"That's Logical..."

“That's Logical.....”

On the face of it the amount of media coverage that one person dying from lung cancer has recently received is out of all proportion. Especially at a time when hundreds of innocent people are being killed by terrorists activities and state sanctioned air raids or are drowning while attempting to escape oppression and violence. However, this particular Dutch former chain-smoker, it must be said, was genuinely a legend in his own lifetime. In the furthest corners of the earth, even in places where they think Copenhagen is the capital of The Netherlands, just about anywhere, in fact, where a ball has ever been kicked people will know who Johan Cruyff is.

If by chance you haven't heard of him and you've managed to miss all the newspaper, radio and television coverage this last week there in plenty of information for you online. Take a look and you will discover his enormous contribution to football as player, manager, commentator and critic. You will discover that he is right at the top of the 'greatest Dutch person ever' list, along with Erasmus, Anne Frank, Rembrandt, and van Gogh and you will learn why he is considered a half-god in Catalonia! 

Along with lengthy accounts of his achievements, and conflicts, as footballer and trainer, there will also be a list of quotations. During his playing and management career and, even more so later, as a TV football analyst, he became increasingly famous, or notorious, for his unorthodox statements and unique use of language. His comments hovering somewhere between 'brilliant insight' and 'blatantly obvious' were formulated using a curious mixture of Amsterdam dialect, incorrect grammar, muddled syntax and an advanced vocabulary. The public reacted to his statements with a mixture of amusement and wonder while even his friends and colleagues at times found them incomprehensible. Nonetheless he would frequently finish his statements and seal his arguments with his trademark phrase “That's logical” !

The funny thing is that I had little trouble understanding most of his grammar, his pronouncements or the thoughts behind them. Which, I fear, may well say a lot about my own use of Dutch and the way I think.

His most famous quote: “Every disadvantage has its advantage”, often misquoted as “Every advantage has its disadvantage”, is basically Newton's third law of physics i.e. 'Every action has an equal and opposite reaction' a law that, as far as I am concerned, can be applied to all interactions including human ones. Personally I rather like his “If you're not in the right place at the right moment you are either too late or too early” simply because it manages to be meaningful and totally unnecessary at the same time! 
However my favourite may not be a Cruyff original at all but I heard him say it several times: “Don't look at the result, look at the causes”. For example, in football terms, if the last defender misses his tackle allowing an opponent to score a goal, don't blame the missed tackle, consider why the defender was put in the position of having to make the tackle. The real mistake was probably made several moves earlier. Or, here's another example for those of you who get bored with talk about football and footballers: most people who wake up with a sore head and a sick stomach after a night partying will say “I should never have had that last drink”. The truth is, it wasn't that last drink that did the damage, it was all the drinks you had before it that caused your hangover!

 

True Enough!

A couple of weeks ago, I am sorry to say, I came out with the tired old cliché about journalists never letting the facts get in the way of a good story. Not that there isn't an element of truth in this statement but I try to avoid using clichés and stereotypes. It was during a conversation with a journalist friend in which I was pointing out some of the inaccuracies in a piece he had recently written about me in our regional newspaper. This was not the first time an article has been written about me in a newspaper or magazine and it may well not be the last. I don' t appear often enough in the media to be nonchalant about it but on the other hand frequently enough that I am no longer seriously bothered about minor mistakes or misquotes. It was a good article, people in the street and supermarket are still stopping me to tell me so. The truth is, although some of the facts were strictly speaking inaccurate they were close enough to the truth to make no difference at all to the gist of the article while at the same time avoiding long-winded explanations that complete accuracy would have demanded.

At times, though, facts do get in the way of a good story. For example; listen to a group of people, specially couples, relating their vacation or travelling experiences they will constantly correct each other on the details. Yes, admit it, you do it, we all do it! Even though, as far as the content of the story is concerned, it probably doesn't matter if it happened last Tuesday or a year ago last Friday or what the precise name of the village in Outer Mongolia was where it took place!

