DIRECTIONS

Tomorrow morning I am meeting Chantal in Amsterdam, when she arrives at Central Station. She lives in a town called Helmond right now, with her parents, and I’m spending the weekend there. Chantal and I are going to walk around Amsterdam for a while, and then take the train to Utrecht, where her younger sister lives. From there her sister is going to drive the three of us to Helmond. I have to be back here by Sunday night, because Monday morning I’m flying to Geneva, Switzerland, to see my friend Swiss-Man. (As a reminder, both Chantal and Swiss-Man were exchange students at my university in Richmond last year.)

Remember my nervousness about landing in Amsterdam for the first time and not having anyone to meet me? Because I didn’t know how to use the public transportation? But I was going to do it anyway? I sent Swiss-Man an email yesterday, letting him know the definite details of my arrival. This morning, I received a response from him:

“So, here is what you will have to do: Unfortunately, I will be working until 6pm on Monday. So when you get off the plane, get out of the airport, first go to the train station and take the first train to Geneva. At the train station in Geneva, go out the main entrance, turn left, walk half a mile to the bus station, take the bus 17 towards Lancy, get off at the Mont-Blanc stop, take the bus 35 outbound until the end of the line. Then, you go right into the Rue de Lausanne street, walk until the next big crossing (about 5 minutes), turn left, and there you should see another bus stop called Les Lignettes. Take the bus 56 towards Cathédrale, get off at the Holocaust Museum, and there, behind the big grey building that you should see on your right, there is a small path named Les écuries. Follow that path (be prepared, it's rather steep!!) for about a mile and then you will nearly be there... I leave on the C----- S---- street, number 7, and i live on the 9th floor. Unfortunately, the elevator is broken...”

At this point, I’m thinking to myself that it must not be TOO difficult, if Swiss-Man has the confidence in me to navigate all these obstacles. In my head, of course, I’m beginning to get just a bit nervous as I contemplate what’s in store for me on Monday. What if I don’t recognize the right bus stop, and stay on too long? Will I be able to find someone who speaks English if I get lost? What is this about “walk to the next big crossing (about 5 minutes)?” Doesn’t the street have a name? I continue reading the email…

“Just kidding! :) About the whole thing, not only about the elevator! Everything i just wrote has just come out of my imagination, except for the address, C----- S----- 7. But you won't even have to worry about this, i am, of course, coming to pick you up at the airport. In case we don't find each other there, let's just meet at the tourist office that is across the hall when you come out from the luggage claim.”

I hope he doesn’t mind that I shared a portion of his email; I wanted to show what a cool person he is. Stories and pictures to follow.

FOR WHAT THEY’RE WORTH: OBSERVATIONS

I was told not to expect people to smile. When Chantal lived in Richmond for nine months, she told me she was surprised by how friendly people were to her. Employees greeted her when she walked into stores. Strangers smiled at her on the streets. I don’t think this is the case everywhere in the U.S., Richmond may just be one of those “friendly places,” but it’s true that I haven’t found that type of “friendliness” to be the norm here.

If I’ve been introduced to someone, or if it’s a person living on my floor, they are always nice. But when I walk into a store, I am not greeted by the salespeople. There is no hello, how are you today. When I pass people on the sidewalks, or in the hallways at school, they either don’t look at me, or else they meet my eyes but don’t smile back when I smile at them. I wouldn’t call it rudeness per se, because I’m sure it’s only what they’re used to. It doesn’t bother me. I just see the situation in an opposite way: if I look at someone and don’t smile, I think that I’m being rude. I don’t necessarily want to talk to that person, but I attempt to smile at them in passing because it is what I’m accustomed to doing.

I was told that people dress nicer in Europe. Not necessarily in more expensive attire, but that they put more thought into their ensembles. What I like about the clothing is that it seems like anything goes. Especially when walking through a touristy area, when people from many different countries are milling around, I notice what people wear. A lot of people around my age are wearing blazers. Funky blazers, with different colors, stripes, fitted to hug the body – not formal or shapeless. This is what I see people wearing against the chill, instead of light jackets or sweatshirts. Also, boots. More people wear boots as everyday-wear than I’m used to seeing. And finally, skirts. You can tell that a girl cares about the way she’s dressed if she’s wearing a blazer, over a short skirt, with boots.

