Its that day again....
I know. I know. I’ve abandoned my dear ol’ blog.
But here I am. Back. And ready to rock and roll!
Life has been crazy. Crazy busy. From Dec 24th until 2 weeks ago I was working 7 days a week! The weekends were full, filming a cheesy (ok fine, very cheesy) Canadian talk/game show that was being filmed and produced here in Holland. The cash was great, the people even greater, and all in all was a once in a life time experience!
But more important news: today’s my birthday. Yep, it’s a big one. Eeekk 27! When I think back to all I wanted to accomplish at 27, wow, how naïve was I! But, that being said I’m definitely proud of what I have accomplished and where I currently am in my life. I think those wacky ideas of having a truck load (or in Holland, a bike load) of babies by my 27th birthday was worth striking off the list, for now. And the first million by my 30th?...hihihi...looks like I still have 3 years to go!
Thanks to everyone for all the very sweet birthday wishes, and cards, and prezzies! Much appreciated. And much Love.
This weekend I will celebrate in Style. Bring out the bowling shoes!!
And now, to end with a list (b/c if you know me, you know I love a good list), the top 7 things I plan to do in my 27th year:
1. Love more. Laugh more.
2. Take that long overdue trip to Morocco
3. Go to bed earlier, wake up earlier, arrive at work earlier, and leave work earlier. See a pattern here? EARLIER!
4. Go on a mother/daughter trip (i.e. Yoga Retreat??)
5. Get some sort of 2 year plan
6. Finally visit Vancouver with the big M
7. Appreciate every moment I have. Always.
There you have it :)
Happy SinterKlaas Day to you!!
I thought today I’d be like the good ol’ Dutch,
And write a Sinterklaas poem for the man I love very much.
So here we are, living in the land below sea
The D.I.N.K.-y* dream, just you and me.
Working together was such a breeze,
It was only those uptight crazies we had to appease!
2006 brought many highs and some lows,
With nutty bosses, business plans and, best of all, a Popcorn CEO!
Rain or shine, I’d live with you anywhere,
Just bring the good times & laughter and I’ll be there!
Now here’s a clue for the Sinterklaas prezzie for you:
Tomorrow night at Waterlooplien and please bring your tutu
*Double Income No Kids: inside joke ;)
Is the Dutch Sinterklaas tradition finally dissipating?!
Almost a year ago today I posted about the Dutch tradition of Sinterklaas and his band of merry helpers, the Zwarte Piets. I discussed the tradition and its inappropriate racial connotations in today’s multi-cultural Dutch society (in 2006, 20% of the Netherlands population was "non-Dutch").
To briefly summarize for those of you unfamiliar with the tradition, in Holland, Sinterklaas is celebrated on December 5th. On this evening, Dutch children put out their shoes for Sinterklaas to fill with treats. Sinterklaas live in Spain and ever December travels to Holland via ship. He then rides through the streets on horse-back accompnied by his helpers. Sounds like a nice litte story, eh? Well, it is, apart from the fact that SinterKlaas’s helpers are Zwarte Piets (Black Peters)--men depicted in jolly outfits, large red lips, curly afros, and very black skin. This image might be acceptable in a storybook setting (though I somehow even doubt that), but it is even more disturbing when re-enacted in the streets of Holland by White Dutch folk clad in afro wigs, red lipstick, and black face makeup.
BUT...this post isn’t another negative one, critizing this arachic tradition! No, this post is actually meant to celebrate that the times they might be a changin’ in Holland!! As reported by various Dutch new sources today, “The Sinterklaas tradition appears to be gradually fading in the multicultural Dutch society in the face of rising criticism to the saint's helpers, 'Zwarte Pieten'”.
Every year the Dutch public broadcaster, NOS, reports on the arrival of SinterKlaas to the Dutch cities. This year however, the NOS reported that “the steamboat sailed into a rainbow on the way to the Netherlands.[And] as a result, the Zwarte Pieten have blue, green, yellow and red faces this year.” (Link to the full article)
Could it be true? Might we be spared the shameful black-faces this year and instead be treated to a much more politically correct ensemble of Rainbow Piets???!
To those who made this decision: hats off!!
Catching Up
Me again :)
What can I say, its been a busy couple of weeks! The highlights?? I’d thought you’d never ask!
1. Last weekend we went to Copenhagen with some friends. The ride there was long (I think 11 hours in total), but definitely worth the effort. Denmark was great --the people were incredibly friendly, the city beautiful, and the coastline breathtaking!! We visited Hamlet’s castle, the Modern art museum "Louisiana" (saw a fabulous exhibition by artist Keith Tyson), tried our hand at the shooting gallery (and lost miserably), amongst other games, at Tivoli, and did a ton of great eating! Plus--who knew a ferry could be so much fun?! Me and the other 5- years-olds (also first-timers on a Ferry) were very excited :P
2. On Friday we went over to my friend Miranda’s for a Thanksgiving dinner (yes, a month late in Canadian terms. But better late than never!). I made my Grandma’s Thanksgiving coleslaw and Miranda prepared-- FROM SCRATCH-- an entire meal of turkey, stuffing, homemade pumpkin pie, sweet potatoes, etc. for 9 hungry folks!! I marvelled at her skills, and contemplated the impossible-ness of one dish, let alone a dozen!
3. On Saturday I went to an Anouk concert for my friend and colleague Jami’s birthday. (Anouk is a very popular Dutch pop/rock star here in Holland). Jami’s husband works with Anouk (guitar specialist) so we scored VIP tickets to the sushi and alcohol filled backstage VIP lounge --definitely my kind of place. hihihi ;) She was great. Much better live than I would ever imagine. Am now an even bigger fan!
4. I have a "casting" this week to be a host for a Canadian game show being filmed in Amsterdam (and shown across Canada). Don’t ask!!! A friend recommended me, so I decided to give it a try for kicks! Truly hilarious, and if it happens, its going to be ridiculously funny!
5. The next month’s travel agenda is action packed (both work and personal trips). In the next month I’ll be in Paris, Frankfurt, Düsseldorf, Hamburg, and London. M and I have decided to go London for New Years Eve. I figured if I must (just kiddin’ Mo!) stay in Europe for the holidays, I might as well get some great shopping, greasy food and cheesy musicals crammed in there as well!
Alrighty. Got that off my chest!
Hugs,
xxoo
Trick or Treat?
It's funny, Halloween is the time of the year that I get the most home sick. I’m not sure why exactly that is. Maybe it’s because I have so many great memories of Halloween back home: painfully cold nights of trick-or-treating, carving pumpkins with Dad, putting together costumes with mum, high school house parties, the "Spice Girls" era, stealing Kyle's year-old uneaten candy....and so on. Or maybe its because Halloween is essentially non-existent here in Holland, and it just feels like something is, well, missing.
Last night I caught myself bragging to Mo (yes, bragging!) about how "In Canada, everything would be decorated this weekend for Halloween. Shops, restaurants, houses, you name it!" I’m not sure why I felt the need to brag about this fact, as truth be told I was never overly fond of the orange and black theme that decked most places this time of year, but living in a foreign country can do strange things to you...
"Did you hear me? I said, everything in Winnipeg would be decorated this weekend for Halloween!"
Silence
And finally...
"Decorated, like how?"
"Spoooooky. Decorated spooky! Like carved pumpkins, and ghosts in the trees, and witches, and haunted houses!"
"Hmmmm..." He glanced up from his laptop and muttered "um.... cool, I guess".
