French Voyages (in English)

(This is a rough translation from an old blog post that was written in French)

This is a summary of my experiences (journeys) in France. My country, the Netherlands is not very far away from the French Republic and I had the chance to visit the country in 1984. Of course that’s now 39 years ago (my age was 7 then) and memories have faded.

According to my Dad’s old super 8 films, the vacation took place in Normandy, department  14 at a camping site in ??? I didn’t remember of course, but my Mum told me it was in Bayeux. We(the family, i.e. my Dad, Mum, 2 brothers and me) went to the beach one day but it was a rainy summer. I vaguely remember there were WW 2 museums in this area of France, since here D-Day took place on 6 June 1944.

Our holiday destinations from ’85 to ’88 were: Zeeland (southwest Netherlands), Bregenz & Kitzbühel (Austria), Maschwanden & Verbania (Switzerland & Italy respectively) and Sempach (Switzerland).

In ’89, 5 years after the first voyage to France, we democratically decided to visit France once again since I would have the subject in my 1st year of secondary school. My Dad decided to stay away from the French toll highways, driving over routes nationales far away from the famous Autoroute du Soleil (Highway to the Sun). He made a phone call to a friend who told him: We’re in the village of Montferrat in the Isere department. Be careful not to drive to Clermont Ferrand that’s a whole different city. Take care and have a safe journey.

When we stopped in Chalon-sur-Sâone  (dep. 71) it suddenly hit me. Dad was taking the scenic route for a reason because we spent the whole afternoon here.  We visited a stage of the Tour the France at 3 KM from the finish.

Montferrat, situated on the D1075 (a route departementale) near the Paladru lake and not far away from Voiron. We had a space on a simple camping site but there was a swimming pool to wash away the French “chaleur”. I learned to count in French and had a growing crush on the French culture.

In 1990 we went back to France. I acquired an acceptable level of written French at school. We chose to head south west and visit a camping site in Sarlat La Caneda, department 24 (Dordogne)

At age 13 you are not allowed to have alcoholic beverages so my brothers and me we spent a lot of time in the arcade corner of the camping. There was a 1981 pinball machine (Jungle Lord) which would give free credits if you’d manage to hit the table in the right spot. This way we didn’t have to feed the cabinet the francs we didn’t have.

After a week we went to a different camping site where the arcade room consisted of the 1988 Taito Cabal cabinet and a jukebox. Also we visited the caves of Lascaux and rented a canoe to peddle on the river Dordogne.

4 years passed. Destinations in ’91, ’92 & ’93: Denmark,Sweden & Norway;Cisano (Garda lake in Italy) and Velence (Hungary).

The 1994 summer was spectacular. It was a great time for music (grunge) and my Mum got a brand new telly so we could watch the USA World Cup decently. The day after the final we headed south driving via a shortcut through Germany, Wallonie (francophone Belgium) and Luxembourg to the sleeping village Villefranche-sur-Saône.

The next day we continued towards department 04 (Alpes du Haute Provence) finding a camping site in Volonne, a village near Sisteron where you can climb the Citadel.

A camping site is like an international village. We met a lot of young Dutch people here and we’d be kind to our Dad (preparing his coffee, breakfast and newspaper in the morning) so that he’d occasionally give us 50 Francs to spend in the pub or to buy a carton of Kronenbourg beers. This was my last holiday with Mom and Dad.

In 1995 there were college trips of 1 week to Prague, London, Paris and another city I can’t remember (probably Berlin).

Most people wanted to visit the Czech Republic (very cheap beer & booze) but Paris was a marvellous alternative for me and it’s less than 300 miles from the Netherlands. Not all students had learned French, which often lead to funny situations when they tried to explain things in English.

Our hotel was in the quartier Voltaire and we visited: The Eiffel tower, La Notre Dame, Le Sacre Coeur, le Centre Pompidou, le Louvre, the quartier La Defense, some kind of theatre and the Pere Lachaise cemetery (an emotional moment).

Our teacher spoke the unforgettable words: Well now dear students, are you ready to visit our friend Jim? One moment later we stood at Jim Morrison’s grave taking photos and listening Riders on the Storm.

