The Tiny Prophet

He doesn't  talk much.  Which is quite odd for a three year old who is discovering the world.

Neither does he stick things in his mouth and is a picky eater.... He relies mostly on what he sees and next on what he hears. Those are the entrances of the world to this little boy.

Trains are his passion. That's why his mother buys him magazines about trains and model railroading. She's familiar with this, because her father and brother share her son's love for the -friendly- iron dragon.

He likes looking at the magazine's photos with her and listens intently to what she reads and explains. Like why there is no coffee being served in trains or about that beautiful green train -model 'plan T'-  which is called 'the Future'. His mother says he can't ride in it, he can  only see it in a museum.

She may be a bit older now, but she's definitely still 'with it'. Look at her, she goes to Amsterdam on her own. Taking train and tram.

She finds herself a seat, right across a woman with a toddler. An odly looking pair, the pale gray eyed mother and her dark haired son. With such serious dark brown eyes. But she can make this little fellow smile. She is really good in dealing with kids. 

As the train has left the station she breaks the ice. She smiles down at the little boy, lifts her index finger like a teacher would and says. "Isn't it nice, we're on a train." The mother averts her eyes, looks out the window. But she's got the boy's attention. "Do you know what the train says?" Shyly the boy smiles back at her. 

"The train says tsjookah tsjookah tsjoo,"  she explains and nods to stress the importance of her words.

The boy's eyes narrow as he looks straight into her eyes. He's not smiling, just dead calm. "Ma'am. The future doesn't exist anymore."

She gasps with surprise, looks around her for help. Not getting it from the mother who is clamping her mouth shut. She misses out on the twitching of its corners.

She moves to the edge of her seat. As the train reaches Amsterdam, she sighs relieved as she gets up.  "I have to get out here." she explains to no one in particular. And softer "Thank God."

Keepers of a Flame

This post requires no words.
Just Silence.

 

 

Music:permission granted by Boudewijn de Groot and De 3 J's.

 

Music:permission granted by Kevin MacLeod

All art work on this page is either done by 'ant0nj0han'  or JoAnne Lakefield.

Rule Breakers [2of 2]

At the crossing, at the end of the street, I saw a tram arriving at it's stop. I knew now where I was and it would be quite a walk to reach an area that I liked better... Why not, I thought and picked up my speed. Not too much... there's a tram in the direction of the station every couple of minutes, so there's no point in running like mad to catch a tram. The driver however patiently waited and let me hop on. I thanked him and took a seat. I didn't even check the line number. “Second stop” I said to myself. “No matter what stop it is, I'll get out and continue my impro tour of Amsterdam.”

I felt a bit disappointed when I found myself at the Leidseplein, but this time I stuck to my plan. This square is always humming with activity and completely surrounded by large cafes and restaurants. All too obvious, not the kind of small adventures that I'm looking for. I left the square as quickly as I could, taking one of the smaller streets. 

Grotere kaart weergeven

I had left the park, so I was entitled to my cup of coffee, but it wouldn't be in this street I concluded. It held only restaurants offering food from all corners of the world. Japanese, Brazilian, Argentinian and a multitude of supposedly Italian restaurants. It was just after three, but they were all beginning to serve warm meals on the tiny narrow terraces. Waiters were standing outside, watching people walk by. I guess they are supposed to attract customers, a custom I never understood. The ready-made look is more appalling than welcoming to me.

My stomach reminded me that I had taken a tiny and early lunch. Maybe I should look for a restaurant that still served pistolets or sandwiches. After having checked out some of the menu's, this idea was given up. For this street anyway. As I walked on I tried to recall which streets on my way to the station could have one of those typical “brown cafes” that would serve just those items.

