Not Staying In, Not Going Out - Part 1

Not Staying In, Not Going Out –  Part 1 

 

Not Staying In 

 

Multiple anti-coronavirus vaccines have been developed..... Hurrah! 

We're stuck in the strictest lockdown since the crisis began.....Boo! 

That sums up the current status here in The Netherlands. 

 

Luckily throughout the whole Corona period we have been allowed to play outside. Sports clubs and sporting facilities have been closed and organised sports banned for most of us but individual excercise outdoors, subject to the frequently changing restrictions, are okay. Those who would usually be taking part in other sports , who have more time on there hands or just need to get out for while have joined the regulars, running, cycling and walking. Bike and sportswear shops can barely keep up with the demand. It's easy to spot the new kids on the block. They either have shiny new bicycles or they are riding antique models rescued from their dad's garage. Likewise the runners are wearing the trendiest and cleanest running gear or baggy shorts with a top and shoes they had purchased years ago when on an impulse they had signed up for tennis lessons.   

But this is just the tip of the iceberg!  You can add to this a mass of people, whole families of city dwellers, who unable to visit shopping malls or garden centres, have decided to give  nature a try. These are also easy to spot; fashionable rather than functional clothing, small boys carrying redundant footballs and little girls with pink scooters that don't work on the soft and sandy paths.  

This all puts a great deal of pressure on the available natural open spaces in this small and relatively densely populated country. The government have advised people to 'drive a little further' in order to avoid  congestion at well known hot spots like the woods close to where I live. Quite a few follow the advice. So not only are there more people, they are now spread over a greater area. Causing some problems where there is no infrastructure to cope with the extra visitors and some friction with and between the hikers, bikers and nature lovers who already frequent these places to avoid the greater public.  

 

Early last year riding across a favourite heath on a sunny Sunday during an otherwise grey, wet and windy period I was surprised so to see so many people. Not for the first time a dog-walker growled loudly and angrily at me as I passed. I had previously decided that the next time this happened I would stop for a calm chat. I stopped but the man was far from calm and obviously was not in the mood for a chat of any kind. He launched into a long tirade at the end of which, as he reached boiling point, he said that we (I was alone) should bugger off and take my bike with me!!    

Now , I would have replied that I've been coming here for more than 25 years which was almost certainly longer than he  had. That I had even lived at the corner of the nature park for a while. That, if I had known that it would be so busy, I would have chosen another route. I would have pointed out that although there are anti-social mountain bikers and dog-owners, the most are not.  If I had met him a little later in the day I could also have remarked that everybody else I saw that day, hikers, bikers, dog-owners, pram-pushers and horse riders, were all friendly and quite happy to share the sunshine and the limited countryside we have.  

I would have liked to have explained that the world would be a much better place if we all learned to get on with each other, runners, walkers, mountain  bikers, horse riders, people who think differently, have different skin colours, cultural backgrounds, religions and sexual orientations. Whether we like it or not other people, and groups of people, exist and they are not about to go away. Why not just accept the fact and get on with life!

However I didn't say any of the above. His face was getting redder and redder. I was afraid he might at any minute burst or have a heart attack. Not that him having a heart attack itself would have worried me very much but I would have felt obliged to help him and that  really would have pissed me off!! 

  

Brexiled

Brexiled

Friday about a week ago a courier called.

He asked me to repeat the number on my passport and sign a receipt.

In exchange he gave me a small piece of plastic issued by the Dutch Immigration and Naturalisation Department (IND). Not very exciting but it was worth a very small sigh of relief and a larger sigh of resignation. It had been a long time coming and should not have been neccessary at all. However there came a time during the bumbling, stumbling, and at times farcical Brexit saga that I realized doing nothing was not the best option to safeguard my status here in The Netherlands.

I would have to consider the other possibilities. I had already inquired about obtaining a Dutch passport, I qualified and my documentation was in order, however I discovered that I was reluctant to give up my British citizenship and become a Dutch national although I didn't feel strongly about either. The main reason for my reluctance was not the choices but the fact that, through no fault of my own, I was being forced to consider the need to make a choice. Anyway a change of nationality just didn't feel right. Why? I don't really know. That's the trouble with feelings.

Maybe it's easier to think about what would feel right?

Well, the very first passports were issued by cities, I think I would have been quite happy with that. In common with many people living in a foreign country I have a greater affinity with the place where I live than with the country as a whole. At the other end of the scale, as a Brit living in The Netherlands, just a couple of hours drive to France or Germany and a 15 minute bike ride to Belgium, if I ride slowly, I am a European and I feel European. There was, and still is, a movement to allow Brexpats like me to become individual European citizens with a passport issued by the EU. Now, if that ever happens I'd jump at the opportunity!

