carl scrolled through the menu I saw a space game. Suddenly I had a flashback to my own childhood; "hey, a Space Invaders game!"

They looked at me with blank stares and I realised with shock that there probably have been GENERATIONS of kids born who haven't heard that term. Anyway I sat down next to Carl and had a turn at the controls. Ten minutes later I was five levels up and my thumbs were starting to ache, but this was the most fun I'd had on a computer for ages. Niels was watching silently and when I finally gave up, rsi setting in to both hands, he nodded and looked impressed, then totally popped my bubble by adding "mmmmmm, not bad for a 39 year old mother."

It's Official; Spring Has Sprung

Yes, I'm finally going to stop whining about the weather and enjoy the incredible explosion of life that is spring in Europe. It's my favourite time of year here, when the ice and freezing winds finally subside and a balmier breeze teases the flowers out of the ground, the birds out of hiding and suddenly the world is a much better and brighter place.

It's also a busy time of year for rabbits. No, I'm not talking about THAT, mine are all happily desexed although would you believe it they do still get a bit frisky. However I'm talking about the joys of digging holes (preferably in the middle of the lawn), leaping and frolicking (and sneaking into the house every ten minutes so our day is interrupted by shouts of 'Mum, there's a rabbit under the table!) and moulting. Endless, endless moulting in clouds of fluffy bunny hair that drifts through the garden and sticks to my clothes.

Being smooth-haired, Punky Muffin is a very efficient moulter and doesn't really seem to need any help. However Rocco, with his dense 3-5cm long hair needs all the help he can get and we usually spend a few hours on the lawn together in spring and autumn while I try to brush/comb/trim the excess hair and any knots away.

The good news is, bunny hair is the perfect material for making birds nests. After a half hour session this week which resulted in a veritable mountain of white fluff on the lawn, I stood inside and watched as sparrows, blackbirds, wrens and finches dived down to fill their beaks before swooping off to their little construction sites. It's a nice feeling to imagine all the local baby birds hatching into cosy warm nests lined with velvety soft, white fur. Now that's recycling!

Breakfast with Oma

We have a little tradition in our house on the weekends when Holger is home (which have been rather few and far between recently). On a Saturday morning he gets up and goes to the baker to buy fresh bread for the weekend at about 8am, then stops and has breakfast with his Mum, who lives nearby, on the way back. The best part of this arrangement is not the fresh rolls we get to eat or the cosy chat he has with his Mum....it's the fact that he takes the boys with him. Yes, for a whole 90 minutes or so I have the house to myself and I get to SLEEP IN. To those of you who don't have kids this may seem a rather petty luxury but believe me, it's worth gold. Carl was 18 months old before he slept through the night and even now he wakes me/us up at least every 3rd night. So an hour and a half of wallowing in my bed pretending the day hasn't started yet is pure bliss. Even if I can't go back to sleep I refuse to admit the day has begun; I've got a warm bed and an empty, quiet house, and by God, I'm going to enjoy it!

Of course for the rest of the family it's also a nice start to the day and I'm sure that for the rest of their lives the boys will look back fondly on breakfasts spent with Oma and Opa. Niels maintains that Oma's peanut butter tastes better than ours despite being the same brand, but I suspect it's the undivided attention and the chance to eat a leisurely breakfast - outside under the hazlenut tree in summer - that have a lot to do with it! As scouts starts at 9:30 for Niels he is in uniform for breakfast, as you can see in these photos. Looking at the smiles on his and Oma's faces, you know that these are the kind of experiences that our fondest memories are made of.

Onshore-Swimming for Kika

This week it seems the whole of Lochem has got behind the cause to raise money for the Kika Foundation. Kika stands for kids with cancer (which is called kanker in Dutch), and all of the primary schools in town have agreed to have fund raising activities. In addition lots of sports clubs, social clubs, music venues etc have gotten in on the act as well.

Niels and Carl's school decided to raise money by getting the kids to find sponsors for swimming. As Niels is of an age where he has school swimming once a week anyway this was fairly easy to organise. He was very proud of the 50 euros he found in sponsorship, and his whole class managed to raise 780 euros! For Carl who is in group 2, and the littlies in group 1, the teachers came up with the brilliant idea of 'dry swimming'. The marched in a parade out into the decorated playground, dressed in an assortment of swimming gear over their clothes. Accompanied by rousing music they took their places and each class then took turns to 'swim' around the playground with great enthusiasm.

