I'm happy to report that the car has been taken care of and I am no longer the owner of an performance sports car that I can't afford whilst in Europe.
People keep asking me if I'm sad to have gotten rid of it. Not really, no. That car was something of my dream car and when I first bought it I made my peace with the idea that if I only owned such a machine for a little while and then had to drive something more ordinary then that was okay. And I still feel that way, even if I didn't at the time realize that the 'something more ordinary' would be a bike.
That said, sometimes it's good to look back and remember. I had some good times in the GT. I went some places and saw some things and committed some moving violations. The good news is that Happy Fun Car, as it was affectionately known, has been immortalized in digital video, below
This particular video was actually created for my very good friend Amy Long, who is currently raising support to go and live in Haiti for a year. Once you watch it you should totally go check out her blog and learn what you can do to help in Haiti. It isn't all about leather jackets and fast cars!
Meanwhile, the video, she is here:
Friday, October 31, 2008
Thursday, October 30, 2008
A First
Last night while walking through New Market I was offered cocaine. Cocaine! Unfortunately for the individual in question, I was holding a cone full of steaming hot french fries in my hand. I didn't need no cocaine.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Rembrandt Park
I found a park today!
It wasn't intentional. I was working on my secret mission. Today's bike trip took me down to a neighborhood called Baarsjes, which is quite a ways to the west of here. Good solid bike ride.
Amsterdam natives have a slight advantage over me on their bikes: they have faith that an irate motorist is not going to simply run them over. They plunge fearlessly into traffic on busy thoroughfairs, apparently unconcerned that a guy in a Mercedes might suddenly turn them into a pancake. Raised as I was on the mean streets of Jacksonville, I can't quite bring myself to share their faith. I can't bike down the center of what's basically a major highway without glacing over my shoulder a few times.
Regardless, I made it to Baarsjes okay. Either I'm getting better at this or this part of the city is easier to navigate. I mean, the usual rules still apply to city streets. I still don't understand why streets have to change names every couple of blocks. It's still the same street, you know? Just because it crossed a bridge doesn't fundamentally alter its character or direction. Anyway, I figured it out okay and blew through my five or six stops.
Baarsjes (pronounced barse-yes) is a neighborhood with a different character from Centrum, where I live. For one thing it's clearly newer. Instead of the skinny merchant houses you have five-or-six story blocks that look to be probably no older than a century. A much larger muslim population as well. At least there were a lot of women in headscarves walking around.
I had just hit the local Openbar Bibliotheek, as they call public libraries around here, and I was examining my map and I noticed a huge swath of green marked Rembrandt Park just a few blocks to the south. Since I had time to kill I decided to check it out.
Being in the park reminded me of a fall morning in Florida. It wasn't morning and it wasn't Florida, but it was cold and green and wet. Trails wind back and forth over an impressively long and wide piece of forested land. People were jogging and walking their dogs over the strangely aerodynamic bridges. The grass is slick and green. A slight breath of fog hangs over the ponds, and the trees grip the banks with their roots. Of course, it's not Florida: it's four in the afternoon and the dogs speak Dutch (woev!). And it's getting colder.
I biked back the way I came before too long. Which gave me more chances to enjoy local traffic, since the street going this way was under construction for much of the route. This meant instead of riding in a bike lane I got to ride on tram tracks. Fun! I only had a couple near death experiences. That guy on the scooter TOTALLY wasn't paying enough attention.
I know, I know, you want pictures. That's everyone's number one request. I'm working on it. None today though, sorry.
It wasn't intentional. I was working on my secret mission. Today's bike trip took me down to a neighborhood called Baarsjes, which is quite a ways to the west of here. Good solid bike ride.
Amsterdam natives have a slight advantage over me on their bikes: they have faith that an irate motorist is not going to simply run them over. They plunge fearlessly into traffic on busy thoroughfairs, apparently unconcerned that a guy in a Mercedes might suddenly turn them into a pancake. Raised as I was on the mean streets of Jacksonville, I can't quite bring myself to share their faith. I can't bike down the center of what's basically a major highway without glacing over my shoulder a few times.
Regardless, I made it to Baarsjes okay. Either I'm getting better at this or this part of the city is easier to navigate. I mean, the usual rules still apply to city streets. I still don't understand why streets have to change names every couple of blocks. It's still the same street, you know? Just because it crossed a bridge doesn't fundamentally alter its character or direction. Anyway, I figured it out okay and blew through my five or six stops.
Baarsjes (pronounced barse-yes) is a neighborhood with a different character from Centrum, where I live. For one thing it's clearly newer. Instead of the skinny merchant houses you have five-or-six story blocks that look to be probably no older than a century. A much larger muslim population as well. At least there were a lot of women in headscarves walking around.
I had just hit the local Openbar Bibliotheek, as they call public libraries around here, and I was examining my map and I noticed a huge swath of green marked Rembrandt Park just a few blocks to the south. Since I had time to kill I decided to check it out.
Being in the park reminded me of a fall morning in Florida. It wasn't morning and it wasn't Florida, but it was cold and green and wet. Trails wind back and forth over an impressively long and wide piece of forested land. People were jogging and walking their dogs over the strangely aerodynamic bridges. The grass is slick and green. A slight breath of fog hangs over the ponds, and the trees grip the banks with their roots. Of course, it's not Florida: it's four in the afternoon and the dogs speak Dutch (woev!). And it's getting colder.
I biked back the way I came before too long. Which gave me more chances to enjoy local traffic, since the street going this way was under construction for much of the route. This meant instead of riding in a bike lane I got to ride on tram tracks. Fun! I only had a couple near death experiences. That guy on the scooter TOTALLY wasn't paying enough attention.
I know, I know, you want pictures. That's everyone's number one request. I'm working on it. None today though, sorry.
Flattery Will Get You Everywhere
The number of people who have pegged me as 'around 22' here is just wonderful. I'm glad I don't look my actual age of 28. It's not so old, but it's a bit old for the exchange student that is your typical volunteer!
