The Guli Guli Church

Posted on September 9, 2008 by Hails

On Saturday I took a trip to Haarlem with Tobias and Claudia, my Noordwijk dorm friends.

What a gorgeous place. It’s like stepping back in time! I said in wonder, as we walked past canals and through the old streets lined with thatched cottages and majestic churches. We found ourselves inside the most beautiful church I’ve ever seen, where the lady at the entrance told us that we were welcome to come back for a special service with the choir later on.

I’ve never experienced a church service quite like it. A large part of this is probably due to the fact that it was in Dutch and therefore made no sense whatsoever to me. But it was so much fun! We found ourselves laughing along with the rest of the congregation, not understanding the jokes but genuinely appreciating the humorous tone and warm expressions.

The church was absolutely enormous, so the sound of the four part choral harmony was a treat for the ears as the voices soared and mingled to fill every inch of the building. Abba, Vader was particularly moving. I closed my eyes and let the voices wash over me in the familiar tune; opening them again, I realised that my companions were doing the same thing. The serious pieces were followed by a bouncy rendition of Jacob’s Ladder (in English, so we could sing along with less confusion than during the opening hymn – although I must say that the three of us gave that a fairly admirable attempt, too!), towards the end of which a few choir members started spontaneously clapping. Before long, everyone was doing the same. There was swaying and dancing, smiling and clapping. You couldn’t help but smile and clap along.

The pièce de résistance, however, was the rather bizarre finale:

I have no idea why. Even more amusing was the fact that it was kind of like “rounds”, with the choir breaking into A Ram Sam Sam* as the rest of us sang Pease Pudding. It did not fit at all with the rest of the songs, and yet it blended perfectly into the fun-filled atmosphere. We loved it!

Leaving the church, Claudia and I happily hummed Jacob’s Ladder. An elderly bearded man in a suit was walking behind us, and he interrupted us when we got out on to the street. Excuse me, he asked politely and seriously, you did see the choir? We nodded. And, he continued in earnest tones, may I ask did you like?

Oh, yes, we chorused happily, it was fantastic!

The old man smiled in delight. Then I am happy! he said proudly. He gave us a gracious little bow, and walked away looking pleased, singing softly to himself.

* I don’t know if it’s just me, but when I hear “A ram sam sam, a ram sam sam, guli guli guli guli guli ram sam sam” my brain automatically launches into an immediate “McDonald’s, McDonald’s, Kentucky Fried Chicken and the Pizza Hut!”. Which only made things even stranger, really…

Filed under: church, culture, day trip, foreign languages, friends, fun, Holland, humour, laughter, lyrics, singing, songs, strange | Leave a Comment »

Pigs do fly

Posted on September 7, 2008 by Hails

I’ve done so much in the past couple of days that I can’t even remember half of it. I’ll just see what comes to mind for now…

I escaped from Amsterdam and came to Noordwijk, a little seaside town, and have been staying at the Flying Pig Beach Hostel, which is the most fun-filled place I’ve been in for a long time! I love it, and am a little sad to be leaving today. I was sorely tempted to stay on when I realised that their staff is largely made up of wanderers like myself, who work as cleaners or at the bar or reception desk in exchange for food and accommodation. I was offered a job last night and would have taken it without hesitation if it weren’t for the fact that I’ve already booked all my flights. This place rocks, and if you’re ever in Holland, you should make a point of staying here! (They’re not paying me to say that)

I feel a little bit confused about where I am, as I seem to be completely surrounded by Australians. Holland seems to be the place to go if you’re from Sydney. All the Australian accents, coupled with the beach club style of this place (which makes me feel as if I’ve stepped on to the set of Home & Away) has had me convinced that I’m in Oz on more than one occasion. The beach is amazing – miles of white sand. And the hostel itself is just so laid-back and fun and friendly that it’s just like being with an instant group of friends.

I met Adam and Andre (from Sydney, of course) in the middle of a crowded street in Amsterdam, when I stopped them at random and asked for directions. That evening, in a town an hour away from Amsterdam, I was settling into my new dorm when in they walked… and it turned out that one of them was sleeping in the bed above mine, and the other in one next to mine. How weird is that?! I also befriended an Austrian girl named Claudia, and we hit it off right away, playing pool and Scrabble in the evenings and giggling over photos like sleepover girlies at bedtime. I’ve missed that. We grabbed another lone traveller, Tobias, and went on a day trip to Haarlem – a beautiful, quaint old city about an hour from here. More on that at a later date.

