What fills the gap

It’s only these last couple of days that I’ve started to notice how happy I am again. I think I’m the happiest I’ve been since I arrived in Amsterdam. I realise how comfortable and enjoyable my life is here, and see how much further it can grow and be improved. The only determining factor is my willingness to engage with the world.

Somewhere along the way I learned to recoil from the world somehow, to shirk from the transaction. I hated paying for things at stores, I hated having to engage with another person using a set of rules I was unable to wield. Shyness, the word seems like a little and simple thing, but the thing it describes is so much bigger.

I am also remembering how easy it is to be happy. Happiness largely consists of doing more of the things you like and less of those you don’t. And when you spend more time doing things you like, you realise that many of the things you thought you didn’t like doing really aren’t that bad. And in fact, even those thing are filled with happiness if you know how to look for it. Somehow I had unlearned that.

With happiness has come motivation. All of this stuff is hooked up somehow, there’s all sorts of feedback mechanisms and flow-on effects so that it’s really cumulative.

Some budding musician posted this video on reddit the other day:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cmT3t2Kdr3I

I find it very moving. It seems to represent how I feel right now. Inspired, and becoming aware of just how big the world is.

In which we return after a long hiatus

Well, my initial publishing efforts didn’t last long. But that’s okay, I think half of writing is learning to get over the guilt associated with not-writing, which then makes it something we stop avoiding, and so paradoxically become more open to putting pen to paper. 

Winter was rough. Part of me had known it was going to be, but another more cavalier part said, with almost teenage bravado “we’ll be able to stick it out.” And we did, but it almost cost ourselves our job and our sanity. The last two times I had winters like this I flushed two years of university down the toilet. This time around, after a strong start at work, I lapsed into a kind of fog where I wasn’t much use to anybody. Added to that a couple of high-profile mistakes that pissed off a senior manager, and I think my boss was thinking “why did we even hire this guy?”

But just the other day they announced that it was the first day of spring. I am too disorganised to store in my skull the specific date, so I always rely on others for these kinds of information. So spring is here and soon the trees that line the canals will sprout leaves again. In the height of summer they’re the most glorious, bright green things. In winter they’re just bundles of sticks. 

Now that it’s spring, life is good again. I’ve been going to the gym on alternating days, have found myself an apartment, have become a star at work again, and am working at becoming more of a social animal.

I have also resolved that I am going to learn how to skydive. I have told a few people about this, so I suppose that I’m locked in now, and that’s a good thing. 

The other day I went to IKEA for the first time in my life. That was like coming face to face with globalisation. Some indignant liberal part of me wanted to find flaws in the whole arrangement, as though in solidarity with the workers in China and the villagers in Brazil who are having their forests cut down. But even I had to admit that it was convenient, likely cheaper than its competitors, and not a bad system for getting all that various bric-a-brac we surround ourselves with. I left with a couple of towels and pillows. James was kind enough to take me to some guy in Bos en Lommer who sold me a bed for 500 euros with delivery – it should be at Renes place within a fortnight. 

 

In which the weather turns out just lovely and we have a nice cruise down the canals

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In which we watch the England game… also baby swans

Last night went to see England play Sweden in football at Cocos in Rembrantplein.  It was a thoroughly enjoyable experience, surrounded as we were by a group of rabid English supporters.  It was amazing to see the energy they brought with them – it seems they view being a spectator to their national game as a full-contact sport.  In between sinking a prodigious amount of beer they would frequently launch into a number of different songs and chants that seems to be encoded into the DNA of all English people.  Whenever a goal was scored, they would jump up onto the tables and throw beer everywhere.

Got pretty hammered myself, and woke up with a pretty bad hangover.

Now that we’re through spring and into summer, there don’t seem to be the nesting birds in the canals as much.  The other day we had a pair of swans leading their chicks through the canals in front of our house – it was quite a cool sight, and I was lucky enough to snap a couple of photos as they went by.

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In which we visit the Rijksmuseum and encounter idiot Americans

Yesterday I was tired of being cooped up at home and so went for a walk to the Rijksmuseum to check out a bit of Dutch history.  It was pretty cool – I got in for free with this 50 euro card we bought a couple of weeks earlier, and which covers us for any museum in Holland for the next year (I think).

So I wandered around and looked at a giant cannon and some armour used by cavalry men in the 1500′s or so.  Military costume from the 1500′s till about the 1800′s looks ridiculous in my opinion.  There’s too much plomp, too many feathers.  It’s hard to see how people at the time were meant to be intimidated by a man in oversized comically breeches and a purple cape waving a thin scrap of metal in their face.  I’ve been listening to a lecture series on the birth of modern Europe lately, and by all accounts the military people at the time were thugs – so it’s interesting that their military costume seems so feminine to us now.

