Haero Cafe is a favourite for coffee lately. A wonderful, hidden find Inyoung and I stumbled upon while strolling around the area immediately north from where we live. The barista waving me in minutes before opening today, the foreignness wore off. Part of the regular crowd. Picking a location for coffee, I’m often torn between notions. The idea of exploring the incredible variety of coffee joints in Seoul, exploring neighbourhoods, the kaleidoscope of beautifully crafted interiors, sometimes settling for a lesser tasty coffee, although often satisfied. And then there’s your regular go-to where the staff knows what you’ll order, where conversation surpasses the dimension of weather and traffic, where – as is the case with Haero Cafe – you know not to worry for the creaking of the wooden floor, it’s only the bit behind the front door.

Haero houses in a renovated hanok building, the traditional Korean building style. The walls whitewashed, whiter than ever intended, and lots of wood. The floor, the furniture, the beams that form the base for walls and roof. The absence of a modern ceiling provides a sense of coziness. Old Dutch attics have the same, and Dutch farms too. It’s build in a traditional ㄷ-shape, where the sides surround a garden. A garden where it rains now. Today’s musical pick is 1920’s female vocal jazz. The house, the music, invoking different periods of history, all at least a century ago. And there’s my macbook making sure we’re still connected to the algorithm.

My holiday started. I lost the feeling of having holiday, but today it returned. Last Saturday marked the end of the study semester. Exams were made, nerves were shed, beers were drank. Results coming in later today. Positive results allowing progress into the last semester. My tours around town took off since July, which makes me happy. I’m by no means over worked, the schedule offers more than enough time to dwindle and wander, but I’ve been guiding quite a few groups through Korean markets, over Seoul’s mountains, providing a little peek into the ‘regular’ side of Seoulite life without palaces, K-pop, and endless tax-free shopping. Yesterday I agreed to offer my tours as part of larger Korean travel packages through a British travel agency too. All agreed upon under a cloak of corporate dealings, Teams calls, synched calendars and I even prepared a (one!) powerpoint slide. It took me a long shower after the call to rid myself of that dirt.

Tuesday next week we celebrate chuseok, Korean Thanksgiving, one of two major holidays. Most working people are off, the schools are closed, three days in total. Many will add the other two days to create a nine days holiday, a rare thing in Korean working life. The roads will be clogged with traffic, most of it leaving Seoul the roads to hometowns and (grand)parents, some of it to holiday destination within the country borders. If no obligation, every smart citizen knows not to get involved in said traffic. Sit still if you can, and enjoy quieter times on Seoul streets. Mom-in-law’s sisters and their families are visiting on Tuesday, the real chuseok day. I’ll join them later in the afternoon as first I’m showing four Dutchies around what’s called Seoul’s Brooklyn. Given so much closed for the day, I’m preparing several versions of saying ‘this would have been great to visit, had it not…’. A chapter called closed doors.

Chuseok over, thursday nineteen, we fly to Amsterdam. Everyone’s excited, my mom taking the crown in that ranking. She turns 70 on the friday and hosts a party over the weekend. Dad turns 70 too, a few days later, also hosts a party, hired a catering even and invited a surreal amount of guests. My parents, or better, our family, we are no birthday party people and I can’t seem to rid myself of the idea there are more people invited to meet the two from Korea. A narcissistic thought, I know. Seventy is a big one. Three of my grandparents never made it past the seventy cut-off. Korean women have an average life expectancy today that’s over 85 years. We celebrate my mother-in-law’s sixtieth after we return from Amsterdam, which is traditionally the birthday landmark in Korea. Living standards so differently until well past the Korean war, sixty was an achievement. Stretching this by 25 years in a period of little over 50 years (since the 1960’s), that seems an incredible change. Improvement? Who is to say. On an individual suffering level, an improvement, but with the globe bursting out off its capacity, one might want to put a stop to making people better.

