The Sentinel Amsterdam vol.4 #2 by Consultancy Market Media

vol. 4 #2 - 07 December 2010

The Sentinel Amsterdam

Integrity, heart, humour

FEATURE

INTEGRATING THE DUTCH LIFESTYLES

COol best Perspectives

those were the days perspectives OPINION TRENDs CARTOON SPORT CLASSIFIEDs photo ÂŠ Bill Tanaka

CONTENTS

In this issue FEATURE

p. 03 LIFESTYLES P. 08 Perspectives P. 12

Integrating the Dutch Cool Best ‘The stress between so-called natives and newcomers goes back hundreds of years, here and in my homeland.’

REVIEW

p. 26 sport

Con-fusion

Those were the days

‘I would have to work much harder in Amsterdam to afford the same comforts in my life’

p. 30 more:

The Gold Room

‘...million-euro apartment developments nearby are increasingly attracting the affluently mobile’

e-mail: sentinelpost@gmail.com website: www.thesentinel.eu The Sentinel Amsterdam does not intentionally include unaccredited photos/illustrations that are subject to copyright. If you consider your copyright to have been infringed, please contact us at sentinelpost@gmail.com.

Perspectives p. 19 The Beauty of Dutch Language LIFESTYLES p. 20 The adventures of Eleanor Rigby and Penny Lane

ColoPHon The Sentinel Amsterdam

‘On the seventh day, God created Ireland. A sort of afterthought.’

Editors – Gary Rudland & Denson Pierre Design, realisation and form – Andrei Barburas & No-Office.nl Webmaster – Simon O. Studios Webhost – Amsterjammin.com

Perspectives Women: take two

p. 22

TRENDS Revenge of the matjes

p. 24

FILM REVIEW

p. 24

CARTOON

p. 24

STUD MARKS

p. 29

Contributors – Donna Du Carme, Fred Gerkum, David O’Halloran, Eleanor Rigby, Saskia van Leendert, Lennie St Luce, Dirkje Bakker, Colin Bentley & Maureen Kamp

FEATURE

Integrating the Dutch By Donna DuCarme

‘...the flat certainty of the Dutch landscape will never feel natural to me.’

FEATURE

‘I’m not the type of immigrant the rhetoric is aimed at. As an American – an officially ‘western’ immigrant – I’m acceptable’

photo ©Mony Art

In a few short weeks, I’ll be marking my tenth anniversary in the Netherlands. I say ‘marking’ instead of celebrating because, while it definitely feels like a milestone of sorts, the jury is still out on whether it’s something to celebrate or not. I admit to a certain ambivalence towards my adopted country, but have been assured by my Dutch friends that many of them feel the same way. I’m not sure – though I have my theories – of why the native born would share my uncertain feelings about their country. However, I am quite sure of why I feel the way I do. It boils down to a few things. Born and raised at the foot of the Sierra Nevada mountain range, on the edge of the desert, the flat certainty of the Dutch landscape will never feel natural to me. Don’t get me wrong, I have heaps of admiration for the Dutch people’s ability to adapt and ‘reclaim’ their land, shaping it to their own needs. There’s a certain ‘coming home’ feeling now, when I return from overseas and see the dependably squared farmlands and neat rows of planted forest unfolding beneath the plane. Perpetual outsider No, my true ambivalence comes from another source. Although I’ve tried my utmost to integrate and become

what I call with a certain edged humour “the good immigrant”; although I’ve managed to rebuild a version of the career I left behind in the US; and although I love my friends and adopted family, I still feel like an outsider after 10 years. And with the growing anti-immigrant sentiment and political rhetoric in the country, that feeling is only getting stronger. Why? I’m not the type of immigrant the rhetoric is aimed at. As an American – an officially ‘western’ immigrant – I’m acceptable, in fact, desirable. As a graduate of the integration programme, with my NT2 (Dutch Proficiency) certificate firmly in hand, I’ve ticked boxes and earned my Dutch passport. And since I’m not in the public eye, it’s unlikely that my dual citizenship will be challenged; the protectors of ‘Dutchness’ have much bigger fish to fry, don’t they? Maybe, maybe not. Or maybe so, for now. Poetic injustice There’s a poem that starts rattling around in my head every time Meneer Wilders and crew begin preaching the dangers of the undesirables: They came first for the Communists, and I didn’t speak up because I wasn’t a Communist. Then they came for the trade unionists, and I didn’t speak up because I wasn’t a trade unionist. Then they came for the Jews,