Now, however, the time has come to leave, and I’m seriously wrestling with the idea of abandoning my flights and figuring something out nearer the time of my return to Tallinn… but hey, a new adventure is just around the corner! And today I go to Utrecht, where I’m couchsurfing again. I now have hardly any clothes or possessions (owing to having to jettison lots of them, and other items of clothing simply falling apart from repeated wear and tear), and I am a free spirit, wandering around, meeting new people, and learning from life… and I swear I haven’t been smoking weed again*. I’m just high on the experience. And the large doses of caffeine I’ve had this morning.

Coffee Helps.

* Seriously – it was a couple of puffs! From the overwhelming response to my last post, in the form of comments, Facebook messages and concerned emails, you’d think I’d announced that I was addicted to crack. I promise it won’t happen again, OK?!

Filed under: Australia, day trip, drugs, friends, fun, funky-dunky, happy, Holland, hostels, travel | 5 Comments »

Good Food and Feeling Foreign

Posted on August 20, 2008 by Hails

Food in Belgium is Good. That’s Good with a capital G.

I arrived in Brussels on Saturday afternoon after a long train journey, during which I was forced to share a carriage with a couple of teenagers who were eating the most delicious-smelling chips that ever existed, and a girl who was enjoying a waffle that dripped with syrup. It blinded me to everything else. The sights, the sounds, the buzz, the crowds, the great weather, the buskers… no, the only thought in my head was lunch. I stopped at a little wall hatch that sold Belgian Frites, and ordered what we Irish would call a poke o’ chips. I don’t know what they call it over here. I settled for saying “frites” and holding up one finger.

I was not disappointed. These chips were the nicest I have ever tasted (with the possible exception of the ones I had for lunch in a cool little restaurant on my first day in Tallinn, which fell into the category of Food that is impossible to eat without going ‘Mmmmmm’ with every single bite).

Then I had a waffle, as advised by Croquecamille. It was like taking a little trip to Food Heaven. Everywhere, everywhere, were the waffle carts and frites stands. Weaving my way through the crowds, I saw people sharing frites, eating Belgian chocolates, and tucking into waffles that were heaped with strawberries and cream, chocolate sauce, and various other delights.

It all looked incredibly appetising – until, that is, I followed the signs to Bruxelles-Midi station to catch a train home. I’d been amused at my guidebook’s description of the area surrounding this station. Do not, under any circumstances, go there alone at night! it warned in ominous bold print. Use one of the other stations if you can. Be on your guard. Don’t carry a handbag, and if you do, be prepared to wallop somebody over the head with it if you want to have any chance of keeping it (it didn’t actually say that last bit, obviously, but you get the idea). They were going a bit over the top, I felt.

The scent of frites and waffles gradually disappeared and was replaced with – strangely – the sickly sweet aroma of incense. Swanky restaurants with pretty pavement terraces became grubby street cafes selling scary-looking concoctions (most involving unidentifiable chunks of meat). Names of shops and posters on walls were no longer in French or Dutch, but in a Middle Eastern language of some sort, with unfamiliar symbols as letters. Youths skulked in doorways, smoking fragrant cigarettes, and I realised somewhat nervously that I was the only female in sight who was not wearing a head covering. People were watching me suspiciously. I had to swerve to avoid a brawl that spontaneously errupted on the pavement in front of me.

Choking on the clouds of incense, I entered the station. It was the first time that I’ve ever seen signs in French and heard it being spoken all around me that I actually felt comforted and in familiar surroundings. I don’t think I’m quite ready for non-European travels just yet, you know. In fact, I was very pleased with myself on the way home, when I started to get a horrible, uneasy feeling that I was once again on the wrong train. Do you speak English? I asked the woman next to me. She shook her head, saying something in Dutch, and I slumped back in momentary defeat. Francais? she asked. Oui, un peu, I said, brightening. I explained my train worries, and we had a very basic but helpful conversation. This is something that has really impressed me on my travels – seeing people meet and establish a common second language before easily entering into conversation. And now I’ve done it, too!

I was slightly less calm and confident after a long and complicated train announcement about an hour later, when the train was stopped at a station. Everyone stood up and began speaking in urgent tones, grabbing bags. Some left the train, others sat back down. I sat in the middle of it all, wondering what was going on and feeling increasingly nervous about where I was going to end up, as the three people I stopped and tried to ask for help shook their heads blankly and continued to speak Dutch. I must admit that I panicked slightly, which might explain why I suddenly leapt to my feet like a madwoman and yelled Does anybody speak English?! over the general babble.

