... then it's probably chocolate.
Quick update on the question I raised at the end of my previous post last week. Of the utmost importance, clearly. About the mysterious, funny smell that falls down on Amsterdam every few months or so. One of my friends who was born and bred not far from here told me that it is, in fact, chocolate.
Apparently it's the chocolate factory Verkade from Zaandam, a small town a few km to the north-west of Amsterdam. When the wind blows from up there, the whole city swells into a big funky-cocoa-smelling bubble.
Cool. Reminds me of something I wrote on this very same blog almost five (five!) years ago, about smelling cocoa and a chocolate factory in Mannheim, Germany.
Historic recurrence? Maybe. Or possibly it's just the universe that got stuck in some deep potential well and ended up bouncing back and forth, repeating itself over and over again. Just in case, I'm going to check again in another, say, five years.
Till then, have a nice evening.
And some chocolate, too.
Monday, September 16, 2013
Friday, September 13, 2013
Not a comet. Still here. And blogging
So, how many of you out there in the bloggosphere thought that my post a couple of months ago, while absolutely inspired and pure genius, was just going to be the sporadic, one-night-thing sort of appearance? Legitimate thought y'all, by the way, but I'm very happy to disappoint you! I'm still here -- and blogging, which is most incredible given my past record, I am going to agree with you on this.
The reason I didn't come back... well there's many reasons. For starters, there were holidays. Like proper, below-Alps kind of holidays, with extensive exposure to the local star us astronomers like to call "the Sun". But it didn't take long until I came back to the (still surprisingly summery) land of the Dutch. And with that came the usual amount of biking and running, hence lots of time spent in yours truly's head. Lots of time to conceive blog posts, one might argue. Mostly, though, alone time is not that pleasant whenever I move across Amsterdam/the Netherlands, whether by bike or just on foot. As I tried to explain in the previous post, it still eludes me how this dangerously-lived country manages to keep a standing population, and for this reason, I fear dearly for my very own life (and for the possible others that may also perish in the process) every single time I happen to navigate through the crowds of the careless pedestrians and cyclists that cross the streets of the orange kingdom.
While painful, this could be endless inspiration for blog posts - the same wise old one mentioned above might still want to argue. And I do agree, that's actually what I sort of anticipated in the previous post. But then, something went wrong. One of the highlights of my holidays was a über refreshing week spent in the cosy and glorious isolation of an eco-village in the sun-bathed far reaches of southern Italy. While lingering on the boundaries between space and time as conceived by globalised, neo-liberal society, I had lots of time to think. On top of that, the reason why I was there was to attend a yoga+theatre workshop [many have been inquiring about this apparently curious association... it's not curious, the workshop was actually "the yoga of theatre" and believe me, it makes perfect sense... I'll probably tackle this in a future post].
I'd be exaggerating if I were to say that the whole experience gave me a new insight into life, humankind and the universe, but I wouldn't be completely honest if I said that it didn't impact me, either. Don't worry, I'm not going to give up technology entirely (the very fact that I am blogging should be sufficient evidence in support of this claim). And most importantly, I'm not going to drift off and go fully spiritual here. I'm still the old, skeptic, cynical me who doesn't trust most living things on our beloved planet. I'm not even sure I fully trust inanimate particles from out there in the universe, so you get the point. Still, after this summer, I've been just trying to be less crabby, to complain less about tiny little things like when's the bus coming/why is it so late/oh dear I'm going to miss my next connection/why did this person write that the text's fine when it's full of edits now/why didn't they edit it themselves at this point? To sum it up, I've been trying to be less of a pain in the arse. Even if only to myself. Actually, in particular to myself. I've been trying to treat my very own self a wee bit better. After all, I still think it's a pretty cool person -- yes, a whole (but tiny) person!
With the result that (and here I'm finally back to the painstaking minutiae of my perilous life in the Dutch lands) whenever I see any of the crazy behaviours that would have set me on fire just a couple of months ago, leading me to yell the most horrible and painful things (in Italian, of course) to the careless biker or gigantic pedestrian that just tried to go through me and didn't even notice... well, I don't explode anymore. As opposed to despairing and screaming "WHYYY, WHY ON EARTH?" I just shrug my shoulders and think "well, isn't humankind an infinite tapestry of all sort of weird things?". Occasionally I may even stop in awe for a split second and whisper to myself... "seriously?" but still very calm and quiet. That kind of stuff.
