My apologies for the silence of the last months. I have several reasons for waiting this long to write again, though perhaps a couple of them are better described as excuses. One good reason, one that is relevant to the content of this blog, is that I’ve been unusually busy volunteering on a farm for the last five weeks. Another reason (which is perhaps an excuse) is that I found my previous location of Olen – described in the last blog post – as sleepy and stable. There are, of course, always things that could be said about a place and one’s experiences, but I didn’t feel inclined to publish any of them. Suffice to say that Olen failed to produce any exciting anecdotes, or any fantastic revelations. My time there proved to be largely a period of rest and recuperation, which is exactly what I wanted. To think too much about one’s daily life can also be to rock the boat of contentment, so I have been reluctant to consider what I might say in summary about how my trip is progressing. However, the time has now come for new communication. In this post I will say something about my current location, and then mention the things I have planned for the next few months.
The farm I’ve been working on is called De Doedorij. In Dutch this roughly translates to ‘Dude’s Farm.’ Dude is in fact a man named Wouter. He is indeed a dude, though I think the nickname originates from a prior time when Wouter led an alternative lifestyle of a different kind, primarily involving smoking lots of weed and being a bit mystical. The image you may justifiably have conjured from this description is probably incorrect – Wouter is only twenty-five and has all of his faculties intact. He runs this small farm with competence, total seriousness and endless enthusiasm. The farm is a CSA, which stands for Community Supported Agriculture. This means that Wouter grows vegetables for approximately 120 customers who pay in advance for eight months of produce. It’s like an organic box-scheme idea, but without the weekly delivery of produce; the customers collect their vegetables from the farm. A farm of this size, growing a range of vegetables this wide, would be very hard pressed to survive without guaranteed custom. I like the idea of CSA because it represents a very simple avoidance of the market. It’s poignant that one of the largest vegetable auction-houses in the world is a few miles down the road from here. At the auction the prices paid to farmers are driven so low by huge retailers that only the largest players can participate. The consequence for the consumer is bland produce in the shops. On the farm we mostly eat our own produce, which beats its supermarket counterpart for taste and quality literally every time. It will be a hard fall to agribusiness earth for me when I leave here and am forced to eat produce from the shops again.
I had actually planned on leaving the farm by now in order to volunteer at the Belgian permaculture festival. I went to the festival site last week, but found the prevailing language of French to be very awkward. As an English speaker I was next-to-useless to the disorganised band of organic Belgian ruffians who were preparing the site for the festival itself. They were all decent people, and I was welcomed after a fashion, but it was clear that I was wasting my time. What’s more, I was in danger of wasting theirs too by hoping to be included. I quickly decided to leave much earlier than planned, and came straight back to the comfort of the farm – the closest thing I now have to a home outside of England. I’m disappointed that the festival was nothing I had hoped it to be, but the experience taught me to be more realistic in the choices I make about what to do whilst I’m away. I knew the festival would be conducted in French, but was arrogant enough to think that it would be fine to muck in anyway. In the event it was not fine, and I now recognise that any situation in which I’m bound to be marginalised is unlikely to be fine either.
Whilst in Belgium I’ve been contemplating ideas of sustainability. I have a developing interest in the sustainable use of resources, and alternative technologies, but I’m more interested in what the idea could mean for my personal conduct. I figure that it’s possible to make sustainable choices about how I use personal resources, which is to say my body and mind. Eating shitty food, for instance, is not sustainable because it depletes my body’s resources without renewing them to an equal extent. Reading an interesting book, on the other hand (and of a different kind of example), can be considered sustainable. Reading adds to my store of knowledge without unequally depleting physical or mental resources. Obviously, there is much more to consider, with the idea of opportunity cost (i.e. what could I be doing instead of reading the book?) posing particular difficulties for such choices. However, I’m enjoying thinking through these ideas at a shallow level, and I think that there will be some lasting effect(s) from these thoughts.
On September 4th I’m heading down to the south of France. It has always been my plan to chase the sun south and west through Europe. New impetus has arisen in two respects that are also coincidental. First, I have met a new friend here on the farm who has put me in touch with a friend of hers in the south of France. The friend of a friend is currently renovating an old property and needs some practical help. This woman sounds worldly and her land sounds inviting. Second, some friends of Wouter’s, who are becoming my mates too, happen to be driving down that way in September. They are also going to an arts festival in Spain, and I might go with them that far. In any case, I won’t return with them to Belgium but instead will head to my new autumn residence. I expect the autumn and winter climate to be tolerable, certainly by the English standards I’m used to. I’ll be a happy man if I can work outside comfortably during the autumn months. I have been learning basic practical skills during the last two months or so, and I want this to continue. Ideally, I will reach a point at which I am thoroughly capable of building and fixing all kinds of material things. Only then, my friends, will I be a man.
