Bloom

My grandmother has the green thumb in the family. She pulls out something in one spot and sticks it in a different one and it grows, whereas when I try to have plants they wilt and die. The only success I have is with the ones I can eat. Here I now have some basil, Moroccan mint and coriander growing steadily. And oregano, lemon balm and parsley seeds are sprouting into tiny sprigs of green on our window sill. 

With flowers I have had no such luck. Nevertheless, one of my wishes was to see the tulip fields in the Netherlands so when planning our trip to Amsterdam it was the opportune moment to insist on a day at Keukenhof. The Keukenhof gardens lie about an hour by bus outside of the city. Because it was a mild winter most flowers had bloomed already and the fields were not so much fields as individual stretches of colour. 

The gardens themselves are enormous with hundreds of different types of tulips and other bulbs. There was also a greenhouse with various orchids. Although it was lovely to walk around so many colours and petals in all shapes and sizes, Keukenhof felt too touristy for my liking. It seems that everyone only goes to be photographed in front of as many different tulips as possible, whereas I had this romanticized notion of strolling through fields of flowers and being overcome by their beauty and smell. Hah. Next time (next year? Try again maybe?) I'd prefer borrowing a bike somewhere and cycling through the fields, and ultimately skipping Keukenhof completely. 

Daffodils in cheese wheels. The Dutch!

Far away fields. 

A singular blossom of difference.

Some petals were the size of my hand. 

Then I'll go/ I'll go home/ Amsterdam

Come to think of it, I am uncomfortable in my mother tongues. Afrikaans makes me wonder if I am saying things correctly, if the idioms I use actually exist, whether something is spelled with a 'v' or with an 'f' and whether the vowel needs to be doubled or not. German poses similar problems. There is a vast vocabulary and cultural background in both that I have not grown up with because the languages represented my mother or my father, not countries and colloquialisms.

I feel at home in English because I don't need to think about which words fit. I learnt being 'as dead as a door nail' in Grade 4 when my mother sat outside on the patio with me and taught me the words. English took root consciously whereas the others remain at times uncertain to my tongue.

The past weekend however I did feel somewhat of a homecoming upon hearing Dutch in Amsterdam. Reading the billboards and the descriptions of products in the supermarket was easy. Hell, the supermarkets itself felt like going into Woolies and not into Lidl. The fresh produce looked fresh, the home brand's packaging was simplistic but modern, and everything invited you to purchase it.

But the trip to Amsterdam was not about language or consumerism (ok, a little bit of consumerism). All I wanted were fields of flowers. Tulip upon tulip merging into a blanket of colour. Because it was a mild winter the bulbs bloomed earlier and we came upon the last of the flowers. But more on that in a later post.

The trip there already took us 6 trains and 8 hours, so when the first 5 Amsterdammers were really unfriendly I was slightly pessimistic about the next few days. The city was also overrun with tourists who wanted to stand in queues for hours and tick off the Rijksmuseum and Anne Frank house from their lists. The girls I was travelling with also went to the museums, so instead I strolled along alone and simply took in the city.

Charging in the city. 

 

Trying to save on money, I mostly went to places I found when googling "free things to do in Amsterdam". The first was the Begijnhof, a secluded courtyard in the heart of Amsterdam where the Beguines still live. You have to find a wooden door to enter the courtyard, so it felt a bit Alice-in-Wonderland-ish. Right in front of the door is a square called Spui where coincidentally a second-hand book market took place, so basically I walked into heaven right there.

Begijnhof

This guy knows what it's about.

Building at the end of the world. 

Another wonderful thing about Amsterdam was its markets. Here there is a Wochenmarkt that happens on Wednesdays and Saturdays and where you can buy mainly fresh produce, some plants and needlework supplies. At home going to the market meant driving through to Joburg and exploring the delicious delicacies of the Neighbourgoods Market whilst pushing past throngs of hipsters. It entailed chilling with friends, enjoying a cocktail and exploring Braamfontein. In Amsterdam there is the Albert Cuyp market, which takes over an entire street and where vendors sell almost anything. There is fresh produce, bicycles and accessories, waffles, electronics, cheeses, poffertjies, and and and. It was very crowded but the rush of all the smells in the air was worth it. On our last day in the city we further headed to the Sunday Market, which seemed similar. We were there a bit too early, so the vendors were still setting up. But my mouth began to water when simply reading what was on offer: pulled pork sandwiches, tortillas with various fillings, wonderful breads and beautiful little tarts. If it had been a little later in the day I would have gotten a pitcher of Mojitos and had myself a feast.

