Verjaarsdag van my vader

'n Somerse wyn-en-braaidag in Vlaandere

(of hoe ’n Afrikaner geleer het dat daar meer in ’n braai kan sit dan pap en wors!)

Soms laat die slegte weer ons tog toe om hier in Vlaandere, (meer spesifiek in Herdersem, op Domein De Kluizen, die wynbedryf van my goeie vriend Herman Troch) om op ’n somersdag, wyn te proe. En dan nog, wyn uit Vlaandere self (julle sal merk dat ek meesal praat van Vlaandere, en nie van België nie, daar is geen politieke motivering daarvoor nie, nee, dit is alleen omdat ek op my ‘klavier’, die ding met al die letters ens, waarmee ek my dingetjies uittik, die ‘keyboard’ op syn Engels dan!-twee tikbewegings moet uitvoer om die umlaut te kry  op die woord ‘België’ (sien daar is dit alweer, Alt 137, wat ek moet tik om die umlaut te kry!) en daar is geen umlaut in Vlaandere nie sien).

In elk geval, Herman het ons uitgenooi om sy nuutste wyne te proe, selfs ’n vonkelwyn, met die onwaarskynlike naam van ‘Zjul’ - wat ons onvermydelik lei na die internasionale bekende Aalsterse Karnaval (as werelderfgoed erken deur UNESCO in 2010, no less!) om die ietwat vreemde naam te verduidelik. Herman was vroeër ’n baie bedrywige lid gewees van een van die karnavalsgroepe van die Aalsterse karnaval- ek het ’n skakel hieronde geplaas na ’n lys van die groepe met sulke fantastiese name as:

Allei-Joep  De Droeve Apostelen  De Loizemaanen  De Popollekes  De Sjattrellen  De Steijnzoel’n  De Toerenbiejoekes  De Zwiejtollekes  Krejeis  Lossendeirdeveirdeirdeir  Minder es mier/Gestoikt  't Es Om Zjiep De Salongcarnavalisten  De Snotneizen  De Tettemoesjen  Drasj  Eirg  Lotjonslos  Pertotal  Possensje  Schiefregt'oever

(http://www.aalst.be/default.asp?siteid=2&rubriekid=1047&url=%2Fcarnaval%2Fgroepen%2Fdefault%2Easp )

Wat jy dadelik opmerk uit die name vertel ook die verhaal agter die Karanaval: daar word veral gespot met politiek, met alle gesagsdraers, en mense met ‘n ‘dikke nek’, dws mense met ’n te hoë dunk van hulleself! En dan word daar ook baie (selfs heel veel) bier weggekap tydens die 3 daagse karnaval. Maar, om terug te keer tot ons vonkelwyn ‘Zjul’, dit is Herman se karnavalsnaam. En dit word op so ’n rare manier gespel omdat dit in Aalsters is, die dialek-taal van Aalst. Ter inligting, een van die mooiste kultuur-eienskappe van Vlaandere is juis dat alle dorpe hulle eie, apart-herkenbare, dialek gebruik. Dit is so dat mens van een dorp maar 10 km moet ry om ’n nuwe dialek te hoor, fantasties! En wat nog mooier is, hulle praat graag hulle eie dialek, en is trots daarop. Natuurlik gebruik hulle AN (algemene Nederlands) op skool en as lingua franca- dit is miskien ’n bindende faktor, maar dit is die dialekte wat hulle so parogiaal hou en spesiaals maak.

Elke jaar hou Herman ’n bbq (hulle wil maar nie die beter woord: ‘braai’ hier gebruik nie, hulle verkies die Engelse woord, maar nou ja, dis ook weer ’n ander verhaal, ’n ander stryd wat ek hier tevergeefs veg, nl om die Vlaminge te kry om nie sommer voor die voet Engelse woorde in te voer in hulle taal nie. Ek het minder probleme dat hulle bv ‘computer’ gebruik, maar is dit werklik nodig om ‘kids’ ipv kinderen te gebruik, of soos ek gister gehoor het die plaaslike Minister van Buitelandse Sake, wat op die radio verklaar dat België sal ‘insisteer’ dat Libië al sy verdragte sal nakom. Vieslik!) om mense wat hom elke jaar help met die oes te bedank vir hulle hulp. En dit is wat ons laas Sondag gedoen het by Herman. En ek, ek staan daar rustig langs Sofie, ’n glas Kerner te proe en ek dink by myself, lekker asiditeit, mooi balans, en ek bekyk al die vriende daar, almal onbekend vir Sofie en ek, maar dis ’n vriendelike lot dié, ’n hele tapesserie van dialekte (meesal Aalsters natuurlik want Herdershem is ’n deel van Aalst) en beroepe, maar almal ‘Herman helpers’. En toe val my oog op die man wat besig is met ’n groot braai-toestel, so ’n Weber-ding. En natuurlik wil ek gaan kyk en dan veral my ‘superieure’ (so dag ek in elk geval toe!) Suid-Afrikaanse braai-kennis aan hom gaan opdring, hom ’n keer goed gaan vertel hoe dit alles moet gebeur en gedoen word. Gelukkig vir my het ek eers alles goed bekyk en stil gebly anders het ek my naam, soos my oom Sammie sou sê, mooi gat gemaak, want die man het baie meer expertise van braai gehad dan ek ooit sou kon droom (mens onderskat die Vlaminge maklik want hulle is so beskeie en nooit windgat oor hulle prestasies nie). Ek sal nie eers uitwei oor hoe goed sy braaitegnieke was nie, maar wil wel vertel wat hulle ons aangebied het: eers het ons begin met Franse foie gras op toast, dan was daar behalwe allerhande soorte souse en slaaie en dinge, as voorgereg, lekker hoenderboutjies, gebraaide salm uit Noorweë, gevolg deur ‘spare ribs’ wat gemarineer was in wyn, en dan eendebors! Het nie gedink mens kan eendebors op ’n braai doe nie, but we live and learn seker hê.