I was told about having to pay to use public restrooms, but that’s not the case all the time. When Sweety and I went to use a public restroom at a restaurant in Brussels, we were allowed to use it for free because we were customers. Two children were turned away right before we got there, because they were not. Then again, when we had just paid six euros apiece to view a monument, also in Brussels, we had to first pay forty cents to the attendant in order to use that particular restroom. Certain establishments employ attendants to go in periodically and keep the room clean, wipe things down, spray deodorizer in the air. The restrooms, instead of having open stalls where you can see the feet of the people beside you, and cracks in the doors to be able to tell when one is occupied, are instead completely closed in. Like a little private room. Go in, turn the lock behind you. It’s nice to not have other people in obvious close proximity to you, but I would rather use the bathroom for free.

I read about the toilets. We must discuss the toilets – specifically, where the flush-mechanism is located. We must discuss them because in most of the restrooms (or private bathrooms) I have visited so far, there has always been a search to discover where this flushing mechanism is located. It is not so easy to find a simple lever, located prominently on the front. Sometimes you press downward, on a plastic piece built directly into the top. Sometimes it is a round metal knob that you push down. Sometimes it is not even attached to the toilet at all, but built directly into the wall, and still somehow controls the flush. In certain (older) models, there is a chain hanging from the ceiling to pull down. When I enter a new restroom, I am constantly on a quest to learn how to operate this particular model.

And then, there are all the small things. There is the department store I went into today, attached to a mall in Amstelveen, consisting of five floors. On the third floor was a “school supplies” area, and in the corner was a body-piercing shop. Come in to get your school supplies, leave with pencils, a stapler, and a new nose ring.

Cereal: there are roughly six brands (definitely less than ten) to choose from in the stores that I've been to so far. Microwave dinners: available, but not in a wide variety. There is no Lean Cuisine or Healthy Choice.

There is milk that I buy for my cereal, available only in cardboard cartons, one liter each. There are no gallon-size jugs, or at least not that I’ve seen. Perhaps the manufacturers are recalling the size of the refrigerators in my kitchen. We have three refrigerators, but they are all “mini fridges,” and there would not be room for a gallon jug on one of the shelves.

You can buy yogurt in the same manner. It's not just available in one serving, individual plastic cups, you can also pour it directly out of a one-liter cardboard container.

BACK TO YAHOO

Visit my Yahoo Photos account ("New" folder) to see some photos from this past weekend. I wrote about the various locations here. I’ve been using Flickr recently, and they give me unlimited storage space, but I’m limited to a certain amount per month. Since I’m not on my normal computer, I can’t use the software that makes my photo sizes smaller, so the result is that I’ve filled up my quota very fast. I’ll still be using Flickr to post photos directly on this site, but the rest will be on Yahoo for now. If anyone has any suggestions, another website to use, or somewhere I can go online to shrink my pictures (without having to download software), please let me know.

RAIN AND CORKSCREWS

It rained off and on all day today. It was dry when I walked to school to use the internet, and it was coming down in sheets when I left the supermarket a few hours later (the “Super De Boer”). The rain mocked the silly, flimsy little umbrella that I brought with me from the U.S. The gusts soaked my jeans; I could feel the water squishing inside my sneakers even as I struggled to aim the umbrella against the current direction of the rain - an attempt to keep the wind from destroying my inferior protection against the elements.

I bought a wine-bottle opener while I was at the store, a simple, but effective, metal tool that costs a few dollars more than the cheaper version. I have one of the cheaper versions at home in Virginia, one that I bought a year or so ago that I have used ever since. Or should I say, struggled with ever since. The act of opening a wine bottle always took longer than it should – it even caused a few cuts on my hands, since the metal prongs never seem to line up quite right with the neck of the bottle. I never upgraded this tool because one wine corkscrew is sufficient, even though the first only cost me a few dollars. I could easily spend a few dollars on gas driving down the road, eating an unsatisfying meal, or on a stupid shirt that I wear a few times and then can’t stand the thought of wearing anymore. That doesn’t happen often, but it has happened. I bought a new wine-bottle opener today because I am not at home, and the old one is far away. However, this new one will be coming home with me. After one use, the cost has already redeemed itself. I want more bottles to open. The simplicity of its use is intoxicating (pun intended).

