I accompanied him to give him moral support. We sat in a small, sterile room, cleaned to within an inch of its life, with a bunch of Dutch invalids silently sitting on chairs lined up against a wall. Half an hour after the appointed hour, a female doctor summoned meneer Davenport, and off Rex reluctantly walked. I was instantly transported back to Kortgene almost exactly two years earlier, when I watched Rex walk off reluctantly into the dentist's room of torture.
He emerged after 10 minutes with a relieved look on his face, and after his payment to the receptionist, we set off to the chemist with his prescription for Diazepam. On the way Rex explained that the doctor had felt all along his back and in a short time had identified the muscle that was the source of his pain. "It is like concrete," she told him. "When you get a spasm, or feel one coming on, you tense this muscle even more and it gets harder still. It is a vicious circle. We need to relax the muscle, so I will put you on a course of Diazepam, which is a pain-killer and also a muscle relaxant. It will make you drowsy, so take a tablet just before you go to bed. If the pain persists, you may take another in the morning."
Once we had a box of 20 tablets, we set off to enjoy a coffee, and while sipping this, we tried to decipher all the instructions on the box which were in Dutch of course. We could understand the text indicating, "Do not take grapefruit at the same time". However, there was another clause with the word "alcohol" mentioned. This was beyond our translational skills, and Rex was a tad concerned; would he have to stop taking on board his amber nectar? I trotted off back to the chemist leaving Rex to continue sipping his coffee and indulge in another dozen cigarettes.
The attractive chemist informed me, "Oh, you must be aware that alcohol will not affect the drug at all, but any alcohol that you do take will heavily seduce you."
I gave her a crooked smile, and softly said, "You mean sedate you," and she instantly realised what she had said and burst out laughing.
I related all this to Rex, stressing the words WILL heavily sedate you. He did not seem phased by this at all. Suitably refreshed, we decided to head to the wild city of Leeuwarden, and tarried for a while by the lock gates watching boats passing through until the train arrived. Just below us on a different level, I watched a young woman set up a tripod and camera, and then proceeded to perform a photoshoot of herself in a variety of glamorous poses, with the harbour entrance in the background.
 Art Workshop Sculpture |
One "gallery" we found was a collection of paintings in a ground floor room that had been completely gutted. I had to explain to Rex that one large painting featured poppies, cleverly created using a pallete knife. He was singularly unimpressed. Some of the oil pictures were of seascapes, abstract enough to allow the viewers mind to infill the details that they thought they interpreted. I quite liked these, they pushed my imagination. Rex could not see the point at all.
In another street we came across a gallery that was closed, but there were plenty of images of Leeuwarden and portraits in the windows. Also outside was a large portfolio. We were looking through this when the owner turned up and invited us inside. I took the chap up on his offer, and he explained how he took photographs, and digitally manipulated them to achieve the effects he was after. Some pictures he printed as large posters, of which several were framed. But he excitably showed me other pictures with much richer colours. These images were printed on Dibond boards. Dibond aluminium composite panels feature two thin sheets of aluminium enclosing a polyethylene core. They can be used in a huge range of applications, they are lightweight but strong and the extremely flat surface is great for printing high quality graphics or text. He had to rely on an external company to print these, the process taking approximately two days.
Another gallery featured purely mixed media portraits, one of which captivated me for some time trying to analyse the process the artist had adopted. I complemented the artist, which he seemed rather pleased about.
One more gallery we came across contained lots of photos of children superimposed on nautical themes. I chatted with a charming lady who explained that the gallery served as a venue for artists to display and sell their work, and also display their work online. In addition, some of the artists were encouraged to visit schools to share their knowledge with children.
After a coffee, Rex went off to visit the Fries Museum, while I trawled around for more galleries, many of course closed. It seemed that a lot opened just one or two days per week. I came across a contemporary art dealer, I was not impressed, and several more closed galleries with interesting portraits on display in their windows. I soon resorted to taking a seat and people watched.
