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.

Daedalian Adventures

The road ahead is rarely straight…

By Lynelle Barrett

Let’s Get Outta Town!

It’s a great time to be teaching Business English. My agenda is full. My school calls frequently to see if I am available to take on another class or workshop. I get emails from other language schools asking about my availability. There are not enough qualified English teachers to meet the demand, so I can afford to be choosy about which contracts I accept. It’s a nice position to be in.

Of course, because I have trouble saying no, I am a bit frazzled these days from working too much. So when a student rescheduled a Friday class in April and left a three day weekend open, I decided I should plan a mini-break.

One of the best things about living in Europe is how many cool places are in your own backyard. You can join me, via fantasy, for the length of this column. So…where should we go?

For this adventure, we have 3 days. We wouldn’t want to travel more than about 4 hours each way. We want to keep the travel expenses under €150 so the total with two nights hotel will be less than €300. Below are some of the options I have found. Prices can vary, of course, depending on details like date, airline, type of cabin, etc. What looks interesting to you?

By train from Amsterdam:

Nationale Spoorwegen (Dutch national railways), www.ns.nl

Thalys (hi-speed trains), www.thalys.com

• Paris, France- 4 hours and 10 minutes, €70 roundtrip fare.
• Düsseldorf, Germany- 2 hours and 15 minutes, €38 roundtrip fare.
• Frankfurt, Germany- 4 hours, €89 roundtrip fare.
• Brussels, Belgium- 2 hours and 30 minutes, €38 roundtrip fare.
• Antwerp, Belgium- 2 hours, €28 roundtrip fare.
• Ghent, Belgium- 3 hours, €74 roundtrip fare.
• Bruges, Belgium-3 hours and 30 minutes, €85 roundtrip fare.
• Maastricht, The Netherlands- 2 hours and 30 minutes, €40 roundtrip fare.

By boat:

DFDS Seaways, www.dfds.nl

Mini-cruise from IJmuiden, The Netherlands to Newcastle, England- Three day trip starting at €85 per person.

P & O Ferries, www.POFerries.nl

Mini-cruise from Rotterdam, The Netherlands to Hull, England- Three day trip €184 for two, inside cabin.

By Plane from Schiphol Airport:

• London, England- 1 hour and 20 minutes, €90.
• Edinburgh, Scotland- 1 hour and 30 minutes, €155.
• Vienna, Austria- 2 hours, €104.
• Prague, Czech Republic- 1 hour and 40 minutes, €108.
• Berlin, Germany- 1 hour and 20 minutes, €130.
• Copenhagen, Denmark- 1 hour and 20 minutes, €120.
• Milan, Italy- 1 hour and 50 minutes, €75.

So many choices! How can we decide? Let’s see what’s going on this month in some of these destinations.

§         Paris- Marie Antoinette, an exhibition on her life at the Grand Palais

§         Düsseldorf- Long Night of the Museums

§         Brussels- International Fantastic Film Festival, www.bifff.org

§         Antwerp- Diamond Divas, the world’s most dazzling diamond exhibition, www.diamonddivas.be

§         Newcastle- “From Plate to Poo: the Journey of Food”, Life Theatre, www.life.org.uk

§         Hull- “Paws for Thought: Animals Through Victorian Eyes”, Ferens Art Gallery

§         London- Royal Observatory’s Spring Sky Watch, National Maritime Museum

§         Edinburgh- Mary King’s Ghost Fest, a 10-day paranormal festival, www.marykingsghostfest.com

§         Vienna- “Afrika! Afrika!”, Zeltpaläste Wien

§         Prague- 14^th International Book Fair, Industrial Palace Prague, www.bookworld.cz

§         Berlin- Berlin Biennial for Contemporary Art, on exhibit at four venues

§         Copenhagen- Tivoli Gardens, Summer season opens mid-April

They all sound good to me, I think I’ll let you decide where to go on our fantasy journey! Then we can pack our walking shoes and cameras. You should bring your passport, but you won’t have to go through immigration or customs if you travel within the EU. I’ll bring some travel snacks in my backpack. We’ll meet at the train station on Friday. Don’t be late!

