Upsides

I don't think anyone's in any doubt about the critical nature of the current situation...even without the possibility of media hype, we know it's very serious. I've heard many people quote the mortality figures for normal seasonal flu, which I admit are much higher than I ever realised, but the point is it's seasonal and covers the whole period of winter from (probably) October through to March in the northern hemisphere. This particular scourge is condensing what we normally see in a period of several months into just a few weeks, thereby stretching medical resources and hospitals to the limits, and adding dramatically to the normal seasonal problems.

So yes, we need to be very careful. But it's hard, isn't it? Many people are out of work and are living in a very uncertain and precarious position. It's not just the risks associated with the virus that are affecting them; it's their livelihood that's at risk too. The danger is that we become not only anxious, but confused and depressed as well, so I thought that maybe this week I could focus on some of the positive aspects that I've seen coming out of this very strange time, because there are indeed some very good things happening.

Spring is here, a natural upside

On a local level, I've noticed people are being kinder and more tolerant to each other in all sorts of ways. It's inevitable that we have to cancel appointments and plans, but the level of acceptance about having to do this is really heartwarming. Just as an instance, I'd asked a tree surgeon to come and prune our tree at the crumbly cottage, where we are now self isolating. Bearing in mind I initially made the enquiry in January, it's taken a long time to organise, but first we had the terrible march of Ciara, Dennis and Ellen across the country, which meant he was otherwise occupied with more urgent pruning. Then the poor man sprained his ankle, so he couldn't come when he was going to, and now we have Corona.

So when he asked if he could come next week, I baulked. I'm really not ready to have anyone here yet and even though there's no real reason why he shouldn't, I asked for some leeway. I explained about being nervous of contact at the moment; Koos is in the high risk category and I have allergies that affect my airways. Luckily, he was totally understanding, which relieved me no end. There've been other instances of this too, each of which has given me such reassurance in cases where frustration and annoyance might have been the usual response.

Then there's the notices I see around the supermarkets: the call for us all to work together and keep this thing contained. 'Samen kunnen we het doen' (Together we can do it). I know it's just a little thing, but I find it lifts my spirits. We're all in the same boat, aren't we? On the other hand, you'd all chuckle if you could see me skulking round the aisles trying to avoid other shoppers. When I see anyone coming my way, I freeze, backtrack and duck into the next aisle, only to find I have to do it again because someone is browsing the shelves there too. Shopping has become quite an adventure. I can just imagine the security bods watching their screens and saying: "Aha, sit down, lads. Weekly entertainment time. Here's that old bat again again," and having a good chortle at my antics.

Apart from that, there are the work initiatives, which are actually quite exciting. It's been a big change to switch all my teaching to an online environment, and there will be more challenges to come. This morning, I had a virtual 'meeting' with my two daughters to see how to conduct an online class in real time. For them, of course, it's as easy as breathing, but for me (old traditionalist that I am) it's a big deal, but they made me laugh and showed me that it doesn't really need to be alarming. When I heard that in my daughter's last online class, one of her students was sitting in bed, while another had his little boy crawling all over him, I realised it would probably be a lot of fun. As for our management at the university, they are all being incredibly supportive of these changes.

Then there's the morale boosting on a more national level. One morning last week, all the radio stations across the country played 'You'll never walk alone' at the same time, and there have been evenings where people in the cities have applauded the medical and essential services the way they've done elsewhere in Europe. It's been very moving and a powerful way of giving a sense of togetherness through the need to be apart.

More signs of spring, although this is last year's a bit later

Individually, none of these things is huge, but they're all signs of a growing level of patience and tolerance among people, which can only be positive. Of course, you'll always get the bozos who think none of this applies to them, and the people who refuse to keep a distance from you in the shops, but I think that overall, the response has been rewarding and the general level of warmth and good cheer is increasing.

Add to that is the fact that on our highways, the speed limit has been reduced to 100kms per hour everywhere between 06:00 and 19:00, then even the roads feel calm and relaxed. The authorities sneaked that in without a whisper during the early weeks of this crisis, but I really like it, so that can't be bad either, can it? Oh and of course, Spring is here, which is a wonderful upside in itself as we are having some gorgeous sunshine filled days.

Keep well, iedereen, stay home and stay safe.

Teacher without a class

I was hoping I could skirt round the subject of the Corona virus that's been sweeping across the world, but it seems it's not going to be possible. The subject is dominating everything we do, so it can't be ignored. In fact, when I look back on my blog in years to come (says she with fingers firmly crossed), I will probably remember the first months of this year as some of the most dramatic I've experienced in my life, and for all the wrong reasons.