I’m not sure what I expected his response to be (poor man!).Or why I was even trying to start a quasi-argument about the proliferation of Halloween decorations in Canada, but I managed to catch myself and change the subject before I started down my "Canada is freaking great" speech or worse yet, the "I only live here for you" speech (which BTW isn’t at all how I feel at rational moments). Those speeches tend to rear their ugly heads at the moments I am feeling the most homesick, and apparently Halloween is one of them.
But don’t worry--there is a solution! My company organizes a Halloween bash for English-speakers living in Amsterdam---so I’m going to deck out of work early, and put those final touches on my costume! I’ve managed to rope a good crowd of friends into coming along---‘cause regardless of where I’m living’, I’m certainly not giving up this good ol’ fashion fun!
p.s. just noticed the pic above, appears to have Abraham Lincoln's face in it? Not sure why....but no time to change it. Spooky though, eh?
Speedy Gonzales
It looks like its going to be an eventful day! It’s only 11 am and already I’ve chased a man on a bike for 2 blocks who was "in possession" of my purse. Yes, as Mo was happy to remind me again today, these things only happen to me!
So, as I was driving to work this morning, my purse (which was strapped onto the back of my bike) fell off while crossing an intersection. I noticed once I had gotten to the other side of the street, but at that point cars were already whizzing by.
As the traffic slowed down, I watched as a man on a bicycle, in one quick graceful movement, scooped up my purse and cycled off into the distance. By the time the traffic finally stopped, I managed to get a glimpse of him, a block away, turning a corner. Huffing and puffing (and thanks to my brand-spanking-new tires) I sped off after him. After a block or so I managed to pull up beside him and say, out of breath: "Hi...ummm...that’s my bag".
He looked startled to see a sweaty, dishevelled me pulling up beside him, but quickly explained how he saw the purse, was late for work, and decided the "right thing" was to quickly drop it off at a neighbouring police station. I thanked him and we both happily rode off. As I turned around I saw Mo driving towards me, panicked, "Are you crazy?!?!" he yelled.
Apparently all he had seen "was his girlfriend bolt off in the opposite direction of work, yelling and chasing a Dutch man on a bike". He said he figured I had a good reason, but then again (given my track record) wasn’t entirely sure!
"I'm not crazy, baby. Crazy things just happen to me!"
"Really..."
...
...
P.S. Am off to Paris for a month tomorrow
P.P.S. Above pic by Flee. Check out his beautiful series of Amsterdam bike pics at www.flee.com.
Crush
You laugh as I cry shamelessly at a scene on television. "It’s a recap-show!" you howl. "I can’t believe you’re crying at a recap show! You’ve already seen this seen before, and you’re still crying?!"
And you ask, "Are you always going to be like this?"
"Are you going to cry like this when you’re a mother?"
"What about when you’re 30?!"
And I answer, "I hope so."
"I hope I never lose my passion, good or bad. Sure, maybe sometimes it’s too much, too rash, too harsh, too weak, too telling, too carefree, too heartfelt, too hurtful. Maybe I go through intense bouts of obsession, of introspection, of jubilation, of confession. But it’s true, and it’s me."
And you say: "That’s why I love you."
And we sit, and we smile, and we breathe...and you laugh.
And we laugh.
(And that’s why, I love you).
...
Confessions...
Does it need to be this hard?
I drop back down in Amsterdam to sheer frustration. I decided to call the IND today to see whether they had any news on the status of my immigration papers. Very very bad idea. To recap the facts:
- Applied for visa
- Was rejected for no apparent reason
- Have now gone through 3 lawyers.
- Filled an appeal on Feb 14th (yep, Valentine’s day, how ironic?)
- Appeal decision is allowed to legally take a maximum of 10 weeks
- Has now been 27 weeks (no exaggeration, almost 3 times their self imposed maximum)
Conversation with IND today:
Me: Its now been 27 weeks, can you give me the status or ANY information on my case?
IND: No
Me: Is there anyone I can talk to?
IND: No
Me: Can I make an appt to meet with someone about my case?
IND: No
Me: Can you at least tell me when you think they might have a decision?
IND: Ummm, No.
Me: So, I can’t talk to anyone, talk write to anyone, can’t have an apt with anyone, and can’t have any information on my case?
IND: Yes
Me: And do you think it’s a bit strange that your maximum is 10 weeks, and its been 27 weeks and there is no solution in sight.
IND: No, not really
Me: Can I file a complaint about the delay?
IND: Technically yes, but...there is a current delay in the complaints department, and they won’t receive your complaint for an average of 6 weeks.
Me: Which will probably be more like 12 weeks right?
IND: Right.
Oh well no worries, right, 'cause tonight is M-A-D-O-N-N-A!!!!!
Addiction: Lost and found
In less than a week’s time M and I have managed to watch 23 episodes of Lost. Yes, you heard right, the entire first season in practically one sitting. I admit it. I have a full fledge addiction. (I’ve decided it’s my new part-time job (aka "Lost watcher"), since it did take over 20 hours of my time this week). Of course it was a good week to waste here in Holland. Since last Monday it has been nothing but rain, rain and more rain in the "only had 3-weeks-of-summer" city of Amsterdam.
No matter what drama is currently happening in my life, it is nothing compared to the ups and downs of the 40 some odd characters trapped on this mysterious island. If you haven’t yet seen it, the show is absolutely fabulous! I can’t remember the last TV show I watched that was so compelling and utterly addictive. I’ll admit I may also have a small "non-sexual crush" (common, you know the kind) on Evangeline Lily. She’s the best and the kind of star Hollywood needs more of:
Lost's Evangeline Lilly has recently reprimanded the lazy and selfish socialites of the world too concerned about themselves to give to others in need.
"I need to help people or I'd be no better than the Paris Hiltons of the world, waltzing around with their Louis Vuitton bags and their little dogs," said the 27-year-old Alberta native. "Those people couldn't give a rat's a*s if somebody was starving in the street next to them."
Go Lily! Makin’ us Canadians proud!!
I now need to catch up on a few shows from the second season, which will hopefully tide me over until the 3rd season starts in the fall.
So folks, my advice to you is simple: Watch it. Or die.
A Gay Day in A'dam
Some pics from the weird and wacky "Amsterdam Gay Pride Canal Parade". Enjoy!!
Drama Queen or Queen of Drama?
In the past few months more than a few friends have mine have made comments such as "C, your life is like a soap opera/movie" or "you have far too much drama in your life". Only after the comment was made again this morning, did I actually pause to think about it. Yes, there IS far too much drama in my life right now, but honestly I don’t know how to fix it. Up until now there has always been some sort of "quick fix", but they’ve appeared to have run out. Between appointments with 3 different lawyers (2 of which were complete con-artists), a new "threat" from my lawyer to press legal charges against me (for not paying his con artist fees), the "legally sound" advice to get married this weekend, the company I work for being in utter shambles, grappling with why really good people get sick, my current semi-illegal status with the IND, my possible upcoming deportation and the saga of M’s dysfunctional work situation, the drama level is definitely on red alert.
So to deal with it, I’m doing something I haven’t tried before; running away from it all. Last weekend on a spur of the moment decision I booked a 19 day holiday back home.
Do I have the money to do so? Nope. Do I have the vacation days needed? Nope. But do I need to get the hell outta here? Abso-freaking-lutely!
Ever since Saturday, and my ticket purchase I’ve felt the stress slowing flowing out of my veins. I’m so happy to go home, to get away from it all, and to just relaaaxxxxx...Of course, I feel slightly guilty for leaving my man behind, but he understands (as always).
