Chess in (a) time(machine)

 Somewhere in the 80s I tried to learn the game of chess. This wasn’t really a success. Unless you have a natural talent, without getting the right information you just “do” something unaware of tactics like development of pieces. Basically, you move some pawns and after losing or swapping a few of them, you begin to place a knight or a bishop somewhere.

At the time it was more or less a Russian sport due to the games between Karpov and Kasparov.

Around a decade later I met N., a young bloke who was in the first grade of the college we both went to. I was in the third grade. He already knew my brothers who were working with him at a supermarket in his village, which is situated approximately 3 miles from my own little village.

Occasionally we would visit a pub or a disco. We spent a cool day in Friesland on a farm, near the capital Leeuwarden but still in the middle of nowhere. In the summer of 2000 we took an interrail voyage to North east France. That’s territory which Germany stole in 1871 and France got it back in 1918. Nevertheless, the area to this day still has a certain German ambiance.

On the 2nd of July I asked the camping site manager of the whereabouts of a television set to watch the Euro 2000 final. “Mais non Monsieur, desolé, il n’y a pas de television ici”. I hitchhiked to the nearest city.
My friend had no business with football. He found a lovely blonde German Madchen, A. and even though he had a crush on a “fille francaise” which affected our strange trip from Strasbourg to Avignon, he began dating the German girl and soon after, she moved to the Netherlands.

At the time, I had only 2 routines for Friday night. The 1st: go to a pub with M., a friend in Deventer. The pub in question is “de Elegast”. It was a joint with a typical 80s/90s ambiance where we’d drink quite a few bottles of Hertog Jan, beer from the southern part of the Netherlands.

Those nights normally ended around 3 or 4 AM, then I’d sleep on the couch and would return somewhere in the afternoon to my own village.
The 2nd routine: visiting N. in Enschede.

The Enschede Fridays were about playing chess via Yahoo accompanied by Grolsch beer and they went on until early 2003 when I moved to Spain.

There are plenty of stories I wrote about Spain. If you’ve read them, you already know that my friends there weren’t into chess. Therefore we flash forward 2 decades here.

I began a chat with J., he is the father of my friend N. J. is a chess master and has plenty of shelves filled to the brim with chess literature. He just said, well, I’ll send you a few matches so you can replay them and practise the game.

At first, I replayed those games in the 1988 Battlechess game by Interplay. Interplay made the game attractive for people by putting cute animations in it. But the game didn’t show any techical details.

J. spoke about Chessbase, an application for your PC in which you can replay games or write game files by yourself, know as PGN (Portable Game Notation).

A PGN can contain one single game or over thousand matches from famous players. You can find these files on www.pgnmentor.com

Instead of simply writing the analysis of the games, I decided to add a science fiction element: a time machine. Not just a simple device with an on/off button, no, the machine reacts to music and displays on its screen the year a song was released.

The device is inspired by the 1972 Hawkwind song Silver Machine: “it flies, sideways through time”

The machine also features a map of the world in order to select the venue of the game. The design of the map is completely outrageous. For instance, if you choose a destination in an era where the USSR still existed, then you won’t see the map of Russia, but the USSR map. Same goes with Yugoslavia, Germany, Hungary, Austria and so on…

You’d probably think, how do you power the time machine? We put solar panels on it. This is more or less “stolen, or inspired” from the 1979 film Time after Time. 

Now, who is/was the best Dutch chess player? In 1935, Max Euwe played the championship matches against Aleksander Alekhine and won. 2 years later, Alekhine regained the title. But Max’ victory led to increased popularity of the chess game in the Netherlands. Many clubs were founded in the mid 30s.

I “traveled” to the 1930s and later on to the 50s, 60s, 70s etc.
When you open a game in Chessbase from a “database”PGN you’ll see the following information:

Both players, their ELO rating, a code (B90 for instance), the venue and the year of the game, all moves and the name of the opening (Sicilian Najdorf for example).

After reviewing several games you’ll know what a player ought to do if his King is under attack.

As a kid you think chess is just a complicated board game. But it’s a lot more than that, There’s a whole culture behind it and I’m pretty sure the game has profited from the modern online world. Chess has become more accessible than ever.

Many thanks to my friend J. who still provides me with nice games from the past. Fetch yourself a Grolsch from the fridge, you deserve it!

 

 

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

1968-1969

Small introduction:

To all readers, hope you are having a splendid start of 2019. 

Eventually I would´ve written more, but it concerns an era in which I had not been born yet. Do not consider this as one of my other "stories" because it isn´t. 

If my sixties inspiration would come back then maybe this little posted will get a couple of lines extra.

--

Probably you´ll all have seen Back to the Future, where Marty flies black three decades. Imagine you would have a Delorean and you could fly back to see what your old folks were doing in their adolescence. Interesting detail here is that, according to the movie, Marty was born June 12^th 1968, since he is aged 17 in the movie.

A few of the most popular rock bands were established in 1968, e.g. Black Sabbath, Deep Purple, Led Zeppelin and Rush (from Canada). In late ´67, the also Canadian band Steppenwolf started their career, resulting in their first albums in ´68.

One of the great songs from 1968, without a doubt, is from that bloke who screams that he´s the God of hell Fire (Arthur Brown), after which you hear a marvellously distorsioned Hammond organ and a crazy tune about getting burnt in somewhat psychedelic style.

