Thursday, November 26 2009 (diary, memories from Galicia)

Stories from Galicia 4 continues from November 24
Joseliño's fears regarding my sister's health did fortunately not eventuate and she has lived healthy and happily up to this day. Her trip to Spain did have a profound effect on her however, at least in my view. It represented (I believe) probably the first major milestone in Wivica's development as an artist.

Before, Wivica's paintings in the main reflected the usually grey, sunless, miserable days prevailing in Holland. Gloomy pictures in dark greens, greys, browns and black of depressing ocean waves and the likes.
Returning from Spain in 1961 however, these dark colours totally disappeared instantly from her palette and were replaced by bright and happy, yellows, orange, reds and whites. Although her choice these days reflects a deeper inner light, rather than that early Spanish exhilaration, those light colours from way back then (now augmented by bright blues, purples and happy greens) have remained in her art ever since.

On her visit to me in Galicia (NW Spain) in 1961 Wivica was in fact accompanying my then "novia" Antien (in due course to become my wife). Both young ladies were very much welcomed by the people there and revered by Joseliño as well as the eccentric "viejo" of Caión, the 80 year old Basilio.

Basilio was a wonderful sweet man, every time we visited Caión he would meet us in the Hotel bar and talk to us. He had a most interesting self made cigarette lighter which he used all the time. It consisted of a tinder box made of the cut off hollow end of a bull's horn. He would hold a piece of flint stone close over the tinder box and hit it with a small piece of metal, so that the resultant spark would ignite the tinder.

On the final day of our very last stay in Caión Basilio came to bid us farewell. The bottom of the left hose of his long trousers was tied tight around his leg with a piece of string. When he bent over and undid the string a life rabbit fell out off his pants.

Basilio grabbed it, held it upside down by its hind legs, then killed it with a quick, well aimed blow with the side of his hand against the rabbit's neck. He then handed the now dead animal over to the girls who did not quite know wether to smile (as thank you for Basilio's gift) or to cry (for the sad death of the rabbit).
In the end we gave the rabbit over to the hotel kitchen where they cooked it for our last evening meal there, which we consumed with somewhat mixed emotions. But Basilio, Joseliño and all those other friends we made in Galicia have remained in our hearts ever since.
Stories from Galicia continues on November 27

Friday, November 27 2009 (diary, memories from Galicia)

Stories from Galicia 5 continues from November 26
Freddie Warnaars had his (geology) fieldwork area adjacent and to the South of mine, so we usually got together every weekend.
When the two girls (Wivica and Antien) arrived we made up a convenient foursome, riding on our two motorbikes, girls on the back, everywhere our fancy took us : Caión, La Coruña and of course also Santiago de Compostela.

My "home base" in Santiago always was Manolo's Bar on the Calle do Franco, in the heart of the old city. (The bar had perhaps another name, but I forgot). Manolo, the bar owner, was a large, easy going, friendly middle aged man, with always a gentle smile on his face. I liked him a lot.
The bar stretched over the entire (around 20 meters) width of the block between two narrow parallel streets. One end of the bar had an entrance to the Calle do Franco, the other end opened up to the other street.
It was therefore a very convenient short cut to get from the one street to the other. But of course no one in his right mind would rush through Manolo's Bar without having at least one drink there. What else would you do with the time saved by taking that short cut ??

Manolo's Bar also served tapas and meals. My absolute favourite was a large oval shaped white dinner plate with Pulpo en su Tinta (octopus served in its own ink). Manolo's wife, after emptying its ink sac, would casually throw the octopus on the (not all too clean) tile floor behind the bar, then tenderise it by repeatedly hitting it with the flat side of a large ax. When satisfied she would pick it up and take it into the kitchen to (we perhaps somewhat too optimistically hoped) wash it clean, then cut it into pieces and prepare it. But whatever happened in the kitchen, when served up to me the octopus tasted deliciously.
On the floors above the Bar Manolo had several Budget Hotel style rooms where we always slept, when staying overnight in Santiago.
From Manolo's bar it was but a short stroll along the Calle do Franco to the Praza do Obradoiro (central square) with is magnificent Catedral del Apóstol on one side and the equally famous 500 year old Hostal dos Reis Católicos on the side at right angles to it. Our Professor Den Tex always stayed at the Hostal when checking up on our fieldwork each year, but us humble students could no way afford such luxury.

The four of us (Antien, Wivica, Freddy and I) however went one Sunday afternoon into this historic hotel to have a drink in its magnificent bar.
I don't know why, but at the time I had a thing for Manhattan Cocktails, and mixed them myself back in Holland at every opportunity. So it was only natural that we should order 4 Manhattans at this plush bar.
In Spain in those days all cocktails were usually mixed using cheap, locally produced spirits, but not in this bar ! The whisky was the authentic stuff, legally imported from the Americas and fully taxed : very expensive!!