Still. At least I got back. And I seem to be getting over my fear of drawing attention to myself…

Filed under: Belgium, Brussels, conversations, day trip, Fear, food, French, paranoia, travel, worry | 6 Comments »

Oh, boy!

Posted on August 17, 2008 by Hails

I’ve seen so many statues and monuments now that I was getting a little bored with them, to be perfectly frank.

My enthusiasm was rekindled yesterday, however, during a visit to Brussels. I’d heard about this statue; I’d read about it; nothing, however, could have prepared me for the memorable (and slightly surreal) experience of seeing it for myself. It is a very famous tourist attraction in Brussels – and indeed, when I wandered down Rue de l’Etuve, hoping that I hadn’t missed it, it was the sight of a large crowd of tourists jostling for photographs that told me that I was in the right place. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you… Manneken Pis.

In case it’s not self-evident, that’s Flemish for “Little Man Peeing”. You wouldn’t think that there’s much more to be said about it, would you?

This tiny bronze statue is something of a Belgian celebrity. Nobody seems to know why he’s there, but they’ve had great fun making up so many stories and legends about his origin that it’s now completely impossible to know which one (if any) is true. The most official one seems to be that, in 1142, the troops of the two-year-old Lord Godfrey III of Leuven placed him in a basket and hung him from a tree as a means of encouraging morale. The baby lord peed on the enemy troops below, and the statue is a memorial to the grand victory that followed.

The story I prefer, however, is the one about a rich man whose son went missing. Heartbroken, the wealthy merchant organised a huge search party and vowed that if he ever got his son back, he would celebrate by making a little sculpture of the boy doing whatever he was doing at the moment he was found. A neighbour found the child cheerfully peeing in a garden… and so Manneken Pis was created.

I was very amused by the constant crowd of tourists that surrounded it, and even felt sorry for these sad individuals, until I realised that I was one of them.

There’s a lot of hype surrounding the statue, for all the size of it. It’s usually dressed in costumes, donated by celebrities and organisations, and changed at special ceremonies. Honestly. I accidentally wandered into one of these grand ceremonies as I was taking in the atmosphere at the Grand Place, and it was like nothing I’ve ever seen before. There were costumes… banners… a full, marching brass band… and a replica of the statue, on a mobile podium, randomly “peeing” over the delighted and squealing crowd.

It was my favourite part of my visit to Brussels. I’m not even being sarcastic or condescending. I was tempted to buy a small, chocolate Manneken Pis as a souvenir, but I don’t know that I could have brought myself to eat him.

Filed under: Belgium, Brussels, chocolate, culture, day trip, fun, humour, Manneken Pis, peeing, statues, tourists | 4 Comments »

The history book on the shelf is always repeating itself

Posted on August 14, 2008 by Hails

I’ve just been trying to plan some interesting activities for my remaining time in Belgium, as – oh, joy! – my new bank card finally arrived and I can now afford to treat myself to a few train tickets.

I have no real interest in going to Brussels, to be honest. I know little about it, and what I’ve learned from my research doesn’t really grab my attention. However – I am in Belgium, a return ticket to the European Capital only costs €6, and it would be a bit embarrassing to say I hadn’t even spent a few hours in Brussels during the course of a month. So, I’ve picked out a couple of things that look interesting, including the Main Square and a flea market (so that I can pick up a few more insects, because I haven’t got enough here)*. However, what really got me enthusiastic was discovering that the Waterloo Battlefield is only 20 minutes from Brussels.

I’m not great with geography. Until approximately 15 minutes ago I had no idea that Waterloo was in Belgium. I know bits and pieces about the battle, and about Napoleon, and – most importantly – all the words of the Abba song. But quite often I can accumulate lots of information about something without ever thinking to ask the most basic of questions: in this case, Where is Waterloo?. Still, I know now, and I’m going there this weekend, because -get this! – they’re doing a battle re-enactment! This sounds so much more fun than looking at EU headquarters and stock market buildings. I hope they play the Abba song while the battle’s taking place. I expect that they will. Abba was probably Napoleon’s favourite band.

