the soonlyweds!
June 29, 2009
Kaliningrad.0 (Day 0, from the archive)
June 29, 2009
You may have filed into ancient history that I made an idiosyncratic trip to Kaliningrad, Russia in an attempt to discover a little more about where my grandmother was from. My european friends who have studied history, political science or russia were thrilled! jealous! curious! It was a chance to venture into Russia’s wild west. Not quite frontier, but still an outpost. Where smuggling and money rule over law. Ahhh Kaliningrad Oblast, wedged into a Baltic shorefront between EU countries, yet still so…so far from Europe. And I thought I had drempels in Rotterdam.
see that unlabeled space incubating between eu (poland) and eu (lithuania)? uh huh
Kaliningrad Oblast, is a Russian region of a size smaller than Swaziland, but bigger than East Timor. Er…. smaller than Hawaii, but bigger than Connecticut. It was wrested from the Germans after victory in 1945, when it was known as Konigsberg. Lest anyone forget, Victory Day signs loomed large like memories of Russia’s past, full of stars, all over … Victory Square! Where else? (Everywhere else, actually.) But I’m getting ahead of myself. The City (capital of region) of Kaliningrad was once a rich capital built upon layers of urbanity laid down by Teutonic nights, prussians, poles, germans, and all the trading ships that took haven here from the Baltic. Perhaps its most famous claims are the birthplace and lifelong home of Immanuel Kant, along with the 14th century Konigsberg cathedral that hosts his tomb.
seriously cool
yes you kan, immanuel's tomb
Old world architecture, in modern-world ex-soviet Russia
Today, however, the place is thoroughly Russian. But it has a unique history among its kind which shows through in its hanseatic architecture, prussian relics, and legacy of german language. Plenty of germans (plus some poles and swedes) come there to do “business.” Most service people speak german as a second language. Thus, where I see Soviet scars, Moscovites see novelty. And a vacation spot. That’s absurd! Who the hell would come HERE on vacation?
who the hell would come HERE??
Kaliningrad Oblast contains 90% of the world’s extractable amber – which is reputed to wash up on the baltic shores. I didn’t find any. As a special economic zone, Kgrad also manufactures 1/3 of Russia’s televisions and has Hummer and BMW plants. (Buy local! The humming on the streets doesn’t seem so ostentatious anymore.) Baltiysk, the port, is the only Baltic port that remains free of ice during the winter. Thus a heavy naval installation there. And also nuclear warheads.
without k-grad, would we ever know the pleasure of the rare googly-eyed amber porcupine??
….So if this blog is about all my hiccups and missteps in foreign lands, then damn! I picked the place!
consulate, the hague, netherlands
The first drempel was of course before even leaving: the consulate. A warm russian greeting awaits any visitor…but only after a long, cold wait in a slow, unmoving queue..outside. I kid you not the doorman wordlessly shut the door in a mother’s face, leaving her and baby out in the cold with the rest of us schlumps. It was only upon entering, after 45 minutes outside, that I realized how cuddly the sidewalk could be. Do I even need to go into the details of how painfully bureaucratic this purgatory was?? Maybe it’s hyperbole, but it felt like the first way-station between hell and ANYWHERE west of it.
Actually, after getting the special form for Americans, my guy behind the bulletproof glass was pretty helpful. He even smiled! Just kidding. He gave me the ok to pay at about 11:30. And payment goes to another bulletproof window…with a queue longer than a ballistic missile. And THAT window closes at 12:30. In my 1 hour and 15 minutes of waiting (they worked OT today), 2 people paid. TWO!!! Just to give money! Thats an average of 37.5 minutes per payment!! I came back 3 days later, had the door shut in my face, earned my deserved spot inside finally, and waited …to finally understand what happens in those 37 minutes of awe: computer check, other computer check, photocopy, cut paper with scissors in 3 places, stamp each piece, photocopy each piece, collate each piece, accept payment, print receipt, photocopy receipt with passport, computer check again, other computer check again, stamp, glue, cut, paste. … etc. etc.. etc.. The biggest exercise in kindergarten skills I’ve seen in 25 years! I guess the 400% American premium over Europeans does not go to express service.
