My blog has been
sleeping for about 6 months now. That is definitely not good, is there a good
explanation for it? Am I suffering a writers´ block?
Well anyway, I have
never really had a specific “writing style”. The small stories are all pretty
easy to read and I never check them before posting, so every now and then some
small error may slip through.
So, a couple of
weekends back I saw how “la belle France” lost the final of their European Cup,
against Portugal. The tournament was not having the same “ambiance” as previous
tournaments, although the new teams Wales and Iceland made a real difference.
There are some funny tweets I wrote which you can still find in my Twitter
feed.
In May I returned
briefly to my country. This was to be able to visit my family to celebrate my
parents´ 40th wedding aniversary. Due to circumstances (my dear wife Yina is
pregnant and the paperwork you need to arrange to get into Europe for non
European people is complicated and bureaucratic), Yina stayed in the village.
She did bring me to the airport with her brother.
When I got through
Bolivian customs, one of the blokes tells me that I need to pay almost 20 bucks
because I´m leaving the country. I see this as a “fine” so I ask the guy: So
basically this is a “fine” which I wouldn´t pay if I´d stay in the country? He
answers that it is not a fine, but merely a tax. Yeah sure, I think. I grab the
dough out of my wallet and pay him, now having left only 30 Bs.
I continue and this
police officer asks me to pass him my hand-luggage so that he can inspect it.
And when we finally get onto the plane,
this sweet labrador dog comes around to sniff all luggage. Finally we fly to
Madrid, where the ETA is 5 AM in the morning, Monday, 16 May. I play some
cribbage on my cell, watch an episode of Mr. Bean and try to sleep.
The guy next to me is
from Jordania, and he flies via Madrid and Istanbul to his country.
In Madrid I have to
walk to another terminal and again I need to pass with all my stuff through the
X ray ports, where a “hombre de seguridad” orders me in a bold way by only
saying “zapatos”. Si, y que desea señor? Flying 11 hours is already annoying
enough to remain kind with typical douchebags on airports who give orders.
“If you could show me
your shoes sir”. Ah OK that´s better. I show him my 6 dollar valued 2nd hand
shoes and the guy says I can go on.
When I arrive at the gate, where I
eventually have to wait for a bit more than 1 hour, I search for a bar just to
have a normal coffee, but everything looks incredibly expensive and there are only
“combo” menus. So I grab some lemon water from a vending machine.
Air Europa then
announces their flight to Amsterdam and I board the plane, which is obviously a
lot smaller than the previous one. An Arab lady sits next to me with her 2 year
old son, she speaks Dutch, Spanish and Arab and is very curious.
At Schiphol, the
famous Dutch airport, it amazes me once more the long way I need to walk before
reaching the luggage belts. After 4 minutes my suitcase arrives, I take it and
walk through the green area of the dutch “Douane”, there is nobody there.
My Mom and Dad come to
pick me up, they are very happy. We drive eastbound over the A1 and around
lunch time we have a very nice salmon sandwich at the Golden Apple.
Meanwhile, my brother
Laurens is talking with my dad on the phone. “When are you arriving”, he asks.
My dad calculates traffic jams and says: “Around quarter past 2.” Nevertheless,
the 2nd part of the trip the roads are clear and we arrive home just before 2.
We are just able to see my brother and his girlfriend sneak back in the house.
They both jump out of
the house with fireworks and a bottle of cava and the window has been
colourfully and artistically painted “Welkom Robin”.
Overwhelmed by this
welcome commitee, I put my suitcase in the hall and we step inside to drink the
cava and afterwards, the first green Grolsch bottles come out of the fridge.
Oscar, my other
brother still had to come from the northern part of the Netherlands. My mommy
said I ought to have a siesta, since I should be having a jetlag. So I went to
my old room and slept about 45 minutes.