FEATURE

photo ©AmsterSam

and I didn’t speak up because I wasn’t a Jew. Then they came for me, and by that time no one was left to speak up. This poem is by Martin Niemöller and was written in response to the demonization of the Jews (and others) in the lead up to the Second World War. It became popular again during the 1960s fight for civil rights in the US. Maybe it’s this disturbing sense of déjà vu that’s bothering me. I came of age during the race riots that swept campuses and neighbourhoods all around the US. Those times broadcast our racial problems to the world and forced us to rethink the way we were living with each other. Why did this take place at that particular time in history, when African-Americans had been there since the Europeans imported them generations before? Historians may propose other theories, but mine is offered from personal experience… Race relations Although my parents were cool with the fact that my older brother’s best friend was black, and they also had nonwhite friends and co-workers, it was made extremely clear to me that boys – and eventually men – with skin darker than mine, for any reason other than sun tanning, were not to be considered dating material (being colour-blind by nature and preference, I ran up against this rule again

‘Is it a coincidence that the riots and the mixed-race couples began spreading at about the same time?’ and again). Yes, we could put up with the “lazy Mexicans” taking our jobs (anyone else see the irony in that?), the “drunkin’ Injuns” tearing the town up on a Friday night (since the town sat on land leased from them, of course) and we could even applaud the N… I mean AfricanAmericans, I mean blacks (what are we supposed to call ‘em?) beating us on the basketball court, so long as they all stayed in their own neighbourhoods and “so longs they stayed away from our wimmin”. Is it a coincidence that the riots and the mixed-race couples began spreading at about the same time? I don’t think so. In fact, as a former symbol of the white man’s status, eagerly sought after by the Black Man fighting to pay Whitey back for generations of oppression, by taking his most prized possession (read some early Eldridge Cleaver),

FEATURE

‘It’s not that the Dutch haven’t been uncomfortable with their immigrant populations before.’ I know first hand that this connection exists. And my story isn’t unique; it played out in living rooms all across America at the time. The intolerant society Which leads me to my big theory of why the Dutch myth of tolerance, visibly tattered when I arrived here, is being shredded on the streets and in the political halls of the Netherlands today. It’s not that the Dutch haven’t been uncomfortable with their immigrant populations before. For ten years, I’ve been hearing about Turkish labourers who (surprise!) neglected to return to Turkey when the Dutch were done with them. And of course we have the ‘hangjeugden’, the train-robbing rioters and the German/ Italian/French tourists who flood on to our beaches and bike lanes in the summer. The stress between so-called natives and newcomers goes back hundreds of years, here and in my homeland. But this new nastiness – this fight over dual citizenship, the weirdness of preaching stricter integration programmes while simultaneously cutting funding for them, the idea that somehow Team Wilders will find a way of freeing us from the tyranny of inevitable Sharia Law – this isn’t something I remember from my first days in the Netherlands, ten years ago. Things are getting nasty, and the nasty is being aimed squarely at the ‘niet-westerse’ (read non-white, non-Christian) immigrants in ways we haven’t seen in, hmmm, 60, or so years? And somehow, because I’m an acceptable immigrant, I get the sense that if I just keep my head down and don’t make waves,

the nasty will pass me by. Uh, I don’t think so (reference Niemöller’s little ditty). And even if it were so, I’m sorry, I gotta tell ya, I just don’t buy it. When was the last time you were forced to attend Friday prayers? How many of you are being forced to eat Halal in the company canteen? When was the last time a woman wearing a headscarf stole your job? Okay, that last one may have happened, but hey man, it’s a tough world out there. Invasion or assimilation? If you’re Dutch and feeling invaded, there’s a good reason for it. You are being invaded. According to Iamsterdam. com, 50% of Amsterdammers come from outside the Netherlands. The Central Bureau for Statistics (www.cbs. nl) tells us that immigration was up in 2009. But get this: in spite of what some will tell you, they’re not taking your

‘Tell me how many generations ago your own family came to the low countries and subsequently bred with the then natives.’

FEATURE

jobs and, so, are not to blame for the current crisis (we heard this scare tactic in the US often enough). Labourbased immigration is down. And you’ve survived – and sometimes welcomed – invasions before. So what’s the real problem? Well, here’s my big theory… The immigrants are not really stealing our jobs or forcing their religion on us, are they? But what they are doing is moving into ‘our’ neighbourhoods, buying halal at ‘our’ Albert Heijn and, God forbid, dating our daughters. They’re mixing and the numbers of Mohammeds on our playgrounds have surpassed the Jans. Go on, tell me I’m wrong. If you do, I’ll ask you to count backwards and tell me how many generations ago your own family came to the low countries and subsequently bred with the then natives. Because get this: almost ALL of us are immigrants somewhere back down the line. Why do you think French was the language of government for a while? Where do you think your own language came from? Who do you think was living in this former swamp before your ancestors arrived? Bridging the cultural divide I can give you many examples of how being an immigrant, or living among them (South American, Vietnamese, Chinese, Italian, etc.) has enriched my life, or you can explore that experience for yourself. Because like it or not, the immigrants aren’t going back, now that you’ve had enough of them. They’re here to stay. Again. And you only have a

