|
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Our
adventures in Europe (13
posts, most recent listed first)
| Slagroom |
Location:
Amsterdam, Oss, Schaijk & Ravenstein
The Netherlands
|
| May
13, 2001 - Geoff |
|
 We
are greeted with flowers at Schipol airport by Kiran's
wonderful uncle and his equally wonderful partner Gerard.
We're whisked away in a sporty little number with radar
detector, hands free cell phone, MD player and no apparent
speed limit. Everything is in stark contrast to Africa.
So much order and affluence. It's a little erie but
nice at the same time. Leo and Gerard take us to meet
Kiran's Opa (grandfather) and the rest of the family
who are waiting with a champagne breakfast for us. Mmmmm
Dutch cheese.....uurrllghrlgh(drool).
After
a walking tour of the quaint town of Ravenstein and
seeing my first molen (windmill) we drive through
the countryside and see farmland, dykes, rivers and
countless old churches. It's straight off of a postcard
but I feel like we're tresspassing on some country estate.
We end up at a pannekoek (Dutch pancake, PAH-ne-kook)
house. In the bathroom I have to restrain myself from
stealing toilet paper. I pull back my hand and tell
myself that the next toilet will have paper also.
For dinner I order a huge pannekoek with flaming cherries
and icing sugar. When it comes I'm not sure how to blow
the flames out without covering Kiran in powdered sugar.
I do my best but sugar still flys. I love the way it
feels sinful to eat a pancake for dinner. I can hear
my mother in my head telling me I can't have dessert
if I don't finish my dinner. I look at the pile of slagroom
(whipped cream, SLA-ghkrom) on my plate and smile.
|
| Tradition
& romance |
Location:
The
Linge & near Arnhem
The Netherlands
|
| June
5, 2001 - Kiran |
|
We
have ridden bikes on dykes along a river, past old houses
with thatched roofs.
We visited the Openlucht (open air) museum, and saw
how those houses were made. Old buildings had been moved
from their original places around The Netherlands and
been rebuilt on the museum grounds, brick by brick.
The bedrooms inside the houses were tiny closets with
very small mattresses, not because the people were small,
but because sitting up against many pillows aided in
free air flow for the many with lung problems.
In the museum we come across a bruidspijp (brides'
pipe), which looks like this:
If anyone knows what the tradition around it was, please
share it with us!
|
We
visited my friend Wendy, who took us through her hometown,
driving along the parking spaces on the wrong side of
the street so Geoff (in the passenger seat) could say
he had been in Germany, while I was still sitting in
Holland.
My family's name, translated, means "from the mountains."
Has a nice ring to it (which mountains, though?). This
land is flat and miles are reclaimed from the sea each
year as it slips into the ocean. Amsterdam's buildings
are all built on stilts!
This trip is helping to round out my identity. Introducing
Geoff to my family makes me see my roots through new
eyes. I am asking more questions and realizing the depth
of my family history. My Opa (grandfather) told me stories
about him and his sister in WWII, their important roles
in the underground resistance, and how they escaped
death numerous times. That's part of the fire inside
me!
|
On
V-E Day, the day the war ended, my Opa and Oma were married.
Geoff, behind the scenes, planned a surprise proposal
to me in front of the same church where my grandparents
and my parents were married, to keep the tradition
strong.
He even popped a ring onto my finger. Nutty romantic.
 |
| Celebrate
good times |
Location:
Oss
The Netherlands
|
| June
8, 2001 - Kiran |
|
 My
family has ample reason to celebrate. Geoff and I have
arrived at just the right time. So far we've celebrated
4 birthdays (an 89th amongst them), a 25th wedding anniversary
and a graduation. For the anniversary the family (minus
the couple) met on two separate occasions to make up
a song to sing for them at their party. For my Mom's
and brother's birthday (same day) we had our traditional
cheese fondue and yahtzee afterwards with Irish and
French coffee. Cheesy to some, but valuable tradition
nonetheless. I am loving it.
No Dutch holiday is complete without going inside an
old molen (windmill), eating dropjes
(Dutch licorice) and sampling the coffee. Check, check,
check (a few times each). I love the countryside, the
people and their relaxed attitude.
|
| Frites
met saus |
Location:
Amsterdam
The Netherlands
|
| June
18, 2001 - Geoff |
|
Well
it's almost time to leave this country. I can tell by
my ever-increasing belly. I blame the decadent abundance
of sweets, cheese and frites met saus (french
fries with sauce, for me usually satay sauce or mayonaise).
Next it's on to good healthy Irish pub food.
