Lynelle in Holland

Daedalian Adventures

The road ahead is rarely straight…

By Lynelle Barrett

Traveler am.

Twelve days and counting. Soon I will be leaving on my journey to do volunteer work in Nepal. I’m very excited and a bit nervous too. I’ve never traveled this far, and to such a different culture, by myself. My husband will be joining me later but for the first 3 weeks I’ll be on my own, on the loose in Kathmandu. Sounds exciting, doesn’t it?

By chance, I will be in Nepal for the biggest holiday of the year, Dasain. The whole country celebrates the victory of the goddess Durga over the forces of evil personified in the buffalo demon, Mahisasura. Everyone is off work and there are processions and family rituals to be performed. The caveat is that Durga is a bloodthirsty goddess, so this festival is celebrated with  blood-letting and animal sacrifice. My Lonely Planet guide says that 8 buffaloes and 108 goats are sacrificed, each with a single stroke of a sword. Temples are awash with blood and tools of a person’s trade and vehicles are sprinkled with blood for good luck. Even the aircraft of Nepal Airlines are blessed for safe travel. I hope I can bear the spectacle.

I will have to get up to speed quickly on social customs, such as using my fingers to eat (right hand only!), learning the body language for “yes” which is different than ours, dealing with the Nepali reluctance to say “no” to anything, accepting the caste system and the belief in dharma, remembering that feet and shoes are considered unclean, getting up before dawn and going to bed at 10:00, the lack of Nepali words for “please” or “thank you”. I am trying to study a bit of the Nepali language with a phrasebook. The structure of sentences is different: subject-object-verb. “Bob read the book.” would be “Bob book read.” In speaking, they often leave out subject pronouns, articles and information that’s clear from context or not considered relevant. So “I am a traveler.” would be “traveler am.” As part of my orientation with Volunteers Initiative Nepal (VIN), I will be taking some Nepali lessons when I arrive. Hopefully I will learn better from lessons than from a book. At this point, I would only feel comfortable saying “Namaste” (hello/goodbye).

Last week my husband and I had dinner with another volunteer for VIN. Maartje lives in Amsterdam and just returned from a summer of teaching English in a Buddhist monastery. She regaled us with stories about her experiences in Nepal and with the feisty young monks (many of them are children). We picked her brain for things to pack: DEET-yes; headlamp-yes, for using the outdoor toilet at night; raingear- no, only tourists wear them, locals use umbrellas; flip flops-no, buy them there for one euro; thermometer-yes, for when you get a fever; photos of your family-yes, people will be curious; ipod and speaker-yes, because music is universal. Now I have to see if everything I want to bring fits in my pack. It’s a safe bet that a revised packing list will be the next step.

Today I am boxing up all the donations I have received and getting them ready to ship. I have about 100kg of books and CDs for learning English and Business English, children’s books and games, paper, pens, pencils, erasers, watercolor paints, rubber stamps and toys. I got some sturdy boxes from a friend who works in a bookstore. I have to divide everything into small shipments to avoid customs charges at the other end. This stuff has been piling up in my study for weeks, I’ll be happy to finally send it all on its way. The cash we have collected (more than 1000 euros so far!) will be sent via bank transfer. I am bringing my old laptop and an external drive (loaded with teaching materials and music) that I will donate when I leave. My husband's Singapore office sent a laptop and four cameras direct to VIN. The support we have received from friends and colleagues has been really amazing. We are very lucky to know such generous and supportive people.

I have been asked to help write proposals for the funding of an education center in the community where I will be living and working. So I’ll be spending the next week or so doing internet research on organizations to approach for possible sponsorship. I have also been asked to conduct teacher training and share some of the techniques we use in Western teaching. It’s going to be a busy holiday; I may end up working harder than I do in my real job. But that’s okay. This work may not make me wealthy, but I am sure I will be richer for it. Namaste. (literal translation: I salute the god in you)

It’s not too late! Donations to Volunteers Initiative Nepal are welcome. You can make a donation using PayPal on the VIN website.

Volunteers Initiative Nepal

http://www.volunteeringnepal.org/index.php

Daedalian Adventures

The road ahead is rarely straight…

By Lynelle Barrett

Summer in the Village

It is the vakantieperiode (vacation time) in the Netherlands. The schools are closed for 6 weeks, rush hour on the trains is less rushed, offices are running on skeleton crews and folks have taken their kids and caravans off to campgrounds in places like Germany, France or Sweden. Most of my students have planned their courses to be finished in July, so they can go on holiday with no homework and a clear conscience. After months of teaching, preparing lessons, writing reports and reviewing homework, my schedule has finally lightened up. Ahhh…August.

I’m still in town, though. I will be spending 6 weeks in Nepal teaching English as a volunteer, but I am not leaving until mid-September. Summer is monsoon season in Nepal. But we’ve got plenty to do this month to get ready for the big adventure. We have to go to the Nepali consulate in Amsterdam for visas, the doctor for a series of shots and the dentist for a check-up. I am shopping for a travel pack (a fancy hybrid of a backpack and a suitcase - the shoulder straps fit in a compartment for easy check-in on the plane), water filter, first aid kit (with sterile needles, just in case), hiking shoes (the old pair was so bad, I couldn’t even donate them to Amnesty) and good walking sandals.

My husband and I are fundraising for the organization we plan to work with, Volunteers Initiative Nepal (VIN). We are hoping to take a healthy donation with us to support some of their projects. My school has donated a huge pile of English grammar and vocabulary books from the school library and some of my colleagues have brought in children’s books. VIN is trying to get used laptop computers donated so teachers can use them to research teaching materials and the kids can learn some basic computer skills (computers and the internet are new and amazing to many Nepalese). My husband’s colleagues are being very generous. Everybody seems to want to help and it feels really good to have so much support. Several of my friends have admitted that they would rather give a bit of cash than go live in an impoverished village with no toilets for 6 weeks, but they think it’s cool that I am willing to do it.