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Various and Sundry
Is there anything you'd like to hear more about on this blog? If there is let me know. I'm not necessarily sure what kind of things are most interesting to people, so I'm cherry-picking here. If you have a specific topic of interest let me know and I'll try and touch on it a little more. Today's post is just going to cover some odds-and-ends.
There are two English speaking churches nearby. Neither of them is Baptist, alas, but they're both fairly interesting. Christ Church is an Anglican congregation a few blocks east of here. I'm definitely not Anglican, so attending a service that is so heavy on liturgy and where they take the Lord's Supper every Sunday is kind of a different speed for me. It's a young church, though, which is nice. Their building is, what, one hundred, one hundred fifty years old? It's squirreled away amongst the merchant houses, which means it's long, narrow and tall!
Also hidden away is the English Reform Church in the Begijnhof. However you won't have too much trouble finding it, since it's a historic site marked on most maps and the church has its own Wikipedia page. The church building has been there since about the time Columbus sailed the ocean blue, and the Presbyterian congregation that currently occupies it has been around since 1607, when the Protestant Reformation came to the Netherlands.
In modern times, it's quite an international church. I went to lunch with some of the young people who go there. They included people from Indonesia, Singapore, and Poland*. The latter is the student pastor of the church and speaks with a Scottish accent. I love Amsterdam.
* and, I guess, America.
I had to find the only FedEx in Amsterdam yesterday. It wasn't far, but there were no direct routes. So on a piece of scratch paper I jotted down what Google Maps indicated was the most efficient 'short cut' in terms of back alleys and cross-overs, mounted my bike, and sped off into the wild gray yonder. Score one for Google Maps, as I navigated the route with no trouble at all and swiftly located my quarry. I felt quite proud of myself.
Alas, the warm feelings did not last. This particular FedEx does not ship internationally!(?) They told me to go home and call a phone number. Meanwhile, it had started to rain. It was getting worse as I sped homeward. Then I took a wrong turn. I quickly corrected this, but when I broke out of the cover of the alleys and onto Rokin Street, a major thoroughfare, it got really fierce. Yikes I thought, this rain is cold. My next thought was Ow, it really stings too! At this point I realized that it wasn't rain at all, but hail. Yes, I was riding my bike in a hailstorm. Fortunately it wasn't Florida-style hail, or I'd probably be dead and not writing this entry. Instead I flung my arm up and bolted for the cover of an alley like there was no tomorrow.
This weekend I got trounced in Risk. The weekend before that was Monopoly. They both proved to be nearly interminable. Actually, I'm proud in retrospect that I did as well as I did in Risk. I remained a threat on the board throughout. This, in spite of a) a really terrible bunch of unconnected starting spots, b) an impossible victory condition of controlling 24 territories and c) the fact that one of the other player's mission was to destroy me.
They know of Settlers of Catan here, so I'm going to see if we can't play it next time. I'd prefer a game that ends in an hour or so.
Oh, one of the people I met at the Begijnhof has designed his own board game. It actually sounds pretty cool. I'm going to have to check it out.
My sister's birthday was yesterday. By my calculations she should be turning twenty-three, but I know that that's impossible. She's my sister! She can't be more than eight.
Anyway, Happy Birthday Kati! Hugs, kisses, etc.
I'm compelled to mention that in a previous post I had Sister Annemieke telling me 'no dice' and in fact she said no such thing. Her grasp of colloquial American English is not so impressive as that and there is no equivalent expression in Dutch. As a matter of fact I wrote that somewhat in jest, because it sounded like such an unlikely thing for a Dutch person to say.
The confusion is understandable, though. I've been teaching Anna and Ian over at the Mission House various 'gangsta' phrases, so anything is possible. Until you've heard Ian say "all up in yo grill' in a Scottish accent, you really haven't lived.
There are two English speaking churches nearby. Neither of them is Baptist, alas, but they're both fairly interesting. Christ Church is an Anglican congregation a few blocks east of here. I'm definitely not Anglican, so attending a service that is so heavy on liturgy and where they take the Lord's Supper every Sunday is kind of a different speed for me. It's a young church, though, which is nice. Their building is, what, one hundred, one hundred fifty years old? It's squirreled away amongst the merchant houses, which means it's long, narrow and tall!
Also hidden away is the English Reform Church in the Begijnhof. However you won't have too much trouble finding it, since it's a historic site marked on most maps and the church has its own Wikipedia page. The church building has been there since about the time Columbus sailed the ocean blue, and the Presbyterian congregation that currently occupies it has been around since 1607, when the Protestant Reformation came to the Netherlands.
In modern times, it's quite an international church. I went to lunch with some of the young people who go there. They included people from Indonesia, Singapore, and Poland*. The latter is the student pastor of the church and speaks with a Scottish accent. I love Amsterdam.
* and, I guess, America.
I had to find the only FedEx in Amsterdam yesterday. It wasn't far, but there were no direct routes. So on a piece of scratch paper I jotted down what Google Maps indicated was the most efficient 'short cut' in terms of back alleys and cross-overs, mounted my bike, and sped off into the wild gray yonder. Score one for Google Maps, as I navigated the route with no trouble at all and swiftly located my quarry. I felt quite proud of myself.
Alas, the warm feelings did not last. This particular FedEx does not ship internationally!(?) They told me to go home and call a phone number. Meanwhile, it had started to rain. It was getting worse as I sped homeward. Then I took a wrong turn. I quickly corrected this, but when I broke out of the cover of the alleys and onto Rokin Street, a major thoroughfare, it got really fierce. Yikes I thought, this rain is cold. My next thought was Ow, it really stings too! At this point I realized that it wasn't rain at all, but hail. Yes, I was riding my bike in a hailstorm. Fortunately it wasn't Florida-style hail, or I'd probably be dead and not writing this entry. Instead I flung my arm up and bolted for the cover of an alley like there was no tomorrow.