Lynelle Barrett lives in The Netherlands, but it’s just as nice to get out of town. Check out photos of her adventures on her website at: http://lynelleinholland.spaces.live.com

A Sinterklaas story for my friend Bram...

Bram’s Destiny

Bram always knew he was different. He wasn’t like the other kids at school. They were mindless lemmings, following whatever trend the media was pushing to teenagers. But he knew he was meant for something better, that he had a higher purpose. The agonizing part was not knowing what this purpose was or when his real life would begin. He was now done with school, yet he still waited…waited for some direction…waited for his true destiny.

Late one night, he received a mysterious message on his computer. Someone who seemed to know a lot about him wrote that it was time to fulfill his destiny. He thought it was just a prank, just another loser on the internet. But then he realized that he was not online. In fact, his computer was not even logged on. He decided he must be imagining it and went to bed.

But his sleep was troubled by a strange dream. A beautiful and powerful goddess spoke to him. She explained that he had been born a twin soul and the other half of his soul was a dragon. Twin souls have been born throughout time, but their identity is always kept secret. These complete beings are the guardians of the world. They fight to preserve the order of things and devote their lives to the balance good and evil. The goddess told Bram that the time had come for him to be reunited with his twin soul so they could bond forever.

He awoke the next morning disturbed and distracted. His dream had seemed so real. But it couldn’t be real...could it?

The next night he was visited by an ancient man with a long white beard. The man said he was Bram’s mentor and that it was time to learn the ways of the dragon. He said, “Take my hand and you shall have complete awareness and knowledge of everything.” He took the old man’s hand. A burst of shimmering light appeared in the middle of his bedroom. The old man disappeared into it and Bram followed, afraid yet somehow knowing he was safe. It all felt right, like this was what he had been waiting for his whole life.

Then everything looked different. He could see the world as he knew it, see his bedroom, but it was like looking through the other side of a mirror. Everything seemed magnified, yet at the same time, far away. “It takes time to get used to it,” said the old man. “You are seeing through the eyes of a dragon. This perspective will give you the insight and objectivity to see the right path.”

“Now it is time to join with your twin soul,” declared his new mentor. Then Bram felt a warm sensation throughout his body. He felt something comforting and familiar, from some long ago time. He felt strong. His muscles surged with power. He felt heavy, yet light at the same time. He rolled his shoulders, enjoying the feel of his new strength, and he realized he had wings. He was still himself, only very, very different.

“I thought I would be able to see my dragon soul,“ Bram said tentatively to the old man. “No,” declared the old man, “he is a part of you. You are not separate beings anymore. You will never be the same as you were before.” Bram realized the old man was right. He didn’t know how he knew, he just did.

Suddenly, Bram was back in his bedroom and it was morning. He was home, and everything looked the way it always had before. But he knew that this was the last time he would see his world this way. He logged on to his computer. He sent a few farewell emails to friends and closed his internet poker account. He took a shower and washed his hair. He got dressed and put on his favorite dragon pendant. Now he knew why he was always fascinated by dragons. So many things made sense to him.

He let his mother brush his long hair into a ponytail one last time. Then he hugged her tight. He looked in her eyes and said, “Thanks for everything, Mom.” She wondered what had come over him, he was acting so strange.

He knew this was the last time he would see her and it squeezed at his heart. He went in his bedroom and used his new awareness to find the portal. A brilliant light filled the room. And he stepped into it.

Daedalian Adventures

The road ahead is rarely straight…

Deep Thoughts

A couple of weeks ago I was giving an English lesson to one of my favorite students, a friendly, charismatic man from Turkey. He said there was something he wanted to ask me about. Then, he wrote down “deep throat” on a piece of paper. “What is this?”, he asked innocently. A bit taken aback, I asked where he had seen this. It ended up that I was behind on the local news.

There has been quite a fuss going on in The Netherlands for the last few weeks about the decision to broadcast the 1972 pornography classic Deep Throat on public television.