My final note in this post must be the recognition that I am deeply missing you, dear readers – my friends – and my social life in England. This comes as no surprise to me, as the sheer goodness of what I was forgoing when taking flight from England was blatant back in April. I hope that it comes as an unsurprising admission to you too, otherwise something is amiss with my end of the friendship bargain. In particular I want to say to my friends in Norwich that being away from you and the city has brought the realisation that Norwich is a damn good place to live. We have all known this for a long time, but there’s nothing like a dose of separation to hammer home the point again. I suppose that the question thus arises of whether I intend to return, but I must refuse to answer because I have no clear thoughts on the issue. However, I am quite confident that I will return to the UK quite soon in order to continue my life there in earnest. Being abroad again has reminded me that my identity is irrevocably tied to England and to pretend otherwise is foolish. I also love English, which is lucky because I have no other language to flirt with.
I would truly love to hear from you. Email or message me at will.
Cheers.
Tuesday, 17 August 2010
Sunday, 30 May 2010
So long Amsterdam, hello Belgium. Not exactly a giant geographical leap, but I’m pleased at having left The Known for The Unknown. After four weeks in Amsterdam I was ready to leave the city, though reluctant to leave a small group of friends whom I like very much. If any of you good people read this, and I know that at least one of you will, I thank you for your generosity and company during those four weeks.
It’s difficult to describe the place that I’ve come to. I’m now in Olen Centrum, which is in the district of Antwerp. It’s a small town with a sleepy conservative character. Belgian architects must be busy, as each house is unique. Or perhaps just a couple of Belgian architects are rushed off their feet, as the houses are almost all of a common style. If what the movies have shown me is correct, then Olen is much like a typical American suburb. The people here are clearly house-proud. The houses and gardens are immaculate, mostly detached and often have Dutch names that I don’t understand, but must surely be kitsch. The people outside of my residence appear to be emotionless. I don’t recall having seen a single smile, laugh or frown in five days. Everybody is extremely well behaved. There is no evidence of crime or disorder. Somebody called Sam has painted his name on the pavement down the road. I imagine Sam has since been politely deported, or perhaps he was just passing through. Olen’s straight face makes me wonder whether anything more illicit lurks below the surface. David Lynch has changed my perception of small-town life. I went for a walk this morning in the local woods, hoping to see signs of illegal raves, occult meetings, public sex or anything out of the ordinary. Alas, apart from a few empty (Belgian) beer cans the woods were neat and tidy. But not to worry; I’m not very interested in occult meetings, etc, and that’s not why I’ve come to Olen.
The place at which I’m living and volunteering is called De Sterrewijzer, which in Dutch means something like ‘the star seeker.’ It’s not quite as hippy as it sounds. The project actually began as an old people’s home, which is still here. My host, Charles, witnessed the care that is typically given to the elderly when his father was dying, and didn’t much like what he saw. Charles decided to open a home that would provide the social and spiritual stimulus that some elderly people desire. This is a huge task that took Charles, his family and supporters over a decade to accomplish. Charles is no longer in charge of the home, but instead is now in the process of setting up various complimentary projects in the grounds. I am here as a WWOOF volunteer to help build a kindergarten and to tend to the vegetable patch. I already like it here and am glad that I came. Charles is effectively my boss, but he doesn’t act in an authoritative way. Beyond the most necessary instructions I’m free to get on with the work. I came here hoping to have to work hard and also to learn as many practical skills as possible. Charles is constantly doing something toward the upkeep of the project and is obviously a very capable person. There is one other volunteer, a young Turkish guy called Hasan, who is currently away on a trip to Eastern Europe. He’ll be back later today and I’m looking forward to having his company. I’m not sure how long I’ll stay here, but it will be for several weeks as I feel that this place could be good for me.
A couple of good books have passed through my hands in the last week. Indignation by Philip Roth was incredible. I wasn’t aware that sentences could be so long and yet so elegant. I encourage you to read anything by this acclaimed master, and intend to read more myself when I next come across an English book shop. The second book is Homage to Catalonia by George Orwell. Orwell is blunt in expression and inspiring in character. I think it’s a pretty big deal to volunteer to fight in a foreign war, and maybe Orwell does too, though he’s careful not to show it. I plan to read more narrative history books; it’s such an enjoyable way to learn.
