Fringe & Life Beyond

Viv & Rob Kleinjan

4 days ago

26 min read

Updated: 14 minutes ago

In this blog we have a few guest writers to share our stories from their perspective.

Frank's story is in Dutch and English, it's a great story to read, very funny and accurate.

Hugo writes his Fringe experience and Jivan, my longest friend, 60 years of friendship and still counting, also found a bit of time to write something for our blog.

A whole bunch of bricks were delivered at our house in Austria. We were getting a small paved path under the carport in Don Papa. Now we no longer have to deal with muddy shoes in the house. It was done by our neighbour, after we left. We only have seen it on photos, it looks fantastic.

Noa in Vienna

We left a day earlier to see Noa in Vienna. First, we drove to ILF near Graz, to park our car there. Robin is working here and she was waiting for us and very sweet to drive us to the main station in Graz. Friday evening, we had Chinese around the corner of Noa's apartment. Funny fact to share, it’s the oldest Chinese in Vienna and really good!

Saturday, we bought a dirndl for Noa. She needed one for the Oktoberfest and for work.

Saturday, we ate in the street we used to live in, Lange Gasse, at our favourite tapas restaurant, Puerto del Sol. We had such a wonderful time with Noa. At her home, Rob and Noa fixed a few more things, hang a lamp and I assembled a modern painting from IXXI. I didn’t do it quiet right, photos will explain more.

Early Sunday morning we left Noa’s place very early. When the taxi arrived, Rob wanted to step in on the left side, mixing up UK taxis and European taxis. Taxi driver said” shall I drive sir?”

Rob flew from Amsterdam to Edinburgh on the same day. I was fetched by Jack at Schiphol

airport.

Saturday afternoon Jack and I jumped on our bikes and paid Sanneke a visit. She had a hip replacement in July. It was wonderful weather, and we sat down at the water side. We also met her boyfriend Wil, this was lovely.

Photo below is Jack's birthday present (and his own money) a huge lego tower of Lord of the Rings, that he finally finished.

The next day I took the ferry to Harwich with my travel buddy Ayo. We had a long but smooth journey. Tuesday, I arrived home around 1pm.

On Wednesday Frank and Ria arrived in the afternoon. They had a relaxed start in Scotland at the other side of the river, they stayed in Kilcarny. They made trips from there. They wrote their story for the blog, you can read it down below in Dutch and also in English.

A FEW DAYS AT THE FRINGE FESTIVAL & BEYOND

Kom dan in augustus, zei Vivienne, op ons idee om een paar dagen Edinburgh in te lassen om te zien hoe de Kleinjans ook hier weer geland zijn in een stad met allure en een huis met hun onmiskenbare handtekening. Zo boekten wij een weekje, verdeeld over 3 dagen aan de noordoever van de Firth of Forth en 4 dagen bruisend Edinburgh aan de overkant daarvan, spreek uit Iddinbraa.

Kirkcaldy, onze startplaats, heeft last van wat zo mooi wordt omschreven als “post industrial decline”. Neergelaten rolluiken, afhaalkip, vage crossovers tussen Blokker en de kringloopwinkel en op zondag kun je er een kanon afschieten. Gelukkig hebben ze er een restaurant La Gondola, een als Schotse sportkantine vermomde quasi-Italiaan, met naast de pizza ook gewoon goeie pasta en heilbot met kappertjes en citroen. Een opa vierde er zijn verjaardag met al zijn nazaten, dus we verstonden elkaar niet maar het eten was heerlijk. Schots is sowieso een taaltje waarbij je een beetje moet gokken wat er gezegd wordt. Iedere zin eindigt op zijn Zuid-Limburgs een beetje vragend en er zitten veel keelklanken tussen. But it sounds peaceful.

En wat zijn die Schotten aardig! Als je buiten drie tellen om je heen kijkt schiet er iemand op je af om te vragen of je iets zoekt of nodig hebt. Als we er dan ook samen niet uitkomen, evalueren ze bedroeft: “I wasn’t much of a help, was I?”. Iedereen bedankt de buschauffeur bij het uitstappen voor de excellent drive, hoewel we op dag 4 na een wiebeltocht misselijk aankwamen in Elie, een badplaats waar de lokale tattoodragers en golfclubbezoekers fish and chips eten aan houten banken op een terras bij een langzaam volstromende baai. Geen parasol of strandstoel te bekennen, gewoon een beetje pierewaaien op het lokale wad. De meeuwen zijn ook daar herriemakers van jewelste, wat in ons appartement soms wel een beetje hinderlijk was. Continu krijsen om niks, een beetje als Joling en Gordon.