Side note: I looked them up online and discovered that they have different names. The cheaper one is the waiter's corkscrew, and the one that I just bought is a wing corkscrew.

GETTING FROM HERE TO THERE

I boarded the train at Central Station in The Hague. For the first time since I arrived in the Netherlands, it hit me that I had no one on the other end to receive me. Either I’ve had someone expecting me, meeting me, or traveling physically with me. I was comfortable because I had been here before and I knew how to get home. I stepped off the train in Amsterdam, forty-five minutes later, crossed the short stretch beside the tracks, where trains from all over are constantly coming in and constantly going back out. I took the escalator down, past the brightly-lit food stations. I crossed Central Station, then I was out in the slightly chill air, perfectly content in my zip-up hooded jacket. I turned left out of the station, down the sidewalk and through the people, into an open area for just a moment, long enough to catch a whiff of marijuana smoke. I thought to myself, “I am walking by myself in Amsterdam, and I know where I’m going. I may just know this one small part, but I’ve only been here for one week today and I will know more.”

I stamped my metro ticket and showed this proof to the attendant at the top of another escalator. Central Station is the only place that I’ve ever had my Strippenkaart checked, but the fine is notoriously steep if caught riding illegally. I waited for #51. It’s a twenty-minute ride, give or take a few minutes, as Central Station is at one end of Amsterdam and I’m going clear across to the other side. I waited with the handle of my duffel bag looped through my arm, the same way that I’ve come to walk with the strap of my purse hooked over my neck and shoulder.

On #51, a guy seated himself diagonally across from where I was seated and asked me something that I couldn’t understand. I allowed him one more chance, I said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t understand what you said,” and when he repeated it again, since it was too low and unclear once again, I turned my face away and ignored him. It must be that way. If it was important, then he would have made it known. I was glad when he got off at the very next stop.

I looked to my left and caught my mirrored reflection looking back at me; the light inside where I am seated contrasting with the darkness outside. The names of locations I don’t know the meanings of are announced over the loudspeaker. I don’t know what they mean but I am beginning to recognize them. The stops at these locations are all quick, the doors open and close again in rapid succession. Wait by the door when it’s your turn to get off, or else you’re out of luck, and must wait until the next stop to make your exit.

The ride seems to go quickly. As the time to exit gets closer, I sat crouched slightly forward in my seat, felt myself rising as the tram slowed, even before it came to a complete stop. I exited with other people, and I was glad I moved in a crowd as I made my way through the maze of buildings. The last stretch of my walk, as I round the last building and approach the entrance to my own, is dark. I don’t like that it is dark, and I remind myself to mention this to someone that should know. I notice my hand tremble as I swipe the magnetic strip against the small metal contraption, the one mounted to the side of the building. The magnetic strip activates a small red light and I am allowed a few seconds to throw my weight against the heavy glass door. The handle gives way on my first try. I am inside now and following another maze to reach my room; this time it is hallways and a few sharp turns, instead of making my way around buildings. I take the elevator to the eighth floor and open my door with my key; I am glad once again that I have a room to myself. I need to breathe, and I need to throw my things down, without having to say hi, how are you, how was your weekend. I don’t want to talk, or answer questions, or worry about the overhead light disturbing a sleeper. I am happy, but I want to be by myself.

My fingers itch to touch the keys of my laptop because I know that I must write, but I know that I must do certain other things first, or else I will not be comfortable. When I refill my water bottle, I notice that I am still using the same one that I opened a week ago, and noted that it is time to replace it with a new one. This water bottle still bears the label “Deer Park;” I don’t mind the name, but I do mind the thought of an aging water receptacle.

I know that I must eat something, or else I will not be able to get to sleep, because I am hungry. So I do. The last time I ate something was six, maybe closer to seven, hours ago, and the last thing I had to eat was a Belgian waffle, which I ate in Belgium. I ate that waffle not because I normally eat waffles, but because I was in Belgium and I wanted to be able to say that I had a waffle there. It was crispy, like it had been fried, and there was a little bit of powdered sugar on top, along with a scoop of ice cream. I scooped the round ball of ice cream from the top and put it on the side of my plate. I was there to eat the waffle.

