A Moroccan Adventure Part 2

The Medina of Fez

If Marrakech is the tourist capital of the South, then Fez is the tourist capital of the North.  Since we had a week to spend in Morocco, we decided to take a couple days for an excursion to Fez.  We caught the express train out of Marrakech, but unlike the train that Crosby, Stills & Nash sang about, this one takes 7 hours to make the 291 mile journey to Fez (averaging a blistering 41.5 miles per hour), and stopping along the way a number of times.  We slowly chugged through the dusty high plains around Marrakech making our way down to the Atlantic coast.  Along the way, we passed a diorama of small villages and random flocks of sheep with loitering shepherds.  We did not have to stop for any sheep on the tracks, but did stop a few times for unexplained reasons.  The closer we got to the coast, the greener the landscape got.  Three hours later, we were approaching Casablanca on the coast.  

A flock grazes on the hillside above Fez

Casablanca and Rabat lie fairly close together on the Atlantic coast and are the two biggest cities in Morocco.  Together, they make up a highly industrialized and highly populated region.  Rabat, as the capital, got all the improvements and modernizations.  Casablanca, which is a bit of a brutish port town, got all the slums.  What is worse, there is no museum dedicated to Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman, no plaque memorializing where “Rick’s American Café” stood, and no restaurants playing “As Time Goes By.”  So when the train stopped in Casablanca, we stayed on, and just mumbled to ourselves, “Here’s looking at you, Casablanca.”

The train continued on along the Coast to Rabat, with the sparkling blue Atlantic visible in the distance, before it turned away and started inland once again, climbing up to Fez.  We steadily picked up altitude for a couple hours before arriving.  Unlike Marrakech, however, the landscape stayed lush and green.  By the time the train finally pulled into the Gare de Fez, we were exhausted, and ready for another harrowing taxi ride to our riad. 

Entrance to the Royal Palace

Our riad in Fez, the Riad Verus, proved to be a real treat.  As is typical for the old town riads, it was located down a narrow otherwise uninviting non-descript cobble stone street in a plain looking building.  However, unlike other riads, the way was well marked and easy to find.  Stepping through the door from the street into the Riad Verus was like stepping into another world.  We were greeted by the sound of the bubbling fountain in the interior courtyard, the chirping song of the house canary, and contemporary american music on the stereo.  The Riad Verus is run by a young energetic couple, but in a laid-back, relaxed style.  He (Noor) is Brazilian and she (Leonora) is from England.  Noor greeted us at the front door, and brought us glasses of traditional hot strong Moroccan Mint tea while we relaxed and took in the ambiance.  Everything about the Riad Verus testified to their attention to detail.  

The interior was tastefully and imaginatively decorated in classic Moroccan style.  Our room was well lighted and comfortable.  It had both heat and air conditioning (many old town riads do not have heat, and in the winter months the cement buildings can get quite chilly).  Our room had a large flat screen TV on the wall, and internet in our room and throughout the building, not just in the lobby.  Our private bath had a spacious Arabic style tiled tub and shower combination.  Our room included a hot breakfast with eggs, baguettes, yogurt, fruits and Moroccan delicacies.  All the staff were friendly and attentive.  And at about $70 a night, it was very reasonably priced.  What a find.  We were anxious to start exploring Fez after a good night’s sleep.

Fresh Chicken in the Market Place

The Medina (market place) of Fez (Fès el-Bali) is world famous.  It goes back over a thousand years and is the world’s largest contiguous car-free urban area.  It is an extensive array of covered alleys lined with booths and stalls that goes on seemingly endlessly, and has been described as the “maze to end all mazes.”  According to our guide book, “It is quite easy to get lost in the Medina, and in fact part of the fun and adventure of visiting the Medina is getting lost and trying to find your way out.”  Sorry, I DON'T THINK SO- not OUR idea of fun.  We were not about to get lost and have to bargain away our last durham for a sleeping bag because we had to spend the night lost in an Arabic bazaar.   

