Light and airy

Recently I stumbled upon an article on what to do and what not to do on a first date or when first meeting someone you would like to achieve a first date with. Yahoo likes making lists, I like reading lists, so there you go. It mentioned that you should keep conversation light and airy.
I panicked. I find 'light and airy' extremely difficult.
Light and airy is also the theme of lunchconversation at work. That's why I prefer eating alone behind my computer rather than listening to more talk about post-pensionplans that come into action 14 years from now, the pro's and cons of wintertyres and gossip about absent colleagues.
So I thought of topics that I could talk about, just in case I would meet someone new or old or anyone in general really. Light and airy. Light and airy, shallow is the way to go...
Aero-chocolatebars (Bros) are light and airy, but I wouldn't know what to say about those. Breathing usually is light and airy. Clothes? Music? Blankets? Ikea? Light and airy equals harmless, I suppose. Although I am capable of ruining something as innocent as 'babynames', with my response that "if you swop the A for a T, her name spells 'Cunt', and kids can be so cruel". I'm not proud of that one, but in my defense, he did ask what I thought of his newborn's name...
In practise it's even more difficult, because when someone asks you how you are, it is extremely difficult to steer the conversation towards chocolate or hairstyles. And even then, I don't think my current coupe falls in the category of light and airy. Dark and down, more likely. 'How are you?', is usually followed by a comment regarding work or lovelife; well, I think I can put a more positive spin on the Netherlands' current government, than those two aspects of my life.
My psychologist says that communication and social interaction is the hardest thing we have to do in this life. I couln't agree more. Conversation is a lot trickier than throwing around Twitter or Facebook-status oneliners.
The best opening-line I ever heard was 'what was your best moment this week?' at a speeddating event. Yes, I once went to a speeddating event, and No, I don't want to talk about it. I remember my answer; I cooked a lasagne at home and ate it lukewarm from a plastic container in the cinema. That's my guilty pleasure. I know, I'm such a bad-ass. His best moment that week was his his sister-in-law announcing she was pregnant and him rushing over with a cake and bottle of champagne to celebrate.
Should anyone ask me what my best moment was this week (light and airy, Therese, light and airy), I would say; the youth-theatre Hofplein reunion. Sitting in those coloured chairs again, watching former-children-now-grown-ups perform on stage, tearing up at the first tunes of 'Heksenklus' and actually climbing on that stage myself to dance the 'ghost-part' of the tap.
Ghosts! Well, that's light and airy for ya!
(and the blanket I made inspired by Vlieland has a light and airy feel to it, too)

New shoes...

Meet my purple boots. I love them so much, I spent a large part of my life avoiding throwing them out. In fact, I love them so much I am willing and able to devote a complete blog to them, in fact, I am doing that right now.
But, lately, it appears they've had their best days. The stickytape that's holding the leather togheter is coming off, the already once repaired heels have worn to the floor (again) and discolouring has set in; the right one is definitely lighter than the left. Even my best friend, who keeps her shoes untill they fall of her feet, told me quietly that maybe it was time, because they look chewed up and spit out. Although I'm pretty sure that's the reason why they feel so nice.
As the saying goes, you shouldn't throw shoes out before you've got a new pair, so I looked everywhere for an identical pair in multiple cities, even online and on marketplace. Eventually I gave up and replaced them with a pair of new booties. Charming little ones, grey, (fake) suede and very comfortable. Still unable to chuck the purple ones, I walked into a shoe repairshop (slash key-copyer and umbrella-sellers, now why is that?) just to ease my mind. To find out that, no, they cannot be repaired, that yes, sometimes it's time to let go.
"Sure miss, give us an hour and I can put a whole new sole under them and fix the heel".
Now I did not see that one coming.
And so my favourite purple boots ended up on the operation-table for some emergency surgery.
Off course in the hour that followed I bumped into my purple boots. In black. All shiney, new and size 39. When I least expected it. Just like everyone said would happen with men. Well, sodd men. I prefer my boots. They go with everything and they'll last me a lot longer. Even though they won't give me babies, they also won't leave me for another woman. Not untill I throw them in the Salvation Army clothesbox anyway. After shelling out for a third pair of shoes that day, I sat myself down with an expensive coffee, in order to save the rest of my money, because at that rate, I would be bankrupt by the end of september.
Now, did I need any more shoes? No, off course not. I haven't needed extra pairs since 2002. Throwing out has never been my best skill. Besides, who else is going to fill that charity clothesbox with some hardly worn, neglected boots that got left behind in favour of the purple pair?

Jeugdcultuur in Pijnacker

Pijnacker is veranderd. Met pijn in het hart moet ik concluderen dat het groene, lieftallige dorp waar ik vroeger wel eens bij een vriendinnetje ging logeren, is veranderd. Mijn grootste jeugdzonde van destijds was dat ik, als ik er met de trein naartoe rees, zei dat ik in Berkel en Rodenrijs was ingestapt, terwijl dat in werkelijkheid station Bergweg was, om twee gulden te besparen op een enkeltje... Hoe weinig begreep ik toen al van jeugdcultuur, bedenk ik als ik de verslaglegging van een van de grotere loverboy-zaken van dit moment lees. Helaas is het dorp waar ik kaastosti’s met ketchup ontdekte en Stephen King’s IT voor de eerste keer zag, genadeloos veranderd. Met dank aan een van de grote loverboyzaken van dit moment, waarbij Delft en Den Haag als overige pleegplaatsen voor het gemak in de krantenkoppen worden weggelaten, om ook de onschuld van Pijnacker te verkrachten.

Volgens de verdediging van een van mensenhandel (en ontucht met minderjarigen en wapenbezit en verkrachting en kinderporno- en wapenbezit) verdachte jongeman valt het allemaal wel mee en heeft het allemaal te maken met hormonen. Deze verdediging (Peter Hermens) zou zich kapot moeten schamen (maar als ik ooit ga scheiden wil ik hem ook).

“Het zijn gewoon jongens met een hoog testosteron-gehalte, zoals zoveel tieners”. De jongeman in kwestie is inmiddels 21 jaar, in alle mogelijke opzichten volwassen dus. Het gedrag van deze ‘tiener’ en zijn vrienden wordt afgedaan als straat- en jeugdcultuur. Let wel, we hebben het hier niet over nachtelijk voetballen op een veldje (nou nou), rondhangen op een schoolplein (poe poe) of het achterlaten van bierblikjes en koekjesverpakkingen op een hangplek (zo kan die wel weer). Nee, het gaat om groepsseks op feestjes en het filmen ervan met mobiele telefoons, veelvuldig gebruik van alcohol en blowen en minderjarige meisjes proberen te dwingen tot prostitutie. Jeugdcultuur.

