Today is the day that I learned about the “fish doorbell” in Utrecht, Netherlands.
You might think this is some common thing that was tagged with a quirky name, but you’d be wrong. (Don’t worry about it, I’m often wrong.) It is exactly what the name says: a doorbell (well, not a bell, exactly, but stick with me) that tells lock operators at the Weerdsluis lock on the Oudegracht that fish are waiting to head up or downstream, so they should open the lock to allow the fish to transit.
How do the fish know to ring the doorbell? Don’t be silly. Fish can’t ring doorbells! That’s where you come in!
Point your browser to this link and if you see a fish, click on the button to ring the doorbell.
So, first of all, I rarely have an original thought, so props for this one go to Kevin Underhill, author of “The Emergency Sasquatch Ordinance” as posted on his blog, loweringthebar.net.
For over five centuries, from 1264 until 1827, students at the University of Oxford were required to swear an oath as part of their Master of Arts degree ceremony. This oath included a commitment that they would “never agree to the reconciliation of Henry Symeonis.”
Well that’s interesting, but who the hell is Henry Symeonis?
Turns out, Henry Symeonis was a wealthy 13th-century Englishman from Oxford, who was involved in the murder of an Oxford University student in 1242. Alongside other townsmen, he was fined £80 and banished from the town by King Henry III. Despite receiving a royal pardon in 1264, the University of Oxford harbored a lasting grudge, mandating for over 500 years that graduates swear an oath never to reconcile with him. This peculiar tradition persisted until 1827, long after the original offense was forgotten.
I’m sure there’s a lesson in here but exactly what it is, I haven’t quite worked out yet.
Okay, I’ll admit it—I have a pretty quirky item on my bucket list. While you guys are out there dreaming of skydiving or tackling Mount Everest, I’m working on something a little more low-key: visiting every microstate in Europe. You know, those tiny little independent countries that most travelers skip over. They may be small but each one has so much history that it’s hard not to be fascinated.
Take Vatican City, for example. I visited this one a few years ago, right in the heart of Rome. It’s the smallest independent state in the world, both in area and population, and yet it feels monumental. Walking through its halls and seeing artistic masterpieces that I’d only ever read about was surreal. It was like wandering through centuries of art and spiritual history all at once—a place that just gets you if you love art, history, or just a sense of the sacred.
Fast forward to now, and I’ve just come back from a day in Monaco—my second microstate checked off the list!
Talk about a contrast, though. Monaco’s all about the glitz and the glamour, from Monte Carlo’s’ casinos and those Mediterranean sea views everywhere you look. It’s like a tiny slice of luxury nestled into a space no bigger than a city park. From the famous Casino de Monte Carlo to the Japanese Gardens, everywhere you look had something new to offer, a blend of opulence and elegance with a dash of Mediterranean magic.
I know you believe me, but I’ve got some proof anyway… photos from my day in Monaco. It may be small, but it’s got a style that’s larger than life, so enjoy this virtual stroll through one of the world’s tiniest (but most dazzling) countries. It may be little, but trust me when I say it leaves a big impression.
Casino de Monte CarloMonaco ParksMonaco selfiePrince’s PalaceThat’s about half of the entire country
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