I remember coming across the concept of élan, which is a French word that means something like gracefulness and eagerness.  Apparently up until the First World War, military strategies still employed élan as a tactic.  Essentially, it entailed the belief that when the enemy saw the French army crossing the battlefield looking so elegant and brave in their military costume, so graceful and resolute in their action, their will would be broken.  I wonder if this was part of the idea behind the military dress of the Renaissance/early modern period – a kind of romantic version of ‘shock and awe’.

The original gangstas: I find it hard to see how these guys were meant to be intimidating

I saw a few paintings by Rembrandt and that guy was talented!  There was this self-portrait that he did when he was 22 that had me captivated for a while.  I also saw the famous Night Watch, which is an absolutely massive portrait of the Amsterdam city guard.  One thing I found that was quite cool is that on Google Maps you can explore the inside of the museum on streetview – so you can see the painting I’m talking about here.

All-in-all, it was a pretty cool way to kill some time, though the walk there and back was a bit long.  I was feeling quite socially anxious that day, uncomfortable in my own skin somehow.  The walk to and from the museum was thoroughly uncomfortable, despite the fact that I stopped for a beer at a pub, which I thought might kill it off.  I had hoped I’d leave all that garbage behind when I left New Zealand, but it seems that my personality has followed me here against my best wishes.

That said, it’s important to keep things in perspective – life is exceedingly good for me at the moment.  I’ll eventually find a job and everything will fall into place nicely.

Last night we went to a pub and watched Netherlands get knocked out of the competition.  When you get a few beers into you and surround yourself with passionate natives, football is almost watchable.  It still it has nothing on rugby though.

IDIOT AMERICANS
While we were there there was this table of idiot Americans who had ordered a plate of bitterballen and other Dutch food, and spent the next 20 minutes essentially badmouthing Dutch cuisine and (indirectly) Dutch culture.  If I was one of the locals, I would’ve wanted to  give them a swift roundhouse kick to the face.  What made them even more retarded was the fact that they were operating under the assumption that no one around them could understand English.

“We’re soooo lucky they can’t speak our language,” the morons actually said.  Motherfucker this is Amsterdam – everyone speaks English here!

I’ve got nothing against Americans, but ignorant retards like that are really bad PR for your nation.

In which we just show some pretty photos of the city…

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In which we fear the metro will explode…

It would seem I’m already falling into the realm of not updating as often as I should, but I will resist the urge to write an apology post because that’s bullshit, and I’d essentially be apologising to my superego.

Life as it is has settled into a pleasant epicurean daily routine of going to the gym, spending some time looking for work, and pissing about on my laptop.  It’s a nice enough life, though I feel like I should be doing a little bit more to enjoy this country while I’m here, as my future here is by no means certain.

Today on the metro with Jimbo, and we sat at the back of the subway, with the door open to the pilot/driver’s quarters.  Suddenly he walked out briskly, closing the door behind him, and stepped off the train.  He was carrying a backpack not unlike mine, did not seem to be wearing a uniform, and otherwise had the appearance of just another commuter.

Suddenly a bizarre and irrational fear overtook me.  I was certain that he had left a bomb in there, and that in a few moments the carriage would explode.  Luckily my fear of causing a scene outweighed my fear of death, and I didn’t start screaming about exploding bombs.  It was certainly a strange few minutes, and I was relieved when we stepped off the metro at the Waterlooplein station and made our way to the gym in one piece.

A few brief moments of panic – what was the cause?  Certainly I don’t feel in my everyday life under any particular threat from terrorism.  In fact, I view all those people who go panic buying after a bombing in a metro on the other side of the world as largely morons.  I’m more concerned about walking in front of traffic.

I’ve worked myself up into these panics in the past, while flying in 747′s.  They usually start the same way, either with me pressing my head against the window next to my seat and deciding that the small cracks on the window are not meant to be there, and at any moment the window will burst open, de-pressurizing the cabin, and sucking out passengers starting with my own miserable self.

Another version of this sudden panic-fantasy starts with my idling mind questioning the existence of God.  I then conclude that if he is real, he should prove it by shattering the window at this very moment and sending me spiralling out into oblivion – the fear of death now accompanied by the horrifying reality that I also now have an angry deity to contend with.

These moments of panic I suppose I shall call ‘Superstitious Panic’, as the fear seems rooted in some kind of primitive non-logical faculty of the mind.

In which it rains and gets cold

Today went out on the canals with an old school friend and a couple of her fellow flight attendant friends.  They were just in the city for a couple of days.  We offered them a ride on the canals before they flew back to London tonight.  They are new to the city there, having only been there for three weeks or so, they fly the route from Heathrow to Singapore, stay a couple of days there, and then fly back.  It sounds like an exciting lifestyle if you could put up with the work, I personally think I’m too misanthropic to serve people and put up with their shit.