Finally, I want to recommend a radio programme podcast that I’ve been re-listening to whilst weeding the potatoes. I’ve already mentioned this to many of my friends, but I’ve been reminded of just how great it is so I’ll say it again. The programme is called This American Life from Chicago Public Radio. All of the shows are available to download for free on their own website and through iTunes. Some of them are a bit too cheesily-American for British ears, but on the whole I think they’re excellent. I suggest that you start with #199 House on Loon Lake and #220 Testosterone, which are quite old now (2008) but are two of my favourites. If anyone has any recommendations for other radio podcasts please let me know. Farewell for now.
It’s difficult to describe the place that I’ve come to. I’m now in Olen Centrum, which is in the district of Antwerp. It’s a small town with a sleepy conservative character. Belgian architects must be busy, as each house is unique. Or perhaps just a couple of Belgian architects are rushed off their feet, as the houses are almost all of a common style. If what the movies have shown me is correct, then Olen is much like a typical American suburb. The people here are clearly house-proud. The houses and gardens are immaculate, mostly detached and often have Dutch names that I don’t understand, but must surely be kitsch. The people outside of my residence appear to be emotionless. I don’t recall having seen a single smile, laugh or frown in five days. Everybody is extremely well behaved. There is no evidence of crime or disorder. Somebody called Sam has painted his name on the pavement down the road. I imagine Sam has since been politely deported, or perhaps he was just passing through. Olen’s straight face makes me wonder whether anything more illicit lurks below the surface. David Lynch has changed my perception of small-town life. I went for a walk this morning in the local woods, hoping to see signs of illegal raves, occult meetings, public sex or anything out of the ordinary. Alas, apart from a few empty (Belgian) beer cans the woods were neat and tidy. But not to worry; I’m not very interested in occult meetings, etc, and that’s not why I’ve come to Olen.
The place at which I’m living and volunteering is called De Sterrewijzer, which in Dutch means something like ‘the star seeker.’ It’s not quite as hippy as it sounds. The project actually began as an old people’s home, which is still here. My host, Charles, witnessed the care that is typically given to the elderly when his father was dying, and didn’t much like what he saw. Charles decided to open a home that would provide the social and spiritual stimulus that some elderly people desire. This is a huge task that took Charles, his family and supporters over a decade to accomplish. Charles is no longer in charge of the home, but instead is now in the process of setting up various complimentary projects in the grounds. I am here as a WWOOF volunteer to help build a kindergarten and to tend to the vegetable patch. I already like it here and am glad that I came. Charles is effectively my boss, but he doesn’t act in an authoritative way. Beyond the most necessary instructions I’m free to get on with the work. I came here hoping to have to work hard and also to learn as many practical skills as possible. Charles is constantly doing something toward the upkeep of the project and is obviously a very capable person. There is one other volunteer, a young Turkish guy called Hasan, who is currently away on a trip to Eastern Europe. He’ll be back later today and I’m looking forward to having his company. I’m not sure how long I’ll stay here, but it will be for several weeks as I feel that this place could be good for me.
A couple of good books have passed through my hands in the last week. Indignation by Philip Roth was incredible. I wasn’t aware that sentences could be so long and yet so elegant. I encourage you to read anything by this acclaimed master, and intend to read more myself when I next come across an English book shop. The second book is Homage to Catalonia by George Orwell. Orwell is blunt in expression and inspiring in character. I think it’s a pretty big deal to volunteer to fight in a foreign war, and maybe Orwell does too, though he’s careful not to show it. I plan to read more narrative history books; it’s such an enjoyable way to learn.
Finally, I want to recommend a radio programme podcast that I’ve been re-listening to whilst weeding the potatoes. I’ve already mentioned this to many of my friends, but I’ve been reminded of just how great it is so I’ll say it again. The programme is called This American Life from Chicago Public Radio. All of the shows are available to download for free on their own website and through iTunes. Some of them are a bit too cheesily-American for British ears, but on the whole I think they’re excellent. I suggest that you start with #199 House on Loon Lake and #220 Testosterone, which are quite old now (2008) but are two of my favourites. If anyone has any recommendations for other radio podcasts please let me know. Farewell for now.
Tuesday, 11 May 2010
Post 4.
