Local Heart, Global Soul

May 27, 2019

Sand Gets Everywhere, Especially Your Best Memories…

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

There is a definite advantage to living close to the coast.

Not only that, we live very close to the beach so there was nothing that our kids liked better when they were small than to go play in sand with a bucket and spade.

Sandcastles were not always in fashion, but creating canals and waterways for the incoming waves to rush into was always popular.

Our old washing machine probably met with an early grave having to cope with all the sand that buried itself in the depths of shorts or pants pockets, and jackets too if it was warm but a little freshly windy on the coast.

No matter how many times I  shook them out beforehand, more of the stuff would find it’s way into the internals of the poor machine.

Caps would be wet because they’d blown off in the wind and landed in the waves. Trousers would have wet seats and the cuffs at the bottom would be soaked, their hair would be streaked from their sticky hands, a mixture of sunscreen, sea water and sand. I’d pat the kids down with a towel before they stepped into the bath but there would always be a smudge of sand in the bottom when they got out. You know, I wouldn’t change it for the world, especially when they were toddlers.

They loved, loved, loved, getting filthy dirty in sand and wet through. Apartment living means we don’t have a garden, so sand in a way was their ‘dirt” and they loved it. Every kid should get to have messy play times. We had a large collection of “special” sticks and shells, but drew the line at seaweed and any shell that looked like it might still have an inhabitant. Some of the shells we kept, now living on top of the soil of the window-ledge pot-plants. This sculpture piece in the 2017 Garderen Sand Sculpture exhibition reminds me of those days.

The Information board translates as: “Building sandcastles”, “On the beach near the tide line building sandcastles with the whole family. Towers and walls, a moat so deep that it fills by itself… And when the tide comes in we see it slowly crumble and disappear in the waves.”

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

March 21, 2019

This Former Church Is Now Jumping…

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

Following yesterdays post, I think I am looking at a way of repurposing a church with an activity that almost can not be better suited to the building.

The former church located at Stadhoudersplantsoen 28,  Den Haag (The Hague) is now houses a trampoline activity centre called:  Planet Jump..

The high walls and roof of the church are ideal for an activity such as trampolining, and the current fashion of laying out many trampoline beds in rows and also on the sides, using the large interior space that is free of columns or internal walls.

Apparently there is an area upstairs for toddlers and very small children, they are separated from the larger children for safety’s sake.

I didn’t attempt the stairs to check out that part personally, ergo, no photographs.

Our kids and their friends like coming here, it’s an excellent school holiday outing and I like that the attendant supervises how many kids are on the trampolines at once and restricts the numbers if there are too many kids wanting to jump at once.

One thing though, the staff could be a little friendlier at times, they are sometimes very abrupt bordering on rude.

I hope that they work on this because it’s the only thing that lets this place down.

Bad customer relations is not a trait that goes well in any enterprise where dealing with the public is essential for the life of your business.   At least on a positive note, this building is well suited to it’s new use… this church is now jumping!

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

March 20, 2019

Giving Former Churches A New Lease Of Life…

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

It’s a sad fact that many Christian churches are closing.

Less people have faith, and a lot of people (like me) who do, do not attend church very often.

For me personally, it is more important to be actively helping people around me than sitting in church listening to sermons.

I rate faith by why you do in life and not how many bible verses I’ve memorised.

It’s very much a personal thing and I do not mean in any way wish to belittle or diminish people who do attend church and listen to sermons.  It’s just that after many years of doing so, I find that it doesn’t work for me.

Himself and I try to be actively helping people around us, they are not family in the usual sense, but in a way are “family” to us.

I won’t go into detail here because these are human beings and not “projects” of any kind. It’s also not something to brag about, the best thing about giving in an unseen manner is the sheer pleasure it gives us, knowing we make a difference in peoples lives no matter how small. We would like it to be more of course but resources of time, money and health are finite.

It’s not always about how much you do, it’s the fact that you “do” something at all. This is my faith worked out in a practical manner and it works for me. I live by the words “To whom much is given, much is required”.

Churches, in the brick and mortar sense, have sadly become less and less wanted in society today. Some get demolished, others get repurposed. This former church in The Hague is one such that has been repurposed: and the high walls, with the ceiling far above, standard features in most churches, have special importance in how this church has been given a new lease of life.  First let’s take a look at the outside… the architectural detail is still beautiful.

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

October 21, 2018

Kiwi Daughter Starts Off In The Kitchen…

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

Whilst on the West Coast of New Zealand and staying in the “South of the Barber hostel”  in Greymouth we start cooking up an evening meal in the communal kitchen.