This weekend I got trounced in Risk. The weekend before that was Monopoly. They both proved to be nearly interminable. Actually, I'm proud in retrospect that I did as well as I did in Risk. I remained a threat on the board throughout. This, in spite of a) a really terrible bunch of unconnected starting spots, b) an impossible victory condition of controlling 24 territories and c) the fact that one of the other player's mission was to destroy me.
They know of Settlers of Catan here, so I'm going to see if we can't play it next time. I'd prefer a game that ends in an hour or so.
Oh, one of the people I met at the Begijnhof has designed his own board game. It actually sounds pretty cool. I'm going to have to check it out.
My sister's birthday was yesterday. By my calculations she should be turning twenty-three, but I know that that's impossible. She's my sister! She can't be more than eight.
Anyway, Happy Birthday Kati! Hugs, kisses, etc.
I'm compelled to mention that in a previous post I had Sister Annemieke telling me 'no dice' and in fact she said no such thing. Her grasp of colloquial American English is not so impressive as that and there is no equivalent expression in Dutch. As a matter of fact I wrote that somewhat in jest, because it sounded like such an unlikely thing for a Dutch person to say.
The confusion is understandable, though. I've been teaching Anna and Ian over at the Mission House various 'gangsta' phrases, so anything is possible. Until you've heard Ian say "all up in yo grill' in a Scottish accent, you really haven't lived.
Friday, October 24, 2008
Working Girls
When we sit down to lunch every day, you can look out the window and see a girl sitting in a window across the street. She sits there behind a glass door with the curtains pulled back, framed by red neon tubes. She wears the same outfit every day. She works weekends. She doesn't, from what I can tell, seem to do a booming business. And really, she's not a girl now by any standard. She's probably well into her thirties.
That's the reality of legalized prostitution, which exists in Amsterdam and of which the Ouderzijds Achterburgwal, where we live, is the neon-lit throbbing heart.
I did not know that San Francisco was contemplating legalizing prostitution (hat tip Freakonomics). Interesting. Proponents say that this would improve the health and safety of 'sex workers' and cut law enforcement costs by millions. Opponents say that SF would instantly descend into a pit of sin and depravity.
Based on my experiences in Amsterdam, here is what I would expect if prostitution were legalized in some form in SF:
The OZ100 community has firsthand experience with this, so it bears elaboration: for whatever reason, girls seldom leave the sex industry. There's a lot of debate on why this is so. Do their pimps threaten them? Are they hooked on drugs? Are they hooked on the money? Is it the only option open to them? Or do they actually enjoy it? No one can say for sure, but the fact that even those that contemplate a career change seldom follow through should make it clear that this is not 'just a job'.
A job is something you can walk away from.
That's the reality of legalized prostitution, which exists in Amsterdam and of which the Ouderzijds Achterburgwal, where we live, is the neon-lit throbbing heart.
I did not know that San Francisco was contemplating legalizing prostitution (hat tip Freakonomics). Interesting. Proponents say that this would improve the health and safety of 'sex workers' and cut law enforcement costs by millions. Opponents say that SF would instantly descend into a pit of sin and depravity.
Based on my experiences in Amsterdam, here is what I would expect if prostitution were legalized in some form in SF:
- Prostitutes would indeed be safer. If the well-being of the women is your main concern, as it is with organizations such as OZ100, then legalized prostitution is a good thing. The girls don't have to hide, and because they are more visible they are easier to keep track of.
- Law enforcement costs would not drop substantially. The government here in Amsterdam has spent a fair amount of energy recently trying to discourage organized crime from taking over the RLD. It's safe to say that what you gain in not having to bust prostitutes every night you lose to fighting the pimps.
- Prostitutes are not likely to be freer. A recent study in Amsterdam indicated that over 80% of girls are under some form of coercion. This most frequently comes in the form of pimps, who tend to be a cross between a bad boss and a really bad boyfriend.
- The incidence of prostitution would rise as people travel to the city to take advantage of it.
- San Franciscans are unlikely to comprise most of the prostitutes. Very few of the girls in the windows here are Dutch. They're much more likely to be Eastern European or from even further away.
- Pimps will continue to play a major role in the sex trade, whether legal or not.
- Girls will continue to find it much easier to get into prostitution than to get out of it.
The OZ100 community has firsthand experience with this, so it bears elaboration: for whatever reason, girls seldom leave the sex industry. There's a lot of debate on why this is so. Do their pimps threaten them? Are they hooked on drugs? Are they hooked on the money? Is it the only option open to them? Or do they actually enjoy it? No one can say for sure, but the fact that even those that contemplate a career change seldom follow through should make it clear that this is not 'just a job'.
A job is something you can walk away from.
Monday, October 20, 2008
Alles is Liefde
I need to watch more Dutch movies.
Saturday night we watched a 'film', as they say on this side of the ditch. We did it in the kitchen. There aren't many wide-screen LCDs in the house, but they do have a projector that can be rigged up with a laptop. The kitchen is big and cozy and has a blank wall, so people just drag chairs in and you have your own little cinema. Nice.
The Dutch watch American everything - Amercan movies, American TV, etc. Usually with subtitles of course. But Saturday night they turned the tables on me. We watched a bona fide Dutch movie with English subtitles on!
The film is a very popular one here called Alles is Liefde (Love is Everything). It's a romantic comedy slash holiday film. I don't go in for the RomCom genre much, but this one was very charming and very Dutch, and besides it was shot in Amsterdam. The bridges, the houses, the canals, even the Dam Square were all very much in evidence. Why aren't more films shot in Amsterdam anyway? It's a gorgeous, historic city. You'd think Jason Bourne would drop by from time to time.
I digress.
Now, to understand the plot of this movie you have to understand that a Nederlands Christmas is a bit different from our Christmas. It happens at a different time and has its own mythology.
You see, Sinterklaas actually comes from Spain. And he arrives in November. On a steamboat! He then spends a couple weeks in town. During this time his helper(s), the Black Piets, fan out through the land putting presents in the slippers of deserving children. Bad children don't get coal - they get bagged and hauled off! All the festivities come to a head on December 5th, which is Sinterklaas' birthday. Then, presumably, he heads back to Spain to enjoy the winter in warmer climes.