I have no photos that suit the subject, but this one fills me
with a certain calm, which seem apt right now

Having coped with what I call the 'winds and gales of outrageous attrition' that accompanied storms Ciara, Dennis and Ellen across our flatlands, we are now in virtual lockdown due to the spread of this awful virus that's claiming lives and making people, especially those of us in our later years, very unwell. I have to say we've never known anything like it. Ten or so years ago, we had the Mexican flu, which was also pretty nasty, and which I had. Since then, we've had SARS, Bird flu and probably another one I've forgotten. The thing is it's not unusual for new flu strains to cause a certain amount of havoc, but this one has been the most virulent and is likely to get worse before it gets better.

I'm desperately sorry for everyone who's lost loved ones and whose lives have been forever changed by it. Cafés, restaurants and bars have had to close, big events have been postponed or cancelled, and who knows how many people's investments and finances will crash as a consequence? On a personal note, as of tomorrow all my teaching has been cancelled following a government directive, and we are anxiously trying to find ways of keeping education going both at the schools and universities. Online classes are being proposed, but that fills me with trepidation as I have no experience of doing anything like that. This coming week is going to be interesting to say the least. I am, for the moment anyway, a teacher without a class.

Another tranquil Dutch scene

Of course, we are all talking about it constantly, which probably doesn't really help, but it's like picking at a pimple, isn't it? We know we shouldn't, but we do anyway. We laugh at playing footsie instead of shaking hands, and giving each other elbow nudges too; we make a big act about keeping our distance from neighbours, joking about our stand-offish behaviour. But in the end, the conversation always ends up on a serious note...it can't be otherwise, can it?

On the upside, there've also been some lovely and moving film clips coming from Italy where apartment dwellers, confined to their homes, have been singing wonderful Italian arias from their balconies. So inspiring. What it does show is how such a crisis brings communities together even when they have to keep apart, a special kind of paradox.

As for us, we are at the crumbly cottage and it seems we'll be here most of the time until the worst is over. Being in a rural area, it's probably the best place to be. The local shop is still open; we can still get fresh veggies, and except for the bizarre run on toilet paper that also seems to have swept the world, most goods are available – although I noticed at the nearby Lidl across the border there was no pasta or rice, but luckily plenty of wine! So at least if we can't eat, we can drown our sorrows in good bacchanalian style. I can think of worse things.

I'll be going to the Vereeniging in Rotterdam too as and when needed, but given the city's denser population, and my reliance on public transport when I'm there, I think I'll keep that to a minimum if possible. Just for now, anyway.

Keep well, iedereen. Don't take risks, and keep washing those hands. Till next time.

The history in my daily commute

I've been very remiss this last week as I didn't write a blog post at all. This is rare for me because I value my blog and my interaction with others in blogosphere. The only reason is because I've been very busy with work and it's taken up all my available time. Even now, I know I'll have to keep this brief because I have plenty to do for the coming week, but there was one subject I wanted to share with you, and that is the remarkable piece of history I pass almost every day on my way to work.

My view of the last section of Rotterdam's
 original city wall

Rotterdam is an exciting modern city; its architecture is famed the world over for being innovative and daring. However, the city itself is actually very old and was founded in 1270 when a dam was built across the River Rotte. It gained city rights in 1340 and has since grown to become the Netherlands' second largest city. To quote Wikipedia, "Rotterdam is known for its Erasmus University, its riverside setting, lively cultural life, maritime heritage and modern architecture."

But what does this have to do with me and my daily commute to work? Well, what a lot of people don't know is that this modern city used to have impressive walls encircling it. By the 20th century, these had long gone, sacrificed to the expansion of the urban area. However, when the metro line was being built in the late 80s, what is thought to be the last remaining piece of the old wall was uncovered, and in honour of its evidence of Rotterdam's long and noble past, it's been preserved. These days it sits in its original position, but suspended above the tracks of the adjoining mainline railway which follows a tunnel under the river. Since I pass it virtually daily on my way to the metro or the station below, I've become used to seeing it there, but I still appreciate its significance to my home city.

As a result, I was tickled pink to be sent an article about our piece of wall by my American Twitter friend, Lisette Brodey, all the way from California. I think it's great that it's being highlighted as a tourist attraction. Most people come to our harbour to see the cubist buildings and the nearby Markthal, but I've never seen our wall presented as a sight to visit. Personally, I love the fact I see a piece of the city's ancient history so regularly, and I find it fitting that I also live on and in a genuine Dutch monument.

Have a good week iedereen! I hope I'll have a bit more time to devote to my blogging friends again soon. 

Here's the link to the article

A picture post of a walk in the polders

There isn't much in the way of news right now. For the most part, we are all just weathering the storms that have been battering our part of the world recently. First came Ciara, then Dennis and in between there was a no name storm that seemed to be ours alone. Now we've just had Ellen, and who knows? Maybe there'll be Francis to join the party. 

