Brussels

There was a little planning. Not much. We started the trip on the bus asking, "So...anyone know where our hostel is?" No one did.

But we obviously found it.

I look very dramatic in this picture. But I was actually very excited.

And we had waffles.

NOM NOM NOM

And we went to the folk life festival. Which involved dancing and beer in the gorgeous, totally ornate city center.

So much fun.

We sampled chocolates in front of the national opera house. 

MORE NOMS. I would be obese if I lived here.

We saw amazing sights.

Not from a movie. Real.

We even danced upon rooftops.

We had an amazing adventure in Brussels. 

And I'll remember it forever. 

Pieces of Home

It's funny how you start to romanticize everything.

I mean, really. You spend a few weeks in another country, even if it is western Europe, and part of you seriously starts to believe that the United States of America burps daisies and rainbows.

There are parts of the Dutch culture I love. The waffles. The height. The open air markets. The relaxed and yet intellectual culture. There are parts that I was skeptical about, but am slowly coming to accept. I've been riding my bike everywhere, and today I even bought a pair of leggings.

But then there are the moments where you go completely go insane. There is no Mexican or any Latin American food here. There is literally every other kind of ethnic food you could ever dream of, but forget Mexican. One of my friends made guacamole yesterday, and I nearly died of happiness. I found a random American dollar the other day and literally acted like I'd seen a cute baby. "Awwww! Americaaaa! Coinage that makes logical sennssseee!"

In the main shopping district there is literally a place called "The American Book Store." We went in the other day and almost lost it. They had every magazine ever. The NFL Season Preview. Entertainment Weekly. It was weirdly comforting to see all the trashy publications that you usually see lining the grocery store check-outs. "Oh my God! Maci!" shrieked one of my friends. "She's my favorite Teen Mom!" 


"Uh...you have a favorite?"

I also started listening to VIC radio, Ithaca's internet radio station. Did I EVER listen to it while at Ithaca or in the United States? No. The only time I heard it was when I myself was speaking into the microphone doing the news. Now, I throw it on when I'm hanging around or doing the dishes. And I act like a jerk and critique the newscasters to myself.  "Why would you lead with that story? That was awkward phrasing." And whenever there's dead air or the news or sports bed is too loud, which, well, happens, I instinctually cringe inside.

Tomorrow, I'm heading out to check out some even newer culture, as I take a trek with a few people down to Belgium! I'll keep you updated and maybe even take some pictures. For once.

This is a post about how I'm never growing up

Today I marinated something. And then I STIR FRIED something. Sure, I marinated it in soy sauce, but I cooked. And cooked vegetables. And RICE. I felt like such a grown-up.

What a farce.

All the bureaucracy at IES keeps telling us about how we're going to grow as people and become independent and come into our own as adults thanks to our experiences in Amsterdam.

I believed them. Case in point: I marinated something. (Let's forget that I had a peanut butter sandwich for breakfast.)

And then I realized, the majority of the evidence of the past two days points to the contrary. Let's establish some truths before I continue, okay? Truth one: I'm an IDIOT. Truth two: In the past 20 years of my life I have left a considerable amount of my possessions in a continuous trail across the United States and now the world. The first time I went to the pool this summer I left my goggles behind, like I did at age 6, 7, 8...etc. I got them back, but whatever.

Anyway.

Last night was one of the most fun nights of my life. I kind of sort of accidentally ended up having a party in my prison-cell of a room. We ran out of space, and decided to go down to Leidsplein, which is basically the young-people fun capital of Amsterdam. Let me tell you, you haven't lived until you've biked through the streets of Amsterdam on a crisp autumn night.

There was no place to lock our bikes to left, so a couple of us locked our bikes together to make them impossible to steal. Or at least really inconvenient to steal. Then we checked out a few bars, dancing and chatting, until we found the one. I could tell it was the one because I saw something familiar. Projected across an entire wall was the Penn State-Alabama football game. It happened to be that I was with some people who went to Penn State or grew up in PA and was raised on Nittany Lion football, so we went in and screamed and yelled along with the Dutch who really could have cared less about the game but enjoyed getting excited with us.

When it hit 4 a.m. there was no way we were biking back. So we caught a cab (for future reference, never do this, cabs are terribly expensive in Amsterdam. It sucks.) and got back to the apartment. I dug into my purse.

