You Can Move a Tree

I was out and about this morning in the neighborhood on the bike, when an enormous yellow construction crane caught my eye. Funny, I thought. I hadn't seen the crane before in this particular spot. Curiosity got the best of me as I turned the bike to investigate.

A very small crowd had gathered to watch the crane lift a huge, old tree (poplar? oak? elm? sorry to arborists everywhere for my lack of city-tree knowledge). It seems as if the school from which the tree was being moved is soon to undergo an expansion and building phase, necessitating the move of the tree from its current location to one 20 meters south. The tree's roots had been carefully trimmed and its root ball dug out--and the tree now hung a meter or so above the ground, awaiting its final (?) resting place. A woman and I estimated its age at no less than 80 years and no more than 160 years.

Impossible, right? You can't move a tree!

Perhaps it's the rain today and accompanying gray skies that turned my thoughts toward the philosophical, but I couldn't help find the metaphor that this grand old tree represents.

As children, we sprout roots, growing from seedlings to young pliable trees. The roots make their inevitable spread, cementing us more firmly in place. We suck nutrients (knowledge, experience, view of our surroundings) only from our immediate surroundings. Our view of the sun doesn't change much--only our perspective differs slightly as the seasons change and we gain height. We never see what's just around the corner. We grow and shed new leaves each year, but the cycle is repeated time and time again. Our bark grows thicker. Storms come and go, and we weather them as best we can, riding out the toughest times and hoping for calmer weather. Sometimes, we lose a limb. People climb on us, carve their initials in our trunk, and try to cut us down.

In this tree's case, man has intervened to (hopefully) give a condenmed plant a new lease on life. It might not be an easy journey--the list of perils are long. It's roots might never take to the new soil. It's structural integrity is suspect, at best, until years have passed and it stands as strongly as it has for a century. The stress of the move might be too great for it to survive.

But consider the optimistic possibilities: What if the tree catches a break, its roots take hold, and it thrives for another 100 years (or more)? A neighbor across the street will have a new view of the magnificient tree. New flowers or other plants might thrive in its shadow in a place that didn't previously enjoy vegetation. Birds, bugs, and small animals may nest and play in a spot more conducive to their health. Children in the adjoining playground will have a close-up encounter with one of Amsterdam's magnificent old inhabitants.

It turns out, that, just maybe, you can move a tree. And just the same, we can make positive changes in our lives. It's not easy, and if your motivation isn't high enough, you probably won't do the things you need to do to change. But if a 100-year-old tree can be moved, why can't we start exercising, cut out unhealthy habits, open our minds to a new idea, make a difference in someone else's life, or simply, remember to really love the ones we love.

To quote a well-worn phrase, old habits die hard. Gettin' a "round tuit" is tough to find. But with the right motivation, and an unending belief in yourself, anything is possible.

Even moving an old tree from one place to another.


(photo shown is NOT the tree from this story and used only for illustrative purposes)

In the Land of the Pyramids

From lush tropical forests to grand old cities to sun-swept beaches...we've been very fortunate to experience an amazing variety of travel destinations.

But very few journeys around the globe could prepare us for our recent whirlwind 8-hour tour of Cairo, Egypt. During our delightful time in South Africa, we examined our travel schedule closely and realized that with a bit of rearranging, we could delay our return to Amsterdam by a day...giving us a day in Cairo to visit the pyramids, see some ancient tombs, and perhaps tour the National Museum for a peek at some King Tut artifacts.

An important note: Thanks to a book that he had recently received, Cole was absolutely OBSESSED with the story of King Tut and the discovery of his tomb, regularly quoting facts that an eighth-grader would be hard pressed to remember! So the prospect of seeing Tut's "stuff" had him nearly shaking with excitement.

Our tour began in the morning with a drive through the city, enjoying the gorgeous early morning sun (more on WHY later) and getting a glimpse of the ancient burial areas, a collection of low-rising "houses" that entomb many generations-worth of Egyptian families. After a brief stop to photograph the (horridly polluted and crowded banks of) Nile River, our driver pulled over at the "Papyrus Museum." I use quotation marks on purpose, because there was nothing "museum" about the place. The Egyptian economy at its best, the driver had some sort of collusive arrangement with the owners of this Papyrus Tourist Trap. Although a brief demonstration of the papyrus-making process was interesting, the hard sell of the papyrus products was less than desirable for these tired tourists. Caveat emptor, right?

Onward we went to a camel-back tour of the incredible pyramids, the Sphinx, and some ancient tombs. Cole loved the camels, while Maya simply tolerated them. But we all loved the views of these remarkable structures and felt privileged to be in their presence. The camel tour operator did a bit softer sell than the papyrus dudes, but still--a word to the wise: Caveat emptor. It was beginning to be a theme. It seemed that I had learned nothing from previous experiences in the souks and markets of Africa and other places in the Middle East!The Egyptian Museum was next...a virtual treasure trove of antiquities. Highlights were the Tut collection (overwhelming in its richness and size), and the MUMMY room!

Next up was a wandering journey through Khan el-Khalili, one of Cairo's major markets. Lots of fun and JAMMED with people looking for bargains or trying to avoid the hawkers. We escaped with most of our money preserved, minus a few Egyptian Pounds for some scarves and trinkets. But the crush of people started to overwhelm us, so we hailed a cab and headed back to the hotel.

That's when we realized the extent of the air pollution in Cairo. That beautiful early-morning sun was now a gorgeous late-afternoon sun, and had turned the sky a marvelous shade of red and orange. But the reasons for this spectacular light show were rather nefarious...the intense haze in the sky wasn't just "high up there" in the clouds. Brownish-gray clouds hung low, and afternoon traffic sputtered choking clouds of diesel fumes that forced us to cover our noses and mouths with scarves. Not a pretty sight.

But the overall experience of Cairo is certainly one that we won't soon forget...and one that you should take yourself if you ever get the chance.