Let´s get back to our German Canadian friend Joachim Fritz Krauledat (John Kay), born in 1944 in East German (Prussia) Tilsit what nowadays is Sovetsk (Сове́тск) in the Russian Kaliningrad oblast. Being able to get away from the eastern front, he emigrates to Canada in 1958. Ten years later, Steppenwolf has success with the smash hits Born to be Wild, Magic Carpet Ride and The Pusher. In fact, they invented the heavy metal. For roughly 10 years, rock was the most popular music style. But in 1976 came a turning point with (british) punk music and 1978 brought the disco.

The middle and end sixties established rock bands are generally more “melodic” than the late seventies and early eighties rock bands, at least in my opinion, and with exception of The Stranglers. The organ or keyboard is much more important.

Deep Purple would’ve been a completely different band without organ, can you imagine their songs without that sound?

It has been fifty years now since:

The implementation of VAT in the Netherlands

The strange case of 4 countries winning Eurovision: Spain, France, the Netherlands and the UK

Death of Brian Jones, 1^st member of the club of 27

Neil Armstrong and his crew with their moonlanding

Premiere of Tommy, the Who´s rock opera

Woodstock

The movie Easy Rider

Vlaams?

Om aan te vangen, vandaag is het 21 Juli, de nationale belgische feestdag, dus ik hoop dat alle Belgen, vlamingen of walen dit #tousensemble vieren.

Met veel genoegen heb ik tijdens de afgelopen Mondiale gekeken naar de matchen van de Rode Duivels, mijn voormalige zuiderburen. Het was wel een malheur dat ze net niet de finale gehaald hebben, ze waren er gans dichtbij, maar het team heeft wel het verdeelde land fier gemaakt en da is goed voor België en wellicht ook voor het vlaamse vocabulaire.

Mijn dorp in Gelderland, ligt veel dichter bij Duitsland (minder dan 25 KM) dan bij de grens met Vlaanderen, anders gezegd, iek zou waarschijnlijk meer affiniteit met het vlaams hebben als mijn geboorteprovincie Zeeland, Brabant of Limburg zou zijn.

In 1984 was ik met mijn ouders en broerkes op reis naar noordwest Frankrijk en dan komt ge met het voituurke natuurlijk over de A14/E17 waar ge dan de roodwitte kilometerpaaltjes ziet, maar ik was natuurlijk nog maar een petit garçon dus ik weet daar nie veel meer van.

Ik kende niks van België eigenlijk, maar opeens bekwamen we op de lagere school geografie, eerst van onze eigen provincies en daarna van Europa. Zodoende leerden wij dat onze zuiderburen ook een frans deel hebben, en dat het land zich in 1830 van Nederland afsplitste.

 Heel veel later, op het havo verwittigde onze lerares frans: Als je in Brussel bent zul je je niet altijd kunnen redden met Nederlands c.q. Vlaams, dus daarvoor is het frans belangrijk.

Onze vakanties, wij brachten ze nooit door in Vlaanderen, noch in Wallonië. Misschien omdat mijn moeke het nooit echt plezant vond, maar meer omdat we liever ergens in een bergachtig gebied (Oostenrijk bijvoorbeeld) zaten.

Cultureel gezien is het natuurlijk prachtig allemaal. Fijne pralinen, biertjes die nergens anders in de wereld zo lekker en gevarieerd zijn en een grens die midden door het land heenloopt, de taalgrens.

In de herst van 1997 heb ik een blauwe maandag in een belgisch grensdorp gewoond in het kader van een studie in Maastricht. Ge hebt daar, in het westen,  drie belangrijke grensovergangen naar vlaamse dorpen die veel nederlandse inwoners hebben: die van Lanaken, Veldwezelt en Vroenhoven. Je ziet meteen de verschillen, want de weg is geen straatweg of rijksweg, allez non, het is een steenweg of chaussee.

Op het eerste grote kruispunt ruim een kilometer van de grens ligt dan de (steen)weg naar Lafelt (waar ik woonde), Kesselt met zijn steenfabriek en Veldwezelt. Wat ge als eerste ziet op dat kruispunt, amai, een authentiek frietkot voor als ge eens geen goesting hebt om te cuisineren…   

 Het vlaams heeft, zeker in nederlandse optiek, veel woorden van het Frans geleend en enigszins aangepast. Dit is niet gans vreemd gezien het feit dat het Frans en Waals in zuid-oost Belgie de voertalen zijn. In Brussel kan het gebruikelijk zijn dat men daar in het stadsdialect een zin half Nederlands en half Frans gebruikt, met alle desastreuse grammaticale fouten als gevolg.

 Ook het Nederlands is beslist niet vies van frans vocabulair, allez da krijgt ge na die franse overheersing van een paar eeuwen geleden. Maastricht zelf heeft de ambiance van een belgische stad.

In dat gebied is er feitelijk een soortement van drielandenpunt. Niet dat van Vaals, maar daar waar Belgisch Limburg (Vlaanderen) en de provincie Luik (Wallonie) samen tegen Nederlands Limburg “botsen”.

Gaat ge van Maastricht naar het westen, dan weet ge waar ge komt, in Belgisch Limburg. Maar neem eens de A2 naar het zuiden c.q. een normale weg en rij dan onder Eijsden la Belgique binen bij Visé. Ik ben toen eens naar Liège gegaan met de trein en daar is het al gans moeilijk om iemand te vinden die nog Nederlands spreekt. En dan is er ook nog de Voerstreek, een stukje Belgisch Limburg omklemd door de provincie Luik, waar een dikke dertig jaar geleden ook de nodige onrust was omtrent de taalkwestie.
Afgezien van vlaams en frans is er natuurlijk ook nog Duitstalig Belgie, land wat Duits was maar een kleine eeuw geleden aan Belgie toekwam, en wij hebben samen met de Belgen het bizarre Baarle Nassau / Baarle Hertog met zijn vreemde grenzen.