The centuries old Chaouwara Tanneries

The Al-Qarawiyyin Mosque and University

So Noor hooked us up with a good guide, who spent the day showing us around- well worth the investment.  He took us to all the notable spots in the Medina AND brought us out alive.  Of course, we did have to listen to thinly veiled sales pitches at his favorite merchants (from whom I am sure he got a kickback) but it was well worth it.  We saw a traditional tannery (the Chaouwara Tanneries) that didn’t look like they had changed much since the middle ages, hand-made Moroccan rugs that you could pick up for a mere $70,000 (or walk on for free, which is what I did), silversmiths that still do everything by hand, spice merchants, homeopathic medicine men, you name it.  He also took us over to the Al-Qarawiyyin, which functions both as a university and a mosque.  It is listed in the Guinness Book of Records as the oldest continuously operating university in the world, founded in 859.  It is now one of the leading spiritual/educational centers of the Muslim world. Normally, non-Muslims (westerners) are not allowed in a mosque, and you even get dirty looks if you try to peep in when the door is open.  But as soon the door attendant saw our guide, he held the door open and beckoned us over to look in.  He even volunteered to take my camera inside and take pictures for us.  We would never had gotten that kind of treatment on our own. 

Afterwards, he drove us up to a high hill overlooking the city, Borj Nord, for an incredible panoramic view, and then back down to a local restaurant near our riad, where we had a delicious Moroccan meal.  It was the perfect end to a wonderful and tiring day. We were ready to head back to the Riad Verus and kick back.

The old town of Fez

Panorama of Fez from Borj Nord

David, April, Don, and Veronica blending in with the locals

A Moroccan Adventure Part 1

Riding on the Marrakech Express

     Semester break.  What better time to escape the snow and ice of Holland.  Just like snow birds from Canada or New York fleeing to Florida, we decided to go south too- all the way to Morocco.  So we booked a cheap flight with our friends David and April and packed our bags for the three and a half hour flight.  

     Our flight took us directly over Paris at night, with crystal clear skies.  The lights of the city sprawled out everywhere beneath us, and even at 20,000 feet, the Eiffel tower was clearly discernible.  We continued on over the Costa del Sol and Gibraltar, all neatly outlined in light and clearly visible.  Following down the Moroccan coast, we flew directly over Casablanca.  Peering out the plane’s window, I was almost sure I could just make out Rick’s American Café and Major Strausser’s car hurrying out to the airport.  

     Before long we had landed at Marrakech and connected up with the driver who would take us to our Riad.  He narrated the various sites we were passing along the way as he zipped in and out of traffic oblivious to any traffic rules, if such existed.  Into the old walled town (the medina) and down a suspicious looking alley, past night-time crowds of people loitering on the street, finally he stopped in a narrow street filled with people and donkey carts.  “This way”, he said, getting out of the cab.  He led us up to an unassuming door in a plain cement wall in an anonymous building.  We rang the bell.

The Riad "Fantasia"

The owner, a pleasant middle aged French woman, answered and led us inside.       

     It was beautiful.  An interior courtyard with a fountain was surrounded by 2 levels of balconies.  This unassuming exterior and elaborate inside are typical of Moroccan Riads, we found out.  Historically, a Riad was the house, including a lush garden, of a well-to-do merchant, located in the market. Thus the unassuming exterior was practical for security reasons.  Now days, of course, the affluent live in the new modern part of the city, so these residences are being restored and have now become the Moroccan version of “B and B’s.”  We were welcomed to the “Riad Fantasia” with Moroccan mint tea, and after checking in, retired to our private room and snuggled into our bed. Tomorrow, we would begin exploring the old town.

The Marrakech Square "Djemaa el Fna"

     Marrakech is a vibrant bustling city with a population of about a million, which includes about 10,000 retired Europeans.  It is located in the south of Morocco on an arid plain with the snow capped Atlas mountains visible in the distance.  Although it goes back to the 11th Century, it is a modern city with wide boulevards and new buildings. It has big plans to become the “Palm Springs” of Morocco, with as many as a dozen new golf courses in the planning.  It also has the largest traditional market (souk) in Morocco, and the busiest and most famous old town “square” (it is anything but square) in the world, the “Djemaa el Fna”, the nerve center of the city.  For hundreds of years, acrobats, performers, musicians, story tellers, merchants, and characters of all sorts have gathered here  to earn money and sell their wares. Every sundown, huge open food stalls are set up, turning the square into one large open-air restaurant.  The area has taken on a reputation as a unique and magical showcase of Moroccan culture, and has been declared a UNESCO World Heritage site.  The square is alive with activity and the air is filled with smoke from the food stands, while a vast array of music and other chaotic sounds compete for our attention.  It has a carnival- like feel to it, with games and street performers hustling the tourists as they stroll through.  

