Breaks are never long enough. I had two delays on the plane from Amsterdam to Charleston. I was caught in a snowstorm in Dublin, Ireland, and was held there for a night and another extra night in D.C due to plane maintenance (whatever that means!) I saw two people I knew in the D.C airport on their way to Charleston and we struck up good conversations(a benefit to living in a small state with a small airport.) Though my break was cut slightly short, I had enough holiday happiness to carry me through. While others yelled into their Wall Street Journals as plane after plane was canceled, I smiled pleasantly (only occasionally gritting my teeth.) And, finally, I made it home. I got a new camera and lots of treats. I saw a few friends and loads of family (I’m sorry if you are reading this and I did not have a chance to see you--as we speak I am readying to depart on the plane.) With my new camera in tow I am thrilled to start capturing more images of my adventures. For a while most pictures will look like this: white, white, white. Snow. Ice. Snowflake. Crow flying through a gray sky. And then…..tulips! Springtime, sun melting all the snowcaps to streams, people finally able to hop back onto the bike. I wish people two things in the new year, besides good food, family, friends, and adventures: good health and great jokes.
After-Christmas-Joke
Person 1: I’m on a diet
Person 2: What kind?
Person 1: A seafood diet. I see food. And I eat it.
-joke compliments of my Uncle Tim
Wishing everyone a happy new year, from the Charleston airport,
Paula
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Friday, December 17, 2010
What I'm Learning (last in the "academics" series.) part 5 of 5
I’m coming home in two days. I cannot wait!
It feels like a lifetime since I have seen my family. How have I changed? Well, now that I have a penchant for fresh bread, I will be frequenting Libby’s bread shop in Charleston, near the farmer’s market. It is a pity I have to drive. Might the new governor consider putting in some bike lanes with electric bike signs that are safe enough for children to use...?
Here is a list of 10 things I did these past three months:
1. Hosted a Harry Potter Party potluck dinner for my Dutch classmates
2. Consumed raw herring
3. Biked through days of Dutch rain and iced-over roads
4. Temporarily trapped myself inside an old Dutch army fort when the gate
locked me in and had to crawl through two sheep fields to get out
5. Meandered through Dutch limestone caves in the southern town of
Valkenburg where some Jews hid during the war and were liberated by the
Allies
6. Found a place to buy a bicycle lock that weighs more than my new bicycle
7. Spoke some form of Dutch, daily
8. Ate a Parisian crepe
9. Sipped raspberry beer in a jazz club in Paris with two of my former college
roommates and visited fantastic French art museums!
10. In Holland, kissed everyone I saw three times on the cheek—left, right, left
And my academic program is great. I came here to study European matters. However, it turns out that my professors are encouraging me to study what I am slightly more familiar with, topics that have a domestic resonance. At present, I am working on two American history topics. The first, is on the painter, famed for his splatter-style: Jackson Pollock. I am writing on his involvement during the Cold War and how his art was used and perhaps exploited to showcase American virtues of freedom during the time. The second history paper is on American female slave and ex-slave narratives and diaries. Charleston Public Library, here I come!
It feels like a lifetime since I have seen my family. How have I changed? Well, now that I have a penchant for fresh bread, I will be frequenting Libby’s bread shop in Charleston, near the farmer’s market. It is a pity I have to drive. Might the new governor consider putting in some bike lanes with electric bike signs that are safe enough for children to use...?
Here is a list of 10 things I did these past three months:
1. Hosted a Harry Potter Party potluck dinner for my Dutch classmates
2. Consumed raw herring
3. Biked through days of Dutch rain and iced-over roads
4. Temporarily trapped myself inside an old Dutch army fort when the gate
locked me in and had to crawl through two sheep fields to get out
5. Meandered through Dutch limestone caves in the southern town of
Valkenburg where some Jews hid during the war and were liberated by the
Allies
6. Found a place to buy a bicycle lock that weighs more than my new bicycle
7. Spoke some form of Dutch, daily
8. Ate a Parisian crepe
9. Sipped raspberry beer in a jazz club in Paris with two of my former college
roommates and visited fantastic French art museums!
10. In Holland, kissed everyone I saw three times on the cheek—left, right, left
And my academic program is great. I came here to study European matters. However, it turns out that my professors are encouraging me to study what I am slightly more familiar with, topics that have a domestic resonance. At present, I am working on two American history topics. The first, is on the painter, famed for his splatter-style: Jackson Pollock. I am writing on his involvement during the Cold War and how his art was used and perhaps exploited to showcase American virtues of freedom during the time. The second history paper is on American female slave and ex-slave narratives and diaries. Charleston Public Library, here I come!
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Making the Grade--Part 4 of 5
Each morning my classmates and I lock our bikes to the railings beside the canals. We pay fifty cents for a cup of coffee from a vending machine inside the library (the other vending machine sells water.) We file up to class, unwind scarves, hang winter coats on hooks. For half the course we usually discuss readings we have been working on, do collaborative problem-solving and have group discussions.
In my Masters program there are four blocks which function like semesters. In each block we take two courses, each meet between once and twice a week. Class takes place in the old center city of Utrecht (a twenty minute bike ride for me--or rather, bus ride now, since I'm pretty sure my bike was stolen last night, unless I forgot where I tied it....)
One of my classes has five students. The other, fifteen. Class is usually provocative and interesting. Courses are between two and four hours long. If the class is on the longer side, we take a ten-minute break. At this point all students hurry to the restroom or dash outside, where they congregate by the door, smoking. There is no campus in the center city, so students hang around the doors of buildings, sometimes hours after class has ended, shooting the breeze and stamping feet to keep warm.
Dutch universities grade on a scale of 1-10. Ten is like an A plus, plus, plus. 9.5 is an A++, 9 is like an A+, 8.5 is an A, 8 is like an American an A-, 7.5 is a B+, 7 is a B, 6.5 a C and then quickly downhill from there. If you make below a 5.5 on a paper the professor might give you the opportunity to do a re-write. There is a Dutch saying about grading, it goes: Ten is for god, nine is for the teacher, and you might be able to make an 8…
Everyone studies differently. I’m a visual learner and like to spread out reams of paper in front of me on which I diagram. There are usually arrows, images and scribbles involved. Sometimes I pull all-nighters. Sometimes I awaken early to study. It is mostly eagerness that sustains me. If you want to do well, you have got to put in the work. Books do not read to themselves at night, papers do not have paper-fairies that write them. We (myself included) could all work a bit harder at times.
In my Masters program there are four blocks which function like semesters. In each block we take two courses, each meet between once and twice a week. Class takes place in the old center city of Utrecht (a twenty minute bike ride for me--or rather, bus ride now, since I'm pretty sure my bike was stolen last night, unless I forgot where I tied it....)
One of my classes has five students. The other, fifteen. Class is usually provocative and interesting. Courses are between two and four hours long. If the class is on the longer side, we take a ten-minute break. At this point all students hurry to the restroom or dash outside, where they congregate by the door, smoking. There is no campus in the center city, so students hang around the doors of buildings, sometimes hours after class has ended, shooting the breeze and stamping feet to keep warm.
Dutch universities grade on a scale of 1-10. Ten is like an A plus, plus, plus. 9.5 is an A++, 9 is like an A+, 8.5 is an A, 8 is like an American an A-, 7.5 is a B+, 7 is a B, 6.5 a C and then quickly downhill from there. If you make below a 5.5 on a paper the professor might give you the opportunity to do a re-write. There is a Dutch saying about grading, it goes: Ten is for god, nine is for the teacher, and you might be able to make an 8…
Everyone studies differently. I’m a visual learner and like to spread out reams of paper in front of me on which I diagram. There are usually arrows, images and scribbles involved. Sometimes I pull all-nighters. Sometimes I awaken early to study. It is mostly eagerness that sustains me. If you want to do well, you have got to put in the work. Books do not read to themselves at night, papers do not have paper-fairies that write them. We (myself included) could all work a bit harder at times.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
The Question (Part 3 of 5 in the "Academics"series)
How does a Dutch university compare to a U.S.one?