De verdachte gaf wel aan zich te schamen voor het filmen van de meisjes. Dit weerhield de verdachte er echter niet van tientallen filmpjes op zijn computer te bewaren en ze te delen met zijn vrienden. De meisjes én de filmpjes; niemand kan hem ervan beschuldigen een slechte vriend te zijn die nooit iets deelt.

Ook het “Nee!”, dat een slachtoffer roept, voordat zij door verschillende door hormonen bevangen jongens wordt gepenetreerd (vast geen woord dat door betrokken partijen gebruikt wordt), kan volgens de verdediging óók betekenen dat zij liever niet gefilmd wil worden of dat ze liever niet heeft dat het licht wordt uitgedaan. De rechter ging mee in het verhaal dat de meisjes zich gewillig lieten drogeren en ‘betasten’ en achtte verkrachting niet bewezen.

Ik weet niet wie ik eerder met mijn handtas in zijn gezicht zou slaan, de hoofdverdachte, zijn raadsman of die rechter. En ja, dit mag opgevat worden als ‘belediging’, strafbaar gesteld in artikel 266 wetboek van strafrecht. Alleen; ik ben momenteel ongesteld, en we weten allemaal welke hormonen daarbij vrijkomen.

Oh ja (alsof het nog niet genoeg was), de wapens, XTC-grondstoffen en het valse geld waren natuurlijk ook niet van de verdachte. Want elke jeugdcultuur-respecterende tiener heeft natuurlijk een tot huiskamer omgebouwde kelderbox met daarin een XTC-lab, een aantal vuurwapens en een leger bij de pizzeria opgepikte minderjarige meisjes die gewillig liggen te wachten en het het liefste met het licht áán doen.

Jeugdcultuur. Ik ben toch blij dat mijn idee van jeugdcultuur logeren bij Lineke in een twee-onder-een- kap-woning te Pijnacker was, en niet verkracht worden door Yousef A., Adil H. en Jamal D. in een kelderbox te Pijnacker.


bronnen: artikelen uit Trouw, de Volkskrant en RTL.nl
voetnoot: dit is een blog die uit boosheid nav de berichtgeving geschreven is, dus puur een mening, en niet op feiten is gecheckt bij de desbetreffende verdachten.

Confessions of a Werchter diary

I lost my festival-virginity to Pinkpop a long, long time ago. I'm pretty sure it was 1996 when I heard Pennywise's 'Bro hymn' live for the very first time and 14 years and 22 (!) multiple-day festivals later, you can still hear the 'oooh oooh ooh oh, oooh oooh oooh oh', if you listen carefully.
Twenty-two; I can't help but being impressed by that number; that's 11x Lowlands, 6x Pinkpop, 1x Torhout, 3x Werchter and 1x Into the great wide open. In all fainess; they blend into each other, I can't say what or who happened where or when. So this year, I took notes. Because really, I'm getting to old for this shit (I'm writing this from my bed I'm sharing with a ton of hankies and kiwi's and a pot of tea).
The best thing about looking back (not just at festivals, but at life in general) is selective memory. Mine sets in on the first day. We arrive on camping A4 after 6,5 hours in slow traffic in an AC-free car, that's four hours after Thomas announced us near Antwerp 'that we would be another 30 minutes'. You've gotta love an optimist. As we put up our tents, Phoenix is playing 'If I ever feel better' in the background and I appreciate the irony. I was desperate to see them, but eh, we're here and I will feel better. After all, the tailback ended the 'Kyteman-versus-Jeugd van Tegenwoordig' dilemma, I would have faced if I was at the fields at 16:30... Now we were still near Antwerp. But it really was a fun trip that ended with Take That blasting from our stereo as we pulled up on the parking-lot (don't look at me, it was Tanja's Ipod!).

As you might remember, it was boiling hot this past weekend, a steady 39 degrees Celcius. Selective memory erased the knowledge that there is no proper shower to speak of at camping A4. I once spend three weeks in Marocco and the traveljournal that was published after this trip, was called 'Showering out of a coolbox'. At camping A4, I would have killed for a coolbox. All we had was a 2-liter Bar-le-Duc carton, we lovingly kept reffering to as 'the instant shower' and we dragged it along for 4 days. I had a nice brown colour on monday, unfortunately it washed of at home in the shower. One morning after waking up in my sauna formerly known as tent, I'm looking for something to wear and all I can come up with is yesterday's bikini-top. It's funny, I've never been more heavy in my life yet never cared less about what I look like. It's just too damn hot. I shake my head and sigh as I look at the legging, black longsleeved shirt, skinny jeans and woollen (!) legwarmers (!!) I so carefully packed. I must have had a good reason for bringing those, because after 14 years I still make packing-lists for every trip. All explanation has melted away though. I also wonder if it's a good idea to use my 'refreshing' Nivea deodorant stick for my whole body and not just my armpits. I don't even get that far, because it has melted into a cream.
Luckily, I don't stand out in my bikini-top, because it is the fashion item this year. Bikini-tops for girls and towels for men. Men also wear those 'Wife beater' tops, in Belgium called 'Marcellekes'. I thought that was funny. The fashion-craze that only lasted 20 minutes was the good old plastic poncho (with or without commercial print).

After all these years, I still learn something new every festival. At Wechter 2010 I learned that in the Dixie-toilets (and I use the term 'toilets' loosely... a blue puddle without a flush really isn't a toilet) on the right of the Pyramid Marquee, you can hear the music from both stages. Which is handy if you can't choose between Pink and Empire of the sun. That is, untill this dual experience is interrupted by a girl having noisy sex in a Dixie behind mine. It was either that, or she was having a really good poo.

I also learned that the Belgians aren't very fond of those 'loud and rude' Dutchmen (and women). One Flemmish guy wash shocked and put his hand in front of his mouth when I told him that I don't like football and that I had to ask my boyfriend whether a game is boring or not, because to me, all sportsgames are boring. Funnily enough this Werchter was the first time I got not one, but two indecent proposals and someone pinched my lovehandles when I wouldn't let him stand in front of me at the Pearl Jam show.