Veronica matches wits with a Cobra.

     The centerpiece, of course, is the snake charmers.  Each is surrounded by a half a dozen BIG snakes, and includes at least a couple cobras.  Real cobras, as in co·bra n. 1. The deadliest snake in the world, capable of lunging more than a meter to strike its prey, which usually dies shortly afterwards of paralysis. 2. Not a plaything to be used as a prop for tourist pictures.  The snake charmer looks like a grizzled older guy.  I can’t help but wonder how many snake charmers actually make it to his age.  I wouldn’t want to be one of these guys when they have a bad day at the office.  He is swaying slightly as he plays a haunting repetitious melody on his instrument.  I lean over to him and offer him 20 durhams to play “Another One Bites the Dust.”  He gives me a puzzled expression.  Lost in translation, I guess.

     It occurs to me that this would never work in the U.S. I suspect that OSHA just would never allow it.  They would require the charmers to have a standby medical emergency and psychological counseling team.  You would have to sign a release of liability before taking your picture with the snake charmer.  The snakes would probably be required to have warning labels attached, like “Caution: Cobras can be dangerous to your health,” or “Caution: To be used by professional snake charmers only.  Do not try this at home.”  It just wouldn’t be the same.  

"I'm sorry, you won't fit in my luggage!"

     Veronica is posing with the trained monkeys now, next with the cobras, then finally with the medicine men who look like they are wearing gaudy victorian lamp shades on their heads.  None of them are the least bashful about demanding 40 or 50 Durhams after they have thrust their animal or themselves at you uninvited for you to pose with for pictures.   “Only paper money!” the man with the lamp shade on his head tells me.    

     Navigating the narrow street (if you can even call it that) from The Square to our Riad is an adventure in itself and not one for the fainthearted.  It is perhaps one lane wide, no sidewalk, cobble stone, lined with connected cinderblock and stucco buildings, and filled shoulder to shoulder with people, many dressed in the traditional jalaba (a full length robe with a pointed hood), rushing from place to place.  Although cars are not allowed on it, this does not apply to motorbikes, donkey carts, or horse drawn carriages, which roll through the crowd oblivious to the people. A donkey cart rolls by with something big and motionless on it, covered by a white sheet.  We figure its a snake charmer-trainee who flunked out.  Suddenly, along comes another motor bike at 30 miles per hour, weaving crazily through the crowd, barely missing everyone, honking the whole time.

     We soon have our fill of markets and mayhem and are ready to spend a few days in the north of Morocco, in the town of Fez.  

Next week: Part 2, The Medina of Fez.

The Fruit and Nut man

The busiest Square in Africa

co·bra n. Not a plaything to be used as a prop for tourist pictures.  

The Medicine Men

The Spice Merchant

Snow Comes to Holland

     What a sight to wake up to.

     We have been hearing from everyone how this was an unusually warm winter, but it was still a surprise.  Up until this week, the temperature had not dropped below freezing once, generally varying between 35 to 45, with a fair number of drizzly, overcast days.  “It’ll get colder,” our downstairs neighbor assured us.  It is not unusual to have snow at Christmas, but it hadn’t happened this year.  

     But this morning, we got up and looked out the window, and everything was covered in white: cars, bikes, road, sidewalk- everything. Not a deep layer, but just enough to cover it in a peaceful white coating.  The temperature had dropped to 28 and has been hovering between 18 to 28 this whole week.  The snow and cold didn’t seem to slow anybody down here, though.  When the sun eventually came up around 8:30 or so, Moms still bundled little kids onto the bike babyseats behind them to haul them off to school or day care or the store, joggers still trotted by, kids still went out to play.  And why shouldn’t they?  This was all quite normal.  I had to remind myself that, after all, Holland is as far north as Calgary, Canada, on the map, whereas Modesto is about level with Sicily.  Big difference.  

     When the temps drop below freezing, “Skate Fever” hits Holland big time.  Many of the Dutch eagerly await the cold temperatures so they can get outside and indulge in the national pastime of ice skating.  Actually, its just called “skating” here.  No need to specify “ice.”  As far as the Dutch are concerned, there is no other kind of skating.  We’ve had 4 days of below freezing temps now. Our neighbors invited us to go out skating with them this weekend, when they anticipate conditions will be just right.  Ice is forming on the canals and lakes around town, but they probably won’t freeze enough for skating.  The first places to freeze will be the “poulders” in the countryside.  They are large marshy areas covered with a foot or less of water.  Since they are so shallow, they freeze quickly and there is no danger of falling though the ice.  They turn into giant outdoor skating rinks.  Everybody has their favorite location.  To be sure, the Dutch grumble about the winter blahs as much as everyone else, but they still enjoy being active outside in the winter.