Ja!
Anyway, Love is Everything is one of those complicated films about multiple, interconnected characters who each have their own subplot but whose stories occasionally intersect. One couple has separated after he had an affair with their child's schoolteacher. Another couple is together, but he's lost his job and hasn't told her yet. Then we have the girl who works the counter at the department store who falls in love with the prince, a gay couple having some relationship issues on the eve of their marriage (legal in The Netherlands since way back), and a drifter looking for the family he abandoned twenty years ago.
When the pompous actor who plays the part of Sinterklaas for the annual steamboat arrival dies of a heart attack minutes before he's scheduled to go on, the mysterious drifter is conscripted by a television crew to fill the bill. While the steamboat is pulling in, a little girl (belonging to the dad who has lost his job) falls into the water and he jumps in and saves her. Then he runs off, leaving the city in an uproar and beginning a chain of events that will affect the lives of each of our couples.
It's complicated, okay. But I've decided it's also a great way to learn Dutch.
I'd never really thought about it, but you know how you always hear about Europeans saying they learned English from watching American TV? It totally makes sense now. Watching a foreign film with subtitles is a triple threat as far as language aquisition goes. You're simulatneously hearing the pronunciation, seeing the translation, and learning from the context. Subtitles are just super helpful.
I've asked Sister Annemieke if people in the house could carry around small whiteboards and write out subtitles for what they are saying, but she says no dice.
Ah well.
Anyway, if you're looking for a film that's light, warm and very very Dutch, you should totally track down this flick. I'm sure Netflix has it. And don't watch the English dub - sit back and enjoy the subtitles.
Saturday night we watched a 'film', as they say on this side of the ditch. We did it in the kitchen. There aren't many wide-screen LCDs in the house, but they do have a projector that can be rigged up with a laptop. The kitchen is big and cozy and has a blank wall, so people just drag chairs in and you have your own little cinema. Nice.
The Dutch watch American everything - Amercan movies, American TV, etc. Usually with subtitles of course. But Saturday night they turned the tables on me. We watched a bona fide Dutch movie with English subtitles on!
The film is a very popular one here called Alles is Liefde (Love is Everything). It's a romantic comedy slash holiday film. I don't go in for the RomCom genre much, but this one was very charming and very Dutch, and besides it was shot in Amsterdam. The bridges, the houses, the canals, even the Dam Square were all very much in evidence. Why aren't more films shot in Amsterdam anyway? It's a gorgeous, historic city. You'd think Jason Bourne would drop by from time to time.
I digress.
Now, to understand the plot of this movie you have to understand that a Nederlands Christmas is a bit different from our Christmas. It happens at a different time and has its own mythology.
You see, Sinterklaas actually comes from Spain. And he arrives in November. On a steamboat! He then spends a couple weeks in town. During this time his helper(s), the Black Piets, fan out through the land putting presents in the slippers of deserving children. Bad children don't get coal - they get bagged and hauled off! All the festivities come to a head on December 5th, which is Sinterklaas' birthday. Then, presumably, he heads back to Spain to enjoy the winter in warmer climes.
Ja!
Anyway, Love is Everything is one of those complicated films about multiple, interconnected characters who each have their own subplot but whose stories occasionally intersect. One couple has separated after he had an affair with their child's schoolteacher. Another couple is together, but he's lost his job and hasn't told her yet. Then we have the girl who works the counter at the department store who falls in love with the prince, a gay couple having some relationship issues on the eve of their marriage (legal in The Netherlands since way back), and a drifter looking for the family he abandoned twenty years ago.
When the pompous actor who plays the part of Sinterklaas for the annual steamboat arrival dies of a heart attack minutes before he's scheduled to go on, the mysterious drifter is conscripted by a television crew to fill the bill. While the steamboat is pulling in, a little girl (belonging to the dad who has lost his job) falls into the water and he jumps in and saves her. Then he runs off, leaving the city in an uproar and beginning a chain of events that will affect the lives of each of our couples.
It's complicated, okay. But I've decided it's also a great way to learn Dutch.
I'd never really thought about it, but you know how you always hear about Europeans saying they learned English from watching American TV? It totally makes sense now. Watching a foreign film with subtitles is a triple threat as far as language aquisition goes. You're simulatneously hearing the pronunciation, seeing the translation, and learning from the context. Subtitles are just super helpful.
I've asked Sister Annemieke if people in the house could carry around small whiteboards and write out subtitles for what they are saying, but she says no dice.
Ah well.
Anyway, if you're looking for a film that's light, warm and very very Dutch, you should totally track down this flick. I'm sure Netflix has it. And don't watch the English dub - sit back and enjoy the subtitles.
Friday, October 17, 2008
Snapshots
Did you know that you can get two grown women on one bike? It's true. What you do is have the first woman start pedaling forward, and then the second runs up behind and jumps up side-saddle on the rear rack. It's a bit of a balancing act, but it can be done. Or so I observed while out in the city today.
The other night I was watching The Usual Suspects with a group of people. When the guy in the hospital starts screaming in Hungarian about Keyser Soze, someone in the group started translating. Awesome.
Today is my two-week anniversary of being here. It seems as though its been a lot longer. I feel like I'm adjusting to life here and am able to figure out things on my own now. It still does not entirely feel like home, though.
A volunteer from Denmark has arrived and he does not speak Dutch. There is also an American visitor here this week. That gives English a lot more weight at the dinner table, which means I might actually be able to participate in a conversation or two. Hooray!
If you're the praying sort, I could still use some for my car. It has yet to sell and in fact has generated barely any interest in the weeks it has been on the market, despite being a 2007 Mustang GT in good condition. My father took it to the big car dealership to see what they would give for it and they offered $3,000 below the Blue Book value (and what I owe). Not good.
I can't afford to make the monthly payments on the car while I'm here. I don't have the money to take a $3,000 hit, either. It would be completely silly to have my time here cut short by a car. So, I could still use some prayer for that. And if you know anyone in the market for a Mustang, let me know. It really is a nice car.
