The Writing Life begins....with Amsterdam
I've been thinking about my time in Amsterdam, when I stayed in the center of town with friends of a friend: Sofia and Jean-Luc. They were in close quarters in their studio apt, especially with their joyful little dog, Leica, but they insisted I stay for as long as I wanted, even offering to help find me a job in Amsterdam if I wanted to stay for longer. Their generosity was amazing, and they were a delight to be around (except for their frightening fights, which I never understood until I got together with M).
They were professional dancers and often had dinner parties with their friends (also professional dancers), complete with homemade paiea and advanced trivia games I could not keep up with. One friend in particular, Toer, was a famous dancer, instructor, and self-trained certified expert on the oddest subjects. His apt was spectacular, something that I was blessed to have seen and never again seen anything like it. The downstairs was something of a workshop, but upstairs where he lived, the finished pieces were on display in his careful beautiful arrangement of his things. He'd BUILT a harpsichord piano, BUILT a replica of a SHIP (an expert in that field)... and he was something of a father-figure to Jean-Luc (entering his life in the time that his father had passed), inspiring dedication and enthusiasm in Jean-Luc about every imaginable subject.
I spent most of my days with Jean-Luc, as he was not working at the time. We made sushi together, the first time I had ever done so, and he made it so fun and simple.... Jean-Luc inspired me, as I saw first-hand that these things which we say we would love to be able to do---are really within our grasp. It's just a little information and effort that's needed! Jean-Luc BUILT the beautiful four-post bed that he and Sofia slept on.
Jean-Luc was so eager, so like a child in his enthusiasm, that he insisted on showing me around Amsterdam on the back of his scooter, shouting out the history of various landmarks over his shoulder as we rode. We would invariably stop in a cafe and take an cappucino, croissant and Pellegrino. Then we would talk about Bush. Oh those joyful times, when I could enchant him with stories about the average American, convince him that we were not all mindless-Bush-followers who destroyed the rest of the world on a whim, without thought or care for other countries or diplomacy. Jean-Luc was of Vietnamese origin but had been adopted and grew up in France, and of course the Iraq war brought ugly anti-American/anti-French feelings to a head.
We would set back out on the scooter.... One day Jean-Luc took me to an empty parking lot and actually let me ride it around by myself!! Oh, he LOVED that scooter (shortly after I left Amsterdam he hit a pedestrian and swore it off forever...I wonder, like the story of the Little Prince....I imagine him and wonder...is he riding? is he? is he?)
Those days were so joyous, so fresh. I had few clothes on my travels, so I existed in my gray turtleneck sweater and either jeans or a blue flowered skirt...motly my jeans, as the days grew colder, and the eternal clouds over Amsterdam kept me chilled to the bone. The coldest time I remember was when Jean-Luc rode out to the island along a fifty foot wide strip of land, and it began to rain. It was beating against us, sleet, furiously cold.... but we made our way to this carefully preserved island with cute traditional Dutch houses. And we had a cappucino of course.
They were professional dancers and often had dinner parties with their friends (also professional dancers), complete with homemade paiea and advanced trivia games I could not keep up with. One friend in particular, Toer, was a famous dancer, instructor, and self-trained certified expert on the oddest subjects. His apt was spectacular, something that I was blessed to have seen and never again seen anything like it. The downstairs was something of a workshop, but upstairs where he lived, the finished pieces were on display in his careful beautiful arrangement of his things. He'd BUILT a harpsichord piano, BUILT a replica of a SHIP (an expert in that field)... and he was something of a father-figure to Jean-Luc (entering his life in the time that his father had passed), inspiring dedication and enthusiasm in Jean-Luc about every imaginable subject.
I spent most of my days with Jean-Luc, as he was not working at the time. We made sushi together, the first time I had ever done so, and he made it so fun and simple.... Jean-Luc inspired me, as I saw first-hand that these things which we say we would love to be able to do---are really within our grasp. It's just a little information and effort that's needed! Jean-Luc BUILT the beautiful four-post bed that he and Sofia slept on.
Jean-Luc was so eager, so like a child in his enthusiasm, that he insisted on showing me around Amsterdam on the back of his scooter, shouting out the history of various landmarks over his shoulder as we rode. We would invariably stop in a cafe and take an cappucino, croissant and Pellegrino. Then we would talk about Bush. Oh those joyful times, when I could enchant him with stories about the average American, convince him that we were not all mindless-Bush-followers who destroyed the rest of the world on a whim, without thought or care for other countries or diplomacy. Jean-Luc was of Vietnamese origin but had been adopted and grew up in France, and of course the Iraq war brought ugly anti-American/anti-French feelings to a head.
We would set back out on the scooter.... One day Jean-Luc took me to an empty parking lot and actually let me ride it around by myself!! Oh, he LOVED that scooter (shortly after I left Amsterdam he hit a pedestrian and swore it off forever...I wonder, like the story of the Little Prince....I imagine him and wonder...is he riding? is he? is he?)
Those days were so joyous, so fresh. I had few clothes on my travels, so I existed in my gray turtleneck sweater and either jeans or a blue flowered skirt...motly my jeans, as the days grew colder, and the eternal clouds over Amsterdam kept me chilled to the bone. The coldest time I remember was when Jean-Luc rode out to the island along a fifty foot wide strip of land, and it began to rain. It was beating against us, sleet, furiously cold.... but we made our way to this carefully preserved island with cute traditional Dutch houses. And we had a cappucino of course.