A driving force in my decision to live in Utrecht, Holland was because of its flagship university: The University of Utrecht. A world college report had ranked it highly. In this case, the statistics were more than spot on. My faculty is extraordinary and the students, dedicated. One primary difference between a Dutch education and an American one is this: the question. To explain, in a traditional American education system, whether in high school or university, the goal is to relay the information most accurately. Repeat information and you get an A. In the Dutch system, they assume everyone will have the knowledge to repeat information. There is no learning in repetition; for the Dutch—and Europeans more broadly—learning takes place in conflict. So, to write a paper on the abstract expressionist painter Jackson Pollock during the Cold War, you should find some conflict in his life—someone that challenged what he said, or some artist whose work conflicted with his. The paper is in the tension. Whatever the subject is, you must find the force that worked against that subject. You present both sides of the argument, than, your paper’s job is to show where you position yourself within this debate. Presto. In Dutch papers you have to forcefully argue a position based on scholars that came before. This way of thinking creates scholars and people that innately go through life critically thinking.
Study Hours
Recently, I asked a friend where I could study (besides my room) during the evening. Cafes are closed after six and the library closes early on weekends. To this, my friend replied: "Get your work done during the day; we do not study at night." Even though I am learning loads here, the environment is more relaxed. Some students take several years to complete a masters degree that should take only a year because they take their time (and it does not cost much to extend their study.) I could get used to this (though, rest assured Rotary, I will finish my masters in one year!) :)
A driving force in my decision to live in Utrecht, Holland was because of its flagship university: The University of Utrecht. A world college report had ranked it highly. In this case, the statistics were more than spot on. My faculty is extraordinary and the students, dedicated. One primary difference between a Dutch education and an American one is this: the question. To explain, in a traditional American education system, whether in high school or university, the goal is to relay the information most accurately. Repeat information and you get an A. In the Dutch system, they assume everyone will have the knowledge to repeat information. There is no learning in repetition; for the Dutch—and Europeans more broadly—learning takes place in conflict. So, to write a paper on the abstract expressionist painter Jackson Pollock during the Cold War, you should find some conflict in his life—someone that challenged what he said, or some artist whose work conflicted with his. The paper is in the tension. Whatever the subject is, you must find the force that worked against that subject. You present both sides of the argument, than, your paper’s job is to show where you position yourself within this debate. Presto. In Dutch papers you have to forcefully argue a position based on scholars that came before. This way of thinking creates scholars and people that innately go through life critically thinking.
Study Hours
Recently, I asked a friend where I could study (besides my room) during the evening. Cafes are closed after six and the library closes early on weekends. To this, my friend replied: "Get your work done during the day; we do not study at night." Even though I am learning loads here, the environment is more relaxed. Some students take several years to complete a masters degree that should take only a year because they take their time (and it does not cost much to extend their study.) I could get used to this (though, rest assured Rotary, I will finish my masters in one year!) :)
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Grading the Students: Intelligence and the Cult of Personality (Part 2 in a 5 part series)
All students in my program are Dutch, except for two German students. As a result, I am able to make friends that know the ins and outs of the Netherlands. My classmates and I cook together, hang out, take the train to various parts of Holland and drive to nearby countries like Germany.
My classmates are smart. The equivalent of American standardized testing happens early in high school in the Netherlands. The best and brightest go on to the top university of their choice. (If you do well in high school you can practically have your pick of university, unlike in the States, where getting into a great university is never assured, even with good grades.) In America, diversity of ability exists, even within the greatest universities. Here, no student shines above the other; there is surprising evenness of ability in the classroom. Everyone is equally intelligent in my class. In the Netherlands, they except students only on academic merit, no athletic scholarships (I can see why, everyone is insanely talented athletically…haha) and no legacy considerations.
Dutch students are much like American students, except I think they are more mature than American ones. For one, they are in university longer, but here, university life is not tantamount to the partying life. Despite the fact that this is Holland—insert whatever stereotypes you have for the country here____--most students do not stay out late. They have their own apartment, a girlfriend or boyfriend, a cat or a dog. They have a job. They do not go to many bars and go to sleep early, while their American counterparts (to generalize) are still hitting the bars at dizzying speeds.
Having attended many schools, I am highly attuned to the personalities of students, the gossip and cliques. There's not a lot of that here--the country is too small to have cliques I'm convinced. Perhaps graduate school is far different than undergraduate life. The students here are genuinely kind and surprisingly outgoing (which overturns stereotypes of the Dutch being cold toward strangers.) Before coming here I read a book that said the Dutch have deep bonds with friends extending back to elementary school and seldom open up to newcomers. So wrong. The acquaintances I make here will be ones I will keep for the rest of my life. Hurrah for new friendships.
My classmates are smart. The equivalent of American standardized testing happens early in high school in the Netherlands. The best and brightest go on to the top university of their choice. (If you do well in high school you can practically have your pick of university, unlike in the States, where getting into a great university is never assured, even with good grades.) In America, diversity of ability exists, even within the greatest universities. Here, no student shines above the other; there is surprising evenness of ability in the classroom. Everyone is equally intelligent in my class. In the Netherlands, they except students only on academic merit, no athletic scholarships (I can see why, everyone is insanely talented athletically…haha) and no legacy considerations.
Dutch students are much like American students, except I think they are more mature than American ones. For one, they are in university longer, but here, university life is not tantamount to the partying life. Despite the fact that this is Holland—insert whatever stereotypes you have for the country here____--most students do not stay out late. They have their own apartment, a girlfriend or boyfriend, a cat or a dog. They have a job. They do not go to many bars and go to sleep early, while their American counterparts (to generalize) are still hitting the bars at dizzying speeds.
Having attended many schools, I am highly attuned to the personalities of students, the gossip and cliques. There's not a lot of that here--the country is too small to have cliques I'm convinced. Perhaps graduate school is far different than undergraduate life. The students here are genuinely kind and surprisingly outgoing (which overturns stereotypes of the Dutch being cold toward strangers.) Before coming here I read a book that said the Dutch have deep bonds with friends extending back to elementary school and seldom open up to newcomers. So wrong. The acquaintances I make here will be ones I will keep for the rest of my life. Hurrah for new friendships.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
ACADEMICS: Learning Here Part 1 of 5
How does a person who loves everything pick what to study for a masters degree? At one point in my life, I wanted five or six masters degrees. I wanted to study myriad things in detail. And then I researched their costs. To be brief, I realized that unless your last name is Astor, you can’t have as many degrees as you have ties. Or shoes. For this reason, after my masters this year, I will put formal education to the periphery for a little while. I will save money and travel. I will work either domestically or internationally; wherever opportunity manifests itself. I am thrilled for the chance to do something beyond school for a while.
However, at this point in time I am hitting the books. I am studying cultural history, which, like one of my undergraduate degrees—American studies—many outside of academia have never heard of. American studies is similar to American history. Often it has a focus on cultural and ethnic history. During my undergraduate time, I studied lots of African American and Indigenous American literature. Cultural history is similar to American studies in that it aims to revive stories from the margins. It foregrounds history by the common man or woman. It is a stupendous program and is in its first year at Utrecht University. I’m guessing that only a handful of programs like it exist throughout the world.
Cultural history is holistic. I am learning about contemporary philosophers and historical theorists. The Cold War. WWII. Dutch resistance during WWII. I read articles daily on both international and domestic affairs. Lately I have been given articles to read on Paul Robeson, the House of Un-American Activities, J.Edgar Hoover, soap manufacturing and advertisement in 18th century England, fashion at the turn of the century, water management in the Netherlands and philosophers who speculate and mull over it all. History is the study of the world; I could not have chosen a more suitable and gratifying program.
However, at this point in time I am hitting the books. I am studying cultural history, which, like one of my undergraduate degrees—American studies—many outside of academia have never heard of. American studies is similar to American history. Often it has a focus on cultural and ethnic history. During my undergraduate time, I studied lots of African American and Indigenous American literature. Cultural history is similar to American studies in that it aims to revive stories from the margins. It foregrounds history by the common man or woman. It is a stupendous program and is in its first year at Utrecht University. I’m guessing that only a handful of programs like it exist throughout the world.
Cultural history is holistic. I am learning about contemporary philosophers and historical theorists. The Cold War. WWII. Dutch resistance during WWII. I read articles daily on both international and domestic affairs. Lately I have been given articles to read on Paul Robeson, the House of Un-American Activities, J.Edgar Hoover, soap manufacturing and advertisement in 18th century England, fashion at the turn of the century, water management in the Netherlands and philosophers who speculate and mull over it all. History is the study of the world; I could not have chosen a more suitable and gratifying program.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Giving Thanks
The occasion of Thanksgiving recently passed, reminding me to be grateful for so many things, a few of which are family, health and education. And, in a world where the latter two are hardly possible without money, I must give thanks for my material prosperity. For this Rotary Ambassadorial Scholarship.