‘Create your own integration programme: learn a new language, read some history (your own, while you’re at it)’ few options: stick your head in the sand and hope nobody runs you over with their bicycle; emigrate to a country filled with Dutch-speaking white folk, if you can find one; or build a wall around your village and send anyone who looks, acts or thinks differently to you to Amsterdam. Or you can integrate. That’s right, create your own integration programme: learn a new language, read some history (your own, while you’re at it), visit a cultural event and learn to eat new foods. We immigrants survived herring and stamppot, after all. I’m sure you can learn to like hummus. There’ll be plenty of it at my 10-year anniversary, um, celebration. Yes, let’s call it that – it’s so much more fun to celebrate diversity than to resist it, don’t you think? Eet smakelijk!

LIFESTYLES

By Fred Gerkum

In the summer of 2003, we moved as a family from a nice life in Amsterdam to Lillehammer, in Norway. The previous year, Norway was voted by the United Nations ‘Global Human Development Report (GHDR)’ as the best country in the world in which to live and has stayed at the top of the list ever since. Of course, the reasons to move were of a more personal nature: my wife’s desire to be closer to her family and my plan to start a jazz café in a cultural centre in Lillehammer. Nevertheless, I must admit that life is very comfortable here, exactly according to the factors considered by the GHDR. But what does that actually mean from the point of view of a happy Amsterdammer, now in exile? Obviously, the economic indicators of GDP per capita and economic equality generally mean that most people have a modestly high income and that the differences between people’s economic situations are not major. Differences in income are mostly defined by the stage of life; career starters earn less than people shortly before retirement age. Everyone has access to medical care and education, poverty is low and gender equality is practically achieved.

‘Everyone has access to medical care and education, poverty is low and gender equality is practically achieved.’ The Netherlands also scores high on gender equality. Men and women feel very equal in most avenues of society. In fact, I must admit that for me, personally, this is something very attractive about both Dutch and Norwegian women: their very self-confident position in society, which is so natural and normal. Mamas and Papas But family life in Amsterdam is completely different to

that in Norway. In Amsterdam, children are born at home, the mum has to go back to work three months after giving birth, and kindergarten and an early school start on the fourth birthday are obligatory in the major cities. In Norway, children are born in hospital and mothers enjoy 10 to 12 months of parental leave with almost full salary. How much of that period can be shared by the father is a subject of constant political debate. So, from an early stage the mother is the principal parent and the father is put to one side, due to the way childcare benefit is distributed here.

‘Norwegian men provide the main income for the family and that is about all they contribute to the role of father. ‘ This makes a big difference. Fathers in the Netherlands are more confident than their Norwegian counterparts in taking on an active parenting role. Norwegian men provide the main income for the family and that is about all they contribute to the role of father. A man pushing a baby buggy on a normal weekday is a rare sight here in the north. During the weekends, however, they gladly pack the baby in a so-called ‘pulk’ and drag him or her on skis to the cabin with the family, or promenade through the shopping streets. The worldwide financial crisis has also had an impact on Norway’s economy, but most people have hardly noticed the difference in their wallets. Unemployment still does not really exist here. People are literally “in between jobs” when they are not working and the social system provides a gracious income for those who cannot work. Freedom of expression In the Netherlands, for instance, many art and cultural events need to have a commercial value in order to support themselves. Here, artists and audience can develop special interests. Public funding does not guarantee good art, of course, but freedom from economic worries ensures that cultural life is richer and more widespread. The enormous wealth of this country allows for active support of cultural life. Or, as the United Nations defines it: Norway fits

LIFESTYLES

Cool Best

LIFESTYLES

‘In the Netherlands, for instance, many art and cultural events need to have a commercial value in order to support themselves.’ into the category of countries with “very high” human development. Will I ever return to Amsterdam? At times I feel very homesick and miss Amsterdam a lot. On the other hand, I would have to work much harder in Amsterdam to afford the same comforts in my life, while all the time fearing for my job because outside the door are simply dozens of people eager to get their hands on it. Being dependent on social benefits in the Netherlands is absolutely no fun. But maybe time will tell its own story. Even Norwegian pen-

sioners go on to enjoy their retirement in warm countries, rather than staying in their chilly homeland. Incentives and disincentives Some communities in the deep countryside and the under-populated coastal districts of Norway are actively recruiting Dutch people to live there. They offer financial incentives on top of the already high wages, with language courses for farmers, offshore workers, dentists, doctors and nurses from other countries, too. There is a great deal of space there, but too few people for my taste. I am more of an urban person and prefer to take trips to the wilderness, rather than living there. Oh, and don’t forget that Norway is not a country that shares the tradition of tolerance towards immigration in the way that the Netherlands, and especially Amsterdam, has throughout the centuries. This is certainly more apparent in rural areas than in cities. Norwegians are generally stubborn, distrustful and not particularly welcoming towards immigrants. They forget to smile when they have to speak in English to strangers. But there are other factors that you can’t measure in coins. Right now, I am looking out of the window at white,