Op de dag na aankomst kozen we voor een wandeling over een stukje van het Fife Coastal Path, een ruim 180 kilometer lange route langs de oostkust van Schotland, parallel aan de zeearm waar ook Edinburgh – statig aan de overkant – op uitkijkt. In Kinghorn was het heel goed lunchen en straalde absoluut meer levensvreugde uit de huizen en winkels. Het weer was geweldig en het uitzicht nog beter; in de frisse zeelucht wiegde wilde begroeiing die we zo in onze tuin zouden willen zetten, rondom een oude uitkijktoren.

Stirling op dag 3 was een kruising tussen de Efteling, de middeleeuwen en pure Schotse trots. Statige bebouwing, een dijk van een (te drukbezocht) kasteel, een universiteit, mooie winkelstraten en terrassen met als enig minpunt zoeken naar alcohol. Gelukkig vonden we de duurste Italiaan van Schotland, die dan wel de wijnglazen tot ongeveer de rand volgoot.

In de middag van de vierde dag reisden we langs de inmiddels bekende brugroute terug naar Edinburgh waar we zondag per vliegtuig waren aangekomen. Na de roltrappen van het station het vertrouwde beeld van onze charmante vriendin en haar altijd vrolijke hondje. De wandeling was een voorproefje van wat ons te wachten stond: een stad vol activiteit en bezoekers, en Vivienne die een geheimzinnige turbomotor in haar benen verstopt heeft. Haar loopje ziet er kalm uit, maar je moet rennen om haar bij te benen.

Het begin van een fijne vierdaagse langs het culturele hoogtepunt van Edinburgh: Het Fringe Festival. Een bundeling van duizenden culturele activiteiten in de hele maand augustus, die in een vuistdikke soort gouden gids staan beschreven, zodat types als ik absoluut niet kunnen kiezen. Dat lieten we dus lafjes aan Viv en Rob over. Straatperformances, koorzang, musicals (Thank you for the Muesli – Flabba), stand up comedy, tributes, The stories of…, you name it. En buiten van alles zoals pop up terrassen, flyeraars, zakkenrollers en veel Chinezen. En Donald Trump!

Grappig genoeg drinken de Schotten – zeker als het aan de werkgever van Rob ligt – vooral Birra Moretti en Cruzcampo en moet je zoeken naar lokale ales, behalve in de her en der gelegen, nog altijd schitterende pubs. Hopelijk gaat dit erfgoed nooit verloren. Zelf gaf ik uiteindelijk de voorkeur aan het Ierse Guinness, zacht en bescheiden in alcoholpercentage. Van hele pints moeten oude mannen te vaak plassen, de halfpint werd mijn maat. Overigens kan overwerken op donderdag ook een hele prettige ervaring zijn, zagen we in de prachtige kantoorbar van Rob. Aan de muur de aartsvader Freddy: I don’t sell beer, I sell a feeling. Vandaar dat ik zo’n gevoelig ventje ben.

Drie topvoorstellingen die we bezochten waren van muzikale snit. Een zekere Angus Munroe (virtuoos in stem, op sax en keyboards) vertolkte in de ene performance Billy Joel op een geweldige manier, in de andere was hij net zo makkelijk een fantastische Paul Simon. Die was duidelijk het creatieve brein van het duo Simon en Garfunkel geweest, bleek uit het in sneltreinvaart vertelde verhaal. Bij Bridge over troubled water raakte Angus echt een snaar, ik was zeker niet de enige die een beetje zat te snotteren. Wat kan muziek toch mooi zijn en wat is het een wonder als tekst en melodie samenkomen.

Vermeldenswaard was ook het optreden van Get up and Gospel in een van de vele kerken, die we net op tijd vonden dankzij een weer enorm behulpzame taxichauffeur. Onder aanvoering van een elastische dirigent (volgens Vivienne beslist een Nigeriaan) brulden het koor met een imposante mannenbasis de longen uit het lijf en bewogen ze als koraal in een onstuimige oceaan. Bij dit optreden verbleekte het koortje van de dag ervoor wel een beetje. Onder de vlag van Rock Choir stond daar een groepje zestigers braaf te klappen en te wiegen, waarbij de pronte dirigente meer de show stal. In mijn ogen waren er in dit koor de bassen en baritons te veel in ondertal, zodat het geheel wat ijl klonk. Maar de sfeer was ook hier heerlijk: laagdrempelig, biertje mee de zaal in en met wat dringen van Vivienne ook weer op rij 1.

Dat laatste brak ons een beetje op bij de meest curieuze voorstelling die we bezochten: An American Idiot, deels naar het gelijknamige album van Green Day. Als je de aankondiging leest, is dit een absolute must-see, maar wij weten inmiddels beter. Stel je een rommelig gebouw voor, derde verdieping. Een soort kruising tussen een consultatiebureau en een oude school. We zitten in de kleine gymzaal, rij 1 natuurlijk, op de traditioneel te kleine stoelen. Het is klamheet en op het podium zit een stel pubers te doen of men zich verveelt, met bierflesjes zonder inhoud aan de mond en niet aangestoken sigaretten tussen de lippen. Er hangt onvrede in de lucht en dat zullen we weten ook. Op een scherm worden beelden geprojecteerd van het optreden van het nazileger ICE en hun gestoorde opperman met de wortelhuid.

