The Great Escape

Curiosity and ignorance are putting cats into places where they better not be. For this cat safety nets are invented. One can better describe them as cat imprisonment nets, because that is what they do. If you have a balcony you typically cover the open side with it to prevent a cat from escaping to freedom.
I have a young cat who has been outside on a leash a handful of times who is on the curious and ignorant side. He has been investigating the balcony net a number of times and discovered that jumping through it does not work. He repeated this strategy a number of times, which I think is a sign of good scientific conduct. So far the net holds. One morning, as I was contemplating over my breakfast, I forgot to pay attention for a minute to the open balcony door and while I was brushing my teeth I realized my cat was not there. I searched all the usual places (in the beer box, under the blanket, under my bed, between the towels), but no sign of him. He had escaped. He had figured a way to crawl behind the net and then jump off the balcony.
I got my jacket and went outside. No sign of him left or right on the block. My flat borders an open grass field so I could see a hundred meters clear. I walked along the block, checking peoples balconies in case he went into the wrong one. I got a few surprised faces looking at me. “Sorry guys, cat emergency.” It was raining, where could he be? I walked around the block, came back to the field. Nothing. I increased my action radius to the surrounding blocks. After half an hour still no sign. Fortunately the rain kept other cats away. He has little experience handling other cats. I hope he did not go towards the road. Then I saw something moving far away. I ran closer. There he was! He was lying on the grass, sniffing around and looking happy. He said hello to me, but his tail was upright and hairs straight. He smelled other cats and tried to make himself big. He was happy to be picked up and we walked back home. No more adventure today. I put a few more screws on the safety net.

A golden shoe

People, read: usually women, spend a lot of time looking for proper clothing. The word proper can mean anything from ‘good looking’ to ‘functional’, again divided mainly by gender. I tend to belong to the functional side of the clothing buyer spectrum. Last year, I looked down at my shoes and said to myself: “I really need to buy new ones”. I repeated this phrase yesterday.

The shoes in question are tango shoes. They are an absolute necessity if you want to make your dance life comfortable. My last shoes I found in Berlin and are pretty worn out. The good sides are that they still fit well and that by now I can see the points of heavy usage. This may not seem an obvious advantage but it allows me to analyze my foot behaviour and it helps me to decide on the next shoe. Shops with shoes for dancing exist around where I live, though their numbers are not high. The biggest problem is that very few of their shoes are meant for tango and even less are for men. Women seem to be the main shoe buyers also in this segment of the market. To add to the complexity my foot shape requires a certain shoe model that is virtually impossible to encounter anywhere within a day’s travel of where I live. After trying out different places I stumbled upon a somewhat unofficial shoe store that hides itself as a restaurant. Or one can say: a restaurant that sells a few shoes. There I found one shoe model in my size that fit my feet perfectly. The problem is not in its functionality, but that they are gold.

I mentioned before that I am more of a functionality type of person, but I am not blind for the fact that a shoe is seldom shiny gold, even if it is a tango shoe. I try to imagine myself wearing golden shoes. I think of NBA players that fly through the air, I see tacky business men gone rich strolling in their house filled with golden water taps and golden door knobs, I think of Elvis. I know a thing or two about myself and I know that I am neither of these. But then, they fit … Nonono, one cannot think like that. The search will continue…

Interview

We all know that seasons change, but every year in Scandinavia it is a surprise when spring arrives. The winters tend to be cold, dark and, especially, long. The sun is barely noticeable on the skin until around the 21st of March. Then daylight changes rapidly. The temperature takes a longer time to go up. Around the end of April it may seem pretty nice and sunny, but evenings are barely above freezing point. Yet, with all the sun after half a year of darkness one wants to go out and at wind shielded places it is actually not bad to sit down.
The sun had brought me out to Stockholm to meet a friend. At one of the many smooth waterfront rocks that give this city its charming character, we sat down with a coffee. The sun could be noticed on the face, while the wind was chilling the back. Many people are out on such a day. A young man came towards us and asked if we would be willing to have a small interview. He was working on a story about an idea to let employees have 25% of their time for studying. Would we be able to accept that if it also meant 25% less income? My friend was eager to reflect on some pro’s and con’s, so the young man was happy noting down what was said. After this he asked if he could take an accompanying picture. I noted his d300 with a decent flash; it somehow gave trust that he knew how to do this. He took a few shots with sun in the background while using the flash to illuminate our faces and thanked us for cooperation. Next day we found ourselves in the Metro – a widely freely distributed commuter paper – and it looked not bad, not bad at all.

