Holland Holiday, Take Two...

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Dear Diary,

It's cold, windy and grey here again in Durgerdam. I often wonder if this place ever sees the sun, and what that would feel like (do your bones ache as the warmth penetrates them? Do you have to squint your eyes to stop them from being blinded?) It is remarkably easy to understand Seasonal Affective Disorder when all you ever feel you are doing is swimming in different depths of a black and white photograph. I can't believe that England is so bright, and far less cold, when compared to Holland. This makes the difference between the mainland and England far greater, as though they are worlds apart.

Although, dear diary, it has not all been doom and gloom. I always forget that you were not there with me, experiencing it all as I did, and seem to delve straight into the here-and-now.

Let me take you back to March, 2.

I spent the morning updating my blog, with copious amounts of tea and coffee. Following that, I had read some of Solihull's local newspapers (paying particular attention to all the deals being offered on various vehicles). As the day progressed I could feel more and more stress build up (the usual questions encircled my mind: "should I purchase a car", "new or secondhand", "what am I doing with my life", "am I happy"...) My thoughts of South Africa, England and my upcoming holiday kept wandering between these questions, back and forth like the tide, as though my spirit was choosing its destination. By the time I had gotten into bed, my mind was exhausted and my body tired. Around 01h00, Debbie and the boys finally got back from their holiday in Disney Land, Paris. I could hear the fatigue in their footsteps. I was envious. An hour later and the house was deathly quiet.



Tuesday, 3 March

I woke up around 09h30. The house was still. I quietly walked down the stairs and made myself some coffee. I could hear my every breath against the constant ticking of the clock. I sat on the sofa, legs curled underneath me, sipping coffee. The thoughts began again. I could feel each thought like a pin being inserted into a pin-cushion. I sighed, trying to relieve the pressure...

Finally, I could hear the beginnings of movement, of other people. I felt relief as I heard the distraction creeping down the stairs. First down was Ben.

Now, dear Diary, you must know that Ben is the cutest seven-year old, with bright red hair and freckles, who never stops talking. His face lights up when he sees me sitting, waiting, for his arrival. He began, as though each thought battled for first place out of his mouth, not arriving quickly enough. He told me about his holiday, about his favourite ride and his scariest. He told me how much I would have loved being there, and which rides I would have enjoyed. He had just about exhausted his holiday stories when we were joined by his older brother, Tom.

Tom, what can I tell you about Tom. Tom is a very serious little boy, aged nine. Whenever he is around, I see his little nine-year-old feet trying to fill the big shoes of the 'man-of-the-house'. I always think this must be an extraordinarily difficult task he has appointed himself, and I can never be sure if he feels the same way too. Somedays, I think that he misses out on parts of his childhood, and other days, I can see the little boy slip out, bathing in all the childhood glory. I always love seeing the little boy. I like watching the battle between child and adult. I like seeing how the 'adult' tries to make the battle go unnoticed and the 'child' stamping his feet as though throwing a tantrum. This reminds me of just how innocent he still is. Eventually, I got Tom to talk about his holiday (between making a pot of tea and two slices of toast). I encouraged the child to come out and play for a while, show me his badges and autographs. But before long, we were interrupted by the 'adult' Tom. I let him slip into the shoes he so comfortably wears.

Debbie made her way downstairs, giving up her attempt to lie in. I think the best way to describe Debbie is 'normal', 'average'. She is well educated (PhD in horticulture). She is quiet in an intelligent sort of way. She speaks when she has something worth saying. She hides in the shadows of her children. When I look at her, I see several years of harsh treatment, I see pain and suffering, I see turmoil. When she looks at me, I see a carer, a kind-hearted soul, a mother. I always try to talk to Debbie. I find it so immensely difficult. I'm never sure if she is weighing up what I say or if the uncomfortable silence is just felt by me. Nevertheless, we sit and talk. First off, we began discussions on their holiday, the ups and downs and her experience of Disney Land. We spoke over breakfast as Tom continued to practice perfecting the drawing of Mickey Mouse (Ben had lost interest in this idea a short while earlier). Debbie is so good with the boys. She should be so proud of them both. They are genuinely nice people.

