Taking the Zwarte out of Zwarte Piet

It's that time of year again!

Time to start the Zwarte Piet controversy anew!

It seems that you either love it or hate it.  I'm talking about the yearly arrival of Sinterklaas.  But it's not Sinterklaas that has everyone talking.  It's his friends/helpers/slaves - the hoards of Zwarte Piets.

Zwarte Piet - Friend or slave?

If you haven't met Zwarte Piet (Black Peter), you can check out my much less controversial post from last year.  Instead of elves, the Dutch Sinterklaas is accompanied by hundreds of "helpers" that paint their faces black, wear colorful clothes, and act goofy as they pass out candy and presents to the kids.  Some of those who grew up with him love him.  Others, especially those who aren't Dutch, are shocked by such a racist caricature.  This year, the controversy has reached new heights.  For me, it started when a co-worker brought Zwarte Piet chocolates to share at lunch... with resulted in a heated argument that lasted no less than 45 minutes.

Sinterklaas and his Racist Candy?

Those who love Zwarte Piet insist he is a well loved children's tradition.  Some say he's not black because of his skin, but because he zips up and down chimneys while delivering presents, and slowly accumulates soot.  Others say that the historical Saint Nicholas was accompanied by a Moor - hence the black skin.  In either case, Piet is a helper of Sinterklaas.  And the kids love him.  

Zwarte Piets perform for the crowds.

Others who hate Zwarte Piet see him as a racist stereotype, something that goes far beyond just his black skin to his large red lips, his frizzy black hair, and his similarity to the politically-incorrect gollywog dolls, now taboo.  His clumsy, bumbling nature doesn't help either.  They claim that Piet is a slave, an especially serious claim, since the historical Saint Nicholas helped to free slaves.  Some even claim it stems from an underlying fear of immigrants.

Goofy antics.

It seems that this year, the controversy reached new heights.  A protester, wearing a shirt with the words "Zwarte Piet is racism" to the annual arrival of Sinterklaas, was arrested by police.  Even a UN task force is investigating Zwarte Piet.  Meanwhile, those who want to keep Zwarte Piet are participating in the pro-Piet petition facebook page, which received over 2 million likes (which, considering the Netherlands has only 17 million people, is especially impressive).

A few years ago, Piet received a makeover, and instead of just Zwarte, Piets showed up in a rainbow of colors.  Outrage resulted.  This year, there was a smaller change of removing Piet's golden earrings, with some Piets wearing different color wigs as well.

Whatever your viewpoint, perhaps the controversy surrounding Zwarte Piet indicates that what one sees as a lovable character others see as an insult - and perhaps we don't understand each other as much as we think we do.    

The Stuff Pancakes are Made Of

New York state has a lot of water.  Growing up in the desert, this still fascinates me.  I would call any trickle of water down a rock face a waterfall.  New York state has a good share of "real" waterfalls.  Bram and I went to Buttermilk falls, a network of several falls down a beautiful stream*.

Walking up the waterfalls, many people take a break to walk in the pond at the base of the waterfall.

My husband frolics at the base of the waterfall.

Getting closer...

Then he decides he wants to try to climb it.

After his wife earns a few more gray hairs, he makes it to the top.

We decide to do a good portion of our hike through the stream itself.  Here I am at the top of my own scaled waterfall.

Some college students had too much time on their hands.

Fording the river.

The mini waterfalls, cutting away the soft rock.

Ever the great outdoors-man.

At this section of the river, the fast moving stream made a particularly deep hole in the soft rock.

These piles of rock are typically used by hikers in modern days to find their ways while hiking.  They have been found all over the world and some date back thousands of years.  These date back to last Friday night, when drunk college students made several of them.  A point if you know the name of these odd rock piles (no google).

* What we desert folk call a rushing river.

I See Shoes!

If you want to make a fashion statement, how about some wooden shoes?  While not worn as much in today's society, I have still seen young people on the streets, still sporting a pair of klumpa.  To celebrate all things related to wooden shoes, I now take you on a tour of the klumpa museum...

Wooden shoes for everyone!

They even have wooden shoes for giants!

You may think - why wear a wooden shoe?  Is it, well, practical?  I'm glad you asked.  Wooden klumpa have many purposes.  For example, you can outfit your shoe with spikes, making it easy to walk on the ice and snow during those cold Dutch winters.

Or these can whisk you away on the frozen canals!

But perhaps practicality is not your thing.  You're more into fashion.  Well, having a wooden shoe gives you a wonderful opportunity to paint all sorts of nice designs to compliment your wardrobe.

Or snazz it up with these wooden shoes, which look a lot like their leather counterparts!

And, if you really want something outlandish, you can... well... I'll just let the picture do the talking.

Or how about this...?

When your klumpa is old, don't throw it away!  You can reuse it for all sorts of purposes!

These beautiful klumpa are for weddings - intricately carved and beautiful, they rank as the most expensive of the klumpa.

Of course, you may need something for the two-week long Dutch summer.

Or shoes that serve as transportation.

