Farewell Opa
This morning in Vancouver, Opa passed away. Today marks the one year anniversary of our departure from Vancouver and never could I have imagined that I would lose both grandparents in the span of one year. Oma was sick already when we left and although we hoped to see her again, when we parted at their doorstep one year ago we said our goodbyes knowing that it might be our last. However we always assumed that on our next visit, Opa would be there.
Both were regulars here on our little blog. Opa did most of the typing and in his broken English passed on words that I now cherish. With gems such as, “I enjoyed your story of the Paris visit. You guys love to eat everything! I don’t have to ask how you are doing. Love Opa”, both Sabine and I looked forward to what comment would come next. And yes, we do love to eat everything (almost)!
Throughout our planning and our relocation Opa was always positive, always supportive and best of all always excited for us. This typified Opa throughout it seems. While Oma was sick, Opa was her rock. He was always there, always supportive and always strong no matter how much pain Oma was going through. Driving her around, helping her with the every day tasks that become difficult to do when you are so ill. He truly lived by the vows “’till death do us part” (although they probably sound a bit different in Dutch).
I suspect that in some ways his early days hardened him and forced him to be positive to survive. As a Dutch citizen and soldier living in Indonesia during World War II, he was interned in a Japanese POW camp in Nong Pladuk, Thailand near Kanchanaburi. Enslaved, starved and forced into hard labour by the Japanese, my Opa worked to build the now famous Thailand-Burma railway, aka The Death Railway. The railway was built from Bangkok, Thailand to Rangoon, Burma by the Japanese to support their efforts in Burma which they had invaded and taken over from the British. When I traveled to Thailand in 2000, I made it a point to stop there, visit the cemeteries, memorials and museums. I saw photos and reconstructions of the living conditions that they were forced into. I can’t describe what I saw and can only imagine that describing what actually happened is even more difficult. Suffice it to say, Opa survived unlike thousands of others that perished on that railway.
Despite his unfortunate past he somehow saw through it all, whether by choice or by necessity. What came out of his experiences was a man that was intelligent, resourceful, kind, generous and believe it or not, quite funny. His sense of humour is, in a way, renowned in my family. Quiet yet sly, he would always get a great quip in whether he knew it or not. Since English was his second language, I think part of it was that he didn’t realize how funny he actually was. Somehow that made it all the better.
It is with indescribable sadness that I say goodbye to my last living grandparent, Marius van Harte. Opa, you are my hero and we love you forever but know that you and Oma are together again, free of pain and looking over us. Farewell Opa.
A note about our blog!
We’ve recently moved our blog from Blogger to Wordpress, hence the frequently changing appearance as we figure things out. You can still find all of our stuff under www.joshandsabine.com — we just don’t want you to be confused by the changing looks!
And the wall came crumbling down
Twenty years ago, Berlin’s streets were flooded with people celebrating. They were pushing, they were climbing, they were hugging and kissing, just because they were able to go see the other side of a city I now travel around quite freely.
Our little Berlin apartment is a mere 400 metres away from where the wall once stood. Our address would have been in East Berlin, near the divided city’s centre of Alexanderplatz. To get many places, we cross the border, now largely marked by a line of cobblestones in sidewalks and streets — a far cry from the dominating, 3.5-metre high concrete blocks that once divided neighbours.
Our neighbourhood, five years before the wall came down in 1984.
Twenty years ago, our vibrant neighbourhood would have been largely deserted. The people who lived in our space then might have just left it, making their way to West Berlin as fast as they could before the East German government decided to reverse their accidental decision to open the borders on November 9, 1989. The building would probably have been brown, dirty and might even have had scars left over from the Second World War.
Parking spots would have been sieged with Trabants, the East German car, as the air recovered from their fumes resulting on their fuel of gas and oil mixed together. Grocery store shelved would have been cleaned out of Moka FIx Gold coffee brand to make way for Coca Cola and issued bookshelves would be replaced by Billy.
Eventually, the abandoned apartments became filled with people looking for a free place to live, attracting a young and vibrant community, free to do what it liked with its low living cost. The lifestyle attracted others and the neighbourhood quickly gentrified.
Our neighbourhood today
Fast-forward to today, and who knows where the people are that once lived here, but I doubt any of my neighbours are once people who lived in East Berlin as adults. My apartment building has a sunny coat of paint, big balconies and Ikea-stylized kitchens. The only evidence of East Berlin is an appliance repair shop around the corner still specialising in the repair of East German brands.