Meanwhile, in July we had an Italian mini-holiday. On a Friday, we flew to Milan to visit our friend Alex. While she was at work, we spent the afternoon in a museum and doing a bit of shopping. Since Milan is a fashion capital, I think you may actually be required by law to go shopping. But I could be wrong. Then we met Alex for drinks. The display of food served at cocktail hour in Milan is amazing. Dozens of dishes with bite-size snacks cover the bar: pizza, artichokes, olives, tiny sandwiches with prosciutto or crab salad, sautéed mushrooms, grilled zucchini or aubergine, fried potatoes, tiny savory pastries, chorizo, rice or pasta salad, battered and fried squash blossoms. Since the Milanese don’t go to dinner until late in the evening, these snacks keep everyone from starving until then. At dinner, more plates of free food started to arrive before we even ordered our meals. By the time the main course was served, we could barely eat any more which was really a shame. Italy makes you wish you had eight stomachs like a cow.

On Saturday we drove to Verona (the setting for Romeo and Juliet) to meet my friend, Ilaria, who took the train up from Rome. We wandered around Verona, checked out Juliet’s balcony and Juliet’s tomb (which is funny because Juliet is a fictitious character). The museum above the tomb had a collection of Roman amphorae, ancient clay vessels used to store and transport things like olive oil and wine. Ilaria is from the south of Italy and she said that you find these all the time in the sea down south. Her family uses pieces of amphorae to hold open the doors! It’s always interesting what people in other cultures take for granted. When I lived in America, I used to take 24-hour grocery stores and shopping malls open until 9pm for granted.

Verona is known for its summer opera performances in the Roman amphitheatre and we had tickets to see “The Barber of Seville”. It was pretty darn amazing to sit in a Roman theatre watching opera, even though it was sticky hot and they packed us in like sardines. The folks in the know (Italian folks) came equipped with groceries and wine. Where they put the sacks of food in the crowded rows of stone seats, I’ll never know. On Sunday we drove back to Milan with a stop in Bergamo. Another charming Italian village, another cathedral, more cocktail snacks. We took back some of the little dome-shaped cakes that Bergamo is famous for. I think they are called marzipan-sugar-bomb-cakes but I’m not really sure. They tasted good, so I guess that’s what counts. We all had such a good time together that we are planning to vacation with Ilaria next summer all the way south in Calabria, down by the sea. I really don’t think it’s too far to travel to get a doorstop.

Donations to Volunteers Initiative Nepal are welcome! You can make a donation using PayPal on the VIN website.

Volunteers Initiative Nepal

http://www.volunteeringnepal.org/index.php

Daedalian Adventures

The road ahead is rarely straight…

By Lynelle Barrett

Sacred and Profane

One of my husband’s American colleagues, Steve, considers Guinness stout beer sacred. When he utters the name of the brew, he gently places his hand on his heart, dips his head as if in prayer and reverently speaks the holy name…Guinness.

So when I went to Ireland for the first time, I was looking forward to having a proper pint of Guinness in the motherland. A group of us met for a weekend in Dublin late on a Friday afternoon…round about happy hour. It was the perfect time to embark on the Guinness experience. Except for me, the group members were all work colleagues. There was my husband from Holland, Alex from France (but living in Milan), Keith from Wales, four guys from England and Candy from Hong Kong (married to one of the English guys). The mission for the weekend was to enjoy Dublin’s pubs, and a pint or two or eight of Guinness.

Naturally, there are pubs all over town, but the part of town famous for its pubs is Temple Bar. We spent the evening on a pub crawl, a popular Irish pastime on Friday nights. We prowled the area, exploring the innards of various pubs and discussing the relative merits of one pub versus another. After a while we decided to order a pub dinner and got to sample Irish stew, chips with malt vinegar and various types of sausage (all good for soaking up the beer in your belly).

The next morning I was supposed to go to the National Gallery but decided to skip it in favor of doing a bit of shopping, then spent the midday hours relaxing with some of my companions in a lovely pub with wood-paneled walls, leather chairs and a charming, older gentleman behind the bar. In the afternoon, I took a well-deserved rest from the pub and visited the Chester Beatty Library in Dublin Castle. For anyone with a passion for books, this is simply a must-see. The library houses a collection of manuscripts, prints, icons and early printed books from the great cultures and religions of the world. The Arts of the Book exhibit showcases Egyptian Books of the Dead, illuminated medieval manuscripts, Chinese jade books, Japanese picture scrolls and exquisitely bound Islamic manuscripts. The Sacred Traditions gallery is divided into sections dedicated to the great religions of the world. The exhibit text and timelines give you an overview of how these religions evolved, and the parallels and contrasts of the history and belief systems.

After all that contemplation of art and religion, it was time for more secular pursuits. We all walked across town to Shelbourne Park to watch the greyhound races. We sat in bleachers down by the track, near where the bookies were shouting out the odds for betting. I tried to take some photos of the dogs but they were so fast that most of the photos are blurred or the dogs flew out of the frame by the time I pressed the shutter. We ate dinner on paper plates (chicken and fries or rice and curry) and drank our beers from plastic cups. We all placed bets for 2 or 5 euros and a couple of us even left with a few extra euros in our pockets (that helped pay for the beer).

On Sunday, I was mesmerized again by the art of ancient bookmakers. Trinity College was founded in 1592 and its impressive library was built in the early 1700s. The Long Room is a bibliophile’s fantasy with its two floors of alcoves filled with old leather-bound books and the high wooden barrel-vaulted ceiling. It even smells wonderful - that smell of aged leather, parchment and wood. The Treasury downstairs holds the Book of Kells, reputed to be one of the most beautifully illuminated manuscripts in the world. The exhibit explains some of the details that go into creating and binding an illuminated manuscript. The presentation really helps you appreciate the skill and devotion that went into producing even just one book.

After a visit to the gift shop and considering whether I want to try traditional book-binding as a hobby, there was just enough time left to meet with the rest of the group for one more round at the temple of Guinness.

How to pour a perfect Guinness (from the official Guinness website)

http://www2.guinness.com/en-row/Pages/thebeer-draught.aspx

Chester Beatty Library

www.cbl.ie

Trinity College Library

www.tcd.ie/Library

Lynelle Barrett lives in the Netherlands but her Dutch husband says that her Irish roots show up in her ability to talk on and on…

Daedalian Adventures

The road ahead is rarely straight…

By Lynelle Barrett

Appropriate Attire Recommended

It’s cool to live in Europe and visit places like Paris, Milan and Prague, but sometimes a voyage to a different sort of land is on the itinerary. So along with over 24,000 other folks who wanted to escape reality, I headed for the Elf Fantasy Fair in Haarzuilens.