Anyway I studied all the options, made my choice, filled in the forms and paid the fees...

...and that's when Covid-19 came to town!

For a short time all their offices were closed, then the IND would send me regular reminders by post that I should register my biometrics, in person, within two weeks. At the same time that they informed me online that the desks were only open for urgent business and that my business was not considered urgent. When they did eventually open again for less important matters it was no easy task to make an appointment. They were open for limited periods, for a limited number of people and they had a huge backlog. I still had a slight hope that I'd be away for most of September which didn't help. The first available date and place that suited both the IND and myself was two months later in Rotterdam. By that time the second Corona wave was a fact, the city of Rotterdam was Code Red, only to be visited for essential business. So along with all the other costs and inconvenience Brexit had caused me, now I had to risk my life in a Corona hot spot! As it turned out it couldn't have been much safer. The the normally bustling station and city centre were almost deserted. The shops, restaurants and cafés were all open but empty. Even though it was midday in the middle of the week it was hard to find anybody to social distance myself from! I was processed, fingerprinted, photographed and registered in about five minutes and was soon on my way back home in my private Intercity train.

The piece of plastic, decorated with a picture of me looking like a recently arrested criminal, was a 'Permanent Residence Permit'. That's what I chose in the end. Why? Well, it was relatively cheap, a special cut-price offer for Brexpats,  and it doesn't involve swearing an oath of allegiance to King and Country. Taking on a new nationality would have. Okay, it's a formality, you just have to get the words right but even so... I'm not sure I could swear allegiance to anything or anybody with any degree of sincerity or a straight face...

So that's my status in The Netherlands dealt with..

but what about my relationship with the United Kingdom of Great Britain?

Well it was a close thing but we are not divorced.

We will, however, continue living apart

and the chances of us getting back together again are not great.

Extra:   https://youtu.be/3EGn9-tVXSE

 

Robobob

 

Robobob

True, I have mentioned my age before but I wouldn't want you to think I'm obsessed with it. I am still mildly shocked at my answer when I'm asked how old I am and I'm always slightly worried that when I fill in my year of birth online the list will not scroll down far enough. Otherwise I don't give age much thought. No I'm not obsessed with it ...but I am increasingly confronted by it and not just when I look in the mirror!

A while back as preparation for an operation I had an appointment at the hospital and, among other things, a nurse, reading from a list asked me a whole lot of standard questions. The answer to nearly all of them was no, until she asked “Have you fallen down recently” to which I replied that I had. That seemed to relieve the boredom a bit. She registered some interest and a little concern. “How?” She asked. I explained that I had fallen while riding my mountain bike. Her facial expression and tone of voice changed to a mixture of surprise and disapproval. “At your age!” she exclaimed then passed rapidly on to the next question.

I'm still not sure if I should have been pleased or annoyed by this reaction.

Shortly after that hospital visit, while the Covid restrictions were more relaxed, we took a bike trip visiting friends just over the border in Germany on the way. Almost our only footsteps, tyre tracks if you like, in a foreign country this year. Even the Belgium border just down the road has often been closed. For overnight accomodation we used Vrienden op de Fiets (Cycle Friends) an organisation where hosts offer members bed & breakfast for a reasonable and fixed price.       

The E- bike, a power assisted bicycle that runs on batteries, was popular before the Corona crisis but now that many indoor activities and team sports have at times been discouraged, restricted or forbidden, sales have rocketed, especially but not exclusively among the grey-haired fraternity.  We saw plenty of other cyclists during this tour, mostly pensioners eager to escape lockdown, they all had E-bikes! Our hosts, therefore, were more than a little surprised when we arrived on our exclusively muscle powered machines, unplugged as I like to say. “We have E- bikes” they told us almost apologetically “but”, they  added in their defence, “you are much younger than us”. There were birthday cards on display all around the room. They had obviously just celebrated a 70^th birthday.          

We decided not to disillusion them!

So, back to the operation I mentioned earlier. It was nothing special or dramatic, at least not for the surgeons. For me it was more than a bit scary but it was one more step on the road to becoming fully bionic!                                                      

Now I don't know the exact demographics of my readership. When I started writing these columns the most readers were either under thirty or more than sixty years old. That has changed, the age range is now far wider and varied but I'm fairly sure that few, if any, are older than me. However my left hip was replaced four years ago, my right hip two years ago and the lens in my right eye just last month.

In other words, although I'm not obsessed by age, I would like to point out that bits of me are a whole lot younger than all of you!!!

