The Haarlem Shuffle

It’s only recently that I’ve realised how small the Netherlands is, and how the distances between the larger cities is just a relatively short train ride away. With that in mind I did some research pre-trip and knew that Haarlem was a must see. And yes, the architecture is the same as in Amsterdam, but the buildings are generally not as tall.

Some of them still have lots of interesting details on them though.

And sometimes the people who live there add their own, revealing something about themselves.

Our first port of call was the Teylers Museum, which also happens to be the oldest museum in the whole country, created in 1784. It was truly an amazing place, so it will get its own post because it’s crazy brilliant.

Afterwards we had lunch at DeDakkas, a great restaurant on top of a car park. Definitely going back there one day.

It felt weird to have been somewhere so nice, and to then walk down the stairs in a six story car park. But even a stairwell in such a place can give you a nice picture.

We then walked through the Gouden Straatjes (The Golden Streets) to have a look at the shops, but they were all shut as it was Sunday, as well as Whitsun. Double whammy.

Same deal for Grote Kerk. A visit for another time I guess.

I love Dutch architecture so much, which probably explains why my favourite building material is brick.

It helps that the clay they used is a really nice colour too.

We walked nearly 17000 steps that day, but we took little breaks every now and again. Here we sat by the canal watching the boats - and sometimes dogs - go by.

Nice painted tiles in a doorway.

Most of the streets in centre of town are car free, which always feels like such a treat when you live in a city like London. We have the priorities all wrong here - the car is king. Most of these houses are residential, and some don’t have a back garden, so you’ll find tables and chairs set up outside someone’s front door, and the residents hanging out there. Me and Z were a bit behind A & D at this point, and when we caught up with them they were chatting away to some people who were doing exactly that, and as we approached one of them greeted me by my name and poured me a little glass of wine. Turns out that D had said “Is this a bar?” as they walked by, and overhearing her the guy went “It’s the best bar in Haarlem!”, when it actually was his house. They were having people round for a late lunch, and we stopped for a little bit, chatting away. Gezellig!

A’s Hockney bag kind of felt applicable in that moment.

I really wanted to check out Proveniers hofje, a large set of houses set around an inner courtyard. Usually hofjes are almshouses, but these in particular were for built for gentlemen (!) who paid for their lodgings in the 1700’s, so the houses are bigger than usual.

We all agreed that it’s a really good way of living, as long as you get on with your neighbours of course. Would definitely help with the loneliness epidemic we have in parts of the world.

We didn’t want to hang around for too long, as we were actually a bit late for the official open-to-the-public times, so we quietly made our way out and continued our perambulation in the neighbourhood.

Peeps, it was magical. So magical that I only took one picture, which is always a sign of me properly taking something in. Street after street looked more or less like this. In amongst the houses were sweet looking bars and restaurants, full of what looked like locals. The place was not mentioned in any guides or in any research that I’d done, we just happened upon it. I always enjoy walking through residential neighbourhoods more than any sightseeing, as it’s so much more interesting.

You still come across sights worth seeing.

On our way back to the train station we had to walk through the city centre again, and we oooooh’d and aaaaaaah’d over this Art Deco beaut

and click click clicked.

Nice old liquor and wine shop doors, don’t you think?

The last canal we crossed before the train station. Perfect light (ha! when I typed this I typed ‘life’ instead of light. Freudian slip anyone?)

I can’t tell you how nice this outing was, as Amsterdam itself is insanely busy. They get 20 million tourists visiting a year now, which is the same as London, but London is eight times bigger than Amsterdam - eek. You really notice the difference from only five years ago. On a bike it’s not too bad, but on foot it’s intense in places. So I’m definitely up for exploring the rest of the country more on future trips. Trains between Amsterdam and Haarlem only take 15 mins, departing every five minutes. Ridiculous! And the beach from Haarlem is just 10 minutes west. In fact, on the train back most people were coming back from the beach, and there was sand on the train seats. Do Dutch people know how good they’ve got it? I think so. But thinking about it, maybe Haarlem wasn’t that great. In fact, it was the pits. You definitely don’t want to go there 😉

The Harlem Shuffle 💃🏽🕺🏽

A good Saturday

10 days ago, very early in the morning, this is what I saw as I was eating my Pret breakfast. Seeing hen parties as you sit and wait to board an 8am train is a bit nerve wracking, as all you want is a quiet carriage and a pleasant journey. Fortunately the two groups we saw were getting on the Paris train, and not ours to Amsterdam.

