Klaas van der Horst, 10th May 1946 - 8th September 2020. I love you dad, rest in peace.

I haven’t updated my website, kept writing or recording podcasts, or videos (aside from Teaching Tangents, that has still been going strong, thanks to my friend and co-host James D’Souza.

I have been busy with teaching classes in a formal setting for the first time (with ISCOM, Higher Institute for Communications and Advertising), and more or less set other projects to the side for the past few months. I probably just needed some time, which I think is fair and fine. Grieving is a process, as is mourning.

As the title indicates, my father, Klaas van der Horst, died on the 8th September 2020 – just a few weeks after my aunt Arlette died. They were in different health conditions, but to make it short, both died of cancers that were diagnosed after the COVID-19 lockdowns in the spring of 2020.

Some family members and close friends couldn’t make it to the funeral, and 2020 being as strange as it is, I set up an international video conference of the funeral ceremony that took place on Monday 14th September 2020, and I recorded it too.

The audio and video quality are pretty dreadful, though if you’d like to watch the actual video, you can click here and make a request for it to be privately shared with you. My mother and our family wanted to share it for others who couldn’t be on the conference call and may want to see it, and simply to share the eulogies told during the ceremony, both in writing, audio, and video.

Klaas van der Horst’s funeral ceremony

This Dutch folk song played as people entered the room; Ik Hou van Holland (I love Holland):

His son, Willem (I acted as master of ceremony, the following words were spoken in French, translated in English here)

Hello, welcome, and thank you for joining us here today – in person, and this being 2020, also via video conference. We are gathered here to celebrate Klaas van der Horst’s life, with his wife Azucena; his children, Björn who is in Sri Lanka, Willem right here, Morgan, and Saskia. His grand-daughters Anahí, Mei; and his nephews in the Netherlands, Iwan and Mark Nilsen.

(the following was said in English) And welcome to all the English speakers attending via the video conference, and thank you for joining us in celebrating Klaas van der Horst’s life. Though we will conduct most of the ceremony in French, emotional language doesn’t need translation – and there will be a few bits in English too.

My father was a pragmatic man. He appreciated punctuality, accuracy, common sense, as well as humorous puns, and witty play on words.

I wasn’t with him in person, though I like to believe he would have appreciated that the time of his death, Tuesday 8th Septembre 2020 at about 3:40pm, coincided precisely with the moment his heart stopped beating.

74 years, 4 months, and 4 days earlier, the exact same heart, a little younger, started beating on the 10th May 1946 in Rotterdam, The Netherlands.

His was a full life, fully lived, all the way to the end.

We will paint a picture of Klaas through a few words, stories, songs, memories, and sensations.

My father was a man of few words.

Words were precious to him, so I think he used them sparingly.

He had a big heart and a huge presence. Qualities curiously combined with a grouchy, grumpy personality, sometimes even difficult to be around.

The technical term his friend Gene came up with describes it best, it’s being an Asshole – International Asshole, even (those words said in English during the speech).

As a point of proof, our childhood friends used to be terrified of him.

I remember the biggest party I’d organized at home as a teenager, I was sixteen. Over a hundred people in and around the house, in the far parisian suburbs where we grew up, in Neauphle-le-Château.

I had organized things so that my parents had given me the green light for the party, and were saying at a friends’ place for the night.

Except my father changed his mind about that, and showed up as the party was roaring, around 3 or 4 am, and loudly declared the party was over.

In short, thanks to his big and grouchy presence, all my friends fled in terror.

And then he told me I had to clean up.

He settled in a sofa, and watched while I cleaned and mopped the floor, pointing out any dirty spots still left, whatever wasn’t impeccable, till dawn.

Suffice to say I wasn’t thinking of his big heart at that particular moment.

I experienced it at plenty other moments though. He loved his wife and children, simply, and fully. He was happy with us and didn’t need much else.

I lost my biggest fan. He listened to every episode of my podcast, read all the articles, videos, and images I posted on my website or on social media.

He was a traveler, as am I. And he absolutely didn’t want to us to worry about him.

We chose one of his favorite John Denver songs for this last trip of his.

His nephews, Mark and Iwan Nilsen (patched in on the phone from Rotterdam, spoken in English during the ceremony)

Klaas,

You cannot say that your life was only doing the same each day.

Quit a person who was doing his own thing and following his own path.

I do not know exactly, but you went from Rotterdam, to Switzerland, to London, to New York, and from New York, to just outside Paris – Neauphle-le-Château.

And so when we were kids we would visit him in England, the United States of America, and France for example. 

For us this was very interesting, and as we grew up we remember the good conversations we could have with our uncle. He was never afraid to tell you the truth or how he thought about certain things. 

We had many laughs and good glasses of wine during these conversations that we will never forget, thank you for that.

The death of our uncle Klaas came very sudden and unexpected, we hope he has not suffered very much and we want to wish our aunt Azu, Björn, Willem, Morgan and Saskia and their children a lot of strength to get over the great loss together.

