Biarritz


There was something about the golden, end-of-day sunlight and the way the crashing surf was hitting the seawalls in Biarritz that brought to my mind a vague recollection of a book I read in a French class a very long time ago. I had to think for a minute to place it, and came up with the author: Chateaubriand--the guy who was the founding father of Romanticism in French literature (and, yes, after whom that cut of beef is named).

With the help of Google, it's all coming back now: François-René de Chateaubriand was a writer and statesman who grew up on the windswept beaches of Brittany, and the book was René--a novella about a passionate, melancholy young man who finds himself at odds with society. He's the archetypal teenager, really--think Holden Caulfield, Ferris Bueller, etc.--and, let's be honest: we've all been there and felt that way, which is why these characters have appealed to us at some point in our lives. The book is full of descriptions of the rugged, north Atlantic coast, the main character's lonely childhood, and passages like this:

"Alas, I was alone, alone on the earth. A secret languor was taking hold of my body. The disgust for life I had felt since childhood came back with renewed force. Soon my heart no longer provided food for my mind, and the only thing I felt in my existence was a deep ennui."

I have to laugh when I read this now. Maybe it was just better in French, and the English translation turns it into purple prose. Or, now that I'm an adult with kids of my own, René doesn't speak to my state of mind and seems decadent and self-indulgent. But I have to admit: there is something about Chateaubriand's depiction of the wild landscape and the angst of youth--and the feeling I had when I first read it--that has stayed with me all these years.


Since I must write a poem:


Off the Atlantic

sweep the winds of memory,

souvenirs of youth



The Rain in Spain...


















I'm usually not superstitious, but can't help wondering if we should have just stayed in the Netherlands for the World Cup final. Did we jinx it somehow? And damn that Paul the Octopus! Oh well--we had so much fun cheering for the Oranje, even up until the bitter end.

We traveled to Spain.
It rained. The Dutch lost the Cup.
Oh, what have we done?!?

Journey's End


So, our wonderful week on the waterways of Friesland came to a close today. We headed back to Sneek to return the boats and said goodbye to all the Greydanuses. It felt like we were breaking up a really great party, and I was sad to see my uncles and aunts and cousins go. I don't get to spend much time with my extended family because we all live so far apart, so this trip was pretty special.

That being said, the great thing about a boat trip is that, as much fun as it is, at the end of a week I'm really ready to get off the boat. After a week on a boat--no matter how nice a boat--simply sleeping in a normal-sized bed and standing under a regular shower feels like a luxury. Bring it on!

Also: I feel compelled to mention that one of the things I have loved the most about being in the Netherlands (and Friesland in particular) is that people know my name here! Not that they know me personally, but when I give our last name to make a reservation or whatnot, they don't say, "Vander-what?"


what a joy it is
to visit a place where they
don't butcher your name

Quarrel in Bolsward

While sitting on the boat and having dinner this evening, we witnessed an incident that was kind of unsettling. Across the canal from where our boats were moored, there was an older German couple whose dog had apparently gotten into a tussle with another dog, owned by a young local guy. Instead of just apologizing to each other and going on their way, the dog owners ended up in a long and protracted shouting match that nearly came to blows. Unfortunately, the whole thing escalated into a German-versus-Dutch conflict, and my uncle Arjen (who speaks Dutch and Frisian) and cousin Peter (who speaks some German) went over to try defuse the situation. That helped a bit, and things quieted down.


dogs quarrel and their

owners clash, raising ghosts of

unforgotten wars


Waiting











sooner or later

the old man

who operates the toy-like drawbridge

in this gingerbread town

will peddle up on his bike

raise the bridge

and lower a tiny blue wooden shoe

on a fishing pole

so we can drop in a coin

and pass through

but until then

let’s tie up the boats

and crowd around a table

of fresh bread and sharp cheese

and raise our glasses

of genever and cold beer

to the sky

and to Pake and Beppe

Oranje Afterglow


















What an amazing day. Our whole crew rented bikes and we rode out to Deinum, the city where my grandpa, Willem Greydanus, was born. From there we rode to Beetgum, just a few miles down the road, where my grandmother, Alida Vander Schaaf Greydanus, was born. We saw the church where they got married. It was a gorgeous day, and we passed fields full of contented Frisian cows, and had a close call with a drawbridge that Schuyler almost didn't make it over (I think he'll get a lot of mileage out of that one!) We ate more bitterballen (a type of deep-fried meatball--don't ask!--served in pubs) than I ever want to see in my lifetime. We had a day chock-full of things I'm going to reminiscing and writing about for a long time--so more on that later.

Then in the evening, some of our group packed into a little tavern in Leeuwarden to watch the Netherlands play Uruguay in the semi-finals of the World Cup. When we--the Oranje--won, it was absolute pandemonium of the very best kind. As walked back to our boat, the streets were full of deliriously happy Dutch fans in orange, singing and cheering and whooping it up. I couldn't stop smiling.

a glorious day
family history by bike
a city aglow