Surviving Queen’s Day in Amsterdam

Posted on May 1, 2012 by ASWilliams

Newsflash –  flash fiction online here After Easter only 300 words!

HOORAY, IT’S MAYDAY! sssshh, I mean hooray, it’s Mayday. Most Queen’s Day revellers are nurturing a headache, no doubt. ‘Koninginnedag’ (don’t try and pronounce if you are of a nervous disposition) is a national holiday and an excuse for a giant street party all over the Netherlands. Most partygoers choose to descend on Amsterdam, however. By mid-afternoon the ring of canals turns into a claustrophobic crush of people. Especially on the humpbacked bridges that act very effectively as bottlenecks. Go along if you enjoy being squashed by lofty, orange-clad drunkards. Mind you a lot of punters normally have to pay for that kind of thing in Amsterdam. On Queen’s Day it’s free. Luvverly! Not.

Join the crush on the canals…

So what’s it all about this Queen’s Day thing, then?

Well, on 30th April the Dutch celebrate Queen Juliana’s birthday. Queen Beatrix is the current queen of the Netherlands and Juliana was her mother. It’s a day where everyone can be unashamedly patriotic, wear orange and sell all their old tat, I mean unwanted stuff on the streets in one giant car boot sale. It’s also an oppurtunity for budding singers/musicians to showcase their talents. For one day of the year everyone can be an entrepreneur or entertainer, selling homemade food or performing for the passers-by.

When I first moved here I used to love setting up a stall and even printed T-shirts and made jewellery especially. Now, owing to the vast invasion from out-of-town visitors, it’s much more regulated in the centre and you can’t get anywhere near by car or bike. For that reason I tend to avoid; the Jordaan, Prinsengracht, Herengracht, Keizersgracht and Singel. I get rather townist on 30th April. Stay in your hometown and celebrate there! Don’t clog up Amsterdam’s ring of canals. Just heard on the radio, ‘only’ 800,000 visitors this year, 100,000 fewer than last year. Result!

Head to the Apollobuurt for old- fashioned ‘gezelligheid’ and bargains!

Budding musicians in the more sedate Apollobuurt

What did I do on this wonderfully sunny day? In the morning I headed to the Apollobuurt, where Amsterdam’s well-heeled live and enjoyed street food and budding musicians while snuffling out some bargains, including a Barbour jacket for hubby for just 15 euros! Afterwards we escaped to the allotment to languish amongst the birdsong. Savouring my bargains I enjoyed a cold glass of Sauvignon Blanc and the view of my shed in the spring sunshine. Jaded? No, it’s called post-modern ironic, (whatever that means). Anyway, I survived. Now only 364 days till the next one.

Holland’s Got Talent

What have they done to the Queen?

Just 50 cents for this adorable bag.


Total cost of bargains including Barbour jacket – 39 euros!
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An Interview with a Windmill

Posted on April 24, 2012 by ASWilliams

Read my short story inspired by the windmill at the Word Hut

Tell us something about yourself?

Well, my name is ‘De Otter,’ but you can call me Ottie for short. I was built in 1631 and was a contemporary of that upstart painter, what’s his name – Rembrandt van Rijn. I look very happy in my little orange hat, don’t I? But I’m not happy at all! All my brothers and sisters, we were twelve strong, have been moved from this canal to other places where they catch wind and can turn as happy as larry. But I’m stuck here, penned in by high rise flats that block my south westerlies! How would you like it, if you were starved of food and drink?

 Um, not very much. Did you use to grind grain?

NO! I was designed to saw wood. A very clever Dutchie called Cornelis Corneliszoon invented me. I’m what they call a ‘paltrok’ mill, which means I can swivel in any direction to catch the wind. Most windmills can do this with their top parts but I turn wholesale from the base, which makes me very special. There’s only five of us left in this country!

 What was the wood used for?

In the 17th century I helped saw the wood that built ships for the Dutch East India Company. Ships that sailed to the Indonesian archipelago and, ahem, relieved the natives of their spices. That’s how this country got rich! And then, after all that they just leave you to rot. Ungrateful lot.