Now between me and you one last sentence in Dutch: Het ga je goed daar schele en ik hoop dat je je zus tegenkomt en jullie samen kunnen lachen.

His sister-in-law, Alba (spoken in French, translated in English here)

While looking for a word that might qualify best to describe who my brother-in-law was, for me at least, excess is the one I’d pick.

An excess of laughs, good times, and beer in our youth and my holidays in Rotterdam; excess in his tone of voice over the lively discussions we had; and excessive silence in these last few years, following painful losses. And in an ironic height of silence, your way of shutting up your suffering, probably as a way to protect those closest to you. I often heard you grumble Klaas, but never complain.

Another side of you I remember is your… How to say it? Adventurer? Nomad?

Rotterdam, Perpignan, Cambrils where you first met Azu and I, TOulouse, Rotterdam again – married this time around, Lausanne, London, New York, Neauphle-le-Château, Paris, Lausanne, and Perpignan.

From professional adventures to a beautiful family adventure, you built your life in both commitment and risk-taking, while always finding the wherewithal to bounce back in tough times.

You headed a beautiful family and you were able to share your enthusiasm, humor, and work ethics with your children.

These last few years, your grand children’s presence gave you solace as your health diminished.

Perhaps never letting on or showing any issue, and never asking for anything were rules you had set for yourself. I’ll never know.

Ne rien laisser paraître d une possible défaillance et ne jamais rien demander pourraient être des impératifs que tu t étais fixés… Je n en saurai jamais rien…

Klaas, thank you for passing on those family values.

Rest in peace.

Hi wife, Azucena (Azu) (spoken in French and English, all translated in English here)

I asked to speak after my sister, because without my sister, I would have never met Klaas. I was shy, timid, and in front of him I became audacious.

You invited us, the whole crew of young people we were, to get on a pedal boat. No one accepted, but me. You and your friend Kun spoke a language I didn’t understand, but I was never afraid of going with you. Straight away, I was clear that I already knew you.

You showed me everything from your childhood. Rotterdam, the warehouse where the bananas were ripening. And then one day you decided to change jobs. And throughout your career, the different jobs you had revolved around the market: the produce market in Rotterdam, the money market in Wall Street, and the farmer’s market where you sold your olive oils in Morges. The only differences were the number of zeros in the figures.

You ripened 50 to 60 tons of bananas, I forgot for how long. I learned with your mother, your sister, not so much with your father’s family, we didn’t really know them, aside from an aunt, Annie.

And then we had this whole time in Paris, during which you followed me at Landmark, and then you did what I never expected you to, you committed in participating with the Hunger Project, and you created it in France, with Brigitte among others, and I will read what Brigitte wrote on Facebook.

“Klaas, you will always be in my heart. With your great soul, so full of love and generosity towards everyone, with your humor, and your commitment.

Thank you for all those good times together, those exploits where we created infinite possibilities.”

I saw you in those days, leaving in your suit, that team along with you, crisscross the streets of Paris, asking people to sign a piece of paper, a card. There was nothing to give, other than a commitment. Commitment was a leitmotiv for the both of us.

The commitment was to say that chronic hunger would have disappeared from this planet before the year 2000. You’re Dutch, and projects should be successfully led to the end.

I need to keep dreaming of it, while you did not accept that in the year 2000, what you found out was that even more people than ever were going hungry. We tried explaining that it was juste that there was a lot we didn’t know and understand previously. You threw the baby out with the bathwater. Later on, you’d always tell me: “But that was a long time ago.”

And now what I’d like to celebrate is your generosity, the fact that you enjoyed a good party. We threw parties all the time.

(Spoken en English during the ceremony) I don’t know if you guys are looking, but you guys in Wall Street, you’re the ones who had the funnest times together. I don’t think I have anything else to say, I don’t know who is on the line, and from those days. 

And I want to acknowledge our son Björn, who is far away in Sri Lanka.

We continue having paperwork, paper problems, and even here in Perpignan, we have been continuing, I am continuing. 

There’s not so much else to say.

I love you. Ik hou van je. Je t’aime. 

Merci.

—

George Carlin on death (segue, I said this – Willem)

My father liked to laugh, and George Carlin was one of his favorite stand-up comedians. He had a few good words about death, and what is said of people who just died. (3 min audio from the following video)

His sister-in-law, Violette (spoken in French, translated in English here)

We always needed to specify your Dutch origins whenever mentioning you, or your first name, Klaas.

I’m 5 years old when you show up in Toulouse to marry my sister. You gave me and Hélios a book about New York, among other gifts. Later on you invited me to Wall Street, and then in London’s City.

I’m 10 years old, you gave me my first flight, from Geneva to Toulouse. I loved the place ride. It’s decided, I’ll make it my career.

I’m 15 years old, on the way to London in your big American car, the black Cadillac, you stop and take photos of all the cows we happen to come by. I learned much later that there are no 2 identical cows.