I'm pretty sure I confessed to being an easy cryer. This Werchter was no exception. It's a bit embarressing, but I appreciate cheap emotion-triggers, when I see them, so here it goes.
Green day: when Billy-Joe pulled a twelve-year old boy with glasses on the stage and some fireworks started when the child counted to four (it does seem a bit silly when I see this in writing).
Corinne Bailey Rae: when she started singing the beautiful 'Like a star' and it dawned on me that this lovely, gorgeous, talented lady lost her husband last year.
The Temper Trap: What can I say? I still tear up when I hear 'Sweet Redemption' on the radio.
Pearl Jam: Just Breathe. It's Eddie Vedder in combination with lack of sleep, a smiling Tanja next to me and a very good weekend. No apologies there.
Pink: Ok. I do apologize for this one. But the woman has a good voice, she's pretty, a great performer and can hold up a fantastic show. The same can be said about Florence and the machine; so I guess it all boils down to taste. Me, I'm on team Pink (For Christ'sake; she was twirling up in the air in a harnas and still carried a tune!). I apologize again.

Next one is Into the great wide open; talking about selective memories. I do remember yelling 'Never ever again', after that hardship; tents destroyed if not blown away, non-stop rain, a 7 hour journey to Vlieland and crappy organisation (the volunteer-rota's weren't ready untill the shifts had already commenced). But on the bright side: Whitest Boy Alive is confirmed, but more importantly, the toilets flush!

Route du Nord

I grew up in 'the oude noorden' of Rotterdam; the old North. An area where you're never more than 10 feet away from a kebab-shop or a Turkish supermarket or a cheap clothesshop with flashy synthetic outfits that no-one seems to wear in public. But once a year the cultural, artistic population that was hiding there all along, get the attention they deserve.
It's Route du Nord weekend.
And it's well worth a visit. This year the locations are marked by yellow tape as opposed to the confusing skippyballs that were hanging from the buildings in 2009. I do think that those skippyballs are re-used in a parcours at the Rotabs though...
Unfortunately some galleries (like LOE) were closed due to the match. I am slightly disappointed, because I wanted to use Route du Nord as an escape for everything orange and noisy. My attempt failed a bit, because even here radio's are blasting game-comments, at Rotabs there is a large screen and a woman in an orange t-shirt above plaited trousers and a sensible pair of glasses is playing an accoustic version of the Wilhelmus on an old guitar.
Not really what I expected of a wooden building that is hosting some of the most creative people/shops/expositions of Rotterdam. I am halfway through the Zaagmolenkade, looking at a red plastic rowing boat when I hear the vuvuzela's, screams and the radio-commentator saying: "Someone scored, but I wasn't paying attention, so who made the goal?". See, even people who are paid to watch football don't neccesarily want to or do so.

Here's some of my favourites:
a mobile made of drinking-straws (nr 33 on the map)
Fleurs bags at Rotabs, but I'm prejudiced (nr 16/32)
Noot&zo; a gem of a jewelery and ceramics-shop (nr 12)
3xS; nice shop with both secondhand and new one-of-a-kinds (nr 20)
'autumn' at a galery (nr 35)

So, if you're in the neighborhood, have a look and enjoy the art, cute shops, Doppio icecream, the tuktuks and the kebabs.

Commit color

For the first time in three weeks all is calm again on the Central Station in Rotterdam. Every morning me and other early-morning cummuting travellers got bombarded with leaflets, red tomato-shaped kichen sponges, teabags and other political party propaganda. My bike looked like a pr-approved advertisement as well, with a sadle cover, various stickers and a pamphlet attached to the frame with a tie-wrap.

I found myself smiling at campaigners who have my sympathy and quietly shaking my head to those who don't, dodging their party-programma and heading straight to the lady who hands out the Spits newspaper. She is there regardless the weather, elections or occasional competition from a rival rag; they all keep a respectfull distance and don't dare come close to her fixed spot (just under the glass roof halfway between a ticketmachine and the stairs to platform 15). Information-overload set in immediatly so I remained indesisive untill the tuesday before the wednesday of the election. The internet-tests, all four of them, and their conclusions just added to the confusion. Also bare in mind that a party programme is a compromise and accumulation of the opinions of the pary-members. They all feel the need to be heard, just like an average Dutch citizen. So how are we supposed to find ourselves represented in just one political view, let alone party? On electionday I tried to persuade my parents to vote, since I recently found out that they're not that interested in politics. They used to take me along when they filled in their votingcard at a local church. I always thought it was because they wanted to show me how important it was and I liked the booths and the queues; I was very easy to entertain. Turns out they had to take me, because they didn't want to leave me alone in the house. Twenty-something years later I am happy with my final choice (nr 15, PvdA).

And even though I was gobsmacked when I watched the exit-polls come in (a certain right-winged party has gotten a historical large amount of votes and corresponding seats in parliament; thus increasing polarisation which is never good), the initial shock has unexpectantly allready worn off, mainly because the other political parties don't seem to worry much. Most of all, who needs a productive political position anyway? A few months ago I watched the UK elections which were followed by a 5-day period of a hung parliament. Oh the commotion this caused! While in fact, the whole of Britain (and the rest of the world) kept going. Brits still went to school, to their off-license, watched Eastenders and drank tea.
The same goes for the Netherlands. On a day to day basis, I find myself feeling that nothing really changes; it still rains in june, I still have to do my own dishes and can eat, love and pray if I want to. And watch Eastenders. You don't see the result untill the long run. Because, unfortunately, political voting is like buying on credit; you don't get the bill plus surprise interest untill much later (and by then your new leather sofa that seemed like a good idea at the time, is torn and out-of-fashion). Plus the governement is a company that beholds the right to change their house-rules and regulations at any given moment (and no take-backsies).
In the meantime, it's a comforting thought that politics follow the tidal current just like everything else in history; it comes and goes and there's nothing new under the sun.

Therese vs the Now

This blog comes with a Flow-warning.