Pause

One of the nicer transit places on this world is Amsterdam’s airport Schiphol. It is a hub for local passengers, but there is also a fair amount of transatlantic flyers. The airport building itself is easy to navigate thanks to its clear signing, simple structure (every gate will bring you to the same central terminal) and absence of commercial clutter. That is to say, there are a lot of shops. So much even that the pre boarding side is a destination for even non travelers who just want to shop. Behind the security check there is ample entertainment. You wouldn’t be the first to miss a boarding for being stuck in the shops. In addition there are a number of relaxation areas and everywhere there is plenty of seating.

If you happen to travel intercontinental you can pass to a different section. There you’ll find more rest areas, a library, a casino, a place to play piano, and a museum that houses a renewed collection of dutch master paintings from the National Museum. My personal favorit is the massage corner. When I landed from my USA flight i had had a terrible short night on my no-aisle, no-window seat, next to a set of coughing frenchmen, a noisy toddler behind me – who’s parent obviously had a different acceptation level of the noise the offspring produced than the fellow passengers – and a mostly silent, but still screaming baby in front of me. After 6 hours my back resembled a brick wall. I disembarked the plane on autopilot and navigated to the masseur, a friendly Brit. I explained him shortly the problem and he only needed to know how much time he could spend on me. I took a look a the price list and opted for 10 minutes.

I was put in a chair with my head down. I closed my eyes while the chap started to knead the bricks. Meticulously he worked his way along the neck and spine. Applying substantial, but dosed force, the professional 10 minute massage relieved me of most of the pain. I had regained sufficient conscious to be able to stand in the passport queue for the Schengen area. Only a few more hours to my home in chilly Sweden..

Square one

How nice is is to be back on the dance floor. First practica was a little shaky as I was trying to retrieve my posture that was buried under two years of dust. After some useful comments of old friends I managed to stand straight (sort of) and focus on other things. Hey, this is going well. Look, I can even lead my partner left, right, forward. Nice.
A few evenings further I came to rethink all that. I was not at all keeping straight, more like bending over as I fell into the trap of using my eyes instead of my feeling to see where is my partner. I call this the Quasimodo conversion. I started over. Breathe in, chest up, stomach in, hips straight, shoulders strengthened and arms relaxed. This was taking a lot of effort. Things are feeling slightly improved fortunately. Still not entirely sure about the steps. I cannot think of anything more complicated than walking. Did I really to sacadas, ganchos and boleos long, long time ago?
Let’s try to dance straightforward steps. One, two, three, four, it is kind of ok. Yay, this is going somewhere. Legs have better control. Balance is still somewhere else. Am I standing straight and being clear? Next step, what do we do? Oh dear, I forgot I am dancing with someone. I was so focussed on how to do my own moves and standing straight that I completely blocked the rhythm of the music. My partner was right to comment on that. Back to square one.

So many things to think of when you lead someone: having a clear posture, respect her balance, how much space is in front of us, who is behind us, how does the music feel (light, heavy, playful, serious), how does my partner feel, is she up to it or do I need to emphasize which way we go, how is our contact, does she feel relaxed? All these are things are hurdles to tackle. Yet the most important lesson is, once you realize all this, to forget everything and not think. We are doing this to enjoy ourselves.

Next level: milonga. The practica and useful comments helped me to regain confidence. Now it was time to bring that out. I joined a few Uppsalians to a cozy first floor milonga at the end of the afternoon in Stockholm. Nice setting, good floor, and a lot of dancers. I sat down for a while to see what kind of dancers are there. Then I started dancing. First I asked someone to dance, then later I got barely time to sit down. Several ladies were unstoppable and I felt a little like fresh meat on the market. It was ok for this time. I came to get experience and get a feeling for what I am able to do. This milonga was nice in the sense that there was no expectation. Traditional tango, no boleogymnastics, just socializing dancers. In the train back I had time to be tired, and happy. I reflected on personal dancing styles. Everyone has his own special way of moving and with some we move better because we feel more comfortable with them. As a leader I try to listen what she wants to do and if possible adapt my style a bit. There is a window for adaptation in which we both can have a nice time, usually. With a few (very few actually) you feel you can be yourself without adjustment and express and explore whatever you have inside. Those I count to the most enjoyable moments.