In the year 2000 I felt it was time to return to France. Probably some kind of “french holiday blues” that struck me for the first time after the 1984 trip, a type of “vacation spirit” which tells you where you have to go if there is no alternative.

The 2nd reason was that my knowledge of the French language deteriorated a little bit: since ’93 I had only been learning Spanish (a then new to me language) and English (compulsory) in college.

My good buddy Niels told me he wanted to take the Interrail tour and he already found a camping site so we packed in some enormous rucksacks and on July 1st our trip began from station Ruurlo to Zutphen, Nijmegen, ’s Hertogenbosch and Maastricht, the southernmost city in the Netherlands. Here we took the first international train to Liege, a big Walloon Belgian city on the river Meuse. From there we travelled via Namur, Luxembourg, Thionville (entry point to France), Metz and Strasbourg.

In Strasbourg we hopped on a different train to Saverne. The north east part of France, Alsace Lorraine is a curious melting pot of French & German cultures: the territory was French until 1870, Germany (then Prussia) took it over. In 1914, France fought and won the land back in 1918 (end World War 1).  Over 20 years later, Germany invaded the land once again but after World War 2 it was definitely given back to France.

From Saverne there were no more trains but we took a bus to get to Sarrebourg. No problem, we just wrote on the interrail card the journey Saverne-Sarrebourg by bus.

The village where our camping site was located, Gondrexange, was approximately 12 miles heading west on the N4 from Sarrebourg. Since it was a bit late already we had to take a cab there which had a cost of 110 Francs (approximately 18 bucks).

When we woke up the next morning I had only one thing to do. Find a telly to see the EURO 2000 final France-Italy.

In the afternoon I had the blue french soccer shirt on and went searching a TV set on the camping. Nothing, nada. Not in the bar, not in the reception. What kind of a village is this?

I asked the dude at the reception. Excusez-moi  Monsieur, ou est-ce que je pourrais regarder le match football ce soir?

The guy told me: Ben alors Monsieur, vous prenez le chemin d’Hertzing, a l’est environment 3 KM d’ici, lá il y a quelques bars.

I left my buddy Niels at the camping. He said: Good luck maestro, see you later.

A few minutes later I stood at the N4 and decided to hitch-hike anywhere. Shortly thereafter 2 young dudes hit the brake of their car and asked me: Hey, where do you need to go?
- I don’t know really I just want to see the soccer match somewhere

*No problem at all, we’re heading to Sarrebourg, there will be a great ambiance there.

The final took place in the Feyenoord stadium in the lovely city of Rotterdam. When Italy scored the first goal, the whole pub was in shock. Luckily Sylvian Wiltord equalized and in the extra time David Trezeguet scored the golden goal, giving France the EURO 2000 title.

The beer kept flowing and I got back at the camping site very drunk.

My buddy and me had to go regularly to Sarrebourg for several reasons. To buy groceries enabling us to prepare our dinner at the camping and also to visit the pub in front of the central train station where I kept feeding the pinball machine.

One afternoon we sat in front of our tent, smoking Gauloises and suddenly I saw the dudes who picked me up days earlier to see the final.

"Tiens, ça va? Voulez vous du Schnapps?" Hey, how are you? Do you want a shot of liquor?

Sure, that’d be very nice, thanks.

We had a conversation about our German neighbours on the camping, 5 young guys who had put their tents in front of us. The French guys said:

We want to have an evening of booze with these Germans but unfortunately we don’t speak their language and they don’t speak French. Dommage, n’est-ce pas?

 Why don’t you two come as well so that we have interpreters, if you don’t mind.

It seemed a great idea since Niels and I both had learned plenty of German in school/college, so we had a blast.

Some days later we went to another remarkable event with the French. In the nearby village Lorquin a wooden train had been constructed and it was set on fire that night. Some strange tradition probably…  Of course we had a few beers too many and in the early morning it began to rain a lot.

After 2 weeks on the camping we got a bit bored. We had found a friend, Michel, who had decided to return home in department 67. We stashed all our stuff in his Renault and went to visit him in Schirmeck where we had lunch, then continued to Strasbourg. We spent the afternoon taking promenades in this bilingual city whilst we were singing Another Brick in the Wall.