But I got it!! Just in time for the train!
First….off to Berlin!!
riding rails to berlin
rotterdam is for lovers
March 31, 2009
…and tasty late night!
streetside vending rules!
the mark is off
February 18, 2009
Unbeknownst to most, bagpipes were actually invented in the Low Countries. Their soothing bleats were based on instruments used to drain the polders with a community of mouths. Some also say that pumping so much frothy seawater out of their land is the root of the dutch obsession with head in their beer. Makes sense to me.
remember the polders?
Speaking of bagpipes and other Brit-pilfered booty…they’re now taking something far less frothy than dutch bierje: our very own Mark Johnson. Er.. their very own .
Mark Johnson is an english landscape architect and former tree surgeon who, until recently, sat directly courtside to his eminence: me. As the fulcrum of the anglo axis at the office, working life will never be the same now that Mark’s gone back to Blighty.
Mark ... stolen from the bliss of tap control. Worse crimes are yet to come...
He has an unparalleled ability to incite laughter. Just when a dead horse has dried into a pile of dust, Mark always replenishes with something smart. Without tastelessness!** It’s amazing. (Damn accent always wins!)
mark and felix. looking sporty on mt. rotterdam
Mark is also refreshingly generous. With his bike, time, and insults… Mark always has something to give. Thanks Mark! Mark left us in style, with steel balls like Cornwallis, refreshed off the citrus of our G&Ts. A true english delicacy. If we could all leave such an impression.
Cheers to Mark and Sara. “Success” in Southampton!
Mark... redeemed. Right side of bar, wrong side of channel.
**Not valid after 2 beers.
Saturdays in the Rot
February 5, 2009
rotterdam's working docks, romantic view. from West 8 office.
Wandering around saturdays in rotterdam is always a show to see. It may not be paris or amsterdam, where you can breathe the magic in the street from centuries of city building (and the coffeshop next door). No. The magic of this city, decimated in WWII, is found in the jostling and movement of its people — and all the weird shit that they do.
This is a working city, where movement is an industry. Borne out of centuries of ports, docks, logistics, Rotterdam is the essential link in the supply chain of a functioning europe. From 1962 to 1986 it was the biggest port in the world. (It’s supposed to reclaim the title when the Maasvlakte 2 port area is finished in 2011.) You feel it at 6 in the morning. The one time I was so proud to run that early, I thought the streets would be mine! I merely joined the chorus of headlights, street crews and bikes already in motion. As if it were rush hour on Friday afternoon. On the same order, the weeknights are early (save some crazy students and architects). The singels are solitary. The docklands quiet and low.
The Maas gives moving a whole new meaning
But Saturdays. Saturdays are when it all comes out. The Saturdays I spend here, I’m taken by the assemblage of randomness let loose on everyone’s day out and off.
First, running in kralingen park – the city’s jewel (can i get a Merritt?) and lung, if not located somewhere in the right clavicle. The other day, not only did I see every species of dog and a majestically sunken bike, I was also overtaken by a thundering BRIGHT yellow corvette. Dude. Don’t those belong to balding, American ex-stock brokers in 1987? And blasting the Macgyver theme song? Alas! I had no camera to prove it.
kralingseplas, our jewel. a rare frozen moment.
Not to worry. There was no hiding that car in this city. 2 weeks later…I spotted it just off Middelandstraat – my local commercial corridor, the mission street of rotterdam, full of turkish retail, scary cofffeeshops and …. rice cooker stores?
the rot has midlife crises too! bellies not included.
typical middelandstraat rice cooker store
Okay, so maybe I have no life. (“corvettes?! who cares?”) But in a place with tiny euro cars, drab colors, and some uninspiring vernacular architecture – that picture of american midlife crisis struck a nerve. Perhaps an arterial nerve. I’ve got a thing or two to say about arterials. Actually the whole american car in rotterdam phenom strikes me funny. They’re just so out of context. And bigger than most apartments.