The other night I was watching The Usual Suspects with a group of people. When the guy in the hospital starts screaming in Hungarian about Keyser Soze, someone in the group started translating. Awesome.
Today is my two-week anniversary of being here. It seems as though its been a lot longer. I feel like I'm adjusting to life here and am able to figure out things on my own now. It still does not entirely feel like home, though.
A volunteer from Denmark has arrived and he does not speak Dutch. There is also an American visitor here this week. That gives English a lot more weight at the dinner table, which means I might actually be able to participate in a conversation or two. Hooray!
If you're the praying sort, I could still use some for my car. It has yet to sell and in fact has generated barely any interest in the weeks it has been on the market, despite being a 2007 Mustang GT in good condition. My father took it to the big car dealership to see what they would give for it and they offered $3,000 below the Blue Book value (and what I owe). Not good.
I can't afford to make the monthly payments on the car while I'm here. I don't have the money to take a $3,000 hit, either. It would be completely silly to have my time here cut short by a car. So, I could still use some prayer for that. And if you know anyone in the market for a Mustang, let me know. It really is a nice car.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Secret Agent Man
Carlo keeps thanking me. It's a big task and he really needed to find someone who could do it. But I should be thanking him.
The assignment this time is a little more epic - find dozens of locations throughout the city and plaster them with posters encouraging people to volunteer. Carlo is lending me his bike, a list of addresses, and a map to Amsterdam. Practically the keys to the city!
Bike traffic in Amsterdam is nearly as formalized as automobile traffic. There are separate traffic lights, crossings, and even lanes for bikes throughout the city. Where there's not, an unwritten rule seems to apply - pedestrians get out of the way for bikes and bikes get out of the way of anything with a motor. The little bell helps - people will make a spot for you if you keep dinging persistently at them.
Progress today was slow. The city center is a bit of a maze, mostly thanks to the canals. It's not uncommon to find myself rolling down a street on one side of the water and realizing I want to be on the other side and seeing no way across. The streets themselves twist and turn unpredictably and never quite go where I expect they will. I blaze past narrow old merchant houses, playgrounds, bike lots, apartment blocks, shops, churches and hotels, on the prowl for a street number that may or may not be in sequential order with the rest of the establishments on the street. When I finally find the place I must communicate with the proprieter in my minimal Dutch and their broken English about posting my bill.
For all the setbacks, it's great fun. It's like a great big game of secret agent. I have a secret mission (to transmit hidden documents) and everything. Actually, there's no need to make believe. I'm cruising on a bike, exploring one of the most amazing cities in the world!
Jealous?
The assignment this time is a little more epic - find dozens of locations throughout the city and plaster them with posters encouraging people to volunteer. Carlo is lending me his bike, a list of addresses, and a map to Amsterdam. Practically the keys to the city!
Bike traffic in Amsterdam is nearly as formalized as automobile traffic. There are separate traffic lights, crossings, and even lanes for bikes throughout the city. Where there's not, an unwritten rule seems to apply - pedestrians get out of the way for bikes and bikes get out of the way of anything with a motor. The little bell helps - people will make a spot for you if you keep dinging persistently at them.
Progress today was slow. The city center is a bit of a maze, mostly thanks to the canals. It's not uncommon to find myself rolling down a street on one side of the water and realizing I want to be on the other side and seeing no way across. The streets themselves twist and turn unpredictably and never quite go where I expect they will. I blaze past narrow old merchant houses, playgrounds, bike lots, apartment blocks, shops, churches and hotels, on the prowl for a street number that may or may not be in sequential order with the rest of the establishments on the street. When I finally find the place I must communicate with the proprieter in my minimal Dutch and their broken English about posting my bill.
For all the setbacks, it's great fun. It's like a great big game of secret agent. I have a secret mission (to transmit hidden documents) and everything. Actually, there's no need to make believe. I'm cruising on a bike, exploring one of the most amazing cities in the world!
Jealous?
Monday, October 13, 2008
Rhythms
They call the house here at Oudezijds 100 "The Community," and that's really the best way to get your head around it. What you shouldn't get the idea of is some sort of weird, spartan compound of True Believers secreting themselves away from the world. But when you need a word that encompasses several large biological families, numerous students, a handful of volunteers and an ever-fluxuating group of dozens of folks who arrive, stay for a few weeks, and move on, all moving in and out of a number of ancient, ramshackle buildings... well, "Community" is probably as close a word as you'll find.
How do you manage such a large group of individuals with such diverse purposes and needs? Surely someone, somewhere, must be thoroughly overwhelmed. And perhaps they are. But mostly the needs of the community are answered by having a basic rhythm to life that is constant. Although I am still getting the hang of this rhythm, I think that giving you some idea of it is probably key to understanding daily life here.
Mornings officially start with breakfast at 7:30, although most people are up well before then (I judge this solely by the rush of footsteps that starts around 6:30 in my building). Those who want breakfast assemble in the kitchen, or koeken. The table is set with bread and cheese, the staples of Dutch life, and a wide assortment of condiments. We all hold hands, one of the brothers or sisters says a brief prayer, and then we get down to business. When everyone has had their fill, a basket of fruit is passed around. After that is finished, we all rise, someone says the doxology, and then there's washing up.
Something you quickly realize about meals for a dozen or more people - there's always plenty of washing up. But usually several volunteers will tackle it, and so it seldom takes more than ten minutes. Nonetheless, it's a key part of every meal!
After breakfast there's a lull of sorts, until 8:45. At this time the bell rings for morning prayers, and those who wish may assemble in the chapel, or kapel. The chapel is really just a room in the basement, however it has been paved with stones and it has a fountain flowing into a basin, and candles are lit. It's actually a very peaceful place, and a great way to start your morning.
Chapel is short, usually lasting about a half hour. There is some liturgy (all in Dutch), some songs are sung (in many languages), and a passage of scripture is read. There is also some time for contemplating and prayer. Although the whole things is usually conducted in Dutch, chapel has a rhythm all its own and so one can usually follow what's going on.