HERE is a link to all of our photos from Cairo. Enjoy!

Inauguration Speech Text

My fellow citizens:

I stand here today humbled by the task before us, grateful for the trust you have bestowed, mindful of the sacrifices borne by our ancestors. I thank President Bush for his service to our nation, as well as the generosity and cooperation he has shown throughout this transition.

Forty-four Americans have now taken the presidential oath. The words have been spoken during rising tides of prosperity and the still waters of peace. Yet, every so often, the oath is taken amidst gathering clouds and raging storms. At these moments, America has carried on not simply because of the skill or vision of those in high office, but because We the People have remained faithful to the ideals of our forebearers, and true to our founding documents.

So it has been. So it must be with this generation of Americans.

That we are in the midst of crisis is now well understood. Our nation is at war, against a far-reaching network of violence and hatred. Our economy is badly weakened, a consequence of greed and irresponsibility on the part of some, but also our collective failure to make hard choices and prepare the nation for a new age. Homes have been lost; jobs shed; businesses shuttered. Our health care is too costly; our schools fail too many; and each day brings further evidence that the ways we use energy strengthen our adversaries and threaten our planet.

These are the indicators of crisis, subject to data and statistics. Less measurable but no less profound is a sapping of confidence across our land -- a nagging fear that America's decline is inevitable, and that the next generation must lower its sights.

Today I say to you that the challenges we face are real. They are serious and they are many. They will not be met easily or in a short span of time. But know this, America: They will be met.

On this day, we gather because we have chosen hope over fear, unity of purpose over conflict and discord.

On this day, we come to proclaim an end to the petty grievances and false promises, the recriminations and worn-out dogmas, that for far too long have strangled our politics.

We remain a young nation, but in the words of Scripture, the time has come to set aside childish things. The time has come to reaffirm our enduring spirit; to choose our better history; to carry forward that precious gift, that noble idea, passed on from generation to generation: the God-given promise that all are equal, all are free, and all deserve a chance to pursue their full measure of happiness.

In reaffirming the greatness of our nation, we understand that greatness is never a given. It must be earned. Our journey has never been one of shortcuts or settling for less. It has not been the path for the fainthearted -- for those who prefer leisure over work, or seek only the pleasures of riches and fame. Rather, it has been the risk-takers, the doers, the makers of things -- some celebrated, but more often men and women obscure in their labor -- who have carried us up the long, rugged path toward prosperity and freedom.

For us, they packed up their few worldly possessions and traveled across oceans in search of a new life.

For us, they toiled in sweatshops and settled the West; endured the lash of the whip and plowed the hard earth.

For us, they fought and died, in places like Concord and Gettysburg; Normandy and Khe Sahn.

Time and again, these men and women struggled and sacrificed and worked till their hands were raw so that we might live a better life. They saw America as bigger than the sum of our individual ambitions; greater than all the differences of birth or wealth or faction.

This is the journey we continue today. We remain the most prosperous, powerful nation on Earth. Our workers are no less productive than when this crisis began. Our minds are no less inventive, our goods and services no less needed than they were last week or last month or last year. Our capacity remains undiminished. But our time of standing pat, of protecting narrow interests and putting off unpleasant decisions -- that time has surely passed. Starting today, we must pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, and begin again the work of remaking America.

For everywhere we look, there is work to be done. The state of the economy calls for action, bold and swift, and we will act -- not only to create new jobs, but to lay a new foundation for growth. We will build the roads and bridges, the electric grids and digital lines that feed our commerce and bind us together. We will restore science to its rightful place, and wield technology's wonders to raise health care's quality and lower its cost. We will harness the sun and the winds and the soil to fuel our cars and run our factories. And we will transform our schools and colleges and universities to meet the demands of a new age. All this we can do. And all this we will do.

Now, there are some who question the scale of our ambitions -- who suggest that our system cannot tolerate too many big plans. Their memories are short. For they have forgotten what this country has already done; what free men and women can achieve when imagination is joined to common purpose, and necessity to courage.

What the cynics fail to understand is that the ground has shifted beneath them -- that the stale political arguments that have consumed us for so long no longer apply. The question we ask today is not whether our government is too big or too small, but whether it works -- whether it helps families find jobs at a decent wage, care they can afford, a retirement that is dignified. Where the answer is yes, we intend to move forward. Where the answer is no, programs will end. And those of us who manage the public's dollars will be held to account -- to spend wisely, reform bad habits, and do our business in the light of day -- because only then can we restore the vital trust between a people and their government.

Nor is the question before us whether the market is a force for good or ill. Its power to generate wealth and expand freedom is unmatched, but this crisis has reminded us that without a watchful eye, the market can spin out of control -- and that a nation cannot prosper long when it favors only the prosperous. The success of our economy has always depended not just on the size of our gross domestic product, but on the reach of our prosperity; on our ability to extend opportunity to every willing heart -- not out of charity, but because it is the surest route to our common good.

As for our common defense, we reject as false the choice between our safety and our ideals. Our Founding Fathers, faced with perils we can scarcely imagine, drafted a charter to assure the rule of law and the rights of man, a charter expanded by the blood of generations. Those ideals still light the world, and we will not give them up for expedience's sake. And so to all other peoples and governments who are watching today, from the grandest capitals to the small village where my father was born: Know that America is a friend of each nation and every man, woman and child who seeks a future of peace and dignity, and that we are ready to lead once more.

Recall that earlier generations faced down fascism and communism not just with missiles and tanks, but with sturdy alliances and enduring convictions. They understood that our power alone cannot protect us, nor does it entitle us to do as we please. Instead, they knew that our power grows through its prudent use; our security emanates from the justness of our cause, the force of our example, the tempering qualities of humility and restraint.