Vlak na de 2e wereldoorlog is een briljante Vlaming begonnen met een nu nog immer beroemde stripserie. Willy Vandersteen schreef en tekende verscheidene Suske en Wiske strips die ook nu nog altijd plezant zijn om te lezen. In 1972 geeft hij zijn “crayon” over aan Paul Geerts. In de strip kom je hier en daar personages tegen die andere talen spreken of heel creatief zijn met hun frans-nederlands-vlaamse mélange van zinsbouw. De Zwarte Madam is hier een goed voorbeeld van en ook Nanette in de Klankentapper. Zij is erg aimabel tegen Suske, gebruikt haar Nederlands in een franse constructie en Wiske is in dit album nogal jaloers. In de Kaartendans gebruikt Wiske het frans. De meeste albums zijn verkrijgbaar in een franse versie.

Ge leert er heel erg veel van omdat er heel veel onderwerpen gaan over zaken die in het verleden gebeurden, zodat “nos amis” in veel avonturen al of niet stiekem zich de toegang verschaffen tot het lab van de teletijdmachine en soms zelfs een somnifere koffie aan Barabas schenken. Ook ziet ge dat de strip die nu ruim 70 jaar oud is met de tijd meegaat, maar de meeste lezers blijven toch wel de oude “nostalgische” albums meer apprecieren.

Daar ik toch altijd al een talenknobbel heb gehad interesseerde het vlaams mij dus ook. Niet dat ik het echt geleerd heb natuurlijk, er is heden ten dage genoeg informatie te vinden om seffens rap een lijstke in uw tête te stampen. Belgie is natuurlijk sowieso het Walhalla van de (europese) strips, denkt ge eens aan deze figuren:
De Smurfen van Pierre Culliford

Lucky Luke van Maurice de Bevere

Kuifje van Hergé

Guust Flater van André Franquin

Waar je als Nederlander natuurlijk makkelijk vlaams mee kan leren, da is met Urbanus. Woorden zoals kurieuzeneus, kamion, een tourné general, oorkuiserke en vele anderen worden in zijn strips aangegeven met een * en het nederlandse equivalent erbij.

Andere opties om iets meer inzicht te krijgen in het vlaams, ge kunt gaan werken met belgische collega´s. Zij zijn vrijwel altijd ook goed met de Franse taal en het is altijd gezellig om een vrijdagmiddagborrel met die gasten te doen of om seffens een pintje te vatten.

Ge woont daar (in Vlaanderen) nie in een studentenhuis, maar uw kamer is een kot, vergelijkbaar met een kippenhok, dat is een poelkot of de reeds eerder genoemde friterie (het frietkot). Ge maakt uw woonkamer niet schoon, maar zorgt ervoor dat uw living proper is. Niet middels schoonmaken maar door te kuisen. Een situatie is in Nederland vervelend maar bij onze zuiderburen is het ambetant (embêtant).

Een jongedame is daar een “mammezelleke” (overduidelijk van het franse mademoiselle), in plaats van herrie en onrust maakt ge ambras.

Als ge in de ochtend uw kopje, awel nee ik ben abuis, uw tas koffie drinkt dan leest ge er natuurlijk geen krant en ook geen journal bij, maar een gazet, zoals die van Antwerpen of de Morgen.

Allez, het is natuurlijk merveilleux om met uw voituur en caravan over de Autoroute de Soleil naar Zuid Frankrijk te rossen. Maar geef Belgie een kans het is er zo leuk om in Brugge of Gent bootje te varen en dan een lekker kriekje of een tripel te drinken.   

Musical memory lane 2

The turning point, from rock to grunge and metal came very slightly around the end of 1991, heavily influenced by the “Smells like teen spirit” airplay. While I was still mainly listening GNR, AC/DC and Iron Maiden, in 1992 some marvellous albums rose to fame.

To start, the Rage against the Machine debut album. The use of the mf word, Zack´s great vocals the splendid lyrics and the devious distortion of the guitar made you just want to grab your bike, rush to the record store and buy the album, even if it would cost you half your paper delivery salary.

The debut album of Pearl Jam, Ten, was also very popular. Not that I´d consider myself a fan, but many Saturday nights spent at the discotheque with the blokes from my hometown and a few beers to many, the Alive song, or Even Flow, Jeremy or Black, it were tracks that belonged in that place at that time.

But somehow I searched and found even DARKER grunge, around 1993 I became very fond of Alice in Chains. And around this time I started listening to Anthrax with their new Sound of White Noise album that has some excellent songs, e.g. the sinister Black Lodge.

My neighbour E., who was in his mid-twenties then, borrowed me his Spreading the Disease cd so that I could tape it.

Then suddenly, Spoonman from Soundgarden came around and wow, how fabulous the 1994 Superunknown album and it still sounds great after 24 years.

Around this time I started digging in the past of rock music and found a Deep Purple compilation, singing Smoke on the Water and Child in Time during a session of cleaning the dishes. My neighbour told me he listened the new Megadeth album Youthanasia whenever it was his turn to do the dishes.
Eventually he told me that Megadeth would come to Arnhem for a concert and I joined him. We both knew that Anthrax would give a concert a couple of months later that year in Zwolle, and we went there too. It was nice, but Anthrax changed their style a lot with the Stomp 442 album.

During a library CD borrowing visit (1 buck = 1 CD) I found the 1971 L.A. Woman album by The Doors. At the Pere Lachaise in Paris in September ´95, Riders on the Storm sounded from my Walkman while standing at our friend Jim´s grave.