Faithful to your origins, close to painting, an art you will practice throughout your life.

You begin learning to play the piano later on in life. In this, once again, you hold on and succeed. Music is always with you: Frank Sinatra, Leonard Cohen, Joan Baez.

Tu commences l’apprentissage du piano à un âge avancé. Là, encore, tu t’accroches et réussis. La musique toujours t’accompagne : Franck Sinatra, Léonard Cohen, Joan Bez.

Thank you, Klaas. Good-bye, Klaas. For your last trip, on to new shores.

Rest in peace. Totzins. Daar Klaas 

Hi son, Morgan (spoken in French, translated in English here)

Dad, we did so many kilometres together. You gave me so much love.

We did so many kilometres together, laughing, and crying.

We did so many kilometres together, til only just a few weeks ago, to go and contemplate the sea one last time.

We did so many kilometres together, to get where we are now.

You always lived this way, as if there were plenty of kilometres left to travel.

And then the end of the road appears, unexpectedly, like when arriving at the entrance of the desert.

I just want to say one thing right now: I’m proud to be your son, dad. For ever.

And now we come to a fork in our roads and we go separate ways, I want to remind us of a quote you loved: “Life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you’re going to get.”

Salut.

Hi daughter, Saskia (message written by our dear family friend, Françoise, and read by Saskia, translated in English)

To Klaas, Azu, and our children,

It is still a time for tears, though also a time for memories that come along, and with it, smiles, and happiness.

Klaas, 

I knew you were nearing the end of your life, but your death shook me greatly, and saddened me profoundly.

Over 30 years of friendship can’t really be summed up in a mere few memories, but evoking them make me smile for the first time in two days.

You’re there again, and your absence that I now know is definitive doesn’t weigh on me as much.

Klaas, I’ve loved going past your damn character and you rebuffs to keep talking with you when you didn’t want to talk to anyone.

I loved forcing your door open to share your grumpy silence.

Klaas, I loved walking through your door when it was wide open to sharing.

We have celebrated so much together!

I loved sharing our introspective conversations about our own self knowledge and the infinite opening of possibilities in our lives. And we created so many!

Klaas, I loved sharing your joy of cooking, and Ioved enjoying the small dishes you silently prepared with for us all, or specially for me.

I loved being at your table in the numerous houses you lived in.

In over 30 years of respective house moves, and moving further away from one another, our two families stayed in contact, linked with threads of friendships weaved by each one of our family members.

To encourage you to settle in Perpignan was a great joy for me.

I loved having the possibility of seeing you every year.

The last time we met, in February, we didn’t know anything of the illness that would take you away. We talked about healing, I urged you to take care of your health to get past the post-stroke period, a time I knew from experience can be tough.

And for the nth time, you gave me my favorite recipe: the chicken saté skewers with peanut sauce you made for me so often.

I succeeded in making them, they were delicious!

I’ll keep feasting in your memory!

Klaas, I will love regularly opening this memory door to you.

Thank you for all this and so much more…

Farewell, my friend.

Loving and tender thoughts for every one of you.

I will be with you in thoughts from Portugal.

~ Françoise Haubert Machado

His son Björn (patched in on the phone from Sri Lanka, the text was read in English)

Merci Papa,

You gave me life.

You opened a world of possibilities…

A vast, borderless and beautiful world…

Thank You

From the extensive global travelling to the always present copies of National Geographic and The New Yorker that piled high around the house you opened this world to me, and nothing was impossible. 

Thank You

You took me on the Concorde.

Thank You

You took me to the Bahamas, we snorkelled and I ate the most delicious BBQed Barracuda with a wedge fresh lime…I can still taste it.

Thank You

You played the piano with me to keep me motivated.

Thank you

Through watching you Papa, I learned how to throw a party and how important close friends are.

I learned how to play music really loudly.

I learned how to laugh and tell a story and a joke and a little lie…

I learned how to be at a restaurant table…Beautiful Benihana comes to mind…

Thank You 

I learned how to not drag my feet. Klaas did not like the sound of scuffling feet. There was a very public scolding in the streets of Manhattan that cured me of dragging my feet.

Thank you

Your generosity had no limits at times excessively so…almost to a point of ridiculousness…I too have that flawed gift…

Thank You

You introduced me to the finest things – foods – clothes – 1st class travel – shipping ridiculously large American cars to Toulouse…all very show offy of course…but hey! Who cares? It was the 70’s and 80’s…

Thank You

But more than all of those things…

You taught me that the most important things are not things…

You taught me to be a man…a big one…

You taught me to be a father…a just one…

You taught me to love unconditionally…

For everything and for who I am today…

Thank You Papa…

The stars will be happier now that you are dancing amongst them.

They Thank You.

That’s Life – Frank Sinatra

We closed the ceremony over Frank Sinatra, setting colourful flowers on his casket before it was taken away to be incinerated.