We are the keepers of this legacy. Guided by these principles once more, we can meet those new threats that demand even greater effort -- even greater cooperation and understanding between nations. We will begin to responsibly leave Iraq to its people, and forge a hard-earned peace in Afghanistan. With old friends and former foes, we will work tirelessly to lessen the nuclear threat, and roll back the specter of a warming planet. We will not apologize for our way of life, nor will we waver in its defense, and for those who seek to advance their aims by inducing terror and slaughtering innocents, we say to you now that our spirit is stronger and cannot be broken; you cannot outlast us, and we will defeat you.

For we know that our patchwork heritage is a strength, not a weakness. We are a nation of Christians and Muslims, Jews and Hindus -- and nonbelievers. We are shaped by every language and culture, drawn from every end of this Earth; and because we have tasted the bitter swill of civil war and segregation, and emerged from that dark chapter stronger and more united, we cannot help but believe that the old hatreds shall someday pass; that the lines of tribe shall soon dissolve; that as the world grows smaller, our common humanity shall reveal itself; and that America must play its role in ushering in a new era of peace.

To the Muslim world, we seek a new way forward, based on mutual interest and mutual respect. To those leaders around the globe who seek to sow conflict, or blame their society's ills on the West: Know that your people will judge you on what you can build, not what you destroy. To those who cling to power through corruption and deceit and the silencing of dissent, know that you are on the wrong side of history; but that we will extend a hand if you are willing to unclench your fist.

To the people of poor nations, we pledge to work alongside you to make your farms flourish and let clean waters flow; to nourish starved bodies and feed hungry minds. And to those nations like ours that enjoy relative plenty, we say we can no longer afford indifference to suffering outside our borders; nor can we consume the world's resources without regard to effect. For the world has changed, and we must change with it.

As we consider the road that unfolds before us, we remember with humble gratitude those brave Americans who, at this very hour, patrol far-off deserts and distant mountains. They have something to tell us today, just as the fallen heroes who lie in Arlington whisper through the ages. We honor them not only because they are guardians of our liberty, but because they embody the spirit of service; a willingness to find meaning in something greater than themselves. And yet, at this moment -- a moment that will define a generation -- it is precisely this spirit that must inhabit us all.

For as much as government can do and must do, it is ultimately the faith and determination of the American people upon which this nation relies. It is the kindness to take in a stranger when the levees break, the selflessness of workers who would rather cut their hours than see a friend lose their job which sees us through our darkest hours. It is the firefighter's courage to storm a stairway filled with smoke, but also a parent's willingness to nurture a child, that finally decides our fate.

Our challenges may be new. The instruments with which we meet them may be new. But those values upon which our success depends -- hard work and honesty, courage and fair play, tolerance and curiosity, loyalty and patriotism -- these things are old. These things are true. They have been the quiet force of progress throughout our history. What is demanded then is a return to these truths. What is required of us now is a new era of responsibility -- a recognition, on the part of every American, that we have duties to ourselves, our nation and the world; duties that we do not grudgingly accept but rather seize gladly, firm in the knowledge that there is nothing so satisfying to the spirit, so defining of our character, than giving our all to a difficult task.

This is the price and the promise of citizenship.

This is the source of our confidence -- the knowledge that God calls on us to shape an uncertain destiny.

This is the meaning of our liberty and our creed -- why men and women and children of every race and every faith can join in celebration across this magnificent Mall, and why a man whose father less than 60 years ago might not have been served at a local restaurant can now stand before you to take a most sacred oath.

So let us mark this day with remembrance, of who we are and how far we have traveled. In the year of America's birth, in the coldest of months, a small band of patriots huddled by dying campfires on the shores of an icy river. The capital was abandoned. The enemy was advancing. The snow was stained with blood. At a moment when the outcome of our revolution was most in doubt, the father of our nation ordered these words be read to the people:

"Let it be told to the future world ... that in the depth of winter, when nothing but hope and virtue could survive... that the city and the country, alarmed at one common danger, came forth to meet [it]."

America. In the face of our common dangers, in this winter of our hardship, let us remember these timeless words. With hope and virtue, let us brave once more the icy currents, and endure what storms may come. Let it be said by our children's children that when we were tested, we refused to let this journey end, that we did not turn back, nor did we falter; and with eyes fixed on the horizon and God's grace upon us, we carried forth that great gift of freedom and delivered it safely to future generations.

Lions and Zebras and Elephants...oh my!

It's hard to find the best words to describe our recent holiday trip to the wondrous country of South Africa. Remarkable; trip-of-a-lifetime; spectacular; marvelous...they are all candidates. But any of these superlatives fall a bit short in explaining the things we saw and experienced.

A much better way of telling the story is simply by directing you to our online collection of photographs that chronicle the trip. Click HERE to view the album.

If you want a brief rundown of our itinerary, here you go: We departed Amsterdam on December 21, made a connection in Cairo, then continued on to Johannesburg. From there, we grabbed a shuttle for the 4-hour drive to the Madikwe Game Reserve for 3 days & nights at the lovely Jaci's Safari Lodge. Each morning (at 5:30) and afternoon (at 4:30) we were taken into the bush by our own game ranger for a 2.5 to 3-hour "hunt" for the most famous residents of the African wilderness. While the kids certainly liked the trip, it was the adults who really savored the experience of seeing lions, giraffe, zebras, elephants, hippos, rhinos, etc. in their natural environment. Watching a young male lion stalk a herd of water buffalo; being threatened by a black rhinoceros just a meter away; seeing a bull elephant charge our jeep; these experiences and many, many more are things that we'll never forget anytime soon.

From Jaci's, we continued our journey with a short flight to Cape Town, located near the southwest tip of the country (and continent). Two days in this delightful city were very nice, with excursions to the city's aquarium, enjoying views from atop Table Mountain, and a visit to Boulders Beach to swim with penguins. A poignant reminder of the sub-standard living conditions (an understatement) for the majority of South Africans was driven home with a tour of one of the city's townships, a collection of shacks and shantys--constructed of wood, corrugated metal, and scraps of plastic--crammed together into large villages where it looks as if sanitation trucks haven't visited in years. But the cleanliness (we're told) inside many of the shacks are surprisingly immaculate.