B., my dad´s niece found out that Deep Purple would perform in Rotterdam in the early spring of 1996 and of course I went there too, but I had to go to school the next day, so I didn´t sleep much and went to class with my Purpendicular shirt.

Between summer and autumn of ´96 I discovered the Sex Pistols and with them, the punk. Because of the popularity of grunge, apparently the punk got “reinvented” in the USA and in the Netherlands, the Offspring became very popular, therefore I started to research on the real punk from 1976. Technically, punk was not that beautiful as a style, but it did make a statement and it brought another fabulous band, The Clash.

In March 1998, I was done with studying and started to search for a job to earn some dough. Quickly I visited half a dozen “temporary job agencies” in the lovely small city of Zutphen. Then I went to a fabulous bar and had a coffee and later a beer while M., the owner stashed a Stranglers CD in the player. The Stranglers, famous 1974 UK based punk / new wave style band, known from smash hits like No More Heroes, Golden Brown and many more. With a French bloke on the bass and a very talented keyboardist.

At the end of the millennium, new vintage style record stores opened their doors, for example in the city of Deventer. Little by little I started collecting LP´s, some of them rare (picture discs and purple or blue vinyl) and now my brother is keeping all those records in his house because I could not bring it with me to Spain.

Musically, the years 2000 and further were even crappier than the nineties but I left my country and learned about Spanish music. My “ex” brother in law listened to Estopa, 2 brothers from north west Barcelona. Finally I moved to that city and my new “brother” was from Russia. We listened to Zemfira with her song “Skazki” (animated fairytales).

A new revolution arrived with my new “homie” from Pamplona, Navarra.  He listened more alternative music, reggae and stuff from basque groups. At that time I only knew the group Hertzainak thanks to some boys from Vitoria who lived with us for a couple of months.

Oh well, if you like Hertzainak, you must listen other basque groups, such as the 5 K´s: Kortatu, Kuraia, Ken Zazpi, Kerobia and Kauta, Berri Txarrak, Betagarri, Zea Mays and singer-songwriter Ruper Ordorika…

All of this music you need to listen with the lyrics on your screen and afterwards translate those lyrics because Basque is a very difficult language.

Around the same time I remembered having read an article about Jerry Garcia from the Grateful Dead and started listening to it. But then, French hardrock band Trust came along cause I bought the Répression album in Perpignan in north Catalonia (French territory obviously) and later a live album in Grenoble. If you have read my blog from the start, you will recall that it started in the French language because j´adore le français. Happy Quatorze Juillet everyone!

    

Musical memory lane part 1

Soon I´ll be starting my 5th decade and I´m taking you on a trip to musical memory lane.

42 years ago my parents married in a dutch border town and they had a splendid party afterwards in the discotheque bar where they met in ´73.

Over a year later I was born and eventually, technologically the seventies were not that advanced. No CD, no MP3, no internet, no streaming, and the music was so much better in the old days.

As a little kid, occasionally demanding “cookies”, I listened to dutch Radio 3 (or Hilversum 3), the channel that evolved years later into 3FM. Wunderbar by Tenpole Tudor must´ve been my first favourite track. My daughter, now around 19 months old, has been fond of Jamiroquai´s Automaton from the first day. Believe me, this little gem by Jay Kay and his marvelous band has helped to calm the little lady whenever she was upset.

Back to the eighties then. Between 1982 and 1984, pink and green were very popular colours because of the LP Skunk, by Doe Maar. These blokes were simply too popular and went on hiatus for about 15 years. All people in the Netherlands born between 1950 and 1980 know the lyrics of at least one Doe Maar song by heart.

Somewhere in 1983, my cool uncle,visited us and we had a tape of hits by Normaal, dutch dialect rock band from our province, they sing about beer, fun, chicks and motorbikes. The radio has always been the red line in my “music education”, after coming home from school, having a “cuppa tea” or on a Saturday morning, it was always turned on.

1984, the "magic year" that turned me into francophile: Skin Deep by the Stranglers was a nice song I heard on the radio.

My nephew had become a big fan of the band Duran Duran around 1985. When I visited him in Summer or Autumn of that year, he recorded the Arena album on a tape for me.

In 1986 I performed Neil from the Young Ones during a playbackshow with some classmates. Mister Cliff Richard had renewed his Living Doll tune and it was a huge success in the Netherlands.
It was a “glamrock” year, with the Americans Bon Jovi and Swedish band Europe for example. In the chestnut autumn we visited our family in the border town once more, and I got another compilation tape which became “the final countdown” cassette.   

Then in 1987, when finally English was being taught to us in school, an Australian band founded in ´76 suddenly got a hit in the Netherlands. Midnight Oil and their Beds are Burning helped me a lot with my English. Some other peculiar songs from that year were “Right Next Door” by the Robert Cray Band and the mysterious “Somewhere down the crazy river” by Robbie Robertson.

In 1989, my aunt knew that I was fond of the band Queen and she let her son tape the Miracle album for me. Around that same time the house music “invaded” the hit lists; it was terrible. At my new school, a smart kid with a huge comic collection and a big old MSX computer with tapes introduced me to AC/DC, and I took the rocky highway, distorsioning my voice to imitate Thunderstruck at the top of my lungs.

to be continued...

The bloke celebrates his birthday

In February 1982, my parents sent my brother O. and me to visit the neighbours. Mommy was expecting a baby and the little fella was born on Friday the 19^th around 5 PM. Hereunder I´ll dedicate a few lines to him. Not that I´m not fond of my other brother O. and I wouldn´t like him to be jealous, but he´ll understand.