After putting it off for a few years already, I started reading Maximum City, one of the supposedly best and true biographies of Mumbai. It’s great. It really is. But it’s so big. For any Mumbai visitor, I’d say read this one, read another less non-fictional account, watch a few Bollywoods, and one’s set. But it’s so big. I’m 600 pages in, the end is nearing, and I’ve come to the conclusion that non-fiction books for me, should be no longer than 400 pages. At least, I can’t think of a pleasurable read over that. Over reading non-fiction feels similar to over eating healthy and savoury food. Being a sweet tooth I can over-eat cakes, sweet breads, and chocolate without remorse but over eating delicious but serious dinners will leave me uncomfortable at best.

Several other regulars have entered in the meantime. A group of three ladies in the far end corner from where I sit, chattering away. As like last time I saw them, one seems both involved in the conversation but also completely taken by what happens on her phone. Now this applies too many if not everyone today, at least to a certain extent, but she seems to me to have achieved a level of comfort with both that if you were to add the shares of her attention to one and the other, you’d get to a number over 100. Is that possible already? A hundred and twenty-five attention span? Jazz still playing but rain in the garden ceased. The bucket next to the entrance filled with umbrella’s currently contemplating their usefulness in the near future. As for me, I need to put down a few walking tour ideas for the Brits today, the initial idea I wanted to withdraw in this corner for but ended up writing all of the above first. Until here then. I look forward seeing each other in Utrecht soon.

September 20

The Netherlands truly is flat. That’s my main finding so far. Obviously I knew, but returning for the first time in almost three years, it stands out. Both the high-rise and natural elevation I’m so used to by now, were left in the east for a few weeks without us. Seoul vista’s have lots of greens and sky in them, but here, sitting in my mom’s apartment, third floor, looking at the bikes, empty sky makes for more than half the perspective.

This may turn out to be a post that should have been a whatsapp message. If so, no regrets, so be it. I wanted to reply to your messages, and decided to do so here instead. Didn’t read the Zizou material, nor the essay yet. Both look interesting. The magazine especially looks like a fun thing, maybe more so to be part of the making. You mention Van Basten, here’s Zidane. We can add as many other interesting names (side note, Toto Schillaci’s passing) from both our football memories, but in the end we’ll come to the same conclusion: Characters like that exist no longer. Or am I missing someone? Messi’s free-spirited Barca play seems to me the closing chapter.

Thanks to Comrade Putin flights between Amsterdam and Seoul are at least two hours longer. Adding to what used to be (already) ten-and-a-half hours. Already seated in the plane, preparing for take-off from Korea, we were told a delay was caused over China airspace permission issues, adding another hour in chair on runway, by the grace of Comrade Xi. A fourteen hours total in the inconvenience that is an airplane’s environment. Flying through the day, no sleep for me, a little for Inyoung, five movies later, we are back on Dutch turf. Twenty hours on our feet, so just the one Dutch beer sufficed to completely sweep us off our feet. A deep, good but short sleep followed, as we were both wide awake from half six. Now, a few slices of proper sourdough with cheese and ham and two krentenbollen later, I am writing this, admiring my fellow Dutchies wheeling about, the sun rising over Amsterdam, postponing a walk to the coffee machine.

One of the five plane movies was a re-watch of Perfect Days, directed by Wim Wenders. Did you see it? If you haven’t. Please, make sure you do. It’s not an empty promise. It’s one of the best movies made in the twenty-twenties, and easily lands in my ever-expanding list of favourite movies. Not all subjective though, as I’m yet to meet someone who didn’t like it. See if one of the arthouses still has it on display, or otherwise get your online hands dirty and download the thing. It’s so great that I’ll happily do the downloading bit for you if that increase the chance of you watching it.