Next, we headed east on South Africa's famed Garden Route, with stops near Oudtdshoorn and Knysna. At our first stop, we visited an incredible ostrich farm where the kids were able to sit on the back of an ostrich and see an ostrich race. Outside of Knysna, after a day of enjoying the sunshine on the beautiful Indian Ocean beaches, we hopped aboard a boat for a morning tour of Plettenberg Bay to try to spot some bottlenose dolphins...which we did, albeit very briefly.

Our final destination was outside of Port Elizabeth at the incomparable Hitgeheim Lodge, located near Addo Elephant Park. Although we had seen plenty of elephants earlier in the trip, the massive numbers of the big guys who gathered at one of Addo's watering holes was certainly a sight to behold. And an elephant back safari, complete with rides atop two of the mammoth animals, was a fitting end to a holiday that was bigger than life.
Our journey back to Holland was long, but we broke it up with a one-day stay in Cairo to see the pyramids, etc. More on this journey in a subsequent blog post.

Again, all the photos of this holiday are HERE.

I'm thankful for...

...a royal flush on the flop. Toothpaste that doesn't clump. Lack of b.o. A puppy's breath. A kind checkout clerk at the market. No noise from my derailleur and chain. Funny bumper stickers. Finding joy. Warm potato soup with dumplings. A creamy ale. The satisfaction of a good run. My children's laughter. The smell of pies cooking. Warm sun on my face. The smell of wood burning in a fireplace. Good jeans. Good genes. Thoughtful comedy. Selflessness that I see in others. My health. My wife's embrace and understanding. Patience. Peace. Hope. Love....and about 35,472 other things that I couldn't possibly list right now.

Sinterklaas!

My favorite Sinterklaas song (click on the lyrics for the tune):

Sinterklaasje, kom maar binnen met je knecht,

en we zitten allemaal even recht.

Misschien heeft u wel even tijd,

voordat u weer naar Spanje rijdt.

Sinterklaasje, kom maar even bij ons aan

en laat uw schimmeltje maar buiten staan.

En we zingen en we springen en we zijn zo blij,

want er zijn geen stoute kind'ren bij.

En we zingen en we springen en we zijn zo blij,

want er zijn geen stoute kind'ren bij.

German Castle Holiday

The kids had a 4-day weekend last week, so we loaded up the car and headed off to the Rhine River valley in Germany to stay in a few castles. Stacey had work commitments, so it was just daddy & the kids.

We had a blast, enjoying the incredible scenery, great food, and beautiful castles. Cole kept wondering where the actual prince and princess were located, so I had to explain that HE was the real prince.

Here's a link to all of the photos from the journey.

Auf Wiedersehn!

Hup, Holland, Hup!

I attended my first ever top-tier football (American: soccer) game last night at the Amsterdam Arena, witnessing Holland dominate Sweden in a "friendly" match 3-1.

Dutch stars Van Persie, Sneijder, and Kuyt all saw action, with the former scoring two of three goals and the latter with an impressive header late in the match. MATCH REPORT

The atmosphere at the match was as interesting as the action on the field. Notably absent from this massive stadium: Cheerleaders, continuous sound effects/music, and roving beer/food vendors. Matter of fact, it was an "alcoholvrij" event, meaning that there was NO beer served whatsoever. Oh, the HUMANITY!

Halftime featured a competition sponsored by a local radio station where 3 individuals had to kick a ball from midfield and try to hit the goal crossbar on the fly. Nobody got close! But a guy sitting next to us said that he's seen it happen, and the winner pockets a cool €50,000!

A great time...thanks to my host Mr. Hamilton of Swooshworld International for the gratis tix. By the way, 6453 was well branded throughout the stadium!

Sunning in Turkey

Although Amsterdam has had lovely autumn weather, the cold and occasional rain can get under your skin.

For a week-long holiday last week, we found the ideal remedy to the cold-weather blues: A trip to the sunny southern coast of Turkey.

Our destination was Lykia World, an all-inclusive resort about 1.5 hours south of Dalaman. No cooking, no cleaning, no errands, no work. Just relaxing in the sunshine by the pool and on the Mediterranean beach next to the clear, refreshing waters of the sea.

We couldn't have asked for better weather. Every day we had high temps around 27 degrees (80 F), and it even hit 30 on occasion. Perfect for sunbathing and feeling great.

Maya & Cole enjoyed the great kids' club at the resort, while Mom & Dad caught up on some pleasure reading and had plenty of sunshine therapy. We ventured out of the resort once to visit some ruins and a remarkable beach at Patara, but otherwise stayed mostly within the confines of the resort. A half-day boat ride was another excursion, complete with swims in clear lagoons, a visit from an old woman selling pancakes from a boat!

Looking for a remarkable holiday with a few of your favorite British, German, and Russian tourists? Check out Turkey. The warmth of the sun is matched only by the warmth of the Turkish people.Click HERE to view all of our photos from Turkey.

The Dawning of a New Day

"So let us summon a new spirit of patriotism; of service and responsibility where each of us resolves to pitch in and work harder and look after not only ourselves, but each other."

-Barack Obama, Victory Speech, Chicago, November 4, 2008

It was these words that moved me to tears as I heard them in Amsterdam's early morning hours. Although the sun had not yet risen over the Amstel River, a new day--and a new era--had indeed dawned on America, and to some extent, the entire world, regardless of time zone.

It's rather difficult to summarize my emotions on this November 5th. As the wind swirls and the cold penetrates through the streets of Amsterdam, I feel as warmly optimistic about my home country's future as I have in a long time.