So when the Bar man handed me the tab I almost feinted. Freddie, looking over my shoulder, also suddenly felt very unwell. However my novia Antien came immediately to the rescue "rondje van Opa" (Grandpa's shout) she pronounced with a happy smile on her face.
It was Antien's Grandfather, Opa Jordaan, who had given the two girls this holiday to Galicia and supplied them with enough cash funds to meet any "unforeseen eventualities". This, in Antien's view, was clearly such "eventuality". We all breathed a thigh of relief and happily toasted Opa's health with our very very expensive Manhattans.

From that day onwards rondje van Opa became a much anticipated everyday ritual. I am sure no man in history has been wished so much good health in such a short period of time as our Opa Jordaan. We made sure however to always select much more modest establishments for this event than the one on that very first festive occasion.

As a sign of our great appreciation we bought Opa Jordaan a present on one of the last days of our stay in Galicia : an (what we believed to be) authentic, ancient, 60 cm (2 ft) high amphora. I carried it with me all 2,200 kms back home, strapped on the back of my motorbike.
Opa Jordaan accepted our gift with good grace and kept it in his lounge room until, after his death a few years later, it fell back into Antien's and my hands again. We brought the amphora with us to Australia and as far as I know it is still in Antien's possession to this day.
Stories from Galicia continues on March 8, 2010

Saturday, November 28 2009 (diary, Dutch Jazz legend Pia Beck has died)

Ab van der Meij, one of my childhood friends from the farm opposite us on the Flierderweg, sent me an email yesterday. Remembering my fondness for Pia Beck, he told me that this legendary Jazz vocalist-pianist, has just died (Nov.26) from a heart attack, age 84 in her home in Torremolinos on the Costa del Sol.

Pia Beck travelled all over the world performing at top venues, but when in Holland she always played in her own Nightclub De Vliegende Hollander (The Flying Dutchman) in Scheveningen at the Gevaers Deynootplein. Pia and her Night Club were a Dutch institution.

In the 1950s, when Pia and De Vliegende Hollander raised to fame, I frequently stayed during the summer months with my Grandmother Grotie, who then lived in a flat at the Gevaers Deynootweg, only a few hundred meters away from De Vliegende Hollander nightclub.

De Vliegende Hollander was in a basement cellar underneath the far left end of the long rectangular building on the adjacent photo. There was a covered arcade behind the arches.
Outside, underneath the base of the pillars rising up between the arches were two or three low windows which provided fresh air circulation for the basement Nightclub.

These small windows, about 120 cm wide and 60 cm high (4 by 2 ft), opened inwards on horizontal hinges at their base to a 45° angle.

In the evening when Pia Beck performed, half a dozen youngsters, their knees on the outside street pavement, leaning over the open windows (two to each window) and their heads just over the top of it, had an excellent view down into the club and the musical performance. Rather than chasing them away, Pia was quite happy with this young audience and let them watch right through the evening. In fact, it became a well known eccentric feature of De Vliegende Hollander.

On one night (in the early 1950s) I was lucky enough to secure a spot at one of these windows. That night a friendly and amused adult guest in the Club offered us each a bottle of Coca Cola (then costing 2 guilders in the Club and considered a fortune by us boys). So I crouched over that window all night, happily drinking my Coke from a straw, and soaking in the atmosphere and above all of course Pia Beck's wonderful performance.
It was the very first Jazz Concert I ever attended, and to this day the most exiting one I have ever been to.

Sometime during the 1970s (I believe), the large building, including De Vliegende Hollander, were pulled down and replaced with shops and apartments.
The whole Gevaers Deynootplein was redesigned with several large buildings erected on the previously large open square and De Vliegende Hollander nightclub found a new home in one of these buildings.

I visited their new venue once in 1982 with a lady friend (Lydia ??). A great Jazz combo was playing that night and we had a wonderful time which ended overnight in the adjacent Kurhaus Hotel (one of the very very rare "one night stands" in my life, which happened because of Lydia's extraordinary resemblance to "She").

PS
Recently the new Gevaers Deynootplein was judged the ugliest little spot in the Netherlands. Sadly it will probably never become again the stylish place it was as I know it from the 1950s and 60s. Another sad case where materialistic greed has prevailed over style, history and the wishes of the general public.
(Pia Beck may well have all that seen coming, because by 1965 she had already moved to Torremolinos.)

Sunday, November 29 2009 (diary, Opa Jordaan)

Antien's Grandfather, Opa Jordaan, retired from business except for a function (Director ?) at the Kamer van Koophandel in Zutphen, was a very likeable gentleman, who had never lost the soft edges from his provincial country life upbringing. He had a wide general interest, especially in things concerning tradition and history. Opa Jordaan was also very generous, especially to his four Grandchildren, who often endearingly called him "Opaatje" despite his tallness.