Public libraries have been indispensable to my lifestyle for a few years now. In post-university Sheffield I spent almost as much time in the central library as I did at work. When studying in Amsterdam the spectacular central public library provided a welcome alternative to my desk. Norwich Millennium Library offered the internet and was a place of refuge when on a break from work. Now, once again, Amsterdam library guarantees shelter, internet, English periodicals and people to peep at. The library here is always busy. Most of the seats are currently taken with students beavering toward the end of term. The other seats are usually occupied by retired or presumably unemployed men. I feel a certain solidarity with the old blokes; they too have a lot of time on their hands and perhaps realise that the pub isn’t always the best place to while away the daylight hours. I also feel a connection to the students because I know of their toils and I expect that on appearances they assume I’m one of them. It feels good to be amongst these studious types, and particularly to be an impostor in both camps. At the moment I don’t fancy being a student again, and I certainly don’t want to be an old man. I suppose that I must admit to wilful unemployment, but that carries no stigma for an Englishman temporarily in Holland. When in the library I get to enjoy all of its benefits without the pressures of time.
Yesterday I read The Independent’s post-election coverage. I now understand more of what’s going on in London, but only vaguely (I actually wrote this post yesterday and the situation has now changed, but anyway…) Actual politics and governance has always passed me by. Thanks to the West Wing, I have more knowledge of the American administration than of the Houses of Parliament. To some extent I take no pride in my own disengagement. However, having read about some of the finer details of current politics, I can see that maintaining a decent knowledge of UK politics would take diligence tied with a genuine interest. I lack both of these things. If this is my fault, the blame for my lack of basic political knowledge can be laid at the feet of the National Curriculum. Why weren’t my classmates and I taught about politics at school? Why weren’t we taught about the fundamental ideological differences between left and right, or the history of UK government? Being educated on politics doesn’t have to be political. I suppose that’s it’s now my responsibility to catch up with this deficit in learning. I’ve added it to the list.
I joined the WWOOF (World Wide Opportunities in Organic Farming) organisation yesterday. WWOOF bring together organic farmers and volunteers who want to spend some time on a farm. I’ve known about this for years, but was reluctant to get involved. Why work for free when farmers usually pay workers for their labour? I thought ‘WWOOFing’ to be ridiculous middle-class tourism that probably gives the farming community a good laugh. I still think this, but I no longer think it ridiculous to volunteer one’s time. I’ve had my fill of city-living, due to many factors of differing complexity (which will have to be a future subject as I’m not in the mood to discuss them now). I’ve chosen to pursue the WWOOF route because I want to test the satisfaction that can be had from a day’s tough physical work. It’s been a long time since I was last physically stretched. I hope that by living in the countryside, away from the desk, pub and supermarket, I’ll naturally get fit and healthy and hopefully stop relying on a lot of the things that surround here me in the city. In this respect, WWOOFING is also a good way to avoid spending precious money. Volunteers are provided with accommodation and organic food from the farm. Other benefits obviously include the opportunity to meet new people who share some common interest or intention. I’ve sent a couple of messages to farmers in the North of the Netherlands, not too far from Amsterdam (nowhere in the Netherlands is really that far from Amsterdam). I’m thinking of modifying Eddy into a kind of touring bike. This is probably a bad idea, as touring bikes are usually chosen for their lack of weight. However, the Netherlands is flat, Eddy is dependable, and a proper touring bike costs a ton of money. “He ain’t heavy, he’s my brother…”
Yesterday I read The Independent’s post-election coverage. I now understand more of what’s going on in London, but only vaguely (I actually wrote this post yesterday and the situation has now changed, but anyway…) Actual politics and governance has always passed me by. Thanks to the West Wing, I have more knowledge of the American administration than of the Houses of Parliament. To some extent I take no pride in my own disengagement. However, having read about some of the finer details of current politics, I can see that maintaining a decent knowledge of UK politics would take diligence tied with a genuine interest. I lack both of these things. If this is my fault, the blame for my lack of basic political knowledge can be laid at the feet of the National Curriculum. Why weren’t my classmates and I taught about politics at school? Why weren’t we taught about the fundamental ideological differences between left and right, or the history of UK government? Being educated on politics doesn’t have to be political. I suppose that’s it’s now my responsibility to catch up with this deficit in learning. I’ve added it to the list.