I've always been what I consider a "patriot," but perhaps in a way that doesn't fall under the traditional definition. I believe wholeheartedly in the power of democracy, the strength of a free-market economy, and the industrialism and ingenuity of Americans. I applaud our nation's creativity, work ethic, friendliness, and incredible generosity (both domestically and internationally). I'm in awe of our forefathers, honor the courage of those who have walked the land before us and who died to protect our freedoms, and love the plenty and gifts that we enjoy today. Our Constitution and the Bill of Rights are brilliant documents, written by forward-thinking, intelligent men who were ahead of their time.

And there are plenty of things to dislike and to be ashamed of. We have abused our privileges and soiled our land, water, and air. We have taken advantage of others, forgotten the helpless, punished the innocent, and profited out of greed and lust for power. We have hated those who look different than us or believed and behaved differently than us. We have made decisions out of haste and ignorance instead of logic and careful consideration. These black marks on America's report card don't extend just eight years into the past, but have existed for generations.

Yet, we march on in pursuit of better lives for our children and subsequent generations. Whom among us doesn't aspire to do better, feel better, and make better decisions?

That's what a great leader--in business, politics, education, or sports--can help us do. They can help inspire, affect change, and see the greatness that lies in our nation and its people. Through things as simple as a speech or a little action, they help make us feel that we can do better, feel better, make better decisions, and be a positive force in this world.

I'm not a big fan of Ronald Regan. But regardless what you think about the man's politics, there's a reason why he was dubbed "The Great Communicator." He had a way, through his words and demeanor, of helping the American people feel better about themselves and believing in their ability to do better things in this world. Some felt that he went too far, instilling a confidence, fueled by a cowboy mentality, that eventually developed into an "international arrogance." Still, he was a leader who lifted us up.

This is what President-elect Obama can do for our country. His calm, studied, intellectual approach lies in stark contrast to what we've become accustomed to in the last eight years. His words, the delivery of those words, coupled with his actions, can affect change at a time when we need it the most.

The immense power that Barack Obama has been granted by the electorate must be quite the weighty burden right now. The eyes of the entire world are upon him, and the world expects change swiftly. Mr. Obama's easel is not blank--every color of paint has been splashed upon the canvas, which must be carefully scraped away and painted over with a fresh base-coat before we (working together) can start to create a masterpiece that we all can stand back and admire. Sacrifices must be made by ALL of us so that we can improve America and stand again as a nation that is respected around the world.

People in Amsterdam and other places across Europe are incredibly curious about the American political process and have been watching this campaign with great interest. Not a day goes by that I don't discuss the topic with a non-American citizen. Each one of these discussions, whether casual comments or deep philosophical talks, renews (1.) my interest in our nation's wellbeing and international perception; and (2.) my sense of pride in our country. Today, I have another reason to be re-energized: The election of a man whom I believe can be the catalyst for great things.

Yes We Can. The challenge now will be for us to transform that saying slightly and believe in our ability to create our own realities. It's not grammatically correct, but I'd like to offer the Obama slogan 2.0: Yes ME Can. It's up to each one of us as individual citizens of a great nation to summon that new spirit of patriotism, service, and responsibility that Mr. Obama spoke of in his speech in Grant Park.

I hope that you share my optimism as we celebrate this new page in American history--a truly historic day on so many different levels. And I invite you to join your neighbor in taking up President-elect Obama's offer to "work harder and look after not only ourselves, but each other."

--Greg

Elmer the Elephant

Cole had his chance to shine last week in his class production of "Elmer the Elephant."

The short (15 minute) show was really cute, and we're so proud of our boy and all of the kids who did a great job memorizing their lines, songs, and bringing their "A" game to the British School of Amsterdam Infant/Nursery School stage.

Here's a short video clip of Elmer...errr, Cole in action. He's telling the other elephants a joke.

A small photo album can be found HERE.

Julien's Hardmoors Race Report

I ran across Julien's Hardmoors race report HERE. Another view of the same race from another runner's perspective...a great report.

MORE PICS of the race and awards ceremony can be found HERE.

110 miles --on foot--through Jolly Old England

Sometime last winter I had decided to run the legendary Comrades Ultramarathon in South Africa with my friend Che in June of 2008. But in the midst of settling into our lives as expats in Amsterdam, I lost the motivation to get ready for a June race. So, when the itch to run a long race returned, I scanned the race calendars for something that looked good. In the back of Ultrarunning Magazine, I found it: The “Hardmoors 110-Mile Ultra” would be run for the first time in the North York Moors National Park of England (on the East Coast) in September. Perfect.

Training on the pancake-flat streets of Amsterdam for even a moderately hilly race is not an optimal situation. A friend remarked that it was kind of like training for the Tour de France in Holland. Now, 4 days after the Hardmoors, I know that it's actually like training on a skating rink to climb Mt. Everest. Other than a few various holiday trips to the Alps, I hadn't run much of a hill in almost one full year. For this, the Hardmoors race would make me pay, and pay dearly.

Despite preparation that was sorely lacking, I found myself on the starting line on Friday, 26 September. One of the unique aspects of this race is an evening start time of 5 p.m. This would mean that most competitors, yours truly included, would face the daunting task of running through two evenings.

With me at the start was my incredible crew: Mr. Masters, Mr. Masters, and Mr. Masters! My good buddy Steve, a former RAAM crew chief (his RAF cycling team won the race a few times), is one of the best on the planet when it comes to managing and organizing a race effort. Accompanying Steve were his father, Mick, and his brother (and my pacer/running companion) Richard. Not only are these three some of the nicest guys you'll ever meet, but their attention to detail and selflessness would ensure that I'd make it to the finish line. All I would have to do was put one foot in front of the other.

For a lover of history—especially British history (and literature)--such as myself, this would be a race of superlatives. Along the route, medieval abbeys, ancient bridges, stone cross ruins, and historic literary references dotted the landscape. In one section, I would run down a centuries-old roadway once used by Scottish drovers as they herded cattle and sheep to markets in England. Old stone walls lined the route in many spots. The feet that had passed this way dated back to a time when modern running shoes were as futuristic sounding as men from Mars. There are over 3000 Bronze Age (2,000 B.C.) burial mounds in the moors. Going further back to around 5,000 B.C., the Neolithic people farmed the land here. And when you crank up the way-back machine to its highest setting, there is evidence that around 8,000 B.C. in the Mesolithic period, people hunted, gathered, and fished here.