L. was almost 8 Lbs when he was born, heavier than me or O. but eventually he grew up and never had any overweight.

Probably the cutest picture of him is from summer 1984 when we drove for the holidays to north-west France (probably Normandy) and the guy holds a baguette equal to his size at that time.

Seven years later, logical for an Aquarius, he was very fond of fishing and he tried his luck on camping sites in Sweden and Norway. This was a notorious holiday trip because on a German “Autobahn” the car had a flat tire due to the overstuffed caravan.

Between 1991 and 1992, we both became rock and heavy metal fans, with AC/DC, Iron Maiden and Metallica among our favourite bands. My brother must´ve had all Metallica albums on tape and/or CD. Obviously our nephews from the border town Aalten were influencers, as well as school mates.

One of his talents at young age; the ability to speak the Dutch language with accents from Amsterdam, The Hague and especially Rotterdam, where he rose to “child actors fame” after a photoshoot for and advertisement, to make publicity for the company our daddy was working for at that time.

In 1994 our “Amistad fraternal” was completely different. L. was growing up and got into his puberty which meant that at that time he didn´t need his big brother to bother him. Puberty is bloody nasty, at least it was for me, there are a lot of issues and you sometimes interpret things the wrong way and then you lock yourself up in your room with loud RATM (me in 1992) at full volume. Eventually it passes. The rock and metal path we used to walk together splitted; my brother discovered punk and hardcore (Bad Religion, NOFX, Black Flag, stuff like that) while I was more into Soundgarden, Alice in Chains, general grunge, thrash metal and old seventies bands (Black Sabbath, Deep Purple etc.)

Somewhere around 1998, my old school buddy M. invited by brother to play in his (sort of) punk band Nijntje Heerst (for non Dutch people, Nijntje is that cute little rabbit drawn by Dick Bruna, called Miffy in the rest of the world). They had some gigs and made a demo album, then the band broke up and they all went their separate ways.

Around the start of the new millennium we often went together to discotheques or other events. We had a splendid night in a bar in Doetinchem where the owner put a Creedence CD on and once at the Radstake, this cute blonde girl walked to me and asked me: Hey, who is that cool dude on the dancefloor? Well darling, he´s my brother.

Eventually they wound up together for a couple of months, in that period we went a few times to the P8, a dark and bit alternative discobar in Terborg.

Sometimes there were punk concerts at Elbekurkie (adaptation of Albuquerque in New Mexico?), a meeting centre for young people in a small village that belongs to Winterswijk. Since my brother had friends in that village we used to go there every once in a while.

Then I left the Netherlands to go and live in Valencia, Spain. In the summer of 2003, L. came to visit me although unfortunately I had to work during the day. In less than a week he learned Spanish, not using any books, but by heart, grammatically incorrect but Spanish people could have a conversation with him.

Only a year later, I left Valencia and moved to Barcelona. The first year was a bit hectic but in 2005, thanks to my Russian friend A., I could move to a house of a friendly landlady. I invited my brother to come in the Christmas period and so he did. We had a couple of cervezas in a typical tapas bar on the Madrid avenue and he improved his Spanish.

Christmas 2007 was sad because our granny passed away. Dad phoned me and said, just book a ticket to Germany and I´ll pick you up there.

After greeting the family at my grandparents house, being suddenly back in my country and not having any plans, what should I do?

L. was playing in a hardcore band called Strike First. He had a show at the Goudvishal in Arnhem and I could come. I made a video there and he uploaded it on Youtube.

3 days later, after granny´s funeral, we both visited the carbide shooting event, organized by O. and his buddies, a “happening” with a lot of beer and we got the idea to go back to Arnhem to visit friends of my hermanito there. It was a great new year; lots of booze and the girls, Marie and Jeanne where there too. January 1^st I woke up with a little hangover and we drove back to Barchem, our home town.

In May 2009 our niece A. had her wedding and we attended. I came with one of my excolleagues in his lorry from Barcelona via the French A9 and A6, through Luxembourg and Cologne to the Netherlands. My parents took me to visit my granddad, who enjoyed a glass of liquor in his retirement home. It was my last visit to him as he left us in February 2010.

L. posted a picture of him with his sunglasses on his FB. Curious enough, my brother does have a resemblance to his granddad, most curious was though that the funeral was arranged on February 19; for L. a day of mixed emotions, for the rest of the family too.

L. had created an account on Soundcloud and organized his birthday party in Enschede, themed “Stiekem” (sneaky or secretly). The windows were decorated with newspapers and he revealed that he liked techno music. I was a bit overwhelmed by this “sudden” change in his music style, but it turns out that he is a great composer and he is now even a DJ on gigs.

About 6 years ago L. found a nice girl, M. and they are still together. She is also talented and hardworking, so hope she´ll stay with him for years to come.

My last visit to my hermanito was in May 2016, we had the 40^th wedding anniversary party of my parents and I stayed afterwards for a couple of days in Enschede. This Monday the guy turns 36. Happy birthday hermano!! Though we´re separated by the ocean, we´ll always be HFL.

L´any nou a terra crucenya

L´any nou va començar amb molta pluja. Estavem celebrant l´ultima hora del 2017 a casa de ma sogra, pero la barrufeta s´en va dormir i doncs hem anat a casa nostra. Mentrestant els nanos estaven amb els seus focs artificials i els gossos amb molta por, vaig obrir l´ampolla de sidra de maduixa. Ja com no es pot comprar cava o champán en aquesta terra, només pels barris “pijos”… al poble no n´hi ha d´això, doncs, agafas vint pesos de ta butxaca (3 dólars) i a la nit brindes amb sidra.