In Bolivia I became an
uncle automatically after marrying my wife. But that can not be compared with
becoming an uncle of your brother´s little son, they gave him the name Daniel and
he is 3 and a half months old. A cute fella, always smiling. When he cries or
screams it is just because he´s hungry, says Oscar.
We continue drinking
beer and turn on Mommy´s imitation iPad, playing some tunes to get in the mood
for the 40th anniversary party. Tracks such as 1984´s Skin Deep by the
Stranglers (probably one of the best tracks for brothers), 1987´s Beds are
Burning by Midnight Oil and later, when selecting a playlist from the Clash,
little Daniel moves his head on the melody. So the little man has got the same
taste as his uncle, that´s cool.
The next day, my
brother, his little boy Daniel, my Dad and I drive east to Borculo for a short visit
to our Granny. She lives in a modern residence and is still very sociable with
everybody. In the evening, when Oscar and Margriet go back north, my Mom is a
bit sad because they take her little grandson away from her, although it´s just
for a couple of days.
My parents take me out to go shopping on Wednesday, since
it is kind of complicated to get size 45 shoes in Bolivia (you can only buy
cheap trashy most probably illegally imported from the USA 2nd hand shoes on
the Ramada, there are decent shoe stores, but when you enter one of them asking
for size 45, the standard reply is: No, no hay (with a voice that is a blend of
sadness and indifference)).
So we drove northeast
to a fashion house in the province
Overijssel and first they spoiled me with some genuine Cars Jeans and some
t-shirts. The fashion house had a coffee bar where I went with Dad while Mom
was searching a suitable party coat.
En route back to my
village, we acquired some pairs of decent shoes and get some fish for lunch. We
visit the bank to obtain a card for my account (it had been sleeping all these
years), since very soon I´m going to need dough that I would not be able to
save up in South America in a lifetime.
When I told Johnny
that I would come to the Netherlands, he said: “Oh that´s splendid news Robin,
you should come to visit me and have a coffee”.
So I sent him a message thru Whatsapp via Daddy´s wifi (something that is still being developed
here in Bolivia, i.e., it does exist, but it is expensive; all “fancy” tech
stuff is way too expensive here). I borrowed one of the bikes and headed 5 KM
south to Ruurlo. Johnny, a chess master and his wife Annelies are very nice and
kind people, they are parents of my friend Niels. They laugh a lot about the
typical south american situations. After
the coffee they invite me a couple of beers, one of them brewed by the father
of Anne (Niels´ girlfriend) in a village near Saarbrücken in Germany. To avoid
getting drunk I thank them for everything and go back home to have dinner
there.
While the neighbours
come to visit us to help with the setup of the party tent in the garden (they eventually fixed this in less than half an hour) I “lock myself into” the office and turn
on Skype for a creative meeting with my brothers.
We talk about a small
conference about our parents during the party and exchange ideas, consisting of
all kind of funny anecdotes we can remember. In my brother´s former bedroom I
find a box of “Sinterklaas rhymes” of the last decades which are funny to read.
In the mean time, my Dad is
sitting in the tent with the neighbours and the bottles of beer + the pica pica
is on the table. I quickly put on a pullover and my jacket. Normally it is a
bit warmer in May in the Netherlands. Everybody is curious about my experiences
in Bolivia and I explain the people about how things are done in South America.
Around the end of the
first week, my brothers come back to the village. Also our niece Betty arrives,
she will be the main waitress at the party.
The neighbours are in charge of the tent´s outside decoration. The family does
the inside decoration; balloons and coloured light bulbs.
The weather forecast
for Saturday, May 21st is exceptionally good and the sun shines. Early in the
morning I help my Dad and the catering guy to put some essential stuff in the
tent, like chairs and tables. Harry, the DJ also comes early, a friend of my
father.
Just before the start
of the festivities, I print the conference for me and my brothers. Then I run
to the tent, because the first invites have arrived punctually at 3 PM. Pretty
soon the tent is full, we have coffee and cake.