Carl donned his tinted goggles and had a great time practising his back stroke, breast stroke, and treading water with his classmates and teacher.

At the end of the day the three group 1 and 2 classes together raised an astounding 945 euros! I don't know what the total for the whole school is yet, but it's certain to be a substantial sum for a worthy cause. Each kid was presented with a Dry Swimming Certificate to hang proudly on their wall - you can see Carl holding his up triumphantly above.

I'm Glad He's Not MY Man!

Every now and again we will be sitting in the garden, enjoying the sound of bird song when another noise will gradually edge its way into our consciousness. A kind of breathy honking noise...what could that be? Sometimes it's so loud that we can hear it in the kitchen...a mysterious regular tooting. It always cracks us up because we know it's the melodius tone of Rocco snoring - yes, our bunny snores. Loudly. No doubt it's due to him being a lop, a breed which has a flat nose. The other day as he snuggled up to Punky Muffin and was snoring away louder than ever I suddenly had the foresight to grab my camera. So for those of you who don't share your lives with somebunny special, I present you with Rocco's lop-eared lullaby.
He's the brown and white bunny at the back. Punky is the fed-up looking black and white one in the foreground. Funnily enough she doesn't seem all that impressed...

The Hermitage, Amsterdam

This Easter I am enjoying the luxury of temporary Empty Nest Syndrome; hubby and the kids have gone to Sweden to visit his sister and her kids, leaving me to sleep in the the mornings, read in bed for hours before finally turning out the lights, and wallowing in luxious hot bubble baths for as long as I want. While I do like visiting the family in Sweden I'm not sad to avoid returning to snow and cold; it's at best 2 degrees there at the moment and after such a long, cold winter I don't feel the urge to revisit it.
Not that the weather is much better here. Making the most of a couple of free days meant it was the perfect time to visit the Hermitage Museum in Amsterdam, which is currently hosting the exhibition Matisse to Malevich; Pioneers of modern art from the Hermitage. The top painting is Matisse's 'The Red Room' and it is truly stunning to see it on the wall. The painting above is The Dancers, depicting five women who seem to be almost struggling to burst out of the frame of canvas. Yet however wonderful Matisse is, it's the Kadinsky paintings which I love the most. The one below is rather unimaginatviely called Composition 6, but it was just breath-taking. If that's no your cup of tea, you surely couldn't fail to be amazed by his use of colour in the next one, titled simply Winter Landscape.

The story of how Russia's world famous Hermitage came to have a branch in Amsterdam is quite interesting. In the early 1990s Mikhail Piotrovsky, director of the State Hermitage Museum in St Petersburg, was exploring the possibility of having satellite museums in the West. The relationship between the Nieuwe Kerk (a catherdral in Amsterdam which hosts exhibitions) and the Hermitage had developed through the co-organisation of major exhibitions. As a result the director of the Nieuwe Kerk, Ernst Veen, had the idea of opening a branch of the Russian museum in Amsterdam, inspired in part by the tercentenary of the historic links between the two cities.
Around the same time, the Amstelhof nursing home decided that its buildings no longer met the standards required for modern care. For 324 years the building was a home for the elderly. The Parish of the Reformed Congregation, which owned the building, declared that the Amstelhof should have an exclusively cultural function. Veen came up with the idea of locating the Hermitage branch in Amstelhof. Since June 2009 the site has been home to Hermitage Amsterdam.

It's an impressive building with vast spaces flooded with light, pale wood floors and inimate rooms adjoining the main gallery. The scale of the huge old stone structure, which is a hollow square with a central green lawn, gives the exhibition the space it needs to be truly appreciated. And it's location on the banks of the Amstel is so quintessentially Dutch.

If you're in Amsterdam I really recommend the exhibition, although with the collection of the Hermitage St Petersburg as it's disposal, every exhibition is going to be a great one.