Binnen de kortste keren staat een complete graduate klas van een high school met zwart omrande ogen op muziek vanaf een band te stampen en fuck you gebaren te maken, en dat houden ze langer vol dan wij voor mogelijk houden. Geen lied is verstaanbaar, de choreografie rommelig en over de top en wat doet Roel van Velzen eigenlijk temidden van deze springende meute? Rechts van mij duikt Rob zoveel mogelijk in elkaar, in de hoop dat er geen interactieve performance op uitbarsten staat, en tussen mij en hem in vervalt Vivienne in een gevaarlijk aanstekelijke slappe lach. Wat op de eerste rij nog ingewikkelder is dan achterin. Links kijkt Ria op haar telefoon om te checken hoe lang nog, niet wetend dat dit een voorstelling is die ruim twee keer de gemiddelde duur omvat. Zonder met elkaar te praten of elkaar aan te kijken – dat is dodelijk bij een slappe lach - seinen we een hulpvraag naar het universum. Dan blijkt de respons ineens van boven te komen, in de vorm van een pauze. We rennen naar beneden en buiten en twee hoekjes verder strijken we opgelucht neer op een terras. Doe ons maar een mooie cocktail! Eind (of halverwege) goed, al goed!

Dat hadden we gedacht. Nog voor het eerste nipje volgt de straf. Ik blijk mijn telefoon kwijt te zijn en dus zijn er drie mogelijkheden: onderweg verloren, gezakkenrold of toch op rij 1, stoel 4 van rechts. Ik moet terug. Ria mee, want we moeten sowieso een telefoon paraat houden om contact met elkaar te hebben. In de venue spreken we de queer kassière die ons verwijst naar de queer runner, via wie we bij de floormanager komen. We leggen uit dat iemand in ons gezelschap onwel is geworden van de hitte, zodat we hals over kop naar buiten moesten en dat het niet verantwoord was om terug te keren. Dus ligt er misschien nog een telefoon op de rij lege stoeltjes vooraan? Ze vraagt meteen – wat zijn ze toch aardig die Schotten ! – hoe het nu is met het slachtoffer en het schaamrood stijgt naar onze kaken. Verder put ze zich uit in excuses, ook omdat de voorstelling nu absoluut niet gestoord kan worden door plotseling vooraan binnen te vallen. We moeten wachten op een tussenverdieping die inderdaad iets weg heeft van een wachtkamer, maar met een curieuze populatie. Een man met een koffer begint zijn schoenen uit te trekken en als klapstuk verschijnt een ademstotende, gedrogeerd ogende schijnbokser, die zich lijkt aan te sluiten bij een groepje rond een tafel hangende Spanjaarden. Een aanslag, een lunatic, een performance-in-a- performance? We besluiten geen oogcontact te maken en alleen ons beperkte arsenaal aan mogelijkheden te overwegen. Wachten dus, terwijl het gestamp en gejoel boven ons aanhoudt en zich niets onderscheidt van wat wij voor de pauze hebben meegemaakt. Minuten worden een kwartier, een kwartier 20 minuten. Hoe zou het zijn met onze cocktails? Dan steekt eindelijk een mager applaus op, gevolgd door neerdalend publiek met oververhitte hoofden en beduusde conversatie. Naar buiten allemaal! In hun kielzog verschijnen eerst de artiesten die ook nog niet helemaal zeker van hun zaak lijken, en dan onze vriendin de floormanager met in haar handen…mijn telefoon! Hallelujah! Ze verontschuldigt zich nogmaals en wenst ons een fijn verder verblijf. De schat. We spoeden ons naar het cocktailterras dat dus net blijkt te sluiten, waarna we ons drankje doen in een naastgelegen volkomen lege kelderbar met een te schel afgestelde countryzangeres. Wel schitterende toiletten trouwens.

We wisselen het Fringe-avontuur af met een wandeling naar de top van de prachtige heuvel Arthur’s Seat, na een eerdere stroll over Calton hill. We zijn niet de enigen, maar wel uniek met een hond die boven languit de reïncarnatie van een nijlpaard nadoet, door in een plas te gaan liggen. “Kom Ayo”, roept Vivienne, die lachend bijna van de berg afwaait. Een schitterend uitzicht en dito foto’s en zoals altijd zijn we sneller beneden dan boven. Heerlijk ijs als beloning.