I will miss our Dutch home. It has been wonderful getting
to know family for the first time. It was easy to feel
welcome. I had a chance to see some of Kiran's roots.
It's nice to learn even more about someone you know
so well.
|
Tragedy
strikes as we walk around Amsterdam Central Station.
As Kiran is telling Verena (our friend visiting from
Germany) about my proposal and our rings that compliment
each other, I pull my hand from my pocket to discover
my ring is missing. It probably slipped of my rain slicked
fingers. It had been a little large.
On one level I'm devastated as the ring was very symbolic
but both Kiran and I see more value in the moment than
in the material object anyway. Now we'll have to go
back to daily proposals and trade her ring back and
forth. Our tragedy will turn to romance.
|
Dutch
culture is contagious. Common sense and tolerance and
an ability to not take themselves too seriously are
my first impressions. I could live here if they could
just import some mountains and a glacial lake or two.
We spent our last night riding the kermis (carnival)
rides in Dam square with Kiran's cousin, Juneau. It's
hard not to love Amsterdam. The pannekoek, the frites,
the Heineken, the coffee...
I think I'm hungry.
|
| Eire |
Location:
Dublin
Republic of Ireland
|
| June
21, 2001 - Kiran |
|
We've
found an apartment, in a used-to-be-seedy-but-becoming-trendy
neighborhood, right in the city center. Our friend Mark
has introduced us to some of his friends, so this place
is starting to feel a lot like home.
James Joyce wrote, in Ulysses, "good puzzle
would be cross Dublin without passing a pub." He
wasn't exaggerating. Every corner has a drinking establishment
of some sort, hosing Guinness into pint glasses. On
Sunday at noon, the pubs were already filled with very
very happy people. This city won't be a dull experience
for us.
Kids prowl the streets in search of action. Really cheeky
ones, with cheeky comments and (it is said), quick hands.
If we had been in ancient Ireland, there would be an
exact punishment for such acts. Brehon
law ruled around the first century B.C. and were
upheld for a thousand years after. Some examples:
''For digging in a churchyard to steal from it, for
making a dam in a stream to take an excess of fish,
or for stealing a hunter's tent, your cattle will be
taken to the animal pound for three to ten days, depending
on the circumstances.''
''If a tribesman breaks another tribesman's leg he must
pay a fine and supply a horse for the victim to ride
on.''
|
The
public could take an active role in punishment, if fair:
''The selfish man, who thinks only of his cows and his
fields, and not of his fellow human beings, may be insulted
without risking a blush fine.''
''The satirist who satirises a guiltless person will
grow blisters on his own face. And then he will die.''
(From
"Traditional Irish Laws" by Mary Dowling Daley,
Appletree Press).
About 5% of the population speaks Irish. Like in Canada,
where all signs are in English and French, here all
signs are in English and Irish. If you haven't seen
it before, try to get your tongue around these handy
questions:
English: What is the quickest way to get to Galway?
Irish: cad é an bealach is giorra go Gaillimh?
(pronunciation:kajay in balakh iss gyurra gu
galyiv)
English: is there anything to see around here?
Irish: an bhfuil rud ar bith le feiceáil
thart anseo? (pronunciation: un will rud er bih
le fekoil hart unshaw)
|
The
Canuck Dubliners  |
Location:
Dublin
Republic of Ireland
|
| July
1, 2001 - Geoff |
|
I'm
looking out over the rooftops of central Dublin. New
friends and a friendly city have made us very welcome.
Canada Day has arrived and I'm introspective. Throughout
this trip we've been contemplating what it is to be
Canadian. We ask this to ourselves and to most of the
fellow travelers whom we connect with. Traveling gives
the perspective of distance and the haze of nostalgia.
I miss the open spaces and, yes, even the winters. Either
Canadians are well liked by the average global citizen
or we were being told what we want to hear. Canadians
have a reputation for insecurity, especially concerning
our neighbour to the south. Our new Irish friends like
to tease us by calling us North Americans. They're the
first to wish us Happy Canada Day though.
The more we travel, the more I feel what it is to be
Canadian. In the luck of the draw I feel priveledged
to have grown up in Canada. We may not think about our
roots enough but without the emphasis on the past, the
future seems much more open to change and possibilty.
I think we have the advantages of a New World tabula
rasa without the pressures of the being the top
of the New World Order. We're a good mixture of humble
and proud without long-standing conflicts weighing us
down or oversized egos propping us up falsely.
|
As
I write this nationalist stream of concience I sip Guinness
and try to decide what I want Canada to be known as
in the world's eye. I guess I see Canada as a home for
global citizens conciously aware of the beauty of their
home and its place in the planet's ecological and cultural
jigsaw puzzle. It's good to daydream along idealistic
lines sometimes.