Tour de Prapic

TOUR DE PRAPIC

'These are unusual times' has to be the most overused phrase this year but, yes, these are unusual times and time, itself, has become distorted. Some days drag on while weeks and months flash by. Annual events, festivals, sports events and school holidays, our usual reference points, have either been cancelled or postponed. Without these markers my biological clock, or rather my biological calender, has become confused. Frequently during the various phases of lockdown and semi-lockdown I have woken up with no idea what day it is and even worse, what time of year it is! One of the reference points in the Dutch calender, maybe surprisingly, is the Tour de France. Not because The Netherlands is a land of bicycles but because, in a country where the summer holiday is almost a religion, the 'Tour' is closely associated with summer and the annual pilgramage to the sun. Nostalgic tales of summers past often involve caravans, campsites, and fathers bent over a portable radio trying to pick up Radio Tour de France. For the Dutch, whether they enjoy cycle racing, hate it or are totally disinterested, the Tour de France is July , July is summer and summer means VACATION!

The postponment of the Tour and other annual sporting events and bike rides I may well have taken part in, along with the cancellation of our planned trip or trips this year,  have seriouly affected my sense of time and seasons. Mentally and physically I'm still waiting for the summer to arrive and we're already a week into September. To confuse my biorythms even further the Tour de France has just started!

However, as a famous Dutch footballer once said, every disadvantage has it's advantage.

I will now be able to follow the whole three week race on TV, usually I miss most of it.

Glancing at the the race itinery I noticed that the route will pass several, for me, memorable places. At this very moment the riders are heading towards a finish on the Mount Aigoual, a mountain I have cycled many times, mosty while working as a tour leader in the Cevenne. Yesterday's stage ended with a climb to the ski resort Ocières – Merlette. The race turned left in Orcières but if you continue straight on for a couple of kilometres where the road ends you will have arrived at the village of Prapic. Prapic has a few houses, a church, a restaurant and a bus stop.  Oh yes, and there is a simple campsite. A gateway to the Parc National des Ecrins Prapic is a popular starting point for tough mountain hikes, leisurley walks or picnics. To prevent daytrippers from using, misusing or abusing the toilet facilities campers are issued with an impressively sized golden key on a red ribbon.

We were not in the best of spirits when we arrived. That year we had just a ten day holiday. We were used to being away for all or most of the summer. Our mood, however, soon changed. We had chosen well, the campsite was made to measure, during what we thought a short holiday we hiked two mountains and cycled up to the ski resort. I took my mountain bike by cable car further up the mountain and rode my one and only downhill. I made friends with a marmotte  but the friendship cooled when the sweet biscuits ran out and there was only dry bread left. 

The Tour de France passed close by, a bike ride and a hike took us to an ideal spot just before the top of the last climb of the toughest stage that year. Very close to witnessing one of the most memorable incidents in the race's recent history.

The film of Lance Armstrong riding into and across an alpine meadow after narrowly avoiding an accident is often repeated on TV. For the Spanish rider Beloki the crash marked the end of his career, at that time he was one of the few serious challengers to Armstrongs supremacy.

Despite, or maybe partly due to, our low expectations it was a thoroughly enjoyable break, sun, fun and never a dull moment. More memories surfaced when we found the photographs and, for the first time during this Corona period, I realised just how much I miss mountains, the great outdoors and brief encounters with marmottes....

I've Got a Brand New Pair of Roller Skates

“I've Got a Brand New Pair of Roller Skates...”

Well, no I haven't, in fact I've never had a pair of roller skates furthermore my one attempt at roller skating was about as successful as my one attempt at ice skating. No, this was just the line of a song by Melanie that I couldn't get off my mind last week.

Melanie was, as it happens, one of my favourite singers from the 1960's and 70's but this column is not about her. 

So, if it's not about roller skates or Melanie what is it about?

I've been writing these columns, or blogs if you prefer, since 2008. With no editor and no restrictions it's sometimes hard to resist the temptation to just let off steam and write an angry piece about something that particularly annoys or upsets me. Okay I did manage to write about Brexit, which made me at times very angry indeed, without using any bad language but it wasn't easy. Corona seems to have provided me with more humour, especially in the form of cartoons, than maybe it should. Nonetheless there are still plenty of things in the world to get angry about! The plight of millions of refugees. The rise of nationalism and populism. The polarisation of opinions. Racial and other inequalities in our societies, anti-Semitism, modern slavery, the needless destructions of natural habitats causing the extinction, or near extinction, of many wild animals and more. I have often, in my head,  formulated quite lengthy, angry but well argued articles on most of the above. So why haven't I published them? Well firstly because the articles in my head often turn out to be rambling, disjointed, too long and not well agrgued at all when transferred to print.

If my outrage has been caused by a particular event, by the time I get around to writing about it the the news will have moved on and my anger may well have subsided.