It is interesting the types of conversations I have with Dutch students about finances. They have far less expendable money than people I know in the States, and yet, they do not have to worry about paying for the things that cost Americans both arms and legs: education and healthcare. The Dutch government (which is becoming more conservative) is now raising the cost for a second masters degree so that it will be extremely expensive (by Dutch standards) to procure one after next year. Students are irate. They have always considered it a given that they will be able to get two masters degrees after their bachelors (practically for free!) It costs around 1,200 euros to get a masters here, if you are from the European Union. With a world-class masters program costing that much in the U.S, I could afford to save up for several. In America, I tell my roommate, I can regularly save up for new technology: a laptop, phone, camera, what have you. But I could never save up for a degree. Here, it is the reverse, my roommate does not have to foot the cost of a university education and yet she would rarely have the expendable money for a new phone upgrade or new laptop. And so, this is all to say, I AM GRATFUL FOR THIS ROTARY SCHOLARSHIP. Grateful, the word, hardly covers it. How blessed I am. I am also thankful for poetry, like the Pulitzer Prize winning poet, Mary Oliver, who writes “Tell me, what is it you plan to do/ with your one wild and precious life?” in her book New and Selected Poems. And, in this same vein, Oliver has another great quote, it goes: “Listen. Are you breathing just a little and calling it a life?” Meaning, how much more could you be doing to have an amazing existence?
Lately I have been doing yoga in Holland. Running and yoga are somewhat of the antithesis of each other. For a bit of background, in high school and during my undergraduate years, I ran often. Now I am inflexible and have stiff knees which makes yoga hard. However, my Dutch roommate, Lidy, introduced me to a yoga class in Holland where you do yoga in a heated room. It is called bikram yoga. The benefit of this is that it is easier on your joints, they relax more easily— and you get a really good workout ( you are sweating before you even lift an arm.) After class you can walk outside on the porch and stick your feet in a bucket of snow-water. It sounds dreadful, but is really fantastic. For an hour and a half you stretch and do nothing but breath deeply through your nose. This breathing is also contrary to normal exercise breathing. While running, I breath in through my nose, out through my mouth. This breathing makes your more competitive and puts you into a gung ho, ready for action mindset. Like you want to win a race. Yoga breathing is the opposite of that.
Yoga breathing reminds me that there is an astonishing amount of space in our lungs for breath—the majority of which we never utilize. And so, too, we have manifold dreams that we never explore, a half-dozen ambitions we never speak out loud, a book of wonderful musings that we never bring to fruition or allow ourselves to dwell on.
It is an interesting time of year. Thanksgiving has passed. The Jewish New Year happened in September; (the time we give thanks and plan things we will do better in the new year) and it is not January 1st yet. But, today I will be grateful, and today I will take charge and take fruitful risks. Whether it is hosting a dinner get-together for my newfound Dutch friends, biking through the Dutch hillsides or exploring parts of Europe, I believe I will try to do something everyday that makes me a bit afraid, as Eleanor Roosevelt reportedly suggested everyone do with their days. I’ll try to remain on the edge. And remember to breath deeply.
It is interesting the types of conversations I have with Dutch students about finances. They have far less expendable money than people I know in the States, and yet, they do not have to worry about paying for the things that cost Americans both arms and legs: education and healthcare. The Dutch government (which is becoming more conservative) is now raising the cost for a second masters degree so that it will be extremely expensive (by Dutch standards) to procure one after next year. Students are irate. They have always considered it a given that they will be able to get two masters degrees after their bachelors (practically for free!) It costs around 1,200 euros to get a masters here, if you are from the European Union. With a world-class masters program costing that much in the U.S, I could afford to save up for several. In America, I tell my roommate, I can regularly save up for new technology: a laptop, phone, camera, what have you. But I could never save up for a degree. Here, it is the reverse, my roommate does not have to foot the cost of a university education and yet she would rarely have the expendable money for a new phone upgrade or new laptop. And so, this is all to say, I AM GRATFUL FOR THIS ROTARY SCHOLARSHIP. Grateful, the word, hardly covers it. How blessed I am. I am also thankful for poetry, like the Pulitzer Prize winning poet, Mary Oliver, who writes “Tell me, what is it you plan to do/ with your one wild and precious life?” in her book New and Selected Poems. And, in this same vein, Oliver has another great quote, it goes: “Listen. Are you breathing just a little and calling it a life?” Meaning, how much more could you be doing to have an amazing existence?
Lately I have been doing yoga in Holland. Running and yoga are somewhat of the antithesis of each other. For a bit of background, in high school and during my undergraduate years, I ran often. Now I am inflexible and have stiff knees which makes yoga hard. However, my Dutch roommate, Lidy, introduced me to a yoga class in Holland where you do yoga in a heated room. It is called bikram yoga. The benefit of this is that it is easier on your joints, they relax more easily— and you get a really good workout ( you are sweating before you even lift an arm.) After class you can walk outside on the porch and stick your feet in a bucket of snow-water. It sounds dreadful, but is really fantastic. For an hour and a half you stretch and do nothing but breath deeply through your nose. This breathing is also contrary to normal exercise breathing. While running, I breath in through my nose, out through my mouth. This breathing makes your more competitive and puts you into a gung ho, ready for action mindset. Like you want to win a race. Yoga breathing is the opposite of that.
Yoga breathing reminds me that there is an astonishing amount of space in our lungs for breath—the majority of which we never utilize. And so, too, we have manifold dreams that we never explore, a half-dozen ambitions we never speak out loud, a book of wonderful musings that we never bring to fruition or allow ourselves to dwell on.
It is an interesting time of year. Thanksgiving has passed. The Jewish New Year happened in September; (the time we give thanks and plan things we will do better in the new year) and it is not January 1st yet. But, today I will be grateful, and today I will take charge and take fruitful risks. Whether it is hosting a dinner get-together for my newfound Dutch friends, biking through the Dutch hillsides or exploring parts of Europe, I believe I will try to do something everyday that makes me a bit afraid, as Eleanor Roosevelt reportedly suggested everyone do with their days. I’ll try to remain on the edge. And remember to breath deeply.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
You Know You're An American When...
you have a credit card(s)
you buy enough food to last for weeks at the store and then realize you cannot fit it into your bike bags
you eat everything with your hands
you ignore the knife
you feel an affinity for McDonald's even when you don't eat there (they are one of the few places with a wireless internet connection!)
you loath Dutch bureaucracy, following rules, standing in line, and getting little slips of paper with a number on it that says wait
you walk in the bike lane
you are surprised by the taste of fresh bread
you put lots of milk and sugar in your coffee or drink cafe lattes (spelled coffee verkeerd in Dutch which literally translates to "wrong coffee")
you say you all and you guys a lot (which the Dutch consider very informal)
you wear sweatpants and a t-shirt to class and baggy pants if you are a guy (Dutch casual is less casual than American casual)
you suddenly find yourself craving the brands Skippy, Heinz and Hershey
you find it strange that at some pools they have a specific time when Dutch people can swim nude…
you think all Dutch people are extremely tall
you do not find it odd to eat cereal or a sandwich for breakfast, lunch and dinner all in a day (if you are a student...)
you feel the need to give presents all the time and buy lots of things
you use the words "university" and "college" interchangeably
you took a test (the SATs) to get into college (in Holland the testing takes place in high school, and you are then placed into differing high schools. If you do well at whatever high school you went to, you get your pick of practically any university in the Netherlands, with some exceptions made for disciplines like medicine.)
your biggest expenses are university and healthcare
there is a big disparity between the rich and poor in your nation
there is a big difference between "good" and "not-so-good" universities in your country
You "hook-up" or speed-date with people (Most people have steady relationships and do not change partners like American university students)
you wear flipflops when it is too cold to do so
you are afraid of public speaking and are awed at the debating, public speaking and rhetorical prowess of all Dutch people
people think you are fat before they see you (some Dutch people believe this from watching lots of fat Americans on TV)
Dutch people think you live like stars on reality television (the most common images of “American culture,” stuff from shows like My Sweet Sixteen, a television show about millionaire’s kids having extravagant sixteenth birthday parties, and the show Teenage and Pregnant, about well, you guessed it, pregnant American teenagers… )
you realize that you have fewer books than most Dutch families
you have never heard of the wonders of “hagelslag”
You Know You are Dutch When (you write you are, instead of you're...)
