Tulip fever

I really, really meant it last year when I said "Next year I will definitely try to be there again" but things don't always work out the way you want them to. Fenced in by non-negotiable deadlines, I will once again spend Queen's Day in laborious London instead of anarchic Amsterdam. So, like last year, yesterday I once more dug that orange top out from under a pile of more frequently worn clothes to join the London version of Queen's day. We in London have to celebrate it a few days early though, as unfortunately over here we can't get the day off for it.

At least it looks like this year London had one up on Amsterdam. The weather yesterday here was gorgeous. It was the first real Spring day we've had in months, blessed with sunshine and warm temperatures. The forecast suggests that you guys back in the Motherland may not be so lucky this year. So basking in the sun we sat, surrounded by the other orange people, listening to Andre Hazes' songs and eating a patatje met. For one day a year I am not ashamed to set free my inner Dutch girl. Something true for many of us Cheese Heads in London apparently as once again I ran into some familiar faces! London can sometimes suddenly be very small.


The walk afterwards -by sheer coincidence- let us straight into a magnificent tulip garden. It wasn't part of the celebrations and I didn't even know it was there but it certainly was an appropriate find. The fitting ending to such a delightfully Dutch day of course was dinner at the local Pancake house with a starter of bitterballen. Stuffed beyond belief on this healthy diet of saturated fats, I look back on a great day but not without some secret hope that maybe next year...

Queen's Day in London 2008

Run like the wind

My new flat is practically on the doorstep of Battersea Park. As one of the biggest (and most beautiful) parks in London this is prime running territory. For weeks now the park has seen ever swelling numbers of sweaty sports maniacs congregating for their obligatory laps. Some suffer alone, others travel in packs. At first I thought it was just the spring weather that had urged these people to dust off their running shoes. It is more than that though. This weekend running is London's number 1 religion as thousands of fanatics take over the streets for the London marathon.

I must admit, I don't really get marathons. A number of my friends have done them or intend to do them but, although I admire their tenacity, I do secretly think they are a bit loopy. Let's not forget: the man accredited for first accomplishing this feat did not live to collect any medal. It is unnatural, unhealthy. Why anybody would deliberately put their body through this pain is beyond me. Then again, I am a real couch potato these days so who am I to judge?

There are 6 men in London right now who seem not the least bit impressed by those 42.195 kilometres. After all, there are no lions. Did I just say "no lions"? Indeed. Amongst the participants will be 6 Maasai warriors who intend to run and dance their way to Buckingham Palace wearing full warrior gear and traditional footwear. Used to running and hunting for days on end a little marathon poses no challenge to them. They are doing this to raise money for their village and to bring fresh water to their families. Of course I do still think they are loopy but their cause is a worthy one. I wish them happy hunting.

Brown paper packages

Even when they are not tied up with string, they are still amongst my favourite things. There is nothing like coming home after yet another 10 hour working day to find one of these little gems waiting for you, especially if they contain one of my other favourite things: books. Although most of the time I prefer getting lost between the shelves of my local Waterstones, occasionally I allow myself to get lost between virtual bookshelves instead. Study books and books that are hard to come by tend to appear on my doorstep in those beige wrappings.

I had just started reading Rushdie's The Moor's Last Sigh when my parcel arrived. This is a book that I picked up at the Spui book market before I even moved to London but which has been sitting on my shelf ever since. I have been a bit wary about it as I have read Rushdie before to mixed effect. Midnight's children I still found somewhat enjoyable although very difficult but Fury put me off Rushdie for a very long time. The only reason I finished it was sheer determination not to be defeated by a book! Then last year, amidst raving reviews, I decided to give Rushdie one last shot with Shalimar the Clown. I don't know if Rushdie is like an expensive whiskey that you only learn to appreciate over time or if my own grasp of literature has improved but I absolutely loved this book. Rushdie uses language not merely as a tool for telling a story but uses words and sentences like a painter uses colour. It is not the individual images that matter but the painting as a whole. What before had seemed like endless digressions and pointless ramblings suddenly all connected. Enough reason to give Rushdie another chance. But now he has been temporarily suspended by the arrival of my brown paper package.

One of my new acquisitions is Nina Siegal's A little trouble with the facts which I read cover to cover in a single day. It's a wonderfully witty story about once high-flying Style reporter Valerie Vane who tries to redeem herself as a serious journalist by investigating the murder of a well-known graffiti artist. You will probably not have heard of Nina Siegal yet as this is her debut novel. I didn't just stumble upon her book either. Nina moved to Amsterdam around the same time I moved away from there and nearly ended up living in my apartment. She is still living in Amsterdam, working on her second novel. If she manages to capture Amsterdam in the same way she did the world of journalism she has definitely got a new fan.

Two other of my more recent reads that deserve mention come in the direct aftermath of my Ghana trip. My trip to Elmina prompted several of you to recommend Arthur Japin's De zwarte met het witte hart. I have just finished it and wish I had read it before going to Ghana. It's a poignant tale, based on a true story, about two Ashanti princes uprooted from their familiar world to be educated in the Netherlands. The two boys respond very differently to this new and often unwelcoming environment. Reading it made me feel much the same way as I did walking around Elmina castle. Embarrassed about a past that isn't quite mine yet somehow also is.

The other book is Giles Bolton's Poor Story. Working for the same organisation that was the reason for my own trip, Bolton explores why Africa keeps getting shortchanged in the global economy and why our aid money is not being used in the most effective way. The latter issue is particularly interesting to me as it reverberates with one of the projects I am currently working on. In the mean time, the one bookcase that occupies my shoe box has become so full that even double parking my books is no longer a solution. I better go easy on those brown paper packages for a while.