Ek sal in elk geval in die toekoms nooit weer ’n woord sê oor braai, of selfs bbq, teenoor ’n Vlaming nie!

The ending of blasé innocence, at Pukkelpop, Belgium

We, the ones (with me in the forefront!) who never stop complaining about how today's youth are so shallow, have no appreciation of real life, live too easily, and simply have no issues in life. The same youth whose main interests in life revolve around computer games, Lady Gaga, Justin Bieber, their hair-do, mobile phones and the state of their tans?

Well, today and last night, their cool, almost arrogant belief that they are untouchable, that they will live forever, was blasted away in a 10 minute fury of  hurricane winds and rain, when trees were snapped like tooth picks and dropped onto food stands, gigantic TV screens came crashing down onto the unsuspecting, and dancing teenage masses as they listened to the singer of Skunk Anansie trying her professional best to be overheard over the howling storm, until she too was almost blown off the stage! In video clips these kids recorded themselves as the sky fell all around them, we hear their shocked screams, the unbelief clear that anything like this could be happening to them, but above all I will never ever forget the agony and pain of one of the teenage girls as she is pinned down by a huge tree, her skull in a vise grip under this tree, cuddling her in its own death throes.

And all we can do, because we remain helpless to change any part of this tragedy, is to weep for the loss of their innocence, even if it was childishly blasé, even if it was arrogant in its naïveté.
http://www.standaard.be/artikel/detail.aspx?artikelid=DMF20110819_037

A summer's day in August 2011.

A day of summer, a sunny day, in Belgium, is not to be ignored.  It is an almost unique occasion, certainly in our summer of 2011.  There have been few summer days this year, apparently less than 20 and, considering that we had such a fabulous early spring I can only conclude that this year's summer has not yet happened, nor is it likely to. 

But yesterday, 15^th August, we did have a summer's day, and we went to celebrate that, plus our public holiday, by having lunch in a not so typical seafood restaurant in Blankenberge. What I forgot to mention though are the incredible traffic jams and a slow-moving line of vehicles crawling to the coast.  The Belgian coast is only about 40 km long and its serves not only the whole Belgian population, but also parts of France, the Netherlands and even a bunch of German day-trippers that regularly stream to the Belgian coast.  Many Belgians also have apartments or houses at the coast and the result of this all is that during holidays and weekends almost every Belgian heads to the coast.  They don't go there, obviously, to swim, no instead they go to ‘flaneer’, a colourful term which is used to describe the promenading, along the promenade obviously, stopping every now and then for an ice cream, a cup of coffee or, more usually, a solid pint of one of Belgian's finest beers (at last count there was close to 600 beers brewed in Belgium!).  Then they slowly proceed again, hand-in-hand, further along the promenade, watching the people on the beach, avoiding seagulls attacking their ice creams, their children, darting in and out on rented karts or bicycles in the masses, pulsating on the promenades.  Interspersed, you always find a number of skateboarders and of course, boys and men flying their kites. 

This reminds me that this past weekend France experienced a record of 793 km of traffic jams and stalled vehicles on its highways, as it was what is called a 'black' weekend, that is, a day or a weekend when one group of people who were on vacation, say, the Dutch, return home and on the same day, another group, for instance, the French, leave for their holidays, resulting in the most frustrating hours on highways, and on small roads, because everyone uses GPS to try and use the back roads and shortcuts.  This misery is repeated on a few occasions during the summer holidays.

Anyway to return to our outing to Blankenberge of yesterday: this restaurant, called 'de Oesterput' (literally, a well of oysters) is in fact, more typical of a South African or Australian large seafood eatery with tables, both inside and outside, and with the emphasis rather on the freshness of the seafood and fish than on the silver cutlery. As you can see in the picture they have a few large "swimming pools" in which the lobsters are kept- and if you select one they will wade in with a net to catch that particular one for you. I selected a chilled Austrian Gruner Veltliner wine, and with that ordered a seafood platter, which consisted partly of lobster, crab, large prawns, cockles and whelks, some whitebait, and one of the local specialities: those tiny grey shrimps that one sees the old-time fishermen net early in the mornings at Ostend Beach- I remember seeing them on their huge work horse, those with the huge hoofs and a large patient hanging head, plodding into the waves, two large hand-woven baskets hanging either side of the horse, the spray of the waves mingling with the early morning mist. 

After lunch we went for a walk along the jetty, in glorious sunshine, and watched various yachts, and men and girls in boats doing their boating things.  I took this picture of a restaurant, which is located right near the jetty, which has handily made use of one the old German bunkers of the Second World War.  These concrete structures are found all over Belgium, and because they are virtually indestructible have been left behind, silent reminders of the terrors that our parents and grandparents had to go through.  This particular bunker formed part of the "Atlantic Wall", fortifications which the Germans set up, and this restaurant cleverly linked itself into the bunker with a new walkway, and I understand that they use the bunker as a perfect climate-controlled wine cellar!  What a wonderful comment on World War II! 
And what a wonderful summer's day, at last - a day to not forget.