I've been eating pancakes with maple syrup to honour
this special time. Like I needed an excuse.
Check out some comments made about Canada and Canadians
on our Discussion Page.
Add your own!
|
| Preparations
for our 6th wedding |
Location:
Dublin
Republic of Ireland
|
| July
10, 2001 - Kiran |
|
Both
ABC and Life Networks have contacted us for interviews.
They want to film our handfasting ceremony, and are
flying people in for it, lots of activity. We're excited
about our ceremony, our sixth, because we'll have lots
of friends in attendance, friends who we've asked to
play special parts.
We've also had an interview with Canadian TalkTV. It
was the most fun interview we've done so far, with energetic
hosts and a lot of opportunities to be ourselves. It's
a show with call-in guests. Because we don't have a
telephone at our apartment, we had to call from adjoining
payphones, at midnight, with people and cars racing
by us on a downtown Dublin street.
Do you ever have those moments where you're looking
at your situation from a distance and realize exactly
where you are, what you're doing? This was one of them.
We're on a crazy trip, in the middle of Dublin, because
we love each other. It's mad, any Dubliner would
say.
|
We
have chosen to hold our ceremony at the Grove
of Sinann. The Grove is a site to learn of old Celtic
stories and the Spirits of the Land. We like their approach-
how they wish to preserve what they know of the old
ways but not forget that they are in the 21st century.They
will conduct a Handfasting ceremony for us which is
for a year and a day, representing all of time and more.
It is the beginning of a lifetime committment meant
to be remembered day by day, year by year.
In my research I have found that the Celts and the Hindus
shared common ancestors. They were called the Battle-Axe
people, and lived in southern Russia. The language of
the Celts was from the same root as Sanskrit. Likenesses
are drawn between the Brahmins and Druids, both priest-astronomers.
The Celtic gods are even depicted seated in a similar
meditation posture as the Hindu gods. This is a fantastic
piece of history to add the 'how I became me' evolution.
|
| Tying
the knot |
Location:
Keshcarrigan
Republic of Ireland
|
| July
14, 2001 - Geoff |
|
We
never get enough sleep the night before a ceremony.
I guess that's to be expected. We're still half asleep
as Mark drives us through the Leitrim countryside towards
Teach Sinanna (The Grove of Sinann [shi-NAN]).
The directions point to a right turn at a stand of Sitka
Spruce trees. Even the directions they gave tell me
that The Grove of Sinann was the right choice for our
wedding.
There is a contrast between the two worlds that are
coming together for our ceremony. On the one side our
ceremony has ancient roots and involves people with
a deep respect for nature and personal expression; everything
down to earth. On the other side is the media with shiny
cameras and 2nd takes. They have a commitment to the
story and its presentation. Schroedinger's cat showed
us that merely by observing something we alter it. It
is hard to ground yourself in the real emotions of a
moment with a camera in your face. Throughout the day
we are torn a little between the needs of the two camera
crews that have come to our ceremony. They're here at
our invitation and they do their best to be unobtrusive
but have a job to do and we feel like fish in a bowl.
|
The
day passes by at a frantic pace as it has for all our
ceremonies. Mark works miracles organizing people and
transport. The ceremony is the climax of the night with
all our friends coming together to support and cheer us
on. In the light of the torches and the emotions of the
moment I forget about cameras and lights and manage to
speak to Kiran from the heart. Everything falls into place.
Once we are bound at the wrist we conquer our first obstacles
as a married couple. We manage to hurdle fire and broom
but in the end we are ambushed by concealed water guns
weilded by screaming Celts. We run the best we can tied
together and return laughing with half a pint of water
in each ear.
We finish the night with dense fruitcake cut with a large
axe and some mead (honey wine). The people of the Grove
start a sing-a-long and our friends quickly join in. It
is a moving taste of this country's warrior poet heritage.
This ceremony has been filled with good friends (old and
new) wishing us love and happiness.
Click here for more about our Celtic
handfasting ceremony. |
| Running
away |
Location:
Gretna Green
Scotland
|
| July
28, 2001 - Geoff |
|
Only
yesterday we were in Dublin cursing the rain. This morning's
forecast is calling for a heat wave in Glasgow. Our
plan is to leave at 9 am for Gretna Green. We leave
at around 11. Nothing unusual so far. It doesn't take
long to leave the red sandstone of Glasgow and soon
we're surrounded by rolling hills, sheep and low stone
walls. The walls don't look like they'd restrain even
the shortest of leaping sheep but I guess they're content
where they are.