LIFESTYLES

‘...under-populated coastal districts of Norway are actively recruiting Dutch people to live there.’ snow-capped hills and mountains, which will stay that way for the next five months. Outside, it is a crisp minus 16˚ C, so I will just take a short skiing trip with the kids later. The sun rises every day and the period of daylight in midwinter is almost an hour less than that in Amsterdam, but in midsummer it doesn’t really get dark at all and everyone is filled with a special magic energy. It is the contrast between cultivated land and wilderness that makes Norway so beautiful, with clean air and water you can drink straight from the river. http://www.undp.org/publications/hdr2010/en/ HDR_2010_EN_Complete.pdf

‘Outside, it is a crisp minus 16˚ C, so I will just take a short skiing trip with the kids later.’

LIFESTYLES

Those were the days

LIFESTYLES

ts n a p e h t e tak You can’te arse! off a bar ) h saying (Old Ir is

By David O’Halloran

The Celtic Tiger was a misnomer; a title that seemed fitting to Ireland’s delusions of grandeur. How exotic. How fearsome. Some executive’s throwaway phrase that was embraced but whose meaning became something else altogether. A kind of Irish joke designed by us and made at our own expense. Sure, we can always laugh at ourselves, right?

Taking stock On the seventh day, God created Ireland. A sort of afterthought. “I’ll give ‘em an island of their own, with nice neighbours. Sure, what could go wrong?” he thought. “They seem peaceable enough. Content even.” And so it was and we were happy. Even when oppressed and divided, we’d shrug our collective shoulders and say “Feck it, it could be worse. Now, anyone fancy a jar?” And we’d laugh and sing and dance and fall over, but we always got up again. We were poor but happy. We were poor but generous. A revolving merry-go-round of pints of porter and misspelled crack (craic). Sure, what could go wrong?

‘Free cheese when we already can’t sleep at night! An Irish solution ‘We were poor but generous. A revolving to an Irish problem.’ merry-go-round of ‘The mouse that roared’ would’ve been more fitting. Roared from the trap of its own making, after grabbing pints of porter and the last morsel of cheese. Cheese! Now the government is handing out free cheese to the less well off. Brilliant! misspelled crack Another joke, surely. Free cheese when we already can’t sleep at night! An Irish solution to an Irish problem. But it (craic).’ wasn’t always like this. Let’s look back to the beginning, shall we?

LIFESTYLES

Not everyone enjoyed this merry dance, though. Because of our history of emigration, some people had seen a new future for Ireland. Farmers’ sons and grandsons became traders, entrepreneurs, builders and bankers. And then… BOOM!

at-home wife. And the kids? Well, they got whatever they wanted and an insight into what really mattered; money and all its allusions. Banks spread the cash in the same way that the hippies spread love but this revolution was smoke and mirrors. Deceptive, destructive and dangerous.

The end of the rainbow Ireland was to grow up, spar with the big boys and replace the small farm-holdings and quaint cottages of the past with modern, ugly bungalows and large houses ‘on the hill’. A country that seemed embarrassed by its’ meagre material past and unique traditions now had one eye on the stock market and the other on the bank balance. Our past was as much a blight as the one that caused the great famine.

Overnight, old Ireland was being dismantled and a ‘big leap forward’ was being taken by men in suits, whose parents tilled land and made their own butter. Greed disguised as ambition, ‘bright new future’ and business speak. Being ‘international’. Were the years of oppression (which we nurtured because we love being the underdog) finally being put to bed so that we could roar at the world; “Look at us in our finery. Aren’t we the great success?”

‘Our past was as much a blight as the one that caused the great famine.’ Men and women who, only 20 years ago, lived on rural farms built two-storey houses for their 2.1 kids. A big American jeep for the husband and a Mercedes for the stay-

Back down to earth Well no, we weren’t. We fecked it up. Big time. It was all an illusion. The banks loaned money to just about anyone, even with a worldwide recession on the horizon. The government didn’t react quickly enough. Well, not while kick-backs in the shape of brown envelopes were being passed into their pockets, anyway. The fat cats grabbed money like bears in a salmon stream. All of a sudden, boom turned to bust. Economic downturn, credit crunch, negative equity were the words that bit the ass of those who created them. The knock-on effect humbled the mighty Tiger, and maybe rightly so. Had we gotten too big for our Wellingtons? Had we disrespected

LIFESTYLES

the work done by our forebears so we could get rich quick and look snappy in designer gear?