Public reaction to this has been mixed. The Dutch are used to very little censorship on television. Even though the film will be aired after midnight and be part of a themed night on the history of pornographic films, some Christian political parties asked for steps to be taken.

Trying to stop a show before it has been aired is seen as preventive censorship and that is counter to Dutch culture. Most politicians do not want to get involved with censoring the media. One liberal politician has pointed out that the television does have an on/off switch.

I have a lot of fun with my students and news stories like this just make class more interesting. However, some of the things that students have wanted to talk about in class are much heavier than this. I am starting to think I need to be trained in more than just teaching. I think I may need to do some research on psychology.

In a class last week, one of the students talked about her husband’s fight with testicular cancer. When these deeply personal issues are brought up in class, I am never quite sure what the student expects from me or the rest of the students. Is it a request for support or just getting it out in the open? Most of my classes include people from different countries, so I am sure there are also cultural differences on how these things are handled. So far, this is one of the most difficult aspects of teaching. If a student doesn’t know when to use the present continuous tense, I know just what to say. But what do you say to a student who tells you she is not feeling well today because her best friend wants to commit suicide?

In the six months I have been teaching Business English, I have had students tell me about upcoming surgeries, the inability to have children, divorce, losing a spouse after a 10-year battle with breast cancer, the death of a beloved pet, problems fitting in to Dutch culture, difficulties adopting a child from China, impending job layoffs and the demands of raising a special needs child. I am glad that my students feel they can share such important parts of their lives. I just hope it is helpful for them.

It’s not all bad news, though. Students have also discussed wedding plans, new houses, pregnancy and the wonder of holding their newborn child for the first time. I have heard descriptions of beautiful places around the world: Mersin, Turkey where the air smells like lemons, Venezuela where the people are warm and friendly, Cape Verde where there is always plenty of food on the table in case someone drops by at dinnertime. Each student is with me for about 3 or 4 months, so I get to share a small slice of their lives. I’m just fortunate to have such interesting people pass through my life.

In the end, Deep Throat did air on public television. With all the publicity surrounding the broadcast, I imagine lots of viewers tuned in just to see what all the commotion was about. I watched for a while, but the 70’s hair, clothes and music was more corny than sexy. I finally did utilize my television’s off switch, not because the film was offensive, but because the dialogue and music were so horrible!

Lynelle Barrett lives in The Netherlands, where you can pretty much do what you want, as long as you don’t bother anyone else. 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

Communication device or weapon of mass seduction?

e-Casanovas

Mobile phones are great. Text messages are really convenient and fit our modern lifestyle. The internet is fantastic. Websites allow us to express ourselves, keep in touch with friends and share photos. But every new technology evolves to reflect the society in which it is used. Over the last few months, I have had some experiences fighting off unwanted romance. So, you say, what’s new? Well, the new hitch is that this is all hitting me (or, I should say, hitting on me) electronically. The worst part is that I am really bad at this. I have managed, through my own fumbling and naiveté, to be mean to a nice guy and encourage a potentially creepy one.

It started with Aban (names have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent). Aban was a nice Pakistani guy, an engineering graduate student working at a fried chicken place down the street. While he fried up my order, he told me all about his values on marriage and family. It felt like he was auditioning to be my husband. I smiled and nodded, then thanked him for the extra chicken strips he put in my take-out dinner.

I bumped in to the “Chicken Man” now and then, when I decided to have chicken for dinner. One day, he told me that he was teaching at the university. Now we were both teachers. He suggested that we exchange phone numbers and keep in touch. I didn’t have any contacts at the university, so it sounded like a good idea. Well, it wasn’t such a good idea. About a week later, I received this text message:

“Arrow cuts wings and speard her blood After this Rose turns red and fall in love

But sparrow was deid LOVE STARTS AT end. Aban”

Oh my. I typed out a message to a friend that the Chicken Man had sent me a love poem. As soon as I hit Send, I realized I had sent it as a Reply instead! Aaargh! I felt like a heel! Then I received this message from him:

“Yes. One day my eyes were weeping Heart ask 2my eyes why r u crying?

Eyes replied we r missing some one but cant find anywhere Heart said don’t cry he is inside me.”