Our first cultural scenery was adjacent to the starting line...the (relatively NEW--circa early 13th century) Norman castle ruins in Helmsley. With this magnificent castle in the background, we took off just minutes after 5 p.m. Early going, I felt the effects of a stomach bug that had plagued me earlier in the week. I had never fully recovered, and my overall energy level lagged considerably. For much of the first section, I ran with a French guy named Julian—one of the three other non-Brits running the race. After just 10 miles into the race, I had an inkling that it was going to be a long race. My initial goals were for a 28-hour finish, but by the 20-mile mark I knew that I would have to adjust. However, it's a 100+ mile race...ANYTHING can happen!

Richard ran with me from about mile 10 to 20 (Julian had run on ahead), and we enjoyed some of the most spectacular views as the sun set. As we ran to the north along a series of cliffs, we enjoyed the red evening sky, the frequent chattering of grouse and pheasant (saw a lot of the latter), and enjoyed the variety of trees, running through deciduous and evergreen forests alike. When darkness draped its blanket over us, the headlamp became our best friend as grassy pathways alternated with rocky trails. Descending the cliffs and running into the next checkpoint in Osmotherly at mile 20, I was feeling fair. To repeat: Anything can happen.

And anything did happen shortly after the checkpoint. Now on a short road segment, my stomach and energy levels took a turn for the worse. I tried to tell myself that it was a temporary thing, but it was a tough sell. Now on my own for a stretch, the darkness seemed to get darker. With no moonlight whatsoever, I relied only upon my headlamp and the series of maps that I had printed and laminated for the race (a set of almost 40 individual cards). Each segment was accompanied by a written course description that at times would prove very helpful. Navigation was a serious challenge in this race, with a number of competitors going off course at various points. I'm not sure whether it was dumb luck, experience, or a good sense of direction, but I only strayed off course for one very short (50 meter) segment. At one point, I had only sheep and a fenceline to guide me along the route.

Soon, the intense climbing began. The moors, not to be confused with the Muslims from North Africa who reigned in Spain centuries ago, feature a series of very steep and challenging hills. As a veteran of many mountain runs in the American West, it's easy to think that these mere “hills” are nothing tough. WRONG. These babies have incredibly steep paths carved into them. Upon climbing the first hill, I was thankful that the trail builders had placed stone steps to make the climbing easier. That thankfulness quickly turned to dread with each successive stone step up, and rapidly deteriorated to disgust at the entire world when I had to navigate the tricky stone paths that descended from each hilltop. To rub more salt in the wounds, ankle-width drainage gulleys cut diagonally across the path at 10 meter intervals, offering yet more leg-breaking treachery to the brutal path. For nearly 20 miles as I traversed across this section, there was very little runable terrain. Add the intense wind (whipping my jacket so hard at one point that I couldn't hear myself think), the foggy mist that had moved in, and the pitch black conditions...well, you get the point. At least there were no reports of werewolf attacks.

Into the next checkpoint, my stomach had recovered somewhat, but now I faced what would be the toughest part of the course from a navigational standpoint. Providence shined on me again in the form of a fellow runner and his pacer, the latter of whom was an exceptional navigator. The three of us managed to find our way without much trouble through the toughest hours of the night that included an ascent up the brutal steps of Roseberry Topping, a vista which during daylight must have offered exceptional views of the surrounding countryside. But in the darkness, there was nothing but black. Heads down, we moved forward.

As the morning sun peeked over the horizon, the next checkpoint came, and I again picked up Richard.The quiet of the dawn soothed my soul, but my legs still felt like lead. My saving grace was that the town of Saltburn-By-Sea was close, which meant that my race was nearly halfway done. Entering the checkpoint at the coast, 55 miles was in the bag...and just 55 remained.

Now, route finding would be “easy.” Simply head southward along the coast, and eventually I'd run into the finish line in the town of Filey. But along the way, there would be grueling ups and downs and more flagging energy levels. From Saltburn until the town of Robin Hood's Bay, I simply tried to enjoy the magnificent coastal scenery and focus on running whenever possible. At one point, Richard pointed out a Peregrine Falcon. Nice. At Robin Hood, I managed to pass another runner (who would eventually finish around 30 or 45 minutes behind me). I kept moving forward, trying desperately not to let the brutal climbing and descents mess with my mind. Whenever I thought there couldn't be more climbing, I'd be faced with another set of steps.

The beautiful weather conditions helped my mood considerably. Sunshine, paired with the gentle crash of the waves far below the clifftops, made for quite the serene setting. It was only in my legs that the boisterous revolt was taking place. My knees were staging a violent coup against my quadriceps, and my shins ached for a regime change.

Entering the beautiful town of Whitby, I read and re-read the course description, failing to see the bridge described. Certainly I wasn't supposed to descend into the bowels of this tourist town and run through the masses who were strolling the streets...or was I? Yes, the most direct path to the checkpoint at the medieval abbey was via the packed streets, so I ventured forth, fighting for real estate amidst baby carriages, tipsy holiday-makers, and rowdy teens. More than a few people gawked in amazement/curiosity/pity at this guy with crazy hair, knee-high black compression socks, and a double-bottle lumbar pack running through the streets. When I reached the base of the 199 steps leading to the abbey, the crowds let up and I continued unimpeded to the checkpoint at mile 76. The picturesque abbey was the inspiration/setting for Bram Stoker's famous novel “Dracula,” and it's not a stretch to see why. The gothic spires look haunting enough in the bright sunlight, to say nothing of how they might appear at night.