Haarzuilens is the site of the Kasteel De Haar, a 14^th century castle (rebuilt in the 19^th century) located in the middle of the Netherlands. The Elf Fantasy Fair is a medieval festival in the make-believe village of Elfia. On the morning of my journey, I picked some fun clothes and accessories from my closet. I wore a new peacock blue wig that I bought on ebay, along with a deep green goddess blouse, satin corset, long black skirt and violet tights. I decided not to wear my wings since it was drizzling and it’s hard to wear wings AND a rain jacket (you know what I mean). When I boarded the train, fellow voyagers were easy to spot by their costumes and make-up. The rest of the people on the train tried not to stare. And we pretended to be blasé. Oh, this old thing? Had it for ages…

When I arrived at the castle, it became increasingly obvious that I was seriously underdressed. Apparently, a quick shopping trip in your closet is not really sufficient to truly dress the part of a citizen of Elfia. The upper crust of Elfian society seems to invest considerable energy into looking the part. Even Elfian dogs were sporting the latest fashion in wings and unicorn horns. Elfia is a place to see and be seen. Not one to be discouraged, I didn’t let my simple garb spoil my fun. My friends and I drank mead (honey wine), ate candy apples, tried on armor, shopped for diadems and goddess jewelry, watched the battle between good and evil (evil won!), chatted with the locals and simply enjoyed people watching. It was like any holiday in a foreign town. I think I’d like to visit again, but next year I’ll dress like the locals.

Elf Fantasy Fair

http://haarzuilens.elffantasyfair.com/?langswitch_lang=en

Lynelle Barrett lives in the Netherlands but likes to travel to other places…whether they are real or not.  

Daedalian Adventures

The road ahead is rarely straight…

By Lynelle Barrett

Yes, but will squatting strengthen my character?

It all started with an itch. It’s that same gypsy-fever-ride-off-into-the-sunset itch I always get when I have been in the same place for a while. So when the language school that I work for merged with another large language school, then absorbed three more smaller schools and became a big monster company, I started to think it might be time to move on and broaden my intercultural experience. Technically I was still a newlywed, however, so it probably wasn’t such a good idea to start commuting across national borders so soon after the wedding. While I was mulling this over, things at school started to calm down. All the newsletters and meetings about ‘big improvements’ have settled back into the normal routine. Now things are happier at work, yet I still hear the road calling my name.

So I decided to take a short break to do something different. Since I don’t have a burning desire to work at a language summer camp in UK, I decided to look for a volunteer post. There are people all over the world that need to learn English. I could choose where I wanted to go and what sort of people I would like to help. Volunteers are needed for all types of work, not just teaching English. However, unlike volunteering for an organization in your own community, it will cost money to volunteer in a foreign country. Your local organizations do not have to pay to house or feed you. They don’t have to deal with visas, picking you up at the airport, transporting you to the project, acclimating you to the culture and local etiquette, getting you medical care if you get sick and dealing with any fallout your foreign ways may generate. If the organization doesn’t charge you anything, you may be taking food or jobs away from the needy people you are there to help.

There are basically three ways you can volunteer overseas:

1)      Voluntourism. This is when you want to combine a bit of volunteer work with your holiday. It is more expensive, you can potentially spend thousands of dollars with these types of organizations. However, they will arrange everything and take care of you like a vacation tour company. You will probably have a comfortable situation as far as housing and food.

2)      Volunteer with a governmental or non-governmental organization (NGO). These organizations are non-profit and a more affordable option. A good organization only charges you for the expenses they incur to have you there; such as processing your application, transportation, paying your host family for your housing and food.

3)      Organize it yourself. You don’t have to go through an organization in order to help people overseas. However, you will still have to arrange housing, food and transportation, without the security blanket of local support.

My husband and I were already planning to take our big holiday this fall in Asia.  Why not do something meaningful instead of just lounging at a beach resort in Malaysia? When I explored what type of opportunities for teaching English were available in Asia, I found the most need in India and Nepal. So I asked my husband if he would be willing to go to Kathmandu instead of Malaysia. I have chosen an organization that I feel good about, Volunteers Initiative Nepal (VIN), a Nepali grassroots organization that works in marginalized communities outside Kathmandu. They have a project in Jitpur to empower women by helping them become self-sufficient, as well as teaching opportunities in community schools and in Buddist monasteries.

I have already made contact with the Executive Director of VIN (who signed his email with “Much love from Kathmandu”) and submitted our applications. I have asked for opinions from my girlfriends on which program to request, whether it is possible for a “foodie” like me to live on the local diet of rice and lentil curry, the odds of surviving six weeks with squat toilets and no hot water, whether I will end up like a patient on the TV show “House”. I have emailed my mom who, like most moms, is worried about my safety. We booked our plane tickets today, Amsterdam-Munich-Doha-Kathmandu. Now I will be shopping for hiking shoes, applying for a visa at the Nepali consulate, reading up on Nepal, practising a bit of the language and getting a barrage of vaccinations (I hope Dutch doctors give lollipops). And I suppose I’d better start doing squat exercises.

“Wow!...

It makes my humble existence as a single mother seem somewhat ordinary…Oh, the places you go. I would probably choose the empowering women and children too as they, more than anyone, can use some empowering.

Good fortune on whatever endeavor you choose and I expect nothing less than spreading your “Lynelleness” among those less fortunate…

Remember this:

1. “Squatting” will improve the strength of your thighs;
2. Living amongst the natives will give you an appreciation for what you have; and, most importantly,
3. What does not kill you will make you stronger.

XOXO,

Kendra”

Search for Volunteer Opportunities:

http://www.idealist.org/en/ivrc/skilled.html

Volunteers Initiative Nepal:

http://www.volunteeringnepal.org/index.php

Learn the Nepali Language:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H0qqHfqu3oA&feature=PlayList&p=76E92FF2187926F0&index=0&playnext=1

Lynelle Barrett lives in the Netherlands and is already thinking about what to pack for Nepal, even though it will be 4 months until she leaves.