In het huis aan Regent’s Terrace genieten we van zeer uitgebreide ontbijtbuffets, in het weekend verzorgd door Rob met zijn full english breakfast, inclusief spek en worstjes. Ieder soort ei is op bestelling mogelijk. We proberen iets terug te doen met een spaghetti bolognese die een paar uur pruttelt en op een van de avonden gaan we nog eten in het zeer efficiënt opererende café Andaluz. Een geweldige keur aan tapas variadas, maar zo snel op tafel dat ik me een beetje overeet. Misschien een symbool voor een geweldige week die voelt als ruim twee, met een verrassende bandbreedte van verstilde kust tot pompende stad. Maar hoe dan ook. Schotland en Eddinbraa zijn een aanrader!

Dank lieve vrienden, voor weer een bezoek aan jullie basis en een college in eruit-halen-wat-erin-zit.

Met liefde,

Frank en Ria

Augustus 2026

(Frank’s text in English)

A FEW DAYS AT THE FRINGE FESTIVAL & BEYOND

"Come in August," said Vivienne, when we floated the idea of spending a few days in Edinburgh to see how the Kleinjans had once again successfully landed themselves in a city with character and a home bearing their unmistakable signature. So we booked a week: three days on the northern shore of the Firth of Forth and four days in buzzing Edinburgh across the water, pronounced Eddinbraa.

Kirkcaldy, our starting point, suffers from what is elegantly described as "post-industrial decline." Shuttered shopfronts, takeaway chicken, mysterious hybrids somewhere between a discount store and a charity shop, and on Sundays you could fire a cannon down the high street and not hit a soul.

Fortunately, there's a restaurant called La Gondola, a quasi-Italian disguised as a Scottish sports canteen, serving not only pizza but genuinely excellent pasta and halibut with capers and lemon. A grandfather was celebrating his birthday there with all his descendants, so we couldn't hear ourselves think, let alone understand anyone else, but the food was superb.

Scottish is a language that requires a fair amount of educated guessing anyway. Every sentence ends with the questioning tone of someone from South Limburg, and there are throat noises scattered throughout. But it sounds peaceful.

And what wonderfully kind people the Scots are! Stand outside looking vaguely lost for more than three seconds and someone will come charging over to ask whether you're looking for something. And if, after collective effort, your problem remains unsolved, they sigh apologetically and say, "I wasn't much of a help, was I?"

Everyone thanks the bus driver for the excellent drive when they get off. On day four, after a particularly wobbly journey, we arrived slightly queasy in Elie, a seaside village where tattooed locals and golf club members alike sit eating fish and chips at wooden picnic tables overlooking a slowly filling bay.

No beach loungers. No parasols. Just a bit of cheerful pottering around on the local mudflats.

The seagulls, meanwhile, are world-class troublemakers there as well. In our apartment they could occasionally become a little trying. Constant screaming about absolutely nothing, rather like Dutch celebrities Gordon and Joling.

The day after arriving we tackled part of the Fife Coastal Path, a route of over 180 kilometers running along Scotland's east coast, parallel to the estuary with stately Edinburgh watching from across the water. Kinghorn turned out to be an excellent lunch stop and radiated considerably more joie de vivre through its houses and shops. The weather was magnificent and the views even better. Wild plants swayed in the fresh sea breeze, the sort we'd happily dig up and install in our own garden, surrounding an old lookout tower.

Day three took us to Stirling, which felt like a cross between a fairy-tale theme park, the Middle Ages, and concentrated Scottish pride. Impressive architecture, a monster of a castle that was far too busy for its own good, a university, attractive shopping streets and bustling terraces. The only challenge was locating alcohol.

Thankfully we managed to find what may well be Scotland's most expensive Italian restaurant, whose saving grace was filling wine glasses dangerously close to the rim.

On the afternoon of day four we travelled back along the now-familiar bridge route to Edinburgh, where we'd landed on Sunday. Waiting for us at the top of the station escalators were the familiar sight of our charming friend and her perpetually cheerful dog.

The walk home offered a preview of what lay ahead: a city bursting with visitors and activity, and Vivienne revealing herself to possess some kind of secret turbo engine hidden in her legs. She appears to stroll serenely, yet you need to jog to keep up.

Thus began a glorious four-day immersion in Edinburgh's cultural crown jewel: the Fringe Festival.

Thousands upon thousands of performances packed into the month of August, all catalogued in a brochure roughly the thickness of a telephone directory. The sort of thing that renders indecisive people like me entirely incapable of making choices.

So, naturally and cowardly, we outsourced the responsibility to Viv and Rob.

Street performers, choirs, musicals (Flabba: Thank You for the Muesli – yes, really), stand-up comedy, tribute acts, The Stories Of..., you name it. Outside there were pop-up bars, enthusiastic flyer distributors, pickpockets and large numbers of Chinese tourists.

And Donald Trump.

Curiously, the Scots, especially if Rob's employer has anything to say about it, seem mostly to drink Birra Moretti and Cruzcampo. You actually have to make an effort to find local ales, except in the magnificent pubs scattered throughout the city. Long may they survive.