Due to recent insight (read: stress-related miniature breakdown), I picked up my Eckart Tolle book again (A new Earth). It was gaining dust in an overly crowded bookcase, constantly being overlooked in favour of other books. Those of you who don't know the guy; he's Oprah's filosopher, the spiritual guidance-counselor alternative to Dr.Phil.
I realised the damages inflicted by doing a not-enough-fulfulling job for 2 years, needed repairing and with a mother like mine (she's a yoga teacher at the Noordsingel), you don't turn to medication; you turn to yourself, your friends&family, a strongly recommended work-appointed social worker and a helpfull book. I guess it took another bathroom-incident to turn back to the pages Tolle carefully wrote down and this time actually read and register the words on them.
So yesterday, on my way back home from work, I was reading yet another chapter on how to diminish the (my) ego by living in the now. There was a lovely illustration about a wise man raising another man's baby, because he accepts everything that life throws at him. In his case a lying teenmom's illegal bastard-child. Calling myself back into the now, is a big thing at the moment for me. It keeps me from worrying to much about things that haven't happened yet, and probably never will.
So when the commuter train stopped mid-track, between Schiedam and Rotterdam, I wasn't all that bothered. After ten minutes it was announced that hooligans were walking on the rails, but that still didn't interfere with my poise. Even after the conductor walked past and told us that we would be 'a while', I was still able to take the situation as it was and stick to page 166.
My poise and appreciation of the situation was seriously taken to the test when my neighbour wanted to share his view of the ordeal (see how it went from 'situation' to 'ordeal'?). In his eyes "all hooligans are mooching, aggresive parasites on wellfare and the train should just run over them, because they all deserved to die."
Confused on how to deal with this candid confession, I was able to shrug and say something along the line of "well, that would give to much of a mess and it would take ages to clean up all the bodyparts...".
I guess that's not the positive, calm response that Tolle would like to see, but it did pull my neighbour (a rough builder who probably votes Wilders) out of his negative realm and triggered the businessman next to him to join in on the conversation. And that's how a possibly annoying experience turned into making fun of my groceries (builder:"you must be really hungry", whilst pointing to my tiny container of Conimex-paste), talking about the book, eavesdropping on other passengers' conversations, cracking jokes that contained the words 'train' or 'track' and sharing Stophoest-sweets. Not bad at all.

But, in all fairness, I was relieved when the train reversed back into Schiedam and I could continue my journey to Rotterdam by subway. Because maintaining the 'here and now' (in hindsight the 'there and then') is pretty hard work! And I'm just not my best self when I'm getting hungry. Ok, I also wanted to go home to play with my new WII-game... In conclusion I think that mister Tolle has probably never been stuck in a train before; for God's sake, if it's not snow or wet leaves, it's hooligans bringing the railwaysystem down to a standstill!

But, that's all in the past now. Untill the next footballmatch. Or snowstorm. Or autumn.

Rotterdam vs the world...

My parents complained that my short videoclip 'suffering selfportraits' was too negative. They felt it didn't portray me fully, that it didn't capture my personality as a whole. Of course not! It's a range of failed selfportraits, of half, blurred, dark or double Therese's. I still think it's hilarious, but I guess we just don't share the same sense of humour. I still wonder where I get mine from... My green eyes and sense of guilt come from my mother. The mystery of why I don't look like my brother remains unsolved, although he seems to relate most to my sarcasm. Also, he is one of the funniest guys I know.
So my mum and dad suggested to make a clip of all the pretty pictures I took on my latest trip to Thailand. And as a good, attentive, obliging daughter, the only appropriate response was:
"Now, where is the fun in that?"
And I did what everybody would do when facing such a challenge:
I made an ode to Rotterdam. Therese-style. Ha! That'll teach them.



Dear mum & dad: I love you guys, but after 31 years you should know what I do with usefull suggestions or good ideas.

Home.

With my watch and my mind still on Thai time, as opposed to the more regularly used human time, I completely mucked up my arrival. I was convinced that by flying back on tuesday morning realy early on a 12 hour flight, combined with the time difference, I would arrive on wednesday morning. It wasn't until 5 hours before landing at Schiphol that I realized that is was, and would be still tuesday when I reached home...
Typical.
Changing back my biological clock and time-set aren't the only things I have to get used to after only one month in Thailand. When my mother picked me up from the trainstation, the first thing I asked her was: "Taxi by meter, ok? yes?". At home I searched my bags for toiletpaper before going for a wee, and afterwards threw the papers in the bin. Another amazing thing happened: I walked over a pedestrian crossing (zebrapad) and you know what? The cars actually stopped! I was so confused, I proceeded carefully whilst signaling a quiet 'Khap kun khaaaa' (Thai for 'thank you') to the drivers. Next on at the supermarket, I felt the need to negotiate on the price of vegetables; 1 euro for just a cucumber seems a bit steep, if you can get a Phad Thai for that money. Or a green curry with tofu... Or a coconutshake.
Ah well, I'm sure I'll settle in soon enough, I already put my gasheater back on and bought (and ate) some real cheese. In the meantime, I'll share my top 10 on Thailand:

10) Going home
I never appreciated hot showers and my green Dick Boons boots more than after spending only one month in Thailand.
9) KOC at Moon Star Studio
and talking to (not as much 'with') Erlend and Eirik. With a big thank you to Renika and Patricia.
8) Black lake and Karaoke
realising I'm my own guide again.
7) Watching the stars with a powerblack out and forgetting tides from a hammockmill
this also included a Snickers-shake, so I don't feel this needs more explanation.
6) Coconutshakes (and ice-coffees and ice-tea)
i hardly drank cocktails or alcohol, why would you with such marvelous other drinks? Good company also helps. With a big thank you to Beatrice, Vanessa and Manuel.
5) Food from a certain stall at Soi Rammbuttri.
I never ate so much rice in my life; for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Occasionally alternated with pad thai noodles. And then right back to rice.
4) Pai land
a small self-regulating farm right outside Pai; the sweetest thing I've ever seen (apart from the baby-kittens, but they were also in Pai).
3. Another hammock moment, but now with Peter's brother playing the guitar@Koh Chang
I was lying in his hammock, completely hidden from everything, liked an unpeeled banana while he was just quietly played his guitar. For me this was the closest to heaven I'd ever been.
2. Pai.
I could probably fill a whole top 10 with Pai-related events, but I won't (I dedicated 3 blogs to Pai and it has to end somewhere). I already feel like I cheated by referring to Pai land seperately. With a big thank you to Kat, Carol and Thomas (our little troop).
1. Diving @Koh Tao.
Yes, I'm as surprised as you are. For someone who doesn't like snorkeling (water-in- the-tube-trauma) and has a small fear of live swimming fish, getting my Padi was a big thing, and I never would have dreamt of enjoying it the way I did. Diving is like being part of a giant big screen television, but better.
With a big thank you to Jesse.