[To be absolutely honest, this zen fairy tale is all very nice but not completely factual. As one of my local friends may confirm, I did have - at least - one outburst just last week. One fine morning, as my friend was driving her scooter past Amsterdam Central Station, she noticed a crazy little pedestrian who wasn't looking at the road much cause she was busy screaming inexplicably horrible things and gesturing to a cyclist. Then she realised that the crazy little pedestrian was, well... me.]
[In my defense, the cyclist had almost run me over *on the freaking zebra crossing* cause they don't stop there. They don't stop anywhere, it's like uniform linear motion. With the occasional acceleration whenever in proximity of a fellow human being, of course.]
So, I have been trying to be more calm about this and less of a pain in the place where the Sun doesn't shine (an expression that may be slightly confusing here cause it may well refer to the entire country). With the occasional failure. But still trying, trying very hard to cope with all that, and holding back -- holding back on the great few stories that I had started to line up in my head to bring this blog back to its glittery past (!)
In the meantime, I've started twittering. Could you imagine? Me, on twitter? Me, who is remembered for having once pronounced (another friend is warmly invited to reminisce here, please) the glorious statement "I don't tweet, I spit". Yes, I ended up on twitter, where I mostly blather about theatre, life and the universe -- cause honestly, is there anything else worth bothering about?
While twitter may be a practical alternative to blogging for all of you concise fellows out there, it's not the ideal hub for a verbal-incontinent like yours truly. To avoid the outrageous constraint imposed by the 140 charcter limit, I thought I should expand those nuggets into proper blog posts -- about the same few and fundamental issues, clearly. And -- spoiler alert -- I'm about to kick that one off shortly, so stay tuned.
But with my pretend-of-a-new-take on life (and the universe) I thought the new blog must be cheerful, or at least -- as already stated -- less of a pain in the wherever hurts. So while I do spend time conceiving posts when by myself (since I haven't fully moved to the XXI century and am a proud non-owner of a smart phone, I can't blog on the spot -- and seriously, would you imagine me blogging as I run?) I am at the same time trying to keep my neurotic, crabby persona at the minimum.
Or at least, so I thought. Then came this evening. Running. At the park. And all those people just trying to pass/run/bike through/over/across me [please choose your favourite. they all kind of work]. And then the kid, who must not have been older than 12. On his bike. Writing a freaking email. Or text message, I don't know. Maybe even browsing the freaking internet. In the (almost) darkness of the park at twilight. Not a single glance at the road. At the tiny-person(=me)-bearing road that unfolded in front of him. WHAT THE FREAKING HELL, SERIOUSLY?? I can't keep this inside anymore. I'm going to have the neurotic ooze out somewhere. And I guess this blog's the ideal place for that.
So please, do stay tuned. I won't be a comet, I promise. I'll be me, the grumpy, pain-in-the-arse-y good old me that used to blog in the good old days. The newly found, bright and shiny, almost cheerful persona will be colonising other pockets of the world wide web, inaugurating new blogs and sending tweets out in the air. The internet's large enough to accommodate all that. This blog will stay true to itself. And report about the cranky side of Amsterdam.
Deal.
---
Addendum
Incidentally. Any Amsterdam dwellers out there? The city's been smelling kind of funny lately. It happens every so many months. At first you think someone's shaking sacks of cocoa in the air. Then you smell more carefully, and it's pungent, kind of starchy too, like your granny's overcooked potatoes. Some say it's hops. From the brewery. Which brewery, I didn't manage to find out. Any more information about this very pressing question would be most very welcome :)
The reason I didn't come back... well there's many reasons. For starters, there were holidays. Like proper, below-Alps kind of holidays, with extensive exposure to the local star us astronomers like to call "the Sun". But it didn't take long until I came back to the (still surprisingly summery) land of the Dutch. And with that came the usual amount of biking and running, hence lots of time spent in yours truly's head. Lots of time to conceive blog posts, one might argue. Mostly, though, alone time is not that pleasant whenever I move across Amsterdam/the Netherlands, whether by bike or just on foot. As I tried to explain in the previous post, it still eludes me how this dangerously-lived country manages to keep a standing population, and for this reason, I fear dearly for my very own life (and for the possible others that may also perish in the process) every single time I happen to navigate through the crowds of the careless pedestrians and cyclists that cross the streets of the orange kingdom.