‘Had we disrespected the work done by our forebears so we could get rich quick and look snappy in designer gear? Now help is at hand, but at what cost? Of course we’ll take what the IMF has to offer. With both hands, too. Like Oliver Twist and porridge. Humble pie and porridge. Oh, and cheese. Just like the old days, my friends.

David O’Halloran is a radio presenter, occasional documentary maker and freelance journalist living on the fringes of Europe in Connemara, Eire. He has a fortnightly show on www.connemarafm.com called ‘Shelter from the Storm’. He is also, most unluckily, cheese intolerant.

LIFESTYLES

PERSPECTIVES

The beauty of the Dutch language By Saskia van Leendert

As De slapen van mijn schedel schreeuwen moord en brand. Haar silhouet draait in en om een lijf dat vraagt naar meer. Gezond verstand vervloekt haar geur, de kleur van blauwe ogen die zoeken in de diepte maar er is alleen de leegte die mij grijnzend groet. Dan breekt de ochtend slaap en lopen wij weer langzaam op de klippen van het keurslijf waar nieuwe dag zijn maskers maakt en waar wij lopen in de pas vergeten hoe het was die dag in mei waar handen handen beroerden, zachte huid ontbrandde in mijn keel de adem stokte en jouw lach naar binnen drong op zoek naar plaatsen waar je blijven kon.

From the book: â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Hoe zij mij leestâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; ISBN: 978-90-484-0602-9 Enjoy more of Saskia at: www.saskiavanleendert.nl Part of the collection that won the Nieuwegeinse Literatuurprijs in November 2010. Photo: Marcel Manuhutu

LifestylES

The adventures of Eleanor Rigby and Penny Lane By Eleanor Rigby

If you recall, our first foray into Amsterdam’s dating scene resulted in nothing more than a sunny market stroll, a dinner where the male/ female ratio was certainly not in our favour and some questionable dating websites – sites through which ‘Joost from Eindhoven’ would proposition us with the promise of romance. Now, I’m not going to stereotype them completely, but what exactly do Dutch men know about romance? It is a characteristic universally (or at least locally) acknowledged of Dutch men; that they are too arrogant or aloof to approach or even appreciate women, of any nationality.

The arrogance is deeply rooted if nothing else. Seems like a no-win situation but, somehow, the Dutch have this ritual down pat. Quote of the evening must go to blonde-ish neighbour guy who stated that they give ‘morning attention’. Now, this is called something else where I come from but, apparently, if you are able to navigate the above potential pitfalls, you will be showered with lavish attention and even breakfast in the morning. Having said all this, blonde and brunette neighbour guys were a lot of fun and dinner is scheduled again next month, at their place. Watch this space!

Armed with this point of view, Penny and I were invited to dinner at Smug Married’s house, along with her two single, male, Dutch neighbours. This proved not to be the best set-up in terms of dating potential; however, it did serve as a great avenue for research and understanding.

Light at the end of the players’ tunnel So far, the challenge is not going well and I seem to be cataloguing more situations of failure than anything else. However, when offered a ticket to go with a colleague to a recent international match at the Bijlmer ArenA, I jumped at the chance. Surely at a football match the ratio is in my favour, if nothing else.

Dutch dating culture We soon learned that there is a specific culture to this Dutch dating malarkey. It goes a little something like this: single-sex groups spend the majority of the evening together (even those in relationships) then, at about 1.30am, when the drink has well and truly kicked in, the groups merge and the inevitable happens.

However, geography was not in my favour. Seated in the opposing team’s end, not only did I feel distinctly unable to cheer and show my excitement at a Dutch show of brilliance, I was surrounded by Viking-esque warriors singing odd chants, while still managing to sound like the chef from The Muppet Show.

When asked why they would not initiate or even enjoy a conversation with a woman prior to this time, the confusion was evident. Why on earth would they? They go out with the boys and they take home a girl, which girl isn’t always relevant! It seems the convention is thus: a girl approaching a guy is a predatory slut; however, guys need not make the first move as the women should come to them.

So, still with the challenge of two dates per month and still with no dates this month, things are looking bleak, but the search continues and is starting to widen.