Personally, I eventually settled on Guinness: gentle, smooth and modest in alcoholic intent. Full pints force older gentlemen into too many bathroom visits, so the half-pint became my unit of choice.

Incidentally, working late on a Thursday can apparently be quite pleasant as well, as we discovered in Rob's spectacular office bar. On the wall hangs the patriarch himself, Freddy:

"I don't sell beer, I sell a feeling."

Which probably explains why I'm such a sensitive soul.

Three standout Fringe performances were musical in nature. One Angus Munroe, apparently capable of singing, playing saxophone and keyboards simultaneously while making it look effortless, delivered a phenomenal Billy Joel tribute in one show and transformed himself into a superb Paul Simon in another.

The latter performance made it abundantly clear who the creative driving force behind Simon & Garfunkel had been, a story told at breakneck speed. When Angus performed Bridge Over Troubled Water, he genuinely struck a nerve. I was certainly not the only person discreetly reaching for a tissue.

Music really is extraordinary. It remains one of life's miracles when melody and lyrics find each other perfectly.

Also worthy of mention was Get Up and Gospel, performed in one of the city's many churches that we only found in time thanks to yet another absurdly helpful taxi driver.

Led by an elastic-looking conductor, whom Vivienne declared with great certainty must be Nigerian, the choir, supported by a mighty contingent of male voices, sang their lungs out while swaying like coral in a stormy sea.

Compared with this, the previous day's choir looked a little pale.

Under the banner of Rock Choir, a group of enthusiastic sixty-somethings had spent the evening dutifully clapping and swaying while their glamorous conductor stole most of the attention. In my entirely unqualified opinion, there were simply too few basses and baritones, leaving the sound slightly thin.

Still, the atmosphere was delightful. Informal, welcoming, beer allowed in the hall, and thanks to Vivienne's powers of persuasion, once again from Row One.

That decision came back to haunt us at the most bewildering show of the week: American Idiot, loosely based on the Green Day album.

The promotional material describes it as an absolute must-see.

We know better now.

Picture a rambling building on the third floor. Somewhere between an old primary school and a child health clinic. We are seated in a tiny gymnasium, naturally in Row One, on chairs designed for people considerably smaller than ourselves.

It's oppressively hot.

On stage a group of teenagers pretend to be bored, sipping from empty beer bottles and smoking unlit cigarettes. Discontent hangs heavily in the air and we are determined to be made aware of it.

Videos are projected onto a screen showing the fascist ICE army and their deranged commander with the suspiciously orange complexion.

Within minutes an entire graduating high-school class with black-rimmed eyes is stomping around to backing tracks, hurling endless middle-finger gestures toward society, and continuing far longer than seems physically possible.

Not a word of the songs is intelligible. The choreography is chaotic and wildly overcooked.

And why does one of them look exactly like Roel van Velzen?

To my right, Rob is attempting to shrink into the smallest possible version of himself in case audience participation suddenly breaks out.

Between us, Vivienne collapses into a dangerously contagious fit of laughter.

On the front row, this is considerably more difficult to conceal than at the back.

To my left, Ria checks how much longer remains, unaware that this particular show is more than twice the average Fringe duration.

Without speaking or even looking at each other, because eye contact is fatal in these circumstances, we silently broadcast an urgent distress signal to the universe.

Then help arrives.

An interval.

We sprint outside.

Two street corners later we collapse gratefully onto a terrace.

Two cocktails, please.

All's well that ends well.

Or so we thought.

Before the first sip, disaster strikes.

My phone has vanished.

There are only three possibilities: lost en route, expertly pickpocketed, or still sitting on Row One, fourth chair from the right.

I must return.

Ria comes too because at least one functioning phone seems advisable.

At the venue we encounter a queer box-office assistant, who directs us to a queer runner, who then leads us to the floor manager.

We explain that somebody in our party became unwell in the heat and we had to flee abruptly. Might there perhaps still be a phone sitting on the front row?

True to Scottish form, her first concern is not the phone but the wellbeing of the unfortunate victim.

At this point the guilty blush becomes difficult to hide.

She apologises profusely and explains that barging into the performance is impossible.

We must wait.

The waiting area genuinely resembles a doctor's surgery, although with a much more unusual clientele. A man with a suitcase begins removing his shoes. Then appears a heavily breathing, seemingly medicated shadow-boxer, who joins a group of Spaniards loitering around a table.

A terrorist? A lunatic? An avant-garde performance embedded inside another performance?

We decide against eye contact and continue waiting while the stomping and shouting above us continues uninterrupted.

Minutes become fifteen minutes.

Fifteen minutes become twenty.

How are those cocktails getting on?

Finally, faint applause erupts.

A stream of overheated audience members descends the stairs.

Then the performers emerge, looking almost as confused as the spectators.