Poor guy. At least I got a second chance to turn him down gently.

The next contestant contacted me through my website. I get invitations to be “friends” from people all over the world who have MSN Spaces. One of my MSN “friends” was planning to be in Holland. He said he really enjoyed my writing and suggested we meet for a drink. I was skeptical about meeting up with someone from the internet, but I decided to take a chance that it was just for pleasant conversation and not a date. He called when he arrived in Leiden. When I made it clear that it would be a platonic evening, I never heard from him again. I guess I should have known better.

The latest Lothario was a bit more mysterious. One night while watching TV at home, I received this text message on my mobile:

“Hey ik ben Ricardo wat ga je vanavond doen?”

(Hey I am Ricardo what are doing tonight?)

A few minutes later, I received this one:

“Weet je wie ik ben? Die met pet en bomber waar je vaak naar kijk”

(Do you know who I am? The one with the cap and bomber jacket who you often look at.)

Then:

“Je mag wel terug sms of heb je geen btg?”

(Are you going to sms me back or are you out of credit?)

At this point I sent him a message that he must have the wrong number. I thought that would take care of it. But I was wrong. I received this message:

“Wat is je naam dan?”

(What is your name then?)

Then he switched to English:

“I need you to my life only you can gif me love!?”

I hope not, because he’ll have to wait a very long time for love from me. For the next week or so I couldn’t help keeping an eye out for a man in a cap and bomber jacket, even though it was unlikely that he knew me. I suppose the lesson I have learned is not to reply to messages from men I don’t really know. However, technology keeps evolving and changing. I’m sure there will be new and improved ways for strangers to worm their way into our lives. I am curious what’s coming next.

Barrett lives in The Netherlands, where insurance for sex industry businesses are called Relax Policies. Check out photos of her adventures on her website at: http://lynelleinholland.spaces.live.com

If It’s Tuesday, This Must Be Amsterdam

In a pleasant turn of events, something in my life has gone according to plan. I spent the summer getting certified to teach English as a second language, with the intention of teaching Business English. After a brief recovery period from the intensive certification course, I started my job hunt. I found a site on the internet that listed all the language schools in The Netherlands. After visiting school websites, I chose ten schools that seemed like a good fit. I emailed ten letters with my CV. One hour later, I had my first invitation to an interview. The next week I had an offer. The internet is a beautiful thing. This was the shortest job search I have ever conducted. I guess it just confirmed that I made the right decision.

Now I work for a talencentrum (language center) with schools in Amsterdam, The Hague and Rotterdam. I have a general contract with the school and get additional contracts for every course that I agree to teach. Just about every week, I get a call from one of the coordinators asking about my availability to teach a course. The classes are usually 2-3 hours long, once a week, for 12-15 weeks. Sometimes I teach in classrooms at the school, but most of my classes are taught “in company”. This means that I teach in a conference room at the client’s location.

Teaching in company is the best of both worlds. I have access to corporate amenities like well-equipped conference rooms, canteens where a generous hot lunch can be had for 2 or 3 euros, coffee machines with cappuccino, frappacino, macchiato and more. I still have an excuse to wear my nice clothes and shoes with heels. I, however, am not stuck in a cubicle. I can come and go. In most cases, I leave my electronic key card with the receptionist on the way out.

Every day of the week, I am in a different place. I have to look in my appointment book just to figure out which train to take every morning. On Mondays I work in Rotterdam. I teach a class at a law firm, then I have an individual lesson with an Electrical Engineer from Turkey. On Tuesdays, I teach two classes at an international bank office in Amsterdam. On Wednesdays, I work in the Hague teaching an early morning class at a different international bank. Then I teach a group of HR professionals from a major oil company. On Thursdays, I am back in Rotterdam teaching a different group from a law firm. Then I have Dutch language school in the evening. On Fridays, I teach a mixed group (from different companies) at the school in Rotterdam.

Most of my students are Dutch, but I also teach students from Surinam, Aruba, Curacao, Venezuela, and Morocco. By next month, or the month after that, all of this will change. Then I will have new groups of students, from other companies and other countries. Since part of my job is to encourage my students to speak English, I learn new things from them every day. It’s a fantastic job…getting paid to have conversations with interesting and intelligent people.