We plan to spread his ashes in Holland, hopefully some time in 2021, whenever the COVID-19 pandemic will allow the necessary travel plans to be together.

Spanish Civil War, smoke bombs and Spaghetti Westerns: Papi Antonio’s stories [Ice Cream Sundae]

This newsletter was originally published via email on the 13th March 2016. You can also sign up to receive Ice Cream Sundae with the form on the right-hand side column or here (The newsletter format shifted from long to shorter form since).

My name was meant to be double barrelled: Willem-Anthony.

I was named after both my grandfathers. You can probably guess Willem was my Dutch grandfather on my father’s side. Unfortunately I never knew him, he passed away before my birth. My middle name is Anthony — for some reason it was changed from my grandfather’s name Antonio. My mom told me it was also meant to be the second part of a double-barrelled name: Willem-Anthony. In my opinion that idea was sensibly corrected by whoever was working at the birth registry office that day and Anthony became my middle name.

Antonio Fernandez is my Spanish grandfather. His wife Carmen passed away before my birth. He’s still very much around though and if I’m not mistaken he’ll be celebrating his 95th birthday later this year. Today is not linked to any dates in particular; I just thought I’d write about him and my Spanish ancestry.

He was born in Almería, a city in Andalucia situated in the Southeast of Spain on the Mediterranean Sea. I visited once; thinking it would be a nice idea to explore the area. It’s a port town with regular ferry and cargo connections with Northern African countries. The surrounding area boasts many greenhouses and fields growing fruit for export. Nearby is the driest area of Europe and the continents only true desert climate: El Desierto de Tabernas.

If you’ve seen Spaghetti Westerns, you’ll be familiar with the Tabernas Desert near Almería in Spain.

If you’ve watched any Sergio Leone’s Spaghetti Western movies, you’re pretty familiar with what the area looks like. Starting in the 1950s several film studios set up in the Tabernas Desert. I visited Mini Hollywood, whereFor a Few Dollars More was shot in 1965 and The Good, the Bad and the Uglyin 1966. They turned it into a tourist attraction though it is still occasionally used for commercial filming. There is a daily cowboy stunt show that was fun. It’s definitely worth checking out if you’re in the area.

I also recommend going to the southeastern peninsula of Spain in the Cabo de Gata-Níjar Natural Park, beautiful walks to go on in Spring or Autumn on the ancient volcanic rock cliffs and cactus pear (Barbary fig) fields. I was there in April several years ago. It was still too cold to swim in the sea but the right weather to go hiking. It would probably be really hot to walk around in the summer. Take the opportunity as I did to visit another famous film set: Playa de Mónsul, a beautiful beach where a scene from Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade was filmed. San Jose is a great base for a couple of days to explore the Natural Park. It used to be a little known secret, though I think more people have been visiting in the past few years.

I also recommend a fantastic book that begins in Almería: Andalus: Unlocking the Secrets of Moorish Spain, by Jason Webster. A brilliant read about searching for what’s left of the thousand years of Moorish occupation during the Middle Ages in modern Spain.

My grandfather wanted to fight Franco’s army in the Spanish Civil War. He was only fifteen years old.

All that said, my grandfather was only born in Andalucía. He grew up in the geographic centre of Catalonia, in Manresa. He was only fifteen when theSpanish Civil War started. He wanted to go fight Franco’s Army with the Republicans, along with his brothers, but his family didn’t let him. At least this is the story he told me. By the end of the Civil War, Franco had won and Antonio was old enough to be drafted in his army. He was sent to Spanish Morocco for training. His main goal was to rebel and he still had thoughts of joining the small band of resistance fighters, mostly operating from the Pyrenees Mountains in the Basque country and Catalonia.

Shortly after arriving in Morocco he deserted with a small group of like-minded friends. They managed to cross the border into French Morocco and hid there while looking for a boat to take them across the Mediterranean Sea. This was the middle of World War II, not many ships available or captains too keen to cross German infested waters. I recently learned from my aunt this was also the time he started playing chess. He was broke, in hiding and waiting. He played chess ever day for over two years. I also imagine him drinking a lot of mint tea though I have no evidence for that.

If I understood the last part of the story he told me correctly, they didn’t secure transport until after Operation Dragoon had taken place in August 1944, the Allied invasion of southern France. The German armies withdrew after the invasion and southern France ports slowly started operating again. Antonio arrived in Marseille; presumably late 1944 or early 1945 though don’t quote me on dates. He’d heard the Republican Spanish government in exile was based in Toulouse, so he made his way over there. I’m writing his story from memory when he told me about a few years ago and I hadn’t grilled him on dates to get a firm chronology.

He met my grandmother and stayed in Toulouse. As far as I know he never fulfilled his ambitions to join the Spanish Maquis in their guerrilla war againstFranco’s regime. He started a masonry and construction business instead, and kept playing chess. He still plays most days at the Centró Español in Toulouse. He taught me how to play when I was a child but I’ve never pursued this as an interest and I haven’t played in years. He travels a lot; he went on two Transatlantic cruises last year. He’s just gone on another trip to Spain this week.