From the corner of my eye, I noticed a pair of dark brown ones. They belonged to a waiter of yet another Italian restaurant. I wanted to ignore his look, but he didn't let go, he asked me a question with his eyes... I shrugged to tell him no. He shrugged too. “Have it your way” it said. What was happening here? We were having a private conversation, no matter how short. I slowed down. Halted. And turned. “Why not?” I thought and asked if he could serve lunch for, while being pretty sure it wasn't on the menu. 
He said I could and invited me in. Presenting me the dinner menu....  it took some explaining in broken english on both our sides before I finally got what I wanted: an off the menu lunch, befitting someone who likes to stay off route in her life whenever she can.  Life's a journey, not a guided tour right?

After a great lunch... big enough for dinner... it was time to pay up. This time comes always, whether stay on or off  the menu. The risk of off the menu meals is... you don't know how much you will be charged. But at this restaurant, Porto Carrara, they were real modest, more than fair. I was prepared to give my kingdom for such delicious capuccino's. Yet I had to pay even less than ten euro!
NonchalantIy I drew my bank card from my wallet. I only carry enough cash with me to pay for the use of a toilet. Emergency money. I saw the boss frown at the waiter. I couldn't pay by bank card, the waiter explained. I waved my credit cardquestioningly. The men shook their heads. "Is there a cash machine nearby?" I replied.
"And then you'll come back to pay?" the waiter completed my plan. Of course, that's how we do things in the small town I live in. He nodded in agreement and explained to his boss. But this man frowned even worse. Started an argument about me leaving behind my identity card -or was it some other card?-  In a language that was definitely not italian. The outcome was that the waiter walked with me to the cash machine. It was still early, no customers besides me, so he could be spared. While we walked the length of the narrow street, the waiter, greeting a great number of colleagues at other restaurants, shrugged. "My boss wanted you to leave your credit card with him." The waiter was against such distrust and had talked his boss out of it. "So stupid," he went on shaking his head, "taking no risk over such a small amount of money."
"You're right." I gave a short laugh. "When you don't take risks, you rob yourself of good experiences." The owner of the restaurant had just robbed himself of experiencing the honesty of another human being. He didn't believe in honesty and missed out on proving himself wrong. 
The waiter, Bruno, nodded agreeing wholeheartedly. He didn't need my explanation. He had taken risks: he came from eastern europe a month ago to start over in my country. Already knew a lot of people who were obviously fond of him. He drew customers to the restaurant by breaking the rules: daring to go off the menu.

The owner had eyes that watched... making sure he wouldn't get hurt. Shutting out life.
Bruno, his waiter, had eyes that see. They saw me walking by and recognised me as a fellow rule breaker. We communicated without words, got to know bits of eachother and had one of life's small adventures. The positve experience of meeting Trust and Honesty.  

Trust and Honesty... they go off the menu too you know. They are rule breakers themselves! 

Rule Breakers [1 of 2]

Instead of an email

I went to Amsterdam two days ago, to escape the four walls that I have spent so many hours in this summer. Because the rain doesn't seem to take an end. I craved to see people, meet strangers. So I took off for Amsterdam, the city with the most diverse collection of people, the city of silliness, tolerance and humor. And creative thinking. I've spent several hours in the center with it's buzzing shops and cozy cafes and went home with fresh energy.

Today I had to go to 'Mokum' again, for manual therapy. Normally, I turn a visit to my MT into a day out, tasting this bustling city. But since I had already been transgressing two days before, I told myself not to do so today. I made myself swear a vow to go home straight after my visit to the MT.

So... after I closed the door of the physical therapy center behind my repaired back, I set out for the nearest tram stop, simply glad the rain had finally come to an end. I honestly meant to take the tram to Central Station. Yet... a side street was beckoning me with a row of beautiful 'brownstones' and an unpredictable bend. [Vondelstraat] 

Grotere kaart weergeven

'Remember your promise' I told myself. 'Stop being so priggish.' was the reply. And my feet chose the side street. My back wanted to try out it's new [com]position and urged them on.

I like old houses. I like them so much that I chose to follow the street and not go into the park through it's entrance between the well cared for brownstones. I could hear the high trees of the park, behind the row of houses, anyway. There was a strong wind making them sound like the sea. Beautiful, this sound in the midst of a city. Sea sounds and singing birds. An unexpected gift I accepted gratefully.