My neighborhood 70s Chevelle.
And they DO qualify for the dutch road tax credit. Which, if you recall from our discussion of Felix’s mercedes, confounded me in this nation of pragmatic peoples. Why on earth would any dutchman subsidize a bad ass american muscle car from the 70s? Who are these people in orange anyway?
Up next for dutch road tax: Them Duke Boys!!
Well, the logic has been explained to me. Who knows if its right or true. But like most laws dutch, there’s a logic to it. The road tax for 25-yr old cars is designed to keep all the materials and embodied energy of a vehicle in use for as long as possible – minimizing the energy, steel and pollution that go into producing new cars. And while I was previously aghast at the subsidizing of 70s gas guzzlers, the truth is that with fuel prices so high in Europe most of these are on liquified petroleum gas already. LPG is not just leisure sport for women.
suburban ..rotterdam?
And they’re fun to photograph! This will be the first of many American car photo entries earning dutch road tax credits that you probably don’t care about.
More exciting sights are yet to come… Like this uplifting character on the 2-stroke higgly piggly pipe organ. Nice gams.
nice gams!
make up. tons of oil. and a clean chute
January 13, 2009
So there are a few traditions for the holiday season in the low countries that need to be discussed.
Olieballen
oliebollen stand at rotterdam centraal station. oilball stands are all over.
richard, my neighborhood oliebol king! click for sweet video. from ad.nl
Literally translated as “oil balls,” these greasy lip smackers give doughnuts a serious run for their 90 cents, euro . Fortunately for the dutch health care system, they are only served seasonally and traditionally eaten only on new years. But that does NOT mean they’re taken lightly (there’s nothing light about these balls). A contest for the best oliebollen is held every year, complete with chemical analysis and ingredient testing of the oil ball. I’m very proud to say that MY neighborhood oliebollen stand won for the whole country! 10 years running. Some contest.
Zwarte Peet
So I’m a little late on the Christmas wagon. But this cannot go unsaid. One saturday morning, after another desperate and failed attempt to administer a piece of paper at city hall, I had to find a broodjeij or something to make up for my empty kitchen. I was happy enough to find the cafe bazar, touristic exhibit A of how the turks color this city, with its endless litany of mediterranean dishes, blaring anatolian beats and jarring colors. I was jolted out of meditation with my pita by the bounce of a different beat – a marching band! Of…black people! I mean, colored people. I mean, people with…black face?! What the @*&%*#?
sinter's little helpers
So this story was all too much fun to hear, and tell (judging by the 14,000 times I heard it), throughout december. I’ll try to be brief: Sinterklass, nee Saint Nicholas, the patron saint of children, was buried in Spain. Everyone tells me he’s not the same as Santa Claus. But he was inspired by the same benevolent saint. Every December 5th he returns to the low countries, miraculously hitting parades in every city. The real one comes to Rotterdam, of course. And gives the good kids kruidnoten (cookies), bad kids sticks or salt or something, and REALLY bad kids he takes…back to Spain! Dude. I’m evil!
the REAL black elvis. not even Kool Keith is THIS dutch
He’s attended by black peters, Zwarte Piet, who apparently represent his 3 nimble chimney sweeps, moorish boys who he rescued from capital punishment for a crime they did not commit. They’re black because of the chimney ash….
piets. marching to an urban beat
The parade and charade of an accepted brand of racism was cut with the typical dutch lunacy of bicycles. 6-piece marching bikes, articulated bikes, two-faced bikes etc… My (sometimes) trusty powershot ran out of batteries at this critical juncture. Not even the blur button could save me.
finally, inner peace. with sinter and piet. in leiden.