I joined the WWOOF (World Wide Opportunities in Organic Farming) organisation yesterday. WWOOF bring together organic farmers and volunteers who want to spend some time on a farm. I’ve known about this for years, but was reluctant to get involved. Why work for free when farmers usually pay workers for their labour? I thought ‘WWOOFing’ to be ridiculous middle-class tourism that probably gives the farming community a good laugh. I still think this, but I no longer think it ridiculous to volunteer one’s time. I’ve had my fill of city-living, due to many factors of differing complexity (which will have to be a future subject as I’m not in the mood to discuss them now). I’ve chosen to pursue the WWOOF route because I want to test the satisfaction that can be had from a day’s tough physical work. It’s been a long time since I was last physically stretched. I hope that by living in the countryside, away from the desk, pub and supermarket, I’ll naturally get fit and healthy and hopefully stop relying on a lot of the things that surround here me in the city. In this respect, WWOOFING is also a good way to avoid spending precious money. Volunteers are provided with accommodation and organic food from the farm. Other benefits obviously include the opportunity to meet new people who share some common interest or intention. I’ve sent a couple of messages to farmers in the North of the Netherlands, not too far from Amsterdam (nowhere in the Netherlands is really that far from Amsterdam). I’m thinking of modifying Eddy into a kind of touring bike. This is probably a bad idea, as touring bikes are usually chosen for their lack of weight. However, the Netherlands is flat, Eddy is dependable, and a proper touring bike costs a ton of money. “He ain’t heavy, he’s my brother…”
Wednesday, 5 May 2010
Post 3.
Post 3.
Fashions change slowly in Holland. The style of Amsterdam’s young adult population hasn’t a changed a bit in two years. Or to put a finer point on it, the style of the groups who I used to come into contact with is still very much the same. Painting in broad strokes, affluent young Dutchmen take inspiration from Jeremy Clarkson. They fine tune the blazer, loafers and jeans with a smirk and long hair slicked back. I have little knowledge of what they talk about, but I can imagine that cars and conservative opinions figure largely in their conversation. The counterpart girls aspire to be either a pirate (boots) or motorcyclist (jacket) and apparently get their hair done in Essex. Outside of this ‘traditional’ Dutch costume, many of the young people in central Amsterdam dress like British/American hipsters, or indeed may well be British/American hipsters. High-top trainers, skin-on trousers and oversized jumpers were also popular here two years ago. I find this an surprisingly appealing combination, even with the huge NHS vanity specs. The appeal could well be due to fear that I can no longer get away with such outfits, which more or less equates to envy. If so, this is a mark of lost confidence, though also, I like to believe, a sign of refined judgement.
The pace of life here remains much the same too. People leisurely move around with a very occasional rush. This could well be because the city is always covered in tourists. Then again, if there is any connection between a community’s ways of life and its built environment, then the stasis of Amsterdam may be rooted in its architecture. My wonder at the beautiful old buildings of this city has been renewed. So too am I reminded that nothing is built here that doesn’t fit in with a wider design. Property developers, it would seem, are not allowed to erect cheap and ugly blocks for a quick profit. It may be because of this consistency that it’s easy to feel the same here on every visit. It’s certainly then also easy to slip into the same habits.
This last weekend was a series of welcome reunions with friends and the revisiting of neighbourhoods I used to live in. Queen’s Day on Friday was the jolly fest of exuberance that I remember. Steady Eddy’s now on autopilot and attracts absolutely no attention. My own attention is, however, irretrievably on other bikes and I’m having thoughts of kitting myself out with a modern machine that can carry me through Europe. My attention is also on other riders, specifically the Dutch women, who have an elegance on the bike that they rarely possess on foot. The Dutch Caucasian gene pool must be relatively narrow, or shallow. By which I mean that White Dutch people obviously mostly prefer to have children with a physical (and probably economic) match. I’m not remotely qualified to talk about genetics or sociology, so all I’m pointing at here is the physical trend amongst White Dutch people. Many are tall, athletic, blond and well-sculpted, both in face and body. In my experience, the Dutch seem to befit the Scandinavian stereotype better than the Scandos themselves. Clearly, this a winning combination in some respects, and can be quite daunting when twinned with the confidence that prevails throughout Amsterdamers. The Dutch have a reputation for being forthright, which I tend to agree with, but they also have a public confidence that I admire: gazes are held high and people openly watch one another in public.