NO KEYS.

This is what went through my head: "NOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Not having a key was going to be expensive and an unimaginably huge pain. I was so mad at myself and baffled as to how this could have happened. So I took a tram to Leidsplein with my friends to get my bike, and went to unlock my bike with my spare key.

And there were my keys. IN THE LOCK.

I actually shrieked, "I'M AN IDIOT BUT I AM SO HAPPY!"

If I hadn't had my bike locked to another I would have gotten my bike stolen in two seconds flat. So lucky.

So there it is folks. I may be learning to feed myself, but I am going to be doing stupid things like that probably for the rest of my lifetime.

Magical Happenings

I know you've all been anxiously awaiting my next post.

"Gee," I bet you say over dinner conversation, "I wonder what intellectual discovery Abby will reveal to us next!" Or perhaps you wonder, "What new exciting thing is she going to tell us about today?"

Well, I'm sorry, but this post is about my shower. It was originally going to be a heartfelt letter to my shower, declaring my un-dying hatred for it. But now, this post is about how I have conquered the shower. Seriously guys, I was in need of a Gandalf staff, solely so I could dramatically declare my superiority over it in defense of human kind. But I succeeded in defeating the balrog that was my shower without falling into a dark fiery pit of doom.

I'm a huge nerd. But have you noticed how no one has clean hair in Middle Earth? Exactly. You did.

Anyway, so my shower was horrible. Even if it had pressure, it ricocheted between boiling and freezing. But I've finally figured it out, how to get HEAT AND PRESSURE! I pressed a few buttons on something in our closet. I am magical.

Another recent finding of mind is that along with my registration at Skoll, I get many e-mails in Dutch that even Google Translate doesn't understand. While this is problematic, this is not the craziest part of these e-mails. The craziest part is what I did understand. When I went to the boathouse to register, I spent a little time wandering through the ridiculously large building looking for people. During this wander, I walked into a large, wooden room filled with tables and a dance floor. Against the wall? A BAR.

Today, in an e-mail, I found out something also magical. While my debit card had provided them with my launch fee, it also registered me for a tab at said bar. A TAB. I thought tabs only existed in worlds in which Humphrey Bogart delivered pithy lines and people smoked in black and white. Of course, I can track my tab online, which is useful, but seriously guys.

What kind of world am I living in? THE BOATHOUSE HAS A BAR.

I am also amused that I was informed about this and still have yet to find out when I'm actually going to...you know...row.

Still....MAGIC.

Light bulbs (Alternative Title: Win)

I undid the fail, guys.

I'm registered to row! But let me tell you, this experience blew open a whole new point of view for me. Talk about light bulbs.

I e-mailed asking for some specific directions since I got turned around with the others. The director responded giving me a tram line. I stepped off at the stop I needed and looked down. At my feet, sprayed in red paint, was the word Skoll and an arrow. I followed the signs and found a massive, multi-story boathouse.

AHHHHH

I was super early so I poked around the town and bought myself some stroopwaffels in celebration of my success. I will discuss the awesomeness of stroopwaffels at a later date.

When it was time, I headed over.

And then I learned what it was like. To walk into a place and feel like your own little island, surrounded by words you don't understand but need to hear. Forms you can't fill out correctly without flagging someone down for help over and over. Feeling like a burden when all you want is to just be one of the bunch. Yeah, most people speak a little english. But they're not speaking it to each other. My intro packet is in Dutch. All my e-mails are in Dutch. I'll run it through translators and get help when I can.

But sitting there, taking the good part of an hour to fill out a stupid registration form, made me feel ashamed. I know it was irrational, but for once I understood what millions of people deal with every day in the United States. People throw hissy fits that signs in our grocery store have spanish on them. I'm about to throw a fit that there aren't more.

I finally understand the hidden tensions we so often feel in cross cultural and lingual relations. Frustration seeps in so easily and its cause isn't the actions of other people. It's us. It's our fear of not being in control, and not being informed.

The funny thing is that I should have felt at home. I was surrounded by tall, blonde people. But I have never, ever, felt that out of place or that disconnected.

Light bulb.

I Am Pretty Sure I Walked All the Way to Germany Today

Today started off with some serious win and ended with some serious fail.

