Day began with fail. Checking the tyre pressure this morning I decided to top-up the front tyre of the bike, however, the valve cap was stiff and in the process of removing it I managed to let all the air out. Having found what I now know to be a 'Dunlop/Woods' valve (thanks to the Sheldon Brown website), it then took a while to figure out that one can use a Presta attachment to inflate it. Unfortunately, by the time I was done with all this it was too late to get to church on time; next week I guess (in hindsight, perhaps I should've found a 'backup' church with an evening service).
Now the bike was ready I didn't wish to waste the effort, so planned to cycle to VU, in an attempt to gauge the time required for the journey. I hadn't taken into account the Amsterdam marathon which had closed, or restricted access to the roads around the Olympic stadium [Amsterdam hosted the 1928 Olympics, fact fans], on the way to VU. I attempted a detour, but got a little lost and found myself heading back toward the house instead.
This journey was recorded using BikeCam [Mk 1], which is currently just my GorillaPod tripod wrapped around the handlebars. There's certainly room for improvement:
Attachment to bike
Steadying/suspension
Appropriate lenses
Cable release/remote trigger
Rain cover
Charging/dynamo
I thought best to keep in simple at first, stuck on a fisheye lens, set in to manual focus at infinity, aperture at f8 (so everything should be in focus down to about half a metre) set the ISO at 400 to try to keep the shutter speed high to counteract the camera shake from the motion of the bike [the bright day helped]. It seemed to work alright.
Hopefully, they'll be more exotic things that 'BikeCam' to distract me soon, I suppose we'll see.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Of butter, bikes, cheese and change.
So, 'Day 3'. Ventured outside the house on the bike today, trying to get my bearings and utilise the excellent and extensive cycling path network. I'm slowly finding the little differences between 'cultures' and convention.
Cycling seems to be a common habit throughout much of the population of Amsterdam, most bikes (including the one I'm using) built for practicality, rather than speed. I need to find an Allen-key somewhere too, the seat's about an inch too high for me; which brings me to the fact that I feel somewhat short compared to the general population here.*
On the way back to the house I stopped into the local supermarket (primarily to obtain washing powder) and, passing by the dairy section, noticed that all the 'butter' wasn't really butter but margarine, animal fat, or vegetable oil-based spread. I nipped across the way to the other (slightly posher) grocery and eventually found some, high on the shelf and depleted in stock. Unable to tell if it was salted (there were two kinds), I bought them both. Sampling them back at the house it seemed they were both unsalted (although one was organically produced, it seems).
Nearby the butter, the cheese counter seemed to be stocked with all manner of Gouda. Being unable to read Dutch, and thus deduce how 'strong' (or aged) the different varieties were and that either asking the staff or looking up the translation would be spoiling what fun there might be in finding out by trial-and-'error', I resolved to gradually work my way through them.
I had read that in the Netherlands (and Finland), 1 and 2 cent pieces aren't minted (although they remain legal tender) and thus values and change are rounded off at checkout. Being rather cynical (at times), I assumed that they would always be rounded up, but was heartened by my receipt of 35 cents change from €10 (for a bill of €9.66).
The butter came in handy; having found Marmite in the cupboard (and the supermarket) I rediscovered the wonders of Marmite and toast, flicked on the television to discover the snooker was on (brought back memories of grandparents and exam 'revision' periods).
Marmite, snooker, it's rather like being in Britain. I promise more Dutch culture and, hopefully, adventures will be forthcoming!