My grandfather is a bit of a hoarder. When I visited as a kid I was both fascinated and weirded out by the stuff in his apartment.

Antonio still lives in the same apartment my mom and her siblings grew up in, a council estate called Les Mazades. He’s a bit of a hoarder. When I visited as a kid growing up I was fascinated and weirded out by his apartment in about equal parts. It was like exploring stacks of treasure and artefacts from the past, but it was also musty, old and dusty. After close inspection most of the stuff to explore wasn’t all that exciting.

He kept huge stacks of stuff on a large wooden unit in the living room and on the main dining table. I’d take a peek, a lot of were 10–15 year old promotional supermarket or retail offers. Completely out of date. He’d tell me not to touch his stuff. He was never a particularly warm character. Talking about post World War II geopolitics is his favourite topic. I didn’t understand much about what he said until I studied it in high school. Before that we’d play chess, or I’d explore stuff in his apartment while my parents talked with him.

For Christmas he’d occasionally pull something out of a stack of hoarded stuff and hand it to me. More often than not it turned out to be a branded promotional watch he’s been given. I wasn’t convinced when he’d say he was keeping it for me but I’d play along and thank him. To this day he still pretends he doesn’t know who I am whenever I talk to him or visit. He also says it’s a mistake when I call him papi, given he’s way too young to be anyone’s grandfather.

I was usually a pretty nice and well-behaved kid, except for that one time. Well, maybe not the only time but this one had to do with my grandfather. I was about ten or eleven years old when he turned 70. At that point I read several kids magazines that featured gadgets and pranks of various kinds. For a short while I was fascinated with stuff from joke shops.

I used my pocket money in a joke shop to buy coloured smoke bombs that seemed pretty wicked.

We went to Toulouse for his birthday celebrations. A few days before that I used some of my pocket money in a joke shop to buy a few things, including coloured smoke bombs that seemed pretty wicked. I was with my cousin Manuel, he’s about my age and we spent a lot of time together on holidays when we were kids. In front of the Mazades’ main block of flats was a sandy and ugly play area with the strangest kids play area.

The implements looked like a kids playground from afar, but close-up you’d realise it was actually all made of concrete. We’d still go and hang out there, rasp our bums and ruin our clothes on the big concrete slide. I tested one of the smoke bombs, a yellow one, and it turned out to be pretty effective. That’s where I came up with the idea I candidly believed would surprise and delight my family around the dining table.

A couple of hours later, the large table was set for everyone. I’m not sure how many we were, I’d guess at least 12 or 15 people sitting down for the kind of all afternoon lunch we tend to have in Spanish families. In the middle of Antonio’s birthday meal, as everyone was eating Paella, I discreetly lit a purple smoke bomb and threw it under the table.

Thick purple smoke quickly rose from under the table. Let’s just say I was a slightly off the mark with my “surprise and delight” intended effect. My mischievous smile was wiped clean off my face as I realised the grown ups didn’t think this was fun at all.

My mom and aunts completely freaked out. They were terrified and thought the living room was on fire. I only realised later it was probably a healthy reaction to sudden large amounts of smoke rising from the dining table. I guess I’d have a similar reaction nowadays. Not to mention the smell wasn’t that great either. I can’t remember details of how the rest played out, but someone — maybe me, pointed out it was just supposed to be a joke, people calmed down and the smoke bomb was thrown out on the balcony. Grown ups argued whether this was funny or not, with the latter opinion winning that debate. Windows were opened to air the room. I was justifiably told off. That marked the end of my interest in stink bombs and other prank shop favourites.

On the plus side, I learned to consider what other people might think of something and how they’d appreciate it before doing it. Funny enough being to learn about people and putting myself in their shoes to consider what they’d appreciate is an important part of my job as a strategist.

As I remember it my grandfather stayed pretty calm throughout, the smoke didn’t particularly seem to disturb him. He can easily grumble and get angry, on the other hand I don’t think I’ve ever seen him show surprise. I haven’t seen him in a few years, it would be nice to go visit this year. He’s not going to be around forever and I’m pretty sure he still has many stories I don’t know about.

Do you have a close family member whose stories you haven’t heard? You might want to ask them while they’re still around.

I hope you enjoyed reading this. This is the first time I’m sending a Sundae late; I thought I’d acknowledge it. You can blame procrastination for that.

This week on the podcast, I’ve published an interesting conversation I had with Tanya DePass who created a community and movement to promote diversity in the art of gaming.

On the work front, I should be completing my current freelance work this month and I’m starting to look for new freelance project(s) in London starting next month. If you hear of anyone in need of marketing strategy and advice, please give me a shout.

Enjoy the rest of your weekend!