So, this is it. I'm back home. Bags are unpacked, laundry is drying, pictures are being developed and friends and family met again. My routine had missed me a lot, it couldn't wait to suck me right back in (it's just not the same without me). But hopefully I'll slow down a bit to a more Thai-time pace...

Big mistake!

Now what would a blog be without bloopers, also known as travelers mistakes. Their not all mine, I should add. Could be, but aren't.

T. Dutch, 31
"So this 'friendly' guy at the National museum warned me that the Grand Palace I was heading for was closed today at 3. Yeah, what a coincidence! So he was nice enough to literaly throw me in a tuktuk and get me towards this other budha (and a tourist information office and a tailor). When I got back to the guesthouse I read in my travelguide about this well known friendly-guy-telling-you-things-are-closed-scam..."

K. Irish, 28
"My luggage got lost at the airport, and I never pray for anything. But now I went to the grand temple to pray for my luggage to get back safely. When I left the temple I discovered that my brand new, custom-made, yellow Nike's had been stolen. And I wasn't even at the grand temple...."

T. German, 22
"I didn't even like Vietnam, but being tricked into a gambling scheme and losing 2500 dollars didn't help..."

NN. German, ?
"On one of my first travels I didn't lock my backpack properly and when I got to the guesthouse I noticed that someone had gone through my stuff. Luckily I hadn't left anything in there, but it's well known that things get stolen on the nightbus."

T. Dutch, 31
"I had just been warned that things get stolen on the nightbus. But when I got to the guesthouse I noticed that someone had gone through my not properly closed backpack. Unfortunately I had left some money in there and I lost 4000 Baht."

I. English, 47
"So I had this tuktuk-driver that was supposed to wait for me till I was done visiting this temple. I had made the mistake of paying him in advance and when I came back, he was gone. And so had the tuktuk."

B. English, 19
"In India I got pressured into buying this silk top, that was way over budget. But tuktuk-drivers can be very persuasive..."

T. Dutch, 31
"I thought I got a good deal buying two tv-series on dvd on the Chatachuk weekendmarket. When I got home, E4's 'skins' turned out to be 'Desperate Housewives season 6' and only works on my laptop. And the other one? Well, let's say that Simon Walker of 'the Mentalist' is just as handsome in black&white..."

Please feel free to add your (or others) mistakes in the commentsection below. My next blog will be written from home, see you soon!

Celebration!

For my two weeks anniversary (an occasion worth celebrating) of surviving Thailand more or less gracefully (you can decide after reading this blog), I treated myself to a spicy tuna salad. Of course this being Thailand, I don't know what to expect. I imagine something along the line of, you know, peppered tuna on a leaf of lettuce or two, but you never really know. After rice for breakfast (with green curry, vegetables and tofu) and rice for lunch (the sticky kind with mango and coconutsauce), I fancied a change, and I must admit, I'm not dissapointed.
I also did a bit of therapy shopping today, because I'm taking preventive malaria-medication and I call this urge a side-effect, next to the sleepiness. Also being forced in a local, hired outfit (I wasn't decent enough to enter the Grand Palace apparently) consisting of a, let's say loosefitting, synthetic blouse combined with a ankle-length wrapskirt (annex picnic-blanket) and almost ditching the 500 Baht deposit so I could keep these items, I realised how bored I am with the clothes that I brought with me.
The mute woman at the stall made some awkward noises, before it dawned on me that she was 'talking' to me. She blew up her mouth and cheeks, holding her arms in an uncharming manner on her hips and sticking out her non-existing belly. I guessed she tried to look like a...snowman? Oh. Or like me, I realized as she frantically pointed towards the rail with the 'large' t-shirts. Yeah, yeah, yeah. This would never happen at H&M.
I must be the only tourist in Thailand not losing any weight, but I'm actually finding my clothes tighter as I go along. A fact that has nothing to do with my washbasin-laundry skills, I want to add. Hopefully replacing the Green Ice Teas with water will help. These dearly beloved 'Green' Ice teas contain 13 teaspoons of suger per half liter. I was drinking 2 liters a day. Bare in mind that the iceteas already replaced the ice-coffees (wonderfully delicious, mainly because it consists of condensed milk and even more sugar).
Crap. I don't even like water... Ah well, maybe if I put some in my Ice Teas....

quick recap of the last few days:
Sukothai: lots of ruins, statues and ruined statues.
Bangkok: I met not one, but two Australian backpackers! In their early seventies, brothers-in-law, asking me for directions. Yeah. I know, the irony.
KOC: nobody ever heard of the Moon Star Studios, but I found them and two lovely local students to share the experience (and Erlend-jokes, sorry Erlend) with.

Koh Chang tomorrow, and I plan to get really bored there!

Nice as Pai

So, all my friends that had been to Thailand, told me, no, made me promise to go to Pai. Luckily for me, I actually listened. Pai is a small place in the north part of Thailand, a 4 hour busdrive from Chiang Mai. It's actually what I expected Thailand to be like. It's no wonder you hear stories about tourist going to Thailand to travel, but just end up staying in Pai for the whole trip. Rumour has it, it doesn't get better than this; that's a bit scary, I suppose. Don't worry, I will leave this Pairadise, just not today (as originally planned....). Here's some reasons whai I love Pai:
- you survive the walk over a small bamboo bridge towards a tiny place called the Riverside Bar. Here you can just sit down, sloped against your triangular pillow and eat a nice bowl of muesli, fruit and yoghurt.
- there's Jason Mraz and Bob Marley everywhere.
- the bartenders play Thai checkers on a homemade checkerboard with bottlecaps for pieces (Chang vs. Singha).
- there are no ladies thrusting a wooden frog under your nose, that makes a crickety noise when you rub it with a stick. Don't get the picture? Keep it that way. It's horrible.
- every night is a bonfire night at the Riverside Bar.
- Major electricity black out? No problem, you just pull out your spare candles and have another mojito (for 70 baht)
- there's the cutest little farm at the bottom of a hill, near (i use the term 'near' loosely, because it's a 3,5 hour walk) a waterfall; they grow their own crops, and make you icecoffee or mangoshakes, if you want. Or you can just sit there and watch them cut coconuts and sing another Bob Marley song. Their motto: peace+love=us.