Daedalian Adventures

The road ahead is rarely straight…

By Lynelle Barrett

Flat Stanley Goes to Europe

Over the last couple of months, my past has found me on Facebook. My high school clique of friends has gotten back together, but without the early 80’s haircuts and fluorescent plaid preppie clothes (although they are now sending me virtual “Crappy 80’s Gifts” and “Gifts from South Florida’s Past”). I have hooked up with my two best friends from college and a group of friends from my New Orleans years have turned up out of the blue.

A couple of weeks ago, one of these old friends contacted me through Facebook to ask if her 6-year old daughter, Riley, could send me a “Flat Stanley”.  Uhhhmm…sure…why not? By the way, what IS a Flat Stanley? (I hope it’s not like a noogie or a wedgie.) It turns out that Flat Stanley is a character in a book who started out as a regular kid but was flattened by a falling bulletin board. In his flattened state, he could be mailed to friends to have adventures. Riley’s class was doing a project involving the kids mailing Flat Stanleys out to see the world or to visit celebrities. When all the Stanleys return home, the kids will share their travel tales and hopefully learn a bit about the world. My friend said that, of all her friends, I lived the farthest away from Baton Rouge, Louisiana. So my husband and I agreed to receive Stanley as our guest for a week.

Stanley had impeccable timing. He arrived two hours before we left for a weekend trip to Paris. So Stanley came with us to Paris to see the sights and meet REAL French people. He started out making friends on the Thalys Hispeed train while I took pictures of him in his seat. When we arrived in Paris, he took a ride on the metro (and made some more friends). Then he met my friends Nathalie and Marc, who were enthusiastic about Stanley’s visit. We took Stanley on a tour of Versailles, where he got to ride around the gardens in a golf cart. He visited the Eiffel tower. We’ve been there before but we made a special visit just for Stanley. He got to try Marc’s Canard a l’orange (He liked it.) and sampled French wine. He had lunch in a cafe, bought baguettes and took a walk in the Park near Cité Universitaire. Everywhere he went, he made friends. Being flat has obviously not affected Stanley’s joie de vivre.

When we returned to Holland, I took Stanley for a walk around Leiden. He got to see the difference between French and Dutch architecture. He also saw canals and windmills and lots of people riding bicycles. He saw the Stadhuis (City Hall) and the Nieuwe Rijn (part of the Rhine River). He even saw the Molen de Put, the windmill that was owned by Rembrandt’s father. When he was ready to travel home in his envelope, he took some souvenirs including a paper diorama of the gardens at Versailles and a book on the windmills of Holland.

We certainly enjoyed Stanley’s visit and were a bit sorry to see him leave. For just a 2-D guy, he brought another dimension to our trip to Paris. When Riley and her classmates grow up, I hope they are inspired to do some of the fun things that the Stanleys did, even though it is much harder to travel when you are 3-D.

Flat Stanley by Jeff Brown

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flat_Stanley

The Official Flat Stanley Project

http://www.flatstanley.com/

Facebook

www.facebook.com

Lynelle Barrett lives in the Netherlands and wishes that more of her friends were flat so they could mail themselves for a visit. Check out photos of her adventures on her website at: http://lynelleinholland.spaces.live.com

Daedalian Adventures

The road ahead is rarely straight…

By Lynelle Barrett

Bon Soir! Bon Appétit!

Before the Christmas holidays, I got an email from Carola, my best friend in America. She had a business trip planned to Paris in January. This was fabulous news, especially since it had been two years since we were together. Paris is a mere three hours away via high speed train, so I gleefully rushed to the Thalys website and bought myself tickets to Paris. Since I was ordering them well in advance, I got the bargain fare. I would share Carola’s hotel room, so it would be an inexpensive holiday. I also contacted Nathalie, the sister-in-law of another American friend, Lanna, and suggested that we get together for dinner while I was in Paris.

I met Nathalie by email first. Last summer Lanna and her husband, Philippe, were making a trip to visit family in France. Since they were going to be on the road, Lanna hooked me up with Philippe’s sister, Nathalie, to make plans. Nathalie and I exchanged some fun emails talking about shopping, food and poking fun at Dutch fashion. It was really nice when we all got together in Paris in August.

Then Carola’s business trip was cancelled. Unfortunately, I already had non-refundable tickets to Paris. So I had to either waste the train tickets or pay for a hotel. I decided to take a chance and see if Natalie would let me stay with her, even though I didn’t know her very well. She said I was welcome, so off I went to Paris to stay with someone I barely knew and her boyfriend, Marc, who spoke no English.

I worried whether I would feel comfortable, but I really needn’t have. Each day I met Nathalie at her office around noon and we went to lunch with one of her girlfriends. So after three lunches, I met all three of her best friends. I spent the afternoons in museums or shopping on my own. Then I met Nathalie to take the bus back to her apartment near the university, stopping on the way at the bakery for bread and dessert. When we arrived, Marc served us aperitifs and appetizers like tiny quiches, foie gras or smoked salmon on toast (made with a toaster that branded Mickey Mouse’s face on the bread). Then he disappeared in the kitchen, a delicious-smelling place where we were forbidden to go. On the first night he served us salmon with vegetables and shrimp. On the second night he prepared duck breast with foie gras. On the third night, we had veal with a savory Hollandaise sauce. Marc and I may not speak the same language, but we certainly found a way to communicate. Food. Yum.

On Wednesday night, Natalie and I did not have dinner right away after our aperitifs and appetizers. We bundled ourselves up to go out in the bitter cold and headed to a square in the middle of the city. Every week Nathalie does volunteer work feeding the needy and this week I went with her. Les Restaurants du Coeur (Restaurants of the Heart) has mobile units that set up tables with food in squares around Paris to help people who are homeless or, for whatever reason, would be helped by a free warm meal. First, we set up wooden horses and boards for tables. Then huge bins of food were unloaded. Soup, bread, pasta, cereal, yoghurt, coffee and cake were set up on the tables or benches in the square. Nathalie put me in charge of spooning out penne pasta. She said to greet everyone with “Bon soir”, then after I filled their bowl, to say “Bon appétit!”.