Best,
Willem

A Few Things I Learned From My Sister on Her Vineyard

In the past year I’ve had the chance to spend more time with my sister Saskia on her vineyard, Les Arabesques. She owns a small estate in the Roussillon region of the South of France. It’s about 30km west of Perpignan, between The Corbières and the Pyrénées mountains. She is committed to growing grapes and making wine in a traditional and natural fashion. It’s still very new, this year was her third harvest. I’ve had the chance to learn more about winemaking talking with her, and occasionally helping throughout the season – so I also got some practical experience of the process.

The first thing that keeps blowing my mind is the timeline she works to. All she does is dictated by nature and seasons. Every choice she makes has an influence over her potential livelihood for the following 12 to 18 months or so. She creates the best context and environment possible, maybe give things a nudge in the right direction, and lets nature do its work.

I know it’s always been that way, but I’ve never been particularly close to nature. I’ve been used to working in large cities and advertising agency offices where the briefs are due yesterday. Everything needs to happen faster and faster. Everyone is busy and power-walking around. As soon as I arrive in a city, I walk faster from the moment I get off the plane or train. I spend time with brand clients trying to understand and explain the evolution of consumer or purchase behaviours. Peering over new and popular technologies, networks or apps that may well be obsolete or irrelevant tomorrow. Obsolescence is a recurring theme, businesses even bake it in their products, or if not release new goodies on shorter and shorter cycles to always create news and needs.

My sister works with the seasons. The project cycle is a year or more and necessarily adaptive. While the general seasonal pattern is the same every year, and the tasks roughly take place in the same order, there are still a lot of variations depending on the weather. She has a direction in mind for her wines, though has to adapt to what nature throws at her.

Winter is pruning time. While the vines are sleeping it’s time for her to go through all her plots and snip off the unwanted branches. I spent a day with her last winter where I was “pre-pruning”. Basically just cutting off the major branches without going into the detail, which are important choices she makes herself. She told me pruning is the job where the most knowledge and experience is required. There are several techniques she learned while being trained in Burgundy and Provence. As I understood it, she visualises the path the sap will most probably take from the roots to the branches. This guides where she prunes to encourage the growth of branches that will bear the most and/or best fruits for the harvest. It is quite similar to pruning a bonsai actually. Now she is getting to know her vines better in the third year, she also has a better idea of the way they behaved in the last harvest, pruning also based on her experience. Most of that work is done by herself with her dog, in cold, windy yet often sunny weather. She says there’s something meditative about caring for her vines during that time of year that she really enjoys.

In parallel, winter is also time for several professional exhibits and shows. It takes a lot of time to make the wine, and it takes time to sell it too. This year she was invited to participate in what is often considered the best professional show for organic and natural winemakers, Renaissance des Appellations (Return to Terroir). The yearly event gathers many of the best natural winemakers, sommeliers, and wine importers from around the world.

And if that wasn’t enough work already, the wine from her previous harvest is slowly getting ready. She has to watch out for any sudden shifts in temperature that might upset the wine in the cellar, check and taste it on a regular basis. Christmas is luckily a quieter time where she can generally take a few days off, away from her cellar.

Spring time is mostly about fertilising and treating the vines, caring for them so that they’ll be able to be healthy, and resist trouble from fungi, diseases, or insects. That means going out before dawn to sprinkle the vines, as well as removing rocks and weeds from the plots. I tried removing weeds. It’s hard work. Stooped over with a small pickaxe hacking at the rocky terrain. It was another opportunity for her to make fun of my city like habits and general uselessness when it comes to most manual labour. It’s also bottling and labelling time for the wines from the previous harvest that are ready to be sold and drank. That’s where I’m more comfortable, particularly the drinking part of it.

The spring time work carries over into the summer, and then there’s a quieter time before harvest when many of the local winemakers can take a holiday, around late July or so. The rest is about selling wine, watching out for the weather, checking the progress of the growing fruits, watching out for any trouble that might take place, and generally gearing up for the harvest. I helped on the harvest for the first time this year. It’s tough work for the back, but it’s also a good time. It’s fun to be outside in the beautiful countryside, bantering with other grape pickers under the watchful eye of my sister’s partner. He plays the role of mock tough supervisor, to the tone of “I don’t want to see a single leaf in those baskets! We’re not brewing tea here, monsieur!”

Everything at that moment is crucial, from the grapes picked or set aside, to the choices made in the cellar. Are these grapes ready to be harvested yet? How much sugar content do they have now and how does that compare with the alcohol level I’m aiming for? How many days should these grapes ferment before being pressed? With or without the stems? These are only a few of the questions she has on her mind at that time of year. There might be more bottling beforehand too, for the wine from the previous year that wasn’t ready for consumption yet, and to make space in the cellar for the new wine.