On our way back to the train station we walked down the Haarlemmerdijk and found the.most.awesome.patisserie.ever. Petit Gâteau prepare all their little pastries in the store and you can also learn how to bake in their atelier. There is this row of 30 little cups with different fillings, ranging from every chocolate kind possible to orange and pistachio, clafoutis filling and the one I chose in the end: a panna cotta filling. Best thing I ate in Amsterdam.

Albert Cuyp Market

Vondelpark

Sunday Market in Westergasfabriek

The most delicious panna cotta pastry.

The asparagus has arrived. Such excitement for a shoot. 

After the last market we took 4 trains and again 8 hours to get back to Flensburg. Nothing like sleepless restlessness to make you appreciate having been elsewhere and having returned to your own bed.

Options

In the mornings my sister will only eat half a banana whilst reusing her mug from yesterday as a bowl for Bran Flakes or Special K with low fat milk. In between spoonfuls of cereal she takes bites of the banana. What I would probably see as a bit of a disgusting habit in people who I am not related to with her it is just normal. Maybe I am like Pavlov's dogs, conditioned into accepting the remaining half of the banana when I hear my sister leave her mug next to the sink.

I have never had the same affinity for bananas. Much rather give me a mango, or figs or berries. However, it is only the beginning of berry season here and let's just say it is never mango season in Germany. So my weekly grocery shopping often includes bananas (also because I am poor and they are cheapest).

Today one of the bananas was extremely blackened and instead of making a bread out of it I searched for a cookie recipe. I found these Banana Chocolate Chip Cookies over at the Cooking Channel and decided on them because they included oats (yay illusions of healthy cookies). They are easy to make, taste great and offer a good alternative to banana bread :)

Banana choc chip cookies and a view that I can't get enough of. 

Float

Today the surface invites the quiet observer to

paint it by numbers,

to assign a 6 to the metallic-sheen-parts

and an eleven to those that get glimpses of sunlight. 

Most of it would be covered by a 44, 

hovering somewhere in between navy and Midnight Blue. 

Outer Space streaks (officially colour 414A4C) occur

where the water grates against itself. 

Monet might have added swishes of dirty white 

(my colour seven) 

or swatches ranging from bone to apricot
to the tops of hundreds of restless little waves. 

Some days you can see the bottom of the harbour, 

with water so clear that it doesn't even have a number,

only a change in the 'opacity' of the layer. 

Not today though. 

Today hues fit like puzzle pieces for milliseconds

before the entire wheel has to be reinvented.

Cough Cough

Is there ever a reason not to bake cookies? With foodgawker and millions of food blogs available I relish in trying a different recipe every time, even though sometimes they are not as great as the photos make them look. For my language group I baked Mini Chocolate Thumbprint Cookies  because I thought they looked quite cute and seemed fairly easy to make. And I had nothing else to do. So there's that.

Basically you mix the dough, roll little balls and with your finger make a little hole in the middle which you can later fill with something. The recipe uses a cocoa-icing sugar mix, I melted chocolate instead. But when my lovingly rolled cookies came out of the oven, they had spread and there was no sign of an indentation to fill up with the chocolate. I am not sure if this is our oven or the recipe, but needless to say this was a bit of a fail. They are also not that great tasting. So onwards goes the quest for the perfect cookie.

Hello ingredients.

Everything still running smoothly in the cookie assembly line. 

Then this happened, and I had to press little holes into the cookies with a spoon. Joy.

Still pretty though. 

.

Elastic Heart

Last light in Hamburg

A few weeks ago my friend and I met up in Hamburg for a day because she had just returned from an epic 3 month trip partially around the world and I wanted to hear every little thing about it. Every time we see each other I find it very reassuring to fall back into using Afrikaans words in between the German and to be able to talk to someone who has grown up with me. We've known one another through braces, Matric balls and getting our driver's licences. We have talked about the smallest and biggest decisions in our lives (are we drinking wine or cocktails? is the move to Germany a good idea? where to after university? should we share that chocolate cake?) and I value her for her ability to remain calm even in the roughest of seas. She somehow knows how to add a bit of rationality when I overextend myself emotionally, but also knows when it is time for a bad joke or a shooter. And among numerous other wonderful facets that constitute her, her love of testing new recipes and experimenting with food is a delight.

I think sometimes we forget to be thankful for the people in our lives. But without these meet-ups with G., without encouraging WhatsApp messages from R., without long Skype sessions with K. and without calls at all hours from L. I would not have been able to find my place here so easily. Besides my mom and my sister, these were the people who made me smile through random messages, packages and support, and I hope to do the same for them.