LifestylES

â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;A girl approaching a guy is a predatory slut; however, guys need not make the first move as the women should come to them. The arrogance is deeply rooted if nothing else.â&#x20AC;&#x2122;

PERSPECTIVES

Women: take two

Empowerment By Lennie St. Luce

Empowerment workshops may sound like something from the (not too distant) past but, like most survivors, they have adapted to remain relevant to today’s society. I try to make them as specific to the participants as possible. Normally, these are women, but I’ve just been asked to host some for men. I trained as a theatre practitioner and have taught pretty much everything I’ve ever learnt at one time or another. Workshops are an intense exchange of energy. They are an excellent way of taking a ‘photograph’ of where we are in the personal journey of our lives. Ideally, they provide a safe environment to explore (parts of) ourselves. If there’s something preventing you from being/achieving your very best; if you need to do some public speaking or want a change of direction; or if you feel you could/want/ need to improve your communication skills, it’s not always easy to find a way to address these subjects in our daily lives. My workshops are designed to provide the space for you to do so. Many women have come to this year’s workshops with no specific goal, but simply because being empowered “sounded like a good idea”. It is. Which is not to say that the women who come along are disempowered or feel they have no power. We are sometimes blinded by our achievements, the fruits of all we do in the busy-ness of our daily lives. These workshops are, in a way, an indulgence; a pure gift of time, space and energy to oneself. It is good to give ourselves the time and space to see and appreciate our own empowerment. Enabling participants to connect or re-connect with their

sense of self is my aim; whether it be through exploring how participants uses their voice, through drawing, painting or handicrafts, or by learning massage techniques. I also create games, theatre and children’s games, or use oracle-type cards and/or dialogue to explore how and what we communicate. I hadn’t held workshops since before the birth of my daughter but, last summer, a woman phoned and booked me for a series of workshops in London. She had taken part in one of mine years ago. During these workshops, it really kicked in that this is what I like doing and something I do well. I started out as a drama student, giving lessons to supplement my grant. I then trained to teach self-defence to girls and women, and from there I designed and taught self assertion, at first with women only but later also with men. I have taught voice technique, English, singing, public speaking, arts and crafts, drama and have provided vocal coaching. I’ve held movement/dance workshops for bigger people, as well as providing introductions to essential oils, tarot and astrology. I also give massages and have developed a short (the time it takes to smoke a cigarette), energising version for head, hands and face. The last set of workshops I hosted at the end of the summer went very well: three women decided to arrange groups of friends/acquaintances, one of which was a group of five (my minimum), another three sisters and a group of five friends, and even a group of 12 work colleagues. Whatever you may think of them, empowerment workshops continue to support and motivate a wide range of people in the twenty-first century.

PERSPECTIVES

Min 5 participants – themes: voice, creativity, communication, connection There is a place; times will /can be arranged .

Costs for a workshop are Euro 300 for up to 7 participants & Euro 400 for 8-12 participants.

Feel, want, need? exchange, enable, permit supportive, relaxed, fun

Contact: Fire Lotus Email: Lennie St Luce - 4firelotus@gmail.com Tel: +31 (0)6 2866 5886 Feedback vocal empowerment Oct 2010:

“Thank you so much for an extraordinary evening , it’s all still running through my mind....it was spot on.” - Ingrid“The evening was fantastic, all the women were very enthusiastic and happy.” - Truus-

trends

REVENGE OF THE MATJES By Dirkje Bakker

Colourful lights are slowly but surely illuminating the entire city and there is growing anticipation for snow, gluhwein and twinkling yellow, blue, red, white and green. All trees are being transformed into Christmas trees in an unrealistic effort to turn grimy Amsterdam into a winter wonderland. When drunk, even the crappy Leidseplein becomes an unsuspected childhood ‘Imaginationland’, which warms the hearts of locals and tourists alike. Viewed from near space, the city must look like a newly created universe.

candy-coloured legwarmers and mullet wigs (preferably as imposing a ‘matje’ as you can get your hands on). Eyesore inducing colours, sweaty lycra, spandex, plastic hair, pink hairspray, bubblelicious chewing gum, fluorescent wristbands, headbands, huge earrings and sunglasses, AC/ DC, Sabrina, Michael Jackson, André Hazes, Bon Jovi, and lots of beeeeeer! In the centre of all the commotion is the one hairstyle carrying maybe the worst ever reputation as the sole signature of white trashiness: the matje (mullet). Ever ridiculed, feared, joked about and laughed at, now a little bit of short hair on top and as long as possible flowing locks down the back is just flippin’ cool. A celebration of bad style, a big “whatever” towards ‘taste’, a parody on life and fashion, an uncomplicated and hilarious feast of everything is possible and what the hell...