While painful, this could be endless inspiration for blog posts - the same wise old one mentioned above might still want to argue. And I do agree, that's actually what I sort of anticipated in the previous post. But then, something went wrong. One of the highlights of my holidays was a über refreshing week spent in the cosy and glorious isolation of an eco-village in the sun-bathed far reaches of southern Italy. While lingering on the boundaries between space and time as conceived by globalised, neo-liberal society, I had lots of time to think. On top of that, the reason why I was there was to attend a yoga+theatre workshop [many have been inquiring about this apparently curious association... it's not curious, the workshop was actually "the yoga of theatre" and believe me, it makes perfect sense... I'll probably tackle this in a future post].
I'd be exaggerating if I were to say that the whole experience gave me a new insight into life, humankind and the universe, but I wouldn't be completely honest if I said that it didn't impact me, either. Don't worry, I'm not going to give up technology entirely (the very fact that I am blogging should be sufficient evidence in support of this claim). And most importantly, I'm not going to drift off and go fully spiritual here. I'm still the old, skeptic, cynical me who doesn't trust most living things on our beloved planet. I'm not even sure I fully trust inanimate particles from out there in the universe, so you get the point. Still, after this summer, I've been just trying to be less crabby, to complain less about tiny little things like when's the bus coming/why is it so late/oh dear I'm going to miss my next connection/why did this person write that the text's fine when it's full of edits now/why didn't they edit it themselves at this point? To sum it up, I've been trying to be less of a pain in the arse. Even if only to myself. Actually, in particular to myself. I've been trying to treat my very own self a wee bit better. After all, I still think it's a pretty cool person -- yes, a whole (but tiny) person!
With the result that (and here I'm finally back to the painstaking minutiae of my perilous life in the Dutch lands) whenever I see any of the crazy behaviours that would have set me on fire just a couple of months ago, leading me to yell the most horrible and painful things (in Italian, of course) to the careless biker or gigantic pedestrian that just tried to go through me and didn't even notice... well, I don't explode anymore. As opposed to despairing and screaming "WHYYY, WHY ON EARTH?" I just shrug my shoulders and think "well, isn't humankind an infinite tapestry of all sort of weird things?". Occasionally I may even stop in awe for a split second and whisper to myself... "seriously?" but still very calm and quiet. That kind of stuff.
[To be absolutely honest, this zen fairy tale is all very nice but not completely factual. As one of my local friends may confirm, I did have - at least - one outburst just last week. One fine morning, as my friend was driving her scooter past Amsterdam Central Station, she noticed a crazy little pedestrian who wasn't looking at the road much cause she was busy screaming inexplicably horrible things and gesturing to a cyclist. Then she realised that the crazy little pedestrian was, well... me.]
[In my defense, the cyclist had almost run me over *on the freaking zebra crossing* cause they don't stop there. They don't stop anywhere, it's like uniform linear motion. With the occasional acceleration whenever in proximity of a fellow human being, of course.]
So, I have been trying to be more calm about this and less of a pain in the place where the Sun doesn't shine (an expression that may be slightly confusing here cause it may well refer to the entire country). With the occasional failure. But still trying, trying very hard to cope with all that, and holding back -- holding back on the great few stories that I had started to line up in my head to bring this blog back to its glittery past (!)
In the meantime, I've started twittering. Could you imagine? Me, on twitter? Me, who is remembered for having once pronounced (another friend is warmly invited to reminisce here, please) the glorious statement "I don't tweet, I spit". Yes, I ended up on twitter, where I mostly blather about theatre, life and the universe -- cause honestly, is there anything else worth bothering about?
While twitter may be a practical alternative to blogging for all of you concise fellows out there, it's not the ideal hub for a verbal-incontinent like yours truly. To avoid the outrageous constraint imposed by the 140 charcter limit, I thought I should expand those nuggets into proper blog posts -- about the same few and fundamental issues, clearly. And -- spoiler alert -- I'm about to kick that one off shortly, so stay tuned.