And finally, our floor manager appears holding...

...my phone.

Hallelujah.

She apologises once again and wishes us an enjoyable remainder of our stay.

What a sweetheart.

We hurry back to the cocktail terrace only to discover it has just closed.

Our consolation drinks therefore take place in a completely empty basement bar accompanied by a country singer whose microphone settings appear to have been selected by an enemy.

Magnificent toilets, though.

To balance the Fringe madness we hiked up Arthur's Seat after an earlier stroll over Calton Hill.

We weren't the only visitors, but we may have been the only party including a dog who, once at the summit, immediately recreated a hippopotamus by lying flat in a puddle.

"Come on, Ayo!" shouted Vivienne, laughing so hard she nearly blew off the mountain.

The views were spectacular, the photos equally so, and as always, the descent was much quicker than the climb.

Ice cream provided a fitting reward.

Back at Regent's Terrace we enjoyed lavish breakfasts, with Rob producing his full English masterpiece at weekends, complete with bacon and sausages. Eggs were available in any configuration known to humankind.

We attempted to reciprocate with a spaghetti Bolognese that simmered for several hours.

One evening we ate at Café Andaluz, an impressively efficient tapas restaurant. The food arrived so quickly that I accidentally consumed slightly more than was strictly necessary.

Perhaps a fitting symbol for a wonderful week that somehow felt like two.

From tranquil coastline to relentlessly energetic city life, the range of experiences was remarkable.

Whatever the reason, Scotland and ” Eddinbraa” come highly recommended.

Thank you, dear friends, for once again welcoming us into your home and for delivering a masterclass in making the most of life.

With love,

Frank & Ria

August 2026

Flying Ayo

Ayo was in our dining room where I opened the doors to the balcony and stairs, it was a warm evening. One moment Ayo saw a pigeon on the balcony and whoosh he run out of the dining room on to the balcony, but that is tiny and very open. He was smart enough to break with his feet spread out and stopped just before the edge of the balcony! What a scare!!

After Frank and Ria left, Anna, Hugo’s girlfriend came. First plan was that she needed to work from here, but then we learned she was free the whole week. Anna’s parents were also in town but stayed in a hotel. Barbara, Anna’s mum has knee problems and difficulties climbing the stairs. Plus, we only have one guestroom.

The Hedderich family went to many shows. Sometimes 4 or 5 shows on a day. They were having a great time. One evening Anna asked me if I wanted to join them for a Cabaret show. She sent a link, and I quickly read it and decided to join Anna, Barbara and Bernhard. Rob stayed home he had a lot of work to do. Let me tell me you about the most interesting show we’ve ever seen. A striptease show! The ladies weren’t attractive, the show was below average, however, one girl stood out, she didn’t get undressed, she had hula-hoops act, and that was the only highlight of the evening! A magician ended the evening with a lousy magic show. At the very end of it he tried to get a rabbit out of a shoe, all he got was a dildo, a pink one and he offered it to me as we were sitting front row. “no sorry I’m gonna keep it myself!”, he said! Hahahahaha, what a great joke. End of show!

We also went to the Royal Edinburgh Military Tattoo again this year. First time for Hugo and Anna. We could talk with the people who were participating in the show on the Esplanada in front of the castle. We made several photos with them. It was nice to talk to them. The Edinburgh military tattoo began in 1949 and took place in Princess Street Gardens. 1950 was the very first official military Tattoo and was held at the Edinburgh Castle. 1952 performers from other countries began taking part, including Cananda, France and the Netherlands. In 2010 Queen Elizabeth II granted the event the title Royal, therefore nowadays it’s called the Royal Edinburgh Military Tattoo.

A lone bagpiper traditionally performs high above the audience against the castle backdrop. This is one of the show’s most memorable moments. It symbolises courage, defiance, remembrance and honour.

Other performances we have seen and absolutely loved it where 'the night owls' shows, this year we can add to our list Simon and Garfunkel, Billy Joel, Queen story and David Bowie story. We took Anna, Hugo, Barbara and Berhard to the musical “Come From Away”. Hugo found it really depressing but the story is the opposite I would say. It’s about 9/11, the airspace was shut down because of the attacks at the world trade center. They had to land in Gander Newfoundland/Cananda. There, a small community helped all the stranded people and animals too for a whole week.

We had a lovely time with the children, happy they loved it too. They ‘re coming back next year for Fringe again!

Hugo and Anna’s story of their stay with us:

There we were, in the city of Edinburgh, or Edin-borough, or Edin-bru? We were in this incomprehensible city on a mission for the military tattoo. Wait, no, not that type of tattoo! (The parents would never approve…) This tattoo apparently, comes from Dutch marching bands that would go to inns near the garrison announcing, “Doe den tap toe”, or, in modern English, “close your taps”. This overtime morphed into tattoo. And the Edinburgh tattoo is one of a kind! We can’t wait to go again.