I try to not to be specific about names, dates and places when writing these columns but when facts can't be avoided they often have to be shaped, shaved, bent and sometimes bullied to fit into the format. In order to maintain style and story some concessions have to be made. And I make mistakes! A friend twice pointed out mistakes I had made, I was grateful that he had spotted them and that he was reading the columns. At the same time I was annoyed that I hadn't noticed them myself. The thing is, though,  nobody else noticed! It is a matter of context, neither of these factual mistakes made any difference at all to the story I was telling or to the point I was trying to make. In another context, a different story, a different audience maybe, both could have been rather important and embarrassing errors while here they just didn't matter

I rarely watch television serials. However I made an exception for the BBC's dramatisation of Tolstoy's novel War and Peace. Half way through the six week period I came across a news item: the advisor on another TV historical drama had spotted that a French aristocrat was wearing an historically incorrect medal. This was apparently important enough to be reported in several newspapers and news sites. War and Peace was a stunning visual production but otherwise I found it disappointing which still made it a lot better than most things I see on television.  And at last I found out how the story ends, having, like most people, never got more than half way through the book. My opinion of the series was, however, in no way affected by one person in one of the many opulent ballroom scenes wearing the wrong medal. I wouldn't have noticed, or cared, if he had been wearing a medal from the American war of independence or the London Marathon! 

“You can argue that it doesn't matter....” he says. Well, yes I do and I'll go even further and point out to this expert that War and Peace is a novel, a story, a fiction, the characters are either made up or fictionalised. Despite the historical setting none of it, including the aristocrat with the wrong medal, is fact! 

SO, my advice to the advisers, specialists and other nit-pickers out there: by all means have a quiet laugh about the inaccuracies you have spotted, I do too, but don't bother other people with them. Leave them to relax in ignorance and enjoy the show!

These sticks are made for walking...

These sticks are made for walking...

We once had a dog to stay. We were looking after it for friends. When I took the dog out for walks all the dog owners in the neighbourhood, many I had never spoken to before, started talking to me. These new found friendships didn't last very long, when I returned the dog to it's owners the local dog-walkers instantly stopped talking to me! Walking with crutches had a similar effect.

Many of us, young or old, will at sometime become temporarily disabled while recovering from an accident, injury or operation. During this period you are not sick or ill but there are a whole lot of things you are not able to do and places you are not able to go. As you progress on the way to full recovery the restrictions become increasingly irritating and frustrating. Even the most patient people begin to get restless! On the positive side the news gets around and because you aren't actually ill, you will have a string of visitors including friends you haven't seen for ages. And you will learn how to overcome a large number of obstacles and deal with a whole lot of situations you never knew existed.

Some years ago Yvonne was confined to a wheel chair for several weeks due to an Achilles tendon operation. We learned how difficult some buildings were to access and how difficult it was to move around in some of them once we were inside. We learned how badly some roads and footpaths are maintained. How cold it gets sitting in a wheel chair and how hot it gets pushing it and a lot of other things. In a relatively short time we gained an insights into the lives of people with a handicap and their helpers, safe in the knowledge that our situation was not permanent.

Now it was my turn! Just a day or two after a hip operation my first solo walk with crutches was through the gardens of a nearby nursing home and after that I passed that home daily on the way to and from the supermarket. There are always elderly residents with wheel chairs, crutches, walking frames or rollators strolling around our neighbourhood. Now they greeted me cheerily and stopped to chat about the weather, my sticks and my progress. Walking to the shops was my daily exercise, part of my therapy.

Walking with crutches is much like having four legs,no big deal you may think, horses manage quite well without tripping over. However horses don't have to do the shopping! My first days at the supermarket were a complete shambles as I tried to deal with two sticks, a shopping basket and products on low shelves, high shelves, behind glass doors or under sliding tops. It took me a while to realise that it was easier to use a shopping trolley. Throwing the crutches into the trolley and then holding onto it I could delay most problems until the check out. At which point I would get into a complete muddle involving the shopping, my wallet, the trolley, the change, left and right crutches, yes they are different, and the backpack I used to carry the shopping. During this scramble I would invariably drop one or both of the crutches. I was under strict instructions from the doctors not to bend down so, it goes without saying,I suddenly seemed incapable of doing anything without dropping something! Not wanting to ask for help I developed a few interesting techniques for picking things up without bending, including using the crutches as giant chop sticks. I need not have bothered though, my sticks seemed to have some magical properties, on seeing the crutches unfit and overweight men, elderly ladies, school children, young mothers, hippies and hoodlums would go out of their way to help. It didn't stop there, walking through the crowded city centre just before Christmas people would move aside leaving me a clear passage. Even when I progressed to using just one crutch I had no trouble crossing roads, hells angels, lorry drivers, wannabe racers, hoodies on tuned up scooters and drivers of unmarked white vans would stop for me. I think even bank robbers in their getaways cars or James Bond with just four minutes to save the world would have stopped! All the time I was using crutches people of all ages, shapes,sizes and types were attentive, helpful and polite while much of the time I felt something of a fraud. I could, in fact, after quite a short time walk quite well unaided but it was not 'allowed'. A sudden movement, slip or fall, I was told, could have set back the healing process or even have dislocated the hip. 