I feel like I had a lot to eat today, but it could just be the environment and because it was satisfying. I had a roll from the hotel buffet at breakfast, in Brussels, the roll had a thin ribbon of chocolate running through it; I also had a few swallows of orange juice, a cup of coffee, and granola with milk. Lunch was Spaghetti Napoli, eaten in the town of Brugge, Belgium, and the waffle came a few hours later. Brugge is not pronounced the way it looks to Americans, the way I might see it spelled in Virginia and think to myself, hmmm…that could be Brew-gee, with a hard “g,” or Brew-jee. Or even “Brug,” like I am trying to shorten it.

But it’s not pronounced like that at all, it’s pronounced a way that I now recognize but I can’t imitate the way a native would say it, because I’m not used to making those sounds. The “gg’s” in Brugge have more emphasis on a “hee” sound; there’s still a “g” in there though, so it comes out with a guttural noise made in the throat. Brew-ghhhee. I’m probably not even describing it right, the explanation is insufficient, but now, at this moment, I wanted to try.

It feels weird to talk about the things I had to eat today, and where I ate it. I don’t know when saying it will stop sounding surreal, even though I know that I am here and I am trying to absorb everything I see. But that is all that I can do.

THE HAGUE and BELGIUM

Saturday morning
I left by train for The Hague, to spend a few days with Sweety and FreezeM. I was reminded of the importance and lifesaving capabilities of a cell phone when I started the trip by disembarking from the wrong train station. Sweety had warned me that there was more than one train stop in The Hague, but since I had already passed a few smaller ones and this looked like a major one, and there weren’t any voices over the loudspeaker telling me which station it was (only that we were in “Den Haag”), and I didn’t want to continue to the next city if this did happen to be the right one, I got off. We played a game of “I’m on my phone, and I’m here, where are you?” for a few minutes before she figured out that we weren’t at the same station. Easy enough to solve – she told me which tram to take in order to get to where she was, and we were reunited in (almost) no time.

I got to see their apartment and meet the animals – two rabbits, and two cats – including the infamous orange Simba that is regularly mentioned in Sweety’s posts. Simba sat on my shoulder as I looked around, and then tried to bite my hand when I didn’t pet him the way that he liked. That is my luck with animals.

Saturday was spent walking around their fine city, as FreezeM took on the role of tour guide. We stopped by the apartment of some American friends of theirs to borrow an inflatable mattress, and ended up staying a few hours. K and M are fun – they have taught their cat to use the toilet instead of a litter box, and also maintain an elaborate saltwater aquarium with a precise feeding and maintenance schedule.

Sweety and FreezeM, my gracious and considerate hosts, insisted on sleeping on the air mattress themselves that night. They let me have their room because they were afraid the cats would bother me too much if I slept in the living room – no amount of protesting on my part could sway them from this decision, but I did have a good night’s rest.

Sunday
We left for Brussels, Belgium, the next morning, after picking up FreezeM’s parent’s car. The car had a navigation system, air conditioning, and more leg-room in the backseat, so the two-hour drive was very comfortable.

Most of the sights that I remember are the hardest for me to explain. The architecture in the towns I visited often took my breath away, because it was awe-inspiring and unlike anything that I had seen in person before. In Brussels we toured a palace, and listened to bands playing on the last day of the Eu’ritmix outdoor concert (European Rhythms Festival). I was talked into kissing an Italian waiter on the cheek when FreezeM momentarily left our side, and Sweety and I became the temporary object of this waiter’s affection.

Today - Monday
After leaving Brussels we drove to the town of Brugge, where we experienced more of the “becoming-used-to-it” rude customer service…but that was okay because we were on vacation and everything just rolled off our backs. We took a boat tour on a canal, which we weren’t sure about at first, but ended up being the best way to see many beautiful buildings in a short period of time.

On our way back to The Hague, Sweety and FreezeM took a detour that they didn’t tell me about in advance (their advantage of me not understanding their primary language), and I was introduced to my first look at traditional Dutch windmills. No longer in use, but well maintained, this glimpse was a fitting end to our excursion.

NOT-SO-GREAT MUSEUM

I spent a few hours online this morning at the VU, updating this site, uploading some of my pictures to Flickr, responding to emails, checking my checking and credit card balances, and paying a few bills. I’m supposed to see Chantal next weekend in Helmond (Netherlands), but I’m also trying to make plans to see the Swiss-Man in Switzerland (he’s working in Geneva for the summer).