you know the term "pin it," because you only have an ATM card and not a credit card
you bike in a skirt and dress or suit and tie
you go to the store everyday and only buy enough groceries for meals for that day
you have never tasted a peanut butter and jelly sandwich or if you do, find it odd
you think it is normal to see uncensored naked bodies on television
you always use two forms of birth control
you might think of getting married when you are 30
healthcare and university costs come out of your taxes for the most part and the government gives you a student card for most transportation and pays for birth control
you have a pot of orchids in your house
you have at least three bicycles in your garage
you will have at least one master's degree by the time you are twenty-six
you speak at least three languages conversationally
you drink coffee or tea at least once a day
you cut up your pizza with a knife and fork
you have a birthday calendar hanging in your bathroom where you record all important birthdays
you live in a small house or apartment (by American standards)
you have no car or a small car (again, by American perceptions)
you have a communal playground near your house
you biked to school and will bike to university
you only call elementary school and high school "school" (Americans call university "school" as well)
you were tested in high school to see which high school you would go to. Your English competency is sometimes better if you go to the higher level school, but everyone speaks English conversationally, if not better than many Americans
most all universities are made equal in your country, though some universities are known for certain programs, all universities are strong
you work part time or stay at home if you are a woman (this is pretty common)
you are a pragmatic dater (you think about the long-term and whether the relationship would work out)
you dress conservatively in the gym, covering up way more than Americans
you dress more conservatively in clubs than Americans
you wear a lot of black, white and grey
you do not make physical contact with people when dancing (in America guys are all over girls they have never met)
you are freaked out by hugs (you find hugging far more intimate than kissing three times on the cheek)
if someone tries to hug you, you turn to the side to avoid frontal contact
you play at least three sports
you have visited California
you want to have an internship in New York
you smoke
you know what “hagelslag” is and put it on your toast in the morning
you buy enough food to last for weeks at the store and then realize you cannot fit it into your bike bags
you eat everything with your hands
you ignore the knife
you feel an affinity for McDonald's even when you don't eat there (they are one of the few places with a wireless internet connection!)
you loath Dutch bureaucracy, following rules, standing in line, and getting little slips of paper with a number on it that says wait
you walk in the bike lane
you are surprised by the taste of fresh bread
you put lots of milk and sugar in your coffee or drink cafe lattes (spelled coffee verkeerd in Dutch which literally translates to "wrong coffee")
you say you all and you guys a lot (which the Dutch consider very informal)
you wear sweatpants and a t-shirt to class and baggy pants if you are a guy (Dutch casual is less casual than American casual)
you suddenly find yourself craving the brands Skippy, Heinz and Hershey
you find it strange that at some pools they have a specific time when Dutch people can swim nude…
you think all Dutch people are extremely tall
you do not find it odd to eat cereal or a sandwich for breakfast, lunch and dinner all in a day (if you are a student...)
you feel the need to give presents all the time and buy lots of things
you use the words "university" and "college" interchangeably
you took a test (the SATs) to get into college (in Holland the testing takes place in high school, and you are then placed into differing high schools. If you do well at whatever high school you went to, you get your pick of practically any university in the Netherlands, with some exceptions made for disciplines like medicine.)
your biggest expenses are university and healthcare
there is a big disparity between the rich and poor in your nation
there is a big difference between "good" and "not-so-good" universities in your country
You "hook-up" or speed-date with people (Most people have steady relationships and do not change partners like American university students)
you wear flipflops when it is too cold to do so
you are afraid of public speaking and are awed at the debating, public speaking and rhetorical prowess of all Dutch people
people think you are fat before they see you (some Dutch people believe this from watching lots of fat Americans on TV)
Dutch people think you live like stars on reality television (the most common images of “American culture,” stuff from shows like My Sweet Sixteen, a television show about millionaire’s kids having extravagant sixteenth birthday parties, and the show Teenage and Pregnant, about well, you guessed it, pregnant American teenagers… )
you realize that you have fewer books than most Dutch families
you have never heard of the wonders of “hagelslag”
You Know You are Dutch When (you write you are, instead of you're...)
you know the term "pin it," because you only have an ATM card and not a credit card
you bike in a skirt and dress or suit and tie
you go to the store everyday and only buy enough groceries for meals for that day
you have never tasted a peanut butter and jelly sandwich or if you do, find it odd
you think it is normal to see uncensored naked bodies on television
you always use two forms of birth control
you might think of getting married when you are 30
healthcare and university costs come out of your taxes for the most part and the government gives you a student card for most transportation and pays for birth control
you have a pot of orchids in your house
you have at least three bicycles in your garage
you will have at least one master's degree by the time you are twenty-six
you speak at least three languages conversationally
you drink coffee or tea at least once a day
you cut up your pizza with a knife and fork
you have a birthday calendar hanging in your bathroom where you record all important birthdays
you live in a small house or apartment (by American standards)
you have no car or a small car (again, by American perceptions)
you have a communal playground near your house
you biked to school and will bike to university
you only call elementary school and high school "school" (Americans call university "school" as well)
you were tested in high school to see which high school you would go to. Your English competency is sometimes better if you go to the higher level school, but everyone speaks English conversationally, if not better than many Americans
most all universities are made equal in your country, though some universities are known for certain programs, all universities are strong
you work part time or stay at home if you are a woman (this is pretty common)
you are a pragmatic dater (you think about the long-term and whether the relationship would work out)
you dress conservatively in the gym, covering up way more than Americans
you dress more conservatively in clubs than Americans
you wear a lot of black, white and grey
you do not make physical contact with people when dancing (in America guys are all over girls they have never met)
you are freaked out by hugs (you find hugging far more intimate than kissing three times on the cheek)
if someone tries to hug you, you turn to the side to avoid frontal contact
you play at least three sports
you have visited California
you want to have an internship in New York
you smoke
you know what “hagelslag” is and put it on your toast in the morning
Monday, November 15, 2010
Autumn Wheels
Close up of bike wheel in leaves
Rock-proof baby carrier
Ah, this is my bicycle. If you go to the center of Utrecht around 5:00, you can buy flowers when the flower stalls are closing-up for the night. You get more flowers for less. This night I wanted a few sunflowers. Eager to get rid of their stash and replenish it in the morning, the flower sellar gave me about twenty-five sunflowers. The bundle was too unwieldy to bike with under my arm (what most Dutchies do) so I had to tether them to the back of my seat with my orange scarf.
Jewish bike. I found it sort of funny that someone left their yarmulke (the most commonly recognized piece of jewish garb) beside the bike on the railing overlooking the canal. One puff of wind and...it might have gone sailing
Yellow and blue contrast with bikes
Heineken is manufactured in Holland. I have not been to the headquarters, but they are located in Amsterdam. Heineken is the prefered beer here. Though I prefer wine, most young people opt for beer. Their parents drink wine with most meals. Wine is far cheaper here and it can be bought in greater variety than in most American grocery stores. There is plenty of wine that can be bought for two euros a bottle. (Don't worry Rotary, I drink in moderation. ) :)
Autumnal bike
Bike prank: One often sees bikes, still locked to the railings, that have been turned on their wheel or are hanging off into the canal. Each year they have to dredge the canals for bikes. I am told they pull up hundreds...
Fall-hued bike
Action bike!
I guess bikes are not permitted here...
Graffiti is fairly common in the Netherlands. It seems to be more artfully crafted than the graffiti I have observed in the United States. Most often, the graffiti appears on construction sites (the wood planks and scaffolding surrounding buildings) and not on the buildings themselves.
Monday, November 8, 2010
Suiker Addict
Food can illuminate lots about the region it is served in. Belgian chocolate. French wine. Chilean sea bass.American…Sugar?
By Dutch standards, I’m a sugar (suiker) addict. It’s not my fault, I plead! In the U.S, sugar goes into food without our knowledge. When I bought peanut butter here last week, I discovered for the first time what actual smashed peanuts taste like—absent sugar. Then I realized how much sugar must be in American peanut butter. Probably a cup. Here, the contrast between food modified by sugar and the real thing is made grossly apparent.