On this night, the city is asleep, peaceful, happy, the streets cold and quiet, and the first snow of the winter has fallen. We long for warmth and extra blankets… Meanwhile, the most colourful thing in town is happening Soaking in a heady mix of beer and confetti with feet sticking to the floor like in scenes from the movie Aliens, when inside Paradiso, where something is in the air and it isn’t it becomes clear that someone or other is getting just a snow. little too close to the xenomorphs... This is Matjesdisco! There, men wear moustaches, fake or real (this is a commitment to be taken seriously as men all around are growing real moustaches as we speak). The girls wear fluorescent spandex, varying from leggings to complete Jane Fonda aerobic outfits. Tiger prints, Nineties house pants, Nineties Air Max Nike’s, brightly coloured – eye hurting – Aussi’s, multiple

Sell your house and buy yourself a caravan, a few gourmet or fondue sets, an oversized aggressive-looking dog, farm a beer-belly and moustache, throw away all your designer gear and buy a bigger fridge, because not taking yourself seriously has never been this cool. The mullet is back with a vengeance! www.matjesdisco.nl

Film review

Room 2c film By David King

Festen

(1998)

All families have skeletons in the closet but when a father is asked, at a gathering for his 60th birthday, to choose from two toasts his eldest son has prepared, you can be assured they’re all going to come out, especially as it’s called the ‘speech of truth’. This is such a well-crafted concept, in the Dogma-film style, it will kick you in the teeth and bring a flood of emotions to the fore. Beware of how good this film is.

Cartoon By Colin Bentley

Hey, barman! You’ve served my beer with a big head!

Well sir, you have big teeth but you don’t hear me shouting that across the bar.

REvIEw

conconfusion fusion By Denson Pierre

Average rock/pop bands have been known to eventually turn into their names (think Dire Straits or Status Quo) but rarely does an establishment manage to turn a name with such negative connotations into a virtue. Restaurant-café Con-fusion offers a fittingly eclectic menu of lunches and dinners, as well as the added bonus of exceedingly accommodating and friendly staff. Located at the edge of the fast up-and-coming, and already pretty trendy and hip, ‘new’ near-West/Centrum, this colourful and ‘fun kitsch’ address goes down a treat as a refreshing alternative to the more gargantuan café-restaurants or slightly too niche brown cafés in this part of the city. The restaurants and eateries in this area are now as satisfactory, if not yet as numerous, as those in any other neighbourhood outside the main overcrowded residential tourist drags of Amsterdam, such as De Pijp and Jordaan. Many students who moved to this area for more sensibly priced digs a decade, or so, ago have stayed on and are spending their graduate cents, while million-euro apartment developments nearby are increasingly attracting the affluently mobile with time on their hands and social needs to satiate at surrounding venues.

Of course, a happy smile and a meal is not enough for the dynamic and predominantly 20- to 40-year-olds who frequent Con-fusion with their laptops and iAppetites for free WiFi. But for such an unpretentious place, this cosy spot is also blessed with a surprisingly good selection of beers, wines and spirits. Located in a part of town that was, until recently, considered too dark (of skin?) for the ignorant chattering classes to venture out to, Con-fusion has quietly but firmly established itself as a little treasure and an ideal escape during the week; especially for a friendly/romantic interlude eased along by silky and generally soulful music. This is played at a level loud enough to make you want to sing along, but not so loud as to preclude audible conversation with a date or friends, without having to raise your voice. Con-fusion benefits from not having to compete for business at the crazy, ‘recession-proof’ commercial rental rates prevalent in the more ‘glamorous‘ sections of the city. This means that we, the punters, can eat drink and be merry, and still leave with some change in our pocket and a smile on our face. Check out the not so confusing Con-fusion here: www.restaurantconfusion.nl

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â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;con-fusion has quietly but firmly established itself as a little treasure and an ideal escape during the weekâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;

CLASSIFIedS

Located in the heart of Amsterdam (Voetboogstraat 11, just off the Spui), the ABC Treehouse is “a unique cultural center”. With generous support from our corporate sponsor, the American Book Center (www.abc.nl), we offer an exciting agenda of lively discussions, workshops and cultural events, and have earned a reputation as “a major point of artistic and literary exchange for the city’s Dutch and multicultural communities.” - (www.iamsterdam.com). Our guest authors are writing on the hottest - and sometimes most controversial - topics; our groundbreaking graffiti and gay pride exhibits have broken taboos and visitor records, and our special Discussion Events have brought together Americans and Iraqis, Israelis and Palestinians, Republicans and Democrats for a lively exchange of ideas and viewpoints. And sometimes, it’s just about having a good time: enjoy music and theater during our Theaterworks evenings, or knit a new scarf at Crafty Me. Visit our website to see a full list of our events and workshops: www.treehouse.abc.nl, or stop by and join the ABC Treehouse community!

COLUMN

‘...the best thing by far that the Belgians do is beer.’