I thought Montana and Denmark had left for Utrecht this morning, but just as I was getting ready to leave the computer lab they both came in so that Montana could check online for hostels (he’s leaving for Berlin tomorrow). They were on their way to Central Station so that Montana could pre-buy his ticket to Berlin, so I went with them. It’s a good thing he got it in advance, because the line to buy international train tickets (anywhere outside of the Netherlands) is pretty long – he had to wait for an hour.

After we met up again (Denmark went to an internet café and I grabbed some lunch), we walked around until we found the Erotic Museum. I thought it was stupid, and not worth the 5 euros to get in. I’m not sure how it compares to the Sex Museum, but we heard this one should be better since it’s located right in the Red Light District (as opposed to being squeezed between souvenir shops near Central Station). Unfortunately, no. It’s not something I would have chosen to see if I was by myself, but I was curious to see if it would be as bad as I thought (“bad” as in boring).

So by now I have walked through the Red Light District both at night and during the day. Not a big deal. I’ve been with people both times and there’s always others walking around too, so I’ve never felt unsafe. (I also hook the strap of my purse over my neck and curl my hand around it as I walk.) The ladies sit on stools, or simply stand, behind glass doors that the gentleman can open if they want to discuss prices. The ladies look indifferent. The ones I’ve seen have all been at least wearing lingerie; sometimes they have shirts on, or even dresses. (I don’t stare, but this is what I’ve seen out of the corner of my eye as I’ve walked past.) I didn’t expect the ladies to be beautiful, but I was surprised that most of them aren’t very attractive.

STOREFRONT

Storefront, originally uploaded by Zandria.

I thought I would introduce all these posts that I just uploaded with a picture. Visit my Flickr photostream to see a few more.

SHE'S BACK

Just a heads-up, I’m going to be changing the time/date stamp on these entries to the times that I actually finished writing them (using the time zone that I’m in right now, which is 6 hours ahead of U.S. Eastern time), rather than whatever time it is when I get around to posting them. I want them to be current with the time that I was thinking what I was thinking. I have a bunch of stuff from the past few days that I’ll be uploading right now, all at one time, so sorry for the sudden influx of information. I should hopefully have a connection more often now, so it won’t be such a long time between posts. Keep hitting refresh if you’re getting here right away. I’ll be going back as far as the morning of Monday, August 16th. The day I arrived…

RIJKS MUSEUM

I finally got to meet Ellen, my advisor, today. She was older than I expected – I don’t know why/how we get certain pictures in our minds about the way people will look when we meet them, but for some reason I was surprised. She was nice, although my internet account still hasn’t been set up. She said that we need to get our student ID cards first, but if we take our photos to her tomorrow it will still take a week before we get the cards back. Montana is part of the university’s business faculty, whereas I’m with the faculty of social sciences, and his department got him set up with email access today without having his student ID first. He’s going to let me use his login in the morning, but I might go by the social sciences department again to inquire if they can get my personal access setup before next week.

After I with met with Ellen, I went with Montana and Denmark to the grocery store (the one that I was trying to find last night); Denmark had been there before so he showed us where it was located. It’s larger than the first one I went to, so at least there’s more variety. I’ve found that some of the food costs less than it does in the U.S., unless you’re buying the U.S. brands of those foods/products. For instance, I bought a loaf of bread (which is fresh, no preservatives, so it won’t last very long unless I keep part of it in the freezer). It was only .48 euros though (roughly $0.60, if I’m using a 1.24 exchange rate). I got a bottle of wine for only 2.99 euros (roughly $3.71).

There’s no sales tax added, so what it says for the price is what you’re paying when you get to the register. I didn’t know we were going to the store directly from the school though, so once again I forgot to bring a bag to hold my purchases; that means I couldn’t buy as much as I wanted since I couldn’t carry it all back in my arms. I’ll probably go back tomorrow, or else wait until I get back from Sweety and FreezeM’s this weekend.

This afternoon the three of us took the tram to the Rijks Museum, which is a beautiful place. They have a number of Rembrandt’s pieces there. Then we went by Central Station because I wanted to check the timetable and price for a train to The Hague, and Montana is thinking about traveling to Berlin soon so he was checking the same thing.