Meanwhile, on a street just 400-metres from the Berlin Wall, 2.5 kilometres from where the first East Germans freely crossed into West Berlin, two Canadians in love live life with an appreciation for freedom that they never would have had if they stayed where they were.
It’s amazing what 20 years can do.
J’adore…
My favourite jump to date.Ask anyone fantasizing about a trip to Europe which cities they want to see and Paris will undoubtedly be on that list. Paris is the holy grail of European travels. Unlike some over-explored territories, no one will ever call Paris “done”. It’s Paris and no matter how many people trudge down its cobbled streets, it still lets you feel like you’re the only one to discover that piece of the world.
Josh and I had both been to Paris before, just never together. Both of us were 11 when we were lucky enough for our families to take us there. For Josh, it was his parents and sisters. For me, it was Trudy (practically my sister) and my grandparents. It was like a strange dream, going back to the city and chasing around the ghosts of our 11-year-old selves. The whole weekend was spent trying to figure out if we had actually been there ourselves or if it was something that we saw in a film or a picture.
Of course, we were in Denmark first. Loved it. I really only had a day and a half in Aarhus before we went through the smallest airport ever — yes! Smaller than Regina’s! — before Paris. Though I did go to Aarhus’s famous historic village museum, I spent the rest of my time doing what any other girl left to her own devices does: shopped. I liked it.
A taste of Aarhus, Denmark.Off to Paris!
Seine River with the Eiffel Tower poking out on the left.Thursday morning we left our charming little hotel, the Le Chaplain Rive Gauche, near the Luxembourg gardens for the nearby boulangerie for breakfast. We head out to explore the city on foot, wandering through the streets of St. Germaine and being lured into Laduree by a window full of macarons. Throughout the day we meandered through churches (St. Sulpice and Notre Dame) and over bridges until we ended up at The Louvre to fight crowds to say hello to a glass encased Mona Lisa with visits to the Venus de Milo, the winged Nike of Samothrace and many other masters along the way.
Croque Monsieur at Notre Dame.
The Louvre’s pyramid
Venus de Milo paparazzi. How many cameras do you see?
This is one of my beefs: people who take pictures of art. It will never do it justice! And your flash is ruining it for future generations! Just buy a print! Rant over.
Paris means a lot of walking, and we certainly got our fill on the first day. We kept dinner close to home, fuelling up at a Creole restuarant next to the hotel for Friday’s journey to the top of the Eiffel Tower.
When we were 11, neither of us went up the Eiffel Tower. Josh’s family is plagued by phobias while my story is we were 11-years-old and was told the only way we were going up was the stairs. Many years later, Josh and I finally went up to the very tippy-top, though I think the journey was far more redemptive for him. We climbed the stairs of the first two platforms and squished into the elevator to get to the top. There, we witnessed two proposals and snapped a lot of foggy pictures while marvelling at the lacework of steel that has become so famous.
Close…
…closer…
More sightseeing that day included the Arc de Triomphe and a stroll down Champs Elysees. But it all seems so insignificant compared to our dinner that night.
At Le Timbre. He has no idea of what’s about to hit his taste buds.Yes. The food. Friday, October 9, 2009, marks one of the greatest meals of my life. I could spend weeks in Paris just eating, but that night, we were lucky enough to stumble upon Le Timbre. Josh started with a liver pate and a confiture of onions followed by pork on a bed of lentils. I enjoyed a very French appetizer called Pounti — a dish that mixes guinea fowl and plums. My main was a roasted duck breast and roasted pears — two of my favourite things ever. It also seemed very appropriate to be enjoying pears for our wedding anniversary after they played such a big part in the wedding. Dessert: I had roasted figs in red wine sauce while Josh enjoyed his first Tarte Tatin.
The most. amazing. dinner. ever.
Flashback: Wedding pears!The rest of the weekend was a little less intense as our feet threatened to stay behind. We made the mistake of enjoying an early-afternoon champagne from a foodfest that was happening on Montmartre, which put us in a hazy mood for the afternoon. I also got to eat a slated-caramel macaron. I wanted to just nibble at it forever. When we finally snapped out the champagne haze, we were at the Pompidou Centre — all the way across town. Dinner was French and I got to scold a chubby enfant in his own language for calling me une americaine, giving his family reason to boom laugh. Finally, we got to catch up with friends made in Toronto over drinks. Thanks to the Metro, we crisscrossed the city without our feet hating us too much. Also, my new French shoes helped.