*Looking up the average height by country on the interwebs Male/Female:
UK: 176.8 cm (5' 9.6") / 163.7 cm (5' 4.4") [16-24, 2006 report]
Netherlands: 184.8 cm (6' 0.8") / 168.7 cm (5' 6.4") [20-30, 2004 report]
Cycling seems to be a common habit throughout much of the population of Amsterdam, most bikes (including the one I'm using) built for practicality, rather than speed. I need to find an Allen-key somewhere too, the seat's about an inch too high for me; which brings me to the fact that I feel somewhat short compared to the general population here.*
On the way back to the house I stopped into the local supermarket (primarily to obtain washing powder) and, passing by the dairy section, noticed that all the 'butter' wasn't really butter but margarine, animal fat, or vegetable oil-based spread. I nipped across the way to the other (slightly posher) grocery and eventually found some, high on the shelf and depleted in stock. Unable to tell if it was salted (there were two kinds), I bought them both. Sampling them back at the house it seemed they were both unsalted (although one was organically produced, it seems).
Nearby the butter, the cheese counter seemed to be stocked with all manner of Gouda. Being unable to read Dutch, and thus deduce how 'strong' (or aged) the different varieties were and that either asking the staff or looking up the translation would be spoiling what fun there might be in finding out by trial-and-'error', I resolved to gradually work my way through them.
I had read that in the Netherlands (and Finland), 1 and 2 cent pieces aren't minted (although they remain legal tender) and thus values and change are rounded off at checkout. Being rather cynical (at times), I assumed that they would always be rounded up, but was heartened by my receipt of 35 cents change from €10 (for a bill of €9.66).
The butter came in handy; having found Marmite in the cupboard (and the supermarket) I rediscovered the wonders of Marmite and toast, flicked on the television to discover the snooker was on (brought back memories of grandparents and exam 'revision' periods).
Marmite, snooker, it's rather like being in Britain. I promise more Dutch culture and, hopefully, adventures will be forthcoming!
*Looking up the average height by country on the interwebs Male/Female:
UK: 176.8 cm (5' 9.6") / 163.7 cm (5' 4.4") [16-24, 2006 report]
Netherlands: 184.8 cm (6' 0.8") / 168.7 cm (5' 6.4") [20-30, 2004 report]
"For every tiny town or place...
...God made the stars especially" the start of the introduction to The Napoleon of Notting Hill (by G. K. Chesterton). Just reminded of it as was settling in to the house, sky turning dark through the skylights of my bedroom. It was, alas, too cloudy to see the stars.
Something I meant to note earlier; as I walked from the plane through to passport control there was an advert plainly stating that 'World Peace is Possible'; I quite like living in a country where that's the kind of thing that gets displayed at airports (I do realise some NGO probably paid for it, but still)...
Something I meant to note earlier; as I walked from the plane through to passport control there was an advert plainly stating that 'World Peace is Possible'; I quite like living in a country where that's the kind of thing that gets displayed at airports (I do realise some NGO probably paid for it, but still)...
Thursday, October 16, 2008
t minus zero
Well, the plane was late to depart and had the usual Heathrow hassle actually getting to the gate whilst doors were opened and closed sporadically 'for security reasons'. Online checking had suggested the flight would be extremely quiet, but in reality it was nigh-on full.
The first 10 minutes of the flight allowed for a gentle rise and circling out of Heathrow and I was met with a most spectacular vista. I'm not sure I've ever seen England looking quite so lovely (on the day when I leave, typically). Fields, gold and green, and towns out to the horizon; broken cloud and broken shadows, a gentle haze and a beautiful quality of light. It was enough to bring out a bit of 'Jerusalem' (despite the ludicrous lyrics).
Anyway, eventually those views faded as we rose into the clouds, although we saw, in patches, boats and windfarms as the Dutch coast approached. Inland, I was struck by the lush fields, separated not by walls, as back in the UK, but by water.
Although I suspect the following comparison won't stand up to much detailed analysis, this flat country lends itself to 'big skies', the like of which I haven't really seen since taking Greyhound buses across the plains of Montana and North Dakota. More habitation is evident here; much more.
I made it from the airport to the bus-stop nearest to my accommodation here, and wandered in what (it turns out) was about the right direction. What I hadn't taken into account, however, was that the aforementioned waterways often impede shortcuts, so I found it necessary (twice) to divert and find somewhere to cross.