Tonight we’re staying in and I’ll crack open my cheap wine; I want to get an early start in the morning so that I can go to the school and hopefully get on the computer. I was on my Yahoo account long enough today to see that someone has left about 80 spam comments on my website (that is annoying to no end, especially when I don’t have the time to go in and delete them out all the time). Denmark is leaving early as well, to spend the day in Utrecht. It’s only about a half hour from Central Station by train, and there’s a lot of stuff to see there as well, so he should have fun.

PLANS

I decided not to go into Amsterdam again tonight, but to walk around my neighborhood instead. I wanted to try and get a sense of where everything is, what’s close, what’s within walking distance, etc. I went out by myself for about an hour trying to find a supermarket that the soon-to-be-leaving Australian told me about (a different store than the one I went to yesterday), but his directions didn’t match up very well with what I was seeing. I think I may have found the right road but just didn’t walk down it far enough; since it was already 830pm I knew that it wouldn’t be open by the time I got there anyway, so I’ll just try again tomorrow.

When I got back inside I left a message for my friend Chantal, who lives here in the Netherlands (she’s the one that I had a class with last year; she was at my school for her international exchange program). She called back a few minutes later on my new cellphone that Sweety gave me; unbeknownst to me, it doesn’t use my minutes if someone calls IN to my number, only if I call out, so that’s good to know. I definitely would have had to cut my conversation short, because Chantal and I ended up talking for about 45 minutes. I’ll probably be going to see her next week.

Less than fifteen minutes later, my phone rang again. (I am popular! Yes!) This time it was the beautiful Sweety, wanting to make sure that I was settling in okay and wondering what kind of crazy experiences that I’ve had so far (since I haven’t been able to write about them for all to see). She also wanted to know if I have plans for the weekend yet, which I don’t, so as far as I know I should be going to see her where she lives in The Hague. Yay! I have plans! It’ll be my first experience using the train system.

Montana just got back from his trip to the internet café; he knocked on my door to let me know that I’d left my keys in the lock. (I totally don’t remember doing that…bad Zan!) I’ve been taking my keys with me wherever I go though, even when I take a shower or step around the corner to use the main phone line. There still aren’t a lot of people on my floor yet, but I figure it’s a good practice to get used to before everyone else starts arriving.

MORE EXPLORING

Earlier this afternoon, Montana and I walked back to the university campus and tried to find Ellen again (our advisor). She was out sick for the second day, so we talked to another lady who was at least able to give us the cash for our monthly meal stipends. Still no internet access. Nobody seems to know who exactly sets it up for us, so I’m waiting to talk to Ellen since she’s handled everything else so far. I would say that there’s a bit of runaround that goes on. The lady who gave us our money told us that we could get on the computers by the Student Information Center without a UserID and password, but we couldn’t find where she was referring. We found a helpdesk, and they told us to go to the 10th floor. So we went up there, but the only computers we could find wouldn’t let us login without UserIDs. Kind of frustrating.

Leaving campus, we caught the tram to a nearby shopping mall. It’s in the town of Amstelveen, (which is the name of the town listed for the address of my Guesthouse residence), but from what I can tell it’s only a few tram stops shorter than going into Amsterdam (just in the opposite direction). We both needed some things, and we had been told that we could find a mall at the Amstelveen tram stop. Once you actually get inside the building it looks like a normal mall, but from the entrance we went in, it looked like we were just entering a regular store. I’d like to spend some more time there, just looking around, because even though the shops are set up in a way that I’m used to, there are different products and clothes that I’m not used to seeing – so it was interesting.

Montana bought a coffeepot, because we’ve both been missing the lack of coffee in the mornings. Hopefully he’ll let me share it if we take turns buying coffee, because I don’t want to buy too many electrical appliances that I’ll just have to get rid of before I leave. When we met back at the designated rendezvous spot, he was eating one of the famous “Dutch snacks” that I’d heard about: french fries, served in a paper cone, with mayonnaise on top. (No, I didn’t ask him if I could try it. Maybe some other time.)