As many of you know I have a slight issue with time. Or should I say with "being on time". A few years ago, when I was living at home, and rushing about late for yet another appointment, my father looked me square in the eyes and said "C, I think I know why you are always late. You like the drama".
Do I truly like the drama? Do I feed off of it? Do I need it to make me feel alive??
I’ll admit, maybe in some instances, I do.
But right now, I know forsure, it’s a little too much for my liking.
Feelin' hot hot hot
What is with this temperature?!? Am too hot to think, too hot to write, too hot to move.
Today's activities:
-Wake up early since too hot to sleep.
-Ride around town on bicyle on mad quest to locate fan.
-Go to 6 stores. Apparently fans no longer exist in Holland.
-See man walking down street with fan.
-Stop him. Hysterically inquire where fan was found.
-Get directions, bike for 20 mintues.
-Arrive at destination soaking wet.
-Spy fans surrounded by huge crowd.
-Grab fan and hold on to for dear life. No one is getting this fan!
-Balance fan home on my bicyle with great distress. Stop occasionally to mop sweat from face.
-Decipher Dutch instructions for putting fan together.
-Instructions completely illogical.
-Fan lopsided.
-40 minutes later, fan finally assembled.
-Anticipate great moment of satisfaction.
-Turn fan on.
-No movement.
-Nothing.
-Yes, absoultely, NOTHING!
-BLOODY FAN DOES NOT WORK.
-Use all will power to not pick up fan and hurl out window.
As you can see, a very very succesful day.
Brotherly Love
I just finished reading the book "On Beauty" by Zadie Smith and loved it. I was particularly touched by one paragraph, one description, which rang so true to me.
The children repaired to a nearby café. They sat on stools lined up against the windowpane…They caught up with each others new casually, leaving long, cosy gaps of silence in which to go to work on their muffins and coffees. J—after two months of having to be witty and brilliant in a strange town among strangers—appreciated the gift of it. People talk about the happy quiet that exists between lovers, but this too was great; sitting sister and brother, saying nothing, eating.
Before the world existed, before it was populated, and before there were wars and jobs and colleges and movies and clothes and opinions and foreign travel—before all of these things there had only been one person, a brother, and only one place: a tent in the living room made from chairs and bed sheets.
(Nevermind the fact that on a good day I was allowed inside the tent, but on a bad day I was underneath the layers of bed sheets and pillows, begging not to be sat upon! Sorry K, the memories are just far too vivid ;)
My mother told me once that one of her main goals in life was to ensure that Kyle and I grew up to be very close. Suffice to say she succeeded. I remember one time, being very young and getting into some brother/sister fight which ended in a series of scratching and hair pulling (yes, on my part!) Instead of getting mad at us, she sat us down beside each other and calmly said, “Your going to meet a lot of people in your life, have a lot of friends, girlfriends, and boyfriends--but you will only ever have one brother, and one sister, and they will be one of the only people you can and will rely on your whole life.” I have carried this message with me my whole life, and have seen its manifestation countless times.
See you at the Beach
Finally, summer is here! Out come late night drinks on terraces, sexy sandals, flowy dresses, sun-kissed faces, and lazy days spent at the beach.
Weekend plans: spend entire Saturday and Sunday lying on the beach at Zaanfort.
Ciao Bella!
More
I’m having one of those days again, when I get this (panicky) feeling like I’m not fulfilling all that I could; not seeing enough, doing enough, creating enough. Being enough.
It’s hard for me to actually describe the feeling in words, that starts slowly in the pit of my stomach and reaches itself out to the tips of my fingers and toes, and when I do (in this case, yesterday to M. and my mum) it comes out sounding entirely different than what I wanted--some vague resemblance of the core thought entwined in a whiney melodramatic tone. It’s not disappointment or unhappiness with my life; if anything it’s the opposite! Mostly just a feeling that there is so much I can do, so many opportunities, and I want to make sure I take advantage of them all.
I know why this feeling is here again. Being around someone who is sick, who is battling for his life in front of me everyday, changes you. I’m reassured he has done so much, seen so much, been so much...and know he has so much more to come.
I want to think more, touch more, feel more, laugh more, talk more, cry more, try more, dance more, make more, cook more, create more, challenge more, learn more, sing more, taste more, meet more, see more, do more. Live more.
Two years, too fast.
As you can see by the title, I’ve now been living in Holland for officially two full years. It’s actually a bit mind boggling to say it aloud, as I feel like it was just yesterday that I arrived with two bulging suitcases and a Lonely Planet Amsterdam.
A week ago, in fact on the very day of my “2 years in Holland anniversary” I received another letter from the IND. Actually; I was beginning to feel a bit unloved, since I hadn’t received one of their semi- threatening letters for a few weeks.
As my written Dutch is quite basic at the moment, I interpreted the letter to say something along the following lines:
Dear Dazzle,
We recently saw you riding your bike down the Damrak in Amsterdam, and were somewhat perplexed at the sight. What are you still doing in Holland? Have we not succeeded at discouraging you from living here yet? Did the eight months of waiting for your application to be approved, the subsequent rejection of your application, and now our “silent treatment” on your appeal, not finally convince you to leave?
Please inform us when you (finally) give up on this whole charade.
Your truly,
The IND
P.S. As you know the 14 weeks we are legally allowed to take to make a decision have long passed, however, we would like to inform you that we may take another 6 months or longer to reach a final decision .
Ok, I’ll admit that may not have been exactly the contents of the letter, but trust me, it might have well been. In fact the P.S. is a direct translation of the last line of the actual letter. With the “6 months or longer” bit in bold, just to drive it home. I’m curious; how long they can actually drag this whole thing on? Have they set up an office betting pool for cases like mine? (“Anyone else wanna place a bet on how long it will take for xxx to pack up and leave?”)
When I first found out my application had been rejected, I was crushed. Utterly crushed. However, after speaking to an immigration lawyer, who was downright giddy at the fact that I had been rejected without a legal reason, I stopped caring. I have now mentally classified the whole ordeal as one seemingly never-ending source of amusement. It’s actually amazing how once you chose to stop caring about something, all stress and turmoil instantaneously evaporates. (Who knew??)
For now, I guess I’ll wait the stated “6 months or longer”...and keep you posted. I figure, worst case scenario: I have some dramatic forced deportation to Canada --that would make good blogging material, now wouldn’t it??
Alas, Spring has Sprung!
"In the spring time, the only pretty ring time,
When birds do sing, hey ding a ding;
Sweet lovers love the spring."
--William Shakespeare (1564-1616)
"Beauty is a form of genius - is higher, indeed, than genius, as it needs no explanation. It is of the great facts in the world like sunlight, or springtime, or the reflection in dark water of that silver shell we call the moon."
--Oscar Wilde (1854- 1900)
"I have always tried to hide my efforts and wished my works to have a light joyousness of springtime which never lets anyone suspect the labors it has cost me."
--Henri Matisse (1869-1954)
"That is one good thing about this world...there are always sure to be more springs"
--Lucy Maud Montgomery (1874 - 1942)
"Spring is when life's alive in everything."
--Christina Rossetti (1830 - 1894)
"An optimist is the human personification of spring."
--Susan J. Bissonette (??)
"If we had no winter, the spring would not be so pleasant; if we did not sometimes taste of adversity, prosperity would not be so welcome."
--Anne Bradstreet (1612-1672)
God Save the Queen
Queen for a day!
