Viggo's Blog - Meet The White Goddess!

Hi fans, Viggo here.
Hardly recovered from my nightly banishment to our garden, I've had to adjust to my woman being actually upbeat and happy again...
My oh my, what a challenge!

The reason for all this silly sunshine in our lives is that she has finally found herself a 5 men proper band to sing with. (They're ancient and play ancient rock music from the Sixties and Seventies, with the occasional new cover thrown in - ieeeeeeeeeuw!) She says, and I quote: "It's SUCH FUN, Viggo!"

Fun?
Watching that gorgeous white hussy from around the corner, now that's what I call fun!

See that? Isn't she wonderful?
I tried my utmost to impress her yesterday afternoon, showing my best muscles and such.

Gina being present made it a bit of a non-event, as Gina smells to high heaven - dog breath, yuck! But the white goddess watched my workout from behind the bushes and didn't twitch a whisker, which I took as a very good sign.
Just as I ambled over to her, Gina decided to get up, and my shimmering white beauty made a dash and hid under the nearest car.
I have been keeping an eye out for her ever since, but so far she hasn't shown herself.

Someone who did show up was that black monster from the corner. He is huge, but very laid back. When I accompany Gina and my woman on the last walkies of the evening this black guy is usually outside as well, and we have touched noses a couple of times - no sweat. He sucks up to my woman though, rubbing his ugly head on her leg, and making purring noises, I must say that goes a bit too far. So I've warned him to keep his distance from her. I hope he remembers. He is quite large...Huge, in fact. Perhaps just a couple of rubs won't do any harm...hmmm....

The Hike - 4

Our national emblem should be the willow - not that silly lion...as if we have lions roaming our lands.
On my fourth hike towards The Hike in Northumberland, I passed many, many willows, by far the most common tree in my area. But this one, an ash, caught my eye, as it is symbolic for my wetlands delta, valiantly hanging on even when knee-deep in water.

Today was a perfect day for hiking: wind wsw 18 km/hr,2 degrees C, humidity 83%,the occasional hail shower, but mostly sunny. Well, not counting the dramatic clouds.

I set off from home and decided to get the polder stretch out of the way first, ending along the Haringvliet water with the wind at my back (see photo above).

Walking through the polder has a dynamic of its own. It's mostly battling with the wind and hoping you won't get crashed into from behind, as most polder dwellers drive like maniacs and expect you to jump into the verge.

This is typically wetlands scenery. A sloot, a straight stretch of narrow road and an endless sky.



From this distance you can really see how our local church tower and ship are divided.

Although it hailed occasionally, the bulbs along the road showed that Spring is definitely on its way! I'm a sucker for spring bulbs,  they give such a feeling of hope, that sure, sunshine will be part of our days again.

Whilst I am typing this it is hailing most fiercely, so I took my walk at the right time!
Along the way, on the Westdijk, I passed this vegetable plot, artistically draped along the dyke.

Due to the mild winter there were quite a few cabbages and sprouts still looking good.
After the Westdijk I passed from polder into dune landscape, as I was nearing the Haringvliet, the sea arm that divides my island of Voorne from the next island of Goeree-Overflakkee. The soil turns from heavy,greasy clay straight to sand and the trees change accordingly from willows and such to thorny shrub, ash and birch.

This path leads you from the last tarmac road through the dunes to the Haringvliet.

Look at that. You have your mangroves in Florida, we have our solitary ash in the wetlands. This sea arm, due to its being cut off from the sea since the Seventies and being fed by three huge rivers is sweet water, but no one has told the shells, so they are saltwater shells still, mixed with some fresh water ones.

I used to scoff at this stretch of water, being spoiled by holidays abroad and the cold green blue waters near my first home in Hampshire (GB). But I've made my peace with the Haringvliet and quite like it nowadays.