Before Europe, I would not call myself a sugar-lover. Let me tell you about my childhood: whenever I went to birthday parties I was taught to ask for water and decline soft drinks, which were disallowed in my house; sugary cereals were off-limits (except lucky charms which I love, and were given as a treat.) However, to be an American, along with liking everything supersized, is to be addicted to sugar (unless you grow all your own food and make ketchup from scratch.) We cannot help it that everything we eat is loaded with saccharine—even the things we think are healthy. Think of all the ingredients on the label that you have never heard of…
About the only cereal here that I can find at home is Raisin Bran. And even that is different—bits of dried banana, apple and nuts compliment the flakes. And this: the raisins have no dusting of sugar. What!? No sugar? It never dawned on me that Raisin Bran could be any other way. I never thought about the sugar before. Afterall, I thought I was chosing the healthy option from among the likes of tasty Fruit Loops and Coco Puffs. Like McDonalds, who tailors their menu to fit cuisine norms around the world, Kellogs cereal also adjusts.
It is scary to learn something new about your taste buds: they have been conditioned to expect the sweet. I feel bereft without juice each morning (most juice we drink in the States is not even pure juice I am learning…) I load my chai lattes, tea and coffee with either a spoonful of honey or sugar. The Dutch do not put honey in their tea or sugar in coffee.
To an American (me), natural cereal tastes like dog food. We consider food with less sugar, diet food, and inherently less tasty. Not only do Americans put sugar in our food, but worse, all sorts of sugar substitutes of which only chemists know the composition of. Perhaps we eat so much high fructose corn syrup because the government gives enormous subsidies to corn, thus helping to negate any original nutritional content.
And you wonder why Americans are obese. Experts around the country are scratching their noggins, trying to come up with highfalutin solutions to one of Americans largest killers. The answer is comically simple. What would American’s average body mass index look like if every morsel of food had fifty percent less sugar? Or 100% less, as seems to be the case over here. At first we would cry a bit. I’m missing sugar right now. (As we speak I am sprinkling sugar over my cereal.) Eventually though, I bet our bodies would adjust. Wish me luck.
By Dutch standards, I’m a sugar (suiker) addict. It’s not my fault, I plead! In the U.S, sugar goes into food without our knowledge. When I bought peanut butter here last week, I discovered for the first time what actual smashed peanuts taste like—absent sugar. Then I realized how much sugar must be in American peanut butter. Probably a cup. Here, the contrast between food modified by sugar and the real thing is made grossly apparent.
Before Europe, I would not call myself a sugar-lover. Let me tell you about my childhood: whenever I went to birthday parties I was taught to ask for water and decline soft drinks, which were disallowed in my house; sugary cereals were off-limits (except lucky charms which I love, and were given as a treat.) However, to be an American, along with liking everything supersized, is to be addicted to sugar (unless you grow all your own food and make ketchup from scratch.) We cannot help it that everything we eat is loaded with saccharine—even the things we think are healthy. Think of all the ingredients on the label that you have never heard of…
About the only cereal here that I can find at home is Raisin Bran. And even that is different—bits of dried banana, apple and nuts compliment the flakes. And this: the raisins have no dusting of sugar. What!? No sugar? It never dawned on me that Raisin Bran could be any other way. I never thought about the sugar before. Afterall, I thought I was chosing the healthy option from among the likes of tasty Fruit Loops and Coco Puffs. Like McDonalds, who tailors their menu to fit cuisine norms around the world, Kellogs cereal also adjusts.
It is scary to learn something new about your taste buds: they have been conditioned to expect the sweet. I feel bereft without juice each morning (most juice we drink in the States is not even pure juice I am learning…) I load my chai lattes, tea and coffee with either a spoonful of honey or sugar. The Dutch do not put honey in their tea or sugar in coffee.
To an American (me), natural cereal tastes like dog food. We consider food with less sugar, diet food, and inherently less tasty. Not only do Americans put sugar in our food, but worse, all sorts of sugar substitutes of which only chemists know the composition of. Perhaps we eat so much high fructose corn syrup because the government gives enormous subsidies to corn, thus helping to negate any original nutritional content.
And you wonder why Americans are obese. Experts around the country are scratching their noggins, trying to come up with highfalutin solutions to one of Americans largest killers. The answer is comically simple. What would American’s average body mass index look like if every morsel of food had fifty percent less sugar? Or 100% less, as seems to be the case over here. At first we would cry a bit. I’m missing sugar right now. (As we speak I am sprinkling sugar over my cereal.) Eventually though, I bet our bodies would adjust. Wish me luck.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Autumn Summary
This is an image of everyone crowding around the grocery store Sunday afternoon, waiting for 4:00 (called 16:00 here) when the doors will open. It looks like a party. People are ready to bust down the front door. The grocery store does not open until it is dark outside on Sunday. And that is only the largest grocery store in the area. No other shops are open all day on Sunday. You may ask, ‘But what if I want to cook a chicken?” Tough cookies. Sundays in Holland are quiet. And it is nice. At first I was frustrated, I wanted to go, go, go. Now, I appreciate the forced reverie. You cannot be frenetic on Sunday morning, you cannot do chores. Most Dutch young people do not go to church and most folks I have talked to are not very religious; however, a Protestant ethic influences many thing here. Even Albert Heijn—the largest supermarket chain in the Netherlands—is closed, except for a few locations.
Wind turbines on the horizon, spinning. A common site in Europe.
My friend Jitske making orange juice for breakfast. She is using an electric mixer; you can also use a hand squeezer which is easier to clean. When I first decided to make orange juice I made the mistake of buying the wrong oranges. Yes, that’s right, there are two types—oranges for eating and those for juicing. Now I know the difference: Get the green bag that says Perssinaasappelen. Try saying that ten times.
I’m clearly intimidated by the giant cow heads.
Lovely secret hedge garden in the North of Holland. The sky was a typical gray and rain was sheeting down, however, roses still bloomed brightly in the garden. Most leaves are off the trees now. The leaves her are a sad brown and yellow. They lack the luster of either West Virginia or New England autumn—the reds, golds, oranges. Also, there is no earthy, cinnamony, fall smell here. I miss jumping in a newly-raked pile of leaves!
This is a quaint wood-burning stove inside a café in Friesland, Holland. Again, that day it was drizzling rain and nothing felt better than this fireplace with a piece of apple pie and a café latte.
Taken during the same rainy day in Friesland, this shows a quintessential Dutch barn. It was built in the 1700’s and is still working. Note the roof: clay tiles. This roof, along with thatched roofs made from reeds are common in Holland. There is an abundance of clay here and almost all the homes are brick. Wood is hard to come by in this completely human-constructed country, where there appears to be mostly bogs and grasses.
Dutch style: I almost fell off my bike trying to take pictures of other people on their bikes. This girl epitomizes Dutch style. 1. She rides a bike. 2. Her right foot is raised, ready to speed off as soon as the light changes. 3. She wears practical flat shoes 4. A bike lock is looped around the base of her seat 5. Striped shirt. Today in class, four of fifteen people were wearing black and white striped shirts. I was wearing a black and blue striped shirt. What’s with the stripes? 6. On top of her shirt is a faux or real (probably faux since she is a student) black leather jacket that starts at her belly button. Also in vogue. 7. Side bag which is cooler to bike with in Holland than a backpack (note to self.) 8. A green purse is looped around her front handle bars. 9. She is eating a sandwich at the light (multi-tasking.) 10. She is blonde (a common hair color here.) 11. What is in her bag? To generalize I’m going to say, a date book, since everyone stays immensely busy and pencils in all their dates. And I’m going to guess she has two or more types of sport equipment inside since I have not met a single young person that does not do at least two sports (this does not count biking.) Rowing, jogging, field hockey, ice hockey, skating, swimming, rowing soccer, etc.
The Dom Tower: The tallest building in my town of Utrecht and my point of reference so I did not get lost for my first three weeks here.
Black sheep in Friesland. Zoe, my excellent friend at Brown, recently purchased an antique spinning wheel. I need to find some wool to send her…
Stone street flanked by a canal (most small streets are brick or stone) where I lock up my bicycle and go to class! My classes meet on the left side of the bridge.
Cheese in a wagon.