By the way you might think that a day in Amsterdam would turn out to be a long one - but in truth it was really cold and pouring with rain. I went into the Bijenkorf department store, remembering my last visit years ago with a frisson of antcipation, but was sorely let down. The layout of the floors was a mess, cheap SALE!SALE!ACTION! posters in lime green making me want to put on my sunglasses as hordes of people poured over sloppily constructed displays. The only good thing was they had an Apple shop, so I could get new skin for my iPhone to replace the original which was torn. So Bijenkorf was - ever so slightly - redeemed; aplace that has an Apple shop can't be all bad, right?.

Useful inventions #1

Having given up hope of ever winning the lottery, I was pondering a few ideas this weekend that could turn into winners and produce the millions I’m sure, deep down, the universe wants to give me.

Here’s the first one: crotch protectors for women’s swimsuits! Awesome idea! I just know you’re all nodding your head in agreement!

In case there’s a woman reading this who doesn’t have a six year old child training for a swimming diploma who needs to practice swimming underwater for nine meters and then going through your legs, picture this. Standing spread-legged in the pool, your girly-bits protected by nothing but a thin piece of lycra, as a blond torpedo races towards you with wildly kicking feet. This invention would save me embarrassing myself (again) by looking like I’m clutching myself in the pool.
I can’t wait until he gets this damned diploma.

Niels 2nd piano recital

Last night Niels music teacher called up to inform me that Niels second piano recital would take place at a different location. What piano recital?? Apparently Number 1 hadn't thought to mention it to me.
However he's been keeping up with his practice, so it wasn't too much of a drama. Here he is banging away on the ivories. It went well and he was a unphased as ever. A cool customer.

Hitting Puberty Young

One of the coolest presents Carl got for his birthday - or at least the one that's so far been the most fun - was a kids shaving set. With a bottle of 'shaving foam'  and a blade-less razor, he and Niels have been practising their techniques every night before bath time. In perfect imitation of their father, they spread the foam, run a basin of hot water ("if it's not hot it won't be a smooth shave Mum"), and proceed to remove their imaginary whiskers.

Lets'  see if they find it just as much fun once they hit puberty.

Losing It

I have been contemplating the nature of loss these past few days. Sometimes we don’t realize we’ve lost something, sometimes it may have just been misplaced, and sometimes when we lose things, they stay lost forever.
Hubby and I recently had our 12.5 year wedding anniversary. Now that is going to sound weird to anyone who isn’t Dutch, so let me explain. The Dutch have the rather quaint habit of celebrating their six-and-a-quarter, twelve-and-a-half, and twenty five year wedding anniversaries. The relevance of these dates escaped me entirely until my husband demonstrated just how important he thought they were in the most perfect way; he presented me with a diamond ring. Suddely 12.5 years assumed a whole new significance!!
Not just any ring either; one from my favorite jewellry designer, Georg Jensen, with three diamonds set in a white gold band. I like to think of the diamonds representing hubby, Niels and Carl, and I absolutely loved the ring the moment I saw it.
So we were talking about loss. Specifically the loss of things. Some things we don’t mind losing too much; a book that was boring, sunglasses that were scratched, a bike key when you know you’ve got a spare. Sometimes losing things is very inconvenient, such as a wallet or a mobile phone. And of course some things are really distressing to lose; your passport when on holiday, the address of an overseas friend….the diamond ring your husband just gave you.