After chapel, we exit through a door onto the street and then reenter the house by the front door. Time for morning tea! From this time until 11:00, anyone who wants is welcome to drop by for tea or coffee. For a few minutes we all gather in the common room and talk and greet early visitors. By nine, though, most people have scattered to their appointed tasks.
Depending on their status, members of the community may have many or few responsibilities during the week, but everyone is expected to contribute somewhat. There is a schedule roster, and you can expect that at some point you will find yourself sweeping, mopping, scrubbing, cooking, washing, or doing any of the other dozens of tasks necessary to keep the house orderly and functioning. As a year-long volunteer, I get to participate in many of these activities. And in fact, I really don't mind. It's not hard work, and it's different every day.
Lunch is at 12:30, but is otherwise quite similar to breakfast. We usually have some leftovers from dinner in addition to fare such as brood and kaas. Also, the meal ends with the reading of the week's scripture verse. Washing up follows. Then, onto afternoon duties.
The day's work typically winds down around four. The next noteworthy event after this is dinner, which starts at six. Dinner is a much grander meal than the previous two. Someone is assigned to cook, and preparation for the meal usually takes about three hours. In a house this large, with representatives from all over the world, you can guarantee that you will usually be having something interesting. Dinner virtually always includes dessert. On most nights, this will simply be fla, or pudding, but there have been known to be other delights on offer.
Washing up after dinner can sometimes be a rather epic affair, but it gets done. 'Many hands', etc. Afterwards the bell is rung for evening prayers at 7:30. Then it's once more time for tea in the common room. This time, though, people who don't have anywhere special to be will stick around and socialize for a while.
Not too long, though. Most people are in bed by 10:30 or so. Because the morning comes early, and then we do it all over again!
Weekends, of course, are a little different.
How do you manage such a large group of individuals with such diverse purposes and needs? Surely someone, somewhere, must be thoroughly overwhelmed. And perhaps they are. But mostly the needs of the community are answered by having a basic rhythm to life that is constant. Although I am still getting the hang of this rhythm, I think that giving you some idea of it is probably key to understanding daily life here.
Mornings officially start with breakfast at 7:30, although most people are up well before then (I judge this solely by the rush of footsteps that starts around 6:30 in my building). Those who want breakfast assemble in the kitchen, or koeken. The table is set with bread and cheese, the staples of Dutch life, and a wide assortment of condiments. We all hold hands, one of the brothers or sisters says a brief prayer, and then we get down to business. When everyone has had their fill, a basket of fruit is passed around. After that is finished, we all rise, someone says the doxology, and then there's washing up.
Something you quickly realize about meals for a dozen or more people - there's always plenty of washing up. But usually several volunteers will tackle it, and so it seldom takes more than ten minutes. Nonetheless, it's a key part of every meal!
After breakfast there's a lull of sorts, until 8:45. At this time the bell rings for morning prayers, and those who wish may assemble in the chapel, or kapel. The chapel is really just a room in the basement, however it has been paved with stones and it has a fountain flowing into a basin, and candles are lit. It's actually a very peaceful place, and a great way to start your morning.
Chapel is short, usually lasting about a half hour. There is some liturgy (all in Dutch), some songs are sung (in many languages), and a passage of scripture is read. There is also some time for contemplating and prayer. Although the whole things is usually conducted in Dutch, chapel has a rhythm all its own and so one can usually follow what's going on.
After chapel, we exit through a door onto the street and then reenter the house by the front door. Time for morning tea! From this time until 11:00, anyone who wants is welcome to drop by for tea or coffee. For a few minutes we all gather in the common room and talk and greet early visitors. By nine, though, most people have scattered to their appointed tasks.
Depending on their status, members of the community may have many or few responsibilities during the week, but everyone is expected to contribute somewhat. There is a schedule roster, and you can expect that at some point you will find yourself sweeping, mopping, scrubbing, cooking, washing, or doing any of the other dozens of tasks necessary to keep the house orderly and functioning. As a year-long volunteer, I get to participate in many of these activities. And in fact, I really don't mind. It's not hard work, and it's different every day.
Lunch is at 12:30, but is otherwise quite similar to breakfast. We usually have some leftovers from dinner in addition to fare such as brood and kaas. Also, the meal ends with the reading of the week's scripture verse. Washing up follows. Then, onto afternoon duties.
The day's work typically winds down around four. The next noteworthy event after this is dinner, which starts at six. Dinner is a much grander meal than the previous two. Someone is assigned to cook, and preparation for the meal usually takes about three hours. In a house this large, with representatives from all over the world, you can guarantee that you will usually be having something interesting. Dinner virtually always includes dessert. On most nights, this will simply be fla, or pudding, but there have been known to be other delights on offer.
Washing up after dinner can sometimes be a rather epic affair, but it gets done. 'Many hands', etc. Afterwards the bell is rung for evening prayers at 7:30. Then it's once more time for tea in the common room. This time, though, people who don't have anywhere special to be will stick around and socialize for a while.
Not too long, though. Most people are in bed by 10:30 or so. Because the morning comes early, and then we do it all over again!
Weekends, of course, are a little different.
Saturday, October 11, 2008
A Weekend in the City
Finally in possession of a working house key, and the city is as good as mine! Well, a bike would be nice, but for now I'm determined to explore every inch that can be reached on foot. I had a few free hours Saturday morning so I gave myself a mission: find my way to the Clothes Market where it was rumored* that there was a tent selling headphones and audio cable.
My beloved Sennheisers were, alas, a casualty of Lufthansa airlines. Moments after deplaning I realized that I didn't have them, but I wasn't allowed to, uh, re-plane, and the stewardesses couldn't find them. Honestly I was just grateful it wasn't my iPod. But the point was that I needed new headphones.
There's a department store at the Dam Square mall, but department store electronics are guaranteed to be overpriced and mediocre. What I needed was the Nederlander version of Radio Shack. So, to the market.
