Episode 13 - Amsterdam Past

Redefining Life, Weather and Love in Amsterdam and beyond with a windsurfer on the roof and a map on the lap.

A transcript of this Haiku Life podcast together with photos will be available on the mygreatergood.com website.

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Transcript

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Hello and welcome to the Haiku Life Podcast, where we take a little exploration into some abbreviated moments. Haiku is a Japanese form of poetry. It is traditionally focused on nature and captures a fleeting moment within the space of three lines and a 5-7-5 syllable count. In a world so overwhelmingly immersive, a haiku is a moment of respite. These haiku are mine, moments of life, thoughts in the ether. Welcome to episode 13, where we wander into the past this week. This haiku is titled Amsterdam Past. Windy Windmill Wave White Dog Walk Along Canal. Tattooed on my ankle is the name Spike. I look at his portrait every day in my living room and I think of him. Every day. It's been seventeen years. We found that little white dog in Johannesburg, South Africa, a shelter in one of the cedier parts of the city. It was 1993. In 1996, he moved with us to Amsterdam. Southern hemisphere heat into the coldest winter to hit the Netherlands in 15 years. He spent a lot of his time there exploring different European countries. He swam in the Mediterranean, he ran on the Normandy landing beaches, explored the cliffs near Dunkirk, visited World War I trenches, camped on the Rhine River, traipsed around a multitude of castle ruins, rode the gondola to the top of Vesoners in the Swiss Valley Ski region, amongst other adventures which incidentally can be read about on the website dogwilltravel.com. That dog has seen more of Europe than most Europeans. In 1999, he flew to Los Angeles. Every day Spike and I walked on the Strand, Manhattan Beach to Homosa and back or sometimes we travelled north. In 2003 he moved to Portland, Oregon. Our daily walks were on quiet residential streets, me, Spike, and Connor in the stroller. In 2006 we moved to Milburn, New Jersey. Due to Spike's advancing age and because we are a nomadic people, we road tripped across the country. Us, Spike, Connor, two and a half years old, and Robbie two months old, windsurfer on the roof. Our daily walk was on beautiful old tree lined streets from Millburn to a coffee shop in Maplewood. Me, Spike, Connor and Robbie and the double stroller. Sometimes we would walk in the wonderful South Mountain Reservation that is a reminder of just why New Jersey is called the Garden State. In two thousand nine we moved to Georgia. Spike could no longer walk. Nine days after arrival, the day came that I had dreaded for sixteen years. Walking that dog has provided some of my most cherished times. That dog in his day meant more to me than anything else. I would walk with him again anywhere in a heartbeat. The Netherlands was a transformative time for us. Upheaval, turmoil, cold. Walking with Spike was often my sole comfort. We walked the canals through farmlands, under windmills, every day, rain or shine, or mostly rain actually. The Netherlands is a small country but full to the brim with such vibrancy, culture, art, life and transformation. If I were to recommend one country that a person should visit in Europe, it would be the Netherlands without any doubt. And we visited them all, in those days before social media and more pertinently before GPS. Days where we rode around with large maps on my lap. Our biggest fights we've ever had, give or take, were when I misread that damn map in the middle of a foreign European city at rush hour. As I said earlier, I would walk with Spike again anywhere. I don't know about most people, but I try to live mostly in the present, although too much in the future if truth rarely be told. I'm not one to dwell in the past, wish I was in college again or in my twenties or thirties, as good as those times were for the most part. Of course there would be moments I would very much like to chat with my dad or have a cup of tea with my mum. But I would relive large chunks of life with that dog again if I could. Wild, carefree years walking new paths, finding shelter on random beaches pommeled by wind and sand as Gordon windsurfed, cutting ribbons in the surf, a brawny silhouette against the sun. Well the sun not so much in the Netherlands. Windsurfing weather is defined differently there. We spent a great weekend at Browers Dam where the photo I used for this haiku was taken at the end of the day. Temperature eight degrees Celsius, which is about forty five degrees Fahrenheit, winds gusting thirty five miles an hour with the resulting wind chill and throw in some sideways rain. That's windsurfing weather, as Gordon and I now define it. Windsurfing the Med or subsequently the Columbia River Gorge in Oregon just never quite hit the definition again. Not that Spike and I complained, but the definition lingers and used most recently just a couple of weeks ago when Gordon and I were traipsing around at D one college golf tournament watching Connor, thirty five degrees Fahrenheit, wind gusting fifteen miles an hour, and sideways sleet. We looked at each other and laughed. Windsurfing weather. Amsterdam brought us to the United States. Amsterdam made us tough and resilient. Moving to a foreign place will do that. The Netherlands opened our eyes to the possibilities of the world. Travel will do that. It gave me experiences I would actually do again in a heartbeat. It defined life differently and weather and love. A white dog walking along a canal. Thank you for listening to today's Haiku Life Podcast. You can follow me on Facebook and Instagram. A transcript of this podcast can also be found on the myGreatergood.com website. Matane, see you later.