That same evening we encountered two girls (Julie & Laure) we had become acquainted with during our pub visits in Sarrebourg. We went in search of a discotheque. Michel drove his car practically parallel along the French-German border (the river Rhine), we found a place and ordered a good but expensive whisky.

Just before 4 AM we got back to Strasbourg and entered a night pub where the whole Pink Floyd Wall show started all over again.

Michel brought us all to the train station where the group split. Julie and Laure took a trip back to Sarrebourg, Niels and I jumped on a train to the south of France.

At 4 PM we finally got off the train in Avignon, situated in department 84. My idea was to travel further to South West France (Basque country) or the Basque territory of Spain but the connections were not as good as we hoped for.  Besides, we were exhausted from the train voyage, we hadn’t properly slept the night before.  We entered the very first bar and drank a large bottle of Perrier, then hit the streets and did some Avignon sight-seeing. The hotels were way out of our budget so at midnight we took the same train back to Strasbourg.

Here we had a little problem. On of our tent poles was broken. On the night out in Strasbourg Michel had left the keys in his car. We used the tent pole to manipulate the lock which eventually opened the door…

We spent the last week of the vacation in a hotel in Sarrebourg which was reasonably cheap (15 bucks per night for the double room). 

On the day we went back to the Netherlands we had to solve a small issue, since we would arrive too late to make our last connection back to my friends village. My friend’s folks were not at home, neither were mine, so I phoned my neighbour lady who was so sweet to pick us up.

More stories (about the South of France) will follow.

The Stranglers, 47 years young

 September 11, 1974. In the UK, drummer Jet Black has founded the band The Stranglers. Other members are Hugh Cornwell (guitar/vocals), Hans Wärmling from Sweden (who returns to Sverige and gets replaced by Dave Greenfield (keyboards)) and Jean Jacques Burnel (bass/vocals).

Three years later, in '77, the albums Rattus Norvegicus and No More Heroes are released, followed through Black and White a year later.

The band has an own identity and is difficult to place in whatever genre of rock music. In the 80s they have a smash hit with Golden Brown, next is La Folie, in fluent French (JJ's roots are in la Normandie). 

Somewhere in '85, their song Skin Deep is on the radio. I'm 7 years old and I really like the tune. 

Many years later, in March 1998, I have a 2nd rendez-vous with their music. I need a café noir and stumble upon a rock bar in an emblematic old little city in eastern Netherlands.

Martin, the owner of the joint, serves a coffee and hits the play button. Bass sound, quircky keyboard and the first line: Strawlin' along minding my own business....

I'm getting more curious by the minute, so I ask the bloke the name of the band. "The Stranglers" is his reply.

After a search in a record store I buy their 1977-1990 Greatest Hits. 2 years later, I manage to find 5 or 6 LPs in newly opened vinyl record shops.

Mitch, one of my best friends comments: "Dude, you really got hooked by these Stranglers",when I'm visiting him and my CD plays No More Heroes in his stereo. 

Friday night in Apeldoorn becomes a "traditional" meeting starting in the summer of '96. The centre has two fabulous pubs, our evening starts at "de Tapperij". Later on, I walk 50 meters to "The Swing", where the music is a bit more alternative. 

The Razzmatazz is a disco / concert hall in Barcelona. When I read the announcement of the Stranglers gig in January 2009, I buy two tickets without hesitation. 

C., a girl from the south of France is a new friend I met at the pub where my basque homie used to work. 

"Tiens, j'irai au concert des Stranglers, tu veux m'accompagner?"

"Les Strangleuurs? Ba.. bon OK."

Back to the present day. When I read about Dave's passing last year May, I felt really sad. The virtuoso must be jamming up there with Deep Purple's Jon Lord...

Nevertheless, the band still exists and celebrates it's 47th birthday today with their new marvellous Dark Matters album released yesterday. 

Un grand merci a Jean Jacques Burnel for keeping the band together.

Salamanca '96 english version

 

Introduction

This journey experience is from 25 years ago, therefore details may not be very complete. Also, imagine that it is really a trip to the past because cities change a lot over time. The pub nowadays has a different name. 