This has been the easiest wedding of all to prepare
for. We're heading to the Las Vegas of the Old World
and efficiency is key.
|
I
squirm a little in my wedding clothes. I've borrowed
Jamie's kilt and it's the first time I've worn one.
I feel powerful with my ceremonial dagger sgian'dhu
(skee-en-doo) and the mighty Smith tartan. I feel like
rushing off to join William Wallace against the English.
Of course, if this was really the 18th century, we'd
be young English aristocrats running from our
parents and I wouldn't have a kilt on at all. Oh well.
We
arrive at the site of the old blacksmith shop where
couples would have arrived over the English border looking
to be hitched before they're parents overtook them.
|
Now,
instead of horses and carriage, there are coachloads of
tourists arriving in a constant stream. Most have come
to experience the romance of the place and to gorge themselves
on curry corn salad in the cafeteria but a few couples
have come to be married by the celebrated anvil priests.
Our wedding is done as if Ma and Pa are banging at the
door. Short and sweet. When it's done we zoom back to
Glasgow. It's all done in the time it takes most couples
to choose a cake for their wedding. I made it through
the whole day without revealing what I wore beneath my
kilt. Even an eloper has to be a gentleman.
Click here for more about our Old
World Elopers wedding ceremony. |
Back
in Ireland...
| Wicklow
& Glendalough |
Location:
Wicklow
Republic of Ireland
|
| August
4, 2001 - Geoff |
|
We
pile into Justin's car and follow the winding roads
through the Wicklow mountains to the town of the same
name. I get a strong salt smell from the sea and we
walk over to the quays to watch fishermen stack crates
of fresh mussles. The multicoloured crates look like
towers of lego-encased candy but the smell betrays
the truth. I feel so good here stretching my legs
in a new place away from the city. I'm reluctant to
get back in the car but Glendalough awaits.
|
When
we arrive at the ancient monastery of St. Stephen
I'm awed by age. My mind can't grasp it. The surrounding
is so similar to Canada, where old means a mere hundred
years or so, that I can't reconcile the dates on the
headstones. The ancient stone tower and churches seem
more fairy tale then real. Behind Stephen's tower
the mountains come together to meet at misty Glendalough.
Nature pulls us from the past.
|
At
the lake the water looks cold but calm. The challenge
proves too much for my Canadian pride and I strip down
to jump in. I yell for the gang to meet me on the other
side but they have no way to scramble over the banks
to the dock. I swim back and squish into my waiting
socks. |
| Emotion
vs. Reason |
Location:
Derry
& Belfast
Northern Ireland
|
| August
9, 2001 - Kiran |
|
Among
other things, our friend Mark is a tour guide, and
has invited me on his 4-day trip to Northern Ireland.
My eyes are wide open- news is just someone else's
story until I've seen it for myself.
We arrive in what was once called Doire, now Derry,
"Derry Stroke Londonderry", or "Stroke
City." Its famous Bogside murals loom over me
with scenes of 1972's Bloody Sunday and the Civil
Rights Movement.
There are surveillance cameras everywhere monitored
by a huge armed watchtower, the window of which slams
shut when I try to see who's on the other side. 17th
century walls fully enclose the city. In 1688 all
gates in the wall were sealed and guarded, resulting
in the Siege of Derry. After 105 days, a ship with
rations broke the siege but found only a quarter of
the 30,000 original residents alive.
|
Derry
was also a main port of emigration to the USA in the
18th century, especially during the Great Famine.
Belfast welcomes us with a convoy of military tank-cars
with men standing out the top, machine guns propped
up and positioned at eye-level. Broken glass lines
the streets, cars are left in the middle of intersections,
bullet holes, bombed areas and boarded-up windows
further decorate the area.
|
I
walk with Jesse, another tour groupie down Shankhill
road in the Loyalist part of town, Union Jack flags
flapping, huge murals of ski-masked dark figures promising
to keep the North with the Kingdom. Their curbs are
painted in red and white all the way to the dividing
line.
At the dividing line to the Republican neighborhood
(Irish flags flying), we come across another set of
tank-cars surrounded by young soldiers walking about
with huge machine guns. I ask for directions and take
the opportunity to inquire if there was a riot or other
disturbance to bring them there. They can't help with
directions and are stationed there "just in case
something happens." They have no idea where the
hostel is because they're flown in from |
England,
but recommend we leave the neighborhood immediately.