But with my pretend-of-a-new-take on life (and the universe) I thought the new blog must be cheerful, or at least -- as already stated -- less of a pain in the wherever hurts. So while I do spend time conceiving posts when by myself (since I haven't fully moved to the XXI century and am a proud non-owner of a smart phone, I can't blog on the spot -- and seriously, would you imagine me blogging as I run?) I am at the same time trying to keep my neurotic, crabby persona at the minimum.
Or at least, so I thought. Then came this evening. Running. At the park. And all those people just trying to pass/run/bike through/over/across me [please choose your favourite. they all kind of work]. And then the kid, who must not have been older than 12. On his bike. Writing a freaking email. Or text message, I don't know. Maybe even browsing the freaking internet. In the (almost) darkness of the park at twilight. Not a single glance at the road. At the tiny-person(=me)-bearing road that unfolded in front of him. WHAT THE FREAKING HELL, SERIOUSLY?? I can't keep this inside anymore. I'm going to have the neurotic ooze out somewhere. And I guess this blog's the ideal place for that.
So please, do stay tuned. I won't be a comet, I promise. I'll be me, the grumpy, pain-in-the-arse-y good old me that used to blog in the good old days. The newly found, bright and shiny, almost cheerful persona will be colonising other pockets of the world wide web, inaugurating new blogs and sending tweets out in the air. The internet's large enough to accommodate all that. This blog will stay true to itself. And report about the cranky side of Amsterdam.
Deal.
---
Addendum
Incidentally. Any Amsterdam dwellers out there? The city's been smelling kind of funny lately. It happens every so many months. At first you think someone's shaking sacks of cocoa in the air. Then you smell more carefully, and it's pungent, kind of starchy too, like your granny's overcooked potatoes. Some say it's hops. From the brewery. Which brewery, I didn't manage to find out. Any more information about this very pressing question would be most very welcome :)
Thursday, June 27, 2013
Guess what, world wide web? I'm back!
Not sure whether anybody noticed, but this blog has been in hibernation for a few years, and so many things have changed in the meantime. Well, maybe not so many. I've changed quite a few places, or better – I've only changed two or three cities but switching between so many rooms and apartments and trips here and there, it really seems like a lot of water's been flowing under the bridge.
Another thing that's changed is that I started writing for a living. As I may have blathered already on this blog a while ago, I moved from apprentice-scientist to science writer. Ever since that happened, I've been kind of hating it. Well, I don't hate writing. I actually still love it quite a bit. But I do hate the modern logistics of writing, i.e. the sitting position in front of yours truly's beloved laptop. HATE THAT.
So I've been trying all sorts of alternatives: pen or pencil on pretty notebooks, pen or pencil on scraps of paper that I find lying around, typewriter (thanks to my awesome Heidelberg friends by the way)… I swear, I'm this close to start writing with a felt-tip pen on the walls of my apartment just to avoid the despised white and shiny apple-stamped machine, seriously!
Clearly, it didn't take long in this economy before this blog was written off the scene. But then some conversations with friends in the past couple of days about blogging made me think about it again. Well, this specific blog was not really part of the plan – the idea was more about starting a brand new blog from scratch, with a proper story-telling angle, narrative persona and all that. The topic, well, that remains to be chosen. Maybe science/astronomy related, maybe not. But for a p-p (perfectionist procrastinator) like me, that would take any time between six months and a couple of years. So I thought, why don't I dust off the good old blog, just to get some practice and, well, for good old time's sake?
I kept thinking about this over and over today as I was having one of those "narrative" days, when you feel an overwhelming urge to tell whatever's happening to you. Maybe it was because I drove to and back from work instead of taking the train, as I usually do, and rather than my usual book or whatever I'm reading, I had that couple of hours to kill in company of me, myself and I. Then I went for a run, so another hour with the same shenanigans.