I returned to the Fries Museum and met up simultaneously with Rex as he was just leaving. We shared a coffee in Wilhelminaplein and swapped stories. The distant rumble of thunder rolled in, the skies darkened and the wind got up. Forked lightening started to appear, and the chaps setting up the stage for the weekend Proms took refuge. Then the heavens opened, and sheets of water swept across the square. Everyone outside immediately took shelter indoors. We indulged in more drinks, Rex opting for Italian breakfast tea, while I sipped Arabian tea. The square outside was awash.
But it was short-lived, and we were soon on the train back to Harlingen and back on board Duonita. The towels we had left out to dry in the morning were soggy messes.
In the evening we repeated our habit of stopping off at De Lichtboei on our way into town. We learned from the landlord that it was cheaper to buy beer by the bottle rather than on tap. This news peeved Rex a little since he always ordered Heineken by the half litre. Soon a group of fellows arrived who proceeded to play three ball billiards. The goal is to pot the three object balls in as few shots as possible. Theoretically, any number of players can participate, in rotation, but more than five can become unwieldy. The game involves a somewhat more significant amount of luck than either nine-ball or eight-ball, because of the disproportionate value of potting balls on the break shot and increased difficulty of doing so. Having said that, the scoring was rather confusing at first, but with the landlord's help, we gradually got the hang of it. A tall, well-built chap was playing a short fellow, and the game seemed to create huge mirth between them. We watched bemused for a while.
We ate in the Eetcafe Nooitgedagt, a place we had visited twice before. Perhaps we had behaved in a childish manner on previous occasions - tonight we were banished to the children's corner. Part way through the meal, when Rex was on one of his smoke breaks, a young waitress walked up to me. She had remembered us from a previous occasion. This gave me the opportunity to ask about the tradition in this neck of the woods of serving stewed rhubarb with main courses. "It is an old Frisian tradition which has nearly died out," she explained. "My grandmother used to cook chicken with rhubarb."
For the first time on this trip we had a desert. We each chose a hollow chocolate ball with a scoop of ice-cream inside, mounted on a biscuit base, with cream and drops of apricot puree. The young waitress who served us placed the dishes onto the table, then poured a hot, runny custard onto the chocolate balls, which immediately collapsed and split open, revealing the ice-cream inside.
A couple with a 2 year-old toddler sat not far from us, and of course the toddler toddled over to our children's corner for a book or toy to take back to her parent's table. On one of her visits she picked up a model elephant. "That's an elephant," I said, "elephant". I kept repeating the word to her and she looked at me with wide innocent eyes and eventually tried to repeat what I was saying. She eventually got the hang of it, but I had no idea what the Dutch word for elephant was. She toddled back to mam and dad, and must have repeated the word to them; they were in fits of laughter.
A young chap brought the bill over; again Rex was on another smoke break - strange that, always when the bill arrives. "Where is your friend?", he asked.
"Oh, he is outside smoking," I answered.
"That is bad. Smoking is bad for you, it is dangerous," he warned.
"I know, but he won't take any notice of me," I replied. "You try having a word with him."
Rex appeared, and immediately the young man informed him that smoking was bad for him. Sadly, it was like water off a duck's back. Mind you, the lad had had his fair share of injuries. He went on to tell us, "I was once mountain biking in Germany, going down a steep hill, and on a bend, sand on the track caused my bike to leave the trail. I broke my leg badly. I also fell off a roundabout in a playground and I broke my wrist in several places. Then, once when I was in the school gym, I was carrying one of the large mats on my back, and a group of other boys jumped on the mat. That bent me double to such an extent that it broke my bottom three vertebrae. The surgeon told me that if it had bent by another 3 mm, my spinal cord would have been severed."
"Just call me lucky," muttered Rex.
The lad was in his final year at school, and he intended to study economics at university; he was clearly a bright fellow. On hearing that we were sailing a boat, he told us that his dad, Frank Havik, had learned to sail when he was 35, and had gone on to win the World Flying Dutchman Championship in Japan in 1992.
We returned back to Duonita, Rex totally shattered - hard work all that smoking. He took his Diazepam and prepared to sink into oblivion.