Their job is to wait for something to happen, in one
of the most dangerous neighborhoods in the world. Food
for restlessness?
We see the Peace Wall, signed by thousandsof hopefuls
and cynics. How could I ever relate to a family with
deep roots here? How could they see the reason in peace
when such emotional history absorbs their systems? But
when RPG (Rocket Propelled Grenade) is common vocabulary
for a pre-teen tongue, surely there has got to be a
better way.
We see Gerry Adams walk out of the Sinn Fein headquarters.
A mural around the corner says, "Everyone Republican
or Otherwise, has their own particular role to play.
Our revenge will be the laughter of our children."
I leave the North with a new dimension of understanding
and new answers to seek.
 |
| The
Matchmaking Festival |
Location:
Lisdoonvarna
Republic of Ireland
|
| September
1, 2001 - Geoff |
|
There's
something in the air in Lisdoonvarna and it's not
just the rain. We wander around the small town poking
our heads into the locals (read: pubs) to see
if any matches are in the works. The annual 6 week
Matchmaking Festival has been going on for more than
a hundred years and it kicks off today. We're going
to find out what we can about how to make the perfect
match.
 It
takes us much longer to get to Lisdoonvarna than we
planned. It turns out the bus, whose lateness we'd
be cursing for an hour, actually left on time from
a different stop. There are two taxis in the surrounding
area and we have no choice but to take one. It gives
us a chance to gossip with the driver about Willy
Daly, Ireland's most famous matchmaker. We're looking
forward to meeting this character.
When we get to Lisdoonvarna there isn't much happening.
The buzz in the air has more to do with Ireland playing
Holland in a crucial football (soccer) match than
any romance. We ask a young barman what he thinks
of the festival.
"I don't know anyone who's been matched. It's
mostly older folks now. You get some real desperados
coming down. I just think to myself: 'I hope I don't
turn out like that."
|
Kiran
and I watch the game from a safe distance as Kiran
is wearing Holland's orange and I fear for my safety.
Once the game is over and Ireland has won, spirits
are noticebly lifted.
 When
night falls, Willy Daly arrives. The legend himself.
He turns out to be a sweet, genuine man with a strong
belief in his ability to read people and their needs.
I ask him what makes a match last.
"Understanding and tolerance."
I ask him what a woman gets from a good match.
"A woman is a simple creature who really just
needs to be made to feel special."
What does a man get from making a woman feel special?
"Why the love of this lovely woman of course."
He may have seemed a little old fashioned in some
ways but Willy Daly has a charm and earnest desire
to make the right match and now he's passing the torch
to his daughter to continue the tradition that started
with his great grandfather years ago.
|
| Denmark |
Location:
København
Danmark
|
| September
8, 2001 - Kiran |
|
København
(Copenhagen) is amazing. It reminds me of a large
Dutch city, with its old buildings kept contemporary-style.
Lots of effort is put into supporting the arts, especially
by Carlsberg beer.
|
Even
though it is an international brand name, the people
here talk about it with respect for what it's done for
art in their city. The people are laid back and happy
(and tall). 'Lakes' and a canal keep the center lively.
We have been staying with Maj, whom we met in Thailand
six years ago. She's great fun and a great host. She
showed us the Rundetaarn (Round tower), the oldest functioning
observatory in Europe. It has a spiral ramp all the
way up, instead of stairs, and has a full-on view of
the city, including the bridge to Sweden. An outdoor
art gallery shows fantastic photos from an aerial view
of exotic locations, some of which we recognized from
our trip. We've met her friends and had amazing home-cooked
dinners. For old times and new traditions, we went out
one night to a Thai restaurant. We considered splurging
and seeing the Shaolin monks, but settled instead for
a Lars von Trier video night (Breaking the Waves
and Dancing in the Dark).
We've seen and experienced Christiania, the independent
and progressive community, and gone to Tivoli for free
(thanks, Thomas!). One ride did our heads in, the "Golden
tower," which raised our seats 60 meters above
the ground for a wonderful night view of the city and
then were sucked to the ground at a violent g-force,
leaving my screamstream trailing above us. It took us
awhile to come down from that session. |
Our last day, today, is begun with brunch at a happenin
café with all the other trendy young Danes. We
rush back to Maj's apartment to finish packing, say
goodbye, run off to the bus and make it to the airport
not too late.
Yesterday we saw the Shaolin monks on a bus taking a
city tour; today they're on the same flight as us and
are killing time playing a mah jong/chess-like game.
Geoff is sure we should have gone to see their performance;
I think it's a sign that we'll see them in the future. |
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