We rounded up our touristing with a trip to the Orsay museum filled with French masters after returning to Laduree for a massive brunch. If you go there — you can order the brunch and its seriously more than enough for two. Bonus: They forgot to charge us for our upgraded order of scrambled eggs to asparagus omelet. Yay!
All that was left of our brunch before we remembered to take a picture. Oops!Josh was more than happy to be returning home. He had spent very little time in his own bed in the previous two weeks. Paris is lovely but its no Berlin.
Again, I let Josh take the photographic reigns on this trip and I’ve made sure he uploaded his favourites. Click VIEW SLIDESHOW to see them all!
…one year later
One year ago… One year (and four days) ago, Josh and I stood under a tree at the Capilano Suspension Bridge in North Vancouver, B.C., and promised to our family, friends and each other that we would be husband and wife.
The day blurred by, between car rides, appointments, ceremonies and finally some dancing. Much in the same manner, the last year has flown by too. One year ago, we were lounging poolside in Maui. Today, we’re shivering in Berlin, but I’m not complaining.
In a way, being married is a bit of a frustrating restart button. Josh and I married five years (to the day!) after our first date, so really, we were celebrating six years of being a couple, one year of being — as my oma says — an honest one. But one year is longer than 90% of Hollywood romances, so we might as well celebrate big, right? We did, but that story will come later.
But really, if Josh and I survived the six month period from the end of August, 2008, to January 2009, I think we already know that we have a solid relationship. Those six months went a little like this:
Sabine starts a new job that expires at the end of November while Josh gets laid off along with the majority of the company and finds out about it from a phone call received at the top of the CN Tower in Toronto. We attend a friend’s wedding, leave Toronto the next morning to make it back to Vancouver for another wedding. Discussion. We decide that it makes no sense for us to find new jobs for three months and make the leap into planning a move to Germany. Meanwhile, there are still details for the wedding to figure out — like the cake, among other things. Cake gets sorted out, RSVPs are chased down and Josh visits Berlin for 36 hours, spending 10 of those in job interviews. He flies home, causes me to break down over candy, gets three job offers and takes the one from Nokia in Berlin. So many butterflies. Two weeks later, we say “I do” in front of 100 people and chow down. Sing Total Eclipse of the Heart and dance the night away. Two days later, on a plane far too early to get to Maui for 10 days of relaxation, promising each other to NOT BRING UP THE MOVE.
We arrive back in Vancouver 12 days later, glowing like only newlyweds do (it may have been the tans).
Both of us are back at work and congratulated a million times by friends, coworkers and strangers in person, over the phone and on Facebook. Meanwhile, we start trying to find renters for our townhouse while packing up all the summer things in boxes for Berlin. Contracts are signed, furniture and books are being sold on Craigslist. Goodbyes start being said in Vancouver as I fly back to Regina for one last trip to Earl’s for a margarita while some farewells start getting missed as time starts running out.
We leave Vancouver, arrive in Berlin, have our one and only “WHAT HAVE WE DONE?!” moments. Our apartment is near the river, but also by a prison and the bed is hard. There is no internet. Sabine gets her phone and life feels better. Apartment anxiety for two weeks until I walk into the doors on Granseer Strasse and know I’m home. We get the keys before our Christmas roadtrip to Cologne and eat way too much and come home with just as many treats. On our drive back, we make the first of three trips to Ikea at three days and nearly kill each other in the wardrobe department. Then, upon delivery to our house, the wardrobes nearly kill us. Fireworks at Brandenburg Gates, our last night in the hard bed and our summer clothes and furniture arrive in Berlin. Drown in a sea of packaging while assembling furniture with a Swiss Army Knife. Fill the fridge and finally, we can relax.
If you’re exhausted reading that, you can only imagine how I feel after typing that only after experiencing it. It was easily one of the most insane periods of my life but there is really only one thing I would change if we did it all over again: I would pay Ikea to deliver the furniture and carry it up the stairs.
Also, I wouldn’t have survived if I did it all with anyone else. Proof that ours is a good partnership and in that, we’ve got an amazing cast of supporters from our parents, friends and even the growing amount of readers at our little blog. It makes it all the more appropriate that we were married on Thanksgiving as we have a lot to be grateful for. Thanks to you all.
And yes, Paris was wonderful. Details will come but for now, I’ll leave you with a picture from our trip.
…four days ago. 