Cat inside a windmill. As for pets, it is common to have cats and dogs. However, you do not see stray dogs wandering, while you do see stray cats. There are lots in the fields, you see their little tails emerging from the high grass. I watched a show on television the other day that said in a cat’s lifetime she could have over a thousand kittens if not neutered.
Beautiful windmill
View of windmill from the bottom, looking up
Friday, October 29, 2010
Freezeland with a Friend
This weekend I traveled to Fryslân as it is known in Dutch, or Friesland, the northernmost province of Holland. It should be called Freezland. Here is a short outline of our trip.
My traveling buddy was my fantastic neighbor, Jitske. I go to Jitske's apartment for tea, pancakes with apples and cheese in them (not together) and borrow her books. For her bachelor’s Jitske (pronounced Yitskuh) studied American studies at Utrecht University (my current institution.) I, too, studied American studies at Brown. We have some of the same favorite authors.
In Friesland, Jitske showed me her family’s working farm. The farm belongs to her grandparents, aunt, uncle and two teenage cousins who help run the farm on weekends.The cousins were tall (according to Jitske, Freisans are the tallest people in the world.) It is a hard task to run a farm. You can never leave for holidays. The farm is connected to the house her grandparents live in, a house that was built in the 1700’s.In Friesland I learned that the people are not as reticent as they are rumored to be. According to Jitske, they may not show their emotions much, but they sure welcomed me warmly. There was laughter in the grandparent’s cozy home, and tea. Always tea.
Five calves were born the night before we came and lay under heat lamps in the barn. Yellow and white buckets of milk stood by the door. The door of the barn opens directly into the house. Most homes in Friesland are made from bricks. Though not as common as in the past, small family farms can still compete and sell milk. Still, the price of milk is unpredictable and most families hope to break even. The cows are Friesan cows (that look like American Holsteins, though stockier) or Holsteins, which, are probably the best milk cows around, as Jitske’s uncle put it.
Thankfully the sun made a mid-day appearance. I wore my winter coat and two scarves. I still froze. Cafes are always good for this sort of weather, and we found one, where we both had apple tart (a common Dutch item) and a café latte (always served in a mug, not a paper cup.)
The skin on my cheeks was tested by the wind as I climbed over the cement dykes which reinforce the entire country and prevent it from floating away. Dykes are natural looking hills with cement on the side facing the sea and grass and grazing sheep on the side facing the town. It is said that at low tide (in warmer weather,) you can walk through the mudflats to the islands off the coast of Friesland and take a ferry back. However, it takes hardcore training to be able to walk through that thick mud for such a long distance.If you get stuck, you are stuck!
Holland is human constructed. Its land is assiduously maintained by government crews that pull weeds from the canals and repair wooden beams that buttress every inlet. It is impressive to think that humans created a country. It is a peculiar landscape for this West Virginian. Flat, flat, flat. You can see why many Dutch people immigrated to lands in America that were flat—a reminder of home. These lands are planted with corn fields and are spotted with wind turbines. On the way home at sunset, I saw a line of wind turbines behind a blue, fading to red sunset sky that made me think wind turbines were as pretty as Renaissance art.
The Friesan flag has blue and white stripes interspersed with red hearts. About a half million people celebrate this flag. Notwithstanding the topography, Friesland is sort of like the Appalachia of Holland. It is considered backwoods and backwards. When really, it is beautiful farmland with highly educated people. They speak a different language, Freisan, a language that branched out of Old English--according to one of my University friends. It is softer, more like cursive than the hard block letters of Dutch. The primary difference, however, is the pace. There is less hurrying.
There are about 195 windmills in Friesland. Jitske and I saw five windmills on a day when the sun made a halo around the blades in the frigid October air. We even went inside one mill that processed and sold flour (Jitske bought some cheese and pepper bread mixture for her parents.)With a curious cat and mill owner looking on, I hoped on a working scale (used for grain) to see if I had gained any weight while in Holland. Maybe I did, maybe I didn't. In any event, it will all come off on the bike.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Born to Bike
You learn to bike before you learn to walk—an old Dutch saying
A typical scene: A girl rides double on the back of a boy’s bike (she is seated on the small platform part on the back.) You have to hop on once the bike starts moving (a tricky maneuver.) A man dressed in a tux holds a mobile phone in his left hand, flowers flap from beneath his arm. Bags hang over his handle bars and saddle bags bulge in the back. A curly dog emerges from his lap. Ahead of the man, lovers hold hands while bicycling next to each other; across the street, a mom bikes insouciantly along as her little girl stands on her lap, pigtails flying. Stands! The child is protected from an errant rock or large gust of wind by a large Plexiglas shield. For a few minutes I am alone on the brick-paved street. Silence (except for the clacking of my low-on-air bike wheel.) Here comes traffic: A dad chugs forward, toting a large wooden bike wagon with a couple of kids giggling inside. I switch on my bike lights (a red one in the front, white one on the back.) The fixture which secures the light broke on the front of my bike a few days ago. I tried to superglue it and then just invested in 2 euro bike lights that are made to hang off the front of your bike. The back popped off one, sending my battery into a canal, making the front of the bike lightless. Now I’m just a phantom moving towards you in the dark. My white hat helps warn of my presence. You get the picture. To help delineate the scene, here is a great website: A man in Amsterdam took 82 pictures of bicycles during 73 minutes: http://www.ski-epic.com/amsterdam_bicycles/
Nobody Wears Helmets
Cars move out of the way for you, there are enormous bike lanes and dozens of people move in a parade of good health. With all this happiness circulating, one can lose their focus and crash. During one of my first weeks here, I must have gotten swept up in the general euphoria because before you knew it I was careening over a curb and soaring face first beneath a café table’s iron feet. Though I sustained bruises, my durable made in U.S.A jeans survived. However, not all accidents have such happy endings: Last year, my roommate biked into a car door as it was being opened, which gave her a concussion for several months. She’s better now and do not fret mother and father: I just purchased university approved traveler’s insurance. It starts October first. I’ll try to stay away from cars until then.
Biking in Stilettos
When I first arrived I was in the habit of changing into sportswear to bike the four miles to class. At home, biking is a sport; here, it is a way of life. You bike everywhere and wear anything. The anything usually being something nice. Americans wear a sweatshirt, t-shirt or running shoes to class, not the Dutch. Case in point: Five minutes ago I saw someone waltzing into the library wearing a sweatshirt. Gee, he looks American, I thought. Then he started speaking English to the librarian. Case closed. The Dutch bike in high heels or boots or long trench coats. Though someone might flaunt a bright colored coat, the color pallet for this time of year is decidedly depressing: gray, white, black, gray. At least it’s not as bad as Germany where everyone seems to dress in the color of the earth: brown.
Thieves
I bought the least conspicuous bike possible to deter theft. It is old and rusty. On average, the Dutch get their bike stolen once a year. Some people tether their bikes to the railings along canals (a common place to park) with two different kinds of locks. “Most thieves are only able to pick one kind of lock,” my friend said. Each day I pass hundreds of bicycles. Some are painted fluorescent green, some are coated with stickers, some are foldable and can be carried on a train for free (otherwise you must pay an extra seven euros to bring your bike on a train, but this beats the five-hundred euros it costs for a foldable bike…) The problem with a rusty bike is that sometimes things break. While vigorously parking my bike, one of the two giant springs under the bike seat sailed off. I seriously contemplated gorilla gluing it back on, but, then remembering my failed attempt to glue together my bike light, I shelled out the 20 euros for a new seat. An excellent investment.
Biking is Equal
Holland is as flat as a plate and easy to bike on. However, this does not fully explain why Holland has so many more bicycles than its neighbors, Belgium and Germany. Why do the Dutch prefer the bike over the bus and train? And even though cars are more common in Holland than they were thirty years ago, people still prefer the bike. There are nearly as many bikes as people: 13 million bikes and 16 million Dutch people. Maybe this is because of gas prices (called petrol here.) In dollars, it costs between 80 and 90 dollars to fill a small Dutch car.
Culturally, the bike is revealing: It reflects a people that are healthy and live longer than most people (not counting the Japanese…)It also speaks to a penchant for egalitarianism. For example, a car can be a status symbol. Conversely, most bikes are created equal. Omafiets, also called grandma bikes, are popular. They have a low frame, wide saddle and low handlebars. I haven’t seen many of these in the United States. In a country that prizes frugality, you earn points for saying you got your bike used or on sale. Furthermore, there is a belief that everyone has the right to transportation. Everyone can pretty much afford a bike. In the U.S. unless you have a car you probably cannot get a job if a bus does not go to your workplace, or you cannot carpool.