I bought a hair dryer that would fit a European outlet, since I left mine at home and have been letting my hair dry naturally for the past few days. I also bought some incense, because after locking all the doors and closing the curtains when I leave the room, it gets stuffy by the time I come back in. The first thing I do when I get back in the room is open all the curtains and open the door that leads to the balcony, to let in the breeze. I’ve heard bad things about the upcoming weather changes, but for right now I’m still enjoying wearing short sleeves wherever I go…no rain…no humidity…not hot. Very nice.

Hopefully I’ll be able to find a bike soon. There was a sign in the elevator last night, where a girl was advertising a used bike and two locks for only 20 euros, but I forgot to write down her room number – and then I was in the elevator today and all of the signs had been taken down. I need to keep an eye out because when all of the other students start trickling in, it’ll be harder to find good deals like that. I’ve been told that used bikes can be found at the market for 100 euros or more, and that’s not including the locks that you need in order to keep it from being stolen. I’m assuming that the 20-euro bike is probably pretty crappy and rundown, but a lot of the ones I’ve seen are like that. It’s rare to see someone on a bike that actually looks new. Bike thievery is very common.

SHOPPING

Today I got to see the Vrije Universiteit campus for the first time; Montana and I walked up there for the appointment to see our advisor, but she was out sick for the day. She had left a note for us to see one of her colleagues next door, but the substitute wasn’t really able to answer many of our questions. We’re wondering where to go to access the internet – we need a special login, but it hasn’t been assigned to us yet. We’re going to go back and try to see her again tomorrow, so hopefully I’ll know more about it then.

I went grocery shopping for the first time this afternoon after we left campus. It’s hard to know what to buy since I’m so used to getting certain things that I already know how to prepare. All the things that I bought don’t require cooking, because…I can’t read the instructions on the back of the boxes! I thought about buying some canned food, but I wasn’t sure if there was a can opener in our kitchen. I still need to check that out. This is what I came out with: a four-pack of toilet paper (we were given one roll in the beginning, but with the shared bathrooms it looks like we’re supposed to provide our own in the future); a small jar of pasta sauce (I can still make spaghetti without having to read instructions!); three apples; a box of Cornflakes; milk. I can pick out certain words that seem self-explanatory, but not very many. For instance, the pasta sauce label says “Tradizionale Milde Pastasaus.” But under the brand name Cornflakes, are the words “krokant geroosterde maisvlokken.” Hmmmmm….not so self-explanatory.

And when I said “these are the things I came out with,” I meant that literally. I wasn’t planning on buying too many things because I knew I’d have to carry it all back…but what I had forgotten was that not all grocery stores provide courtesy bags to carry your purchases in. It was probably only about a half mile or so back to the Guesthouse, so it wasn’t too bad, but in the future I need to bring a knapsack (or my bookbag) with me when I do my food shopping.

At least this afternoon I knew how to bring the apples to the cash register properly. This morning I went into the same store to buy a banana; when I got to the register, the cashier simply handed it back to me and said, “You need to weigh this first.” Luckily another woman was going up there at the same time and I just watched her, because otherwise I wouldn’t have known what to do. You put the fruit that you want to buy, on the scale, and then push a button with a picture of the fruit on it. Another button prints out a sticker that shows the cashier exactly how much to charge you.

I still haven’t seen that many other people on our floor. I met two other guys that have been here for a while and are about to leave to go home; one is from Boston and the other is from Australia. The two German girls that I mentioned yesterday never came back; they’re room was dirty when they moved in and I know that they were going to the office to complain, so they must have been moved to another area.

Tonight Montana and I took the metro to central Amsterdam about 7:30 and didn’t get back to our dorm until after 11. We both wanted to check our email, so we went to an internet café near Central Station and I posted that short update a few days ago (now deleted, so that it wouldn’t be right in the middle of all this other stuff that I’m finally getting around to posting). The rest of the time was spent walking from one street to another, just looking around at everything again. There’s so much to see. Since I hadn’t had dinner yet, I bought a falafel pita to eat as we were walking around. I think falafel is a combination of chickpeas and lentils, shaped into balls and then fried in olive oil. Then they’re put in a pita and you can add various fillings – it was delicious.

I’m glad that I found someone so soon who likes to walk, because most of what I’m going to find here is going to be outside of this little room that I write in. (Not having internet access is already torture…I feel somewhat alienated.) It gives me an excuse to write more though, so I guess that part doesn’t hurt.