Here's another example of an artfully recycled shoe.

Today, klumpa are made on mechanized machines, which rotate to carve just the right shape.

The machine in action.

Afterwards, we visit the store.  I've never seen so many shoes, wooden or otherwise!

Even as the lighting fixtures!

One Does Not Cage the Crow

I love my bike, but it's slowly killing me.  The year has not been kind to it.  It's rusted in weird places, and as I pedal, sometimes I can feel vibrations rumbling through my foot.  It squeaks, clacks, and sometimes produces this grating noise that seems to penetrate my very being.

So soon, I came to the realization I needed a new bike.

Some of you might remember how I obtained my current bike.  I woke up at the unholy hour of 4:30 am to stand in the cold with my friend and several other bike-less people to enter the city's auction of abandoned bikes.  So, since I need a new bike, I decided to try this again.  This time, however, when I woke up, it was raining, and I seriously considered going back to bed.  But something kept me awake.  An evil something...

So I headed down to the bike auction, alone this time, but better dressed, and completely warm.  I brought a book, a book-light, and a muffin.  The wait did not bother me.

And I ended up finding a pretty awesome bike - it was green, aluminum (meaning no rust and super-light) and even had gears!  It was one of the better bike brands.  I purchased my new find and rode it home.  It was like riding on air.  Amazing.

I chained it up outside, right next to my old bike.  I even admired my new bike from my window.

The next day I looked out the window.

It was gone.

I ran outside to where I had left my bike.  My old bike was still there, slowly rusting away.  My new bike, along with the chain, were nowhere to be seen.

I spent the next several hours running around - around the neighborhood looking for my bike, in case some drunk students moved it as a prank.  To the place I bought the bike where they politely told me it wasn't their problem.  To the police station where they had me file a report, but said there was little they could do.  I spent the afternoon wandering the main part of the city, looking at the endless seas of parked bikes, looking for my own.  I found several that looked very similar, but always there was something that let me knew it was not mine.  After all, there are a lot of bikes in this city. 

Days past.  Every time I passed a bike rack, I would look for my lost bike. 

Will I ever find you?

I don't know if I'll ever stop looking, but chances are, I'll never see my bike again.  One of my (Dutch) friends consoled me by saying, "Congratulations - you are now officially Dutch."

If those evil bike thieves could glimpse the grief and sadness that they caused me, having only been able to ride my new bike a grand total of 5 minutes, perhaps they would have reconsidered stealing that bike.  Or perhaps there really are soulless and heartless people in the world.

You may have noticed, my old bike wasn't stolen, although the evil bike thieves certainly walked right by it.  After conveying my anger, one of my friends told me a story - he and his wife left their bikes chained together to a tree.  One day, when they returned, the chain was cut.  Her (nicer) bike was taken, but his bike, the old trashy bike, was still there.  He said, "Happiness is low expectations and a trash bike".

One does not cage the crow... he is free.    

The Defense

Getting your PhD is a serious business in the Netherlands.  A formal, serious business.  A good friend of mine, Chiara, recently defended her PhD.  Here's an idea of what it was like.

The defense itself is in an amazingly fancy room - an "academic chapel" if you will.  On one side are tall stained glass windows...

And on the other is "balcony seating".

The entire thing is officiated by "the man with the staff".  In his formal attire, he leads the committee in, and then the PhD candidate.

Chiara is accompanied by "body guards" - two friends who technically can answer any questions for her, but in reality escort her around, dressed nicely, looking tough.

The three of them process to the front of the room, and bow to the committee members, who sit at tables on either side of the room, dressed in black robes.

The "main" committee member, in addition to his black robe, gets to wear a chain and carry a bell.

Chiara's two advisors peruse her thesis as questions are asked.  Each committee member gets one question, and they are addressed in turn.

Chiara answers each question, starting out with the phrase "I thank you for your question" or something similar (in Dutch), then proceeds to answer the question (in English).

The front of the room is quite elaborate as well, with a huge mural that the audience, of grad students, postdocs, and family members, can stare at when they can no longer follow the questions.

When time is up - time is up.  The man with the staff walks back in and demands an immediate cessation of the questioning.  It lasts precisely 45 minutes, which means that sometimes, a committee member doesn't get their question answered.  (Much unlike the system for my defense, where the questioning period went on for literally hours.)

The committee processes back out...

... followed by Chiara and her bodyguards.

After a little while, a much more happy and relaxed Chiara processes back in...

and is presented with her diploma (yay!)

Her PhD advisors take the time to give moving speeches.

Her parents look proudly on.

Afterwards, the tradition is to present the new PhD with gifts that have to do with their time in Groningen. 

First a bunch of flowers (to remember the beautiful Dutch flowers).

One of the gifts I suggested was a stuffed cow... Chiara had an encounter with a big scary Dutch cow and now she is scared of cows - so we gave her a sweet stuffed cow (immediately commandeered by her younger cousin).

Of course, espresso cups for the Italian who loves a good coffee.

And since she plays basketball, a basketball we all signed.