We were also there to see the Fringe, which coincides perfectly with the Tattoo. It did, however, cause some issues as Anna’s parents accidently booked tickets to see ‘Dave’s Tattoo’ at the Fringe instead of the Edinburgh Military Tattoo’. Despite this, we all had an excellent time. Millions of people saw the thousands of Fringe performances. Anna and family actively added to this as they raced from one end of town to the other, in order to see everything ranging from ‘Come From Away’, to 'Stupid Mistakes That Made History’.

We’d rate this a 10 out of 10 trip!

There was a family call from Robin on Sunday morning, August 23rd, with all of us at the same time. The sad reason for this call was that Armin’s sweet mum Edith passed away at the age of 59 after a battle of about a year with cancer. She was such a lovely person. I always had good contact with her. She will be so missed.

On the last Saturday of August we had Jackie and Graeme over. They live an hour and a half away from us. We had such a great time together. We lived at the same time in Lagos. We went out for lunch at Mowgli an Indian Street food restaurant.

Afterwards we drove up north to Elgin to Johnston Wool Mill. It was a 3,5 hours drive. When we arrived at our lovely hotel by 9pm, we could still eat a bit at their restaurant.

The next day we drove around the coast east of Inverness. We went to Lossiemouth, Buckie and Cullen. At 1:30pm we arrived at the wool mill of Johnston. We had a tour of an hour. It was very interesting to see how they’ve built this in the 19^th century. They produce a lot of stuff for the big designer houses like Dior, Hermès and Burberry. There was also a beautiful shop, but that’s only for looking not buying, those prices were insane! Nothing below the 250 pounds. After the tour we drove home again. It was a great experience and a lovely Father’s Day gift form the children. We've explored another part of Scotland again!

Santorini with the Koekies

On September 3^rd I drove Ayo to Dunfermline where Ayo stayed with Ali and Guy and 6 more dogs! He had a great time, running around with all these dogs.

The same day we flew to the Netherland where we slept at the airport, the next day we flew (very early) with Pieter and Tineke to Santorini in Greece for a week of sun.

We had a wonderful relaxing time in Kamari/ Santorini. The only thing that happened was that we never really checked our location. The day before we left, Rob checked how we could get to the hotel. He saw on google maps that by bus it was 1,5 hours, walking 30 minutes and by taxi 15 minutes. We were literally at the end/beginning of the runway. Oops little mistake. Planes were flying in very close above our heads. We couldn’t change this so we started to make a game of it. First how many seconds do we hear the planes…20 seconds. Next day, how many times per day are planes landing on Santorini…about 40. Rob counted. Then the next day, guessing which airline would fly above our heads. Afterall, it wasn’t too bad. Location, despite the planes, was great: we were near the beach, and this had a long boulevard with many restaurants, lovely shops, and vendors who really wanted you in their restuarants. We also went to see the capital Fira, Pyrgos, and Oia in the north. We had a wine tasting tour at a local vineyard nearby the hotel. Rob and I went twice to a spa, Tineke joined us the first time. Pieter worked the three first days, full days unfortunately. He had lunch with us and then went back to his room to finish his work.

We had a great time, next year again!

When we came back, I picked up Ayo on Saturday in the morning, played 9 holes with Rob in the afternoon. On Sunday, I played again golf with Rob, 11 holes, Monday golf with Heather for my handicap, 18 holes. Tuesday, a RNLI charity tournament, again 18 holes, Wednesday golf lesson. A lot of golf!! The result of my first tournament wasn’t that bad. I was fourth overall and second in my division. A week later I played a Greensomes game, the ladies of the captain’s team against the Vice Captain’s team of our club. Afterwards we had a lovely lunch, and we could socialize a bit.

Jivan's visit:

On September 17^th Jivan came over to see us, unfortunately he saw Rob only on Friday night, he was in London a few days. Saturday morning, he left for his family again. First day we walked and walked we did the whole Royal mile, Dean Village and Stockbridge. Thursday evening, we went out for dinner together at Mowgli’s. On Friday we decided to see the Britannia, the royal ship of Queen Elizabth II. It was a great ship, interesting to see how the Queen slept. It was a tiny single bed, the same for Prince Phillip, also a tiny single bed. I understand she could escape from a huge palace and have a more private time on this boat.

Friday night we ate at home with Rob and the next morning he had to leave again. We didn’t know we would see each other very soon again.

Pit Stop Edinburgh by Jivan Schuurmans

Having taken off from a wonderful peaceful Schiphol, I’m flying to Edinburgh with extra legroom. In the dark of the night- I’m on the evening flight- we make a left turn over the Firth of Forth. I can already see the runway. As I step off the plane, Scotland greets me with an unmistakable drizzle, just to make sure I don’t forget where I’ve landed. There’s always something special about stepping off a plane in a place you’ve never been before. And it’s not different here. That lovely combination of curiosity and wonder. Sometimes a little confusion too, but every now and then a sense of recognition…

Hang on this airport looks just like the old Rotterdam/The Hague airport 40 years ago. Anyway, where’s the exit?