After breakfast, the boys were straight onto their christmas present... the Wii.
Debbie and I sat, half watching, half talking. By the time we had run out of things to talk about, I had about 30 minutes to get ready for Hilary to collect me and take me to the airport.

My dear Diary, I knew that things had been too good to be true. As I climbed the stairs my phone rang with the enthusiasm of a puppy. It made me jog the last few steps. I half knew who it would be, and I half hoped that it was going to be someone else. I looked at the face of my phone. There was the all-to-familiar face and name 'Hilary'. I looked at the two options: 'answer' and 'decline'. I answered the phone apprehensively. She asked me some questions about Tony's care. I could feel her frustration, her panic, her anger. I continued getting ready as I spoke to her. First one leg into my trousers. Then a precarious position illustrating my flexibility. I could be rather good at yoga. Then the next leg into the trousers. After a short discussion, Hilary told me she would be collecting me in about fifteen minutes. My phone rang a short while later. It was Hilary. She was here. I had said goodbye to Debbie and the boys and made my way to the car, bag in hand. I sat down, assessed the situation. Hilary burst into tears. I half gasped, half took a deep breath (Not today. Not now. Not this.) and enquired what was wrong. I got a LONG, confusing story. I took another deep, purposeful, breath. I quickly dealt with the situation. Hilary had stopped crying, she began to drive me to the airport. She discussed her world. Tony. The car came to a stop at Birmingham International Airport. I took yet another deep breath, opened my door and collected my bag. Hilary got out of the car to hug me and wish me well. I walked into the airport, alone again.

I felt a warm sense of relief as I walked through the metal detectors, as though I had removed all my worries and stresses when I took my shoes off to be scanned. It felt as though life, reality, was left in England, waiting for my return. I wandered through the terminal aimlessly, waiting for the boarding gates to open. I grabbed a coffee and sat watching all the other passengers, thinking about all the places they were going, all the people they were going to see. Just about then a female voice came over the entercom. She thanked all the passengers for cooperating with the evacuation of the terminal and she apologised for any inconvenience caused. I could see all the other passengers look at each other suspiciously, concerned, confused and relieved. There was a buzz of conversation and laughter.

Finally, the boarding gates opened for my 50 minute flight. We all queued to board the aircraft. Each passenger's luggage was checked for size and weight. A gentleman in the front of the queue put his bag into the metal container to check the size of his case as compared to the dimensions given online (you know the one i'm talking about, the one I never use?) The staff were satisfied that his bag fit. He went to remove it from the container, but found that it would not budge. For a long while, it seemed as though he, the metal container and his bag would be flying to Holland. Everyone stood by and watched as he struggled with the bag. I felt myself chuckling at his attempts to remove it, laughing ironically at the fact that his bag was obviously the right size (but procedures had to be followed by staff...) and then I felt myself getting angered by the staff (as they were all standing by watching and laughing). This hold-up meant that many passengers sighed with relief as their bags were unable to be measured (and even though my bag was smaller than the dimensions offered online, I too breathed a sigh of relief)

We boarded the plane. I was sat in seat 19a. A window seat. Next to me were a couple, one Dutch, one English. Infront of me were arrogant Londoners. The flight was to be noisy, but thankfully short.

We landed in Schipol earlier than expected, at 17h50 (having taken off at 15h55). Then we taxied to the terminal for a staggering 15 minutes. By the time we reached the terminal, people were becoming restless. Everyone disembarked and disappeared. I am always surprised by the size of the airport. Walking from the aircraft to the luggage collection point takes at least 20 minutes. I walked through the 'nothing to declare' point remembering doing this very thing with my mother in France. I chuckled to myself remembering how guilty she always looks when we walk through the security. I came out the other side, looking for Korneel.

My phone bleeped, it was a message from Korneel saying that he was stuck in traffic and would be at least 30 minutes late. I went to grab another coffee. I remember how proud I was that the very first thing I bought in Holland, with my own hard-earned money was COFFEE....

Eventually, Korneel arrived and we drove to the shops to get some dinner. I was to discover on the way that Korneel was feeling under the weather. We got some salad and came home. On one hand, I was chuffed that nothing had changed. It was really nice to have some familiarity, a sense of knowing where I am, where things are, how things work. I smiled.