After all the food was served, many of the people stayed around to have coffee and chat. Serving food is only part of what the volunteers do. They also provide conversation. It was very social and friendly. I met a few people who spoke some English and had to struggle with my pitiful French talking to others. I met a young man from Romania who was waiting for his residence visa, so it was illegal for him to work (a situation I am well acquainted with) and a charming older gentleman told me that he was prepared to marry me. Since I was a new face and exotic (an American), the regulars were all very interested in chatting with me. I was surprised at what an enjoyable evening I had. Working with Les Restaurants du Coeur was the highlight of my visit to Paris.

After three days with Nathalie and Marc, I couldn’t believe I had been thinking of cancelling my trip to Paris. Now I have really cool new friends. I have managed to persuade them to visit me in Holland. I suggested that they plan it for later in the spring when the tulips are blooming. Marc is a bit shy and has not met my husband yet. He asked if I could come back and bring Bas so they could meet before the trip to Holland. Sure, why not? So in two weeks I’ll be back in Paris, enjoying Marc’s cooking again. I already told Marc that I will allow him in my kitchen when he visits. Maybe this time I’ll finally be allowed in his.

Lynelle Barrett lives in the Netherlands, but thinks it’s cool to have friends in Paris. Check out photos of her adventures on her website at: http://lynelleinholland.spaces.live.com

Daedalian Adventures

The road ahead is rarely straight…

By Lynelle Barrett

Meet me at the Kasbah

I started the new year off right, with a journey to someplace I have wanted to go for a long time. Morocco. I always imagined Morocco to be a land of romance and mystery, a sensual place full of rich color, exotic scents and warm people.

My new husband, Bas, and I arranged to meet a friend and travel companion, Alex, in Marrakesh. Alex has been to Morocco several times, knows her way around, has friends there and speaks French. We arrived two days before Alex, so we got hit with the full brunt of Marrakesh on our own. Both Bas and I are seasoned travelers, but we had to admit that Marrakesh was different from any other place that we have experienced. The “we’re not in Kansas anymore” feeling began right when we stepped out of the airport doors. Groups of people were standing around the parking lot in caftans and babouches: the men in colors of the desert or bold vertical stripes, the women wearing flowing fabric from head to toe, embellished with braided trim. There was a prayer tent in the parking lot, in case the call to prayer came while waiting for flights to arrive.

A driver met us at the airport and drove us to the center of Marrakesh, where we met up with the owner of our riad (a traditional old house that has been converted to a guesthouse). Our host guided us through the medina - ancient labyrinths of narrow, winding alleyways. If you don’t know exactly where you are going in the medina, you may never get there. As we walked I used my trail skills, making note of landmarks at all the turns. There are no street signs so I remembered things like unusual door knockers, colors of painted doors, patterns in metal grillwork, cats sitting on doorsteps.

After we settled in, we headed out to the main square, Jemaa El Fna. La Place is huge and vibrating with energy. Two of the edges lead to the souks (traditional markets), the other edges are lined with restaurants and terrace cafes. All around the square are carts with food like nuts, candied fruit, fresh orange juice, dessert bars and escargot bars. At night, the center of the square is filled with outdoor restaurants. Row after row of tables to dine on couscous, kebab, sausages and various parts of animals you may not want to think about. The open spaces in the square are filled with games of chance, musicians, women painting with henna on people’s hands and feet, vendors selling herbal remedies and incense. The smells, sounds and sheer volume of people are almost overwhelming. And it’s like this every night.

During the day, we prowled the souks. The souks wind around and around. Every corner reveals more markets filled with handmade rugs, leather babouches (slippers), colorful tea glasses, silver tea trays and jewelry, bright silk scarves, caftans, tall pyramids of spices,  glistening mounds of olives, traditional painted furniture, candles, leather purses, pastries and beauty potions from argan oil. The colors and textures all look so beautiful that you wish you could take home one of everything. Fortunately, I arrived with my suitcase only half full and a piggy bank of money received as a wedding gift.

If you enter a souk to do a bit of shopping, the owner will ask if you want to have tea with him. So the pace of shopping in Morocco is different. You look a little, have some mint tea, make a friend, and maybe buy a thing or two. In one souk, we ended up hanging around for about three hours, chatting with the owner. Karim showed me how to make his special mint tea (the secret is a pinch of saffron), massaged my neck and arms with argan oil and dressed me up Moroccan style with scarves while my husband took photos. We had such a nice time together that he invited us to have couscous at his apartment the next day.

When Alex arrived we met up with her friend, Yassir, and took them to lunch with our new friend. Karim showed me how to make couscous (the secret is to rub the couscous with butter by hand three times while it steams) and served it in a huge dish with five spoons. We all sat around the low table and ate from one plate together. It was a wonderful way to enjoy food and each other’s company.

The next morning, we hired a taxi to drive us to Essaouira, three hours away. Our driver, Abdi, was an older gentleman who started off the journey by passing around a bag of dates, to make sure we had breakfast. The car radio was playing a mix of pop songs in Arabic and English. Abdi sang along with Neneh Cherry and Brittany Spears while chair dancing in his seat. We all laughed and joined in. A bit later, we stopped for coffee. The coffee glass was passed around the car for everyone to share. When we got close to Essaouira, Abdi stopped at a lookout point so we could take photos. By the time we made it to Essaouira, we all hugged goodbye like old friends. It was the best taxi ride ever.

Essaouira is by the sea and was a relief after the intensity of Marrakesh. Alex has several friends in Essaouira and we all cooked tagine, drank mint tea, hung out in a friend’s souk making music and drinking Moroccan wine, dined on fresh seafood in the fish market, partied at a restaurant with traditional music for New Year’s Eve, rode camels on the beach. By the time we drove to down to Agadir to fly back home, we felt like we had experienced a bit of the real Morocco…thanks to all our new friends.