Ah well – that's all behind me! I have been walking without crutches for a few weeks now and I certainly don't miss them. But people no longer hold doors open for me or pick up things I've dropped, crowds don't part for me and car drivers and motorcycle riders deliberately ignore me.

Yes, and all those old ladies with wheel chairs and walking frames have completely lost interest.

     

Xenophobia

Xenophobia

(An intense or irrational dislike or fear of people from other countries)

As the result of a recent royal visit the Chinese government will be sending two giant pandas to The Netherlands next year...

Hartlepool is a town on the north east coast of England. The story goes that during the Napoleonic Wars a monkey was washed ashore. It was the only survivor of a ship wreck and was dressed in a military uniform, presumably to amuse the crew. Under  interrogation it refused to answer any questions so the citizens of Hartlepool concluded that the monkey must be a French spy and it was summarily sentenced to death by hanging. Easy mistake to make, they had almost certainly never seen a monkey or a Frenchman before.

There is a long history of societies, rulers and citizens, blaming outsiders for local problems. Even more so if the outsiders have a different language, skin colour and religion! It is an easy way of covering up ones own short comings or relieving frustrations. Foreigners are apparently born with an overwhelming desire to take our jobs,our money, ravish our wives and kidnap our children. Currently there is a loud and vocal coalition of xenophobes, racists and nimbies who have decided to target the most vulnerable of all foreigners; refugees. As far as they are concerned refugees risk 

their lives crossing oceans on small unseaworthy boats, walk all the way across Europe in all weather, suffer hunger, thirst and indignity as they are shunted from one border crossing to another, just to annoy us! Alongside threatening the safety of our wives and children they are profiting from our welfare and health systems and taking our jobs. And that is not all: a British politician recently blamed motorway traffic congestion on asylum seekers and a here in The Netherlands a local lobby group seriously claimed that accepting refugees in our town would create a parking problem! It is surprising that they have not blamed asylum seekers and refugees for the poor performances of the national football team and the recent grey, dull, depressing weather!
Attempts to provide accommodation for refugees are frequently met with loud protests and these protests are often supported by an aggressive and violent lunatic fringe who are a greater threat to public safety than any group of refugees will ever be!

The really worrying thing is that despite the invention of radio, film, TV and the internet things have not improved much since that monkey incident. There is so much information available but the protesters can't or won't be bothered with it. They are almost as uninformed as those inhabitants of Hartlepool 200 years ago. They are either unable or unwilling to read and understand a few simple facts.

I could go on but I really don't think any of the people who need the facts explained will be reading this!

...let's just hope that when the Chinese pandas eventually arrive in Rhenen, a small town in the centre of The Netherlands they will not be greeted by angry protesting mobs claiming that the Pandas are taking up cage space that should be used for indigenous species and that their fields are being filled with foreign crops in order to feed them! 

Ah well....at least these days they won't be mistaken for foreign spies, arrested and executed.........….will they?

Sarajevo

 

Sarajevo
 
No – it was not love at first sight! How could it be when even the city's own publicity says the best things about it are the surroundings and the inhabitants? The city itself is, indeed, not specially attractive. There is an unremarkable river and not much noteworthy architecture. Many buildings are scarred, damaged, neglected and decorated with graffiti. Of course it does have its good points, like Bascarsija, the historical and cultural centre of the old city. A network of small streets, formerly a bazaar. Too many tourists and far too many souvenir shops for my taste. On the other hand it has a multitude of busy, attractive street cafés and restaurants. Ideal places to do what Bosnians everywhere like doing best: meeting friends, drinking coffee, chatting and watching the world go by.
From Barscarsija it is well worth taking the walk up the steep hill to the Yellow Fortress, even in the blistering heat. There you can sit on a pleasant grassy, tree shaded terrace and have a cool drink while looking out over the whole city.

