Festival Classique II

The sky was clear, at least for the time being. Light clouds floated overhead, hurrying to side with the denser and darker lump that had just passed and brought tremendous rain. The damp and dew-laden leaves glistened as the setting sun reflected off of them. There was a cool breeze in the air, that would eventually turn cold. But every wait had its reward.

I sat on the banks of the Hofvijver (pond), with my legs crossed, next to countless others who had braved the cold and rain earlier to attend this classic music concert. I had heard that under the direction of neeme Jaervi, the Residentie Orkest (Hague Symphony) had with a number of years become world-class, so this was not to be missed. The Buitenhof (parliament) buildings lay behind the stage, adorned by the echoes of the music in the air, or decorated with the tranquil reflection in the water surrounding it, taking on a completely different coat of class and wisdom in age. From time to time, I would temporarily close my eyes to collect myself… while at the same time, recollect the whole stunning atmosphere and combination of nature and man’s quest and conquest of beauty in music. Seagulls dipped in the pond like dragonflies, and circled the air in delicate motion.

Borodin’s famous piece from “Prince Igor” started off the evening. Captured the audience in sudden swings in between the tense marching of soldiers, and the elegant dances of the Polovetsian tribe. Ducks swam around the lake in sync, their movements and ripples seemed to match the music, as they danced to beautify the orchestra’s performance. Mussorgsky’s dashing piece of “Night on Bald Mountain”, which starts off frantically, echoing the danger and darkness of the looming night, but brightens towards the end with the sound of church bells and light clarinets signaling the rise of day. A lonely swan, snow-white, graceful and so majestic with its down outstanding in the dusk light, cruised the water with its neck held up high in elegance. The leaves moved to the music too, swaying in the wind ever so gently, as if afraid to move, but move it must because of the emotions that the music evoked.

Ravel’s crescending “Bolero” took the audience further into the evening. As the evening sky darkened, the music simultaneously got louder and louder. The same notes, soft flowing clarinets, hushed trumpets, flickering guitars and the stable undertone of drum beats, criss-crossed and met, circled and replayed themselves again and again. The crowd moved from side to side, to the music which got louder and louder, seemingly mesmerised like the way a snake would be under the skillful playing of an Indian guru. As the piece reached its climax with the clashing of symbols under the last stroke of the maestro’s elegant and agile directions, the crowd roared into applause, elated. People stood up and applauded continuously, wanting more. Brahm’s “Hungarian Dance No. 5” served as the crowd pleasing encore.



The ducks had disappeared, and the seagulls long gone home. But the music and memories linger, on and on.

Photos of my trip and more!

Guess I've been wanting to put up the pictures sometime, but never got the chance. And I doubt I can recall all the beauty and memories of my time away in "a thousand words", so the best is to paint picture.

So if you're interested to see what I've been up to, visiting and seeing for the last two weeks, please to go my travelog! : )

Festival Classique

The sky blushed, orange and red, shy perhaps from the way silky white clouds caressed its face gently. Music, pianos, harp and chello seranading in the air, in perfect harmony, while the voice of the choir sang in celebrated low and high tones to perform Rossini's 'Petite Messe Solonelle'. The wavy image of the ancient parliament buildings wavered in the water.


There's something magically romantic about an open-air classical music concert, especially when set against old buildings which slowly donned on their night orangy glow and accentuated shadows as the flood-lights came. In the distance, the Hofvijver fountain sprayed, silently spewing white water into the air, only to fall and echo the way the music silently and dramaticall rose and fell. It made me sigh inside.

Next to the Hofvijver I stood, mesmerised by the combination of the beauty of the sky, music and water flowing and flying around me. A crowd had gathered around me,standing still to admire the music and the beautiful setting. It was part of the Festival Classique series of concerts that started off today, and actually it was a paying performance. Those who did pay got seats in front of a floating stage where the Residentie Kamerkoor (Hague Chamberchoir) performed their art. The rest, free-riders like me, stood around the stage, but could still pretty much see and enjoy the whole performance. Which makes you wonder why pay. A mother duck and her duckling swam around, their movements sending out ripples across the water surface, seemingly matching the ripples that musical notes made in the evening air. Perhaps mother and duckling were the only ones that weren't really enjoying the evening, for they were trapped by the stage.



But that did not stop the moving music. Or the ever-changing display of lights and palette across the dusk sky.

At the post office

"What are you getting your dad for Father's Day?"

I typed in my bank-code to pay, and was not expecting the question at all. I thought it was a sales strategy, an attempt to get me to buy more things. I knew the Dutch TNT was cutting down on staff to save costs... but didn't realise they had become so desparate that they were promoting all sorts of gifts and goodies whenever you go to the post office to mail something. I hesistated and thought a little.

"A book. He likes to read." A little lie. I didn't know what I wanted to get for him... not yet.