And the fail took up a lot of my time.

So I woke up early for the first day of class (Labor Day...not so celebrated in the Netherlands, you see) and left insanely early to bike to class. It's only about a twenty minute ride, but I was nervous about finding it. I biked past it without realizing. I turned around, biking slowly back, thinking "Oh God, is this building like the Room of Requirement? Please, please please show up." I thought I'd gone too far back. I pulled over in frustration and went digging through my backpack for my map. I glanced to my right. And right there was the sign for my building.

It's official, Amsterdam is secretly the magical wizarding world of Harry Potter.

I was actually forty minutes early. I know I'm crazy.

My class, Public International Law, seems great. The professor is really charismatic but tough. We're also set to go on a field trip to the Hague, which I planned on visiting myself anyway. I'm thrilled. The only thing is the class is THREE HOURS. I think I'm going to be nice to myself and just buy a damn coffee pot, because I'm not getting through those three hours on enthusiasm alone.

Then I wandered around, getting a feel for my surroundings. It's just the type of thing I have to do by myself. After that, I biked back with no problems. I was so ridiculously pleased with myself. After wolfing down a peanut butter sandwich, I planned out my adventure to the Skoll rowing club to sign up.

Prepare for the fail.

I'd gotten some directions from an IES advisor and combined them with directions I google translated off the website. I decided to walk because it didn't seem too far and I wasn't exactly sure what the traffic would be like. How wrong I was. I got lost about fifty times. I asked for directions that many times. I found a boathouse. I rang the bell. An old guy showed up, carrying oars. He didn't speak english. It wasn't Skoll. All he said was "Niet studenten"which I knew meant, no students. After three hours of wandering, I gave up. I took the Metro and a bus back to my apartment, defeated.

But I'm going to the positives. I walked about a million miles, ended up in the semi-sketchy southeast part of Amsterdam and never panicked. I got lost, and figured it out. I was fine. Frustrated, but okay. I'm going to go back to google maps and figure out what the heck went wrong and try it again on Wednesday.

Tomorrow I just have class from three to nine. It's only two classes.

I have to buy that coffee pot.

Day 3 Successes

Readers, I blog to you while drinking a cup of tea with a mug with two tiny handles that even has its own little dish. It's very relaxing and very European. Let's forget that I carried said tea down two flights of stairs after using a microwave that has not been cleaned since the university was founded in 1632.

Not so glamorous. But, oh friends, I bring you good tidings after the insanity that was Day 2 of Operation Amsterdam. I ACCOMPLISHED things today. Orientation has thus far been hours long lists of have-to-do-immediately-or-will-never-succeed-in-Dutch-life things, with no time left to do them. Hence, panic. But guys, it's going to be fine. Really.

Today we learned all about our classes and got our schedules. I am so excited. Reason 1: my classes sound incredibly interesting. Reason 2: I only have class on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. Thus, my weekend in longer than my week. However, Dutch classes are structured as lectures in which the main education and learning is done independently, outside the classroom. So don't think I'm going to be strolling leisurely along the Amstel on all those free days.

After that, we went on a boat tour of Amsterdam. And as you all know, there is just something about the water. Sitting on that long boat, staring up at crooked row houses and ornate bridges, I took a deep breath. I felt the boat rock. And I calmed the hell down. I haven't taken many pictures, but here's one, with the boat we rode in. It's turning around in a VERY TIGHT space:

Afterwards I was finally able to get my phone issues sorted out with the help of a few Euros and a lot of gesturing. Now I will actually know what time it is and be able to contact people if anything happens. Then my roommate and I wound around the city, looking for the used bikes we so desperately need. In the fall Amsterdam is flooded with international students and all of them rush to get used bikes. It's like a dog fight, trying to get a decent bike at a good price that you can hopefully sell back at the end of the semester. Once again, my height helped me out. The Dutch, the tall ones, all buy legit bikes they use for years, so I'm not competing with them. So while there were absolutely zero bikes for my friends that would actually fit them--they're competing with normal sized internationals-- I was able to look around. I wasn't fond of the prices I was getting, though, so I walked away. Then, on our walk back home, we accidentally came upon a used products store. And I found him.

He is Barney and he is MINE.

Fingers crossed I still love Barney in like a month.