     With enough cold weather, sometimes its even possible to skate from city to city.  In fact, Holland boasts the world’s largest and longest speed skating competition in the world, the “Elfstedentocht,” or “11 cities tour”.  Its 200 kilometers long (over 124 miles), passing through 11 cities in the north of The Netherlands, and is conducted entirely on frozen canals, rivers, and lakes.  Think of the Boston Marathon on ice- times 5.  Its not held every year since conditions have to be just right for the entire course.  The over 15,000 skaters expected to participate can take quite a toll on the ice, so it has to be quite solid.  

     Each fall, excitement builds for this Super Bowl on ice, and everyone’s attention turns to speculating whether or not this will be a year for the Elfstedentocht.  When it is announced that one will occur, Holland explodes in a frenzy of national celebration-- kind of like when the Red Sox went to the World Series.  Huge crowds gather at the starting point city, which turns into a giant all-night street party.  The race starts the next morning, and the skaters must finish before midnight to successfully complete the race.  In 1963, the weather was so brutal that only 1 per cent finished.  Dutch folks line the route to cheer on the racers in a Dutch version of the Tour de France.  There have only been 15 since it started in 1909, and with global warming and all, 1997 was the last time one was held.  Looks like 2012 won’t be the year either.

     Well, enough for now.  Veronica and I are off to make snow angels in the street in front of house.  After that, it will be time for Glűhwein!

Recipe for a frozen tushie....

Snow on Hog Warts High

Madrid for the Weekend

     It was the weekend before Christmas, classes were winding down for Christmas break, and it seemed like a good time to go somewhere really festive.  So we did!  Off to Madrid for a long weekend.  It’s only a two hour fight, and we  had come across some cheap tickets.  We had never been there before, so there was no excuse not to go.  We loaded up the carry-on bag, joined our friends David (in the same program at the University with Don) and his wife April, and scurried off to the airport.

Welcome to Madrid, Earthling!

     We arrived about 8:00 in the evening and, after a little confusion figuring out the metro connections, finally got on the right line to our hostel. We had gotten a really good price for the room, so I was a little concerned about the location, but when we emerged from the metro, we were greeted by a huge lively square filled with throngs of people, surrounded by stately ornate Spanish style buildings, decked out with an electric blaze of lights, and a 100 foot tall electronic Christmas tree.  We were in the middle of Plaza de la Puerta del Sol, Madrid’s version of Times Square, in the heart of the city.  Our Hostel was a block and a half away.

     Madrid is a very social and lively city, and the square only got busier as it grew later.  We checked into our room and decided to join the crowd and explore the city center.  Of course all the shops were open, so it wasn’t long before Veronica and April fell under the spell of the impressively inexpensive Spanish prices, and Boot-and-Purse Shopping Fever set in with a vengeance.  Much later, we made our way back to the hostel loaded down with goods. 

Plaza de Cibeles

     We had signed up for a “free” (tips please) walking tour of the city the next day, so we were up and out early.   Our tour guide, a bilingual grad student, was full of interesting historical and social facts, so we felt like we got a good feel for the city.  We started at the Plaza Mayor, a 17th Century Square surrounded by stunning grandiose facades, once the site of the condemnation of heretics during the Spanish Inquisition, then later the scene of spectacular bull fights. It is now filled with street vendor booths and tourists.  We wondered down the winding streets to the Chocolateria de San Ginés, famous for its chocolate con churros (churros dipped in melted chocolate). We spent the  next couple of hours going from plaza to plaza, past the original moorish city wall, the Iglesia de San Nicolás de los Servitas, the Palacio Real, and heard story after story.  It was delightful.  When our guide invited us back for a tapas bar tour that evening, we jumped at the chance. 

     Tapas, the Spanish custom of eating a variety of small sampler dishes with your drinks, is a uniquely Spanish experience.  There are many stories about how Tapas originated.  One says that medieval travelers often arrived in town with only enough money to buy either something to eat or something to drink, but not both.  Usually, they would opt for drink, and trouble would soon follow.  To prevent drunken rowdies, the government decreed that inns could only serve beer or wine with food, so the owners would place a slice of ham or cheese on top of the glass, like a lid (tapa).  This also conveniently kept dust and bugs out of the drink.