Lynelle Barrett lives in the Netherlands, and is once again reminded that people make everything and every place special. Check out photos of her adventures on her website at: http://lynelleinholland.spaces.live.com

The cat’s meow   noun. Any person, thing, plan, etc., that is remarkable, noteworthy, excellent, or the like. One of the most popular fad expressions of the 1920’s; archaic.

the cat’s pajamas

groovy

cool

the bee’s knees

wicked

killer

rockin’

the bomb

awesome

boss

dynamite

fab

neat

solid

far out

totally tubular

all that

sweet

bad-ass

the elephant’s galoshes

cool beans

A-1

bitchin’

slammin’

fierce

capitol

choice

the ant’s eyebrows

fresh

gnarly

gravy noodles

kickass

the gnat’s whistle

fly

primo

stellar

the cat’s whiskers

Wishing you a most excellent new year!

Lynelle

Daedalian Adventures

The road ahead is rarely straight…

By Lynelle Barrett

Happily Ever After Is Just One Click Away

When I set up the profile on my Facebook webpage last spring, one of the pieces of information requested was my relationship status. Since my boyfriend was also on Facebook, he needed to “confirm” the relationship. So at first, my profile said “in a relationship with Bas Linders (awaiting confirmation)”. I also received a message to confirm our relationship for his profile. My options were “confirm relationship” and “cancel relationship”. These things seem so simple on the internet.

In my brick-and-mortar life, however, things have been very hectic. The decision to confirm your relationship in real life involves more than the click of a mouse. First, we had to deal with all the paperwork at the Stadhuis (City Hall). All weddings in the Netherlands are done by City Hall. Even if you intend to get married in a church, you still have to be married by City Hall for the union to be acknowledged by the Dutch government. This means there is a lot of competition for appointments at City Hall and it’s very expensive to have the ceremony on a Friday or Saturday. Since some of our guests would be travelling to the wedding, we decided to get married on a Monday morning and make a long weekend of the festivities. We planned the party for Sunday at our apartment. This meant that I had to shop for TWO wedding outfits, one for Sunday and one for Monday. Oh, the sacrifices we make for love….

A few weeks before the ceremony, the wedding official visited our apartment. Over tea and cookies, she asked us questions about our relationship and told us what would happen in the ceremony. Since there would be people at the ceremony who understood Dutch, but no English and people who understood English, but no Dutch, she would ask Bas to take his vows in Dutch and I would take my vows in English. I would respond with “I do”. Bas was warned to say “Ja” (yes) and not “Ik wil”, which is not “I will” but “I want to”. The official said that wanting to was not good enough, he needed to make a promise.

When the big weekend arrived, so did the relatives. This was my mother’s first visit to Holland and Bas’s family was anxious to meet her. We spent much of Saturday translating from Dutch to English and English to Dutch. Sunday started early with baking bread, preparing appetizers and cutting up fruit for the chocolate fountain we were having in lieu of wedding cake. When we sent the party invitations, we were surprised by how many people accepted. In addition to local friends and colleagues, guests were flying in from the US and all over Europe. The party was an open house starting at 2:00pm. By mid-afternoon, our small apartment was wall-to-wall with people. The tiny balcony was packed with smokers. Someone dumped over one of the trays of catered food, so there was a scramble to get more food on the table. One of my girlfriends was in charge of preparing the chocolate for the fountain. When melting another batch of chocolate in the microwave, some of it mysteriously started to burn and filled the whole apartment with smoke. Everyone squinted through the smoke and the exhaust fan added to the din, but the party had a life of its own by then. As the evening wore down, the crowd was reduced to family and just a few friends. Sleeping bags were unrolled and the living room floor hosted our wedding slumber party.

On Monday morning, we all got dressed for the ceremony. By some miracle, the weather was beautiful and sunny. (It is usually raining in Holland at this time of year.) We all met at the Stadhuis, a beautiful building from the 17^th century. When everyone was seated inside, the ceremony began. Unlike American weddings, in the Netherlands the bride and groom sit in chairs in front of the official. We only had to stand to take the vows. The official often addressed the guests and it seemed more like everyone was a participant. It felt like we were all in this together as a family.

As part of the ceremony, there was a story of an African god and goddess who embraced and created the world. The world they created is symbolized by a bi-color gourd, the green part on the bottom is the earth and the yellow part on the top is the sky. The official held one of these gourds and talked about how we were creating our own world together. She presented it to us and in all the photos after the ceremony, Bas is holding our world in his hand.

The day after the wedding, Bas changed his relationship status on Facebook. I received an email with this subject line, “Bas Linders said that you two are married…”. The message said, “Bas said on Facebook that you two are married. We need you to confirm that you are, in fact, married to Bas. To confirm this relationship request, follow the link below:…”

Lynelle Barrett lives in the Netherlands and has, in fact, confirmed her relationship.

Daedalian Adventures

The road ahead is rarely straight…

By Lynelle Barrett

Three Candlelit Evenings

The last time you heard from me, I was heading to Paris on the hi-speed train for a weekend with my friend, Lanna. She is American, but I met her through a French friend, Alex, whose friend Philippe married an American. It turns out, Lanna is from a town about 20 minutes from where my Mom lives. Small world, huh? Lanna lived in France at first, but last year Philippe’s job took them to Austin, Texas. Now her French husband drives a pick-up truck, listens to Country music and is lovin’ the Texas life. Last month they spent their holiday in France visiting relatives and I took the opportunity to catch up with them while they were on this side of the pond.

Philippe’s sister, Nathalie, planned a special Saturday night for us. We drove southeast, to a town called Melun. In Melun, we had a fabulous dinner of couscous and tangine accompanied by Moroccan wine. Then we all got back in the car for the drive to Vaux-le-Vicomte, the chateau of Nicolas Fouquet, Lord high treasurer of Louis XIV. Vaux-le-Vicomte was a mid 17^th century masterpiece. In fact, it was so resplendent that the young Sun King condemned Fouquet to life in prison and used his chateau as inspiration for Versailles. In the summertime, you can tour the chateau aux chandelles. The entire chateau and gardens are illuminated by 2000 candles. This really gives you a sense of what it must have been like in those days. Period artwork and furniture fill the chateau and there is a champagne bar in the garden. We wandered the grounds until midnight, soaking up the atmosphere, before heading back to Paris.