Wednesday, 4 March

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!MY 24th BIRTHDAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I woke up to the trill of a text message at 05h00 and nine trills after that, until the constant battering of the wind on the front of the house demanded that I wake up and seize the day. It was absolutely freezing. Korneel walked in with a cup of coffee and some presents. It was such a nice start to the day. Shortly after Korneel's arrival in my room, my MAJ (aunt) phoned. I can't believe how South African she sounded. I wondered for a long while if it was because I was so used to hearing British people speaking, or if it was because I had not heard her voice in such a long time. I was suddenly reminded of how much I missed home. How much I missed my sister putting a candle in a cupcake and bringing it to me in bed. I missed the mad rush of opening my presents before everyone went to work. I had to put on a smile so that I did not let all my feelings show, or worse have them all pour out of me. I'm not sure if Korneel noticed. I hope not.

I remember my birthday last year as though it was yesterday. I got bags of little gifts. I was ever-so-chuffed. I never, in my wildest dreams, thought that I would be where I am today. I never thought it possible to be surrounded by so many people and still feel alone.

I got out of bed, showered and sat in the lounge. Korneel had to do work, so I watched some television, under a thick duvet. We did not go out, or do anything, because Korneel was feeling achy and full of flu. I understood whole-heartedly.

It was nice to check my email and facebook and see how loved I am. I got several happy birthday's, which made me feel really special. I spent the rest of the day thinking and planning the next few days.


Please forgive me dear Diary, I must make some coffee before I continue writing...

That's better...


Thursday, 5 March.

I woke up relatively early and went to shower and eat breakfast. I am constantly aware of the difference in temperature. It is so cold here. After breakfast, whilst Korneel continued to work, I sat under my duvet in the lounge. We planned to go out later on and do some plane-spotting. I always like watching aircraft. At last, it was time to go out. I dressed warmly, having borrowed most of Korneel's wardrobe. Korneel made sandwiches and tea to take with. We drove to a well-known plane spotting area. The car came to a halt, I knew we were at the right place the minute I saw a huge plane zip by and soar into the sky. There was one other reason (I'll leave it up to you to spot):


It was so cold out there that it made watching aircraft take off less fun. Although, everytime a jumbo went by, I could feel myself shudder at the awesome roar of the engines. I wished mommy could have been there with me, she would so have enjoyed it (because you know how she reacts when one flys over us in the car). We got back into the car to get warm, drink tea and eat lunch. For the first time, I watched planes go by, not wishing I was on one of them to some fantasy destination.

Once we were chilled enough, we drove home. Unfortunately, we had left just a little too late, and so got stuck in traffic. I was looking out the window of the car, on the highway, when I spotted a familar scene. Between each gap in the huge boards, I saw the wreckage of the Turkish Airlines flight. I thought how good it was that the police boarded up any area leading to glimpses of the wreckage and patrolled any and every road leading to it. I felt suddenly cold at the realisation that people had died in it. I felt awe at the mere site of the wreck. I felt fear as I thought back to all the planes we had just watched take off. I just can't believe that a plane that size can break into that many pieces. I pushed the thoughts out of my mind. We eventually got home and planned our evening out. We got into the car and drove to Korneel's friend's restuarant, Boom (like the Afrikaans, Tree). It was a small place, hardly noticeable. There were about ten tables. The food was good. The company was better. Before I knew it, Korneel's friend had brought a platter of cakes to the table, with a sparkler in it. She wished me happy birthday. It was deliciously awesome. I sat staring into the white sparkles. Not thinking, not wishing, just staring.


Friday, 6 March.

I had not heard the chirping of birds. I had not heard the wind. I was awake, hurrying to get dressed. Korneel was doing work, I was doing travelling.
The time: 05h30.
We got into the car and drove to Amersfoort to pick up the truck. From there, we drove all over the countryside. It was fun. I saw so much. Granted, I did not get out and do site-seeing. But I did see more of the country that I would ever have, given any other situation.