That’s right. I was drinking my first cup of coffee last Friday when I glanced down at my hand and realized my ring was GONE. Disappeared. Vanished. In absentia.
Loss definitely sharpens your focus. Whereas the day up until that moment had been full of life’s background noise, plans of what to do and jobs needing to be done, suddenly all that disappeared as the world turned black and my brain imploded. The sane thing would have been to quietly and discreetly start looking for it. So obviously I immediately yelled “OH MY GOD WHERE’S MY RING??!!!!”, thereby alerting hubby to the fact that (1) I was a wife so careless that I would immediately lose the most expensive piece of jewelry he’s ever given me, and (2) quiet and discreet are clearly not my best character traits.
I won’t bore you with the following scene but you can imagine it. Frantic searching, enforced tidying of any place I had been in the last 24 hours, all made worse by the certain knowledge that this had happened because I had taken the ring off and left it somewhere. It couldn’t have fallen off, the fit was perfect. This was all my fault. I ended up flitting between the three locations in the house I keep hand cream; kitchen, bathroom, bedroom, certain that I must have taken the ring off to moisturize and forgotten to put it on again.
In the afternoon I had to go to work to doa telephone interview with someone in the US and I suddenly remembered: I have hand cream at work! The ring will be at work! It will be sitting on my desk or computer waiting for me!
Pushing visions of cleaners pocketing my ring as they dusted my desk to the deepest recesses of my pooling grey matter I sped into work…to bitterly discover it wasn’t there. Panic was replaced by those other buddies of loss…grief, frustration, and a feeling of literally being sick. My head was pounding, my stomach churning, and it seemed entirely possible I might cry. Pulling myself together I grabbed by digital recorder and sat down for the interview, trying to focus on the nuclear energy market instead of my ring, symbol of love and commitment, gone forever. I would like to be able to tell you that I rose above it, that I was able to put the loss of a thing into perspective; nobody was hurt, worse things happen, it could be replaced…but I couldn’t. A wise colleague who listened while managing to look both sympathetic and appalled (not easy) sagely suggested I go through yesterdays events backwards until I found the ring.
Hubby called to see if I’d found it, and about then I realised that sooner or later your body runs out of adrenalin and a good cry seems like the best option.
I slouched home to find he’d searched the house without success, but he was still putting on a brave face. I probably looked as bad as I felt so he kindly decided not to say anything. Remembering my colleagues advice I went up to the bedroom, pulled the covers off the bed (again), and was about to resume the search somewhere else when I thought to lift up the mattress...and there it was. Having left it on my pillow or the duvet the night before, the ring had slipped down between the mattresses. Relief, joy, more tears....and happiness that I won't have to wait another 12.5 years to wear a diamond ring on my right hand. Few feelings in life are as sweet as having rediscovered something loved, lost...and then found again.

Happy 6th Birthday Carl

Yesterday Carl finally turned six. I say finally because for him the wait, the suspense, the seemingly infinite number of days before 20 February rolled around have been an agony. Every nght for the past month he's asked "how many days left now?" when I've put him to bed at night. How long a year seems when you're an almost-six-year-old. The excitement reached it's peak on Friday, the day when he could celebrate at school. I love the photo above - even though it's blurry and side-on you can see the smile that never left his face all day.

There's that smile again - this time he's standing on his chair while all the kids sing happy birthday, led by his beloved teacher Wilma. He went to school dressed as a pirate, because the treats he shared out were pirate cakes. They looked brilliant, and the idea is from a site called Party Kids. I ended up making 50 of these, 30 for school and 20 for Scouts!!

One compensation was that I didn't have to make the birthday cake this year; the local baker did the honours, producing a dinosaur-topped confection that fitted the bill. I'd had a brilliant idea at New Years when fireworks were being sold; why not save some sparklers for on top of the kids birthday cakes! So I dug out the box I'd hidden away and poked two into the top of the cake. They seemed rather large...we lit the candles and sparklers and started singing Happy Birthday. The sparklers fizzed, sputtered...and then ignitied into flares! Bright intense flames shot up into the air, producing clouds of smoke and a shower of fine ash which descended onto the cake. We quickly pulled the kids back and could only watch stunned as the pyrotechnic show continued. Hubby thought to open the door to try and get the smoke out and I was very glad I'd reminded him to disable the smoke detectors before hand. Once the flares finally fizzled out we removed the chunks of burnt wrapping, scraped off the worst of the ash and continued. The house was filled with smoke and our guests probably all thought I was a complete idiot. However the kids thought it was brilliant and will be asking for a repeat performance for Niels birthday. It had seemed like a good idea at the time...

Slip Sliding Away

Winter just won't let up over here. Temperatures are not extremely low but the ground is still below freezing and wet snow topped with rain a copule of nights ago has reduced many roads, foot paths and bike paths to dangerous skating rinks.

The warmer temperatures also pose a risks to animals and people who have grown accustomed to being able to safely walk on frozen lakes and canals. Click here to see photos and a video (you'll have to endure a 15 second ad first) of a pony being rescued by the fire brigade after falling through the ice - fortunatley the story ended well and the pony survived. The importance of frequently checking on livestock is higher than ever and thankfully this pony's owner discovered him quickly before he literally froze to death.