The trams, I feel, have to be included in the list of attractions. Sarajevo is a long, narrow city and the tram lines run along the whole length of it. Rickety, shaky, creaky and noisy these battered streetcars, some have survived the siege, some 'hand-me-downs' from other cities, provide a regular, frequent, colourful, and popular means of transport and a mobile meeting place.
By chance we were staying at the wrong end of town, in Butmir, close to the tram terminal. The ride into the old town took us through parts of the city we would otherwise have missed.One day we just did the round trip – a 23km city tour for just €0.80!!!!
Another advantage of being at the wrong end of town was being close to the Tunnel of Hope.
I should point out a few things here. Firstly I avoid monuments, museums or places related to genocide, massacres, atrocities and human suffering. Secondly: without avoiding the issue it was not our intention to visits museums or monuments related to the Balkan War and thirdly, to be honest, I had never heard of the tunnel. However, several local residents recommended it and it was within walking distance........
Built in 1993 this badly lit, badly drained, cramped tunnel under the NATO controlled airport was the only connection between the inhabitants of Sarajevo and the rest of the world during the longest siege in modern history. The Serbs had surrounded the city and after failing to capture it in a few days, as planned, they turned to a policy of demoralisation and attrition. Daily, random rocket attacks and snipers targeting anyone who moved. The world watched on as the citizens of Sarajevo held out for nearly four years with no gas, electricity, little food and few weapons. Many were killed by sniper fire while trying to fetch drinking water.
Arguably this tunnel, supplying food and weapons, saved the city.
The museum is in the small, remote house that hid the entrance.
This simple and somewhat understated exhibition: 25 metres of the original 800 metre tunnel, a diagram map, a self-explanatory film and a modest collection of artifacts, stimulated a variety of emotions. It gave the battle scarred buildings a context. The suffering of the inhabitants during years of constant bombardment, sniper fire, hunger, cold and lost lives became a stark, close and recent reality.
We went in the morning. It was not the most uplifting way to start the day!
But the siege is also a story of courage, commitment and cooperation. Sarajevo has for centuries been proud of its multicultural society. A city where east meets west and churches, Catholic and Orthodox, stand alongside Mosques and Synagogues. Where tensions between religious and ethnic groups were rare and 'mixed' marriages common place. Unlike other conflicts resulting from the demise of Yugoslavia, the citizens of Sarajevo: Bosniaks, Serbs and Croats, fought and suffered together, united in the defence of their city and its way of life.
For various reasons,including some boundary changes,Sarajevo is demographically less of a multicultural society than it was but that does not mean that attitudes have changed. It is a city populated by friendly, welcoming, easy-going and open- minded people. There is a relaxed, tolerant and generally optimistic atmosphere. Ethnic and religious backgrounds, like elsewhere in Bosnia, seem not to be an issue. I began to believe that there may, after all, be an antidote to racism, xenophobia and religious bigotry. Over the days I warmed to the city, yes, even to Barscarsija.

Sarajevo is a town with a big heart and an important message.
It is not the prettiest city I have ever seen....
but hey.....looks aren't everything!

Dream On

Tamila, a friend in Georgia, posted “ Everybody has a secret and unfulfilled dream........”

Dream On

Do you ever do those tests on Facebook? Well, I know some of you do, I've seen the results! What is your ideal car, what Disney character would you be, where is your ideal holiday destination or what animal would you be in another life? According to some of them the car that most suits me is a Lamborghini, I should live in Germany and I am 83% lion and 7% weasel, whatever that may mean! So,I admit it, I do them occasionally, strangely not when I'm bored but more often when I'm really busy, as a delaying tactic or for a break. It is, of course all a lot of nonsense. The last one: 'What kind of child were you', by chance, got it right, I was, according to the result a daydreamer. Spot on, I was a lot of other things as well but certainly I was, still am, a daydreamer.

You know how older people will go into a room and then not remember why they were there, well, I was always like that... my mind was always somewhere else. It got me into quite a lot of trouble at school, although it also provided me with some amusement. Having the reputation for not paying attention,one of my favourite tricks was to gaze out of the window while paying 100% attention to what the teacher was saying. When he inevitably tried to catch me out in front of the class I was able to give a perfect answer, leaving the teacher looking, if not stupid, at least a little bemused!!!

Despite being a day dreamer I have never had a special dream, desire or wish. I mean one thing, above all else, that I really, really, want to do or see. I am sometimes slightly envious of those who do. I'm afraid I don't have the focus or dedication, my dreams are many, changeable and fragmented. To be honest, I tend to loose interest in things that take a long time to achieve. Daydreaming, however, is not just about unfulfilled dreams and wishes it is also about fantasy and escapism, handy tools for dealing with reality, which is not always a bundle of laughs.