Having arrived at the house (which is somewhat larger than I envisaged), I was introduced to the residence and the neighbourhood [my thanks to Tara]. A neighbour too, Scottish, watching snooker and offering tea; a fine start.
The first 10 minutes of the flight allowed for a gentle rise and circling out of Heathrow and I was met with a most spectacular vista. I'm not sure I've ever seen England looking quite so lovely (on the day when I leave, typically). Fields, gold and green, and towns out to the horizon; broken cloud and broken shadows, a gentle haze and a beautiful quality of light. It was enough to bring out a bit of 'Jerusalem' (despite the ludicrous lyrics).
Anyway, eventually those views faded as we rose into the clouds, although we saw, in patches, boats and windfarms as the Dutch coast approached. Inland, I was struck by the lush fields, separated not by walls, as back in the UK, but by water.
Although I suspect the following comparison won't stand up to much detailed analysis, this flat country lends itself to 'big skies', the like of which I haven't really seen since taking Greyhound buses across the plains of Montana and North Dakota. More habitation is evident here; much more.
I made it from the airport to the bus-stop nearest to my accommodation here, and wandered in what (it turns out) was about the right direction. What I hadn't taken into account, however, was that the aforementioned waterways often impede shortcuts, so I found it necessary (twice) to divert and find somewhere to cross.
Having arrived at the house (which is somewhat larger than I envisaged), I was introduced to the residence and the neighbourhood [my thanks to Tara]. A neighbour too, Scottish, watching snooker and offering tea; a fine start.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
'Twas the night before...
In less than 12 hours I'll be on a plane to Amsterdam, the first I've ever taken with no return ticket. Leaving drinks have been had; so thanks to those who came down. A great trip to the US too, and [another] master's degree completed.
This blog isn't really meant to be about the past though. In many ways this feels like a new life, although of course there's some continuation, it's a small world and I'm (mostly) grateful for that.
Anyway, pictures and words to follow, thanks for reading and come visit (you'd be more than welcome)!
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
A beginning...
I can't find my keys. Clearly, they can't be far away as I'm in the house and no one else let me in. I should probably be in bed too, given the early hours of the radiopharmacy, but I'm too distracted, by this blog, partly.
Anyway, I've decided to blog. It scares me slightly, the fact that it seemingly becomes a matter of public record, but mostly that it reminds me strangely of the transience of life ('though I admit I'm not sure why).
Before this gets too pretentious, I should thanks Bruce Springsteen for providing me with a title to crib from [Does this bus stop at 82nd street]; please don't sue. I owe a debt of gratitude to other (greater) blogs: MMT in MK, Six trains, two boats, Inside Reality, Going Underground, the Secret Diary of Steve Jobs and the numerous others I've stumbled across over the years.
The purpose of all this is that it might help me collect my thoughts as I undergo the transition out of London (my residence for nigh on 3 years now) and, potentially, into Amsterdam to undertake PhD studies. It also makes a change to be writing in the first person, in marked contrast to any scientific writing I work on otherwise.
If nothing else, I hope these are some interesting times; there might even be some photographs.
Anyway, I've decided to blog. It scares me slightly, the fact that it seemingly becomes a matter of public record, but mostly that it reminds me strangely of the transience of life ('though I admit I'm not sure why).
Before this gets too pretentious, I should thanks Bruce Springsteen for providing me with a title to crib from [Does this bus stop at 82nd street]; please don't sue. I owe a debt of gratitude to other (greater) blogs: MMT in MK, Six trains, two boats, Inside Reality, Going Underground, the Secret Diary of Steve Jobs and the numerous others I've stumbled across over the years.
The purpose of all this is that it might help me collect my thoughts as I undergo the transition out of London (my residence for nigh on 3 years now) and, potentially, into Amsterdam to undertake PhD studies. It also makes a change to be writing in the first person, in marked contrast to any scientific writing I work on otherwise.
If nothing else, I hope these are some interesting times; there might even be some photographs.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)