forgotten spaces

I’ve always had a thing for locks.

No, not that kind. This kind:

Holland, a country 1/3 of which is below sea level, has a great deal of them, from the massive, to the tiny, but this one’s my favourite:

Last week, my son and I went to see The Lorax. Don’t worry, it’s not at all about indoctrination on my part. It’s one of his favourite stories, and he’s not yet convinced of the importance of trees – in fact, he loves the machine that can cut down four trees in one blow. Let’s face it: trees are a commodity, and we’re constantly reminded of that in the middle of a forest, or even in the city.

If you spend any time in Holland, it won’t be long before you see a volkstuin – a collective of gardens, usually equipped with small houses.

They’re everywhere – some hidden down laneways,

It’s not often you get to play (consciously, anyway) tourist in your own town. Amsterdam is, aside from the lack of sidewalks, a very tourist-friendly place: it has lovely architecture that spans the centuries, a palatable history, it’s safe, but with a bit of edge if you want it. Plenty to do and see, but also a great place to just hang out and soak up the atmosphere if that’s more your style. Even the street food is palatable to all.

A couple of weekends ago, I found myself on a train for three hours, and in a car for five, careening through the Dutch and Belgian countryside – for beer.

This is no ordinary beer. It’s also not just an unusual beer. It’s rare, and incredibly difficult to come by.

This’ll be a short one; more a photo essay about the latest detour, than anything more to the point.

The older I get, the more the little details of places stand out for me, as opposed to the grand, sweeping picture.

In fact, it could be said that the sum total of the little details forms a grand, sweeping picture.

One day last fall, my neighbour invited me out onto the canals of Amsterdam. It was her and her twin sister’s birthday, see (and, coincidentally mine two days later), so we packed some decent cheese, a bit of homemade bread and a good bottle of wine and headed out on a boat for the afternoon.

Ever since then, we’ve been thinking about seeing the city from a different vantage point. She’s been living in Amsterdam for twenty years, and I’ve been here for six and a half, so it’s about time for both of us.

In Holland, spring is official when the first egg of the lapwing has been found. For me, it’s the first full week that I can bike to work wearing less than four layers.

Work is about 25 km away from where I live, a nice ride through the fields, polders and countryside,

finishing in a dense forest.

Few things are, I think, more romantic than 1. skating on natural ice 2. European cities with canals. So when the two go hand in hand, you have a winner.

I grew up using figure skates, but they’re poo-pooed here. The Dutch are all about long blades – for speed, for endurance, for those long strokes you take with your hands clasped behind your back.

Ok, so I know I was complaining about Dutch winters a couple of weeks ago, but it seems we got a winter after all.