The highlight of my summer was always Saturday mornings. Whether in the city or staying at my Grandparent's cottage at the lake, Saturday mornings meant one thing, and one thing only -–Garage Sales! Yes, my Dad’s love of all things old (books in particular), and my Mom’s love of a good bargain were both instilled at a young age.
So, you can imagine that a Nation-wide garage sale/flea market is just about the most exciting it gets for me! Yes, this Saturday is Queen’s Day (Koninginnedag, for those of you brave enough to try your hand at the Dutch pronunciation, a Dutch national holiday (and pastime) that I have fallen head over heels in love with. Who can think of a better way to spend a spring day then a country-wide garage sale--accompanied by music, street food, drinks, and of course all things Orange!
"Every inch of the pavement in every city, town and village in the country is taken up with people squatting on rugs and plastic selling off mostly useless but strangely intriguing bric-a-brac" (Expatica)
Tonight is Queen’s Night, which is essentially just an excuse for a good party -- all in the name of Queen Beatrix. We have friends coming in from London and Germany (Queen’s day virgins) but even with a late night tonight, I will be dragging everyone out of bed tomorrow morning for an early start on the sales! As we all know, the number one rule for bargains is: early bird gets the worm!
Check out some pics below of Queen’s day festivities! (I'll post some of my own pics on Monday)
Its a small world, after all
I’m always amazed by what a small world it truly is. This week I received a dozen or so applications in my inbox. As I was shuffling through them, one jumped out in particular, as the cover letter was intriguing. I opened the attachment, and to my surprise the candidate was not only a fellow Canadian, but –a fellow Winnipegger! To make the situation even more coincidental, it turns out we also attended the same high-school (although a few years apart).
It isn’t actually the first time I’ve met someone from Winnipeg while living in Europe. Actually, to be honest, this time I wasn’t even so surprised (listen to me, all blaze ;). When I called the candidate to schedule an interview, I thought I’d let him in on our coincidence. Clearly this was his first encounter of the sorts, as he was downright amazed. The words “meant-to-be” and “fate” drifted their way into the conversation, and I almost regretted having mentioned it.
There are actually two other ‘peggers that I deal with regularly through my work. Both are based in Paris, and one also attended my former highschool (although 10 years before my time). Whenever our paths cross we end up discussing home; the last time we were there, what we miss, etc. And somehow, each and ever time without fail, our conversation leads to the almighty subject of: the weather.
I’m now fully aware of the eternal obsession Winnipeggers have with the weather (myself proudly included). We watch the weather channel as though its dishing out breaking news, we discuss the wind-chill factor at great lengths during the winter months, and I’ll admit, I often catch myself bragging about our -40C temperatures. This obsession is instilled in us as children, as I can’t remember a day that went by without some consultation on the weather, both at home and at school. It’s common schoolyard knowledge that when temperatures reach below -20C, recess is cancelled (something my 8 year-old-self spent many a day praying for, as indoor recess was the ultimate in fun). In fact, my earliest childhood memories involve watching the weather channel (channel 9, at that point) while being bundled up in my snowsuit and sent off to school.
And so, in this morning’s interview with the candidate from Winnipeg, it was really no wonder that we ended our chat with a brief rant about Amsterdam’s current weather, made all the worse, by the knowledge of sunny skies back home.
On Interviews, Amsterdam style
I have spent the better part of the last three weeks interviewing candidates for a position within my company. Unfortunately, my good friend and colleague, L, is relocating with her partner to the US of A, ASAP. I have tried to convince her to abandon her fiancée and stay in Amsterdam for my sake, but somehow she’s just not taking the bait (go figure!) And so, we have now sat through at least a dozen of the most painful interviews. I’m at a loss; are there really no qualified candidates in Holland at the moment, are my standards too high, or am I trying to replace an “irreplaceable” colleague/friend?
I have to admit my CV screening has not been without some prejudice. If you send me a CV with a mugshot-esque photo that sends shivers down my spine, how am I not suppose to think of you as anything but an escaped convict? Not to mention the loads of cover letters with spelling mistakes in their first sentences, or better yet, garbled emails written in text-message lingo, example: “r u still hiring 4 the position...L8R” (no comment!!!) Obviously, all of the above have quickly made their way to my overflowing recycling bin.
The interviews have been equally painstaking. Everything ranging from salary demands within the first 5 minutes (“I don’t work for less than $$$”), to bizarre requests (“I am only willing to take this job if my dog can come to work with me” or “Can I hire personal assistants?”), to drama (one hour into the interview: “Actually, I’m not interested in this job AT ALL!”).
There does appear to be some light at the end of the tunnel –we’ve now had two second interviews with very good candidates. Although neither are ideal, there is hope, and some equally promising CVs in my inbox this morning. Wish me luck!
You've come a long way, baby!
To think this article was published only 50 years ago! It's hard to imagine a time when statements like these were the norm, and fully embraced without question.
Did my grandmothers feel this way? Did they eagerly study such “guidelines” as young girls preparing for a life of marriage?
I was at a conference here in Amsterdam last week on “Women and Leadership” and although the goal of the day was to empower women and help push them into the upper echelons of the business world, I left the day feeling slightly deflated by the reality of the situation. In Holland, women currently only occupy 7 percent of board seats in Dutch companies. And research by the Central Bureau of Statistics indicates that less than 6 percent of people earning in excess of EUR 100,000 in the Netherlands are women.
The attendees of the conference were mostly young Dutch women in their 20’s and although they had all made the effort to attend the conference ---something was definitely lacking in their passion for progress. The keynote speaker started her presentation by rattling off a set of bleak stats concerning women and the Dutch buisness world. She turned to the crowd and cried out “Is this fair?! Are we going to allow this to continue?!”--anticipating uproar from the crowd-- but all she got back was a soft unconvinced murmur from the crowd. Clearly disappointed she shouted back “If you’re not even going to fight for yourselves--don’t expect anyone else too!”
I remind myself that although the situation may sometimes seem bleak, articles such as the one above, from a 1950’s Housekeeping Monthly magazine, put it all into perspective. To quote Virginia Slims infamous slogan, “you’ve come a long way baby!”
Why Blog?
Since I’ve been home sick (again, goddamit!) I’ve had the chance to guiltlessly surf the internet from the depths of blankets and snotty tissues --on a hunt for new and exciting blogs. Of course, there are the ones I read religiously (Petite Anglaise, This Fish, Go fug Yourself,and SupaSuze), however, I recently came across some bloggers living in Holland (Dutch Diary, Dutched Pinay, BicycleMark)each of whom struck a chord.
One entry that particularly jumped out was Dutched Pinay’s “The Anatomy of a Blogger”. "Dutched" essentially comments that all bloggers can be summed up by the following statements:
1. Bloggers have narcissistic traits
2. Bloggers love to write
3. Bloggers are opinionated
4. Bloggers are exhibitionists
5. Bloggers like to show off
6. Bloggers like to share their knowledge/hobby
7. Bloggers blog to communicate with friends and family
8. Bloggers seek friendships
9. Bloggers want to belong to a community
10. Bloggers want to prove something
11. Bloggers want to earn money
Quite a claim! And one, my groggy head was curious to actually delve into. So, how do I rate on this set of traits? (Possibly even asking that very question may confirm number one! )
1. Narcissistic traits? Hmm...I guess that depends who you ask ;) Am I flattered by comments from new/regular readers? Definitely!
2. Love to write? Guilty as charged!
3. Opinionated? Ha! I think my entries here and here may answer that question!
4. Exhibitionist? Does not yet having curtains in my apartment count? Or maybe my foray into the steamy world of Dutch saunas?!