Stud marks By Maureen Kamp

- Marouane Fellaini -

- Thomas Vermaelen -

We like to drive down there every once in a while, to get a taste of the ‘joie de vivre’ and the Burgundian lifestyle they so comfortably copied from their French neighbours, yet with more humour and in Dutch, so we can understand. My brother (Jochen, of Groeten uit België fame) has set up family there, so all the more reason for a weekend break in Belgium. We’re neighbours, of course, but I think a lot of Dutch people feel as if it’s more than that; close and comfortable, safe, like a sibling. Which is true, in a way. If you look at our history, once we were united as Flanders. So, Belgium may be our little brother or sister but it has that ‘je ne sais quoi’ from big brother France, and the ever-socute accent us cloggy girls find rather irrestistable. So, close to us yet so very, very different. They like to think we are cheap and we say they are dumb. Well, we may be cheap (who says that’s a bad thing?) but are Belgians dumb? Not really... Growing up as a leftover bit of land between France and Holland and not being an actual country until 1830 (!), they have somehow managed to make their mark in the world. Whereas France and Holland did some nasty things in Africa and made loads of money in the slave trade, of which we are

- Vincent Kompany -

still ashamed today, our little neighbour went to Congo (which was the personal possession of the Belgian King), brought back cocoa and became the most famous chocolate manufacturers in the world! They also did something with potatoes when they ran out of fish in the winter and called it... frites (if you go there, frites with stoofvlees is yummy). But the best thing by far that the Belgians do is beer. While the Dutch are known as beer people (according to the Romans, a barbaric drink) and the French as wine people (the civilised person’s drink), Belgians embraced their beer culture like no other and basically turned it into a reason for any civilised person to visit Belgium! What’s all this got to do with fantasy football and the Stud Marks XI, you may ask. Thomas Vermaelen is a hot Belgian footballer playing in England. You don’t see many Belgian footballers playing abroad and, after reading the above, you probably understand why. Life’s just too good down there. So, Thomas Vermaelen plays in England but he’s injured. For quite a while now and they don’t know exactly what’s wrong with him. I’m starting to think he might be recuperating in Belgium. No wonder it’s taking him so long... But, there’s no Stud Marks XI without that element of sexy Belgian ‘joie de vivre’. So, who to bring in? Fellaini or Kompany? Yes, that was a rhetorical question.

sport

The Gold Room By Denson Pierre

The Welsh: dragons, castles and other magical things; from mountains and valleys to stunning coastline. For anyone who has visited this part of the British Isles, there is no real surprise that it is the original home of appealing personalities from widely varying fields of endeavour. The key thing is that they are all generally cool and not the dimwits their more flash English cousins like to paint them, mainly in jest, of course. Just think of the lush Catherine Zeta-Jones, Sir Anthony Hopkins, Tommy Cooper, Shirley Bassey, Tom Jones, Colin Jackson and, for the purposes of this Gold Room, Craig Bellamy, Michael Owen, the living legend that is Ryan Giggs and the interesting developing story of Gareth Bale. FFG-CL managers have, so far, largely resisted the lure of the made-for-TV star performances of the young left-sided player; only one of the ten managers has him in their team. Even though he is seen as a sure thing at Tottenham Hotspur and for Wales, there are simple explanations as to why he remains more of a gamble option at this stage of the competition, rather than a safe bet to blast, cross and volley his owner(s) into title contention. Bale is clearly a natural 400 metre type of sprinter, which explains why he has been seen to â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;burnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; many defenders over regular sprints and still appear to be twice as strong as most he has faced after an hour spent taking them on regular speedy bursts. All their zonal screening and play reading is of no use to defenders when an attacker simply motors past them and does what he wishes with the free space, or bears down on goal with excellent shooting ability in one leg and a more than useful controlled swing of the other.

Despite the best efforts of paid-to-hype commentators at the likes of Sky and Sport 1, Bale is not really consistently influencing all matches but tends to over-deliver in spectacular patches of certain games. There is an issue with him having had so much success in the outside-left/ wide-midfield position, in that it has become difficult for his manager to revert him to fullback, where he seems much more suited in the modern game and the long term. He may be potentially one of the great talents but, for now, large chunks of matches pass him by in his midfield role. Moreover, better defenders, or at least those who have done their homework on his approach play, have been able to contain him very effectively (think Phil Neville, Glen Johnson and Nedum Onuoha). Bale is presently playing in an ultra attack-minded team, however, and even when he is subdued, Tottenham Hotspur have, so far, managed to do reasonably well. Managers here also fear the curse of the speed merchant. With substitutions at an absolute premium until at least February, whether to bring in a player who is maybe just another lung-bursting surge away from a lower body muscle strain is not a decision to be taken lightly. Youth is on his side, though, and if he does maintain his amazingly high scoring, despite his only intermittently effective form, even managers in here will have to take a gamble on him making it through most of the second half of the season and surely being instrumental in winning the golden envelope in May. By then, Gareth Bale and his team may have also shown themselves to be the real deal in the Champions League, Premier League and FA Cup. Whether you bring him in now or are forced to later, it has been one of the great pleasures of recent seasons, here and in Wales, to follow the evolution of this phenomenal sportsman.

sport

‘All their zonal screening and play reading is of no use to defenders’

Gareth Bale

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