Bikes and Dikes

…continued from Layover in Limburg

At the Artis Zoo, people-watching is just as enjoyable and enlightening as seeing the many impressive animal exhibits

The Dutch have their own version of the pedal-powered tricycle-for-hire, but have improved it by featuring a more restful reclining posture for the driver

It was on the train trips north up to Amsterdam, and later west to The Hague and Antwerp, where I really got a feel for the countryside – as flat and green as you could have imagined it, with the occasional windmill or cow adorning the view. And everywhere was water, carefully channelled and controlled, be it stream, pond or river. Every village or housing development, however simple or compact, boasted a water feature. The air was fresh with vapour, diffusing the sun into that distinct Dutch glow which lit the canvasses of Rembrandt, Vermeer and Van Gogh. The land was as stringently planned, parcelled out and crisscrossed with waterways and bike lanes as the exacting lines and rectangles of Mondrian and Rietveld. But like everything in the Netherlands, something radical bubbles beneath the rigid structure on the surface. The Dutch ride their bikes like madmen, secure in their status as queens of the road. Pedestrians and motorists better beware when crossing bikers’ paths. Bicycles are such a big deal that their theft is a huge national menace, with over 700,000 stolen every year. This beggars the question, if there are already 16 million bikes in the Netherlands, with more than one bike for every Dutch person, then why steal someone else’s? It’s probably just like a huge game of musical bicycles!

the blogger on a bike

While tourists take leisurely boat rides along the canals, true locals pedal fiercely on their fiets (bikes) practically everywhere. So I knew I ought to have a go at this great Dutch tradition while visiting my cousin Jamie and her family in The Hague. Most Dutch keep two bikes, an old outdated one (which they wouldn’t mind getting stolen) for short, simple trips, and a souped-up cycling machine for serious speed (carefully kept under lock and key). My cousin’s Dutch husband Ron, easily half a head taller than I, lent me his well-used “granny-style” bike to take for a spin around their neighbourhood. Once I’d figured out how to mount the imposing mass of metal, and gotten over my fear of losing control and hurtling into a canal or the path of a speeding tram, I actually started to enjoy myself and feel like I’d managed to embrace the full Dutch experience.

Croquettes, frites and pea soup are as Dutch a meal as you can put together.

Since they expend so much energy getting around, it’s no wonder the Dutch stay mostly lean (but not mean) despite their traditional cuisine being heavy on pancakes, fritters, meat, potatoes and powdered sugar, or various combinations of the above-mentioned. Going by the gastronomic landscape though, you’d think it was the Indonesians who’d colonized the Netherlands and not the other way around. You can’t go very far without running across a rijsttafel (rice table), a Dutch colonial adaptation of the Javanese dinner. Surinamese restaurants and Argentinean steakhouses jostle for attention between automats, falafel shops, and kiosks peddling pickled herring. Clearly, conquering the munchies is not a problem in this country.

The tower of Delft’s Nieuwe Kerke, where members of the Dutch Royal family are buried

The Tiles that Bind

After a quick stroll and drive around the monuments of The Hague, where the Dutch government and Queen Beatrice reside and preside, Jamie and Ron took me to Delft, the town synonymous with its iconic blue-and-white glazed tiles and pottery. With their two-year-old daughter Elise in tow, we strolled through charming streets heavy with the history of the Dutch Royal House of Orange-Nassau (William of Orange, Father of the Dutch Nation, lived, died and was buried here) and as the home port of the Dutch East India Company – the original importers of the Chinese porcelain which inspired the famous Delftware. Although they live and work in The Hague, Jamie and Ron actually prefer spending their leisure time around Delft, which they consider more family-friendly, especially with a young child, and more importantly, has better parking, always an issue in a country of such density.

A stall for used books at the University of Amsterdam, helping satiate the Dutch’s apparent addiction to reading material

Earlier in the summer, they took a break from the bustling Randstad (the conurbation of the four largest cities in Holland) and with Jamie’s parents rented a bungalow in the countryside near Maastricht in the Southern Netherlands where I’d just been. Turns out that among the Dutch, vacation time is sacred and best spent communing with nature. I guess it makes up for their high-tech hyper-efficiency while at work. As both Ron and Peter explained, one restaurant staff in the Netherlands is expected to do the same amount of work that in the Philippines you’d probably have three different people doing, which is probably why even the simplest cafes have wi-fi-equipped waiters.