 Traditional Paella- Yummy!

     Fortunately, we didn’t have to worry about dust or bugs on our tapas tour.  We had a wonderful time in La Latina quarter going from tapas bar to tapas bar with our guide, sampling the various dishes, and sharing laughs and experiences with her.  The night life in Madrid starts to ramp up about 10:00, when groups of friends start accumulating at the various favorite watering holes, and often goes long and loud all the way through to the next morning.  Hemingway described it by saying that “nobody goes to bed in Madrid until they have killed the night.”  In our case, however, the night was winning, and we were back in our hostel shortly after midnight.

This baby needs a shave....

     The street performers in Madrid were undoubtedly the cleverest and most entertaining we have seen anywhere, including San Francisco. With unemployment currently hovering around 20%, they have a plentiful supply.  Of course, you have your standard selection of human statues and cartoon characters.  But you also have a wonderful variety of interactive street performers, including a magician worthy of any stage in Las Vegas, an invisible man with his hat and sunglasses suspended by a thin wire above his jacket, a clacking tinsel covered llama, and our favorite: the man-baby in a carriage.  His body is concealed beneath the carriage and his head pokes up into the carriage on top of the baby body with little movable arms.  He was engaging all the passerbys and flirting with all the women, and was totally hilarious. 

    Our final day was spent quietly at the world famous Museo del Prado (Prado Art  Museum).   It houses an impressive collection of Goya, El Greco, Rubens, Rembrandt, Dűrer, and others.  We returned home both culinarily and culturally enriched, and ready for our next adventure.

Veronica's new friend

Metropolis at Calle de Alcalá

April, Veronica, and David at the Puerta de Alcalá

The Clacking Llama (with person inside)

Dutch New Year's Traditions

     Holland on New Year’s Eve is no place for the faint of heart.  Just like the other holidays, they have their own quaint traditions unique to Hollanders, which for New Year’s, includes “Olliebollen” (literally “Oil balls”), a sort of deep fried (of course) ball of doughnut dough, frosted or sprinkled with powdered sugar, loaded with raisins or creme or whatever.  Its the kind of treat that would make Krispy Kreme proud, and should probably come with a coupon for two free defibrillations.  You can only get them for one month out of the year during Christmas season.  The stands start sprouting up right after Sinter Klaas avond (December 5) and go away shortly after New Years until next year.

The other quaint tradition they enjoy is legal fireworks, as in totally legal for anyone to own.  I don’t mean little whistling petes or ground flowers, we’re talking anything goes, no age limits.  As near as I could tell, there were no restrictions on the size or type, or if there were, nobody knew what they were.  One of our friends told us there was some kind of size limitation, but with so many kinds available on the internet, the limits are mostly unenforceable.  I wondered if maybe the Dutch were a little jealous  because they did not get to shoot off fireworks like us on the 4th of July, but I was not prepared for the magnitude of the fireworks display on New Year’s.  Although individuals are allowed to set off fireworks in Germany, Scandinavia, and Eastern Europe, the Dutch set off more fireworks per capita than anywhere else. It surpassed by far anything I had seen in the US.

It started with a few cracks about 10:00 in the morning on New Year’s Eve.  It quickly built to an on-going din, with the constant rattle of smaller ordinances echoing near and far throughout the city, sounding much like small arms fire, punctuated by an occasional huge window-rattling boom that would have triggered a red alert from Homeland Security at any other time.  Having just watched “Rise of the Planet of the Apes” the night before, I was sure the battle for Utrecht had just started.  No, our neighbor assured us, it was just young boys having fun.  Veronica, the constant mother, asked if perhaps young boys and big fireworks didn’t seem to him like a recipe for disaster?  He conceded that there was the occasional injury to the hands or eyes, but he remembered how much he had enjoyed the tradition when he was that age, so he assured us most people didn’t think it was a problem.   The typical easy-going Dutch attitude toward life in a nutshell, I thought.  “I got to play with unexploded ordinances when I was a kid, so my child should have the same opportunity.”