So you’re a bit disgruntled with us humans. How do you express that, as an inanimate object?

Windmills express emotions by the position of our sails. And remember, we usually turn anti-clockwise! Here’s some little pictures to help;

Above left: rest for a short time during working period
Above right: rest for a longer period
Below left: ‘celebration’ position, with the upper sail just before the vertical
Below right:’mourning’ position, with the upper sail past the vertical

In WWII we were able to pass on messages via our sails without the invaders knowing! And of course there were wonderful things like letting the world know whether the miller’s wife had had a son or a daughter! Keep an eye out for your local windmill on 30th April, Queen’s Day. It will be in the celebration position, while I’m stuck in the prolonged rest position. Grumble, groan.

 What would make you happy now, Ottie?

I would like to be moved to Uitgeest, where my creator, Corneliszoon comes from. I’m not very happy with the Amsterdam council because they scuppered that plan. According to those bigwigs there is enough wind for me to turn. Pah, what do they know! Even my kindly miller has been forced to give up on me. A windmill that never turns is doomed to rot, you know!

 Can we do anything to help?

Yes, go to this website and become a member of De Otter friends group. It’s free and you never know, it might make those bureaucrats see sense! Thank you.

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I’m not superstitious, touch wood…

Posted on April 17, 2012 by ASWilliams

As I stepped in my car to drive to Haarlem to teach an English class on Friday 13th, I felt a quiver of trepidation. I switched on my trusty Tom Tom (sat-nav is known by brand name here) and crossed my fingers that all would be well. I would take the route avoiding the speed cameras that had caught me out twice for ‘speeding.’Haarlem council sees its motorists as a cash cow, setting up cameras just past the changeover speed limit zone. Tom Tom also indicated a 70km limit instead of the actual 50km limit on that stretch of road, which didn’t help much.

River Saarne in Haarlem (US Harlem named after this one!)

Anyway, I arrived safely and fingers crossed, speeding-fine-free. Perhaps the subject of superstition might be an interesting discussion for the last half hour of the English lesson, I thought. Will I never learn? Whenever I have asked a Dutch person if they’re superstitious I have always been met with a resolute, no. They leave that nonsense up to irrational folk. ‘You don’t think we built this country with our bare hands and reclaimed it from the sea by believing in stuff about black cats, not walking under ladders and all those old wives’ tales, do you?’ They don’t actually say that of course, but I can see that’s what they’re thinking.

Still, I persevered and the conversation veered off to the subject of taking your own fate in your hands and whether destiny existed. I was amazed at the depth of the conversation I was able to have with someone who is at B1 (lower intermediate) level of proficiency. As it was the final session of the course I received a parting gift, in thanks for the lessons. This was an unusual but thoughtfully compiled present, a Joseph Joseph cutting board, decorated with a Union Jack in a fruit pattern, pineapple cake and, oh dear, a knife!

I thanked him and his secretary and hoped that receiving a knife on Friday 13,th without the antidote copper coin, wasn’t tempting fate. Not too perturbed though, I drove home safely and unusually in our street, immediately found a place to park. Even though the parking per month is 16 euros we are never assured of a space. Then I opened a text message from our guests who wanted to leave their tourist accommodation at 10.30 am the following morning and what time would I ‘pass on’? I wanted to text back, not intending to pass on anytime soon, actually! But that would be silly and the French family had no idea of the difference between pass on and pass by and no longer in teaching mode, it wasn’t my job to tell them.

To top it all my new neighbour decided Friday 13th was an auspicious day to start ripping out the mirrored tiles from his bathroom. The resounding crash of mirror shards falling onto the concrete floor spelt the end of a sunny afternoon on the balcony and possibly seventy years of bad luck, for him, at least. My apartment block was built in the thirties for dockworkers’ families who lived cheek by jowl. Everyone knew everyone else, swept their pavements weekly and if anyone moved in or out, all around would come and help. Now that yuppies are moving in, there’s a trend of totally gutting apartments and quiet time on the balcony, reading my Kindle is often marred by this. At least I’ve got the allotment to flee too.