SALAMANCA 1996

My 2nd "big" journey to Spain had the same as the first; the city of Salamanca in the Castilla y Leon area, near Zamora, Valladolid and the Portuguese border.

At the time I attended a commercial-economic school, one of the few in my province that offered lessons in the Spanish language and my teacher had the opinion that I ought to go to Spain for my "practicas". So basically it's a 7 week school trip.

Being the only bloke in a group of 6, the journey (bus trip) began on April 30 (then still Queens Day in the Netherlands), departing in Arnhem. 

You'd probably think that it's simply a hop on the bus and travel southwest, but no, it was a time consuming Eurolines coach that first headed west to Amsterdam and afterwards south to The Hague, Rotterdam and Breda (in order to pick up additional passengers).

Breda is only a few miles from the Belgian border. 2 pickups, in Antwerp and Brussels on a normal Tuesday with terrible traffic jams...

Luckily it's a small country and a 6 PM we entered France.

The route to Northwest Spain is pretty easy, it starts in Lille and via Paris, Tours, Poitiers and Bordeaux you reach the French part of Basque country, locally known as Iparralde.

We stopped (5 AM in the morning) at a wooden sort of café in the outskirts of Bayonne, had breakfast and shortly after we entered Spanish Basque country (Irun).

It's approximately 6-7 hours from there to reach Salamanca and I crumbled out of the bus with pain in the back.

After about an hour the Spanish "families" picked us up and we went our separate ways.

These "familias" have several rooms for rent to students who come for a month or several weeks to the city.

The only obligation in the first week was to attend the morning classes of Spanish at the Academia Mester from 10 to 12. 

Naturally I remembered the most important streets and places to go from the trip in '94 and it's hard to get lost in a small city. In the centre there's the Plaza Mayor (main square) where the bars are more expensive. From the main square the most popular pubs are just a 5 minute walk.

The Spanish landlady gave me a copy of the key so I could come and go at every possible hour. On an afternoon she said, "Robin I want you to meet some new house mates".

Turns out 2 16 year old "garçons" from France were staying for a week. "Can you show these boys Carlos and Sylvain the town so they won't get bored in the evening?"

It was a Thursday evening and on Thursdays the teachers of the Academia always invited the students for a couple of drinks in the Cum Laude bar. 

Alors les mecs, venez avec moi (So guys, come join me).

After entering the establishment, you'd always see skinny Miguel and slightly obese Ramón (the teachers) sitting at the bar. Then Ramón would grab a Winston out of his pocket, light it and greet: "Hola Robin, buenas noches, quieres tomar algo?" (Hello, good evening, can I offer you a drink?)

Then we had a few beers and it usually lasted until 1 or 2 AM. The French guys were happy that they didn't need to switch to Spanish or English to have a conversation with me.

In the 2nd week the work practice commenced from 4 to 7 PM in the company "ProCasa" situated in the southern part of the city which from "mi casa" is approximately a 3 KM walk crossing the river Tormes.

After arriving at the office I explain the pretty darkhaired receptionist about my work practice and she informs the boss who has a small introduction chat with me in his office.

"Hola, soy Pedro, bienvenido". We talk about small administrative tasks which I can take care of and he shows me the rest of the office and colleagues.

Juan Carlos, one of the younger employees is asked to give me assistance if needed. Pretty sure that most of the bad language was taught to me by him. Basically the work consists of filling in forms, checking invoices and making a list of who has the keys to what house i the new neighbourhood. And if there was not much to do, then Juan Carlos would take me to the city to buy materials and this had the advantage that he'd just drop me off in the centre at 7 PM.

Then there was this weekend trip to Donosti (San Sebastian). I dialed a 943 number and spoke with my friend Ana who I'd met in '94. Yes sure just come up north to see me.

My house was in the same street as the train station, so I strolled down the avenue, entered the station, gave the ticket seller a few thousand pesetas and jumped on the train, seeing beautiful landscapes.

Of course it was not a direct connection. A fellow passenger looked my ticket and said, oh you're heading to Basque country. Make sure to switch trains in Miranda de Ebro.

You can see immediately the change of scenery when arriving; everything is green and there's graffiti referring to ETA all over the place.

At 9 PM I was there and waited a short while near the bridge in front of the station. Ana came with friends and we hit the pubs until the early morning.