This was the best part of the hike: up the dune and down the dune, with the gently lapping water always close by on my righthand side, the occasional gull overhead and thankfully no more hail.
It took me 2 hours to get home, and 28.640 steps. 
I'm already planning the next hike, which will probably take me over to the next island by bus and back on foot.
Join me?

The Hike - 3

Preparing myself for my hiking holiday in the North of England is proving more difficult than I thought. Our wet Wetlands weather, fickle as it normally is, has been challenging to say the least.
But last Sunday turned out dry, so I jumped into my hiking shoes and set off for a hike around my neighbourhood of Nieuw-Helvoet, before the floodgates would open once again.

This vibrant Viburnum greets me every day, on my daily walkie-with-my-doggie, and isn't it gorgeous? 
It is a good example of the many Viburnums which are lovingly dotted around this neighbourhood. People in Nieuw-Helvoet are proud of their front gardens, on the whole (always exceptions).

I set off from home and turned left, taking the old through-road from Nieuw-Helvoet to the naval port of Hellevoetsluis. Nieuw-Helvoet is contrary to its name actually quite old, dating from 1367,and has a beautifully preserved traditional ring of houses (also called 'Ring') around the old church. 
But archeologists have dug up remains of habitation from the Iron Age (800 BC), along with clear evidence that the land was flooded again and again, which made living around these parts a challenge to say the least!
Churches in my part of the country were more often than not built in two parts: the ship and the bell tower separately. 

You can see from the shape of the tower that it has a square, no-nonsense shape, and that money was short. Hence bricked-in "windows" where, in more affluent places, a leaded glass window would be.Life on my island of Voorne was hard.

As you perhaps can spot,the year 1820 is on the plaque of this traditional house in the Ring. Which makes it one of the newer houses, paradoxically.
This one, the Raadhuis (town hall), dates from 1760.

Nieuw-Helvoet has long since been integrated into the larger town of Hellevoetsluis, but it has retained its tiny-town atmosphere. Nieuw-Helvoet was here first, and used the mooring place they called Hellevoetsluys as their harbour on the sea arm called Haringvliet, separating my island of Voorne from the next island of Goeree-Overflakkee. It was only when the Dutch government decided to make Hellevoetsluys their major naval port, that the number of its inhabitants exceeded that of Nieuw-Helvoet.
(If you are into names: Haring = herring, vliet = river, hence "the river where you can fish for herring". Helle = difficult, voet = foot, sluys = lock, hence "the place where there is a lock from the sea arm Haringvliet to the difficult navigable river Hellevoet")

I've told you before that the graveyard is on my route, and this time I decided to enter it so I can show you a traditional Wetlands burial ground. It is still in use, but only people from this neighbourhood can be buried here. It has one official Common Wealth War Grave, a bit forgotten now, and on the whole is rather quiet...Most of the old families, with their family graves, have been lost in history.

But look what I found...Mathilde Bernardine Washington, born July 11th 1888, Died May 1st 1989, wife to corn merchant and sometime mill keeper Hermen Maasdam. This tickled my curiosity!Was this an American bride, that for some reason had ended up in my wetlands? So what do you do then? Right, you consult Mr. Google.
And you find out that Mathilde was the daughter of Wilhelmus Wassinghton (note the spelling!), born December 1829 in the Northern province of Friesland, and his marriage issued "7 children born without life from 1860-1869" - so my, old Wilhelmus must have been chuffed to get a living Mathilde in the end!But what caused the spelling of her name on this gravestone? Was it a mistake? Google couldn't answer this question.

I'll end with the Viburnum I started with, simply because I adore the way this homeowner lovingly trims his box.
My hike was a short one, only 5.913 steps, but the weather was great for a change and I enjoyed it. Hope you did too!
Join me next time?

Viggo's Blog: I Have Been Banned From Upstairs at Night!

Hi fans, Viggo here.
The unmentionable has happened: my woman has told me in no uncertain terms that I am not to wake up the entire house at night by jumping unto the doorhandles.

I mean, WHY???