It was actually while running that I conceived this entire post. Rather than boring my very own friends telling the minutiae of my life on Facebook (which I don't do by the way) I thought, why not tell the entire world – or whomever's actually reading this blog. The post actually is about running. Something was happening, something so silly that nonetheless I felt I absolutely had to talk about it with someone. But there wasn't anybody around and, of course, I was running, so not the ideal situation for sharing one's thoughts with the rest of the world. The silly thing is that I felt so incredibly tired as soon as I started running, which is something that hardly happens to me. Don't get me wrong, I'm not the sporty type. I go for a run every once in a while, but when I cross the door of my house and I do start running, I enjoy it a lot. When I'm really into it, especially in the summer, I try to do that once a week. I'm not talking astronomical summer though, I mean the meteorological one: any day that's not too cold and with no rain would do. The two things hardly coincide here in the Netherlands where I've been living in the past couple of years – actually we have so few and sparse days of the latter that it's hard for it to coincide with any given lapse of time really. But these days, in spite of not being the true summer days someone who grew up on the Mediterranean like myself can only dream of once she's crossed the divide north of the forty-something parallel, are special summer days nonetheless because, at these northern latitudes, you get tons of light at this time of the year. It's almost 11 pm and it's still bright. Again, don't get me wrong. It's *not* warm – we had some fifteen degrees and I was so happy I was wearing my thick sweatshirt. But it's a crime against the conservation of energy to waste that much sunlight (yes, allegedly it does come from the sun, although spotting the shiny circle in the sky hasn't been trivial in the past few days) so I *had* to go for a run after work. And that's something I never do. I like to run on Sunday mornings.
So I started running down the street and I immediately felt so tired I almost had to turn back and go home. I didn't, but it was such a pain to run even the two km or so that separate my house from the park. That never happens, not even when I start running again after a few months' break in the winter, and this time it's only been a couple of weeks that I haven't trained (thanks to the gods of the Netherlands, by the way, and their gracious gift of, well, lots of rain). So I was puzzled. It may have something to do with the fact that this was at the end of the day, rather than at the beginning. Not that I did much physical work during the day though.
As I was puzzled, something even weirder happened. The more tired I felt, the better I was enduring the whole thing. I didn't have to stop a single time. This only happens when I've been training regularly for a while, and it wasn't really the case this time. What a fantastic feeling! The more you struggle, the more you last. It's gonna have to become my mantra for the coming days.
Well, actually I did have to stop that once, but it was for an entirely different reason. There was this guy, who was wearing jogging clothes but walking very slowly and pressing his hand against the forehead. When I pass by him, I see he's freaking bleeding from his forehead! So I stop to check on him and give him one of my very own precious two hand tissues. That's the least I could do, really. I also asked him how he was, and he kept saying I'm good, don't worry, almost pushing me away. Which probably makes sense given that I had somehow crossed the don't-you-freaking-approach-me bubble that the locals carry around when they are in public spaces in these flat nordic lands. He was probably scared – too much eye contact, direct conversation, what the hell, lady, please step away!
Ok, let's tone this down now. He was probably in shock, after all he had just hit his head. Plus, I really didn't mean to turn this blog from the rantings of a neurotic girl lost in the middle of Germany to the rantings of an even more neurotic girl trying to navigate through the incredibly weird habits of the Dutch. Now that I think about it, though, my invisibility cloak story (am I made of exotic dark matter or why the hell can't you see me??) is almost ready... I tell that to myself every time I'm walking or biking or anyway am out of the house in this dangerously-lived country, up to the point that I do feel the urge to share it with the few brave readers of my blog. But that's going to be another story.
The adventures of Petite Cla in the land of the Dutch
Coming soon at a blog near you – just another blog
Another thing that's changed is that I started writing for a living. As I may have blathered already on this blog a while ago, I moved from apprentice-scientist to science writer. Ever since that happened, I've been kind of hating it. Well, I don't hate writing. I actually still love it quite a bit. But I do hate the modern logistics of writing, i.e. the sitting position in front of yours truly's beloved laptop. HATE THAT.
So I've been trying all sorts of alternatives: pen or pencil on pretty notebooks, pen or pencil on scraps of paper that I find lying around, typewriter (thanks to my awesome Heidelberg friends by the way)… I swear, I'm this close to start writing with a felt-tip pen on the walls of my apartment just to avoid the despised white and shiny apple-stamped machine, seriously!
Clearly, it didn't take long in this economy before this blog was written off the scene. But then some conversations with friends in the past couple of days about blogging made me think about it again. Well, this specific blog was not really part of the plan – the idea was more about starting a brand new blog from scratch, with a proper story-telling angle, narrative persona and all that. The topic, well, that remains to be chosen. Maybe science/astronomy related, maybe not. But for a p-p (perfectionist procrastinator) like me, that would take any time between six months and a couple of years. So I thought, why don't I dust off the good old blog, just to get some practice and, well, for good old time's sake?