El dimarts, primer dia de feina de l´any, va ploure moltíssim. Amb fortuna vaig poder agafar un taxi cap a la ciutat. La calçada estava destrossada i després d´un desviament de vint minuts, fin del trayecte per l´avinguda Cañoto.

Esperava el micro 56 o 57, pero arribaven poquets i tots mes omples que una llauna de sardines.   

Degut a la “fantástica” gestió de aquests senyors qui fan planificació urbanística, quasi sempre quan plou, hi ha inundacions nefastes tant com a la ciutat pero també a les pobles. Les garrofes recaudades dels impostos i les multes que la Hisenda de la república reclama, es van gastar en projectes i gran cantitat dels diners sempre es mantendrá penjat a l'arc del violí.

Hi ha un contraste de riqueza força gran quan fas comparació del sud i del nord de la zona urbana de Santa Cruz. Diguem que el centre “absolut” es l´intersecció de les avingudes Cañoto e Irala. Al sud, comença la avinguda Grigota, i del primer al segon anell es literalment “une avenue de merde” ja que s´hi trova la Ramada amb les seves caseritas, utilitzant la calçada per vendre ilegalment (i sense afluixar res d´impostos) a tothom. Roba, palomitas, fruites, legumbres, empanadas, carn de porc i pollastre etc.

Com ja la gent no té la costumbre de llençar els escombràries al cubo, parcialment també per que no n´hi ha dichos cubos o están destrossats, tota la m*rd* está al aire obert, pel carrer. Fa pudor, hi ha gent de pocs recursos, criden i hi ha pudor a la zona. Quan ma mare ho va veure, començava a plorar. 

Parlant urbanisticament, el nord es molt mes “ric”. Hi troves viaducts i empreses agricoles, el trafic es més fluid. El nordoest, precisament la zona del 4º anell i l´avinguda San Martin, es un somni mullat per tots els constructors. Botigues per la gent que es “ric del cagar” com diu David Guell en un episodi dels Plats Bruts. Llavors el Ventura Mall amb el Hardrock Café. I a la mateixa zona el pont vell al barri del Urubó, el pont nou al Urubo (crec que va costar quatorze millons de dòllars) i el Urubo mateix, un condomini pels mes afortunats.

La carretera al nord (a Warnes i Montero) té com problema principal que no hi ha prou iluminació, fent-la perillosa a l´oscuritat.

Politicament el país está fotut. No pas una miqueta, está fotudissima, per que el MAS fa interpretació dels lleis al seu gust i favor, i quan volen, ho canvian tot. El famoso referéndum del 21 de Febrer on la majoria dels votos va dir NO, doncs están fent tot, inclos si hagin de trencar la llei. Al país li fa falta un soplo d´aire fresquet, necessita d´un president qui pensa abans de parlar bojeries. Doncs haurán de buscar un home o una dona capaç de fer això. Maldaurament, els politics son evidentment molt influenciables a l´hora de rebre un sobre amb uns bitllets per sota la taula. Justicia existeix només pels rics, si no tens cales o si ets dona, mai pots guanyar.    

Llavors, el problema del aïgua quan plou es que n´hi ha pocs Canals i un sistema de drenatge com que no sapiguen que es. No es com Europa, on plou una estoneta. Pot ploure 6 fins a 12 hores degut al clima tropical. Si torna en Lorenzo després (el sol), cap problema, pero el trafic esta patint molt. A vegades es derrumba un pont….

CONTINUARA

MAME AND OTHER WAYS OF RETROGAMING

The arcade hall was a good place to hang out for kids in the 70s, 80s and 90s. But then, around 1985, Nintendo and Sega became giants and (at least in the Netherlands) the arcade cabinets made place for even more coin swallowing one armed bandits (just as Charlie Daniels sings in the 1974 song Trudy: Poured a bottle and a half of Red eye, dropped 35 dollars in the slot machine).  Sadly enough, even the pinball machines disappeared. Round this time the tendency that kids used to play on the street and in the woods changed to what we see now, kids that don´t play outside no more cause they all have a gaming console or handheld. 

Somehow people “like” stuff from 2 decades earlier. In the 80s I listened 60s music, in the early 90s the wide pair of trouses became popular just as in the 70s and in the new millennium, Dutch Radio 2 (one of the more “nostalgic” channels) started organizing weeks of the 80s. Nowadays we also get confronted constantly with buggery commercials on blue giant Facebook and its photogenic sister Instagram, you could call it “like hunting or begging”.

There is a huge retrogamer crowd out there.  Just search around on the social networks, they are easier to find than fish for a bear. Start with gamesyouloved on Twitter for example.

Probably because I never really had a gaming console I started “collecting” games for the (S)NES and the Megadrive to play them via emulators. “Movin´ on the queen´s highway, lookin´ like a streak of lightning in Sega´s 1991 Road Rash is tons of fun, racing around hitting other bikers, crashing against a car, a tree or fall off your bike because you take a turn the wrong way and then get busted by the cops….

From a retrogaming point of view, this is not really collecting. Retrogamers buy old consoles (new stock or from a garage sale or they get their NES, SNES, Megadrive, Game Gear or whatever device at a vintage store or flea market), they buy the original cartridges and they connect the console to their telly. But here in Bolivia I wouldn´t know where to get this stuff “legally”. Besides, you can always buy a chinese imitation retro console on the Ramada for only fifteen bucks.

Anyway, if you come across arcade games by Taito, Namco or SNK, then they are worthwhile to play.