Sure enough, when we went out on the balcony to watch the live action, we saw groups of teenage and prepubescent boys walking around the neighborhood with their plastic grocery bags full of fireworks.  Some stopped to make elaborate piles of fireworks to set off, and others just casually tossed out lighted cherry bomb things as if they were hand grenades while they ambled around.  The noise was annoyingly constant throughout the day, but I have to admit I did not see any serious misbehaving of the type that American parents would fear most: throwing fireworks at each other, under cars, or putting them in planters, bottles, or small domestic house animals.  I can imagine that if groups of 12 year olds armed with unlimited supplies of recreational explosives were released on LA, half the city would be leveled by the end of the day.

Utrecht did somehow manage to survive until the kids’ bed time, and somewhere around 9 pm, the constant battle sounds began to subside.  The truce seemed to hold for the next three hours, and I thought the worst was past.  Then suddenly, at the stroke of midnight, the city erupted.  It was the adults turn now.  Across the city and the country, thousands were taking to the streets.  It was time for the skyrockets.  

Its one thing to go to a fireworks show where all the fireworks are going off in basically the same area.  Its quite another to see them going up all around you, near and far, 360 degrees, all across the horizon.  There probably was someone else besides us in Utrecht who hadn’t gone out and blown their entire food budget for the year on skyrockets, but you wouldn’t know it from our vantage point.  There is no public fireworks display- with all the private fireworks, there is no need.   On our street alone there were tons of rockets going off, some exploding right at roof level, and some going up 100 or 200 feet and exploding into huge patterns.  There were all types of ground and arial displays where ever you looked, down the street or across the town.  The spectacle continued non-stop for an hour before it finally started to slow down a little, and eventually became quiet again by 2:30.  It literally took hours for the smoke to clear.  The next morning the red paper debris left behind by the multitude of fireworks had been reduced by the early morning rain to a huge fields of red sludge.

With the fervor that the Dutch have embraced their fireworks, you might think this is an old tradition, but not so.  They were not legal prior to World War II, and such spectacles did not become traditional until the 1960s.  Such a tradition, however, does not come without a price.  Dutch opposition groups have recently mounted an effort to ban fireworks.  The government estimates that the New Year’s celebration causes 10 million euros damage each year.  This year, 16 cars in The Hague were burned and there were nearly 250 eye injuries related to the fireworks, and last year, two young people died in fireworks accidents.  Notwithstanding this, the tradition is not likely to change soon.  Members of Parliament and other officials say that it is impossible to imagine Dutch life without it.  With such a tradition, it is probably not a coincidence that, where we would say “Happy New Year,” the typical Dutch greeting translates literally to “Lucky New Year”.

You can see an excellent example of this typical Dutch tradition on YouTube at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XBYlcf2cttI.

       

Christmas comes to Holland

     Its hard to believe that we have been here 5 months already.   Winter has set in, with its chilly temperatures, 30-40 degrees most days.  Some days are wonderfully sunny and crisp and others drab and overcast.  No snow yet, but our neighbor tells us that we will eventually have some.  He also tells us that if we get 3 or 4 days of below freezing weather, the canals will eventually freeze as well.  And when they do, all the ice skates come out.  Its a wonderful way to get around town if the weather cooperates: much faster than walking, and more fun than riding the bike.

    All the Christmas lights are up around town, and the Christmas tree lots are springing up.  The Dutch really know how to celebrate Christmas right- they have four days, not just one like us.  The season starts to ramp up soon after St. Maarten’s Day (November 5), which is the day that children go door to door and get candy treats in return for singing St. Maarten songs.  I guess this makes up for the Dutch Halloween, which does not include “trick or treating”.  

Dutch Christmas Parade

     Anyway, soon after (around the time of our Thanksgiving), the excitement (and publicity) starts to build for the annual Christmas parade, when “Sinter Klaas”, which is short for “Sint Nicolaas” (St. Nicholas or Santa Claus to us) comes to town.  The Christmas parade is a real community event (as well as being a TV event) and the whole town, or at least the ones with young kids, turns out.  However, in true Dutch fashion, the parade does not come down main street, it comes down the main canal, by boat.  The sides of the canal are lined with crowds of cheering kids while Sinter Klaas and his entourage float through downtown, waiving from  the boats.