5. Show off? Only in the nicest sense of the word! (and when a stage is involved!)
6. Want to share knowledge/hobby? Yep, if I can.
7. Communicate with fam and friends? Definetly--that’s the main purpose of this blog (however, it has taken a different shape as more and more new readers log on)
8. Seeking friendships? Of course! What's life if not to meet new/interesting people.
9. Want to belong to community? Sure, why not?
10. Want to prove something? In all honesly, can’t say I really do. And if I did--don’t have a clue what it would be! (Maybe that I can out tapdance ya?!
11. Want to earn money? Who doesn’t!--But not with this blog (of course then again, I wouldn’t turn any $$$ away, now would I ;)
So, where does that leave us? I guess number one is the real “biggie” that bloggers ask themselves? Am I doing this for my love of writing? For creativity? For therapy? For fun? Or to figuratively hear myself speak? The answer for most bloggers is probably a combination of all of the above..and of course, let’s be honest here people, it hasn’t been called “vanity publishing” for nothin'!
Tuning in, again.
Last week my Dutch teacher informed me that I am “in the worst possible situation to learn Dutch”. Quite the motivator, eh? Yep! Apparently, I have more than a few strikes against me, which he preceded to list. Firstly, I have no intention to stay in Holland long term (yes, this is indeed true). Secondly, my partner is not Dutch (right, again). Thirdly, I do not need to speak Dutch for work (thank, god or I'd be out of a job), nor do I even have Dutch colleagues to practise Dutch with (only, the one—who’s favourite pastime is shouting out across the busy cafeteria what colour my underwear are! I digress; I will save that anecdote for a blog entry on “the working woman’s guide to the Dutch workplace”). And lastly, I do not regularly socialize with “the Dutch”. As odd as this last point sounds, it is in fact very true. M and I have quite an extended circle of friends, however, on closer inspection---very very few of them are Dutch. As it turns out my closest friends are from anywhere but here--Australia, Canada, US, England Bulgaria, etc. This is not so surprising actually; if you speak to any expat you will most likely find that their closest friends are expats themselves. Who else can best relate to the highs and lows of living in a foreign country?
And so, although I apparently am not in the ideal situation to pick up the language, and the fact that everyone in Amsterdam insists on replying back to me in English, I have found myself really enjoying the classes. When I first moved here, I went out and bought all sorts of Dutch language books, and CDs and tapes. I excitedly read through them, and practised my bit phrases eagerly with anyone who'd listen. But then real life set in, the books were put aside and I eventually stopped even bothering to pick up a new word here and there. It’s funny how easy it is to tune out the world around you. On the bus in the morning, I didn’t even hear the chatter around me anymore, I didn’t try to pick out things I could understand, and instead it all melted into a soft hum. Eventually things got a little too quiet and I realized I had become “that person” who lives in a foreign country without even bothering to learn the language. Trust me, it’s a very easy thing to do. So, here I go, better late than never, right?
Naiveté
I spent my entire childhood trusting that my parents knew all the answers and could conquer any problem or obstacle thrown their way. Of course I eventually realized there were situations, where their magical wand couldn’t be waved and instantly solve everything –like a broken bone, or worse, a broken heart. Although I finally came to this realization with my parents, I have saved up these unrealistic expectations for another group of people: doctors. Regardless of the situation, I expect them to have all the answers, to know all the details, and to be able to wave that magic wand.
Finding out that the man in the white coat across the table from you doesn’t know much more than what you have dug up via a quick Google search is a scary realization. One that’s quite hard to swallow when actual lives are at stake. Of course he was apt to rattle of historical stats and averages, and throw out various hypothetical scenarios. But...he didn’t have the answers. And worst of all, he didn’t even pretend to.
I think we both would have liked a little sugar coating. I knew full well that oncologists, who stare death in the face day in and day out, aren’t the most feel-good people around, however, I did hope for some more certainty, some more conviction in his answers. But he was only being honest, only telling us what he knew for certain, and openly admitting what he, and the general medical community, didn’t fully understand yet. And so, my naïve assumptions came crashing down yet again.
I light of this mess I am amazed every day by C.’s strength. I can’t even begin to imagine what it feels like to have your entire life flipped upside-down over night, yet he is handling it with his usual great sense of humour and humility.
Happy Birthday to me!!!!
Yep, today is my birthday! Twenty-six...
And so, to celebrate I am going to tell you all the "26 things" I am thankful for today (and in no particular order, people):
1. A wonderful, caring, and unique family
2. Having found the love of my life
3. All my Winnipeg girlies (you know who you are)
4. And of course, my 'Peg boyies too ;)(you should also know who u r)
5. My new circle of girlfriends in Amsterdam (you're great!)
6. Purple lilacs, gerber daisies, tulips
7. Flea markets (!!)
8. All things French (movies, food, fashion--to name a few)
9. Feeling the sun on your face (unfortunately a rarity these days)
10. Riding my bike to work every morning
11. Babies (I could eat them up!)
12. Swimming into a cold lake
13. Homemade soup and sandwiches, Sushi, Miso soup, Ethiopian food
14. Art galleries, bookstores, libraries, museums
15. Lazy Sundays
16a. Laughing 'til it hurts
16b. Uncontrollable giggles at inappropriate moments
17. Camping (the Canadian version)
18. Travelling, exploring new countries and cultures
19. "Will and Grace"
20. My "Will"
21. Good books that you can't put down
22. Summer evenings with friends on patios/terraces
23. People who can laugh at themselves
24. Silliness (in all forms)
25. Yoga, Pilates, Dancing!
26. LIFE!!!
Clothing (not quite) optional.
To celebrate Valentine’s Day (and Moe’s new job) we decided to indulge ourselves with an afternoon of massage and relaxation. Having heard enough buzz about the Dutch sauna experience, I decided it was time to check it out for myself. Going to the sauna is a very common past time in Holland. Whether as couples, friends, or colleagues--the Dutch are very comfortable with stripping down and sweating it out, together. Having spent more than a few months on the beaches of the south of France, the idea of some partial nudity didn’t seem like too big of a deal to me. (I will admit however, that the idea of complete nudity and public sitting surfaces still does not scream out “sanitary” to me).
And so, Moe and I cycled over to one of the reputable Saunas in Amsterdam last Saturday to give it a try. When we arrived at the Sauna we were immediately whisked away to our massages --one hour of absolute bliss was just what the doctor ordered. (Of course, my state of deep relaxation was occasionally interrupted by the sight of a nude elderly men splashing about in a small pool only a few feet away from my massage table).
After our massages we decided to check out the rest of the sauna. There was a large lobby filled with sauna-goers wrapped in towels reading magazines, sipping on fresh juices, and some dozing off in a corner. I decided I would take a shower and enter the main sauna area. I was just about to do so, when one of the staff marched up to me and loudly asked “Are you wearing bottoms?!” I hesitantly replied yes, not quite sure what the correct answer was, and she matter-of-factly replied “No bottoms allowed. So, please remove your bottoms if you would like to stay. Look around, everyone is naked here.” She left me, with others looking on, as I discreetly removed my bottoms and wrapped my towel a little tighter around me. I am willing to place money on the fact that I will never hear those words spoken again!