Most of the English textbooks I work with use British English (yes, there is a difference). I frequently have to explain that I speak and write American English and use American slang and expressions. Most Dutch people have more exposure to the UK than the US. Often this leads to fun discussions about British versus American culture. Everyone is curious about Americans. The students want to know things like whether we all really watch Oprah and Dr. Phil and eat at Applebee’s. I was recently treated to a student interpretation of Americans talking on the telephone. It was too funny to even think about being offended!

I am also conducting intake interviews for a new group of classes. The interviews are scheduled one after the other. I have 15 minutes with each new student to evaluate their level of English and their work schedules so I can divide them into classes. I think some of the students are used to a Dutch person conducting these interviews. During an interview last week, a student asked me if I was pretending to be English. Of course I said, “I’m American. I never pretend to be English!”

Lynelle Barrett lives in The Netherlands, where most of the people speak English but there is always room for improvement. 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

Mijn Verjaardag

My Birthday

My friend Jan had a heart attack while driving. He drove off the road and into a tree. He was not a young man, but it was still shocking news. Out of respect to Jan and his family, I spent my 44^th birthday at his funeral. This is not what most people would consider an ideal way to celebrate a birthday, but you can’t always plan these things.

I found the funeral service a bit strange. Jan’s two sons told stories of growing up with their father (which I could mostly understand in Dutch). Then an entire piece of classical music was played while we all just sat there. No one spoke. You could hear the family members cry and sniffle. Because it is hard to listen to people cry, soon more people were sniffling and wiping their eyes. It was excruciating. I didn’t pray for Jan’s soul, but for the music to stop.  I always thought funerals were to comfort the living, but this ceremony seemed to be going for maximum dramatic effect. When his widow (a very strong woman) finally broke down, I couldn’t even stand to look.

Then a group of us took the flowers from the ceremony to the place were Jan drove off the road. You couldn’t park along the highway, so we trekked along the highway to the tree that witnessed his demise. We placed the flowers at the base of the tree and the family took photographs. Photographs. Why would anyone want to preserve this memory? My best guess is that the tree is something that still lives though Jan does not.

The next day I flew to Madrid to really celebrate my birthday. The universe was already balancing the karma for having spent my birthday at a funeral. I got bumped up to business class. Instead of a cold cheese sandwich from a plastic wrapper, I dined on Lamb in tajine sauce with couscous, sweet pepper and mozzarella brochette, olive salad, blueberry cheesecake and a nice Tempranillo wine. I was feeling more festive by the minute!

Food ended up forming the core of my trip to Spain. Madrid is all about food, drink and socializing. The daily schedule is designed to maximize time spend with friends and family and to enjoy life. The Spanish do work, but it just doesn’t seem to be top priority. Surprisingly, it doesn’t seem to affect customer service. Since they value quality of life, it extends to you too. Somehow it all works…as long as you understand that you cannot get anything done between 2:00 and 5:00 in the afternoon. You simply must accept the mentality and take that 3 hour lunch (or a 2 hour lunch and a nap). This is not difficult, since you probably have had the Menú del Día (Daily Menu). This is the way Madrileños can afford to go out to lunch every day. Most restaurants offer them and they include a starter like a huge plate of salad with some sort of fish or meat or a full size plate of paella (which I would consider a meal by itself!). Next you have a main course. Something like a whole fish, a steak or lamp chops accompanied by potatoes and vegetables. Then you have dessert. It could be flan, ice cream or spears of pineapple. The menu also includes bread and something to drink. All this can usually be had for 10-15 euros (approximately $14 to $21).

At 5pm the city comes back to life, as all the folks exodus from the restaurants and terraces on the squares. The stores open again and the Spaniards are ready to work for a few hours. But soon it will be time to socialize again. Since dinnertime won’t be until after 9pm, you can go to a tapas bar to have a glass of wine or beer and a little bite to eat. There are trendy looking tapas bars, but the places crowded with locals have stark fluorescent lighting, smoked animal parts on the counter and a floor covered with cigarette butts, toothpicks and napkins. The best thing to do is enjoy all the flavors and don’t ask too many questions.