I was also amused to note a piece of advice on the Brussels Wikitravel page. All the oral information in the train stations is only in French and Dutch. Do not hesitate to ask someone if you do not understand what has been said. It’s a bit late for that. How was I to know that the message I heard at Bruxelles-Midi on my way here from Paris was to inform me that my train had been changed to a different platform? Oh, this is a pretty language! was my only thought as I listened to the lilting but incomprehensible Dutch words. Train arrived, I got on.

Upon my arrival at Brussels Airport, at the end of the railway line, I looked at the man beside me in some confusion. Why are we at the airport? Why didn’t we stop at Diest? I asked him. Because, he explained politely, this is the train for the airport, and not the train for Diest.

I had to take three different trains to get to the place I’d originally wanted to be in, which was not fun in 30°C and with all my worldly possessions on my back. Still. If I was keeping a little notebook entitled “Lessons Learned”, then “always ask someone if you don’t understand what has been said” would now be in there along with “don’t carry a purse” and “never trust a parrot” – and when you’ve learned something the hard way, you don’t tend to repeat the mistake.

It’s very educational, this whole travelling thing.

*Right up until my mid-teens, I really did think a flea market was a place to purchase fleas. No, I don’t want your pity…

Filed under: advice, airport, Belgium, culture, day trip, fighting, foreign languages, fun, tourists, travel | 7 Comments »

In which I dig a hole for myself

Posted on June 27, 2008 by Hails

I’m not normally one for posting photos of myself on my blog. There are enough Genuinely Frightening photographs of me on various social networking sites to scare anyone for life, and I generally try to compensate by not adding any more. This, however, has to be seen for my foolishness to be believed.

The cheesy handwave isn’t meant to be cheesy; it’s actually there for contrast, i.e. normal skin colour vs. current facial skin colour. The really disturbing thing about it is that this roasting happened only a couple of days after my blog post about my previous painful experiences with the sun.

:::sigh:::

Anyway, yesterday I took the advice of Foreigner and went on a little daytrip to Pärnu – Estonia’s “Summer City”. It is, as she suggested, a beautiful place, and I was particularly taken with the beach. Warm, white sand, sparklingly clear water, beach cafés and bars, volleyball nets, playground games, music… it was an ideal place to relax after, erm, a couple of days of work (you have to ease yourself back into these things). I lay on the sand for a few hours, just appreciating life, feeling the warmth of the sunlight on my face, and trailing my fingers lazily through the fine sand.

I was woken from my half-doze by a little boy who had been playing nearby. He said something to me, and I shook my head. Ma ei räägi eesti keelt. He repeated his babbling, and I shrugged helplessly, prompting him to look at his babysitter, a girl of around my age, in some confusion. She spoke to him at length, evidently explaining our language barrier in greater detail than my five words would allow. He did not appear to understand, and continued to attempt to communicate with me. Eventually I realised that I had absent-mindedly been digging a small hole in the sand as I trailed my fingers through it. Small Boy was interested in my project, and suddenly arrived at my side with two plastic spades, one of which he offered to me.

Erm… aitäh! I said as I accepted it in some amusement, watching as he began to dig in quite a purposeful manner. He kept looking at me and babbling quite sternly, so I meekly obeyed and joined him in some serious digging. Small Boy communicated with me in short phrases and hand gestures, having apparently concluded that my lack of speech meant that I was some sort of slightly stupid overgrown child.

Before long, we had a very deep Hole In The Sand, which we surveyed with satisfaction. Small Boy was saying something about which he was clearly quite excited, but I could not understand him. Frustrated, he turned to his babysitter, who was grinning. Ah, yes… she said to me, in halting English, he asks if you do not mind to be… ah… She, too, began the odd hand gestures, apparently having difficulty finding the right word. I watched helplessly as the pair of them mimed something utterly ridiculous, until eventually the babysitter indicated the Hole In The Sand and added …to be under it?

Excellent. Small Boy wanted to bury me on the beach. It was like one of my worst nightmares coming true, and I was powerless to stop it for fear of making him cry or something. Helplessly, I got into the Hole In The Sand, and Small Boy began to shovel sand around me in delight. The Babysitter looked increasingly overcome with mirth, and did nothing to change what was happening to me at the hands of her charge.

I had to stay in the hole for at least 15 minutes before he got bored and dug me out. I’ll probably have nightmares about it for many years to come.

Filed under: beach, conversations, day trip, Estonia, Fear, holidays, kids, laziness, pain, sun | 4 Comments »

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.