We did some sightseeing the next day but there was no train back so I had to take the bus and got very tired.

Frequently I visited the cozy Irish pub (O'Neill's) for a Carlsberg. The nights mostly continued in the discobar Camelot (as well as in '94). 

There was a group of drunk Americans, most of them under 18.. their first and last visit. Occasionally my colleagues from work came to the pub too and they'd invite me a whisky or rhum mix drink.

One afternoon at the office, Juan Carlos said: Hey Robin,come with me, we have to pick up some wine. 

We drove to the disco Morgana (the "sister" bar of Camelot) and loaded bottles of wine in his car, then returned to the neighbourhood with the new houses. JC opened the door to a house and said, we're leaving all the wine here.

It turned out that the wine was a welcome gift for the owner of the new house.

Another evening I met Juan Carlos in the centre. "Hola hombre, what are you doing here?"

He was with his girlfriend and said, let's go to this great pub called Sibori.

 We sat there, had a drink, I saw the pubs interior and got a flashback to '94 when there were some reggae nights here, but the bar had been redecorated.

Another event organised by the Academia was a bodega visit in a village of Zamora, about 1 hour south of Salamanca. The whole group had a terrific meal there and plenty of red wine.

Meanwhile, the month of June began and the pubs got more crowded because of the European football championship in England. 

"Jefe, tomorrow afternoon the Netherlands play Scotland. Can I take a day off?"

"Sí hombre, no hay problema, just go see it and enjoy the match"

It was a typical 0-0 match, more or less a mirror image of the tournament quality itself, but I went to a nice bar with some other Dutchies and we had a good time.

Spain was in a tough group. Romania still had Gheorge Hagi and Bulgaria was 4th in the '94 World Cup. Spain played vs. France.  The Irish pub had become my favourite bar so I went there. Then this pretty dark curly hair lady asks me: "Perdon, ies thies chair stiill free?"

My reply to the lady, after noticing an accent more French than a baguette with camembert, is: "Oui, bien sûr, asseyez-vous" (Yes sure, have a seat).

The match ends 1-1 and I say goodbye to the lady because the practices are over and a few days later my Dutch group of 6 takes the bus to Valladolid, from where the return journey starts. 

We have to wait about an hour so I head into the city to find a bank. My wallet is stashed with pesetas and I want some French francs.

The bank employee asks me: French francs? 

Sí, I'm travelling through France tomorrow...

We leave Valladolid and later Spain behind. The next morning one of the passengers informs the Dutch people that we lost 4-1 to England in the tournament.

Finally we reach end point Arnhem in the early evening.

 

Sixties top 10

 60s top 10

Last week I did this small music poll about favourite songs in the 60s on a Facebook group "Songs of the sixties".

Sorry about the delay in posting but hereunder are the results: 

10. House of the rising sun - the Animals

31 votes

A not so very nice story (but a catchy tune nonetheless) that takes place in the capital of the French language in the USA (New Orleans)

9. Pictures of Matchstick Men - Status Quo 

33 votes

One of the weirdest songs, quite psychedelic (1968) written in the john in only 15 minutes. Also, completely different from the rest of the band's repertoire.

8. Daydream believer - Monkees AND Sloop John B - Beach Boys

34 votes

OK, now let me think... The Monkees, didn't they have their own TV show? 

The Beach Boys, a fine band (not really fan but they deserve to be in the top 10)

7. Yesterday - Beatles AND Runaway - Del Shannon

35 votes

If the list was for the first half of the 60s there would be more Beatles songs in it. 

Del Shannon wonders what makes him stay... Run run runaway while Dennis Farina appears on screen as Mike Torello in Crime Story. Might sound dumb but I'm a 70s kid and I just know the song from that series (from '86 but it takes place in Chicago and Las Vegas in the 60s. Check it out if you have the time there are just 2 seasons)

6. Nights in White Satin - Moody Blues

38 v

I'm glad this song is in, as a kid I heard it on the radio and I found it very beautiful.

5. You really got me - Kinks

39 v

Yeeaahhh the Kinks. My Mum would definitely approve.