I was feeling tired so Himself told me to get in a nap because Kiwi Daughter really wanted to make a Caesar salad and wanted to help Himself cook.

We only have some very basic ingredients with us, pasta and a can of frankfurters and some cherry tomatoes that we would put separately on the side because Kiwi Daughter is allergic to raw tomatoes.

Cooked tomatoes are no problem, it’s apparently something to so with the tomato skins.

I get to do the dishes (I knew there had to be a catch somewhere!).

Kiwi Daughter remarked that she quite liked the cooking experience so Himself and I quickly responded with praise and told her she was most welcome to do it more often. Sadly that was met with “no thanks, this was enough“. Oh well, we tried. One day she will show a flicker of interest in learning to cook, probably when she leaves home and realizes that it’s something she wished she had taken an interest in at home! That said, her Caesar salad was excellent and she has to start somewhere so we encouraged her as much as possible. The meal filled a gap and after the dishes were done we could finally relax.

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

October 19, 2018

Just The Clothes We Stood Up In…

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

We arrived at our accommodation in Greymouth and as you do when travelling, went to unpack our bags. The kids had their stuff but I didn’t see the bag I’d packed for Himself and I, so quipped to Himself, “Wow, that was fast, you got our bag upstairs already!”

This statement was met with a blank stare and a look of total confusion.  After a pause, he looked quizzically at me and said “er, nooo… you took that bag out didn’t you?” (as if in five minutes I’d lugged a suitcase upstairs on crutches).

I’d been talking to Victor and taking photographs. We retraced our steps and stood looking stupidly at the contents of the boot of the car: wheelchair, travel pillow, small travel blankets for if kids want to sleep, various small random discarded articles from the kids, first aid kit… that was it. No bag.

It took a moment for the penny to drop. Remembering the wood pile in front of the garage back in Hanmer Springs,  the people who needed to come and sort out the Wi-Fi so that it would be working when we got back, the decision to put the rest of our stuff under lock and key in the shed at the back of the property, it suddenly dawned on Himself that he’d gotten a little too enthusiastic when it came to putting bags away: our bag had been packed into the little shed instead of into the car for this trip.

“Heading North West Towards The Pass… ” https://kiwidutch.wordpress.com/2018/10/14/new-2858/

We had the clothes we stood up in and the contents of my backpack.

The first question was a serious one about medication. I was missing everything except a stash of my morphine based pain relief. Fortunately I’d grabbed quite a lot more than I thought I would need, habit, because I’m always worried I’ll get caught out if we had to stay away longer due to bad weather, earthquake, accident etc.  My travel nebulizer was however also in the missing bag.

We contemplated going back, but that was a day’s drive and not an appealing option. I made a decision: I had my most needed pain medication, so the trip could continue as planned, we would watch the asthma situation and could got to a Doctor any time things looked like they were not under control. I was prepared to be wheezy, tired and slow for a few days. (no change thus!).

The kids were rather surprised to be rounded up and asked to get into the car because Himself and I were going shopping for clothes and stuff. Kiwi Daughter smelled and opportunity and was on board immediately, Little Mr. less so until the hint of LEGO was dangled in front of him if he would help fetch and carry for us.

Kiwi Daughter gets a clothing allowance in full at the beginning of each year. I pay her underwear, and things like a winter jacket, she pays the rest. Suddenly she was super, ultra, uber, mega, enormously helpful in the changing rooms, “wrong size? no problem Mama, I’ll fetch it for you!”… zooming off before I could even say Thank You. “Don’t want this one?… I’ll put it back!”

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

Friendly advice was given about what looked best, she was even suddenly seriously diplomatic about what didn’t. Suddenly the model kid… (Where was my teenage Daughter?)

Of course I wasn’t born yesterday: there was motive behind it all, and of course there was something completely not my style and size, but hers, “accidently” arrived in my changing room.

Needless to say she ended up in the cubical next to me trying things on and of course, and quite a few other pieces ended up in the shipping basket and not coming out of her budget.

To her complete credit she was the one who found a rack with summer clearance stuff, the shop was making way for their Autumn collections, but for us, we could get a New Zealand summer, and then a northern Hemisphere summer wear out of everything within in a few months. The “Sale” prices were also ridiculously low, and the clothes looked great so even Himself ended up with a few extra Polo’s and shorts.

We then bought socks and underwear, toothbrushes, paste, razors and shaving foam, the list grew. So did the bill. Oh well, we now have spares and have stocked up for the Dutch summer as well. Little Mr and Kiwi Daughter helped search out toiletries and of course a small box of LEGO joined the list on the bill.