The ice glider (2)

The long winter freeze left us and has been replaced with rain and wet snow. The snow on the streets has all been converted to ice, making every step outside an adventure. To increase safety I thought of taking the car to work instead of biking. The three block walk to the garage made me rethink that. Step after step I struggled to find a place to stand without sliding. On my way I saw a man stepping out of his door and landing straight on his butt. In the car, things were a little better. The turn out of the street made me realize that also this was an adventure as I glided over the asphalt. Ice was everywhere.
Two junctions further a bus tried to get up a hill. I saw it go up, come to standstill and slowly slide backwards. Wheels spinning. It was a long extended city bus full of commuters. As it made its way down the driver steered in best possible fashion to prevent the bus from folding with its behind. The wheels ended a few centimeters from the edge of the road.
I continued my journey in low gear, reaching the work place in twice the usual time. And as I stepped out of my car I noted that four wheels are indeed safer than two feet.

The ice glider

It was a a wonderful sunny winter day. A good day to do a small ice skating trip. Next week I plan to do the long ice skating tour to Stockholm – almost 80 km – and I still want to check the quality of the ice of at least part of the route. I packed a little backpack with a thermos and a chocolate bar and drove to the lakeside. About 10 km further across the lake lies Skokloster, the scenic castle. Should not take more than an hour. I can have a tea break there and come back. Perfect.

I tie my skates, put the shoes in my backpack so that I can take a walk to the castle there and off I went. Nice wind in the back, many people on the ice this Sunday. Quickly I reach Skokloster and I looked at my clock. That took me only 20 minutes; I might just as well go further and head for Sigtuna. That’s about 30 km; with this wind it is easy. There I can take a bus and train back to my car. I go on.

After 45 minutes the cleared ice track stops. The lake continues, but reaches a narrow point there where the water almost never freezes. I ask people how far walking it is to the other side where the ice continues and they assure me it is no more than 1-2 km. I decide to take of my skates and continue that walk. After all, it is closer to go to Sigtuna now than to go back. The sun keeps on shining. The temperature is around freezing point. After two hours of easy skating I reach Sigtuna. There are also many people on the ice. Lots of kids and parents with prams. I don’t feel tired at all. I stop and hesitate. I have no map but can recall more or less that I now must be halfway to Stockholm. With the wind in the back like this it should be doable…

“Why not?”, I tell myself, “I wanted to check out the ice anyway for next week’s ice skating race.” “There should be enough time before it gets dark.” I skate on. It gets quieter now. Only a few people and half of those I hear speaks Dutch. The ice get rougher. Pretty rough at times. Here and there it goes so much up and down that I can barely keep on my feet. This is not for the inexperienced. Almost half an hour of terrible cracks before it gets easier. I relax a bit and then I feel my left skate drop. I hit a crack under the snow and there is no way I can keep on standing. I make a salto forward and plunge onto the surface as if I take part in the olympic diving competition. Both hands forward, protecting my head, I land on my right wrist and glide somewhat gracefully a few meters on my belly, collecting snow in my face as I thrust forward. “Hollande, douze points”.

On my feet again everything seems ok. This was my first fall in perhaps 20 years and not a bad one. I resume the journey, slower now, as there are more rough parts. My wrist hurts. After what seemed like an endless sea of cracks the ice track ends. The lake ends. This was not part of my recollection. Where is Stockholm? Sure as hell I am not going back on that crap piece of ice to Sigtuna. I got company by other skaters. “I see that you have Viking skates” one tells me with an accent I unmistakably recognize. “Yes, they are new”, I reply in Dutch. The two guys look a bit surprised. They just came over for an ice skating weekend and did this stretch the day before from the other direction. They tell me it is just a few hundred meters walk to where the lake continues. I take off my skates again. On the other side awaits a beautiful ice track. Paradise compared to the hour before and the best I have seen this year. The sun starts to touch the horizon, but now I am not slowed down by the ice any more. Here I can skate on technique rather than power and I glide fast with little effort. My legs are tired, the ice is perfect. After sunset the track ends again, but now for good. I reached the end of skate-able area in Stockholm-Hässelby. From here is a metro and then train back to my car. Uppsala-Stockholm in five hours with a few stops and an ice dive.