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After the long day on the road, we stopped at Korneel's parents place for dinner. I was taken back to one year ago. I had the same feelings, the same impressions. BUT, this time, I understood more. I had some vague ideas as to what everyone was saying. I was so impressed. I was made even more chuffed when I sat infront of the piano, and played and played and played. I could feel my soul eeking into the piano. My fingers played along. I was stunned at my sponetneity. I was transported back to all those piano lessons, to teaching, to the smell of my piano, to the touch of the keys. I was shocked by the emotion I felt as I sat before the melody. I was sad to stand up and leave the keys behind. Korneel's mum made a fantastic dinner. She made me feel quite welcome (even though Korneel gave her no warning that I was coming).

I quickly checked my email, between playing the piano and eating dinner. I had received an email from Jodi (you remember, the lady that trained me at Active Assistance) and from Michelle. I opened the email from Michelle. She said I had done the right thing by informing her about the situation with Tony. I was relieved. I opened the email from Jodi which congratulated me. I had no idea what for. I then opened Jo's facebook message to me, which revealed why I had been congratulated. I had been nominated for PA of the month. Only then did I open the newsletter from Active Assistance, which made everything quite clear (Active Assistance Newsletter). I was contented by this information.


Saturday, 7 March.

As I had gotten into bed rather late, I had woken up rather late. I could hear the wind blowing over the water. By the time we were ready to go, it was afternoon. We packed all our clothes and bedding into the car and began the drive to Belgium. On the way, we stopped at burger king for dinner. We arrived in Belgium at 20h15, just in time to find a seat for the show. Kim and Inge, Korneel's friends, were performing in a stage show. It was the 40th year celebration of the dance company and the show was entitled 'Anders' (literally, different). The idea was that they took folk dances from various stage productions they had done over the last forty years and combine them into one celebratory production. It was really nice. I particularly enjoyed watching the percussionist in the orchestra. After the show, we had drinks with the performers. The celebrations lasted until 02h30. We then drove to Kim and Inge's place. I fluffed my duvet over the couch and Korneel his sleeping bag over the camping bed. We finally crawled into bed at 03h00.


Sunday, 8 March.

I heard Kim move about the house. She had to teach a dancing at 09h00. She must have been tired. A little while later, I heard Inge. She crept through to the kitchen and began making breakfast. He boyfriend, Sven, had gone out to get some fresh bread from the bakers. The house became alive. Before I knew it, we were sitting down to what Sven termed 'a traditional Belgian breakfast'. There were tiger, white, brown and butter 'bread rolls' (South African term)/'Baps' (English term) with all the spreads and things you could imagine. There was cheese and various meats. There was chocolate fondant and spekuloos spread (which is the flemish equivalent of the speculaas biscuits - just spreadable!). It was a culinary delight. To accompany this was freshly brewed coffee. To follow it was koffiekoeken (which is the equivalent to a custard slices). Yum, yum, yum.
It was so nice to experience this. I knew that Sven and Inge had somewhere to be, but they still took the time to sit and have a nice breakfast with us. I think this is the experience I have enjoyed most on this holiday.

After breakfast, Korneel and I packed our things into the car, said goodbye to Sven and Inge and headed into Antwerpen. We had a look around the town. It was nice. It was busy. Korneel and I went for several cups of coffee and tea at various places. We watched people walk by, purposefully. We took lots of photos. The weather was good, the day was fun and the walk around was perfect. We stood and watched a street performer whilst eating nice warm chips. After the long day, we decided to drive home. On the way, we stopped to get coffee and a sandwich. Eventually, we arrived in Amsterdam. We stopped at central station and parked illegally (in a drop-off zone) - so I slipped across into the driver's seat and pretended I was waiting for someone... tut tut tut. We drove home in relative silence. Got the stuff out the car, climbed the stairs and made and ate dinner. We checked our email briefly. I sat staring at the television.


Monday, 9 March.

Korneel left for work relatively early. I put headphones on, turned on some music and went back off to sleep. I have been dreaming again. I had not noticed that they were missing until they came back. I really enjoy having them. I curled into a ball and enjoyed the warm happiness of bed and music interrupted by dreams...

Eventually, I coaxed myself out of bed. The same routines play out. I hate the routine. I sat in front of the computer and began typing this entry. I had not realised how much there was to say until I started. By the end of Monday, I was halfway.


Tuesday, 10 March.

Today was spent indoors, as it is grey, wet and windy outside, but then, I have already told you all of this.


This is where I leave you dear diary. I hope I have not bored you too much.