I learned that grapes for rosé and white wine are pressed immediately after being harvested. Grapes for red wines can be pressed later, the when and how depends on the kind of wine being made. I tried the age old tradition of stomping on grapes, which is both harder work than it seems and pretty satisfying. It’s not just folklore, it serves an important purpose. Given the grapes have just been picked, the berries are still firm. The press works from the top down and is flat. Stomping the berries helps more grape juice to be extracted. If they aren’t stomped then a lot of berries can be stuck at the bottom without being pressed, and you can lose a lot of juice.

As soon as the excitement of the harvest is passed, it’s already autumn and time to keep in contact with her clients, as well as find new ones. Most wine cellars and restaurants start ordering and stocking up for the end of year holiday season. Meanwhile she also has to watch out for this year’s wine fermentation progress. Update Facebook with new photos from the harvest. Watch out for any press or worthwhile professional show opportunities. Then of course there’s the joys of year-end admin and finance.

And the cycle starts again.

As a strategist an important part of my job in advertising is to synthesise everything I learn from research for a particular brand in order to provide a direction for the creative team. While I might have the chance to do some research with people and try a product or service before a write a brief, I rarely have that much time to really experience it in the way I have with the vineyard in the past year, and even then I’ve probably only skimmed the surface. That said, I certainly have a new appreciation for working with nature that I hope I’ll be able to take into account for future work.

What I’d write in a brief is traditionally called a single-minded communication, or proposition. Most of the time it’s one sentence, as short and inspiring as possible. It encapsulates the main message to be communicated.

In this case It might be a shame to try and summarise something as complex as this process to a single short sentence. It would be near impossible to do it justice. Traditionally made wine like my sister’s should really be tasted (I recommend getting advice from a professional in a wine cellar or restaurant to try a good one). Each one is unique. You won’t necessarily like every one you try, but you’ll find one that you enjoy. If you get into it you might even have a hard time going back to mass produced wines.

Fortunately I don’t have to write a short sentence here. If you’ve read this far you may well be the kind of person that will  remember and appreciate the amount of work that goes into these wines when you taste one.

Le Coq à l'Ane is Open!

My brother Morgan opened his first restaurant & wine bar on Saturday 1st August, which I was – and still am – very excited about! It is called Le Coq à l’Ane, a playful name based on a French saying which translates best in English as a non sequitur, going from thing to another completely unrelated or illogically. Literally the saying translates as “going from rooster (or cock) to donkey” and the restaurant name can literally translate as “the donkeyed rooster (or cock)”.

My brother told me the saying was used as early as the 14th century in France, and “l’âne” then was spelled “l’asne” and designated a female duck rather than a donkey. The saying originally referred to farm cocks that would have sex with ducks.

As for the restaurant, Morgan liked the sound of it, and he feels it reflects what guests will be experiencing when they visit, depending on what produce are available at the market and his inspiration or mood, one day he might be cooking something very elaborate and gastronomic, and the next day a simple like you’re at home Catalan sausage and mash, or an Indian curry another day. Main dishes can change suddenly with no rhyme or reason, yet you can be sure it will all be delicious and very affordable.

The restaurant is in the small village of Latour-de-France, by a lovely river. The village has a reputation amongst all-natural wine aficionados; while small the village boasts twelve different independent organic and/or all natural winemakers. The restaurant is also a wine cellar, so you can try different local wines and craft beers, or select a bottle and enjoy it at home or by the river with friends. For now he mostly has wines from the village, and he intends to get wines from other regions of France soon enough.

Morgan cooked delicious slow-roasted pork ribs and mashed potatoes for opening night dinner

The opening night was a success and different generations of villagers came by to have drinks and plates of artisan cheese and charcuterie, the atmosphere was great and it was a pleasure to be there. We finished late at night with Morgan’s ex-colleagues from the previous place he worked at, La Coopérative Riberach, a Michelin-starred restaurant nearby.

 

If you’re in the South of France near Perpignan or know of anyone visiting, please come by or tell them about the restaurant! In the meantime, they are regularly updating the Facebook Page with photos and information, check it out! 

My sister's vineyard: Les Arabesques

My sister Saskia is creating her own vineyard, launching her own wine domain. I went to visit my family in the South of France a couple of months ago and got to visit her new vine plots as well as help her a little bit. It is a very exciting project, I'm obviously proud of my sister for starting up her own business and I'm also looking forward to trying out her wines!

Her vineyard is in the Southwest of France region of Roussillon, at the foothills of the Pyrénées, by the Mediterranean Sea and the Spanish border, the closest large town is Perpignan. It is beautiful region producing some great wines.

Her project has been accepted and endorsed by both her bank for a business loan, and the French Chamber of Agriculture, where she managed to received the highest levels of government grants given to young people setting up on the strength of her business plan, which is also very exciting.

She is on the last final rounds in terms of her financing in order to make sure the project can fully take off and she has sufficient cash flow for her upcoming harvest, and also to raise some awareness and interest in her wines she has a crowdfunding project going on at the moment.