So I survived Friday 13th relatively unscathed. How about you and your culture? Do you happily walk under ladders or do you hold your collar till a dog crosses your path after seeing a funeral cortege?

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The Last Straw — A review of the film,‘The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel’ and the reality of old-age

Posted on April 10, 2012 by ASWilliams

At the beginning of this year an elderly, blind woman died in a care home. My husband and I had been visiting her monthly, on a voluntary basis, to take her out for walks. She could only get about in a wheelchair and unaided would be left sitting in her small room for days on end. The staff in the home offered only the minimum amount of care, and on her death bed when my husband asked if she could have a straw to drink more easily, he was informed that the care home didn’t supply drinking straws for residents.

Fortunately, she had a large group of volunteers who had helped her walk her guide dog (when she still had one) who visited her regularly and gave her some companionship and comfort in her latter years. Her close family had moved to Canada and only when she was very ill did we discover she had family members that lived close by but had never visited.

Some of the issues of loneliness and failing health were looked at in the book by Deborah Moggach, ‘The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel,’ Now, you wouldn’t expect these subjects to be a comedy would you? The thread of humour running through the book makes it easier to look at issues around old age which many of us shy away from. For those of you unfamiliar with the book, it’s about a group of British retirees who decide to spend their old age in a crumbling hotel-cum-care-home in Jaipur,India. Outsourcing the elderly proves to be a successful formula, giving most of the characters a new lease of life and love.

Although the film simplifies the book’s plot and gives some of the characters a major overhaul it remains true to the optimistic spirit of the original and I left the cinema feeling elated and full of hope. The formidable cast doesn’t disappoint; Judi Dench steals the show and Maggie Smith is brilliant as the curmudgeonly but loveable Muriel. Watch out for Penelope Wilton, a much underrated actor, who transforms the unlikeable Jean into a woman whose desperation about growing old and her failing marriage is palpable under a brittle veneer of happiness. This film crosses the generation divide in its appeal and in the later showing on Good Friday at my favourite Amsterdam cinema, The Movies, the audience were mainly in their twenties and thirties and included the glamorous Dutch actor, Katja Schuurman.

Still, I can’t help thinking this far-fetched fantasy contrasts starkly with the reality of getting old. I don’t see many people hopping over to start a new life in India once they reach their seventies. The picture of a frail old lady sitting in the corner of a room, amongst her meagre possessions, listening non-stop to Radio Noord Holland and reliant on the kindness of strangers, strikes me as a truer picture of old age. Or am I just a pessimist?

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Confessions of a Marktaholic

Posted on April 3, 2012 by ASWilliams

Cheer up your Monday mornings with a to visit the Westermarkt and Noordermarkt. The Westermarkt runs the length of the Westerstraat and the Noordermarkt is held on the square in front of the Noorderkerk. There was some talk of the market closing a few years back as the young professionals who had moved into the area didn’t like having their beauty sleep disturbed so early (aw, diddums). Common sense prevailed though and the market is fortunately still going strong.

The market starts at around 8am and finishes around 1pm every Monday except Bank Holidays. It’s best to get there either early, between 8am – 10am, or later from 12am-1pm. That way you avoid the crush down the narrow aisle between traders, which can get claustrophobic and is bad for your toes. Bargain hunters are not usually well known for their good manners, are they? You can get some real ‘koopjes’ as the Dutch call them and if you are at all Magpie-inclined, i.e. love anything sparkly, then the Indian fabric stalls are irresistible ! Discover your inner Diva with all those sequins, satins, velvets and gauzy fabrics. The haberdashery stalls are excellent too if you want to individualise your clothing. Now, with the current trend for make-do-and- mend the fabric market is on the up. Haggling is not usually appreciated by the Dutch stallholders, so unless you’re buying a huge length of fabric, I wouldn’t recommend it. Even my Dutch hubby who’s well known for his bargaining skills rarely has any joy on this market.

