Transformed

My roommate can dance tango. The days are for biking and singing but by night we follow our noses and explore grachts and churches and cobblestoned streets. Not unlike a sheep I faithfully follow Theo as he navigates us through the old cities looking for interesting sights and sounds. Last night our wanderings found a Spiegeltent, which was part of a tango festival in town. To begin with I did my usual trick of running a mile but he slowly reeled me in and before long Vicki, Susie and I were sitting in a booth surrounded by tight skirts and intense looks, hot bodies and sultry moves, wondering where Theo had got to. The music danced the knife edge between frantic and controlled, accordion running and falling and up again, tripping over the bass and drums and then leaving them behind.


And then there he was. In the centre of the dancers, a woman in his arms. Holding her, leading her, guiding her confidently around the floor. A man amongst men.

Elly says the weather is unusual as it hasn’t rained the whole tour. The last couple of days we have been riding through sand dunes under bright blue skies, stopping to eat chips and swim in the North sea. By lunch yesterday we were in Haarlem and I went looking for second hand stores and antique shops. I have been finding lots of treasure and if it’s cheap enough and small enough and I’m feeling a little crazy I just buy it. It’s not often I’m in Holland.


Late afternoon we had a workshop in a Mennonite church, a big resonant space that could support both the rich, resonant basses and the soaring, angelic sopranos, along with a touch of echo. We give ourselves, our voices and our trust, to Rachel and she slowly, deliberately, gently weaves us together until we have been transformed into a giant willow sculpture, moving in the wind. A choir. And not just any choir but a community choir. We are the folk and this is the music we make, no union card required. And it is beautiful.