Both kids were delighted to have “scored” at our expense and Himself admitted that he couldn’t even complain about having to go shopping since the blunder was his fault. I also have to say that I am also more than pleased with our purchases, several of the tops I bought are perfect work attire, have become favourites and I wear one or other every week. This of course also became one of “those” moments in family life, this will always be the New Zealand trip where Himself left a suitcase behind and where, Himself and I had to go shopping “for everything” because for a short time at least, we were left with only the clothes we stood up in.

October 13, 2018

Woodn’t You Know It, It’s THIS Challenge Again…

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

Family Kiwidutch had just settled into our accommodation in Hanmer Springs in January 2018, when we received notification that the winter firewood supply would be arriving.

We were asked could we keep the garage open so that it could all be stacked inside to dry out for winter please?

could we  also please arrange a time convenient to us for this stacking to take place too?

Kiwi Daughter suddenly jumped up with an emphatic exclamation: “Stacking wood? MY Job! I want to do it!”

Her request was relayed to a very surprised Hanmer Holiday Homes staff who manage the house and bookings and Kiwi Daughter got her wish.

Kiwi Daughter has happy memories of completing a firewood stacking challenge almost five years previously:  “Kiwi Daughter Wood Prove Me Wrong…”  (https://kiwidutch.wordpress.com/2017/01/05/new-2374/) and clearly is relishing the physical challenge once again.

They came with a trailer and dumped a very decent sized heap of wood in front of the garage door, closer at least to the stacking site than in the playhouse last time. She immediately grabbed the gardening gloves and set to work with gusto. In fact she worked so hard it was difficult to get her to some for dinner… a very familiar theme to that of the last time. She did however admit that it seemed to be harder work this time than last time, and that her hands were suffering a little in spite of the gloves.

Aches and pains aside Kiwi Daughter was proud of herself for persevering, and rightly so, we were proud of her too. She got through more than half of the pile the next day, but a sudden change in our holiday plans put the completion of her task on hold for several days. She did however get back to the task in hand as soon as we returned, and did an amazing job. Well Done sweetheart… this is a challenge you completed almost single handily this time and “Woodn’t” you know it, this city kid can get stuck into a heavy manual job and do herself proud!

June 23, 2018

What My Little Hobbits Required…

Filed under: kid stuff,LIFE,NEW ZEALAND,PHOTOGRAPHY,Region: Wainuiomata,WELLINGTON — kiwidutch @ 1:00 am
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(photograph © Kiwidutch)

 

Just before the New Year of 2018, Family Kiwidutch were sitting in the car waiting to board the Interisland Ferry to travel back to the South Island.

It’s early evening, the kids have grown impatient and seized upon a bag of snacks in the back of the car.

There is the usual “pass it here, but I’ll give it back, ok?” type of conversation but time passes and we are still waiting so eventually I twist around and ask for a cracker too please.

There is a rumble of disapproval from the rear of the car, “but these were for us weren’t they?”

“No, they are for everyone”… silence for a moment, then grumbles,… “ooookaaay“. Then another pause, some rustling from plastic and a few giggles before I hear a tentative: “but Mama, they are almost op’.

This is a classic Dutchlish (Dutch /English) mixing of words in sentences that our family is completely used to. ‘Op” in this instance is the Dutch interloper into the English sentence and means “gone / finished”.

Wondering just how much of a dent they have managed to make into it, I demand that they pass the package over for inspection.

The inner tray slides out, two tiny fragments rest in one of the empty tray segments.

The rest if the packaging is completely and utterly empty. I’m amazed that they managed to eat all of these so quickly.

Little Mr starts to giggle: “These are good Mama, can we please buy some more?”

The response is that of course we can

By special “permission” from my children I get to “finish the rest of the packet” which of course sounded like they were being more generous than they in fact were.]

Once on board they tucked into fish and chips with gusto, and this is after having an “early dinner’ of sorts back with our hosts earlier in the afternoon!

Apparently it’s not just a second breakfast that my little hobbits require, it’s most out of character so I can only put it down to the sea air!

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

April 21, 2018

Abandoning A Child Not Once But Twice!

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

Whilst taking photographs of the information board at the “Safe Stopping Spot” in my last post, I was joined by Kiwi Daughter asking of she could please get a photo of the board, with her egg.

Yes, you did read that correctly: “her egg”. A soft cuddly toy? Nope, a very real, hard boiled egg.

One that she had been looking after since the previous afternoon when we visited a friend and had to make an awkward request: “Could we please have an egg to take with us?”