Even if you choose to stay on dry land the risks at the moment are pretty severe. Today I dared to take the boys to school on their bikes for the first time - big mistake. We discovered that the roads are covered with black ice; an almost invisible layer of thick ice which is lethally slippery. Even walking and pushing our bikes was tricky. The local council seems to have given up even pretending to do anything about it so we're taking a risk every time we step out the door. I still had half a bucket of raw salt in the garage so I've just been out throwing handfuls of it on the cycle path. I snapped one brave kid trying to cycle through - I've seen 3 fall off this morning already (see top photo).

This next photo shows the corner of our street - it looks like there's just a bit of slushy snow and water on the cobbles but this is solid ice up to 3cm thick in some places. I couldn't even walk over it when I went out to take the photo:

In this photo taken further up the street you can get a better idea of how much ice there is; what looks like white snow on the street is the uppermost surface of a thick layer of ice, roughened by traffic but no less slippery. Again, you can't walk or cycle over this at all (I've seen plenty of people pushing their bikes with long faces) and driving is risky.

I heard on the radio that between mid-December and mid-January, 17,000 people have been treated at hospital for injuries caused by falls. That's so many it's worth repeating: SEVENTEEN THOUSAND! The cost of all those accidents is around 6 BILLION euros, money which the insurance companies will recoup from all of us. So why aren't the councils salting the paths and cycle-ways? Because apparently they only worry about the roads, and by now, as you can see, plenty of them are not salted at all. There are several companies in Holland that produce salt, even one only about an hour away, but they simply can't keep up with demand despite operating at 100% capacity. Normally there are 20 days in the year when roads are salted; this year it has had to be done every day since mid- Decmeber.

It also doesn't help that so many people fail to clear the snow from the paths outside their houses, so it eventually becomes compacted into ice. Our rather uninspiring Prime Minister went on t.v. to declare that it was every citizens civic duty to keep the footpaths running alongside their properties free of snow and ice; and then showed hmself up for the dork he is by completely failing to doing so outside his own house!

Thousands Protest Against Global Warming...

...well, you've gotta laugh, right? No point keeping on grumbling about the endless snow...(mumble mumble groan)...

On Yer Bike

Every country has it's quirks and things that make you say "oh, that is so typical", and anyone who has been to Holland will know that bicycles are quintessentially Dutch. Not only is it almost competely flat here, but the locals are, as they say "born with a bike between their legs" and it's not uncommon for kids to start cycling as young as 3 or 4 years old. Bikes have right of way on the roads, there are dedicate bike lanes absolutely everywhere, and they even have their own mini traffic lights. There is no law requiring anyone to wear a helmet, but laws regarding having working lights and reflectors are quite strictly enforced by the police.

Singapore, for all its charms, is NOT a great place for cyclists. The traffic is too busy and there are no bike lanes, so our kids had a bit of a late start, with Carl only coming to grips with the whole idea once we'd moved back here.

Cycling is a great way to get around. Not only is it healthy - I credit it with the very noticeable lack of obesity and osteoporosis among the Dutch - it's also good for the environment compared to using your car and much more convenient in town. You don't need to worry about parking, you can stop right outside the shop you need to go to, and any purchases go straight into the saddle bags. And the bikes are so comfortable! None of your butt-spltting 10 speeds or neck twisting mountain bikes. I have a padded gel saddle soft enough to sleep on and the bikes are constructed so you sit upright in comfort. Accessories include child seats, trailers for kids, dogs or even bunnies (Liesbeth!), briefcase racks, double standards for stability, sprung 'arms' for attaching a dog leash, baskets...you name it, the Dutch will have it for their bikes. Bikes with wooden carts on the front, bikes with motors for old people, bikes with 3 wheels for those who are unsteady on the feet...
Good bikes however don't come cheap. Way back when I bought my bike (the first new bike I'd owned in my life) in 1997, I paid 1,000 guildens for it. It's a sign of how old I am that the currency doesn't even exist now, but it's about 500 euros. And I bought INSURANCE for it, another quirky Dutch thing. Also, it's common to get your bike serviced, just like a car! It makes sense when you use it so often but for me arriving from NZ that was a concept I had to get my head around. Today you can easily spend 1,000 euros on a bike. The red one below, from De Fietsfabriek in Amsterdam, will set you back 1,295 euros. That's about NZ$2,600, enough to buy a small car! Of course there is a roaring trade in second hand bikes, but even so, Carl's 2nd hand bike cost 150 euros. And we don't even live in the Western part of the country in a big city where things are expensive. Ouch.