4. Light my Fire - Doors

42 v

Well I found out very late about this song but I remember it was on the radio on a warm Saturday in '88. 

3. Summer in the city - Loving Spoonful

82 v

Go out and find the girl... Dance all night, it'll be alright. 

We need more tunes like this in the present world

2. A whiter shade of pale - Procol Harum

95 v

So I wasn't in that particular period but I imagine it was played a lot on those 60s fiestas when the time came for slow romantic dancing. 

And finally on 1. Eve of Destruction - Barry McGuire total of 99 votes

So, I was born in '77 and I know the lyrics to this from start to end.

The world hasn't changed that much, my friend.. A song sung marvellously and I'm very fond of the harmonica.

That's it basically, thanks once again to all voters.

Belgium 2008

Introduction

In Autumn 2004 I met my good friend F. at a Greek party in Barcelona. We made many trips together, this is one of them.

Summer 2008. After having realized I never visited my former neighbour country in the south, we book a flight to Brussels. Places to visit in that week are Bruges, Antwerp and Brussels of course.

We are on an early flight from BCN to Zaventem airport, landing there in the late morning. We buy train tickets to Bruges in the east. 

Brugge station is just south of the centre. Well, let's grab the bus to get to the youth hostel (although we are not that young ourselves anymore, but nonetheless)...

I try to make check in conversation in flemish with the young lady from the reception:

"Nen goeie namiddag mammezelleke, iek kom seffens inchecken"

Her reply: "Sorry, could you repeat in English?"

"Sure, no problem, I'd like to check in, I'm from Holland and my friend is from Spain. I was led to believe that we're in a dutch speaking country here."

"Yes love, but I'm from Ireland"

Since it's still early, we do a boat roundtrip over the canals and visit the cozy shops and bars. Bruges has a chocolate museum which we visited (a few years earlier on a south France trip we spent a lot of dough on bonbons).

This little town, the Venice of the north, is really absolutely beautiful. Gastronomically speaking, Belgium is a garden of Eden. After dinner we had a splendid night in Delaney Irish pub. (you can't miss it, it's in the middle of the city on the market square) 

There was an old rocksinger performing live blues. 

After two days in Bruges and a few beers too many, the 3rd day started with a small hangover. Many belgian beers are from 7 to 10% alcohol. Basically, the more evil the name of a beer, the more alcohol it contains.

We left the hostel and at the station, the tickets for harbourcity Antwerp were bought.

F. needed some medication so we visited the 1st pharmacy in Antwerp and continued to the hotel, situated near the huge cathedral.

The legend tells that the name of the city Antwerpen derives from a giant whose hand was cut off and then thrown in the river Schelde (Hand Werpen in Dutch). For additional info: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Silvius_Brabo

We explored the area of the harbour, shopping street Meir and the Groenplaats where we witnessed a typical belgian 15 minute thundershower. At the Groenplaats (green square) you can buy delicious gaufres (waffles).

The evening fell and we landed in the at that time very popular jazz bar "De Muze". (Unfortunately it closed a couple of years ago). The orchestra played splendid the ambiance was great.

The next day we decided to do a small visit to the Netherlands. But first we found this awesome breakfast bar, not the cheapest but our table there looked like a brunch buffet.

With full stomachs we strolled to Antwerpen Centraal, one of the most beautiful train stations in West Europe and took an international train to Rotterdam. We came to see the Coolsingel and city centre but the weather was awful. F. had been in my country the year before and then we didn't have time to stash Rotterdam in our schedule.

Back in beerland Belgium we enjoyed a fancy dinner and revisited de Muze.

The next morning we revisited the breakfast bar, afterwards the harbour and then we figured out what more we could do. Since we saw the most important parts of Antwerp, we took a train to Ghent, the capital of the province East Flanders. 

From the station you can take a tram but it's only a small walk to the centre. Like in Bruges, here there are also plenty of canals and the rivers Schelde and Leie meet in this city.

We took a boat trip, there was a nice château (castle) and the sun did his best effort today, as this part of Belgium normally has rain everyday.

We sat on a terrace alongside the canal, drank a Vedett beer and saw another bar with the name "Dulle Griet". This is a reference to a painting of Brueghel and in the 60s this war lady got her own comic in the famous Bob & Bobette series.