My jaw only dropped once, when I reached the end of the street. The bend was a 180° turn... I found myself standing at Overtoom, with right across the street the MT's place. OK, off for the tram stop again. And once more... a side way, lined with old townhouses. This one turned … out to be a dead end street. I had no choice but to enter the park. It's just the Vondelpark I thought and shrugged. A tiny detour.

I've only ever seen a small part of the park. Thought that that was the entire thing. Today I discovered the park is huge. I got lost. But that couldn't disquiet my happiness. I was seeing a part of Amsterdam I had never seen before. I was enjoying the kaleidoscope of people. Tourists feeding pigeons, joggers, people on bicycles - old ones, rented ones- , tourists kissing, locals walking their dog, hard workers checking the stage for an upcoming concert...

I walked and walked, the sound of traffic getting closer. I passed a garden restaurant and, untypical for me, decided to leave the park before stopping for a drink. Just at that moment a group of tourists stopped me. The young man was holding a workbook with some loose papers and a pen. He gestured for me to take them. One of the younger women asked me whether I was dutch. “Yes” I admitted, “but I'm no from Amsterdam”. The older woman cut in. I had taken the others for eastern Europe, maybe middle east, this woman had Asian, or maybe south American, cheekbones. An odd couple, but nice looking an friendly. In English the older woman explained that they were doing a 'quiz tour' . The questions were in Dutch, and the answers had to be Dutch too. Could I please write down the answer for them...

I took a look at the paper. The question referred to a statue and it was to be described on several dotted lines. The three quiz tour-ists pointed a little further away from us. I saw a ring of people, more tour-ists, and peeping over them the pale grey stone eyes of a girl with pale grey hair. The statue in question.

I grinned awkwardly and tried to hand back the pad and paper. I didn't feel like doing their thinking for them. I was about to suggest they'd ignore the rule of answering in Dutch and write down the answer by themselves as an idea came up...why not interview those who asked me? 

“Why don't you just describe the statue and I'll translate for you.” After all, I work as freelance translator (and writer).

The idea was accepted unanimously. 
I could hear a multivoiced “I see a naked lady”, “the lady is naked” Obviously her most prominent feature. At least they considered the girl to be a lady in spite of this. When I had penned it down, I asked for more. “She is standing” “Her eyes are open”

“Her hair is drawn to the back of her head” “She is gray”. All facts, which I deftly put down. But it didn't satisfy me, the teacher in me came up. “Are there no emotions?” The women caught up with my question. The girl was open, spontaneous and one even found her to be proud. The gray eyes and poise of the head, all I could see, definitely showed self confidence, so penned it all down, in dutch. Then I handed back the paper, content. After all, the quiz was to make the spectators look at art as an expression of feelings or ideas. To make them see! And my question made them pick up the notion.

I left the park and my feet steered me through an expensive shopping area to the vicinity of the Museumplein. That wasn't what I wanted, so I chose a few smaller streets, leading me right through several groups of children playing outside. After School Care in action. They looked like regular schoolkids during their break. Traditionally, the boys were playing football -socker, I should say- what the girls were doing was less obvious. Some ran past me, giggling. Only one, with reddish blond hair, halted and looked at me with blue, serious, eyes. “Funny, we are playing lions right now.” The confession like nature of her approach was to be taken seriously, but somehow I felt I couldn't see her point. Leaving me at loss for words. She pointed to my T-shirt, “Jesus the Lion of Judah” and I looked down... a full blown male lion and the orange sky made up of another, transparent, lionhead. [ I dress to impress :) ] How could I forget? I laughed, opened my mouth to say something back to her … no need she was already called away by her playmates. I like that, those short fleeting moments of communication that leave an impression you can carry with you. 



Grotere kaart weergeven  

I came from the street on the right side of the photo, and took a turn to the right. Which is the left side on the pic.


To be continued ....