The next 11 miles to the next checkpoint went by in a rather uneventful way. At mile 87, Richard joined me again, where I made the dumb, dumb, dumb mistake of not checking for my headlamp. This would bite me in the ass as darkness soon fell again upon reaching the godforsaken town of Scarborough. Where I once was a fan of the popular Simon & Garfunkel song, I have vowed never to sing the song again after suffering the mental anguish of trying to find the Scarborough checkpoint, and suffering the catcalls and laughs of the town's tourists. All I could think to myself was, “Don't mess with me! I've just run almost 100 miles and I don't deserve your shit!” All the while, the going was made more challenging by the fact that Richard and I had no flashlights!

But...anything can happen. Rejoining Julian at the checkpoint, we continued on, passing the 100-mile point in the darkness along the coast—but this time with the advantage of headlamps! One out-and-back section along a rock promontory known as Filey Brig (outside of the finish town of Filey), and we would be “home free.” Finding the route past this out-and-back proved a bit challenging, but I could smell the barn, so to speak. Nothing would stop me now.

Since Julian and I were most likely going to reach the finish line together, I offered him that he should cross the line in front of me, as I had no pride attached to my finishing place. Showing his grace and gentlemanly nature, he suggested that we join hands and finish in a tie. And thus, the Hardmoors 110 came to a close for me, tied for 5th place with Julian in almost precisely 31 hours.

In the wake of the race, I'm humbled once again by my generous crew led by my good friend Steve Masters. Steve, Mick, and Richard's assistance was invaluable, and runners who crew for themselves (such as Julian!) have my never-ending respect for taking on the challenge in a true solo fashion. And the course itself was supremely challenging, eclipsing my expectations for how difficult I thought it would be. In a word, it was absolutely brutal.

Runners who might be considering an extremely tough 100+ mile race would do themselves a favor by considering this amazing event in a most amazing location. Additional kudos go out to the two-man race organizing duo of Jon Steele and Martin Hall for pulling off a logistical miracle, given the terrain and scope of the event.

With legs that haven't quite stopped aching, I thank all of you for your words of support in advance of the race, and humbly thank you for the plaudits that I've received since finishing.

PHOTOS are HERE.

End of summer...beginning of school

It's said that all good things must come to an end, and when applied to the summer of 2008, it certainly rings true.

After we returned from Normandy, we tried to jam as much action into the last few weeks of the summer holiday as possible. As soon as school was back in session in early September, our schedule ramped up even more.

A nice trip to a local apple orchard with some friends --- the British School summer fair --- a great showing by Stacey at the Dam to Dam 10-mile race -- and a nice afternoon spent at a Jordaan neighborhood street fair --- all have made the last few weeks a lot of fun.

Click HERE for a few photos from our latest adventures.

Hi NORMandy!

As our summer officially comes to a close (the kids go back to school tomorrow morning), I thought it best to put the wrap on another brief trip report.

It's been a few weeks since we've been back from Normandy, France, a marvelous region with great scenery, quaint towns, quiet country roads, and lots of relaxation.

We weren't just a family of four this time around...our numbers doubled to 8 with the delightful addition of Stacey's mom, brother, and his two kids. The four kids had a blast together, making up for lost time since we last saw them almost a year ago.

The first half of our holiday was spent inland in Normandy near the village of Coutances. Our residence was the guesthouse of a chateau that was built in 1632. "Extraordinary" doesn't come close to describing this incredible place. Our hosts, an American couple and their children, were the best we could have asked for.

What would one of our holidays be without some antics from our resident monkey boy? Here's a clip of Cole herding sheep--one of the funniest things I've seen in a long time:


For the second half of our holiday, we ventured to the west coast of Normandy and the town of Agon-Coutainville. For some geographical and historical perspective, the D-Day landing beaches are on the north coast of the province. At the close of our holiday, we drove to Omaha beach and visited the American cemetery.

Like most of our vacations, I could go on and on with details about the adventure. This time around, I invite you to let the photographs tell the story...

Click HERE for a link to all of the vacation photos. Enjoy!

Interjecting Some Commentary

I (Greg) don't often interject too much commentary on our family blog, which has morphed from a daily look into our lives in Amsterdam to a travelogue of all the countries we've visited during our time in Europe.

Tonight, however, I just can't think about hitting the pillow. Beside the usual myriad of thoughts pulsing through my brain, something happened this weekend to an acquaintance of mine that has given me pause and made me shudder.

For details on the woman, Barbara Warren, I'll direct you to the homepage of Competitor Magazine at www.competitorsocal.com. Please read Bob Babbitt's brief biography of Barbara there.

I had only met her a few times during my stint as the start and finish line announcer for the Race Across America (RAAM). But something about this special lady has always stuck with me. Along with her twin sister Angelika, Barbara tackled the supreme endurance contest of RAAM just as she had the other athletic challenges in life: With full force. A veteran of many Ironman triathlons, ultrarunning races, adventure races, a fitness model, a public speaker, and much more, Barbara had a spark that is ignited by the passion of a person who grabs life by the tail and swings with all her might.

Unfortunately, I'm writing about Barbara in the past tense. The details of her death are horrible: Last Sunday during a triathlon in Southern California, she crashed on the bike and was paralyzed from the neck down, and lived her last few days in a hospital bed on a ventilator. Her husband, Tom Warren, the winner of the SECOND Hawaiian Ironman triathlon, was by her side.

When we get on our bike for a training ride, a race, or a trip across town for groceries, an accident as tragic as this one is usually the furthest thing from our mind. But a few pounds of metal and rubber are the only thing between us, the road, cars, trucks, buses, and trams.

Somewhere in Barbara's tragic story there lies a message. For the bike riders reading this, it's painfully obvious: Be safe. Be aware. Be thankful that you're healthy and fit enough to enjoy one of the finer pleasures in life, that of riding on two wheels and feeling the wind in your hair and the sun on your face. For those of us that operate a motor vehicle (even though none was involved in Barbara's accident), it's just another reminder of the exposure that cyclists have to the environment around them. Give them space. Slow down. Pass when, and only when, the coast is clear.