In the evening we returned to Antwerp and made our suitcases ready for Brussels where we traveled the next day. 

Arriving in the capital I was a bit shocked but not really surprised when the hotel personnel was not able or willing to speak Flemish anymore, in multiculti Bruxelles the main language is French.

The hotel was situated at Place Fontainas near an important boulevard and in the vicinity of "la Bourse" (stock exchange). There's an excellent metro system. The street names are in French and Dutch.

Most important visit was the Atomium, the remains of the 1958 Expo and there's a statue of Manneken Pis, (a little peeing bloke) in the city centre. Believe it or not, he also has his own comic in the Bob & Bobette series. 

There are dozens of comic book stores in Brussels and you will also find several wall paintings of belgian comic heroes. Just like the language border between Flanders and Wallonie, beer, chocolate and fries, comic books are an important part of belgian culture.

On a typical evening we were standing at a church waiting for the rain to pass. Then we could move on and visited some beer pubs. It's particularly difficult not to get drunk if you don't know the different types of beer (there are menu cards with approx. 100 types).

Brussels was magnificent but the return journey awaited us. F. decided to bring souvenirs (small bronze Manneken Pis figures) for his colleagues.

He had about 30 of those in the suitcase when we passed customs on Zaventem and of course the alarms went off. "Messieurs, avez-vous quelque chose pour declarer" (Gentlemen, do you have anything to declare?)

No, not at all. But the security guys checked the suitcases and found the bronze figures. 

I explained them it were just some souvenirs for friends, so they agreed with an amicable "ça va, you may continue now".

Boliviaanse kerst

Het merkwaardige jaar 2019 loopt naar zijn einde toe. Hier in Bolivia is het een overgangsjaar naar het nieuwe decennium (hoewel dat officieel pas in 2021 begint) maar ook met name en hopelijk, een overgang van 14 jaar lang de regerende macht van een cocaboer uit Oruro naar mogelijk een wat transparanter politiek systeem.

Het land is niet zozeer arm, maar de contrasten tussen arm en rijk zijn heel erg groot. En in de hele republiek kun je witte olifanten vinden, het boliviaanse equivalent van wat in België/Nederland de GTI / GNW genoemd worden; proyecten die ooit begonnen zijn maar nooit officieel opgeleverd en veel centen die handig weggesluisd zijn.

Vanwege het feit dat het al erg lang geleden is dat ik hier iets schreef in mijn eigen moedertaal, hierbij een klein stukje; ik plak hieronder een paar tweets.

Mijn sympathie gaat altijd uit naar landen die het Frans als een van de officiele talen hebben, bijvoorbeeld Zwitserland en Canada. Derhalve retweette ik Randy Bachman, in de jaren 70 frontman van Bachman Turner Overdrive en de kortstondige formatie Ironhorse, respectievelijk met hun catchy stotterliedjes You Ain´t Seen Nothing Yet en Sweet Lui-Louise:

Couldn't agree more. Happy new year all https://t.co/ncBvRhQzOn

— Robin F. Wonnink (@rfwonnink) January 1, 2019

Een weekje later vertaalde ik wat lyrics van zijn liedje Shotgun Rider naar het frans (allez dat is een tic die ik heb) 

Il y avait un mec, qui arrivait dans la ville, il m'approchait dans sa "saloon maison" et disait, "tiens gars, asseyez vous". Etais-je en chômage où est-ce que je voudrais un boulôt? #BTO #shotgunrider #français

— Robin F. Wonnink (@rfwonnink) January 9, 2019

Dan gaat er logistiek wel eens iets mis en dan gebruik ik Twitter als uitlaadklep

Les #redresseurs sont en route de Miami à SCZ. Espérons que la #Douane ne nous dérange pas, comme c'est l´habitude ici dans la republique bananière. Un projet désastreux où (la loi de) Murphy s'est assis sur son canapé en buvant sa bière en se moquant de moi. C´est #honteux

— Robin F. Wonnink (@rfwonnink) February 6, 2019

Deze gelijkrichters zijn uiteindelijk netjes met een dikke vertraging aan de klant in het westen des lands geleverd.