She is so.....mean!
Doesn't she realize that it is only from a feeling of warmth, love and a necessity of crunchy nibbles that I try to get some attention when it is dark?

I have tried to reason with them, really I have tried. Only last week I have done my business on the bed of the young woman, just to make clear that she should not ignore me at night. For some reason she started to make strange sounds like 'eeeeeeeeeuw' and 'yuck' and 'Muuuuuuuum!' And can I help it that her duvet wouldn't fit in the washing machine? Is it my fault that 'Mum' had to wash it under the shower because it was too large to fit anywhere else? If you ask me, my woman should have told the young woman to wash it herself.

Anyway, I noticed a distinctly icy reception from then onwards and the young woman started closing her bedroom door at night. Well, tough titty, I have known how to open doors from when I was 6 months old, so...duh.

But now, since I have been opening that door repeatedly last night, those humans have put their heads together and decided I should 'be put out'. Because they 'need their sleep'.
They should do as all responsible cats do and nap during the day!

I'll let you know how things evolve.
Perhaps I'll need backup.

Tarrah! XX

The Hike - 2

Resolutions should be upheld, right?
So I took myself on the second hike of my training for Northumberland,to our local beach in fact, and promptly overdid it.

The thing is, the weather was so glorious compared to my first hike, that I decided to go to the nearest saltwater beach (15 minutes by car)and walk all the way to the next village (Rockanje) and back.
The way there, with a southerly wind of 21 km/hr at my back, humidity of only 71% and a lovely 13C, was a doddle. A piece of cake. Nothing to it, I practically flew along with the numerous magpies overhead.

Hahaha, try having a picknick at this table... The last storm has moved a lot of sand!

The sun shone, the waves glittered happily in the distance (the tide being out all the way), the curlews ambled along the waterline searching for whatever they search for, dogs ran past me with exuberance and gave me an enthusiastic wink along the way and I could hear them thinking ("Hi! Isn't this great! Where's your ball?")

Then it was time to turn back. And all of a sudden I crash landed. For the low Winter sun was directly in my eyes, the cold wind blew straight into my face and my feet sank deeper and deeper into the sand. And I needed to pee. Desperately.
Now, a real hiker thinks nothing of peeing in the wild, I'm sure.
But there's no cover on Wetlands beaches, none. And the Rockanje beach shacks do not open their doors during the week until Easter.
What to do? Brave the dogs (and their masters...) and pretend to lace my shoes whilst piddling through my left pant's leg? I couldn't do it.

By the time I had reached the halfway back mark, I was panting and had bladder cramps. Besides, half the beach was now in my shoes between my toes.

I kept telling myself I was doing really well, and concentrated on the birds and watched the waves in the hope of spotting a seal (didn't though).

After 1 1/2 hours and 11.607 steps I reached the car.
The hike was lovely, especially after I had reached my bathroom, but I did wonder how on earth I am going to master those Northumberland hills in August.
Oh well, I have six months to reach my goal: good enough hiking stamina to keep up with the rest of the company!
Nice of you to join me, do come along next time?

The Hike - 1

Well-aware of the beneficial influence of hiking on the psyche, I have booked myself a hiking holiday in Northumberland in August, where I am supposed to be able to do 6 hour walks up and down those hills.
Being gruesomely out of shape, a hiking training program seems in order. Want to accompany me?

If you are following my blog, you'll know that I've had a rather bumpy ride of late...No need to go into it, but I really need some changes in my life and mostly in the mental department. And since mental and physical are closely intertwined, I have devised a training schedule for myself with the aim of getting me able to walk those Northern English hills without pain and without embarrassing myself.

So, today was the first day of the new and better me (loud guffaw inserted here!).

I set off from my new home on the outskirts of my suburb of Nieuw-Helvoet, and set myself a hike of 1 hour brisk walking.The weather conditions could have been better, but definitely a lot worse. It was dry, but foggy and damp (humidity 100%: quite normal for my part of the Dutch Wetland Delta) and very gloomy, with a light south-south-westerly wind of 16 km/hr and a temperature of 4C.