Other than Perfect Days, I watched No Time To Die, the 2021 Bond movie. I don’t know about you, but for me the Bond franchise could have been retired a few decades ago. I guess Daniel Craig can be considered a good actor (can he?), but other than looking and sounding like a Brit, I’m not convinced. Moore, Connery, even Brosnan far outdid him for me. Then I watched a Korean historical drama which was great, but only from a somewhat insider perspective. After Perfect Days I then opted for the Woody Allen’s Midnight in Paris, which is entertaining. But entertaining at best, so it surprises me to see it won an oscar for best writing, and was nominated for three other oscar categories, mostly in the directing parts. I guess the academy doing its best to rub Allen’s good parts. To close the movie quintet, and also wrap up the flight, I choose Wonka which especially for kids is a fun bit, I’m sure. I guess for me the joy was in balancing the stupidity of a musical movie with lots of songs and…

September 21

… my own brain having long before zoned out on a lack of normal oxygen and the constant noise of airplane life.

My mom walked in for coffee yesterday morning before I had uploaded the writing. Only now am I seeing the laptop again.

Inyoung and I spent several hours strolling the city that’s so dear to me. From Central Station we walked along the old canal quarters just off from the Red Light District. Here lies the boat that housed me the first six years of my life, it’s still the same, 35 years later. Connected to the mainland by another boat, forcing its inhabitants the pressure of walking on someone else’s house, noisily as all made of steel, to get to their own living. It made me happy to the place again. Things don’t change much. People here think they do, but they don’t. Three years since our last visit and I registered one major change in the setup of the main train station.

From the boat we walked on, past the 16th century tower on the canals crossroad nearby, the area’s landmark. Right from there to get to Tisfris, a locally well-known eatery my mom used to take me to in the eighties. It’s a little touristy now, Rembrandt’s old house is near, there’s a coffeeshop on the other side of the street. We sat outside, what a great day to spend a first day back in town, sunny but not too hot. The ideal after summer Amsterdam weather. Shorts and jumper weather. We ate the ‘rustic tosti’ (why eat a normal tosti if there are rustic ones too) and ‘kroketten with brood’. Home.

Walking on we get to the area known as the Plantagebuurt, which is where the Amsterdam zoo houses and where all of Amsterdam’s old colonial money settled after all houses around the famous canals were taken. A beautiful part of town, long wide streets, impressive housing. We stopped and set down roadside for an ice cream in the sun before continuing to the eastern parts of town. Lots of boats on the water. Lots of water too. The city’s flatness was the first thing to stand out yesterday, but the amount of water is another joyful, slightly surprising find. And it really smells of marihuana everywhere. Did I just hardly register this when living here, or did it increase the past few years. Lots of tourists still too. And fatbikes. And people complaining about fatbikes. The people are still complaining. Amsterdam didn’t change much. Not for the past century or so, and not for the past few years either. Cities in Asia change rapidly. Amsterdam doesn’t. I doubt Toronto does either. And Copenhagen. London. Nairobi does, Boston doesn’t.

I read the Paul Graham bit you sent me. Had to remind me of the time of its writing , 2008, a few times while reading. Who is he? How did you come across this? The nature and character of a city being important, or critical to what one aspires to, is an interesting notion. I can see that being true for cities the world around. I do find the piece hard to read and not be annoyed by the narrow mind of the Anglo-Americanness of it all. I know, I’m a record repeating myself. But if you write a piece like this why not broaden the scope by including the wider world. Why speak so general about cities, but only think of the western world. It’s the idea of the World Series being the pinnacle of world baseball. It isn’t. And I find it hard to consume anything like it.

As of this writing, Cambridge seems to be the intellectual capital of the world. 

Even for the 2008 this is nonsense. Cambridge may be an important intellectual centre of the world, but it’s one of many and phrasing it like this exclude large parts of what you call the world and may even be offensive to people. Zurich, Copenhagen, Tokyo, Singapore are a few among many other intellectual centres of the world. Nowadays, in 2008 and centuries before already.

I found it hard to read Jack, I’m sorry.

Packing up now to go to Abcoude to meet Jager Senior for a stroll around town, then lunch and coffee. May be back tonight, tomorrow or any other day. It’s fun to write about being back in the Netherlands. Wising you a happy weekend.