And so, we spent the rest of the afternoon relaxing in the various saunas and steam rooms. The whole experience was not nearly as shocking as I expected --perhaps I’ve been in Europe long enough to not blink an eye at a little nudity, or perhaps my state of intense relaxation simply blurred out all others around me. Regardless, it isn’t as though people are prancing about stark naked! As explained in the article The Dutch Sauna Experience, “although people are open with their nakedness, normally sauna-goers do not hang out naked or exposed”. Most people are covered up with a towel or two, and trust me, after a few minutes of realizing no one is really that interested in you, it all feels very natural...and very relaxing. I’ll definitely be back, although I can assure you, you won’t see me socializing in the sauna anytime soon with my colleagues! I think I need to live in Holland a few more years, to wrap my head around that one.
Home, sick.
The last two days I have been in bed, sick. It’s just been me, my laptop, CNN, MTV and the occasional apperance from Oprah (who I have recently lost a lot of love for). Dutch TV definitely leaves something to be desired. I have discovered that there actually is a limit to the number of crappy MTV reality shows you can watch before your brain goes completely numb and you lose track of time and space.
It’s actually been a bit of a relief. Apart from my raging head cold, I feel like my mind also needed a "time out", a couple of days to just chill out and relax. A "mental health day" of sorts, as my junior high school friend Emma used to call them. I was shocked the first time that Emma didn’t show up to school and proudly proclaimed that she just needed a "mental health day". She told she had spent the day watching soaps, eating junk food, and baking cookies. Amazed, I asked her what she had told her parents, didn’t they know that she was faking it?? Wasn’t she in big trouble? She laughed in that "god-you-are-soooo-young" sort of way, and said "my Dad recommended it actually, he says everyone needs at least one mental health day a month to stay sane". I remember thinking, "wow, who was this Dad--who actually encouraged skipping school!"
After pondering the "mental health day" concept for a few weeks, I defiantly proclaimed one evening to my mom, "tomorrow I’m not going to school! I am taking a mental health day!" I stood by, excited, anticipating a battle of words to follow. My mom didn’t lift her gaze from the book she was reading and replied nonchalantly "Sure...if you want".
Of course the next day I dragged my butt to school. The prospect of staying home just didn’t seem that exciting anymore.
And tomorrow I will do the same. Adult responsibilities have kicked in. My inbox is pilling up with emails. And somehow, cold or no cold, the prospect of staying home for another day while work is pilling up, just doesn’t seem that exciting anymore.
Home Sweet Home
There are times when I’m driving in a buzzing down the autobahn, or on a stage singing Karaoke at an Irish Pub in Brussels (a horrible rendition of “Like a virgin” might I add), or at a lunch meeting overlooking the Eiffel tower, when everything stands still for a moment and I suddenly think “C, what the hell are you doing here?! How did you end up here? And most of all, how did this all become so normal to you?!”
I often giggle to myself at these times, and wish I could just press pause for a moment, take a good look around and suck in all in. How bizarre all of this would have sounded 5 years ago. If anything I am continually shocked by how normal this all seems, how quickly some place can feel like your home, and how easy it is to feel at home in so many places at once, all at the same time.
I remember the framed print that hung in our front veranda at 414 Rose**** that read “home is where the heart is”. If that’s the case, I should count myself lucky for having so many homes, as I’ve left a little bit of my heart scattered around the globe.
When it rains, it pours.
Monday was a bad day. One of the worse days I’ve had in a very very long time. Within a time span of two hours I felt like my whole world was crashing down. M’s brother had come to stay with us for the week, and I think he was more than a little shocked to see me completely fall apart into tears.
The first of the bad news arrived in a letter. The Dutch Immigration (IND) had finally decided to make a decision on my residence/work permit application. After 9 long months of appointments, tracking down obscure documents from Canada, taking oaths, writing letters, they decided to reject my application!
Of course they chose to write me a 7 page letter explaining all of this in Dutch legal jargon, but I know enough Dutch to understand that the first four words of the letter “de aanvraag wordt afgewezen” weren’t the words I was hoping for. I’ve spoken to a Dutch immigration lawyer who thinks I have a pretty good case, so I will appeal the decision, and take it from there...
The whole IND issue pales in comparison to the phone call from one of my best friends in Amsterdam. It still doesn’t seem real, and I can’t even begin to wrap my head around the situation. He has been diagnosed with colon cancer. He will have an operation next Monday, and start chemo a couple of weeks later. When he told me over the phone I couldn’t pull myself together, I knew I should have for his sake, but it was just so overwhelming. We went out for dinner last night to take his mind of things, and even under the circumstances we had a great time. I came prepared with a list of action points, diet recommendations, options for chemo treatments, etc.(being the google addict I am). Even as we sat there, we both couldn’t help but find the whole situation so unreal, almost comical. We giggled, imaging we were in a cheezy mad-for-TV-movie where he is now playing the role of "guy with cancer" and me "supportive friend".
Do things like this ever feel real?
New Years' odds and ends
It may appear that I have fallen off the planet....but here I am alive and well! I just needed a good week to recover from a nasty bought of jet lag. (I used to wonder what every one was whinning about "jet lag this" "jet lag that"....and now it is all coming together. Particularly when I'm starring hoplessly at the ceiling at 3 AM).
And so...I'm back in Holland, mentally and physcially. I had been meaning to do an entry on my New Year's Resolutions...but instead I will just mention the most important of the list I have scribbled beside my bed. To quote a Madonna song, "Absoultely no regrets" (or worries).
No regrets about any decision I've made, or will make. No regrets about living on the other side of the world of friends and family. No regrets about chosing to live in a country I don't fully understand (and at times appreciate). No regrets on the career choices I've made (I eventually will find a job that allows me flexibility, creativity, intiative AND helps the world in a some small way--am currently only lacking the later!) No regrets on living (occasionally) outside of my means (you only live once right?) No regrets on having no tangible assets (who needs them anyways? ;) No regrets on not yet speaking the language of the country I'm living in (special annoucement: have signed up for a beginner Dutch class). No regrets on not doing enough, traveling enough, seeing enough of the world (there is still time for all that).
I will not worry about the big "life plan", about where I will be living in one, two, or three years time, about what country (or continent) I call my home.
No regrets, no worries. Period.
Sinterklass is coming to town! (along with the annual Zwart Piet debate)
You know it’s that time of year again in Holland, when you are greeted on the street by a perky middle age woman whose face is painted completely black and is sporting an afro wig and a ridiculous clownlike costume -- and no one around you even blinks an eye at the bizarre site! Yep, it’s the yearly onslaught of the Zwarte Piet!
For those of you who are not familiar with Dutch traditions, let me explain. In Holland, Sinterklaas is celebrated on December 5th (today!) On this evening, children put out their shoes for Sinterklaas to fill with treats. Sounds quite similar to good old Saint Nick doesn’t it? Well, yes and no. Firstly, Sinterklaas comes from Spain --quite different from the North Pole. Secondly, he travels by ship (on sea) and horse (on land) --again, unlike our sleigh flying Santa. Lastly, and most notably, Sinterklaas is accompanied by his very own band of Zwarte Piets (translation: Black Peters)--if you thought elves were offensive, they have nothing on the Piets!
Sinterklaas is said to have originated from St. Nicolaus, the Bishop of Mira, Turkey. According to the legend, he saved the town from starvation, revived three dead children, and offered gifts of dowries to poor girls. The roots, however, of the Zwarte Piets are unclear. Some say these helpers are simply black in colour because they have gone down the chimneys so many times (hmmm, seems like a stretch to me), other say they were in fact “hired helpers”, and other simply state that they are dark “because they come from Spain” (hmmm, right...)