The house is a haven of quiet in a busy city. Out the front door you immediately find yourself facing the canal that runs down the center Ouderzijds** Achterburgwal, the beating heart of the Red Light District. During the daylight hours, however, the most immediate thing that will grab your attention are the swans. They swim up and down the canal, squawking noisily to let people know exactly who is in charge here. I've got a six foot wing span, people. I could beat your head in with these things like I was using a baseball bat.
I had a better impression of swans before coming here. They are huge, lovely birds. But the ugly truth is that they're the stuck up clique of the bird kingdom.
Anyway, you run down the street past Casa Rosa, a notorious sex theater, and take the first bridge across you come to. This leads to an alley that cuts over to the Nieuwmarkt (New Market), a small collection of cafes and outdoor vendors dominated by an old castle-like structure which is actually an old weighing house. Across the square you find a broad street called Jodenbreestraat which winds through some more modern architecture. It also leads past the Amsterdam Theatre School, where students with dramatic streaks find their outlet. Just a little further on you come to a major intersection over a canal, and if you hang a right you'll find the Clothes Market.
The Clothes Market is mostly clothes, but there are many other goodies to be had there as well. Shoes, jewelry, cameras and yes, even electronics. This shirt, though highly inappropriate, got a chuckle out of me.
My experience of markets is a bit third world. But an Amsterdam market is a more sedate affair. Nobody yells at you as you walk by their tent and there's no haggling, at least that I observed. The clientele, at least on a Saturday morning, were mostly older folks. So, quiet.
A t-shirt vendor had a box of tangled audio cables tucked away. I asked if he had any y-splitters and he said no, and then communicated in broken English that there was a tent that had them further on down. I found it easily enough and yes, they had a wide array of cables, headphones, converters, all kinds of goodies. Inexpensive, too!
I picked up a pair of headphones for six Euro based on the proprietor's recommendations. Three euro more netted me the audio cable, which I hoped to use to hijack the speakers on the stereo in my room.
Actually, the whole affair was disappointingly easy. The headphones even proved to be comfortable and produce high-quality sound (although, alas, the y-splitter won't serve my purpose). I will have to give myself a more challenging assignment next time.
In the meantime, it's in the sixties or seventies, the sun is in her heavens, and I'm learning Dutch in Amsterdam. Life is good!
* Okay, Brenda told me. But it's more fun if we pretend that she's an unreliable source.
** Pronounced very similarly to "outer sides". In fact drop the 'r', and you've got it pretty much exactly. It actually means "Old Side," as opposed to "New Side," which is a couple blocks over.
My beloved Sennheisers were, alas, a casualty of Lufthansa airlines. Moments after deplaning I realized that I didn't have them, but I wasn't allowed to, uh, re-plane, and the stewardesses couldn't find them. Honestly I was just grateful it wasn't my iPod. But the point was that I needed new headphones.
There's a department store at the Dam Square mall, but department store electronics are guaranteed to be overpriced and mediocre. What I needed was the Nederlander version of Radio Shack. So, to the market.
The house is a haven of quiet in a busy city. Out the front door you immediately find yourself facing the canal that runs down the center Ouderzijds** Achterburgwal, the beating heart of the Red Light District. During the daylight hours, however, the most immediate thing that will grab your attention are the swans. They swim up and down the canal, squawking noisily to let people know exactly who is in charge here. I've got a six foot wing span, people. I could beat your head in with these things like I was using a baseball bat.
I had a better impression of swans before coming here. They are huge, lovely birds. But the ugly truth is that they're the stuck up clique of the bird kingdom.
Anyway, you run down the street past Casa Rosa, a notorious sex theater, and take the first bridge across you come to. This leads to an alley that cuts over to the Nieuwmarkt (New Market), a small collection of cafes and outdoor vendors dominated by an old castle-like structure which is actually an old weighing house. Across the square you find a broad street called Jodenbreestraat which winds through some more modern architecture. It also leads past the Amsterdam Theatre School, where students with dramatic streaks find their outlet. Just a little further on you come to a major intersection over a canal, and if you hang a right you'll find the Clothes Market.
The Clothes Market is mostly clothes, but there are many other goodies to be had there as well. Shoes, jewelry, cameras and yes, even electronics. This shirt, though highly inappropriate, got a chuckle out of me.
My experience of markets is a bit third world. But an Amsterdam market is a more sedate affair. Nobody yells at you as you walk by their tent and there's no haggling, at least that I observed. The clientele, at least on a Saturday morning, were mostly older folks. So, quiet.
A t-shirt vendor had a box of tangled audio cables tucked away. I asked if he had any y-splitters and he said no, and then communicated in broken English that there was a tent that had them further on down. I found it easily enough and yes, they had a wide array of cables, headphones, converters, all kinds of goodies. Inexpensive, too!
I picked up a pair of headphones for six Euro based on the proprietor's recommendations. Three euro more netted me the audio cable, which I hoped to use to hijack the speakers on the stereo in my room.
Actually, the whole affair was disappointingly easy. The headphones even proved to be comfortable and produce high-quality sound (although, alas, the y-splitter won't serve my purpose). I will have to give myself a more challenging assignment next time.
In the meantime, it's in the sixties or seventies, the sun is in her heavens, and I'm learning Dutch in Amsterdam. Life is good!
* Okay, Brenda told me. But it's more fun if we pretend that she's an unreliable source.
** Pronounced very similarly to "outer sides". In fact drop the 'r', and you've got it pretty much exactly. It actually means "Old Side," as opposed to "New Side," which is a couple blocks over.
Monday, October 6, 2008
Going Dutch
I have come to Amsterdam to learn Dutch.
I didn't realize at first that this was why I am in Amsterdam. I thought I was coming to Amsterdam to broaden my horizens, live in a beautiful city, experience a new culture, spend some time volunteering, etc. I figured that maybe I'd pick up some Dutch on the side, as I went.
English, you know. They all speak it! And how useful is Dutch going to be to someone, really?