At the moment I’m staying with my friends Maaria and Paavo (Paddy) in the west of the city. They are incredibly kind (and beautifully Finnish) and it’s a pleasure to share a home with them again. This part of the city has a sizable Dutch-Arabic community of which I knew little before. Apart from a preference for mopeds over bicycles, there are very few overt differences between the White and Arabic communities in the west. Even the Islamic religious preference is low-key. Many Arabic women wear Islamic dress, though barely any of the men indicate belief in this way. I’ve noticed several halal butchers, but not a single mosque. On Friday I walked through secluded Arabic neighbourhoods, openly drinking beer with my German friend Micha, and none of the few residents seemed to mind. It’s difficult to imagine feeling such an absence of conflict in an English city. Strong lines are still drawn around ethnic and religious communities in the UK, to benefit of nobody. But then, perhaps there are strong ethnic lines drawn here too: there is little clear evidence that Arabic Dutch and White Dutch families are converging. As much as I like blond women, I also like social harmony and the absence of racial barriers. I’m on the look out for families who prove this hypothesis wrong, and then another point for Dutch society can be added to the already sizable tally.
Fashions change slowly in Holland. The style of Amsterdam’s young adult population hasn’t a changed a bit in two years. Or to put a finer point on it, the style of the groups who I used to come into contact with is still very much the same. Painting in broad strokes, affluent young Dutchmen take inspiration from Jeremy Clarkson. They fine tune the blazer, loafers and jeans with a smirk and long hair slicked back. I have little knowledge of what they talk about, but I can imagine that cars and conservative opinions figure largely in their conversation. The counterpart girls aspire to be either a pirate (boots) or motorcyclist (jacket) and apparently get their hair done in Essex. Outside of this ‘traditional’ Dutch costume, many of the young people in central Amsterdam dress like British/American hipsters, or indeed may well be British/American hipsters. High-top trainers, skin-on trousers and oversized jumpers were also popular here two years ago. I find this an surprisingly appealing combination, even with the huge NHS vanity specs. The appeal could well be due to fear that I can no longer get away with such outfits, which more or less equates to envy. If so, this is a mark of lost confidence, though also, I like to believe, a sign of refined judgement.
The pace of life here remains much the same too. People leisurely move around with a very occasional rush. This could well be because the city is always covered in tourists. Then again, if there is any connection between a community’s ways of life and its built environment, then the stasis of Amsterdam may be rooted in its architecture. My wonder at the beautiful old buildings of this city has been renewed. So too am I reminded that nothing is built here that doesn’t fit in with a wider design. Property developers, it would seem, are not allowed to erect cheap and ugly blocks for a quick profit. It may be because of this consistency that it’s easy to feel the same here on every visit. It’s certainly then also easy to slip into the same habits.
This last weekend was a series of welcome reunions with friends and the revisiting of neighbourhoods I used to live in. Queen’s Day on Friday was the jolly fest of exuberance that I remember. Steady Eddy’s now on autopilot and attracts absolutely no attention. My own attention is, however, irretrievably on other bikes and I’m having thoughts of kitting myself out with a modern machine that can carry me through Europe. My attention is also on other riders, specifically the Dutch women, who have an elegance on the bike that they rarely possess on foot. The Dutch Caucasian gene pool must be relatively narrow, or shallow. By which I mean that White Dutch people obviously mostly prefer to have children with a physical (and probably economic) match. I’m not remotely qualified to talk about genetics or sociology, so all I’m pointing at here is the physical trend amongst White Dutch people. Many are tall, athletic, blond and well-sculpted, both in face and body. In my experience, the Dutch seem to befit the Scandinavian stereotype better than the Scandos themselves. Clearly, this a winning combination in some respects, and can be quite daunting when twinned with the confidence that prevails throughout Amsterdamers. The Dutch have a reputation for being forthright, which I tend to agree with, but they also have a public confidence that I admire: gazes are held high and people openly watch one another in public.
At the moment I’m staying with my friends Maaria and Paavo (Paddy) in the west of the city. They are incredibly kind (and beautifully Finnish) and it’s a pleasure to share a home with them again. This part of the city has a sizable Dutch-Arabic community of which I knew little before. Apart from a preference for mopeds over bicycles, there are very few overt differences between the White and Arabic communities in the west. Even the Islamic religious preference is low-key. Many Arabic women wear Islamic dress, though barely any of the men indicate belief in this way. I’ve noticed several halal butchers, but not a single mosque. On Friday I walked through secluded Arabic neighbourhoods, openly drinking beer with my German friend Micha, and none of the few residents seemed to mind. It’s difficult to imagine feeling such an absence of conflict in an English city. Strong lines are still drawn around ethnic and religious communities in the UK, to benefit of nobody. But then, perhaps there are strong ethnic lines drawn here too: there is little clear evidence that Arabic Dutch and White Dutch families are converging. As much as I like blond women, I also like social harmony and the absence of racial barriers. I’m on the look out for families who prove this hypothesis wrong, and then another point for Dutch society can be added to the already sizable tally.