As recently discussed on Expatica "despite his colourful image, Zwarte Piet, or Black Pete, is a very controversial character in the Netherlands. He is called Black Pete because of his dark colouring, and while some attribute his skin colour to the soot from the chimneys he slides down, others criticise the character for being an old-fashioned stereotype and racist symbol of slavery.”
More and more people are finding offence with the icon, an icon that has clearly met its “socially appropriateness” due date.
“To understand the endurance of an icon like Zwarte Piet is to know the gaping divide between tolerance and acceptance, between a multi-cultural society and one which is Dutch with buitenlanders (foreigners) on the begrudging periphery. It is one of the subtle paradoxes of Dutch culture, but one I believe illustrates perfectly the hypocrisy and passive aggressiveness of the Dutch character.“ (full article here)
While surfing the internet for some more opinions on the topic I came across the blog of "Grennie", who has clearly reached a breaking point with the whole season "The past few days have been this horrible emotional downward spiral for me. Horrible lethargic depression, and this extreme fear of going outside. Why? Because Tis' the Season when Blackface is acceptable! I'm so fucking tired of explaining to people that this image is NOT okay. Why do you pretend like these images don't stick with kids when often times if a little dutch kid sees a black person they point and go "Zwarte Piet!" what makes you think that these images aren't going to stick in a society's collective subconscious?"
And so the debate continues. Is Zwarte Piet simply a harmless tradition not worth working ourselves up over. Or, is it an archaic racist symbol which is no longer appropriate for a multicultural society?
I certainly have my opinions, what’s yours?
CRASH course on Dutch cycling
I consider myself I fairly good cycler –I mean common, how complicated is it to ride a bike anyways?! But yesterday morning I received a crash course in the rules of the road on a Dutch bike path.
Of course one of the main annoyances to watch out for when cycling is the “always-opening-at-an-inconvenient-time” draws bridges. In Amsterdam there are estimated to be over 1300 bridges—and quite a few of the drawbridge variety. (This is to accommodate large boats/ships passing through the canals).
Yesterday I was running a bit late on my way to work, and of course, I had to be stopped by the painfully slow opening of a drawbridge. The time delay isn’t the most annoying factor, it’s more the build up of cyclists that accumulates waiting for the bridge to lower. After 5 minutes of waiting, dozens of cyclist were now huddled into a small mob around me. Trust me; it’s more difficult that it looks to bike in the rain, in a pack of determined, over zealous Dutch bikers. You have to dodge the grandpas peddling far too slow, the zooming mopeds who think they can drive on the bike lanes, the old lades driving their toy cars (yes tiny cars, and I mean tiny, are allowed to cruise on the bike paths), and of course the other fearless bikers zooming by.
After I finally separated myself from the mob I realized --far too late--that the woman inches in front of me had decided to come to a crashing halt in the middle of the lane. I swerved to avoid her, but only cleared her enough to slam myself into her back wheels, barely avoiding wiping out entirely. She was very apologetic, in a dazed and confused sort of way, but sorry just doesn’t cut it when you have a swollen painful knee, dirty wet jeans, and a 15 minute trek left to cycle.
I guess the whole biking thing was going far too well. I had mastered the bike signals, the bike lanes, the bike lights (mandatory to wear after dark), biking with an obscene amount of things, doubling, dodging trams/buses, yelling at tourists, and even the most advanced skill; chatting on a mobile while biking . I guess a minor mishap was bound to happen sooner or later. Don't be fooled though, I haven't been succesfully discouraged yet!
P.S. Bike pics from the excellent site of photographer Frank Lee. See www.flee.com for a series of Amsterdam bike pics.
Dancing Queen
Last week I spotted a dance school across the street from my new apartment. Having danced for 13 odd years, and missing it desperately, I decided to take a peek inside. As I stepped into the building I was immediately transported to the 60s. The dance school has been around for years, and clearly hasn’t had a facelift in decades. At first I thought maybe I had read the sign incorrectly, as I attempted to peer through the thick cigar smoke. Was I in yet another smoky Dutch pub?? Nope, this was indeed a dance school. Past the counter, kegs of Heineken and bars stools, couples were spinning away.
I learnt from the owner and namesake of the school, that they held an advanced tap class on Saturday mornings. Having taken tap for a few years, I decided to come take a look at the class and see what it was about.
Saturday morning I dragged my butt out of bed and headed across the street. After being directed to the tap class, I immediately realized what I had got myself into. The tap teacher was in her sixities—and had that very typical look of an aged Broadway star—full stage make up and hair at 9am on a Saturday morning! Having become accustomed to the Dutch gruffness I wasn’t at all put off when the first thing she barked at me was “We are all ex- professional tap stars here. I won’t be slowing down this class for anyone! If you can’t keep up with us, then this class is clearly not for you—which I believe is the case!” Hmmm....I wasn’t expecting a warm welcoming, but it was too early in the morning for insults! Did I mention that by “us” she was referring to the two, yes 2, other people in the class. A 75 year old man, and a woman in her mid fifties. Yes, I’d say the combined age was close to 200 years old!
The teacher told me to sit at the front of the class, and continued muttering that this wasn’t a class for me. I felt like leaving, but was now curious to see this motley crew was made of. As the music started I was more than impressed---could these folks ever dance!! After about 15 minutes the teacher left the room and came back with a pair of tap shoes in her hands. As I saw her marching towards me I prayed they weren’t for me. She shoved them in my hands, and said “so, show us if you can dance”. Clearly there was no way out of this one.
I put on the shoes, and did a couple of shuffles. It had literally been close to a decade since I had done tap, and I started to panic and scanned for the nearest exit. Could I make it to the door in time?
“Do a time step” she shouted over the music. I did, and she nodded. “Now, a double time step”. “Now a triple!”
She nodded, thought for a minute, and then said “Do this” and broke into step. I quickly attempted to imitate her steps. “Now this!” tap tap tap tap “And this.” tap tap tap tapp tapp.
Suddenly I was having an odd sort of “dance off” in the middle of Amsterdam,in an odd pub/school with an ex dancing queen. After a few more requests she abruptly stopped. “Well, she said—you can join the class, stand with the others”. Apparently I had passed her test. She nodded in approval, the older man winked, and I spent the next hour and a half tapping away, and having a great time! Until next week....
If you lived here you'd be home by now
As you may have noticed, I have been abandoning my blog for the past few weeks now. Life has gotten so hectic that I haven’t had a moment to think, let alone write.
With less than 2 weeks notice we were, ever so kindly, told to leave our apartment. We had been banking on staying until at least November 1st, and with this being the most hectic month of my (working) life, it was far from perfect timing.
Within a time span of 4 days I saw over 35 (yes, 35!) Amsterdam apartments. I have never in my life seen such a mismatched medley of garbage. I acknowledged that I would have to lower my expectations in terms of space and location (of course my number one choice would be to have a 150 m2 loft in the Jordaan –but lets get realistic), but I was not prepared to settle for a 35m2 apt. with shag carpets and water leaking from the ceiling! I realize now that “character” is a synonym in agency talk for “dump”. And “this may not exactly be your style” is a polite way of saying “this apartment is a hideous joke”.
And so, after seeing 34 less than ideal apartments, we stumbled onto a winner. It’s located in the heart of Amsterdam, a 15-20 minute ride to work, and 3 of my friends are just around the corner.
That’s the good news. The bad new is that M. now has to pack up our entire house-- by himself. I feel more than a tad guilty sitting here enjoying the gorgeous view from my new Parisian digs.