I decided to walk towards the old hill fort in Nieuwenhoorn.

I pass this when I cycle to work, and like it very much.It is part of the old naval defense works, but is in disrepair. Farmers are allowed to graze their sheep around it, and the sheep are accustomed to stand in the middle of the cycle path looking blank.

After passing the hill fort I came to the village of Nieuwenhoorn (now part of my naval town of Hellevoetsluis)and turned right. This wind mill, called Zeezicht (Why? You cannot, and was never able to, see the sea from here!)has been an eyesore for years as it was practically falling apart. But thankfully now it is being repaired. 

Walking along the main road into Hellevoetsluis, I came across this placard.

This needs some explanation as to why it made me laugh out loud. 

Here we go; a quick lecture on the Dutch psyche.

We are a nation of ice skaters. You think the Canadians have the honour, but you are wrong. We Dutchies have invented ice skating, and it is in our blood. The placard reads "Sharpening Skates" and it is a manifestation of wishful thinking. For we hardly have any frosts anymore, and if we do have them (like this past week in fact), the temperatures don't drop below zero far enough to get us ice thick enough to skate on. This hurts. It makes us migrate to parts of The Netherlands where they do have ice thick enough (the North-East, where the mild sea winds don't reach)or even to Austria to skate our largest skating event on the Weisensee and pretend we are in Friesland.

This Blue Heron at the end of my street is the better for it - they suffer when there is ice. It watched me walk past and cheered me on. They are quite common in my part of the country (I remember English twitchers going wild with envy when I told them I see them every day in my country)and pretty tame. Still, naive bird feeding people do get an eye pecked out by herons from time to time...

And that concludes our first hike. I hope you've enjoyed walking along with me and will join me next time.

Birdlife in Old Dutch Graveyards.

As a lover of small and large birds, my new domicile next to an old graveyard offers me the best of both worlds: plenty of small birds to watch and some large birds of prey which prey on them and can be watched in turn.
Below is my favorite small bird, which travels in cheerfully chattering flocks. Isn't it pretty?!

There's something about graveyards, isn't there? They either frighten you or appeal to you, hardly anyone refrains from having an opinion about them.

I fall into the "I like 'em!" category. Why? Because they are very peaceful, no pun intended, usually well-tended and a safe haven for birdlife in our built-up stony suburbia.

Whenever I find myself in a large city in a foreign country I always make a point of visiting a cemetery or two; Pere Lachaise in Paris being one of my favorites. Below is one of the photos I took in the Montmartre one, mainly because I took a shine to the name and the way his bronze sheet was wrapped. 

But I remember visiting a large one in Nürnberg and liking it very much.
Morbid? Perhaps. But not so much when you spot a fellow like this one flying out of the trees.

Owls are rare so near to my town, so spotting one is a festive occasion for me.
We mainly have field owls and screeching owls, and the occasional barn owl (which are very rare due to there hardly being any barns with access for them anymore).

Yesterday, it being a beautiful frosty quiet morning when I walked old Gina along the sloot next to the graveyard, I was stopped in my tracks by a kestrel almost bumping into me. He was carrying away a living blackbird and I don't know who was more shocked by our meeting, the bird of prey or me. Gina gave a little yelp, she has an inbred dislike of large birds, probably because they vied for food on the same rubbish dump as herself when she still lived in Istanbul as a pup.

But name a small bird which lives in my part of the country, and you'll be able to spot it in our graveyard. I get their point; plenty of fresh water in the trough for filling up the watering cans, plenty of cover in all those pretty flowering bushes and in the pruned ones as well and plenty of berries and insects to eat.
Obviously it's hard for the birds now that we are having a cold spell, so I provide seeds, nuts and other tidbits for them in my garden. They reward me by pooping all over the garden furniture... Oh well.