She needs help for the final stretch, please have a look at the project and video - if you are inspired and interested, please participate in the project. That could be by participating financially of course, and also by spreading the news and sending the link to any wine lovers you know, via your social networks.

Link here, please have a look and share the news!

http://www.mymajorcompany.com/projects/les-arabesques#home

Meet my little niece, Anahì

 After The Maldives and the unexpected return trip to France for Keanu's funeral, I was unfortunately pretty broke so I asked my brother Morgan if I could come and stay at his place the time for me to get back to work, back on my feet financially and I also wanted to spend more time with the family and see my baby niece again. Morgan, his partner Virginie and their daughter Anahì live in Vientiane, Laos, where I also spent time last year, so I hopped on a flight to Sri Lanka from Male, stayed a night (sadly, I really want to experience it properly but I'll leave it for another time), flew to Bangkok in the morning and then straight on to the overnight train to Laos - where it was great to meet and hang out with random fellow travelers over drinks in the bar car. Back in backpacker land!

It was really great to hang out with my little niece who changed so much over the past year, she's 2 1/2 years old and lots of talking going on now. She's also in her 'Terrible Two' phase, saying no a lot and I turned out to be the aim of a lot of it. She would take quite a few opportunities to remind me of the things that I wasn't allowed to do according to her: "Willem, you no! You can't go to the nursery school!" or "Willem you can't go to the restaurant with us, no!" All the while waggling her finger at me and looking all serious. I'd just smile and tell her that's ok, I'm working on my computer and wasn't thinking of going to the nursery school anyways.

There were a couple of things in particular that I thought were amazing. One, I had her play with my iPod Touch and she loved taking videos - actually what she really really loved was watching herself afterwards. Over and over again, of course. It might partly given she's at the phase developing self-awareness - She knows she's her and she's Anahì but still talking about herself at the 3rd person; there is no "I" just yet. It might also be partly because she's a girl and enjoys looking at herself (Did I just say that? Must've been someone else) which she'd maybe take after my sister Saskia who looooves her own reflection. Anyways it's really fascinating to see a kid at that particular stage of development - I don't have children as you may know so it's not something I experience very often.



The second point was with of all this digital technology and in particular photos everywhere, how does it have an influence on the development of memory for children (and everyone else, actually)? So for example, I'd be working on my laptop and Anahì comes to me:

"You working..?"
"Yes" *smiling*
"Writing email?"
"Well, yeah I guess that's what it can be summed up to..."
"Photos..?" *cutey begging voice*

So I'd stop working for a bit and we'd go through photos on my laptop, Facebook mostly. I don't know about you, but I don't remember a single thing from when I was her age. I certainly couldn't name and identify on photos pretty much every single member of close family, extended family and close family friends like she could, every time, without fail. Even people she'd only met once. I think it's incredible. At her age, I also didn't have near as many photos all over the place to look at, so I'm wondering if all our digital content is having a particular impact on memories, perhaps re-enforcing them given we have so many more mementos of past moments than we had before. Or is it the opposite and we'll be forgetting more because there is not need to remember, like with phone numbers?

This is my bro Morgan. Just to prove how much life goes on and on, down and up, and again; the day after Keanu's funeral he learned his partner Virginie is pregnant - so massive congrats, he's going to be a daddy again! Life is mental. They are also moving back to France and he's planning a very exciting new business, starting up a food truck - I've started helping on the plan, more on that some other time.

He had another excellent story  happen while I was there. He teaches at a nursery school and tutors a few kids from the French school (where Virginie teaches).  Anyways, he was with this 9 year old and going over his history lesson. A sentence said that very little precise information about the Gauls was found because it was undecipherable, so most of the records of their culture come from the Romans. The kid didn't understand and asks Morgan about what the word "undecipherable" means. Morgan explains, but the kids looks even more confused. He says "But I don't understand how we wouldn't find their records, why don't they just look it up on Wikipedia or something?" Morgan explained how the Internet was really not old, that wasn't even around when he was a kid so it certainly wasn't when the Romans were. The kid just couldn't believe it, or fathom it, it's taken a stretch of imagination on his part to think about a world without the Internet.

We kind of know intellectually that whole new generations are born with this tech around and it's natural to them but really when you have kind of experience you only get the faintest glimpse of how it actually is for them and it's pretty crazy to try and comprehend. On top of that, I think the education system and curriculums need to change and adapt fast, or else may well have a lot more confused kids like that!

All in all I spent 6 weeks in Vientiane. No sightseeing, just working and enjoying the family, reading, tropical heat and all that. The experience of freelancing, working remotely and not having work when you need it is pretty damn tough, it takes a lot to keep going - certainly a lot of confidence verging on considerable stubbornness and belief that it's possible. And then I also had a moment with my bro and Anahì, sitting on steps looking at the Mekong, enjoying the sunshine while sipping on a banana and mango fruit shake. And those magical moments make it all a worthwhile hundreds of time over. Thanks again for everything bro, love you!