You know you have real friends when they instantly say “of course!” and jump up to get it before even asking what on earth we need it for.

Naturally we explained. Kiwi Daughter is doing Psychology at school and they were covering a unit on children.

The class homework was to have each of the students look after a hard boiled egg for a week. (i.e. their “child”).

Our friend wouldn’t even let us boil it at the Meadowpark unit, she insisted on doing it then and there as we visited.

The students had to photograph their Eggs in various locations throughout the day, meaning that they needed to carry them with them at all times.

The exercise started a day before we left for New Zealand. We first boiled an egg in the Netherlands and it made the journey to Singapore before we thought it through and realised that New Zealand has a strict biological quarantine policy.

Kiwi Daughter’s egg was never going to make it though customs and being frequent travellers, we were not willing to face a strict fine for attempting to do so in any way illegally.

Egg got left in Singapore. Thus the request for a new Egg in New Zealand. Kiwi Daughter made numerous selfies and I was set a challenge: to get a photo of the Egg with it in focus but various beach locations in the back out of focus. I think that the general idea was to try and get the beach just enough in focus so that these shots could be jealously regarded by classmates still in school, in the wintery Netherlands. (We had permission to take the kids out of school early).

I attempted to complete the brief, but think that the background was a tad too fuzzy. Later on, whilst in Wellington, Egg accidently sustained some unfortunate “crush injuries” and after days in hot cars, lets say, hard boiled or not, I didn’t blame her when we found out that she had ditched it. We decided that with more long car journeys ahead, a third attempt was probably not going to be successful.

Kiwi Daughter submitted her sad failure to complete the challenge and apparently her Egg got written up as “Abandoned”, which even more sadly statistically fits the pattern for a percentage of children in the world in real life. Her part in the task was therefore successful as far as the over-all class effort was concerned. Let’s just say that I have full faith in my daughter to make a far better effort when her real children eventually arrive.

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

January 8, 2018

An Easy Solution For An Irritating Problem…

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

My New Zealand Grandmother always said that: “someone was either a Cook, or a Baker”.

She meant that when you turned your hand to creating wonderful food in your kitchen, you either excelled naturally at making things like great roast dinners and beautiful stir fries or you were a wonder at making huge, light, airy cakes that would be the envy of many.

I think she was right, she was 1000% a Baker, and living during a time when few women worked and a “bought” lunch was unheard of, she would pack my Grandad an amazing lunch every working day.

She baked three to four times a week, more if guests were expected or  there were family Birthdays, Easter, Christmas and any other special occasion. There were always a minimum of four or five different cakes, slices (bars) or biscuits (cookies) in her baking tins, more on the aforementioned special occasions.

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

Scones were not even counted as “baking” they were almost standard in the house, like bread. There were metal tins in her kitchen cupboards of various sizes.

Long before the days of plastic containers, these metal tins with their tight fitting lids kept everything fresh and crisp. Very large ones were for cake, the medium sized ones were for slices and the smaller ones were for biscuits. There were even large tins that had recessed lids, similar to the sort found on paint tins today and my sister and I would squabble about who got to open these with the end of a spoon and discover first what was inside.

None of the tins were see-through of course so every opening was a surprise but as kids we all had our favourite biscuits so it was extra special if we discovered that one of our favourites was on offer.

My favourite was Grans Shortbread, and since sadly her cookbook went “missing” after her funeral I never got her amazing recipe.

Choosing one thing from the tins was allowed, you only ever got two biscuits if you were especially good but I discovered that if you were alone with Grandma in the kitchen, helped getting out the cups and saucers for tea, and dried up and put away any dishes that she had washed, then she would take a quick look around to make sure my mother wasn’t close by and then slip me a third as a special treat.

Often she would pass me a piece of shortbread that had broken in half saying with a smile: “Oh dear, a broken bit, quick, finish it up”. Sometimes there were no broken pieces of shortbread so she would break one in half and then do the “broken bit” joke and it was a little secret that we kept to ourselves.

At least as a kid I always thought that, but looking back she may have done did that with all the grandchildren.

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

If we were staying over and baking biscuits together then she would let me ice (glaze) them and I loved poking around making that I imagined to be intricate patterns in my decorations, but in reality they were probably a lot of messy squiggles.

Sometimes my own children have the “baking” urge but don’t really want to go to the effort of actually making something, they just want to decorate.

Actually the bit they really don’t want to do is the cleaning up afterwards, so I just take some plain shop bought biscuits and then mix up a small batch of icing so that they can decorate the tops.