In between, we've had the occasional sunny, dry day, so on one of these (I forget when now as the stormy days have overtaken my memory), we went for a walk in the polder nearby. It's quite a special area, as there is a village surrounded by common land, through which anyone can walk should they so desire. Very pretty, very pastoral, these photos speak for it better than my words can, so I hope you enjoy our walk.

Common ground to be enjoyed by all

The village houses on the dyke

just green land, sky and windmills

I loved this old barn

And its old cart

And how lovely to see happy pigs at play

This old mama had a lot to say

Sister porker rootling in the mud

A typical Dutch dyke village

One thing this winter weather makes me do is appreciate every moment of sunshine that we get, but I must admit to a longing for the spring, which will revitalise us all, I know. Have a great week everyone.

NEWS FLASH!

Two bits of news quite aside from my usual post, which is late, I know, I know, but I hope you will forgive me when I say this first is the reason:

I've just recently published a new memoir about my beloved but very challenging dog, Sindy. I wrote to share the experience with others who might also be going through difficulties with a rescue dog, but it's turned into more than that. In many ways, it's a love story, but I won't say more and will leave you to decide that for yourselves. Here is the link for anyone who's interested:



And while I'm on the promo slide, my third South Africa memoir, Highveld Ways is on special offer for readers who have Kindle Countdown in their countries. It's just 99c/p for the coming week. Here's the link:



Right, well that's it. I hope you don't mind a bit of self promotion here, and you can ignore it as it's on its own post, so now I'll write a separate entry for my blog :)

A flat month in a flat land

Since we came back from Portugal just under a month ago, life has seemed a bit flat. Yes, I know we live in the Netherlands, but that isn't quite what I meant. This flat has to do with our season induced mood, which is rather strange considering the excitement of the weather we've been having over the previous week or two. However, before Ciara came gusting in with all the force of an unwelcome party pooper, we'd already had enough wind and rain to warm us up for the big event. The clouds have been so unrelentingly grey I can barely recall whether there's been any silver in their linings, but I'm sure there must have been.

I know I spent an afternoon in the garden tidying up, and I also know that when we arrived back from Faro I spent a day cleaning the green off the Vereeniging. Given that I'd cleaned her before we left and that there wasn't any visible moss on her panels and hard wood rubbing rail then, I was shocked at the amount of growth that had accumulated in the 11 days we were away.

To address this unsightly mould (how is it that it's so grim looking, even on the green panels?), I climbed into my (also green) little boat with a scrubbing brush and some white vinegar and did the rounds. It struck me then and still does that it was amazing I could even contemplate doing this in January. Normally, the ice would have formed on the puddles in the bottom of the rowing boat and I'd be contemplating skates in place of my trusty wellies. Okay, I'll be honest, I wouldn't normally be contemplating doing anything outside at all. It should be much too cold for such industry.

That said, even without the storms, it's still been pretty miserable in that way that's so common to maritime climates. The Dutch call in waterkoud which I think is very expressive. After I've been away at the weekend, the barge is even worse inside than it is outside and everything feels damp and bone chillingly unpleasant. Even the cupboards throw out an icy blast when I open them. Who needs fridges when your clothes feel as if they've been in the freezer compartment? My solution is to light the stove, fill a hot water bottle, don my woolly boot slippers and huddle under a blanket until the warmth has penetrated the fabric of the interior and I can bear to pick up a coffee spoon without having my fingers frost bitten (Am I exaggerating? Boaters will know).

Then of course, Ciara came and did her best to cause as much damage and disruption as possible. I watched the news from Zeeland and my heart sank as I heard of a block of flats in Rotterdam that had its roof ripped off and numerous other reports of damage across the region. Would the Vereeniging survive? Luckily, she lies in a sheltered part of the harbour and a photo from a kind neighbour that evening reassured me that my old lady was still in one piece with nary a bucket adrift and all her tarpaulins in place. Ciara clearly didn't spot her nestling there. Now apparently Dennis is on his way to finish off what she started, but we're prepared for that too. I have a new neighbour, which is definitely good news in terms of keeping us from swaying around too much.

Safe in spite of Ciara

So that's it for the moment, allemaal. I hope I'll have something more interesting to post about next week...You never know...we might even get to go for a walk. Now wouldn't that be exciting?

The draw of abandoned places

One of the things that has fascinated me since childhood is decay....I'm not quite sure what that says about me, but crumbling ruins whether they be of castles or houses or even old sheds have always appealed to me. 

When I was in my pre-teen days, I liked nothing more than scrabbling around the remains of old Welsh castles. I remember the happy days of exploring such icons of dilapidation as Pembroke, Manorbier and even Conwy, which in those days almost seemed too well preserved even to me. 

Later, I decided I wanted to be an archaeologist (no surprises there, I'm sure) and to confirm this obsession with all things falling down, I went still further into ruination by going on digs to unearth the remnants of Roman villas in Dorset. Even better were the finds from Bronze Age barrows with which darkest Dorset is lavishly littered (sorry...couldn't resist).