Sinter Klaas

     The original St Nicholas was a catholic bishop, and here Sinter Klaas still looks very much like that, with a pointed hat and long staff curled at the top.  After disembarking the boat, he makes his way through the old town to the 17th Century "Academy Building", where he addresses the crowd from the balcony, looking very much like the Pope at Vatican Square, on a much smaller scale, of course. He is accompanied by a platoon of helpers, called “Zwarte Pieten” (Black Petes), who pass out small christmas cookies (“pepernoten”) and play traditional christmas songs.  Sinter Klaas leads the crowd, which enthusiastically joins in the lively songs, and then regales the kids with stories about his travels and adventures, and promises of what will happen over the Christmas season.

     True to the Dutch character, Sinter Klaas is much more practical than his American cousin: he lives in Spain in the off season, not the North Pole.  Probably hangs out at a Mediterranean beach resort drinking Margaritas with umbrellas in them.  Anyway, the Spanish connection probably comes from the fact that traditionally he gave the young kids oranges, which only came from Spain way back when.  His helpers, the “Zwarte Pieten”, all appear in black face and colorful costumes.  Traditionally, this was based on the Moorish or African servant that the original St. Nicholas had, but now the more politically correct explanation given to the kids is that the "Piets" are all black from chimney soot, from making so many trips up and down through the chimneys.  This would NEVER work in the US, so we just have elves instead. 

Sinter Klaas entertains the crowd

      Dutch kids don’t have to wait for the 25th to open presents, like American kids.  Christmas is still celebrated for two days on the 24th and 25th, but this is a more quiet time, reserved for family gatherings and big meals.  For kids, the climax comes on December 5, which is “Sinterklaasavond” (Santa Claus Eve).  This is the night when Santa comes to the houses and delivers presents to the kids.  I think the Dutch Parent Lobby was responsible for this tradition, which saves a lot of dealing with “Can we open the presents NOW PLEEEEEEEASE????”  

     The Dutch Santa Claus doesn’t arrive in the middle of the night, like the impractical American one.  He mysteriously arrives before the kids go to bed, either by knocking on the door and leaving a sack with presents, then disappearing before they  answer the door, or leaving a note out for the kids somewhere in the house telling them where the presents are hidden.  Similar to their American cousins, before going to bed, Dutch kids put a shoe in front of the fireplace for Sinter Klaas to leave a treat in (typically a chocolate “S”), and they may in return leave a treat for Sinter as well, and maybe a carrot or an apple for his horse (no reindeers in Spain, remember?). By the next day, Sinter Klaas has gone back to Spain, the Christmas trees go up, and things quiet down.

"Zwarte Pieten" helpers

     Adults may exchange gifts as well, but they are more likely to be personal, home made, or even gag gifts.  Christmas in Holland does not involve the super-charged extravagant gift frenzy that it has taken on in the US.  Some big retail companies here have tried to import the frantic consumer orgy related to Christmas shopping in the US, but so far, the practical Dutch have resisted.  Lets hope they can continue to hold out and preserve the homey and simple traditions they have enjoyed for generations.

Veronica and a Musical "Piet"

Merry Christmas to all...

They are quite friendly, even with older kids.

The Weather

Thursday, September 29, 2011

It’s  astonishingly beautiful outside. Funny that one of the things we read about the Dutch people is that they love to talk about the weather, because they usually find it so poor. So far we have found it to be the exact opposite. We’ve been here since August 11 and, with the exception of a handful of days, the sun has been out in all its’ glory. Even the days when it didn’t command the center of attention it managed to come through the clouds in smatterings throughout the day. It really has been very pleasant here. It is more like California coastal weather, than Modesto, minus the morning fog that envelopes the Coast, which we have only seen  one day since our arrival, and that was earlier this week. So maybe indeed we are getting ready for winter. Bring it on! 

Indeed there have been thunderstorms, but they have been short-lived. What they lack in their length though, they make up for in their intensity. It is breathtaking  to sit at the window and watch the lightening light up the room and hear and feel the thunder as if it were shaking the very foundation under our feet. And the rain drops, they are huge. So big in fact that at times they have looked like water cascading over a Fall in one continuous stream. 

Possibly there is another explantation as to why the Dutch talk about the weather so much. It is totally unpredictable. Tell me again why we have weather forecasters? Oh yes, to gainfully employee individuals. They can study the cloud formations, measure the wind speed and make all the predications they want, but mother nature will have it her way, and like the two year old child, it will be opposite of what you say. The answer lies somewhere between intuition and preparedness. Don’t leave home without your umbrella, but go ahead and leave it in your saddlebag while you are shopping. You probably won’t need it anyway.