Amsterdam’s modernist face emerges along the Oosterdok. Leftmost is the Stedelijk Museum CS, housed in a former postal building and containing many masterworks of modern art, the ship-shaped structure to the right is the Nemo (National Center for Science and Technology)

Over dinner at their home, we talked about the differences between the quality of life and raising a family in the Netherlands, the Philippines, and Hong Kong (where the couple met and first lived together). Jamie valued the importance the Dutch place on independence, competence and living harmoniously with the environment but missed the warmth of family and easy access to help with babysitting and housework. After coffee, Ron drove me to a spot with a good view of that quintessential Holland postcard scene – a row of traditional windmills, picturesque yet functional and still helping keep the sea at bay.

Bummed by missing a photo-op with Rembrandt’s grandest opus at the Rijksmuseum? This 3D reinterpretation of The Nightwatch in bronze is ripe for the snapping at Rembrandtplein

continued in Holland From a Higher Plane

-text & photos by Jude Defensor, some rights reserved. first published in Expat Travel & Lifestyle magazine, 2008

Sprouting Wood (an interview with Bamboo)

Bamboo, one of the best known Pinoy Rock bands...

Bamboo, one of the best known Pinoy Rock bands in the Philippines. Taken December 2006 by exec8 during their Christmas party. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The name Bamboo may have preceded the band, but it doesn’t necessarily define them. “The band comes from the chemistry of all the members, it’s like DNA,” says drummer Vic Mercado. “When you lose one member, it all changes. You can’t force it.” But Vic jokes that if they do need to replace their lead vocalist, they can always get the local equivalent of that “Coldplay” guy.

For a rocker who seems so spontaneous onstage, Bamboo Mañalac himself is a stickler for details and preparation, preferring to have everything planned and checked beforehand. So right now he’s rather wound up about their next project, which charts unexplored territory for the Filipino music industry. Even their big-gun record label, EMI, is still “making kapa” (feeling things out). What they’ve done is combine their first two albums, putting together all of the songs with English lyrics, and giving it a final edit and polish. Then they’ll be releasing the resulting album simultaneously in 6 countries around the region: India, Hong Kong, Indonesia, Malaysia, Thailand, and Singapore, followed by a grand Asian tour. Bamboo could grow bigger than was ever thought possible for a Pinoy band. So we at Manual are glad we got them before things get too crazy.

When asked what music he’d like to pose to for the cover shoot, Bamboo cites Miles Davis, “basta negro,” he says without any hesitation. Vic theorizes that black music has extra soul because of the legendary size of their genitalia. He got to prove this for himself when he was left behind in LA and doing his laundry alone in a neighborhood shop. A homeless black man was sitting outside against the wall, getting himself drunk. Before Vic knew it, the man’s huge package was hanging out. Then the guy started playing with himself. This prompted Vic to speculate that the blacks’ gift for musical improvisation must come from down there. It turns out that the band found themselves fascinated by, of all things, LA’s laundromat scene. In La-la land, these temples to the washing machine provide other distractions such as arcade games, internet service, cafes, and even bars as an alternative to watching dirty clothes go round and round. The guys would observe seedy-looking Latinos hanging out, drinking bottles of god-knows-what concealed in brown paper bags, each character ripe fodder for a gritty tale. Bamboo recounts the time when he was doing his laundry in a shop somewhere in Melrose while the others were away. He then found himself in the middle of a brawl between a member of the Chinese Mafia and a Taliban terrorist, or so they seemed. There aren’t any laundry-inspired songs yet in the band’s repertoire, but you never know. The guys also found it great fun to play Dr. Phil-type self-help audiobooks on the long drives, the psychobabble would always get them to crack up laughing. It was also a blast to be able to crank up the volume on guitarist Ira Cruz’s collection of classic porn soundtracks, real premium boom-chicka-wow-wow stuff that you don’t normally get to appreciate while otherwise “enjoying” porn with the sound turned down low.

Bamboo describes his bandmates as “mga walang hiya” (shameless). They’d agree to get naked, if the situation called for it. If there’s one thing they’re never going to do, it’s to pose with their instruments, a concept they find too cheesy for words. They don’t really care about fussing with their appearance. While touring the US with glossier, more glamorous acts like The Strokes, Bamboo noticed that they were the only band who didn’t have a particular style. There’s Bamboo with his close-cropped hair, Ira with his tats and goatee, and bassist Nathan Azarcon’s impenetrably dark glasses. Hardly a cohesive look. They’re not saying never to being all made up or dressed up, just that they’ll never do it for the money. That’s a hard line to follow in an industry where commercial endorsement tie-ins are increasingly picking up the slack for weakening sales. But Bamboo is the band in the pole position now, and they’re not bowing out anytime soon.

-first published in Manual magazine, 2006. text by Jude Defensor, some rights reserved.

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