Around 9 or 10 o’clock, it’s time to start thinking about dinner. The squares get crowded again with people and will stay that way until the wee hours of the night. And the kids are there too. They are part of the social life and one square I saw had a whole pack of kids playing and being entertained by a magician.

I was traveling with my Lonely Planet guidebook and I read about a couple of bars where the Flamenco artists hang out and jam. At about midnight, I decided to check them out. The first one wasn’t even open yet. To get to the next place, I walked nervously down a dark alley. I found myself in a narrow place lit with surreal greenish lighting. Only a handful of interesting looking characters were there. The bartender was friendly and wanted to practice his English. He told stories of the great Flamenco artists that have played there. Of course I was at the bar too early. The artists don’t show up until AFTER 4 in the morning. It sounded exciting, but I just couldn’t wait up for it. At about one o’clock I took the metro back to my hotel. I hate to admit it, but I guess I am just too old to stay out that late!

Lynelle Barrett lives in The Netherlands, but really thinks she could get used to the Spanish lifestyle. Although, she would need more naps to be able to stay out late. Check out photos and notes of her adventures on her website at: http://lynelleinholland.spaces.live.com

Daedalian Adventures

The road ahead is rarely straight…

By Lynelle Barrett

Hundreds of Bugs and Ten Thousand Screws,

but Only One Truth

This summer I took the plunge and left Holland to study for a month in Brno, Czech Republic. I arrived on a Sunday afternoon in July. I didn’t come up for air until four weeks later.

The Cambridge CELTA course (Certificate in English Language Teaching to Adults) was four weeks of intensive study.  And they weren't kidding about it being intensive. There were workshops in the morning and in the afternoon. The workshops included topics like classroom management, writing lesson plans, teaching vocabulary, phonology and functional language. There were also grammar classes for modals, conditionals and narrative tenses, just to name a few. Some activities gave us perspective on how difficult it can be to learn a new language. We had a vocabulary lesson in Lithuanian.

We practiced writing in a language that did not use the Latin alphabet (Elvish Script, Quenya Mode, from The Lord of the Rings).

Then we taught English to Czech students every evening for 2 1/4 hours. Our trainers observed us and made notes on everything we said and did. At night and on weekends, we worked on our lesson plans and wrote four research papers. There was no time for anything else. I lived on fast food during the day and dinner was usually something that could be eaten right out of the package. For one month, there was no life beyond CELTA.

There were 11 of us in my training group: five from England, four from Czech Republic, one from Israel and one American (that would be me). We became a sort of family. We supported each other through lesson critiques, teaching grammar to students who might understand better than we did, and sleepless nights of research. When one of my fellow trainees celebrated his birthday with drinks in a pub, we sang “Happy Birthday” to him in all the languages we knew… English, Czech, Dutch, Lithuanian, Hungarian and Chinese. We shared our triumphs and failures.

Halfway through the course, with a research paper due the next day, the screen on my laptop computer went black. I discovered that I could see the words if put my desk lamp very close to the screen. It was a hot summer night and the windows to my dorm room were open. The light attracted hundreds of bugs into the room. They covered the ceiling and upper corners of the room. They buzzed around my head and bright green bugs nested in my hair. After an hour or so of this, I couldn’t take it anymore. I turned out the light and went to bed. But I could still hear the buzzing overhead and little thumps as big black beetles dropped on the bed (followed by the tickle of their little legs). Freaked out and desperate for sleep, I took my pillow and slept on the bathroom floor.

But even with all the work, sleepless nights and bugs, it was a very rewarding experience. Our students were great. The hardest part was learning all their Czech names. The best part was how involved the class got in group discussions. One lesson had a story about a man who broke into a car using a screwdriver. The class discussed which would be better, to send him to jail or sentence him to community service. By far, the best punishment was to sentence him to tighten 10,000 screws! In a class discussion about lies, a student asked whether truth was singular or plural. The youngest student in the class confidently stated, “There is only one truth.” Then she whispered under her breath, “Or, at least, there should be.” I wonder if she would say the same thing 20 years from now.