-Police-officers are allowed side-jobs without worrying about conflict of interest (then again, they don't seem to worry about Health and Safety issues either). Like this policeman who dubbs as a guitarplaying singer to supplement on his income..
- it's where 2 Ozzy girls and a German man find you in a cave (with a rather dissapointing waterfall) whilst reading Atomised on a rock, and decide to adopt you like a stray Dutchie-dog.
- Pai is also where you end up with 4 (four!) babycats falling asleep in your lap. And I don't even like cats all that much (I do like kittens....).

leaving Pai makes you realise it's all downhill from here (if you survive the journey of 762 hairpin-curves, that is)

Everybody Pai now....

What more can I say? Ah, yes:


And maybe a little bit of this;

And I almost forgot to tell you about;

Oe, oe, oe, and there's this (of course);

I'll leave you with this one (or two). I have to sign off, polish my helmet, you know...

Homesick (past tense)

Warning for reader: I am now safe and very happy in Pai, but I did feel a bit homesick earlier this week. Since I'm a lousy sugarcoater and I didn't want a 'now I'm in Bangkok and now I'm in Chiang Mai-blog', I will bore you with my feelings.

It hit me when I least expected it. I've actually been waiting for a diarrhea-attack (still waiting...), so when I was pushed and shoved by homesickness, I was unsure on how to fight back and therefor took it like a girl, just lying down really.
Everything was going quite well, met a friendly guy on the nighttrain to Chiang Mai, bumped into him again when we had both rented some bicycles, had a lovely breakfast (him: full English, me: pancake with banana) and cycled through the city. We saw heaps of markets and temples. I mean no disrespect, but the first, let's say three, are impressive: 'Look at the woodcarving', 'wow, it's a dragon', 'amazing buddha'. But the dragons become horses, elephants, tigers etc. The incents smell the same everywhere, the buddhist monks are just men in orange robes checking the internet on their computers and I felt exhausted. Not just tired of temples, cycling, stairs, the heath, but also of my company (not his fault) and mostly of myself. I apologised to my newfound (and lost again) friend and returned to my room in the guesthouse, where I wasn't entire sure what to do with myself.
What did I want? That seems to be the big (reoccuring) question at this time in my life. So what does a girl do when facing these demons and dilemma's (nice title..). She sleeps and then she sleeps some more before posting a distressing status on her Facebook.
Thing was, I received so many do's and don'ts, but no footnotes on how to deal with homesickness. But, for future reference for fellow travellers (and holiday-makers), a small warning:
- you are probably not immune to homesickness. It will happen. When you least expect it, or in my case, when you are very tired.
- diacure doesn't help.
- also do not, I repeat Do Not drown yourself in sorrows (or the River Kwai or any other large quantity of fluids).
- take the advise of my social worker; just walk, take notice of your surroundings, but no! hard! thinking!.
- give in to your exhaustion and sleep it off.
- the moment will pass. This is also the reason nobody tells you about it; because they forget. When you look at the pictures, you will think 'lovely weather, good food, hurray for swimmingpools, temples, more temples and a nighttrain'. And not 'god I'm so lonely', 'I don't even know what to do in Chiang Mai, let alone in my life'.
- other lovely tips and encouraging words included Ben Folds and cupcakes, Tigerbeer (and other alcoholic beverages) and the mantra: it's normal, it will pass, just relax and enjoy it (it being an unknown variable).
This was mainly monday and tuesday after cooking and eating a pad Thai, a green curry, cashewnut chicken curry, chicken and coconutsoup, fishcakes, rose-apple and black sticky rice pudding, I felt a whole lot better. Meow's Pad Thai cookery class is a definite thumbs up and cheer up. And off course, everything is better in Pai!


yes, I am staying in a cute little hut, and yes, that is in fact a bucket of Mojito.

Not in the Lonely Planet...

The best way to make sense of Bangkok for me is to see it as the 'upside-down day' episode of Spongebob. You can't lock your hosteldoor from the outside, no, only from the inside. They don't just pour sugar over their strawberries, no, it's a yukky mixture containting salt. When they say something is closed, it's actually opened (but he just wants you to take a tuktuk to the Tourist Information office). Smiling and looking down means 'No' and sometimes 'Yes' also means 'No'.
So when people kept telling me to get out of the city, so stay away from the red shirts, do not go anywhere NEAR the demonstrations, guess what I did?
(this is the moment that I usually start guessing, even though I'm asked a rethorical question)
Yup. I went there and took a good look all these protesters. I sat down next to another guy eligible for white-people-tax with the words: 'can I sit here? Safety in numbers and all?'. But he didn't get my joke (us two versus 800.000+ people; nu.nl says 80., but that's a bit on the low side, and they're expecting more to come this evening)
It reminded me of Queensday, but everyone is wearing red instead of orange. It is confusing though, everyone seems to have another reason for wearing their red shirts (fashion not being one of them) and to shake their heart-shaped rattles. There weren't many tourists there, even though Ko Sam Road is right around the corner. The few pale-faced, shortswearing, shy looking people that were there, greeted me with a look of recognition. It was actually quite nice, because, well, Bangkok is not really my city. It's too big and the tuktuk drivers, shopkeepers, padthaicookers and taxichauffeurs just won't leave me alone. But here everyone does, or they just look at me curiously, smile and wave. They just want to talk about the cause and not take your money.
As I am (was) writing this, a man wearing a 'red in the land' shirt and matching bandana plants a flag behind me. Promptly a mother places her two children next to me and takes our picture.
God I wonder what that flag sais. I am being photographed a lot today. Let's just call it even for all the intrusive pictures I took today.

West-Kruiskade, eat your heart out!

I woke up at 10:45 this morning, convinced that it was hours earlier. But it wasn't, so this morning the cold shower was a warm welcome to today. I also hold up my first taxi (the first of many firsts, I presume) and let him take me to the Hua Lampong trainstation where I buy my 2nd class, low, AC nighttrain-ticket to Chang Mai for sunday for 841 Bhat. Remember the Tourist Info lady? Ha!
Walked into China Town, and trust me, the West-Kruiskade (Chinatown of Rotterdam) has nothing on this place. I was excited when I discovered shoe-street, found a lovely fake-leather, pink bag at bag-street, had a giggle at everything-made-of-paper-street, but was more than ready to leave China Town when I got lost in chickenfeet, dried shrimp and all-the-intestent-you-can-eat-AREA. Yeah, that put me off my breakfast and my lunch.
Being Dutch, you have to show the locals your cycling-skills, and I made my country proud today... The narrow backstreets of an hitherto undiscovered China Town (motorcycle&tuktuk-parts-street!!) proved somewhat of a challenge, but we made it, in one piece. We also took the ferry to 'old town', where the main attraction is white people in shorts on bikes, yelling 'hello, hello' back to the toddlers (daycare is 20 Bhat per child per day! Incredibly cheap, but they don't seem to learn anything other than to smile and wave....) and high-fiving them in the passing.