Wednesday, 21 April 2010
Post 2.
Since I last wrote I've been feeling the pressure to more actively prepare for departure. I've bought a bag and selected a few items that I imagine might come in useful. Most of my preparations, however, have taken place in my mind. It's difficult to prepare 'stuff', as in select the things I need to take or buy before leaving, because I'm so reluctant to plan what it is I'm going to do. In my first post I wrote of taking an approach to living rather than planning a series of predefined experiences. This is still largely how I'm thinking about what lays ahead, but I'm also struggling to remain relaxed in being so open-minded. And actually, I think there's good reason to planning some things. Quite obviously, the choices that basically define how we live are not going away. Where am I going to sleep? Who am I going to talk to? These questions have been my preoccupation, and I now have some answers to them - in other words, I've made a couple of decisions that I plan to stick to. First up, I'm going to stay in Amsterdam for a good month or more. Amsterdam is a relatively safe environment for me because I already know the city well. However, there's also plenty happening in Amsterdam that will suprise and intrigue me, so it lives up to the demands I intend to make on the places I live in. Second, I'm planning on camping when the genuine kindness of my friends has run its course. Camping appeals to my back-to-basics ambitions. It also compliments my budget. I've read of a campsite that has a reputation for being a place of constant partying. This could well be an annoying trait for a place in which I hope to get sleep, but it could also be a proper laugh. If any of you fancy a good holiday on a tight budget, bring a tent over to Zeeburg and share the shade with me in May and probably June.
There's another subject I want to raise in this post. I've been thinking about the costs and benefits of contemplating the future. It strikes me that I spend a great deal of time thinking about what will realistically happen in the near, sometimes medium, and occasionally distant future. I'm talking about imagining a day at work in advance, or imagining a meeting with a friend before it happens, or contemplating my circumstances in a year's time. Most of my thoughts of this nature have a negative and pessimistic tone. In contrast, there are times when I try hard to engage with the present, and these times are mostly pleasant and positive. Therefore, it seems reasonable that the 'living in the present' so often advocated is actually a good idea. But what does it mean to live in the present? I'm thinking that it partly means avoiding anxiety about anything that isn't immediately pressing. It may also mean putting effort into appreciating the interest, attraction or humour in every situation. In sum, living in the present encourages us to enjoy what is instantly achievable, rather than betting on hope for future satisfaction. This is nothing new, but worth thinking about nonetheless. What do you think?
There's another subject I want to raise in this post. I've been thinking about the costs and benefits of contemplating the future. It strikes me that I spend a great deal of time thinking about what will realistically happen in the near, sometimes medium, and occasionally distant future. I'm talking about imagining a day at work in advance, or imagining a meeting with a friend before it happens, or contemplating my circumstances in a year's time. Most of my thoughts of this nature have a negative and pessimistic tone. In contrast, there are times when I try hard to engage with the present, and these times are mostly pleasant and positive. Therefore, it seems reasonable that the 'living in the present' so often advocated is actually a good idea. But what does it mean to live in the present? I'm thinking that it partly means avoiding anxiety about anything that isn't immediately pressing. It may also mean putting effort into appreciating the interest, attraction or humour in every situation. In sum, living in the present encourages us to enjoy what is instantly achievable, rather than betting on hope for future satisfaction. This is nothing new, but worth thinking about nonetheless. What do you think?
Tuesday, 13 April 2010
Post 1 - Norwich
In precisely two weeks I'll be riding the ferry across the grey north sea. I'll be heading for Amsterdam and then further afield, although where to I'm not yet sure. The passage to Amsterdam has been arranged for some time but my decision to stay away from England is still relatively recent. I hadn't really thought of going away alone, and in fact had felt against the idea up to now. However, I now feel such desparation to shift my life onto a more enjoyable course that I'm not willing to wait for a suitable travel partner. I do hope, however, that any of you - friends of mine - who wish to join me at any point and anywhere will act on impulse and do so.