I learned one final lesson on the last day of the course. The grade for the certificate was supposed to be cumulative, so I was surprised to hear on the second to last day that we were having a final exam. I got up early and reviewed my binder full of notes and handouts. I needn’t have worried though. The final exam had questions like this:

“What food can you order in Lithuanian (without pointing at it)?”

“What are subordinate clauses?” (Answer: Santa’s Helpers.)

“Betty bought 2 pairs of shoes during the course, what colors were they?”

The most important lesson is to never lose your sense of humor. And that’s the truth.

Lynelle Barrett lives in The Netherlands, where she was just offered a position teaching Business English. Check out photos and notes of her adventures on her website at: http://lynelleinholland.spaces.live.com 

Daedalian Adventures

The road ahead is rarely straight…

By Lynelle Barrett  

Making the Workspace

In a few days I leave for Czech Republic to study for 5 weeks. The plan to get certified to teach English has been in the making for a few months and dreamed about for a year, but of course, I am now frantically getting prepared. I’ve been reading ahead from the recommended book list, but I still have to finish the “Pre-Course Task”. I’ve been making a list of what to pack for a 5 week stay. My concern is that Czech Airlines will allow me one piece of checked baggage not to exceed 23kg (50 lb) and my books alone weight 7kg! Obviously, I have to take cosmetics and hair curlers, so I’ll be wearing the same (probably wrinkled) clothes over and over. And I guess I’ll have to cut back on how many pairs of shoes I pack. Ohhh, the sacrifices one makes for the pursuit of knowledge….

This will be my fourth trip to Czech Republic. Earlier in my life, I never would have guessed that I would spend so much time in Eastern Europe. This month, I was invited for a little holiday before going off to hit the books. The main event of the trip was a rock concert and Poland was one of the cheapest places on the tour. Cool…another place I’ve never been….let’s go.

We flew to Krakow, then drove an hour to Katowice for the concert. While waiting for the pre-show to start, we made friends with some of the people around us. First we met a journalist who wore about international politics for a Polish newspaper. As we walked around the fairgrounds, he pointed out the trucks mounted with giant water canons. He said he remembered them being used for crowd control at demonstrations during Communism. I was only in Poland for a few hours and was already reminded of life under Communism. I have noticed this in Czech Republic too. There is a very clear line in people’s minds between life during and life after Communism. It’s almost the same way a cancer survivor might talk about their life before and after. I saw many examples of before and after during my stay in Poland. Grey crumbling buildings sat next to restored, colorfully painted ones. A blue shiny tram passed by, followed by a dull grey one.

I drank a bottle of water when we were walking and then looked around for a trash can. Plastic bottles and trash from the crowd littered the ground. Our Polish friend said, “Drop it, you are making the workspace.”  It was such a different point of view. It seems that it is more important for there to be enough work to keep people employed than to be efficient. For example, they still have guys to pump your gas at gas stations!

Back in the arena, we started chatting with another neighbor. Our new friend was a surgeon. He was telling us that doctors in Poland have been on strike for higher pay. Doctors are paid by the government and currently a Polish doctor only makes a third of the salary that a construction worker can earn.

When I told him that I was American, he said “America is worshipped here like a god.” I couldn’t resist telling him that people who believe in false gods are often disappointed. But it did make me realize that this was the first time since I have moved to Europe that a European spoke to me so positively about America. Even though Europeans seem to enjoy American movies, TV and products, they are usually disparaging about US politics, American tourists and McDonald’s. It was a rare pleasure not to have to defend my country.

To Europeans, I will always be American. This used to distress me. But why fight it? It’s time to take advantage of what I now consider natural commodities: my culture, my language, my American work ethic. Instead of letting these things isolate me, I plan to use them to empower me. People all over the world want these things I take for granted. It’s time for this capitalist to capitalize on them!