But an even more important message, I believe, is simply to remember to love the ones you love. Hug them. Tell them how much they mean to you. And thank them for being a part of your life. I would expect that this is what Barbara would have wanted us all to do.

R.I.P.
Barbara Warren
1943-2008

A Swiss Family Adventure

Like most of our adventures, our recent trip to Switzerland held a bit of unknown, promise, and adventure. And just like all of our European adventures to date, Switzerland--and it's indescribable beauty--vastly exceeded our expectations as a magical land of mountains, cows, and family fun.

The trip wasn't originally in our travel plans, but when Stacey realized that she would be attending a work function in southern Germany, the seed was planted. Europe's big outdoor retail trade show would be held in Friedrichshafen, which lies at Germany's southernmost border. The plan looked like this: The kids and daddy would travel via overnight train from Amsterdam to Zurich, meeting Stacey the next day. Perfect!

And perfect it was. Zurich is a marvelous city that sits on a lake with water so clear that it's been deemed safe to drink. While we passed on this method for quenching our thirst, we did marvel at the incredible clarity of the water, where even in the middle of the city one can see the river bottom as it flows swiftly by. "Hey, isn't that a bicycle down there?!?" (We can only imagine if Amsterdam's canals were as clear...imagine being able to see the thousands of bikes that line the canal bottoms!

Our time in Zurich was not long, as we set our sights on an even more beautiful location, the storied mountain town of Grindelwald, which sits below the famed Eiger mountain (elev. 13,026 ft.). The mountain looms over the town, and the scenery looks as if it is a painted backdrop hung around the village by a master artist. But truth/fact is more remarkable than fiction, and these vistas were as real as they get. One can be (incredibly and forever) moved by paintings in a gallery, but there's simply no substitute for landscapes that you can see and touch in person.








The train journey from Zurich to Grindelwald is one of the most picturesque railway rides I've ever experienced. As the train snakes past Interlaken and heads toward Grindelwald, every bend in the tracks offered us another great vista or interesting house/building/river/forest to see.

When pressed for comment, I think that each member of the family might have a distinct highlights of our stay in Grindelwald. No doubt that the kids will remember the great community pool that we visited daily. Stacey might remember the mountain runs and hikes most fondly, which is difficult for me to argue! I would add that our trip to the "Top of Europe," Jungfraujoch (elev. 11,782 ft.), the highest railroad/railway station on the continent, was certainly a most remarkable journey. Note that the peak of the actual Jungfrau mountain sits a bit higher at 13,642 ft. above sea level.
We took one major hike with the entire family. From Grindelwald (3393 ft.), we rode a gondola to First (pronounced "Feerst", a collective of buildings that I hesitate to call a town, elev. 7113 ft.). After a casual lunch, we set out on a 1 hour, 45 minute hike that rolled over some beautiful mountain scenery, past grazing cows, and along ridges that took our breath away, ending at Grosse Scheidegg for a bus ride back to Grindelwald.












A note on the omnipresent Swiss cows: We hadn't given it much thought, but all of that milk for the fondues and chocolates has to come from somewhere. One of our fondest memories might just be of the echoing of the cowbells across the valleys, with each herd wearing a different size/shape/sounding bell, perhaps to help the farmers distinguish one herd from another. The next time you stop by Albert Hein or Fred Meyer to pick yourself up some Toblerone, tip your hat in the direction of Switzerland and thank those magnificent cows who have given so much for so little in return. That said, when I'm reincarnated as a cow, please, oh please Buddha, may I live in the Swiss Alps? Talk about the good life!

Get a feel for yourself...play this movie:

By the way, a chocolate factoid: If you laid the daily production of 100g TOBLERONE bars end to end, it would stretch over a distance of 283 km, the distance from Detroit to Cleveland.

One part of Switzerland that we hadn't adequately prepared for (mentally) was the cost of goods and services. Holy Swiss Franc, Batman! Lunch: 55 Francs! (1 Swiss Franc = approx. 1 US Peso...err, dollar). Dinner: 110 Francs! Postcard: 3 Francs! But, as the commercial says, the Swiss mountain experience: Priceless.

So, after four days and with not a small audible sigh, we checked out of our comfortable apartment hotel and boarded the return train for Zurich to retrace our steps back to Amsterdam. With each feet in elevation lost, it felt as if we were leaving part of ourselves behind, too. But the soul-charging experience that was given to us by the Swiss mountains and the affable Swiss people were just what we needed to kick off the "official" summer break, and we returned to our home better for the entire experience.

Journey along with us and click HERE for photos from our time in Switzerland.

Armstrong/LeMond/Sastre--move aside. Cole can ride a bike!

Cole has been loving his "free ride" around Amsterdam...that is, a seat on the back of Daddy's bike instead of having to ride a bike of his own.

But we knew that he was plenty big enough to be riding his own two-wheeler--we had just been procrastinating on the "practice" sessions.

After we arrived home from a holiday in Switzerland, we took Cole's bike out into the street to see what would happen without training wheels.

Here's what transpired:

Bonus Feature: The Making of Klompen

Earlier this year, Cole attended a birthday party that was held at a cute little farm just outside of Amsterdam. On this farm, in addition to holding birthday parties, they make really great cheese and also crank out hundreds (thousands?) of pairs of traditional wooden shoes ("klompen") every year.

For whatever reason, I'm a bit fascinated with klompen--perhaps it's my general fascination with unique cultural icons. Whatever the source, I knew that it was only a matter of time before I bought myself a pair.

During my mom's visit, we returned to the farm and watched a pair of wooden shoes being turned out on some ancient machinery.

In this first movie, the shoes are taking their shape:

In this next movie, you can see how the inner parts of the shoe are carved out:

And here is the (partially) finished product.
Mine are customized with the three Amsterdam X's (found in the ubiquitous city crest), with my name etched into the side of one shoe.