This was probably only the second time I’ve been on the canal when it was overcast.  The weather got progressively worse, so that for the second half of the trip the conversation on the boat dropped away and we were all just thinking about being somewhere warm and dry.  At times the rain grew heavier and we sheltered underneath bridges, cutting the engines and just holding on to a gap in the metal girders above.  It was strangely peaceful, if a little desolate.  In certain places, in wider canals, you could see the wind whipping down the length of the canal and carving little ridges into the water.  We saw ducks and geese and their young.  In one place a mummy and a daddy bird were sheltered in their little nest off the end of a boat, along with six or so of their chicks.  It was a beautiful little scene, mostly hidden from casual observers, as the nest was in the shadow of a moored canal boat.

Sheltering from the weather under a bridge

Last night we went out for a few drinks and met up with some strangers the girls had met the night before.  They were a pleasant enough group, if a little desperate – a temporary configuration of people who had implicitly agreed to spend time together in a foreign city.  There was an American couple, late twenties, who had just gotten engaged that night.  He had popped the question to her on a canal boat earlier that evening, and she showed the girls what I think was probably a quite impressive diamond – I’m not knowledgeable about such things.  It was a little puzzling why they would want to spend their post-engagement afterglow on an unremarkable night with a bunch of people they had just met – though that’s not to say it wasn’t a pleasant enough time.

Still fascinated by the concept of legal marijuana, one of the girls asked me to take her to a coffeeshop to buy some pot.  I agreed, though I knew that if I smoked any after eight or so beers, the result wouldn’t be conducive to social interactions.  I rolled them something, but relented when I was offered the joint and had a couple of puffs.  I left shortly after, and had to navigate from Leidseplein to Brouwersgracht at 3am – which was not an easy feat given my current knowledge of the city.

Tonight we watched Threads, a BBC documentary about nuclear war.  It was quite haunting…

In which we ran out of gas

Bones, this post is on the inevitability of human drama.

Today I was reluctant to go on the canals, but went out of a sense of obligation for Jimbo.  He has been so great taking me for trips on the boat with him, that I thought it only fair that I should accompany him if he felt like a ride.  In the end I was glad I went.  Though it was colder than it has been for the last week or so, it was still pleasant.

We ran out of petrol along the way, which was expected.  For some reason Jimbo was adamant that it would be good for the engine if it ran dry, and we had the other canisters filled.  Unfortunately the resulting vacuum in the petrol canister meant we couldn’t unscrew the lid, and were adrift in the middle of the canal.  Luckily there were few boats about today.

In the end Australia had to disembark and beg some tools from a restaurant, and returned with a pair of pliers and a hammer.  I’m not sure what the hammer was for.  But there was a silver lining – in the process of removing the gas cap, I suggested that maybe the canister was not meant to be a vacuum – that possibly the little screw to let the air in was meant to be open while the boat was in operation.  This theory turned out to be correct, and the engine was running better than it ever has on the way back.  So that was a happy little accident, to quote Bob Ross.

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To surround oneself with other people is to accept a role in the stage play that is the drama of the human condition.  It is impossible to stand separate, or to observe this unfolding without getting caught up in it yourself.  The only move is to play, and then it becomes a case of how well you play.  If you neglect to choose your own role, one will be assigned to you.

A good example of this is Facebook and other social networks.  I frequently have half a mind to announce on my wall that I have committed Facebook suicide, and that if anyone wants to contact me they can email me.  But I know that if I do, I’ll be pulled back in at some stage in the future.  The announcement itself will be to invite people to speculate on and judge the merits of my actions.  ”He thinks he’s better than us.”  ”He’s probably gotten into some kind of trouble with an ex girlfriend.”

All of this, and more, when all I want to do is to stop playing this particular game.  I don’t like the fact that there’s a lot of people I don’t like (i.e. my wider social circle) who have access to intimate details on my life.  I don’t like the fact that I will be called upon implicitly to “like” someone’s status update, that I will be counted on to write “happy birthday” on some old acquaintance’s wall.  At what stage does one become “Facebook official” when dating someone?  It may be that I’ve just gone on a few dates with someone and they state on their profile that they are in a relationship with me.  I am then obliged to do likewise, and suddenly we are more committed than we were before – dragged into it by the anonymous force of this social network.  If we break up a few weeks afterwards, I have to change my status and this will be broadcast to hundreds of people – inviting even more comment or speculation.

I want separate myself from this particular avenue of drama.  In fact, I want to be free from most human drama, but all too often I feel myself being pulled back in.  It is impossible to stand apart.

We all feel the same things, only at different times.  I’m not sure where I heard that, but it’s something that keeps coming back to me.  I know that none of what I’ve talked about will be news to you Bones, nor will it likely be news to anyone.  I often think that just about all of our problems and the issues in our lives can be reduced down to a small number of tensions.  The thrill of refusal vs the security of submission.  Or the tension between the individual and his obligations to the collective.  This is likely what lies at the core of this.