Also I really don't want to add to the stream of negativity that tends to result from 24/7 news coverage. There is always some natural or man made disaster taking place somewhere. Worldwide there are always demonstrations, war, crime waves, cruelty and injustices  happening somewhere. That doesn't mean they are happening all the time everywhere!

Yes I had planned a column on racial discrimination and anti-Semitism. On how I've never really been able to understand either. There are enough people I dislike but judging an individual by the race, colour, nationality or religion they belong to is for me both unthinkable and unacceptable and has been since I was really very young.

But there is another compelling reason for not delivering a bad tempered lecture on these or other topics. I think that most who choose to read these columns are like most of my friends: we can and will disagree on details, sometimes heatedly, but on the whole we have much the same opinions on most serious subjects.

I would, in effect, be shouting at the wrong people – preaching to the converted!

So what I've decided to tell you today is simply that I have a brand new bicycle.

Despite being a cyclist for years I haven't had many really new bikes.

I've had it for a week and I'm as happy as a child with a pair of roller skates!

Melanie 

https://youtu.be/lKcpodt0YCU

A Month of Sundays

A Month of Sundays

I'm often asked the meaning of English phrases or sayings, I sometimes get them wrong. I was slightly wrong about the title of this column.

I'd always thought that 'never in a month of Sundays' meant 'never ever' there being no such thing as a month of Sundays. However it apparently means a very long and probably dreary time and, to be honest, that's pretty much how Sundays felt when I was a child.

Not much happened Sundays, nothing was open and few events were organised.

In Britain we had Sunday newspapers, they were at least four times thicker than the daily editions and had endless extra supplements. My parents had two of them. Now I was fairly good at entertaining myself but hanging around while my parents read both newspapers was not a lot of fun. Then Sunday lunch had to be prepared which took considerable time, effort and sometimes argument even though it was the same every week. After lunch we might go for 'a drive'. This usually involved going by car into the nearby countryside and sitting somewhere. Just sitting is not something small boys are good at.

At some point my mother might point out that there was another little boy about my age that I could play with. Now, that was never going to happen, neither of us had a ball, we may well not like each other and even if we did find something vaguely enjoyable to do it would almost certainly get both of us into trouble!

Sometimes instead of a drive we would go for 'a walk', another thing that little boys are not very good at. Running, jumping, climbing up trees, okay, but just walking? Ah well, it kept the parents happy and it often involved ice cream. It could be worse: on the rare occasions we went visiting I was made to put on my 'Sunday Best'. This was close to being a prison sentence. Once dressed in these, neatly pressed, stiff and disliked clothes, reserved for special occasions, nothing, and I mean nothing, was allowed for fear damaging or dirtying them.

But at least we didn't have to go to church.

I can't really remember what my Sundays were like as a young teenager which is probably a good indication of just how exciting they were. Mornings were much the same, everything centred around the Sunday Lunch*. I think, sometime mid afternoon my friends and I would escape from our families and do nothing very much together for the rest of the day.

I left home, and all the Sunday rituals, when I was 18, but that didn't mean that Sundays were a lot more exciting, there was still not much to do besides recovering from Saturday nights. Even as a student it was hard to find any action, few fellow students showed their faces before the cathedral clock struck midday and the high point of many a Sunday was when Harry came around in the afternoon to sleep through Match of the Day, a football programme, on TV.

When visiting friends and family in the UK it is amazing to find that Sunday habits have not changed much. Getting up late. A lot of fuss about the Sunday lunch , maybe a short walk to the pub for a drink or two, back for food and then sit around watching football on TV. Some other activity may be suggested and if the walk to the pub had not overrun, the Sunday meal had not been delayed by some cooking disaster, the featured football match held no special interest, the kids could be bribed with the promise of ice cream and everybody could get their hats, boots, coats or whatever together before the sun went down, then ….

maybe then.....

Here in The Netherlands it is only comparatively recently that shops other than supermarkets have been allowed to open on Sundays and it's not so long ago that supermarkets were closed too. I've mostly filled my Sundays with sport, doing it in the mornings, watching it in the afternoons. For many though it was, and still is, a day when nothing much happens and then you visit grandma!

Who would ever want to live through a month of Sundays?

Who would ever have imagined that we would actually do it ...three times over?

Three months of Sundays. In many countries the shops have been closed all day and every day. Children and both parents have been at home. There has been little or no contact with friends or family. No outside entertainments. Not even sport on TV or a trip to granny to break the monotony. Here in The Netherlands, with a relatively relaxed lockdown, the days have been long and predictable not quite boring but far from exciting!

Now for better or worse, it looks like restrictions will be easing a little. Not back to normal but maybe we can at least move on to a month of Saturday afternoons!

* See: https://onlyalso.blogspot.com/2016/06/roast-beef-and-three-pinned-plugs.html