Within the first day after arrival it became clear to me that it would be, at minimum, extremely helpful to at least be able to read Dutch. By the second day, getting a basic knowledge of the spoken language seemed imperative. By the third day, sitting down to breakfast, lunch and dinner at a table full of people joyously chattering away in Dutch, it was clear that mastering the language was my ONLY priority if I wanted to retain my sanity.
Besides, Dutch is so very intriguing.
I once spent six weeks in China. Chinese is a truly foreign language, with no obvious ties to English unless you count words like 'ping pong'. I hear people speaking Chinese, I have no expectation of being unable to understand it.
Dutch is different, though. Dutch is related to English. In fact way back in the gray mists of the millenia the two languages were kissing cousins. Perhaps because of this, when I listen to people speaking Dutch I constantly feel as though if I concentrated just a little bit harder, I would be able to understand what they are saying.
Part of that is of course because the two languages share many similar words. Many of them are found at the breakfast table. 'Butter' is actually 'butter', with the u sound pronounced slightly differently. 'Bread' is 'brood' and when it's pronounced correctly they actually sound quite similar. 'Milk' is 'melk'. It doesn't get much simpler then that. Perhaps it is these words, peppered into the rapid flow of Dutch, that keeps the illusion of comprehension alive. The grammar is also similar to English, though, and I think the cadence of the words might be part of the strange effect.
I am at a slight disadvantage here because I look like I might be Dutch, or at least German. So people tend to start in on a stream of Dutch before I have a chance to smile sheepishly and say 'Sorry, American'. If I was more ethnically distinct they might be more likely to realize that I am not a native speaker. But at least this solves the problem of 'getting the Dutch to speak Dutch', as the 'Introduction to Colloquial Dutch' refers to it.
According to that august volume, Dutch is not the minor language one might suppose. It is of course the official language of the Netherlands, but it is also the majority language in Belgium, and one of two official tongues there. That's without mentioning various former Dutch colonies around the world nor it's close relationship to Afrikaans in South Africa.
So, a more important language than you might think, and one with amorphous historical ties to English. If the Norman invasion hadn't come to England, bringing with it the influence of Latin and it's regular, precise vowels, understanding Dutch might be nothing to us English speakers. But one thing we've definitely lost from our language is the myriad odd, nasal vowel sounds that Dutch provides. There must be ten different ways to say 'ew'.
I plan to master all of them.
Oh yes, the title of this blog. Well yesterday I learned (at the breakfast table, of course!) that the Dutch name for oranges is 'Sinaasappel', which basically translates as Chinese Apples. Other fruits also turn out to be apples! Potatoes are 'earth apples', for instance.
The idea of treating an orange as just a new, exotic type of apple amuses me. And I relate to it. A 'Chinese Apple' is exactly what I feel like. I look like I might be related, but I'm somehow out of place. Still, the always laid-back Dutch are content to slot me into the 'apples' category and let it go at that.
And for that I am grateful.
I didn't realize at first that this was why I am in Amsterdam. I thought I was coming to Amsterdam to broaden my horizens, live in a beautiful city, experience a new culture, spend some time volunteering, etc. I figured that maybe I'd pick up some Dutch on the side, as I went.
English, you know. They all speak it! And how useful is Dutch going to be to someone, really?
Within the first day after arrival it became clear to me that it would be, at minimum, extremely helpful to at least be able to read Dutch. By the second day, getting a basic knowledge of the spoken language seemed imperative. By the third day, sitting down to breakfast, lunch and dinner at a table full of people joyously chattering away in Dutch, it was clear that mastering the language was my ONLY priority if I wanted to retain my sanity.
Besides, Dutch is so very intriguing.
I once spent six weeks in China. Chinese is a truly foreign language, with no obvious ties to English unless you count words like 'ping pong'. I hear people speaking Chinese, I have no expectation of being unable to understand it.
Dutch is different, though. Dutch is related to English. In fact way back in the gray mists of the millenia the two languages were kissing cousins. Perhaps because of this, when I listen to people speaking Dutch I constantly feel as though if I concentrated just a little bit harder, I would be able to understand what they are saying.
Part of that is of course because the two languages share many similar words. Many of them are found at the breakfast table. 'Butter' is actually 'butter', with the u sound pronounced slightly differently. 'Bread' is 'brood' and when it's pronounced correctly they actually sound quite similar. 'Milk' is 'melk'. It doesn't get much simpler then that. Perhaps it is these words, peppered into the rapid flow of Dutch, that keeps the illusion of comprehension alive. The grammar is also similar to English, though, and I think the cadence of the words might be part of the strange effect.
I am at a slight disadvantage here because I look like I might be Dutch, or at least German. So people tend to start in on a stream of Dutch before I have a chance to smile sheepishly and say 'Sorry, American'. If I was more ethnically distinct they might be more likely to realize that I am not a native speaker. But at least this solves the problem of 'getting the Dutch to speak Dutch', as the 'Introduction to Colloquial Dutch' refers to it.
According to that august volume, Dutch is not the minor language one might suppose. It is of course the official language of the Netherlands, but it is also the majority language in Belgium, and one of two official tongues there. That's without mentioning various former Dutch colonies around the world nor it's close relationship to Afrikaans in South Africa.
So, a more important language than you might think, and one with amorphous historical ties to English. If the Norman invasion hadn't come to England, bringing with it the influence of Latin and it's regular, precise vowels, understanding Dutch might be nothing to us English speakers. But one thing we've definitely lost from our language is the myriad odd, nasal vowel sounds that Dutch provides. There must be ten different ways to say 'ew'.
I plan to master all of them.
Oh yes, the title of this blog. Well yesterday I learned (at the breakfast table, of course!) that the Dutch name for oranges is 'Sinaasappel', which basically translates as Chinese Apples. Other fruits also turn out to be apples! Potatoes are 'earth apples', for instance.
The idea of treating an orange as just a new, exotic type of apple amuses me. And I relate to it. A 'Chinese Apple' is exactly what I feel like. I look like I might be related, but I'm somehow out of place. Still, the always laid-back Dutch are content to slot me into the 'apples' category and let it go at that.
And for that I am grateful.
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