There were a lot of swans on the canals tonight, I must’ve seen at least 20.  There were very few boats out, and without any wind at all the water was like green glass.

Driving near the red light district I saw a family that was obviously on vacation, but the husband was on point, ahead of his wife and kids, and was looking greedily at all the windows – sex shops, sex shows, coffeshops.  He needn’t have bothered, the red windows were down the side streets.  I wondered what he was really after, I wondered if he now felt constrained by his family, by the choices he had made.  It certainly looked that way, though it was probably a feeling that would pass for him – and it was obviously for the best, for everyone, that this was the case.

In which we describe the canals

I suppose my first post, Bones, really needs to start with a description of the city’s canals.  They essentially form a ‘U’ shape around the city’s centre.  For the most part, all of our travels keep us within this area.  While it might not seem like very much canal from looking at the map, in practice there is plenty of territory to cover.

The water itself is a military green and filthy.  At times, if you get it on your clothes or into the boat, it has a strong biological odour that is unpleasant.  While the water surely cannot be healthy to humans, in the current late-spring/early-summer it is host to a number of species of birds who have come to nest and raise their young.  It’s common to see mating pairs of ducks bobbing along down the length of a canal.  Because you can’t see their webbed feet kicking, it looks as though they’ve each got their own in-board motors working away down there.  There are other birds too.  The great crested grebe is one that I’d never seen before.  It can dip under the water and swim horizontally for quite a distance, it’s really impressive to see.  There’s a couple more species I’m not familiar with, and yesterday we saw a pair of swans protecting their own four ugly ducklings as a family from a sixth-story balcony threw pieces of bread down to them.

As we drove past I met the smile of one man who was throwing some of the bread down.  He smiled at me and I tipped my beer can at him in salute.  He then threw some bread down to us, and we made as though to catch it.  It is these little acknowledgements that I find across the city that fill me with hope for the human condition.  The playfulness of people is hidden usually, and is only shared with strangers in rare, unguarded moments.  We need to encourage an environment that makes these moments possible.  We need to do what we can to elicit them from others, and offer our own when another attempts to elicit them from us.  Humour is a reaction to the absurdity of the world, but it is also something that is shared between people.  It is a shared acknowledgement, and as such works to diminish the cultural, political and socio-economic differences that can so easily divide us.

Bones, you would love it here.  Along the sides of most canals are tied canal boats of all sorts of sizes.  It seems that everyone in the city has their own, or at least a share in one with a friend.  There’s everything from small inflatables and dingies, small boats that you could expect to see fishing in New Zealand, and large open tubs that are closer to the ideal canal boat.  Many of these larger tubs are quite well appointed inside, if unsheltered from the weather (as few have anything like a cabin or canopy).  The general template would be a giant tub with cushions at the front and down the sides, a table in the middle with bottles of wine, cheeses and salamies, and maybe a bottle of distilled water.  The boat is either controlled by a steering wheel at the back, or else a giant tiller that looks like a much more fun and involved way of controlling the boat.

While the people of Amsterdam may not view their cars as status symbols, they are not above seeing their canal boats in this way.  Some of the boats are absolutely gorgeous, and as much as we try and rise above these worldly trappings Bones, you can’t help but feel a cruel pinch of envy as they go past – the unspoken implication being that they’re off to some place that’s far better than wherever it is that you’re going.

A stereotypical ‘tub’ – often used as mobile party platforms

Occasionally you’ll see a boat that wasn’t bailed in the last rains that has now sunk into the waters of the canal.  We laugh and point, and make jokes about how buying a share in that boat probably wasn’t the most solid investment.

Rah-row

When you ride the canals, the city is inverted.  That is, when you’re walking through the city, the canals are in your background – as scenery.  But when you are riding down them, they become your playground.  It’s hard to explain, but seeing the city from the perspective of its canals is drastically different to walking alongside them and looking back at the tableau of wedged-together frontages – many dating back to the 1600′s.

There’s a different pace to travel by canals, both literally and spiritually.  Literally in the sense that there’s a 6 knot speed limit in place, something that seems to be observed by the majority of the populace, and spiritually in the sense that there are few obstacles in your path and you have plenty of time to encounter them.  This, and the scenery surrounding you, puts you into a meditative or contemplative state that is thoroughly refreshing for the soul.  Perhaps this is why it is not uncommon to see Dutch people take to their canals on their own, obviously just out after a hectic day to clear their heads.

It’s not uncommon to see people out for a drive on their own.

Some less ‘well appointed’ boats

 

I think tonight we’ll be going for another drive down the canals, as the weather is absolutely stunning outside.  I hope so, there’s some thinking last time that I would really like to complete – something about the canals as being an egalitarian space for different social classes to come together and have a shared experience.