The next weekend, I had a surprise trip for my 45^th birthday. My fiancé told me to pack a weekend bag for a slightly warmer climate. I didn’t find out the destination until we boarded the plane at the gate. Milan! Mmmm... Italian food, museums…shoes! Alex, who lives in Milan now, picked us up at the airport and whisked us away for lunch at Obika, a mozzarella bar. This is apparently the new thing. You have your choice of different types of mozzarella (yes, there are different types…) and the hams, salamis and salads to go with them. It was a delectable lunch on a terrace in the Italian sunshine. After a tour of the Teatro alla Scala, wandering around the roof of the Duomo di Milano and a bit of shopping; it was time for dinner.

We met up with one of Alex’s friends to go to a North African restaurant called Yacout. The restaurant was elegantly decorated with all the warmth and colors of places like Morocco, Algiers and Tunisia. The lighting was softly glowing from pierced metal lanterns hanging from the intricately painted ceiling. While we waited for our table, a woman in a flowing skirt presented us with a tray of dates and tiny, golden glasses of milk and rosewater. We were seated for dinner next to a small glass stage suspended over an indoor fountain and while we perused the menu, musicians played gentle music on traditional instruments. Dinner was served in large hammered silver tangines. A bit later, the music changed and a beautiful belly dancer appeared on the stage.  All eyes were riveted to her undulating curves and shimmering costume. Then we ended our fantasy evening with mint tea and pastries.

The third part of the candlelight trilogy was a bit less romantic. I spent last weekend with some Dutch friends in Valkenburg aan de Geul, in the southernmost part of the Netherlands. It is famous for its caves and our main activity was a cave tour.

On Saturday afternoon we descended into the bowels of the Earth, via a spiral staircase. Around and around, we finally arrived at the bottom. A guide issued us hardhats and instructed us on safety rules. The instructions were in Dutch, which I mostly understood. But everyone turned and looked at me(!) to make sure I understood that if I got separated from the group, I should stay put and not wander around by myself. Then the guide gave our group two candle lanterns and we proceeded through the underground labyrinth. There were riddles and puzzles that we had to solve in order to find our way through the tunnels. Unfortunately, our group was not very good at it and several times our guide appeared out of the darkness to send us in the right direction. At one point, he showed us a rope along the tunnel wall and then took our lanterns away! We clung to each other in the blackness, shuffling along until we literally saw the light at the end of the tunnel.

The next activity was to BIKE through the tunnels. The guide told us the safety rules for bikes and I learned a new word in Dutch, “bukken” which means “duck”. Then our little peloton was on the move, single file, through the maze of stone. The tunnels were narrow and peppered with sharp turns. The ground was a thick layer of loose dust from years of stone mining. Keeping the rear tire from skidding out was a real challenge. In many places, the ceiling was so low that we were riding with our heads close to the handlebars. Bukken!!! Sometimes the hardhat still scraped the ceiling anyway…a sickening scriiiiiitttttcchhh sound that made you very grateful it wasn’t your bare head. Ha-Ha! Bukken!!! Most of the group thought this was all good fun, but I was really glad when it was over and I still possessed all my skin. The final pleasure was the climb UP the spiral staircase to get back to the outside world. After that, the only candlelight I wanted to see was reflections in my wineglass.

Links:

www.vau-le-vicomte.com

www.obika.it

www.teatroallascala.org

www.duomomilano.it

www.yacout.it

http://www.valkenburg.nl/toerisme/informatie.php?lang=en&menu=0&submenu=0

Lynelle Barrett lives in the Netherlands and is marrying a Dutch man in about 2 weeks. So she guesses that she’ll be staying for a while.

Daedalian Adventures

The road ahead is rarely straight…

By Lynelle Barrett

Life Redux

If life is like time and is supposed to go in a straight line, then my life proceeded as it should for 40 years. After that, something started to go awry. The big hand in the sky that was drawing my lifeline started to scribble. I got divorced from my high school sweetheart, packed up all my stuff, moved to Europe and more or less cut myself off from my past life.

It’s been happening gradually, but more and more, my new life and my old life are starting to come together. The wild twists and turns are beginning to smooth out. Four years later, I’m starting to be able to see the way ahead again.

My Dutch school obligations are behind me. After a false start in a job that made me miserable, I got certified to teach English. Instead of trying to find a job with my limited Dutch, I focused on sharing knowledge of my own language. I turned my weakness into an asset. I teach Business English and I really love my work. The latest twist is that in October, I am getting married. This is one I didn’t see coming. I never really thought about getting married again.

I can honestly blame City Hall. Things were going along just fine with my Dutch boyfriend and me.

When I earned my Certificaat Inburgering, my social worker told me that once I have been in Holland for five years I can apply for a Dutch passport. I would be exempt from taking the dreaded citizenship test. This would not only earn me the rights of a Dutch citizen, but also the rights of an EU citizen. But what about my US citizenship? Would I be willing to give it up? This called for some research. What I found was that the Netherlands does not require the spouse or registered partner of a Dutch citizen to give up their foreign passport. The current US policy is that if the other country doesn’t make you give it up, neither will America.

Dual citizenship. Wow. The Holy Grail.

So Bas and I made an appointment at City Hall to get information on registering our partnership. When we told the advisor that we would probably not always live in the Netherlands, she strongly suggested that we get married instead. Registered partners are only acknowledged in the Netherlands and Belgium. Hmmm. Mr. I-don’t-see-any-reason-to-ever-get-married started to hear wedding bells.

I chewed on this information for a while. Then I got comfortable with the idea. So we went ahead with the next step. We had to get permission to get married. Not from anybody’s patriarch, but from the Dutch government. This could take up to 8 weeks. Based on my previous experiences with Dutch Immigration, I was skeptical. Incredibly, the permission really was granted within 8 weeks and it seems the Dutch government is going to let me marry one of their people.

All this wedding activity is coming just after we returned from a summer holiday to America. Our US holiday was planned around my cousin’s wedding in Seattle. Now Bas has met my entire family, even some distant cousins I didn’t know I had. We also met my Mom’s new boyfriend, who thinks everything she does is fabulous. Romance must be running in the family.

We had several stops on our US tour, including visits with my best friends from college, old friends from when I lived in New Orleans, one of my long distance best girlfriends and…my ex-husband. Yeah, I was a bit nervous about that last one. However, it went very well. When my ex-husband dropped us off at the train station he said, “You found yourself a nice guy.” I’m glad he liked Bas. For years and years, he was my best friend and I value his opinion. In fact, everyone in my life has approved of my choice. All his friends and my friends, his family and my family are happy about the marriage. Other people are less surprised that we are getting married than we are.