Bike Accessories You Can’t Live Without
Abbreviation key:
Can’t: Cannot live without
Almost: Can almost live without
1.(can’t) Lock—I brought an indestructible u-lock from home. I know it is indestructible because the campus police at Brown had to remove it with an electric saw when I lost the key.
2.(can’t) Lights—It’s illegal not to have them and they make you glow and feel safe.
3.(almost-borderline can’t) Saddle bags—these strap on to the sides of your bike. You need them for groceries and anything you decide to buy.
4.(almost)Basket—get a falling apart one or it will get stolen, or affix an empty beer crate to the front…I have seen this.
5.(almost)Rain cover—though you can manage without it, why not splurge on a bike seat rain cover: a plastic, elastic-fitted keep-your-rump dry contraption
6.(can live without, but should be included for the more aesthetically inclined biker) Spray Paint—there is a thriving trade here in spray paint for bikes. Gold is popular.
A typical scene: A girl rides double on the back of a boy’s bike (she is seated on the small platform part on the back.) You have to hop on once the bike starts moving (a tricky maneuver.) A man dressed in a tux holds a mobile phone in his left hand, flowers flap from beneath his arm. Bags hang over his handle bars and saddle bags bulge in the back. A curly dog emerges from his lap. Ahead of the man, lovers hold hands while bicycling next to each other; across the street, a mom bikes insouciantly along as her little girl stands on her lap, pigtails flying. Stands! The child is protected from an errant rock or large gust of wind by a large Plexiglas shield. For a few minutes I am alone on the brick-paved street. Silence (except for the clacking of my low-on-air bike wheel.) Here comes traffic: A dad chugs forward, toting a large wooden bike wagon with a couple of kids giggling inside. I switch on my bike lights (a red one in the front, white one on the back.) The fixture which secures the light broke on the front of my bike a few days ago. I tried to superglue it and then just invested in 2 euro bike lights that are made to hang off the front of your bike. The back popped off one, sending my battery into a canal, making the front of the bike lightless. Now I’m just a phantom moving towards you in the dark. My white hat helps warn of my presence. You get the picture. To help delineate the scene, here is a great website: A man in Amsterdam took 82 pictures of bicycles during 73 minutes: http://www.ski-epic.com/amsterdam_bicycles/
Nobody Wears Helmets
Cars move out of the way for you, there are enormous bike lanes and dozens of people move in a parade of good health. With all this happiness circulating, one can lose their focus and crash. During one of my first weeks here, I must have gotten swept up in the general euphoria because before you knew it I was careening over a curb and soaring face first beneath a café table’s iron feet. Though I sustained bruises, my durable made in U.S.A jeans survived. However, not all accidents have such happy endings: Last year, my roommate biked into a car door as it was being opened, which gave her a concussion for several months. She’s better now and do not fret mother and father: I just purchased university approved traveler’s insurance. It starts October first. I’ll try to stay away from cars until then.
Biking in Stilettos
When I first arrived I was in the habit of changing into sportswear to bike the four miles to class. At home, biking is a sport; here, it is a way of life. You bike everywhere and wear anything. The anything usually being something nice. Americans wear a sweatshirt, t-shirt or running shoes to class, not the Dutch. Case in point: Five minutes ago I saw someone waltzing into the library wearing a sweatshirt. Gee, he looks American, I thought. Then he started speaking English to the librarian. Case closed. The Dutch bike in high heels or boots or long trench coats. Though someone might flaunt a bright colored coat, the color pallet for this time of year is decidedly depressing: gray, white, black, gray. At least it’s not as bad as Germany where everyone seems to dress in the color of the earth: brown.
Thieves
I bought the least conspicuous bike possible to deter theft. It is old and rusty. On average, the Dutch get their bike stolen once a year. Some people tether their bikes to the railings along canals (a common place to park) with two different kinds of locks. “Most thieves are only able to pick one kind of lock,” my friend said. Each day I pass hundreds of bicycles. Some are painted fluorescent green, some are coated with stickers, some are foldable and can be carried on a train for free (otherwise you must pay an extra seven euros to bring your bike on a train, but this beats the five-hundred euros it costs for a foldable bike…) The problem with a rusty bike is that sometimes things break. While vigorously parking my bike, one of the two giant springs under the bike seat sailed off. I seriously contemplated gorilla gluing it back on, but, then remembering my failed attempt to glue together my bike light, I shelled out the 20 euros for a new seat. An excellent investment.
Biking is Equal
Holland is as flat as a plate and easy to bike on. However, this does not fully explain why Holland has so many more bicycles than its neighbors, Belgium and Germany. Why do the Dutch prefer the bike over the bus and train? And even though cars are more common in Holland than they were thirty years ago, people still prefer the bike. There are nearly as many bikes as people: 13 million bikes and 16 million Dutch people. Maybe this is because of gas prices (called petrol here.) In dollars, it costs between 80 and 90 dollars to fill a small Dutch car.
Culturally, the bike is revealing: It reflects a people that are healthy and live longer than most people (not counting the Japanese…)It also speaks to a penchant for egalitarianism. For example, a car can be a status symbol. Conversely, most bikes are created equal. Omafiets, also called grandma bikes, are popular. They have a low frame, wide saddle and low handlebars. I haven’t seen many of these in the United States. In a country that prizes frugality, you earn points for saying you got your bike used or on sale. Furthermore, there is a belief that everyone has the right to transportation. Everyone can pretty much afford a bike. In the U.S. unless you have a car you probably cannot get a job if a bus does not go to your workplace, or you cannot carpool.
Bike Accessories You Can’t Live Without
Abbreviation key:
Can’t: Cannot live without
Almost: Can almost live without
1.(can’t) Lock—I brought an indestructible u-lock from home. I know it is indestructible because the campus police at Brown had to remove it with an electric saw when I lost the key.
2.(can’t) Lights—It’s illegal not to have them and they make you glow and feel safe.
3.(almost-borderline can’t) Saddle bags—these strap on to the sides of your bike. You need them for groceries and anything you decide to buy.
4.(almost)Basket—get a falling apart one or it will get stolen, or affix an empty beer crate to the front…I have seen this.
5.(almost)Rain cover—though you can manage without it, why not splurge on a bike seat rain cover: a plastic, elastic-fitted keep-your-rump dry contraption
6.(can live without, but should be included for the more aesthetically inclined biker) Spray Paint—there is a thriving trade here in spray paint for bikes. Gold is popular.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Goedemorgen! (Good Morning)
It is 9: am my time, 3 am your time if you live in the Easter U.S. time zone. Good morning! Goedemorgen in Dutch (pronounced huda moorhen, except the h sound should be made in the back of your esophagus, like in Germany…) I have finished laundry, eaten breakfast, purchased the day’s food at the market, and am now seated in the library, finishing a paper, last minute for class.Beneath are the quotidian moments that comprise my morning, details that may interest you.
Breakfast: It is common here to make fresh-squeezed orange juice for breakfast. I still have to figure out where I can purchase oranges in bulk. Fresh-squeezed juice is a marathon ahead of the store bough variety. Once you have fresh-squeezed there is no going back! This past weekend I had breakfast at my friend Jitske’s house. Her breakfast spread epitomized the Dutch breakfast: simple, protein and fiber-rich and nutritious. Step 1: Start with a bowl of yogurt. Jitske had a great yogurt that tasted like a combination between marscapone cheese and yogurt. Rich stuff. Step 2: granola or muesli (a type of granola with fruit and nut nuggets in it.) There are no lucky charms. Sigh. Step 3: Toppings. Though I’m usually on the run and hurl a spoonful of jelly into my bowl, at Jitske’s there were dried raisins, and cranberries (in separate bowls), washed and cut strawberries, blueberries, raspberries and both Dutch syrup (molasses) and American-style pure maple syrup (nearly 12 euros a bottle here and hard to find.)
Laundry: I have a washing machine and no dryer (an electricity saver.) This is common here. Most people have a clothesline on their porch. I do, too. Today, it is raining. Though it does not rain here as much as it probably rains in England, we do get our share of showers—and keep biking through it. I’ll have to wait to dry my clothing...