It was time for a repeat trip to my home from home with D & A, a year later. A had the foresight to bring playing cards and we warmed up with this game, where you didn’t want to end up with the queen of hearts. Such a fun and simple one, with lots of tension. And yes, D picked it up here.

The four hour journey goes really quickly when you play cards. We realised that we might be the last generation who play regular card games, as I can’t imagine today’s kids being that interested, when you have games like Exploding Kittens etc. I have to teach Oomoo this though, which I hadn’t played in 20 years. Shithead is such a brilliant game, the perfect mix of strategy and luck, and the fact that your hand can change very quickly, from good to bad and back again makes it really fun.

Arriving in Amsterdam is really easy now that my friend Z lives in Noord. Once we arrive at Central Station it’s a five minute tube ride, and boom there we are.

Just like last year we headed straight to Liever Hier for lunch, and this time we got a great table, so great that we stayed there for a couple of hours, eating incredibly well and catching up.

The table was hidden amongst the tall grass (much taller than last year)

and Z picked some to take home

as well as some cow parsley.

I asked Z to take a seat here as I wanted a picture of the café (to the left of yellow tree) and just as I took the picture this woman and her dog walked past and made it complete. Smiles all around.

We then heard the unmistakeable sound of a Solex tour.

Look how happy they are! Such a good idea.

Here’s a clip I filmed last summer when we got overtaken on our pushbikes by a tour. If you cycle north for 10 minutes from Z’s front door you arrive in the countryside. Didn’t manage it this time round, but there’s always the next trip.

After our long meal we needed to stretch our legs so we walked around this little inlet and admired the light catching on the lily pads.

A did some tree bonding too.

We then spent the evening on Z’s balcony and felt very pleased by the fact that we hadn’t even ventured into the city centre. I realised on the last trip to Amsterdam last August that I can’t keep up my usual tempo on city breaks anymore, and that maybe less is more after all.

So here’s to more balcony hangs in the future 🧡

A Sunday morning walk in Stockholm

We stayed in the Kungsholmen neighbourhood, and one morning me and mum went out for a walk along Norr Mälarstrand, in the sun, which I think was only out twice the whole time we were there. I spotted this lady resting in her boat, and had to get closer.

Oh wow, she really had it worked out. An old record player playing I can’t remember what, coffee, not just in a thermos but with an actual cup, and is that a toaster I see below it? Impressive.

Ahh, just looking at these pictures is a sight for my sore eyes. I’m so over this winter; it’s been incredibly long, cold and weird, but spring will come one day, and hopefully the sun too.

A dog on a bench is always funny.

And a dead rat maybe less so. We couldn’t see that it had been injured or killed, so maybe it just died of old age, a bit too publicly.

Concertina building.

We made sure we captured the autumn colours.

Some people really know how to make the best of Sundays, don’t they? I need to master that.

I saw a couple of people swim, and as usual I hadn’t packed my bathing suit. When will I learn?! My friend M (my Swedish cold water swimming buddy) moved back to Stockholm last summer, and has kept up with it. It doesn’t seem like it’s as popular there as it is here, but maybe that’s to do with it being a lot colder there in winter. She’s sent me beautiful footage and pictures from her new swimming spot, and in one of the pictures she’s hacked herself a hole in the ice, by the ladder going into the water. She’s got a massive smile on her face and there’s just enough space for her to stay holding on to the ladder, with solid ice all around her. If that’s not a Viking I don’t know what is.