After a late-night rendezvous with Vivienne at some nondescript bus stop, we’re finally reunited. As if no time has passed at all. A wonderful hug, and off we go to their house.

House? I’d say it’s a charming little annex to Buckingham palace, complete with a grand staircase. Nicely done, people!

And yes, it feels familiar again. A cosy, warm home, just like the ones I have experienced in Warsaw, Munich, Waterloo, Vienna and London. Time for a good catch-up over a glass of white wine. That special combination of 60 years of friendship and shared history, a wonderful present and an even better future.

But not too much white wine, because tomorrow we have a packed schedule ahead of us: exploring Edinburgh. I never realised how hilly it was! What a beautiful city, and how friendly the people are. Like a seasoned tour guide, Viev shows me every nook and cranny, including, of course, the Piece of Shit. Quite a nicely turned little point though! (W Hotel).

By the evening, after well over 20,000 steps, we round off the first day with some delicious Indian Street food- which, frankly, is a cut above what you’d normally expect from street food. Absolutely delicious, and the whole restaurant is an experience in itself.

We spend most of the second day visiting the Brittania, the Royal Yacht that is no longer in service. A lovely trip down memory lane, and naturally a glimpse into the world of the British Royal family. Although everything looks immaculate and beautifully maintained, I don’t exactly feel a surge of joy. Beautifully presented and very much in line, but certainly no wild party. Especially not with separate single cabins: hers on starboard and his on the port side. No sex please, we’re British…

On Friday evening, Rob joins us for a lovely evening together. He’s spent a few days ion London and gets back just in time for one last evening before I fly home the following morning. It’s lovely to reconnect as if we’d seen each other only yesterday. After a few delightful glasses of wine, I tumbled into bed, only to have to get up at 6:30am the next morning for an early start. After a wonderful cup of coffee and a farewell hug, I set off on foot through the already busy surprisingly streets of Edinburgh at seven in the morning. Then it’s the double decker bus to the airport, followed by a lovely flight home.

The words spoken at out farewell are still ringing in my ears: “See you soon!” Little did we know that we’d be seeing each other again less than three weeks later. Sadly, it woud be for Wojtek’s funeral.

Goodbye, dear Vief and Rob.

Until the next pit stop!

On September 23^rd our Noa turned 30 years, we hardly celebrate our birthdays really. It’s a petty but it’s the price you pay of all living far away from each other.

Also on September 23rd the tv series DEPT Q started filming at our next door neighbours. Rob had a lot of light in the middle of the night. On a crane were big lamps installed that shone into our house. At a certain moment a hundred people were in front of our house.

I missed it all, luckily Rob made some photos.

I flew to the Netherlands that day to see the ENT doctor and my hairdresser the next day. It almost failed, my flight was cancelled when I tried to go through the gate at the security. When I walked downstairs to the KLM check in desk, I already got a message that I was booked on a BA flight via London City airport. I had to wait three hours at City airport and there’s nothing there, but I was relieved that I could still fly that day to the Netherlands.

I couldn’t see my elementary school friends Monique and Jet that evening. We could reschedule it to Saturday and watched the F1 race together where Max finished 2^nd!!

Thursday, I had to see the ENT doctor and my hairdresser as well. In the evening, I had good quality time and dinner with my friend Geraldine in Roelofarendsveen.

Friday and Saturday were planned to go to Brussels to see Hugo and Anna. But Anna was still not fit so they cancelled it. Saturday was great seeing Jet and Mo, Jet has cancer, but we just learned that things are improving, all the metastases are shrinking, super good news! Saturday night I had a long phone call with my cousin Nikki in Italie.

The next morning, she sent me a text asking if I was already awake. I sent back, “yes I’m awake.” She read on FB, around midnight, that my nephew Wojtek passed away at the age of 38 years at a music festival in Bloemendaal aan Zee. Wojtek is my brother’s stepson. Wojtek needed a lot of care, 24/7, because he suffered a muscle disease, Duchenne Muscle Dystrophia. He was a bright man, studied, loved good food and enjoyed being a DJ. He went often to these trance music festivals. This time with a new lady who took care of him. The fact that he chose the beach, and his favourite music to leave this world must give my sister-in-law Ania and my brother Dirk-Jan a little bit of comfort.

The first photo of him was an hour before he died. He's having a great time and also enjoying the sunset at the beach. DJ Mark Sherry wrote some very sweet words on Instagram, my pilates teacher here in Edinburgh shared this with me. Incredible that she had this on her Instagram.

Ania and Dirk-Jan will miss him so much, their lives were totally built around him.