Before I left for my visit back to America, I was wondering how I would feel about being back in the US. With my European currency, I brought back all sorts of goodies: an iPod, a new camera, Levi’s, foreign movie DVDs with English subtitles, books, Twizzlers. But the best thing I brought back to my new life was my old friends.

Lynelle Barrett lives in The Netherlands but on Friday after work she is taking a train to Paris to meet some friends for the weekend. For fun ( and to keep it cheap), she has reserved a bed in a hostel. Hopefully, this will not a big mistake for someone well into their 40s.

Daedalian Adventures

The road ahead is rarely straight…

By Lynelle Barrett

Coming to America

It was bound to happen at some point. This month I am going back home. I’m not returning to the exact place where I lived before, but back to America.

My only cousin, Maxwell, is getting married. I have not met the bride yet, but it is a fairy tale, love-at-first-sight romance. Maxwell was a sculptor living in Boston. He took a trip to visit a friend in Seattle and met a girl at a party. He knew she was “the one” that night. So he moved to the West Coast. Now I am off to Seattle for a “camping” wedding somewhere at the foot of Mount Rainier. The whole wedding party (including my mother!) is lodging in cabins in the forest for the festivities.

Since I live in Holland now, I have generous holiday benefits. So I am off for a “proper” holiday of three weeks. The cities on the itinerary are Seattle, San Francisco and New York City. It’s going to be a whirlwind of activity. I have spent the last few weeks lining up visits and places to stay with old friends. Basically, I am Couch Surfing across America. I am almost certain to need a vacation after my holiday.

It’s been more than three years since I left America. This will be my third time back. Last time was about a year ago and each time I return, I feel less connected to American culture. I am curious how I will feel this time. I know that Europeans do not consider me one of them, but will Americans still consider me American? Or have I become some outcast half-breed? Will I be just a tourist in my own country? Maybe so, but at least I know the natives will be friendly.

Lynelle Barrett lives in The Netherlands but is curious which feels more like home now, Holland or America. Check out photos of her adventures on her website at: http://lynelleinholland.spaces.live.com

Daedalian Adventures

The road ahead is rarely straight…

By Lynelle Barrett

“What’s the difference between a rude Brit and a rude Jew?

A rude Brit doesn’t say goodbye when he leaves, a rude Jew says goodbye but doesn’t leave.”

             ~ Menno

Every month when I sit down to write this column, I plan to write about the most interesting thing that happened in the last month. Well, this month I was wondering what to write about, when I realized that the most interesting thing that has happened to me this month is my friend, Menno.

Menno is on holiday at my apartment for a month. He is planning to spend three months in New York pursuing religious studies. In order to manage the finances, he had to sublet his apartment. But the guy renting his apartment wanted it for four months. So, I have a roommate this month. I moved the bookcase and desk out of my teeny-tiny second bedroom to make room for a rollaway bed. He has set up a little cozy cave to house his single suitcase, an alarm clock, a small stack of books and his yarmulke.

Menno is a bachelor of limited means and even more limited cooking skills. He doesn’t have an oven or a microwave in his apartment, just a stove. So he has been enjoying the benefits of a home with a woman’s touch. He keeps kosher, so I have think about the ingredients I cook with for dinner. I would say we are eating healthy, except he keeps bringing home naughty desserts like chocolate mousse.

He observes Shabbat and on the first Friday this month we spent it together. I had the afternoon off, so I baked Challah (a braided bread made with honey and saffron) and set the table with good linen and crystal. All the cooking had to be done by sunset. Then I lit the candles (the woman of the house is supposed to do this) and Menno told me the prayer to say in Hebrew, line by line. Prayers were said before breaking the bread and we took ceremonial sips of wine. Then we had a lovely dinner and a quiet evening at home.

Menno has an administrative job for the Ministry of Transport, Public Works and Water Management. This is just a job to pay the bills. At heart, he is an artist. He likes photography and his hobby is to paint and restore antique toy soldiers. As I write this, Menno is hunched over the dining room table painting miniature Lord of the Rings figurines with a delicate paintbrush. He appears to be achieving a Zen-like state of relaxed concentration.

Menno had a troubled childhood. He lived in a foster home and spent some time living on the street as a teenager. His retarded uncle calls him at all hours to chat. Menno is 38, but still doesn’t know where his life is leading him. He is fascinated with children and craves a family of his own but cannot seem to find the right woman to be his life partner. Yet Menno has a great treasure, something he has been able to rely on for much of his adult life. Menno has an incredible network of loyal friends. Through all his journeys in search of himself, journeys that have taken him as far away as New York and Chile, he has always had the emotional and financial support of his friends. He is indeed one of the richest people I have ever met.

The first week Menno stayed with me, he invited me to a night out dancing with his work colleagues. Once a month, a club will host a party for the workers of government organizations. This month the party was at the Baja Beach Club in Rotterdam. I was warned that the club was very “fout”. Fout means wrong or flawed, but I think in this case he meant something like cheesy or campy. The club did remind me of places I have been to in Florida and Mexico with hot girls in bikinis and guys with six-pack abs and board shorts. But since it was Spring in Holland, i.e.: cold and rainy, only the staff was dressed like this. The rest of us stood around with drinks and plates of buffet dinner watching their antics. Our group was a mix of Dutch and Surinamese folks including a guy in a wheelchair. As the music got going, everyone was starting to sway around a bit but the dance floor was still empty. The one wiggling the most was the guy in the wheelchair, so I asked him if he could dance in that thing. He smiled and said “Ja!”, so we initiated the dance floor. It only took a song or two before the floor started to fill up. Then there was no stopping us until the wee hours. One of the guys in the group was a Rap musician (in his spare time) and had an open, infectious friendliness. As he made his way around the dance floor enticing strangers to dance and sing with him, Menno said, “He could bring world peace.” And at that moment, it seemed possible.

Baja Beach Club video

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nQEbIeqSSAs

Lynelle Barrett lives in The Netherlands, where her circle of offbeat European friends continues to grow.