A little summation of sorts

The 12 or so days that I spent in Stockholm for my godfather’s funeral and the subsequent logistics that had to be organised post-funeral, were actually rather good. My sister A flew in from LA, my mum from the south of France and me from London, all of us landing within an hour of each other. I remember seeing the moon while I queued at passport control; it was unbelievably huge and the sky a perfect gradient of colours, and it felt like Lasse had somehow commandeered the sky for it to be that beautiful at that very moment. Like a sign saying “Don’t worry, it’ll all work out.”. And you know, it really did. We experienced what felt like being in flow for the whole time we were there. Everything did just seem to work out. It was both little and big things that happened that made what could’ve been a really hard time relatively smooth. The car that my sis had rented wasn’t available, so we got an upgrade instead. Mum’s best friend, who was away for the time we were there, offered us her flat for us to stay in (what timing!), and there was a parking spot just outside the apartment block when we arrived (and almost every time we came back from somewhere). Or like texting my cousin at 7am the same morning as the funeral (I’d forgotten to let her know in the midst of it all what had happened - she’d grown up knowing him too), sending the details, in case she could make it. She could, as her office was only a 20 min drive away. Or how quickly I found a lawyer to deal with the will, and how she made everything that felt overwhelming a much easier thing to go through. Or how, after dinner at my other cousin’s place on the opposite side of town, the only local bus you could take, went all the way to the bus stop right by the flat we were staying in. Or how, when out on a walk with my mum, we bumped into the son-in-law of her friend who’s flat we were staying in, which resulted in us being invited over for lovely dinner with her friend’s daughter and grandchildren. We didn’t force anything, and just simply let each day take its own shape, and let ourselves be guided by what had to be done, keeping an open mind to whatever arose. We kept saying that Lasse was somehow giving us a helping hand, making it all easier, when it could’ve been the worst of times.

I hadn’t really cried until we went round to Lasse’s flat to try and make a start on tidying things up a bit. When we entered the scent of the it was exactly the same as when he lived there, and that’s when it really hit me. He was never coming back.

We found his jacket that he used to wear all the time, still holding the shape of his body within, even though he hadn’t worn it for years. As much as we hoped that it would fit one of us, it was simply too big. My dad has it now, as a memento.

On the day we saw him, while we were talking, it came up that he was asked if there was something he really fancied having, as a treat, just days before he died. He asked for an ice cream sandwich. So after our hour with him was up, we thought we’d buy some and give him a farewell toast in Kungsträdgården, the park in which we had spent endless hours with him when we all were younger. Here we are saying “Skål Lasse!” as we did so, although my sister H had to forgo the dairy with a hot drink instead. It felt right to do something so funny/eccentric, as it was so like him. I think I’ll go and do the same every time I go back to Stockholm. A little personal hello and a sweet moment of remembrance.

We also laughed when we realised that the day we’d gone to see him was Halloween. He would’ve loved to have known that.

I think it’s quite common that at the time when someone dies, you look for signs or imbue meaning in things, to feel that that person is still with you. When we arrived at the cemetery for the funeral there were two moose in the field next door, munching away, without a care in the world. I have NEVER seen wild moose in my life. What were the odds of seeing them just then and there? Surely this was the work of Lasse again?!

The burial itself was slightly surreal. We women had to stay behind for the whole ceremony as the imam and the men present said the funeral prayers. My dad had organised it all through his local mosque, and had also bussed in friends from around Stockholm for a proper send off. I thought it wonderful that my white Swedish godfather’s funeral was so multi-cultural, which really reflected on him and his life. He travelled extensively in Africa and Asia in the 60’s, so it made sense that this was how he was laid to rest.

As a result of the funeral I got to see and properly hang out with my mum, who I hadn't seen since 2019. No offence to my husband or son, but to just be a daughter/sister this time, and have time on my own with my family felt so special. Also, the last day, before the three of us who live elsewhere left, we realised that it was Lasse’s birthday. We picked up dad on the way and drove out to Lasse’s grave to sing him Happy Birthday, and that evening we went out for dinner, just me, mum, dad and my sister A. We realised that it was the first time we’d all sat down together for a meal, just the four of us, since my parents divorce in 1988. See? Another little helpful nudge 😉

I’ll never forget those two weeks, which in despite of everything, felt like a gift. In fact I know it was. Tack Guffar.