Sadly, and maybe because I spent too much time digging and not enough in studying, I didn't get the grades I needed to do archaeology at university. In those days, I think there may have been an active policy to discourage hopeful dirt grubbers by asking for very high A Level passes, and while my aspirations were high, my marks weren't. Instead, I gathered the remains (sorry again) of my pride and clutching my rather average A level certificates, I  went off to do a teaching degree (teachers were in short supply then, hence the greater leniency).

Nevertheless, the passion for all things crumbling remains, which might explain some of my attraction to Portugal. There is so much to be seen and wondered over, even in the urbs and suburbs of cities like Faro and Olhão; there are so many wonderfully abandoned places. These are manna from my personal heaven, especially living in a country like the Netherlands where everything is maintained to death and even 500 year old buildings still manage to look new.

On that note, here are a few of the places that drew me on our recent trip to Portugal:

A rope of sturdy proportions wrapped around with greenery. What was it
there for? It was half buried with what looked like a stone post.

The sorry but beautiful skeleton of someone's house. Who lived there once?
What was their story? Why is the whole place abandoned?

Stones are scattered far and wide as if a storm has flung them off the walls.

Just as lovely as any castle 

Now this got me. The remains of an old aqueduct. Where did it lead?
Why was it put out of use?

And lastly, the road to our hostel. Several traditional old houses stand in
a ruined state. The marks of life long gone are still there, but I fear these
houses are beyond repair. 

As you can see, I'm still feeding off the richness of that trip and it hasn't given me indigestion yet, so bear with me. In fact nothing much has happened since we came back as I've been busy preparing for courses and continuing work on those 600 questions I mentioned last time. I still have 250 to go, so that'll keep me quiet for a bit. I've also started two new courses and marking is about to take over much of my time. That said, there are still walks and other small adventures to relate, so I'll be back to normal again soon.

Oh and yes, I have a new book almost ready to let loose onto the world. I'm clutching onto it as long as possible, though, as it's probably the most personal one I've ever written. It's the story of my Sindy dog, whose character and legacy still make me reluctant to have a new furry friend, but I'm getting close. Maybe once I've let the book go, it will somehow be symbolic of letting her go too. I think it will probably come out next week....maybe :)

Enjoy the rest of your week allemaal!

The minor details from Olhão

I'm a bit late this week, mainly because I've been immersed in cooking up a game for students to play on an app as a study support. It's been challenging to say the least. I've got to produce 600 questions with multiple choice options. Well, needless to say I've been thinking hard about what linguistic conundrums will be the most useful in supporting the gamers in their learning.

Putting that aside for a moment, though, I mentioned last week that I wanted to show you some of the balconies and doors of Olhão. Looking up is often where the greatest delights can be found. Portuguese cities don't abound with gardens, not the way they do in South Africa, the other sunny country of my acquaintance. Even in the inner city suburbs of Johannesburg, there are gorgeous gardens, but in Olhão, the visitor must look up for the feasts. Many houses have no yards and only balconies and rooftops to play with, so it's worth turning your face to the sky, not only for the healing power of the winter sun, but also to see what's up there. Here are a few balconies I snapped on our rounds of Olhão. I love them, as well as the charming rooftops.

I was fascinated by the rooftop gardens as well, especially as these are often where dogs spend their days. These two photos are some of my favourites from Olhão

And then there were other signs of life on the rooftops: washing, plants pots, and the stuff of daily life.

Rooftop life in Olhão

Thanks to Koos for this photo taken in Faro

My other passion is doors. I've taken photos of wonderful doors in Spain, Italy and France, so now was my chance to take the Portuguese versions into my frame. I loved the variety, but sadly too many traditional homes have converted to what look like aluminium framed, mass produced  models that are probably maintenance free, safe and inexpensive, but not a patch on the traditional versions, Here are just a few snaps that I took of doors that I quite liked: some beautiful, some plain and some seriously in need of TLC.

And before I forget, this beautiful sailing ship was in the lagoon when we took our last boat trip to Culatra and Farol the day before we left. A friend of ours, Colin Price, looked her up and told me she was built in the same yard in the Netherlands as my Vereeniging. Isn't that amazing?

One final and interesting titbit from our travels is that when we were in Estoi (see previous post), we met a man by the name of Stephen Powell  at the bus stop while we were waiting to return to Faro. We got chatting to him and it turned out he was a travel writer who used to be a journalist and editor for Reuters. He mentioned that he'd written a book called The First Toast is to Peace about his travels in the southern Caucasus, which of course I bought as soon as I was home. I can confirm it's a fascinating and hugely enjoyable book, so here's the link if anyone else is interested.

So that's it for this week allemaal. Enjoy the last days of January and let's hope we see the benefit of the lighter days soon.