Een paar dagen later kreeg ik een bericht van een jonge nederlandse artieste die me een tekening stuurde van Soundgarden.

Begin maart vierden we carnaval in een buitenwijk van Jorochito. Vanuit het dorp moet je een motortaxi nemen omdat je er met de auto niet kunt komen, tenzij je door de rivier heen kunt rijden.
De neef van mijn schoonmoeder had ons geinviteerd om te komen en mijn dochter heeft veel plezier gehad met alle koeien. 

Maar goed, terug naar de recentere geschiedenis. In oktober kwamen mijn ouders op bezoek, precies op de dag dat de algehele staking begon. Een kleine chronologie:
22-10. Na de verkiezingen die fraduleus verlopen zijn komen de mensen in opstand en beginnen overal te protesteren. Er wordt aangekondigd dat het land tot nader order "platgelegd" wordt.

Mijn zwager zegt dat we diezelfde avond vast naar Viru Viru (luchthaven) gaan.

We komen om 23:40 aan, precies voordat de toegangsroutes geblokkeerd worden. Mijn zwager, mijn vrouw en ik drinken een paar bakken koffie en proberen wat te slapen.

De volgende dag vertrekken we terug naar het dorp met mijn ouders. Helaas zitten de meeste routes vast en moeten we ruime omwegen maken. Zodoende duurt het bijna 4 uur en mede dankzij een diplomatische benadering zijn we dan eindelijk terug in El Torno waar Sophie heel blij op opa en oma afrent.

In mijn wijk is een vlindertuin annex hotel waar ik een kamer gereserveerd heb. Daar brengen we de koffers vast heen.
Wat nu wel "ambetant" is, is het feit dat je eigenlijk niet ergens heen kunt vanwege de blokkades. Maar de volgende dag is de verjaardag van mijn dochter, ze wordt 3 dus reden te meer om een feestje te bouwen. Sophie danst met de kinderen en met opa en heeft veel plezier. Op het feest vindt een cruciale kennismaking plaats. De vrouw van de quinta van tegenover spreekt Engels en derhalve klikt het goed tussen haar en mijn ouders. Ze krijgen een uitnodiging om de quinta te bezoeken, dit doen ze een week later.

De 2 weken vliegen voorbij: zwemmen bij de vlindertuin, koffie drinken, cryptogrammetjes oplossen en pa die overal werkjes wil opknappen. Maar hoe komen ze nu weer terug voor de vlucht?
B., de quinta-vrouw belt en informeert dat er een taxi is die door de blokkades heen kan komen. Pa en ma accepteren het aanbod en vertrekken. Sophie is toch wel even droevig want ze heeft heel veel gespeeld met haar abuelos.

Een dikke week later is er een madame uit het noorden van het land die de titel president naar zich toetrekt. De blokkades zijn dan pas voorbij en dit grapje heeft heel wat geld gekost en schade veroorzaakt aan de economie.

Vanavond vieren we dan kerst met vlees van de grill en met biertjes
in de zomer, in tegenstelling tot vroeger in Nederland: vrieskou en pannenkoeken met worst volgens traditie. Een ander verschil is dat 1e kerstdag hier eigenlijk een middenweekse zondag is (2e kerstdag bestaat niet) daar waar het in Nederland juist de belangrijkste dag van kerst is.

Dan zie je hier een weerwolf; dat heeft te maken met onze wolvenhuilgroet tussen collega´s maar ook met Drs. P die in 1974 kwam met het liedje over de Veerpont.

FELIZ NAVIDAD.

POEMA PARA UNA FLORISTA

En 1977 naciste en un pueblo fronterizo
A temprana edad ya contemplaste la flora y fauna en la granja debajo del cobertizo

Creas arreglos florales para cada ocasión 
Piezas de muchos colores que son la crème de la crème en cualquier salón

De vez en cuando convidas tus amigas para una noche de creatividad 
Las aconsejas y preparan una obra de arte que se llevan a su casa con mucha felicidad

También has abierto un par de casas rurales,
liberando estrés a los visitantes que trabajan en polígonos industriales

Mucha suerte para ganar el concurso "mejor casa de Holanda" en el barrio de invierno
porque es la recompensa de todo tu trabajo y desempeño