One of the advantages of growing up in a major metropolis was weekly visits to the cinema and almost as frequent visits to the theatre. However as I was mostly taken by my mother I got to see more than a few Broadway/Hollywood musicals. There were a lot of them about at the time. I am told that I was always well behaved at the theatre, indicating that the rest of the time I probably wasn't. I certainly enjoyed our trips to the theatre in general but as a small boy I had my doubts about musicals. The dancing did go on for a very long time and it got in the way of the story and, although these musicals often involved soldiers, sailors or cowboys there was an awful lot of falling in and out of love and very little, if any, real action. At least Shakespeare plays, which I could barely understand at that age, had the occasional sword fight.

For the adults, however, musicals were the ultimate fantasy.. an escape from the dull, grey, austere post war reality of Great Britain, to a place where the sun was always shining, where there was singing and dancing in the streets and everybody lived, danced, and sang happily ever after! 

Ah well – there is nothing wrong with fantasy unless it becomes your reality...

and there is certainly nothing wrong with dreams as long as they don't become obsessions.

As a result of these early cinema/theatre visits I have a disproportionate knowledge of musicals from that era. Of a theatre form I don't really like and of songs and music that are really not my thing at all. I wouldn't usually admit it but I can quote whole chunks of songs from some of these musicals. That must be why this lyric, from the stage and film musical 'South Pacific' sprang immediately to my mind:

                  “ You've gotta have a dream.

                    If you don't have a dream

                    how you gonna make a dream come true"

 

                                                                                                                                            July 2015

Reverse Culture Shock

Reverse Culture Shock

It was never my intention to write either a travel blog or a diary but it is inevitable that several of my columns, like this one, contain elements of both. The first half of May I spent in Bishkek where among other things I was to be a guest speaker at various places including universities and a private language school. Now I know many of you would take this sort of thing in your stride but for me, despite jumping at the opportunity, it was something of a challenge. I am not a teacher or lecturer, I have never been much of a public speaker and, despite having done some acting, I suffer from stage fright. For these reasons I requested an informal setting and asked that the stress be on question and answer sessions. Armed with some photos, a guitar, my book and a vague plan I embarked upon my 'college tour'. Each venue was different, some had taken my request more seriously than others but the atmosphere was mostly relaxed. The most sessions began with a short series of photos , I talked about my book and ended all of them with one of my own songs. In between a fair amount of improvisations was called for depending on the group. On the whole though there was plenty of room for dialogue. For three of the most frequently asked questions I had no answer:

1) Who is your favourite footballer? - Yes I do watch football sometimes but I'm not really a fan as such, to make things worse the first time I was asked this question my mind went blank, I couldn't think of the names of any footballers, so I couldn't even fake it!
2) This question was formed in various ways but basically what the students in this emerging and struggling democracy wanted know was why two countries, Great Britain and The Netherlands, both great promoters of democracy and proud of their democratic heritage, had non-elected heads of state; Kings and Queens to be precise!- There is no good answer to that and certainly no short one!
3) What was my biggest culture shock in Kyrgyzstan? - I had no answer to this one either. I don't have a favourite footballer, I really don't understand why we still have kings and queens and as I hinted in my very first ever column I rarely experience culture shock. Mostly the place where I am seems the right and natural place to be, I adjust easily, maybe too easily sometimes.

Also I am, seriously, more often struck by how similar we all are despite the cultural, religious and social differences.

I certainly can't remember any great culture shock the first time I visited Kyrgyzstan, yes, of course, it was different, otherwise there would have been no point in going, but there was no shock.
Because I have regular contact, sometimes daily, with people in or from Kyrgyzstan it was surprising to realise that this recent trip was only my third visit to the country. There was something of a homecoming feel about it. Even the potholes in roads leading to the city centre were familiar, although some of them had grown up a bit since my last visit, got larger, bigger and deeper, some had even invited friends to join them to form small pothole communities, while just a few had disappeared, however, as I discovered while cycling around the city, they had simply moved to another district!

No, with a few exceptions, the nearest I come to culture shock is when I return from a trip. I am unreasonably disappointed that, back home, nothing has changed. While I have been away doing all sorts of exciting things, experiencing new sights, sounds and smells, meeting new people and/or old friends the folks back home have been getting on with their daily lives, jobs, chores, children's parties and parent problems. While I may be bubbling and bursting to share the stories of my travels many of them will not even have noticed that I was gone!

But that is not the worst thing, after all in a few weeks they may well be off having their own adventures.. No, the worst thing is that after the shortest time for me too it's business as usual: appointments, bills, taxes, deadlines, routines and daily rituals.

After just a few days it's even hard for me to believe that I have been away.......

…....“Obla-di-obla-da, life goes on”