This Christmas, Santa stuffs more than your stocking
With sinterklas taking the main stage on December 5th, Santa Claus doesn’t hold a candle to him in the netherlands. No. He holds a butt plug! Sometimes the dutch take their frankness and reputed cultural openness to a whole new level, well beyond appropriate. In this case, it’s manifesting in a crass commentary on Santa’s commercialism? Through “art?” Or something. At least there’s some hot olieballen to the rear, of the picture.
and a merry christmas to you sir!
Another installment in “Dam! they speak english!” A traditional dutch holiday adornment:
Jeremy’s Drempels in Rotterdam
December 14, 2008
drempels. let op
If you know me and i know you do (all 2 of you), you also know that i probably don’t have much to say. ever. which makes the idea of a jeremy blog so fantastically ridiculous! but here i’m giving it a go, without even being hammered.
To me blogs…are almost like web 1.0 when people/stores/losers were so giddy with the novelty of a website that they put up uncensored (boring) content with the most garish “design.” the rainbow rule. the flashing text. the senseless bling. myspace suffers the same travesty. well, now i join. with a blog 2.0 to the n… Into the ether!
But at least it will give you a portal to my photos, which may be more interesting – especially if you’re a planning dork. And also a portal into my brain fragments and some of the inane things i do with my time .
So. Another word or two on the blog. Drempels.
Drempels are speed bumps. I’ve had enough bumps on my head to appreciate a drempel here and there. So, while this site is meant to show you what my life is like here, with pics and blahblahblah…most of it is inevitably about the bumps in the road, the crooks in the street, and the stutter steps I have to take around them as I try to get a new life off the ground – however temporary it may be.
I’ve also learned other bumps can be drempels – such as a threshold. So maybe I can beat the bifurcated metaphor to death and turn a bumpy start into something momentous.
Moving is kind of rough – and I migrated by choice! I’m certainly not fodder for a sebastio salgado. But hopefully interesting enough material for you, my friends and family. Especially now that I’ve actually posted something (really, what’s a month or two?). Please note that many of these postings are/will be late or out of order. But the more for you to comment on. Comment!
So…Welcome!
Prague. (From October)
December 14, 2008
streetcars rule the prague streets
Today I just returned from 1.5 days of inane meetings, wasted time and perpetuating a dysfunctional relationship. I can’t wait for more. (it’s true!). We were meeting with some clients in Prague. While the meetings were awful, I’m still drawn back by the beauty and magnetic charm of Prague. I mean, it was beautiful and charmingly magnetic.
Dejvicka Subway Platform, Prague
I only had 30 hours there. And most of that, as noted, was inside a smoke-filled room with powerless skinny cats. But I was lucky enough to have a bus ride from the airport, a morning jog, and a “working” morning free of work – during which I took an 8-degree (celsius) tour of the city for 3 hours. These served as 3 concentrated bursts of snapshot-taking with my trusty Canon 770. Every freaking street in that city has gorgeous buildings! Small ones, big ones. Historic, semi-historic. Consistently 5 – 8 stories. The parks and squares could use some work. But maybe the dreary weather stole their luster.
Pino. blurred, in boring park.
Also, this city would NOT be fun for cute girl-ugly dog or any of its variants. Why? EVERY girl is gorgeous. AND the dogs are all super cute! Often, with couples, men, or other non-girls. So the game doesn’t work.
Breakfast in Prague.
In addition to the crazy cool ’60s Soviet-esque subway stations, the streetcars here are everywhere! It’s amazing. It’s been proven that their efficiency is directly proportional to how quickly they accelerate when encountering pedestrians. They are very efficient.
Amsterdam. English.
December 14, 2008
Dam Lovers
If my hand were as sharp as my comedic timing, I might have gotten this photo right. But I have to pull a “you had to be there” moment and spell it out. The lovers boat was FULL. The canals were FULL of LOVERS boats. FULL of the most depressed tourists I’ve ever seen! Dude, chins saddled in hands, the forlorn faces were priceless! Maybe because they were stripped of their freedom and forced to listen to some bonehead tour guide. I’m never going on a lovers boat.