When I got to know him (after I started going out with Antien) he lived in a nice house on the Singel in Zutphen and owned a light creme Fiat 600 (with open roof) in which Antien drove him happily around whenever he did not want to take the steering wheel himself. Antien also was often allowed to use the car for her own pursuits, driving me around at times, which was a happy change from my 125cc DKW motorbike. (We also, at several occasions, did some pretty serious petting in the back. How we managed to do that in such a tiny car I still don't know.)

Antien and I frequently went to visit him in the late afternoon for drinks. Once settled down in his living room overlooking the Singel (large pond and popular skating place in winter), he always asked me to get the drinks. For him this was a specially home made cocktail made from vermouth (or similar fortified wine) and various spices. It was always ready for me in the fridge poured into a special antique cocktail glass, "het Haantjes glas", so called because it featured a hand painted colourful rooster on the glass.

Besides the holiday in Spain for Antien and my sister he also gave Antien and me a wonderful Engagement party in 1962. This was held in Cafe Restaurant De Laatste Stuiver (The Last Penny) in Eefde.
About eighty guests attended and were entertained by the 8-piece Student Jazz Band from Leiden and the local folkloristic dance group De Gorsselse Boerendansers.

Opa Jordaan lived to see his very first Great-grandchild, our daughter Babette. When he visited us once in Assen (where I was based as a Reserve Artillery Officer for one year), he was appalled to see his Great-grandchild crouching around on the bare concrete floor in our living room (we lived on only a small Army allowance then). So he immediately ordered us to purchase, at his expense, some descent floor covering, which we did : a bright tomato red linoleum which we absolutely loved because it combined so well with the small off white carpet underneath our handcrafted iron coffee table.

Sadly Opa Jordaan died after a very brief illness in the Hospital at the Coehoornsingel (Zutphen) in 1965. Antien and I went there to say goodbye to him. My brother Claus had made a beautiful photo of our then 1 year old daughter, and a large size copy of it was placed near the foot end of Opa Jordaan's hospital bed. He loved to look at it, and it was quite possibly the very last conscious image he saw before departing from this world.

After Opa Jordaan's death some of his possessions were divided amongst his four grandchildren. We of course received the amphora (see adjacent photo) we had given him a few years earlier as a present. I made also a special request for het Haantjes glas, which was granted, and I drank from it while still in Holland with great pleasure.
In due course het Haantjes glas was packed with all our other belongings for shipment to Australia. After our arrival there and purchase of our first home in Merewether (a suburb of Newcastle in NSW, 100 km North of Sydney) in 1966, we waited with anticipation for our two cases with personal effects to arrive.

Sadly some corrupt wharfies dropped (I believe deliberately) our cases from the crane onto the Sidney wharf. They stole several items from the burst open cases and then let them stand in the soaking rain before having them trucked on to our address in Merewether.
By a miracle the amphora was still in one piece but most of the dinner plates and glasses were destroyed, as well as our soaked clothes, mildewed shoes and our now irreparably damaged, beautiful coffee table, which had been handcrafted by the renown artist blacksmith Jonkers from our village Gorssel.

We unpacked all this in stoic silence, but when I unwrapped the shattered remains of het Haantjes glas Antien and I both burst out in tears. Some items, through the emotional memories of events or persons associated with them, have a value which goes way beyond their normal usefulness or natural beauty. Het Haantjes glas most certainly was one of those.

Monday, November 30 2009 (diary)

Well, that was quite a walk down memory lane this last week. Now, what happened this week here at the Sunshine Coast. Every day around midday I have been walking down this lane through the dunes behind Mooloolaba Beach for my daily walk and swim.
The weather has been variable, mostly fine, never cold. The last two days strong winds at the coast, whipping up the waves into irregular patters, foaming down the beach, terrific to swim in and more exhilarating than the most luxurious spa.
Last night a huge thunderstorm with lots of rain and an electricity blackout for several hours, so Doug took me to the nearby Chancellor Park Tavern for an evening meal.

I had my scheduled checkup with the Urologist. My PSA (prostate blood reading) has gone down to 4.5 (from 6.9 in February) and is now probably just about within the "normal" range for my age, but Kirsten wants to keep an eye on the situation so I will see her again in 12 months time.

Babette is in Japan on business for a week, back Saturday, so Doug and I are baching it at present. I took him out for dinner last Friday at a new BYO (Bring Your Own drinks) Greek restaurant, Ella-Messa, on Brisbane Road in Mooloolaba. The place was jumping and fully booked when we got there, but somehow they managed to get us a small table inside.
The floor is bare rough concrete (so that, Greek style, plates can be smashed on it explained the waitress), so the noise (voices echoing everywhere) was deafening, but somehow this added to the general atmosphere. We selected five entrees rather than main courses, which were all very enjoyable (octopus, whitebait, meatballs, pork sausage, dips, pita bread). In short, we had a great time and will be back for sure.