My personal favourites would be the following:

5. Cabal from 1988

4. Enduro Racer from 1986

3. Super Hang On from 1987

2. Outrun from 1986

1. Euro Football Champ from 1992

Some time ago I tried to figure out about MAME, an arcade games emulator created by a clever Italian bloke who wanted to avoid the loss of arcade game heritage. After reading thoroughly some instructions I tried to get it running and the Euro Football Champ screen appeared on my laptop, giving me an instant flashback to spring 1992.

Instead of feeding the ferry arcade cabinet with quids, I hit the 5 to get credits, selected a team and started the first match. The loud scream of KICK OFF dashed through the speaker and it didn´t take long before the first ball was in the net and the GOOOOOAAAAALLLLLLs kept coming.

Using the B button you can make very serious FOULS for which you instantly get a yellow card, except when you make the foul outside the view of the referee, e.g. when he is on the ground (as Tweety says in his cartoons: Oh, the poor putty cat fell down…).

Eventually, there are several issues with MAME. First of all, when you find the rom and it can be played, you get a warning cause you “ought to have” the original hardware and stuff. Well… it´s the same with all those illegal MP3 files which are not really that difficult to find. Then there are tons of roms that have problems with missing files (the notorious CHD and rom error).
Now there are also a lot of roms that are not suitable for MAME, because they are created for the NEO-GEO arcade. The Neo Geo console created by SNK was at its time a tremendously expensive machine. MAME won´t read Sega roms either (such as Crazy Taxi or Sonic games).

My favourite genres  are racing, shooting, pinball and soccer games. In 1988, shortly after the Dutch Lions won their one and only soccer trophy in Germany, causing the whole country to live in an orange haze for about a month, we drove to the Sempach lake in Switzerland to celebrate the annual holidays there. The camping site had a small arcade hall with a beautiful tennis game but I can not remember the name. Generally, tennis games are complicated to play on whatever system, they require a lot of practice.

As far as I remember, there never existed a Dutch version for DOS. But in Spain, many people (used to) have a Spanish DOS / Windows setup. As a twelve year old in the late 80’s I just had to learn stuff by myself. Of course the Hercules card limited my game options, but when you visited friends and relatives back then, you´d always bring floppy disks with games for them and they would eventually let you copy their games. And some time later when Daddy got his 486, he bought a VGA card for me and my brothers.

The Sierra adventure games are still considered as the best in their genre.  In the early 90s, a new way of software selling was invented: Split up a game in three episodes, give the first one free with the purchase of a computer magazine and then if you wanted the remaining part of the game, you´d wire some bucks to the USA. Apogee was very successful with this and their games (Keen, Duke Nukem, Crystal Caves, Secret Agent) are quite enjoyable.

FELIZ NAVIDAD

Vie hors de Barcelone

Depuis 13 ans, au mois d´octobre j´arrivais a Barcelone, pour être exacte, je me demenageais au quartier de Sants.

9 ans plus tard je partais avec ma femme Y. a son pays, la Bolivie. C´etait le 20 mars 2013, j´entrais au monde sudamericain. Je regardais les vieilles blanches bagnoles Toyota Corolla de debut des années quatre-vingts-dix et je pensais, tout le monde conduit la même voiture.

Au vieux continent, l´Europe, tu bois ta bière lentement pour éviter d´être bourré après de quelques heures. A Bolivie on boit comme ci c´etait la dernière bouteille ou canette disponible ou comme si ils ont arrivé a un oasis du Sahara desert. Seco seco.

H., le frère de ma femme nous emmenait a 2 voyages. Le 1er, a la petite ville Vallegrande, environment 220 KM de Santa Cruz. Sa voiture etait tout complet et nous partions déjà a 6 heures du matin. On regarde Samaipata, un village touristique, les montagnes, la route 7 est très dangereuse ici. Après de Samaipata on arrive a Mairana, ici on trouve les champs du tabac et dans le village Mataral est située la croix avec la route 22, celle qui va au sud vers Pampa Grande (un lieu-dit avec “sandias”) et Vallegrande, ou nous arrivions a 13 h de l´après-midi.

H., Y. et moi, nous allions a la place central de la ville, nous achetions 3 canettes de bière et nous la buvions. Franchement nous avions venu seulement pour bouffer des “salteñas”, alors le matin suivant nous visitions la salteñeria et après nous partions de retour au village.

Le mois suivant, la famille voulait faire autre voyage, maintenant au Sud, a la ville Villamontes au departement Tarija. Bon alors, c´est un peu loin, environment 500 KM, mais le chemin est mieux.

Nous sortions a 18:30 un vendredi. Au Km. 13 nous avons pris la route 9, celle qui va jusqu´a la frontiere avec Argentine. Nous avons fait le souper 3 heures plus tard dans la rue (on ne trouve pas des tables pic-nic a Bolivie) et nous sommes continues la route au sud. Au dernier peage nous avons relaxé les pieds et les bras un peu et nous avons pissé a côté de la rue (toilettes, c´est foutu pour les trouver). H. prenait des feuilles de coca, donnait un peu a sa fille et aussi a moi. 20 KM avant de Villamontes, le ciel s´ouvrait et il commençait a pleuvoir fort.

 Au dernier peage nous avons relaxé les pieds et les bras un peu et nous avons pissé a côté de la rue (toilettes, c´est foutu pour les trouver). H. prenait des feuilles de coca, donnait un peu a sa fille et aussi a moi. 20 KM avant de Villamontes, le ciel s´ouvrait et il commençait a pleuvoir fort.