It's been very helpful for me to consider the questions asked by friends and acquaintances here in Norwich. Questions such as 'why are you going?', 'where are you going?', and 'what do you hope to get from traveling?' There are no simple answers to these questions. My mind is currently a turmoil of competing considerations and statements. My motivation to leave springs from the conviction that my mind has become dull in this environment. I seldom have new or exciting ideas, and whilst I'm not blaming this on the will of the people around me, I do wonder to what extent new acquaintances will reinvigorate my imagination. I am also aware that I've followed the same patterns of behaviour for several years. Some of these patterns are negative and self-destructive, and almost all are thoroughly boring. That's really it: I am deeply bored with myself.
Accordingly, I've got some ideas about the approach I'm going to take to traveling. I think that having a creative approach is more important than having firm ideas about places and activities to experience along the way, although these decisions will also have to be made. Primarily, I hope to learn a lot about what other people think and how other people live. To do this I'm going to have to be extremely open to meeting strangers, and be quite deliberate in my actions and philosophy. At the end of every day I'm going to ask myself what I've learnt. This blog is, amongst other things, a way to test these thoughts on you too. It also strikes me that there are plenty of people who are taking an exploratory approach to living. These may be people who are living in a self-sifficient farm community, or who organise cultural events, political debates, or discos. The thought of being involved in these things is vastly more exciting than the thought of a menial job in Norwich, so I figure I must head towards these lights and try some other stuff. If you have recommendations for things that I may wish to get involved in, please send them my way.
On a more simplistic note, I have plenty of other reasons for wanting to leave England. Sunshine makes me happy. There's not enough of it here. I want to live where the sun shines. Music makes me happy too, and thus I want to live where music can naturally become a more consistent presence in my days and nights. Norwich isn't exactly flush with places to let loose and dance til morning. This is a crying shame. Furthermore, some foreign girls are really hot, and I bet that a few of them will love the smooth tones of my increasingly east anglian accent. Billy Bragg sings, "I don't want to change the world, I'm not looking for a new England, I'm just looking for another girl." I'm in the que behind Billy.
That's enough for post number one. I don't intend to be quite this formal in the rest of my blogs, but these words largely reflect my current state of mind. I'll write again soon. Please email me some of your own words if you want to.
Alex
It's been very helpful for me to consider the questions asked by friends and acquaintances here in Norwich. Questions such as 'why are you going?', 'where are you going?', and 'what do you hope to get from traveling?' There are no simple answers to these questions. My mind is currently a turmoil of competing considerations and statements. My motivation to leave springs from the conviction that my mind has become dull in this environment. I seldom have new or exciting ideas, and whilst I'm not blaming this on the will of the people around me, I do wonder to what extent new acquaintances will reinvigorate my imagination. I am also aware that I've followed the same patterns of behaviour for several years. Some of these patterns are negative and self-destructive, and almost all are thoroughly boring. That's really it: I am deeply bored with myself.
Accordingly, I've got some ideas about the approach I'm going to take to traveling. I think that having a creative approach is more important than having firm ideas about places and activities to experience along the way, although these decisions will also have to be made. Primarily, I hope to learn a lot about what other people think and how other people live. To do this I'm going to have to be extremely open to meeting strangers, and be quite deliberate in my actions and philosophy. At the end of every day I'm going to ask myself what I've learnt. This blog is, amongst other things, a way to test these thoughts on you too. It also strikes me that there are plenty of people who are taking an exploratory approach to living. These may be people who are living in a self-sifficient farm community, or who organise cultural events, political debates, or discos. The thought of being involved in these things is vastly more exciting than the thought of a menial job in Norwich, so I figure I must head towards these lights and try some other stuff. If you have recommendations for things that I may wish to get involved in, please send them my way.
On a more simplistic note, I have plenty of other reasons for wanting to leave England. Sunshine makes me happy. There's not enough of it here. I want to live where the sun shines. Music makes me happy too, and thus I want to live where music can naturally become a more consistent presence in my days and nights. Norwich isn't exactly flush with places to let loose and dance til morning. This is a crying shame. Furthermore, some foreign girls are really hot, and I bet that a few of them will love the smooth tones of my increasingly east anglian accent. Billy Bragg sings, "I don't want to change the world, I'm not looking for a new England, I'm just looking for another girl." I'm in the que behind Billy.
That's enough for post number one. I don't intend to be quite this formal in the rest of my blogs, but these words largely reflect my current state of mind. I'll write again soon. Please email me some of your own words if you want to.
Alex
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