Revelations to and from the Boathouse

I just did not feel up for it. I did not want to go. You kind of have to get yourself prepped for spending a few hours having no idea what anyone is saying. I did not want to go to practice today. It's really cool and everything, but it can be tough being only one of two things: a novelty or a burden. "An American! Oh! That is so cool!" or "You don't speak...oh...hokay..."

But I got my butt out the door, onto my bike, and biked all the way to the boathouse.

I waited for awhile, and my coach, a grad student, came and joined me. She was excited to talk with me, and we compared our rowing experiences and she regaled me with tales of a ridiculous crew party she went to on Tuesday. It was really cool finally talking to a Dutch person...normally.

None of the other girls in my four showed up.

I would have been sad, but this turned into the coolest thing ever.

She took me down to the tanks they have in the boathouse. (I know, I'm seriously making a list for Becky to include in the new Ithaca boathouse. First, a bar. Second, TANKS.)

And that is how I got a private technique lesson from a World Championship rower.

My brain almost exploded. Becky has tried over and over to fix my body position, and I think I finally understood it today.

But still. I don't even know how to tell this story without repeating the words "cool" and "awesome" an absurd number of times. When I was going to row the first time here I actually got mad at myself. Mad that I always had to do something more, and make it harder for myself. Why couldn't I have just been normal and not rowed for a semester? Why couldn't I be like everything else? This is awkward and stressful and geez I do not like being totally informed all the time and knowing exactly how things are going to work and I like being comfortable and here I am in some sketchy part of Amsterdam heck I don't think I'm in the city anymore for all I know I'm in Belgium I COULD have been taking a stroll somewhere nice but no, I would never do that, so man up, and figure this out.

Biking back, I realized that the bike is what really sums it up. Out of all the things and problems and challenges in Amsterdam, I was MOST worried about the bike. I think I got stomach pains whenever someone mentioned it. "Why the heck," I thought, "didn't I go to a city where they really like public transportation? WHY BIKES?"

To start off I white knuckled it everywhere, flinching constantly, terrified. Today, riding home, I felt comfortable. I passed people, merged into crowds of moving metal, and got home fast. I knew exactly where I was going. And I knew exactly how to do it.

I guess I'm finally accepting that a little discomfort comes along with anything worth doing. Amsterdam's helping me stop calculating risks, planning every last detail, fretting over any unknown or could-be.

Quite literally, I'm loosening my grip. And it's a way better ride.

OHMIGOD YOU GUYS

Today I rowed with the Dutch. Our coxswain was also our coach, and she was pretty game for explaining everything in very broken english. But it didn't really matter, because I was SO EXCITED ABOUT EVERYTHING. She also stood up in the boat to demonstrate things, which was mildly terrifying.

I was kind of upset that the outboard arm rowing drill followed me all the way to the Netherlands.

There are a few differences, though.

1. I rowed in the 2 seat for the first time, which I never thought would be possible. Well, there you go. Everyone here's a giant.

2. Everything is in Dutch. In the very beginning she tried to use both languages, but I caught on to the general terms, like stop and go. Which are kind of key. I also learned what backing and sitting at the catch are. I'm not going to mangle the spelling here for you, but if I hear them, I understand them.

3. They do not have shoes in the boat. There are straps just like on an erg.

4. They never go to shoulders. I was kind of sad, because I wanted to experience the magic of being a short person carrying a boat.

5. I biked and took a tram to practice. The boathouse is right outside of the city, which is a pain but also really cool because we actually row past fields with cows and sheep and windmills. WINDMILLS. There are also house boats, and in the distance at one part you can see some stadium of some kind. I'll get back to you on what it actually is.

Can you tell I kept my head in the boat? But I rowed really well, I promise!

6. They do power 7s instead of power 10s. I do not understand this, but whatever.

7. It's a good workout but the atmosphere is way more relaxed. It's all student run, and they want you to do well, but there's not such a feeling of competition.

8. They wash the boat every time they take it out, because the Amstel is super dirty.

9. Everything is in Dutch, and 90 percent of the time I have no idea what is happening. I think I'm getting pretty good at faking it, though.

10. After our row, we were waiting around for some final words from our coach. One of the girls turns to me and says:

"We're talking about what hurts on us."

And then another adds:

"And how excited we are for dinner."

Oh, wait, did I say things were different? It turns out they're all the same.

Rotterdam!

On Friday IES sponsored a day trip to Rotterdam, another city in the Netherlands. I had a lot of fun despite the on and off rain.

Here's the thing about Rotterdam. It doesn't look like Amsterdam, even though it's only about an hour and a half train ride away. See, during the Second World War, Germany sent a message to the Netherlands, demanding surrender. If the Netherlands did not surrender immediately, Germany would bomb the nation's most prosperous port city, Rotterdam. The Netherlands quickly surrendered. The thing is, Germany didn't get it until after they'd wiped the entire city center off the map through bombs and the subsequent fire.

That's why what used to look like this:

Now looks like this:

The whole city is completely devoted to modern architecture. My favorite was the cube houses. Yeah, people actually live here:

The whole city is under construction. There are still a few parts that were amazingly spared from the fires, solely because of how the winds were blowing that day. So there's some interesting contrast.

That white building was the tallest building in Europe for about 50 years. You wouldn't think so. Now it's not even the tallest in Rotterdam. 

Someone asked our tour guide, who was an architect who grew up and worked in Rotterdam his whole life, if people were bothered by the constant, overwhelming construction. 

He said they loved the sight of construction, because it meant growth and life as opposed to destruction. The whole atmosphere of the city is still directed by the bombing, and it's constantly remembered in artwork throughout the city, like this statue:

See how his heart is missing? 

So, a trip to Rotterdam. A typical Friday in my life now, I guess. 

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.