Pity the fools
But the Lovers get to another point – the english! Not the people. The language. Here. Everyone speaks english here. That’s a given. So expect everyone on a quiet train to understand you. (Which is more than I can say for city hall). But the way english has saturated the culture … speaks a lot to the how America has touched the world. I feel dirty. This is probably not news to you. But living it, rather than just knowing it, has given new depth to my understanding of american pop culture and its global reach.
a healthy command of english, by the kermis fair
Basically, everyone I ask says they learned english from TV. They all grew up watching Seinfeld, Friends or the A-team or something. It’s crazy. They all sound like BA Baracas! So. Everyone (or gen x and y) speaks english and has a common nostalgic spot for things 80s. English manifests in the media, on buildings and in my photos via cheezy slogans, corporate names, branding and ads. Is this what the english language is to the dutch? A catchphrase? A sales pitch? As if Eve were a car salesman. Bite one get one free? Hip hop lingo is everywhere too. Basically if you listen or watch enough, you’ll hear and see english phrasologies everywhere. Earlier this week I shared a laugh with a guy at the pool, as rambunctious kids bounced off the walls and filled an otherwise mellow pool hall with noise. At first he didn’t believe me when I said they were screaming in english. He said, “No, they’re speaking hip hop.”
Felix. Ektorp. The Green Merc (from October)
December 14, 2008
Felix and the Merc
This photo fires many neurons for me. First, the understated presence of felix – a seriously cool and mellow fellow colleague at west 8. i almost slept in his bed without knowing him (without him either), but found a warm floor somewhere else instead. He lives in rotterdam noord, which i am still ignorant of but got to know a little better on my epic chain guard journey. More on that later. BUT. The coolest thing i DID learn about rotterdam noord was that the gemente rotterdam and a developer have turned the arched areas under the decommissioned elevated hofpleinlijn into artist studios. Now Felix has new neighbors. And the shadows of an elevated line are filled with tailors painters and designers – not scary people. Except for the scary artists.
Courtesy of Citycorp.nl
Back to the Merc.
I haven’t sat in a 70′s mercedes since high school, and MAN are those cars cool. My sister used to carpool us to school in one of those. I can remember the white leather smell every morning, after scraping the chilly san diego frost off the windshield. There’s something so classic and always pleasing about their form, their tasty 70s colors, matching hub caps, big happy radiator grill, and unforgettable gluuug glugglugglug glug.
Cool and the Dutch Road Tax
And felix is SO COOL, that he runs the thing off liquified petroleum gas , not diesel glug. 1/2 the price. Same mileage. Kilometerage. more or less. AND he’s beneftting from netherlands’ tax credit for 25+ year old cars. Booyah! Which I’m still wondering about. Is the state so committed to being retro that they’re endorsing more air pollution? If I had power, I guess I’d want my pollution to look good too. Let this be the first installment in the “if-the-dutch-are-so-cool-and-practical-why-the-hell-do-they-do-this” series (thank you Jason).
luscious german vinyl
So, based on my sources (my many many sources), there is a sales tax, vehicle tax (based on weight and cost of car), AND a road tax (based on weight and fuel-type) on cars in the netherlands – at least there were in 2005. The tax break is on just the road tax, I believe.
Living in America (I mean Sweden)
Back to the pic. The wood slats in that car can only mean one thing…we’re at IKEA!!!! My 2nd road trip outside of Rotterdam. And guess what…it’s EXACTLY THE SAME as in the US!! IKEA=IKEA, by the reflexive property of IKEA. See mom and dad, I’m NORMAL! I do the same things here. Lykesele. Ektorp. Meatballs. Put those worries back in that Motorp!
A store favorite. Ikea, Delft. (Source: Adriaan Bloem, http://flickr.com/photos/bloem )
Did I mention how cool 70s Mercedes is? Thanks Felix!