I kept thinking about this over and over today as I was having one of those "narrative" days, when you feel an overwhelming urge to tell whatever's happening to you. Maybe it was because I drove to and back from work instead of taking the train, as I usually do, and rather than my usual book or whatever I'm reading, I had that couple of hours to kill in company of me, myself and I. Then I went for a run, so another hour with the same shenanigans.
It was actually while running that I conceived this entire post. Rather than boring my very own friends telling the minutiae of my life on Facebook (which I don't do by the way) I thought, why not tell the entire world – or whomever's actually reading this blog. The post actually is about running. Something was happening, something so silly that nonetheless I felt I absolutely had to talk about it with someone. But there wasn't anybody around and, of course, I was running, so not the ideal situation for sharing one's thoughts with the rest of the world. The silly thing is that I felt so incredibly tired as soon as I started running, which is something that hardly happens to me. Don't get me wrong, I'm not the sporty type. I go for a run every once in a while, but when I cross the door of my house and I do start running, I enjoy it a lot. When I'm really into it, especially in the summer, I try to do that once a week. I'm not talking astronomical summer though, I mean the meteorological one: any day that's not too cold and with no rain would do. The two things hardly coincide here in the Netherlands where I've been living in the past couple of years – actually we have so few and sparse days of the latter that it's hard for it to coincide with any given lapse of time really. But these days, in spite of not being the true summer days someone who grew up on the Mediterranean like myself can only dream of once she's crossed the divide north of the forty-something parallel, are special summer days nonetheless because, at these northern latitudes, you get tons of light at this time of the year. It's almost 11 pm and it's still bright. Again, don't get me wrong. It's *not* warm – we had some fifteen degrees and I was so happy I was wearing my thick sweatshirt. But it's a crime against the conservation of energy to waste that much sunlight (yes, allegedly it does come from the sun, although spotting the shiny circle in the sky hasn't been trivial in the past few days) so I *had* to go for a run after work. And that's something I never do. I like to run on Sunday mornings.
So I started running down the street and I immediately felt so tired I almost had to turn back and go home. I didn't, but it was such a pain to run even the two km or so that separate my house from the park. That never happens, not even when I start running again after a few months' break in the winter, and this time it's only been a couple of weeks that I haven't trained (thanks to the gods of the Netherlands, by the way, and their gracious gift of, well, lots of rain). So I was puzzled. It may have something to do with the fact that this was at the end of the day, rather than at the beginning. Not that I did much physical work during the day though.
As I was puzzled, something even weirder happened. The more tired I felt, the better I was enduring the whole thing. I didn't have to stop a single time. This only happens when I've been training regularly for a while, and it wasn't really the case this time. What a fantastic feeling! The more you struggle, the more you last. It's gonna have to become my mantra for the coming days.
Well, actually I did have to stop that once, but it was for an entirely different reason. There was this guy, who was wearing jogging clothes but walking very slowly and pressing his hand against the forehead. When I pass by him, I see he's freaking bleeding from his forehead! So I stop to check on him and give him one of my very own precious two hand tissues. That's the least I could do, really. I also asked him how he was, and he kept saying I'm good, don't worry, almost pushing me away. Which probably makes sense given that I had somehow crossed the don't-you-freaking-approach-me bubble that the locals carry around when they are in public spaces in these flat nordic lands. He was probably scared – too much eye contact, direct conversation, what the hell, lady, please step away!
Ok, let's tone this down now. He was probably in shock, after all he had just hit his head. Plus, I really didn't mean to turn this blog from the rantings of a neurotic girl lost in the middle of Germany to the rantings of an even more neurotic girl trying to navigate through the incredibly weird habits of the Dutch. Now that I think about it, though, my invisibility cloak story (am I made of exotic dark matter or why the hell can't you see me??) is almost ready... I tell that to myself every time I'm walking or biking or anyway am out of the house in this dangerously-lived country, up to the point that I do feel the urge to share it with the few brave readers of my blog. But that's going to be another story.
The adventures of Petite Cla in the land of the Dutch
Coming soon at a blog near you – just another blog
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