Lynelle Barrett lives in The Netherlands, but for the next 5 weeks will be in Brno, Czech Republic studying for her CELTA (Certificate in English Language Teaching to Adults). Check out photos and notes of her adventures on her website at: http://spaces.msn.com/lynelleinholland

Daedalian Adventures

The road ahead is rarely straight…

By Lynelle Barrett

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum

Rome is exactly as beautiful as you think it should be. I was very excited to finally see it. To be perfectly honest, visiting anywhere in Italy has always been high on my list of things to do.  I was planning to write about Rome even before I left home. Yet, I have been struggling with what to write about this timeless and magnificent city that hasn’t been written many times over.

St. Peter’s Basilica is as commanding as you would expect it to be. The interior is awe-inspiring. Even though I studied Bernini’s Baldacchino in art history class, I never really imaged how high it soared. Every surface, ceiling and piece of furniture in the Vatican Museum is alive with paint or sculpture. Every nook and cranny of the museum has something to discover. The ceiling of the Sistine Chapel is so beautiful it almost makes you cry to see it…to really see Michelangelo’s hand of God in person. I threw a coin in the Fontana del Trevi, to ensure a return visit. (I didn’t romp in the fountain, La Dolce Vita style, though I did hear that recently an American woman was arrested for romping in it naked.) The Spanish Steps make you feel like you have stepped into every movie you have every seen about Rome. Standing in the Colosseum makes you think about what it must have been like to be on the field of this enormous arena, about to fight for your life against exotic wild beasts, all for the pleasure of jaded and blood-thirsty Romans. Around every corner, down every street is something amazing or ancient or beautiful.

And, yet, I found myself taking it all in stride. What has happened to me? Has living in Europe, surrounded by history and beauty, made me as jaded as those ancient Romans? I was surprised I didn’t make a fool of myself, stumbling about, mouth agog at all the splendors.

But when I think about it, the best thing about Rome was the thing that is best everywhere. The people. Even with all its wonders, the best thing about Rome was ITALIANS.

I went to Rome to visit a good friend. Ilaria is from the south of Italy, but now she works in the big city as a Veterinary Officer for the Ministry of Health. I met her when I first moved to Amsterdam; she was working at the Artis zoo with big cats. Now at 28, she has a fancy job that includes representing Italy at international delegations. She was amazed to see that some of the delegates dress to impress in Gucci shoes and Hermes scarves when they are supposed to be working to solve the problem of world hunger. I saw her march off to a delegation in cargo pants, t-shirt, simple black sweater and walking shoes. An email from her after my return home said, “The meeting is over, but we didn’t solve world hunger so far…”  Maybe not, but I feel better knowing she is working on it.

On my first night in Rome, I joined Ilaria and some of her vet friends for an evening out. In Italy, dinnertime is quite late, around 9pm, since everyone has a big lunch and then a rest during the afternoon. We wandered the streets of the city center on a lovely Saturday evening, accompanied by an Australian Shepherd puppy (the pet and research assistant of one of the vets). It took f-o-r-e-v-e-r to reach the restaurant for dinner. Everyone on the street stopped to talk to us, to pet the puppy, to applaud her tricks, to offer advice on rearing and training. Even a policeman stopped to share his insights. I never saw anything like it! It was as convivial as chatting with your neighbors and friends, and yet, it was a city full of strangers.

After what seemed like hours we arrived at the restaurant.  It seems that Italian waiters care very much what you eat. What wine you will drink, what courses you order together, how much you order and, most importantly whether you will have enough to eat, are of utmost concern. Even your mother didn’t care this much about what you ate.

But as wonderful as it is, restaurant fare will never compare to Italian home cooking. Lunch after my arrival was a creamy risotto with fresh asparagus. The night we stayed in for dinner, the meal was so vast that all the dishes couldn’t fit on the table. And Ilaria still asked if we had enough to eat. Maybe she hasn’t cured world hunger yet, but she is certainly working on it one person at a time!

Lynelle Barrett happens to reside in The Netherlands, but realizes that the best thing about everyplace in the world is the people who live there. Check out photos and notes of her adventures on her website at: http://spaces.msn.com/lynelleinholland