The ingredients are: Icing (powder) sugar, melted butter if I’m feeling decedent, water if I’m not, and whatever colour food colouring the kids desire as their first choice.

Invariably they ask for five colours each, to these requests the answer is always “No”. Four or five colours for our Christmas Gingerbreads is the most I will ever do these days.

Life is too short to be giving in to the extraneous whims of children when I am the one doing all of the work making the icing and cleaning up. For biscuits they get one colour each with the advice that should they want more they are more than welcome, but they have to make it themselves.

To date they have never taken me up on this. I used to use plastic sandwich lunch bags as icing bags but they are too thin and the bags often split if squeezed too hard or if the icing mix is too warm. Cleaning up after split bags is way too much extra work (can you sense a theme of laziness here?) so I quickly found that commercial icing bags are worth the expense.

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

One thing is difficult though, the icing cools quickly and gets more and more solid as it does, so if piping with a very small hole then the hole can get stopped up after a short time. Since opening the bag and messing with the contents is again more work I started to look for quick and easy ways to fix these annoying little clumps of hardened powdered sugar.

If you have a daughter who has long hair then you will always have hair-ties on hand somewhere. I keep a stash of unused ones at home for the inevitable “Mama, I’ve run out of hair bands and I’m going out / doing sport/ the bus is coming for school in two minutes !”.

These are always dramatic howls and I have to have the “right” ones on hand. Just the right circumference and thickness, not just any old hair band will do. Needless to say I also therefor have a stash of “ew no, not those!” hair ties and now I also have an excellent use for them: Tying up icing bags.

There are hair bands that a joined with a small metal connecter, I can’t use those, but if you hunt around then you will also find some without the metal piece.

These are perfect. When your icing is getting too clogged up, a simple remedy of ten seconds in the microwave usually does the trick. Ergo the need for ties that have no metal connectors.

Rubber bands would also work of course but we use these so rarely that they get brittle and break as soon as you try and stretch them. Hair ties don’t break like this and being smaller they are easier to tie around the bags. It’s an easy solution for an irritating problem.

Decorating biscuits with icing always brings back fond memories of my Grandma, and the conversations that are special between kids and their grandparents. I hope that the times spent decorating biscuits with me will also one day be special memories for my children too.

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

October 27, 2017

Having The Patience To Decorate Cakes…

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

Winter is never my favourite season because I am somewhat allergic to short days, long dark nights and cold temperatures.

If Himself and I were to believe in incarnation then I’d hazard a guess that in a previous life I had been a tomato.

Himself was probably a chili pepper, and we are well suited to one another because we would both choose a tropical getaway over a skiing holiday in a nanosecond.

My current situation does not lend itself to getting out and about much, so to kick me out of the house and have some fun my best friend organised for us both to attend a cake decorating workshop in the Hague early in the year.

I have the patience to decorate cakes, providing there are no serious time constraints, and there are not kids underfoot, since I have “Been there, Done that” and can sincerely say that it was not in any way a success, at least on a practical level.

It’s beyond frustrating to see one of your offspring squeezing the last of the icing out of the bags into a puddle on your dining room table just to see how the colours mix.

Of course those exact bags were the ones you had set aside to finish the other half of the big cake you were working on, everything had started well but now you have run out steam,  exhausted, and to add insult to injury the kids have  disappeared leaving you with a kitchen and dining room table that look like a bomb went off in a food coloring factory.

The extension was in the table so that everyone had enough place to work in, now icing is solidifying in the crack between the table sections, the food colouring trail leads as far as the door handle and goodness knows how much further beyond, there are splatters of icing on the floor and you are so tired that you feel like sleeping face down in your incomplete cake.

In the kitchen looks like you used every dish you own (probably did) and the sink is filed to overflowing (my pet hate) so it feels like a day’s work to get it empty let alone start the washing up.

In contrast, in years gone by I could wait until the kids had surrendered to their early bedtime,  then start in peace, all the bits and pieces I needed set out neatly on the dining room table. Then the kids grew big enough to “Help” and chaos ensued. To make matters more complicated, if my offspring were not stuffing their mouths with cake or biscuits (cookies), they were singing the praises of the experience: “This has been great fun‘, “Can we do this again next weekend?”,Mama, I love you, You are the best!”, although to be fair, this bit generally takes place after the wreckage in my kitchen and the carnage on the dining room table has been eradicated by the parents. They know how to choose their moments, my kids. Of course you have to remember too the most frustrating thing of all: I said I had the patience to decorate cakes, .. I didn’t  say I was any good at it.

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

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