Market: I have to get to the market before 8:30 so I can get to the library at 9--opening time--, so that I can snag a computer before anyone else, because I spilled water on my laptop yesterday, rendering it unusable for life. People buy food here daily; this is because the amount they can carry is determined by the size of their bike basket or backpack and because they want fresh food.
What I bought: Four types of cheese, which the cheese lady let me sample from her large white tent. (We have eleven varieties of cheese in our refrigerator right now. The we in this sentence is my Dutch roommate Lidy and I. Lidy is from the northern part of Holland, speaks excellent English and is a biology student at my university. Among the varieties that I know the names of are blue cheese, two types of goat's cheese, feta cheese, parmesan cheese, fresh mozzarella, old Dutch cheese and two types of gouda. Recently there was a lawsuit which made it so that only cheese of Dutch origin can be called gouda.Take that.hah. It is sort of like the way no wine except wine from the area of Champaigne in france can be called Champaigne. Pronounced shampahn here.) I digress. The cheese was then wrapped in paper for me. It now rests inside the cloth sidebags on the back of my bicycle. When we get a break during class I will use my paring knife (also stowed in my side bag) to whittle off a piece, which I pair with the yummy cluster of purple grapes I bought, and fresh rolls. I buy my rolls from a Russian lady that wears a scarf tied beneath her chin and mutters, 1 euro, 1 euro (in Dutch) as she shoves eight hot rolls of various sizes and types into people’s bike baskets. She pulls the rolls piping hot out of an oven that operates in the market square. Eight rolls for a euro, not bad. The problem is, they go stale in six hours. Guess I have to eat them all…I also bought lettuce and bell peppers.
Library: I am studying in Napoleon’s old palace. It is contemporary and white in the inside and looks a bit like Ikea (a Swedish-started chain furniture company that is absurdly popular here.) The library has a nice collection of English books and about thirty computers that are claimed within the first seven minutes the library opens. Except on Sundays, then you have a few more minutes to stake out a keyboard.And, then, off to class!
Breakfast: It is common here to make fresh-squeezed orange juice for breakfast. I still have to figure out where I can purchase oranges in bulk. Fresh-squeezed juice is a marathon ahead of the store bough variety. Once you have fresh-squeezed there is no going back! This past weekend I had breakfast at my friend Jitske’s house. Her breakfast spread epitomized the Dutch breakfast: simple, protein and fiber-rich and nutritious. Step 1: Start with a bowl of yogurt. Jitske had a great yogurt that tasted like a combination between marscapone cheese and yogurt. Rich stuff. Step 2: granola or muesli (a type of granola with fruit and nut nuggets in it.) There are no lucky charms. Sigh. Step 3: Toppings. Though I’m usually on the run and hurl a spoonful of jelly into my bowl, at Jitske’s there were dried raisins, and cranberries (in separate bowls), washed and cut strawberries, blueberries, raspberries and both Dutch syrup (molasses) and American-style pure maple syrup (nearly 12 euros a bottle here and hard to find.)
Laundry: I have a washing machine and no dryer (an electricity saver.) This is common here. Most people have a clothesline on their porch. I do, too. Today, it is raining. Though it does not rain here as much as it probably rains in England, we do get our share of showers—and keep biking through it. I’ll have to wait to dry my clothing...
Market: I have to get to the market before 8:30 so I can get to the library at 9--opening time--, so that I can snag a computer before anyone else, because I spilled water on my laptop yesterday, rendering it unusable for life. People buy food here daily; this is because the amount they can carry is determined by the size of their bike basket or backpack and because they want fresh food.
What I bought: Four types of cheese, which the cheese lady let me sample from her large white tent. (We have eleven varieties of cheese in our refrigerator right now. The we in this sentence is my Dutch roommate Lidy and I. Lidy is from the northern part of Holland, speaks excellent English and is a biology student at my university. Among the varieties that I know the names of are blue cheese, two types of goat's cheese, feta cheese, parmesan cheese, fresh mozzarella, old Dutch cheese and two types of gouda. Recently there was a lawsuit which made it so that only cheese of Dutch origin can be called gouda.Take that.hah. It is sort of like the way no wine except wine from the area of Champaigne in france can be called Champaigne. Pronounced shampahn here.) I digress. The cheese was then wrapped in paper for me. It now rests inside the cloth sidebags on the back of my bicycle. When we get a break during class I will use my paring knife (also stowed in my side bag) to whittle off a piece, which I pair with the yummy cluster of purple grapes I bought, and fresh rolls. I buy my rolls from a Russian lady that wears a scarf tied beneath her chin and mutters, 1 euro, 1 euro (in Dutch) as she shoves eight hot rolls of various sizes and types into people’s bike baskets. She pulls the rolls piping hot out of an oven that operates in the market square. Eight rolls for a euro, not bad. The problem is, they go stale in six hours. Guess I have to eat them all…I also bought lettuce and bell peppers.
Library: I am studying in Napoleon’s old palace. It is contemporary and white in the inside and looks a bit like Ikea (a Swedish-started chain furniture company that is absurdly popular here.) The library has a nice collection of English books and about thirty computers that are claimed within the first seven minutes the library opens. Except on Sundays, then you have a few more minutes to stake out a keyboard.And, then, off to class!
Monday, October 11, 2010
Dutch Culture 101: Brutally Honest
One thing the Dutch despise, and Americans embrace, is a little white lie— what the Dutch would call being two-faced. We don’t always mean to be this way. For example, instead of saying what we mean, we sugarcoat, or sidestep the point. If you look like you haven’t slept in days I might not say anything to be polite. The Dutch will look you in the eye and say, “You look like Hell.” The truth hurts. In a good way. The Dutch tell you exactly what they mean. At first, they can be blunt to the point of rude. But then it becomes refreshing. You do not have to worry about offending people here. They will actually be offended if you try not to offend because then it seems like you are concealing your true feelings (which you probably are.) Be honest.
Case in point: When I first arrived, I stayed with a Dutch rotary family for a few days. The wife said to me, “We were surprised. My husband and I thought you would be fat.” They watch a lot of television where American shows often air like The Biggest Loser and My Sweet Sixteen and Teenage and Pregnant. As a result, they think all Americans are pregnant, rich and fat. There is something to be said for this, after all, you hardly ever see a fat person in Holland (how can you be fat when you have to bike everywhere…) and, America’s teen pregnancy rates are far higher than those in Western Europe. And, Americans are generally more ostentatious about our wealth—bigger houses, larger cars. But, I digress. The point is that my host mom was honest. She said what she had been thinking. Her honesty allowed me to see a window into how the Dutch perceive Americans. And, facilitated this post.
Case in point: When I first arrived, I stayed with a Dutch rotary family for a few days. The wife said to me, “We were surprised. My husband and I thought you would be fat.” They watch a lot of television where American shows often air like The Biggest Loser and My Sweet Sixteen and Teenage and Pregnant. As a result, they think all Americans are pregnant, rich and fat. There is something to be said for this, after all, you hardly ever see a fat person in Holland (how can you be fat when you have to bike everywhere…) and, America’s teen pregnancy rates are far higher than those in Western Europe. And, Americans are generally more ostentatious about our wealth—bigger houses, larger cars. But, I digress. The point is that my host mom was honest. She said what she had been thinking. Her honesty allowed me to see a window into how the Dutch perceive Americans. And, facilitated this post.
Saturday, October 9, 2010
Wine and All That Fall Jazz
Today was a glorious autumnal day. October. Crisp, apple air. Everyone was bustling out and about in the community garden five minutes behind my building. People rent plots throughout the year. Little huts or greenhouses are constructed on most people's tracts. Today, after an afternoon jog, I stopped to meander on the gravel paths that bisect the acreage (most plots are surrounded by wood gates.) I stopped for a few seconds to admire someone's canopy of grapes. An older man emerged from the hedges holding a pair of pruners, an enormous crate of green and purple grapes for wine-making lay at his feet. He worked in the government. He spent time outdoors because even the hard work of keeping birds and insects from the crop was a welcome reprieve from being inside. Holland is not known for their wine. They have access to an abundance of inexpensive and high quality wines from Italy, South Africa and everywhere in between, but, the Netherlands does not have many wineries. The man I spoke with said he was the only person in Utrecht who makes wine in semi-large quantities. I left with a bunch of grapes, a present. Wine is not ready until July. Until that time, it ferments in giant glass casks.
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