I have seen Cloggies carrying the most amazing things on their bikes, happily cycling with one hand while in the other clutching umbrellas, large boxes, paintings, even a LADDER! If one of our bikes needs to go into the shop for repairs, hubby cycles along holding onto the other one with his right hand (I call it taking a bike for a walk) and heads off into town with two bikes! I tried it once and nearly broke my neck so that's definitley his job.

There are few things that will keep a Cloggie of his or her bike, but the recent cold weather was an exception. As my friend Jeanette said, "you know it's REALLY icy when you see a Dutchman pushing his bike". As the snow became compacted and turned to ice the conditions were treacherous, particularly on cobbled streets like those here in Lochem. They may be cute, and some spots no doubt date well back into the towns 1,000 year history, but icy cobbles will break your leg or twist your ankle in a moment.

Fortunately hubby had the brilliant foresight to fit winter tyres on the car this year, big fat beasties that miraculously soften as the temperature drops to grip the icy roads better, with a profile so deep you could lose a shoe in it. I keep hoping I'll get rid of the neighbours yappy dogs with them, that we'll be removing the winter tyres and say, "hey, what's that stuck in the profile? Oh, it's that pomeranian we used to hear barking all day. Ah well..."

Oh, Well That's Ok Then...

What a busy, busy week. Sometimes life seems to speed up to the point where you're just hanging on by your fingernails, then slows down so quickly you're left broken and bent in a pile of rubble trying to get back to normal.
Last week I had a business trip to Paris to interview the CEO of a company for my magazine, Focus on Nuclear Power Generation. And while business travel is usually far from glamourous, there is a lot to be said for popping off to Paris for a day or so. Even the journey there is an experience, ensconsed in the plush seats of the Thalys (ta-lease) hi-speed train. We whizzed from Rotterdam to Paris in about two and a half hours; in fact on the return trip we were scheduled to arrive at 18:01 and we arrived at......18:01! How's that for punctuality? The trip from Rotterdam to Zutphen actually took longer. Paris was lovely as always although I was there and back in 24 hours, having dined at two excellent restaurants on the Rue de St Honore; the Coup d'etat for dinner (lovely canard confit), and the apparently famous Le Petit Machon for lunch the next day where I dined with the marketing manager for the company I was visiting on brioche stuffed with a pork sausage studded with pistachio nuts. Heavenly!
Back in Holland on Wednesday, hubby was shipping out to Singapore on Thursday (lucky bugger) for which I helpfully provided a very long and detailed shopping list. The boys also had a list which necessitated him making a quick trip to Sentosa Island to visit the gift shop located inside Fort Siloso (they have very specific wishes - Niels even knew which SHELF Daddy had to look on for just the right plane!), then he was onto an FPSO and off to China. Saturday saw the beginning of Carl's overnight scout camp, the Kids & Science Spectacular.

It was a lot of fun, with the kids being kept busy with science experiments for two days. They were well fuelled on bizarrely coloured food like blue pancakes (see above) and bright green spaghetti sauce (which unfortunatley looked like cow shit), which no doubt contributed to the two hours of hyperactive pillow fights and matress-diving before they finally passed out. Ah, what a week of culinary contrasts this has been! The 12 or so parents also got to sleep on the floor in the Scout Hut, and while it was very roomy and well heated I'm such a light sleeper that this is a situtation in which there is zero chance of me ever falling asleep. So I got to watch the hours tick by until finally 6:30 rolled around, the kid started stirring and I figured I could go and have a shower to freshen up. Needless to say we were all pretty tired.
On Monday night Carl must have sneaked into my bed in the middle of the night and then passed out into a deep, deep sleep. I was woken by him stirring next to me and opened my eyes blurrily to see him looking at me.
With less than the optimal measure of grace I snarled: "What are you doing in my bed?"
He looked a bit shame-faced and replied: "I peed in the night"
Feeing a bit sorry for him - this hasn't happened in a very long time - I said: "Well I hope you put on a clean pyjama before you climbed in here."
At which point he brightened up considerably and announced: "Oh that's ok, it was your bed that I peed in!"