I have no intention in turning this into a political blog, cause it's not, mainly because I don't know much about politics other then when I'm supposed to turn up to vote whatever the 'Kieswijzer' tells me to. What I do know is that there is police, military people and riot vans everywhere. My bag got searched when I entered the MBK shopping mall (yeah yeah yeah, I also went shopping and saw a movie today). They frowned at my 'hartige Sultana' that was left in my bag. And on the way back, my taxi had to slow down so that an armed guard could check it with a flashlight. The bizarre thing is that tourist-info-lady told me that everyone is fleeing the city, because of the protests, and, bicycle-tour-lady said that everyone from surrounding provinces are coming to Bangkok, because of the protest.
Go figure. Ah well. Hopefully bridge over river Kwai tomorrow.
ps. About that movie: it included a Karaoke version of the Thai national anthem, nobody sang along though. Very interesting to see, unimaginable in Holland.

safe, sound and Nivea

I've never been even near Asia. Actually the closest I've ever come to Asia was buying an Indian cookbook after developing an unconditional love for curries whilst living in Shrewsbury. I went to Marocco, but that's Africa. So with the bare purchase of a returnticket, I got one step closer to adding another continent on my 'have seen' list.
Of course my flight is delayed... Which I'm seeing as a practice in concentration. I am compensated with a food voucher: two and a half hours of my human life equal 15 euros (or a fish and chips meal). During the meal I get to listen to Krezip and Rene Froger in de 'Old Amsterdam'. The rest of the time I spend in a lounge area where I am treated to endless views of Hollandish Horizons; trees, creeks, cows and more windmills than I can count. All this joy accompanied by the soft snores of my next-chair neighbour. I've never felt more Dutch in my life.
Eleven hours, two meals and one-and-a-half movies later I arrive in Bangkok. Analyst that I am, I start comparing, trying to make sense of it all. Fruitless off course, backstreets of Miami, sandy islands in Greece, horse-and-carriages in Egypt, nor the old North of Rotterdam have nothing to do with Bangkok. I'm just to fucking tired.
I know it's the worst thing to do when suffering from a jet-lag, but I allow myself one hour of sleep and cold shower. The cold wasn't really an option. I am cranky and even though there is nobody here to annoy with my downish mood, I do have to spent another 28 days with myself. Let alone the rest of my life.
I finally relax when I smell the Nivea sunscreen that I put on my face and arms. Funny how that worked for me; I take that scent with me wherever I go.

And then.
Leaving political drama's behind with recounting votes in Rotterdam, PVV-problems in the Hague, I enter another political issue over here. Apparently there are large protests scheduled for tomorrow, and even the locals are fleading the city. Or so the lady at the Tourist Info Shop told me, but maybe she was just trying to sell me a load of tickets outside of Bangkok. Anyway, I am told not to wear red (in favour of the monarchy) and not to wear yellow (supportive colour of Taksin (?)). So much for my lovely new King Louis dress covered in large red & yellow flowers....

ps. my camere doesn't seem to like the heat... so no pictures just yet.

Tourschedule de Thailand

The original plan was 'there is no plan'. I just booked a returnticket to Bangkok after not to carefull consideration and that was it. So I guess the only plan was to go home after 28 days.
But other people's enthousiasm is contagious and slowly but surely small options ("yeah, I'll think about it...") become e-tickets and booked excursions via obscure and not-so-obsure websites. Because if you see this "เพราะ นรก ผู้ รู้ สิ่ง นี้ หมาย ถึง หรือ ไม่", in your inbox, who knows if it says 'thank you for your interest in the KOC-concert' or 'thank you for your creditcard information, we will now empty your bankaccount'. I don't care how charming those frisky looking letters are!
When people ask me where I'm going, I tell them that I 'start in the middle (by that I mean Bangkok), go up, stay there, go back down to Bangkok and then even more southwards to the islands on the right. And then back to the middle.
Yeah. Geographically challenged, remember? That's why I drew this helpfull map!
Things on my to-do list are a bicycle-tour through Bangkok (the famous Co van Kessels classic), Kings of Convenience concert (23th of march in the Moon Star Studios), exploring markets, admiring buddha's, realizing when you've seen one, you've seen them all, cooking lessons in Chiang Mai, finding Poi (or was it Pai?), sharing a hammock with Jason Mraz (mp3), climbing a Treehouse on Ko Chang and regaining some poise, peace and playfulness.
Or as my Outlook unavailability wizzard explains my absence:
I'm eating fish, collecting seashells and decorating Australian backpackers.
(I can't write 'versieren', my parents read this blog! Oh wait...)
Anyway, it's almost T-time!

Bare essentials

If preparation is half the fun and sharing double the pleasure, I should use this equasion to write this blog and share my preparation on my 'tour de Thailand'. I'm not gone yet, my leaving date isn't even close, but I have started packing. Or rather; I'm making piles of stuff I should not forget.
I've asked around at more experienced travellers what I should do, don't and bring on this holiday, but all I get are hazy stares and mumbled words like 'jealous', 'ah Bangkok' or 'can I go with you'. But occasionaly I get a practical advise or a referral to a website. I found www.khaosanroad.com/firstfewdays (thank you Janou) and www.travelfish.org very helpfull. Also, the Trotter-travelguide I'm bringing has been to Thailand more than it's actual owner, so thank you Leyla, for lending me an experienced guide. (referral to 'Are you experienced?', geddit? Oh, nevermind)
I frowned when my friend Roxan suggested to buy a pair of shorts, because last time I wore a pair of shorts I was 19, size 10 and worked at Camp Summit, New Jersey. But apparently they prove practical when travelling or just sitting without showing too much. So I bought my first pair of shorts in 12 years. And once again, they will only we worn in another continent.
Should I bring a towel? Yes. Do i need a coat? Of course not! But bring a vest (thanks Jelle). Do I need a sleepingbag? No, but take this travelsheet (thanks again Roxan). Do I need a third bikini? No, my friend said. Ha! Luckily I have the final say in that one! From what I've heard the only size 14 goods made in Asia, end up in an H&M in Europe anyway. Another usefull advise: 'stop worrying, you can buy everything you need there, Apie' (thanks Vithya). And buy tie-rips to close your bag and duct-tape for unforseen repairs (thanks Mariska). Tie-rips I could see happen, but duct-tape? I felt like preparing for a robbery, not a holiday. Because everyone knows that tie-rips, ducttape, next to a balaclava and a black nylon sports-rucsac are the bare essentials for a robbery, so that just felt wrong. Plus... what Vithya said.
Of course my final preparation revolves around music; what MP3's to install on my phone. Ha! Didn't see that one coming, did you? But music is important to me, and this (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-_zLOnDnFpw) will be my 'calm down song'. Knowing me, I probably need it.