Vers 3 heures du matin nous etions a Villamontes chez Monsieur C. et sa famille. Il y avait des grenouilles dans son jardin et nous dormions finalement jusqu´a 6:30.

Villamontes, ville très chaude (environment 40 a 45 degrées a l´été), est située a plus ou moins 75 KM de Yacuiba, la dernière ville de la Bolivie avant d´arriver a l´Argentine. Je voulais y aller mais tant pis, c´etait pas possible.

Les chemins a la rivière Pilcomayo etaient dans ce moment honteusement mauvais. C. allait avec nous a la rivière et il donnait instructions pour trouver les poisons, sauf a M. car il est déjà un expert. Ma meuf trouvait 2 ou 3 poissons, moi 5, c´est un bon début, et M. 8 poissons et alors nous retournions pour preparer le déjeuner “chicharrón de pescado”. Il faisait chaud et on faisait une siesta a l´après-midi. Dans la soirée nous allions au centre de la ville pour manger un steak haché et au retour chez C. les mecs avaient leurs bières, de la musique, du coca et des cigarettes. Je dormais tard.

Le dimanche nous visitions le marché pour acheter des poissons, les femmes voulaient emmener les poissons au village, car chez nous c´est compliqué et cher pour trouver ça. Nous allions après a autre côté de la rivière mais l´eau n´etait pas calme et nous ne trouvions aucune poisson.

Après le dejeuner vers 14:30 le voyage de retour commençait… La route jolie avec des vaches et cochons qui promenaient sur la route 9. Nous avons fait le souper au village Cabezas et le moteur avait des petites malheurs, avec de la chance nous arrivions de retour au village vers 22 h du soirée.

Maintenant j´explique un peu du village “El Torno”. C´est en fait une petite ville a 33 KM du chef-lieu de la province Andres Ibañez et du département Santa Cruz.
Ici habitent beaucoup de gens du centre et de l´ouest du pays. Celui qui vient de l´ouest (La Paz, Potosí) ou du centre (Cochabamba), parle different que les “cambas”.
Les samedis au debut de la soirée ou les dimanches, tu peux aller a acheter tes oignons, tomates, poivrons, ail et autre type de légumes. Les petites rues du centre sont remplies de “caseritas” qui parlent comme ça; Buenos días caserito, que va llevar? Ou bien: Don choquito ven a comprar.

Un choco / una choca veut dire un keum ou une meuf avec les cheveux rouges ou blondes.

Les “caseritas” normalement te donnent une ou deux unités extra cadeau, ça s´appelle “yapa”. Le petit déjeuner a Bolivie n´est pas comme par exemple l´Espagne, là tu vas au bar, tu prends ton café noir avec un croissant. Mais ici les bars se trouvent seulement aux quartiers “chiques”, par exemple au nord-ouest de Santa Cruz (avenue Saint Martin). On aime beaucoup prendre des soups/potages avec une quantité industrielle de grasse (Patasca ou Fricase). Dans le matin, avant de 8 heures on mange ça. Un alternatif sont les empanadas de fromage / poulet ou charque. Bien súr les deux options ne sont pas bien pour ceux qui ont l´estomac delicat.

Si vous me connaissez sur FB, vous avez vu avec certaine frequence que je m´enfou des problems et malheurs logistiques de l´infrastructure parce que il y a uniquement des routes nationales et souvent on fait des barrieres et personne peut passer (comme le lundi dernier). Alors on doit promener 6 ou 7 KM et après suivre dans autre micro pour arriver a ta destination.

Les affaires, du business ici, c´est pas très facil, car tout est énormement bureaucratique et le niveau d´honnête de l´état es franchement bas. Les cultives de coca, une feuille innocente que les hommes mastiquent dans leur temps libre, accompagné par des clopes Casino (tabac noir, comme Ducados en Espagne) et quelque fois avec un liqueur inferieur d´alcool qu´on appelle “Pecho Colorado”.  Liqueur de bon qualité est surtout importé depuis l´Argentine. Le grand problème avec le coca est que des grandes quantités d´un jour par autre sont "disparues"  aux laboratoires et on fabrique le poudre blanc lequel Mia Wallace met dans son nez au pub Jackrabbit Slim´s, criant "Goddamn, I said goddamn, faisant reference au chanson "The Pusher" de Steppenwolf de 1968. Cette chanson donne acte de présence au début du film Easy Rider. 

   

Les gens pauvres habitent dans leurs petites maisons ou ils louent une chambre de ceux qui offrent, comme “partager piso” en Espagne. En raison des nombreux voleurs / criminels, il y a des clôtures ou des murs autour de chaque maison. Si vous ne donnez pas cette protection à votre maison, ils braquent votre porte ou votre fenêtre, on prend tout de valeur qu´on vend après au marché noir.

Ceux qui ont beaucoup de “pâte”, ils habitant dans une “quinta”. Là on trouve des arbres avec des fruits tropicaux, par exemple mango, papaya, avocat ou achachairu. Après de la recolte, on vend les fruits a un distributeur ou directement a les “caseritas” qui après le vendent a toi. Autre possibilité est que les quintas fabriquent confiture des fruits ou liqueur.

Normalement, quand tu fais une promenade aux Pays-Bas, Allemagne, France ou l´Espagne, tu vas regarder l´avenue ou la rue ou même le forêt et tu vas observer que c´est très propre. Ben donc oubliez vous de ça. On jete tout a la rue. Comme chante Bernie Bonvoison: Regarde bien au face de cette universe de poubelle. Même a côté des panneaux “Prohibido botar basura, multa xxx BS” on voit des canettes, papiers, plastique, bouteilles et autre dechets.