The Noordermarkt section has mainly vintage and ethnic clothing with a few bric a brac and furniture sellers. If it’s extremely busy on the Westermarkt section then it’s often quieter here where there’s more room to spread out. If you get peckish try a loempia (Indonesian spring roll) or go to the Winkel for their legendary warm apple tart and whipped cream. There will be a queue so be patient! My favourite haunt for lunch is Basilico, an Italian delicatessen that serves delicious rolls. A bit off the beaten track but well worth the walk. Freshly made pasta and other treats are on offer as well if you want to pick up authentically Italian ingredients for your evening meal.

When I was more active on the belly dancing scene I visited the market regularly for inexpensive, exotic fabrics to make circular skirts, harem pants and veils. As you can see from the photos I didn’t know when to stop… Over the years I have had loads of fun teaching women the basics of belly dance and how to embrace their femininity during hen-party workshops and weekly lessons. Earned a bob or two as well! My belly dancing self is taking some time out at present but don’t worry, she’ll be back!

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It’s Sunny in Amsterdam!

Posted on March 27, 2012 by ASWilliams

Yay, our hood is on the up! Why do Americanisms always spring to mind when I’m feeling positive? I mean, jolly hockey-sticks our local area is climbing up the socio-economic ladder. Formerly called Bos & Lommer, a troubled neighbourhood, our main street now boasts; an organic food shop, indie bookshop, Bagels & Beans, artisan bakery and a cultural centre. This was all unthinkable a few years back. Now we just need a trendy name like Little Istanbul  instead of the bland sounding, Amsterdam West. Suggestions on a postcard please.

Last week, world-renowned storyteller Jan Blake, came to our local Bagels & Beans for a storytelling evening. Her Jamaican-British heritage promised a rich cultural mix and we weren’t disappointed. What an incredible presence she has and a voice like velvet.  A good storyteller needs the same timing skills as a musician and she has those in bucket loads. She was accompanied by storyteller Sahand Sahebdivani, an equally talented orater who told an ill-fated love story set in Persia. It would be interesting to discover how many versions of Romeo and Juliet exist around the world. Sahand organises regular storytelling evenings in Amsterdam at Mezrab. There was plenty of audience participation as well, the women were encouraged to punctuate an Aesop’s fable type story from Ghana with ululations. The free event was packed out and when the organiser asked who lived in the neighbourhood, about 60% of the audience turned out to be locals. Hopefully this will be the start of regular storytelling events.

To add to the deliciousness of the evening I bumped into a dear friend I’d lost touch with, Jill Hesketh. Jill’s a very talented artist who specialises in caricatures. Earlier this year I said goodbye to a few friends who were suffering from Expatitis, or Moving On Syndrome so it was lovely to reconnect with an old friend who lives locally. We had loads to catch up on, she has a caravan near the sea and my husband Frank and I share an allotment. Are we perhaps getting middle-aged?

The icing on the cake was two friends coming to visit from the UK, Sue Chadd and her husband Laurence. I met Sue in 1999 when we did a poetry and drawing course at Ty Newydd, Lloyd George’s former home in Wales. We had kept in touch by Christmas card (we’re British…) but three years ago I managed to persuade Sue to come over to Amsterdam for the first of many visits. As well as being a poet, Sue’s a keen gardener so a visit to de Keukenhofwas an essential. I’d always imagined the Keukenhof to be a tacky experience with hoards of tourists shuffling along narrow paths. But if you go on a weekday it’s easy to enjoy the dreamlike atmosphere of being immersed in an ultra Dutch landscape with windmills, every variety of tulip imaginable and the mouth-watering smell of poffertjes (mini pancakes) wafting in the air. The trees are not yet in leaf which means that the shadows are exquisite, the uncensored sun lighting up ribbons of tulips like rainbows. Swans float serenely on the lakes and the gardeners ruthlessly remove wilted flowers and replace them with newly-opened ones. The photos will tell you more…

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Missives from Amsterdam

Posted on March 26, 2012 by ASWilliams

Welcome to my blog! I’m a writer and English teacher living in Amsterdam. I’m writing this blog under my pen name, Susan Carey but most of you know me as Angela. On this blog I’ll be chirruping like the eponymous Oriole about my life and the gorgeous city of Amsterdam. If you live here already then I hope to share tips about how to enjoy the city more and if you’ve never been then hopefully you will be encouraged to visit!

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