the (temporary) extinction of the tiger

The ten days of IFFR go so fast, just a few more blinks of the eye of the tiger and another brilliant week will be over. The tigers are walking on their last (rear) legs. Exhaustion, booze, stolen kisses, awkward customers and lunch-bags (what happened to the treats, people?) are taking their toll, pushing the brave tigers over the edge.
As always, now is a time for reflection, but since I have no intention of turning this blog into an evaluation, I'll share some older memories with you first.

I mentioned it before, I used to work in the Pathe cinema during my studies. This means that I've spent 5 years making and selling popcorn, pouring liters of coke, cleaning chairs, disposing garbage, cleaning white doors, washing puke out of a guy's hair, sweeping floors and selling tickets.
Once a year the building, my building, was taken over by IFFR-people. And I hated it. They were arrogant snobs, looking down on us 'commercial guys', prohibiting people to take their coffee into the cinema, sticking posters on the walls (leaving tape-marks that I would have to clean up afterwards) and they did not have to wear a uniform, like us, in a time the girls still had to wear a skirt, yellow shirts and a scarf tied around the neck. Throwing down the IFFR banners was a ritual that I looked forward to most, especially at the end of the Volkskrant-dag.
So what happened?
The parties, getting to know the people (I made sure the location-manager knew my name and where to find me), a sense of unfullfillment in regular day-job causing a longing for a trip down Pathe-lane; just selling tickets.
(picture was taken 2 years ago, btw)
During my Pathe-years I bonded with Tanja over an IFFR-incident. As some of you might know, IFFR people take their refreshments very serious. That is, coffee and espresso, not so much the popcorn or sweets, which, contrary to what happens in the box-office, practically remains untouched for ten days. And those who do not bring their own flask of herbal tea, are condemned to queue. I also had a woman who refused to pay 1,80 for her hot water, because 'she had brought her own tea bags'... A few years ago Pathe only had one (1) coffee-machine. For over one-thousand (1000) customers. Can you imagine that? Now picture the same machine breaking down due to heavy usage. So I had to climb on top of the counter and shout to an angry mob that there was no more coffee, and that yes, this also meant no more capuccino (or tea or espresso). Well, that culturally responsible, environmentally and otherwise appropriate left wing crowd turned terribly sour and was ready to lynch me. I survived but sharing this with Tanja left us with similar scars and a fear of Volkskrant-readers.

The films aren't really the highlight for me. I was watching a documentary about the very serious problem of soil-polution and illegal garbage dumps in Italy. I guess I wanted to see something responsible, but kept dozing off untill a text-message from Tanja saved me. Of course having chips with her at Schippers-chips is much more important than watching this, well, garbage.
Or yesterday, queueing for one hour and then falling asleep in a film about loud, drinking French college-students. Or watching ecoline-stains change colour, for an hour and a half. Falling asleep is casual damage or a welcome powernap, depending on how tired you are. Over the years I also learned to get up and walk out, a skill proving to be very helpfull in the rest of my life.

Of course IFFR is also the perfect place to rebound and creating new memories that you might like to forget as soon as the festival is over. Now these war-stories about single and not-so-single men are not suitable for a public blog, and should only be shared in a one-2-one dialogue. Even then they contain a kiss-and-don't-tell-clause. You can always ask, but I don't guarantee a satisfying answer.
For now, this tiger is going to bed and gain some sleep before the grand finale of the End-party, the Volkskrantdag and the volunteers-party.

Pathe-tic

Once a year I'm back where I belong, where I'm truly happy. Who cares about a masters degree in Criminology if you can sell tickets at a festival without being paid for it?
Because that's exactly what I'm doing right now at Iffr. Where other volunteers ask me if I don't find the box office in Pathe claustrofobic or boring, I have to say 'no'. And I really don't, its my favourite location, for the simple reason that it's a place where I've worked for 5,5 years during my studies and I've always been very happy there. So nothing brings me more joy than telling people that a film is sold out, or in very rare (and usually Korean) occasion available, than from my chair behind bulletproof glass in a cubicle also known as 'the aquarium'. And who wouldn't love a dialogue like this:
- You could also go see 'Vapor Trail'?
- What? that film is over 260 minutes!
- really? Wow, I've had relationships that didn't even last 260 minutes...

At the Pathe Cinema's there's also the extra perk of 'common crowd', youngsters seemingly unablivious to the fact that the Tiger (symbol of iffr) has taken over the city. They point to the bulletinboard above the ticket-box and ask if we don't have any movies this evening. This is the moment when I smile apologetically and say that we have over 300 films and if they are interested in a black and white Japanese film on gangs in Tokyo or a familydrama from the Philipenes that they are more than welcome to buy a ticket. But if they want to see Avatar or A serious man, they have to go to the south-end of Rotterdam. Usually they turn at their feet when they hear 'black and white'. Honestly, I can't blame them on that part. Most sought after film after 'a single man' and 'Dial M for murder', at Pathe yesterday was Avatar...
The funny thing is, besides spotting the confused youth from a mile away, that the Tiger is absolutely everywhere. It's virtually impossible to miss it; it's on posters on the streets throughout the city, it's in newspapers, I found a notification on my bike and even on some money. The postman-bag in various colours is the must-have accesoiry this filmseason.
Sadly, unless you're a seventeen year old yob on a first date, monday the 8th of February, everything is back to normal and fashion and life in Rotterdam no longer includes tigers.