WHY I'M HERE

It’s hard right now to fathom the fact that I’m going to be here until the end of December. That this little room is mine – the little twin bed, flat pillow, clothes stacked up in a closet that doesn’t have a lot of shelves (no separate dresser). I must admit that yesterday, after Sweety and FreezeM left and I went back to my room, before I met Montana and Denmark and we went out exploring…I was picturing my apartment back in Richmond. Especially the big rooms that I’m so used to. My own space.

But it only took me a few hours to be reminded of why it is that I came here. The reason, for me, is that I know my big apartment is back home waiting for me. I know who is there and what to expect. Here I don’t know what to expect, and that is why it’s exciting. A little while ago, just when I needed it, I came across a quote by Margaret Mitchell that I had saved in one of my computer files earlier this year. It seems fitting:

“Life does not have an obligation to give you what you expect.”

AMSTERDAM, FOR THE FIRST TIME

This afternoon, Montana and I met another student that lives on a neighboring hallway. (We’ll call him “Denmark,” which is where he’s from…this might start getting confusing if I meet additional students from the same countries). I only saw the two German girls for a few minutes when we were moving my bags in, so these two guys are the first that I’ve really talked to so far. This is technically the “start day” for arrivals though, so we’re just among the first to get here.

Around 630 this evening, Montana, Denmark, and I walked to the closest metro stop (not very far) and rode into the center of Amsterdam. Both of the guys seem really nice, and they were taking care of me: they told me to bring my hooded jacket (since it might get cold), Montana used his Strippenkaart to pay for my ride there and back (since I haven’t been able to buy one yet), and after walking for a few hours, they both asked me more than once if I was doing okay. (I tried to stop that nonsense right away though…I LOVE to walk, and I hope they continue wanting to explore. Truthfully, the foot that I twisted on Saturday was starting to bother me after a while, but it wasn’t bad enough that I felt like complaining about it).

Most of the time we didn’t bother to take note of the direction we were walking, because we didn’t have a specific destination in mind. This was the initial encounter, the “leave the metro station, go up the stairs, and suddenly you’re right in the middle of the reality of Amsterdam” encounter. I’ve seen pictures in various guidebooks of course, but seeing pictures flat on a page, one building or one small section at a time, is indescribable compared to the real thing. We sat down at an outside table and ordered beers; while we drank them we listened to a band playing nearby on the sidewalk. We went in and out of a few shops, but mostly we stayed on our feet.

By the time we found the metro station again and located the correct one to take us back where we needed to go, we were dead tired. We hardly spoke on the way back, but when I got back to my room and felt like I couldn’t sleep even if I tried. That’s when I remembered the “welcome gift” that Sweety had given me before they left to go home. With everything going on this afternoon, I had put it on my desk and forgot to open it before I left.

So here’s the thing. Not only did both of them take off work today to pick me up, leave their apartment two hours early so that I wouldn’t arrive first and wonder where they were, buy me coffee and lunch, get lost in Amstelveen (the town on the border of Amsterdam, where I’m staying), lug my bags around as we tried to locate the check-in office…I get a gift on top of all that. (I told her that I have some special flavored coffee that she requested, which is harder for them to get here, but now it seems so inadequate.) I know that I keep talking about all this, but here’s why. Sweety and FreezeM got me…

MY OWN PRE-PAID CELL PHONE. They even opened up the box to charge it for me in advance, and to set the language preference to English, since all the instruction booklets are in Dutch. It’s already prepaid with 5 euros, I can mail in a card to get 10 more for free, and after that I can refill the minutes whenever I want. So I am “no number” no longer…it turned out only to be a temporary setback. I can set up voicemail too, so once I figure that out I’ll leave a message on there. It costs more to use per minute than the global calling card that I bought for international calls, but this will be much more convenient for local things. Not to mention the added safety of carrying it around in a strange city, or when I’m traveling. I just couldn’t believe it. I called her right away and told her that I was speechless. I think that I’m still in a state of semi-shock, and haven’t really soaked everything in yet.

I’m going to email my number to those who I know would want to have it “just in case,” so if you don’t hear from me, email me and I’ll send it to you.