"Hm, that's nice", the lady said, looking into the distance, looking puzzled, "I don't know what I'm going to get my dad." She turned to me, looking for contact.

"What does he like then?"

She thought a little. "Rabbits. He likes rabbits."

"Does he already have rabbits?" I went on, still a little curious where the conversation was going.

"Like around 30!" she answered, smiling. "Maybe some rabbit food. Carrots... or maybe hay?"
The receipt was printing slowly, and making a hushed rustling sound.

I was surprised by the number of rabbits he already had, and thought to myself maybe another rabbit wouldn't hurt. But instead I said, lightheartedly, remembering pictures of the little mascot I had just seen at the local supermarket: "What about a hamster?"

She laughed, and handed me the receipt. "Hm, that's a good idea. A hamster..." She looked on, puzzled, and and lost in thought.

"Bye-bye. Have a nice weekend." I turned to go, but then a part of me inside made me turn back to her again, "And good luck finding a gift!"

Rain, rain, rain

Sitting at my office, watching the raindrops splash and splattered on the roof window. There's a loud sounding echo, as drops as large as a golf ball continue to pound down. The radio that was playing in the background drowned in the noise.

After having had two weeks of almost constant sunshine, I'm back home, in the rainy Lowlands. Almost immediately after stepping off the train, I was caught off guard by the cold wind. The skies looked gloomy and clouds were lying low, and indeed the morning greeted me with the slight sizzle of drizzling rain. My plans to cycle to work were dampened by the sight of a drenched cyclist who looked so very miserable as he cycled passed my front door.

I guess I'm in that 'post-holiday mood', in which you're trying to pick up the bits and pieces of 'normal' life after having blocked it all out for a while. And already on the first day back being faced with complicated issues of office politics. None of it has to do with me, but it does to some extent affect my new position as a student assistant during the summer somewhat. It make you wonder why things have to be so complicated.

During lunchbreak today, I quickly popped into the baby toy store to buy something I plan to send as a sort of 'thank you gift' for letting me stay so long. I guess a piece of my mind is still stuck in Strasbourg, and it will be hard to bring it back...

Home again

Kitty greeted me as I silently opened the door. She rubbed her head against my feet, and was the only one to welcome me back. Everyone else was asleep. After some nine hours of travelling it's nice to see a familiar face, even if that's of your pet.

The train pulled away from Strasbourg, and I sat alone in my cabin. It took a while to realise that I'm leaving, after the last two weeks having passed like two hours in my mind. As the train sped into the hilly landscape of Alsace, I wondered when I will return again.

Sometime soon, that's for sure. When I first visited Strasbourg on that high school trip, I was but an innocent boy of fifteen. Walking around the old city, neck sore from staring at the soaring cathedral, little did I know then that my feet would take me back there, again, and again, and again. Perhaps I have a special bond with the city, and undoubtedly it will only grow stronger as Sunny grows older.

It was strange to see Sunny after almost half a year. He stared at me, and turned to hug his mommy by the legs, scared as if he had seen something frightening. I tried to reach out, to touch his little arm, but he pushed me away. It was a little gesture, but meaningful one, and one that made me somewhat disappointed. He had forgotten me, I thought, after all that we've been through together, after all the times I've been there for him and his mommy...

But soon enough, Sunny and I reconnected... more and more, with each passing day. Perhaps it was through the nightly baths that I gave him, during which I always end up being soaked from the splashes and kicks he makes, or perhaps it was the little cuddles I give him whenever he climbs over me in the morning and giggles in my ear to wake me. Whatever the reason, he didn't see me as a stranger any more, and that is a warming feeling.

It's funny how a baby can touch you so, and each time I visit him, I realise the power of his very being, and what an affect he has on me. Before he was a fragile being, so frail, and couldn't even sit up by himself. This time, he was crawling all over the place, and at times even daringly discovering the art of walking on his feet. Before, the world was whatever he saw from his pram or from the arms of his mommy. Now, the world was wherever his little hands and little knees could bring him. Before, he played with stuffed animals and cute little baby toys. Now, anything and everything could be a potential plaything. Which makes the world an exciting but also dangerous place.

A couple of times he hurt himself, bumping into cupboards, getting his little fingers stuck between in the doorway, chocking on toothpaste, and even swallowing a coin. But nothing seemed to take away his energy and life. Buddhism talks about living in the present moment... well for a baby life is really "here and now"... his needs, his curiosity, his movements, his cries, screams... all reflectinng what he wants there and then. Unlike grown ups, who fret and dwell in the already-gone past, and worry and prophesise about the unknown future, causing themselves unnecessary suffering and pain in the process. There's really a lot you can learn from a baby. Only a shame that most people tend to dismiss a baby as just a baby.

Coming back, to work and to my studies, I feel like I'm missing something in life, something I've left back there. But then again, I feel refreshed and full of life, because I've been able to see and feel life in its prime, in baby Sunny.

Baby Sunny sleeping

Baby Sunny V