An oldie but a goodie
A few nights ago while I was surfing the internet a familiar grey text box popped onto my screen “L. would like to add you to her msn contacts”. I was very surprised to see and old friend of mine from elementary school’s name and email appear, having lost touch with her more than a few years ago. Last I heard she was living in Thailand and teaching English.
Seconds later we started chatting on MSN. We caught up on the mundane (how are you, how’s your family, etc.), we reminisced on the good old days (remember when we…), we gossiped (guess what so-and-so is up to nowadays). We marvelled how things change (her in Thailand, me in Amsterdam) , and how some things never change (a certain pal still hankering after that same guy from high school).
Over the past two years living abroad, we had both missed out on friend’s weddings, both lost touch with some friends, and both missed close friend’s funerals. We both agreed to that feeling of not quite fitting in to your old life “at home” anymore, yet sometimes still missing it dearly-- but not enough to want it truly back.
We promised to stay in touch, to catch up again soon, and to hopefully see each other on a parallel “trip home”.
We may stay in contact regularly, but I remember how in grade 5 we both chanted a newly-learned song at a mutal friend (for abandoning us a recess) –-“make new friends but keep the old, one is silver and the other gold”. How true, even after 14 years!
House Hunting
I am now on a two-city apartment hunt. Our Amsterdam lease is up, and turns out I will need to relocate to Paris for most of September and October. Of course, this should be good news --how glamorous! But in reality it is just turning out to be one big headache.
I just can’t get over the cramped spaces and hugely inflated prices! Paris is far, far worse than Amsterdam. Can you believe a housing agency just sent me a list of 17m2 studios for 1000 euros each!! Yes, you heard correctly--seventeen square meters--that is literally the size of my current bathroom! The photos all show dimly lit rooms, with strange “space-saving” contraptions--beds popping out of the walls, beds perched overtop of desks, and kitchen tables neatly tucked in closets. It makes the space shuttle look like luxury living!
The A’dam apartment hunt isn't going all that well either. Moe and I visited several possible apartments this week with no luck. The only place we actually liked turned out to be way out of budget. Of course, my good old Winnipegger self can’t help but imagine what I could get back home for that price. For $2,000 Cdn I could live in a penthouse complete with maid and butler! (yes, slight exaggeration). Things are getting so desperate that I was almost convinced to rent a houseboat?!
Sun, sand, and sea!
Vacation here I come! In one hour we will be boarding a plane for the south of Spain. Up until yesterday I didn’t even know the name of the city we are going to. This time, I have happily let Moe plan every detail from where we are going, to where we are staying. We are flying into Alicante and then renting a car for a two hour drive south west to the coast. The town is called Majacar –and its apparently one of the best keep secrets in the south. Its beaches aren’t yet overrun with badly sunburnt Brits.
I am going to try not to think about work a single time for the next two weeks, but it will be hard knowing the piles (and piles) of work waiting for me when I come back. Truth be told, I don’t think I have ever needed a holiday so desperately. Even as I write this, I am worrying about my Inbox and the loads of messages filling it up as we speak. Maybe I will just give it a quick peek before we leave...
14 things you (most likely) don’t know about the Dutch and Holland
1. You should greet friends (and even acquaintances) with 3 kisses –I am trying to instate just one. Enough is enough already.
2. You should bring cake (or treats) to work for your colleagues in two instances 1) your birthday 2) if you are late –this can be quite costly : )
3. At a typical Dutch housewarming or birthday you should congratulate everyone in attendance ("gefeliciteerd") –I was at a friends housewarming a few weekends ago and attempted to ask an explanation for this, but the only response I could drum up was “tradition”. Still puzzled.
4. The Dutch love their deep fried treats. My personal favourite is the deep fried unidentifiable meat pressed into the shape of spare ribs –if you haven’t seen this one yet, stop by my work cafeteria any day!
5. A typical Dutch lunch consists of a carton of karnemelk (read: sour milk), 4 pieces of bread, a slice of meat and some cheese.
6. The average Dutch will eat four kilos of drop per year (Drop is a shockingly fowl-tasting version of black liquorice. I dare anyone to eat 4 kilos of it!)
7. One fifth of Holland’s population is of foreign descent. Something they haven’t quite come to terms with yet.
8. Bathtubs are not uncommon, but definetly not a standard fixture of all apartments.
9. There are over 600,000 bicycles in Amsterdam. That’s almost one per person.
10. Only 5% of the prostitutes found in de Wallen (Amsterdam’s Red Light district) were born in the Netherlands.
11. 78% of the Dutch population have “no problems whatsoever with prostitution”
12. When you order a soda water, ice tea, or white beer your drink will come with a lemon and a stampertjes—a stir stick with a disc at the bottom to crush your lemon. Brilliant invention, why is this only in Holland?!
13. There are over 10,000 woonboten (houseboats) in Holland.
14. And shocker of shockers...the clog isn’t a Dutch invention!
Circle of Trust
I learnt last week that the Circle of Trust is about to be broken. One of the members has jumped ship. That leaves 3 of us, and another possibly ready to bail...
The Circle of Trust is what myself and my three closest colleagues refer to ourselves as. There is CF --one of my best A'dam buds and fellow Canadian, MB --British partner in crime, MM --Polish sales guy and true character, and myself. (K is an honorary member, still with us in spirit).
It didn’t take us long to form our friendship. We quickly noticed that we were the ones staying the longest at the company functions, having the most fun, and partying the hardest (tequila may have been a recurring theme).
Today I was truly touched by their concern and thoughtfulness. The flowers brightened my day and the accompanying explanation “We’re only men, we have no idea if these flowers (white roses with red tips) are at all nice, but we thought they kinda looked like the Canadian flag” made me almost pee myself!
It’s a luxury to work with people who you actually enjoy spending time with!
Run Lola, Run!
My official training for the Dam tot Dam Loop started last week. I was in Germany with M and Karla, and decided to bite the bullet, get out of bed early and start the running schedule for the next 9 weeks.
The Dam to Dam run is held every year in Holland and appropriately named as you run from the centre of Amsterdam to the centre of Zaandam (a nearby town). The route is very picturesque with over 30,000 participants and 200,000 spectators.
We now have 8 more weeks to go, and so far so go. Dragging Moe out of bed yesterday morning wasn’t as difficult as I anticipated, considering our late Friday night running a Speed Dating in Amsterdam (strange but true!). After a relatively lethargic few months, it seems we are both raring to go.
We managed to train for over an hour yesterday (a combination of sprints and a long jog, followed by some interval training). I will admit that during the first ten minutes of running, I felt as though I was going to die. Why was it again that I got out of bed early to pound the pavement? Luckily after getting into the rhythm, my old endurance kicked in, perhaps stimulated by Moe's apparent effortless performance (I couldn’t let him kick my ass, could I?)
My boss signed the whole company up with the hopes of some sort of bonding experience due to our mutual pain. I haven’t told you the bad news yet...the run is 16km!! Yep, this will be no little feat--hence the hard core training for 9 weeks! (There is however, a 7km option, which we will both be as equally satisfied running).
And so, today is luckily a “rest day” on our training schedule (which includes 4 days of running a week). We have posted the schedule on the fridge and if for any reason one of us misses a day, we will have to pay up. What's a better motivator than cold hard cash?!
Reiki
Today we went on another biking adventure and ended up at Strand West. Strand West is on the harbor of Amsterdam where the city meets the sea. It’s part beach, part terrace, part restaurant. It is very Dutch in that laid back cool that can only be found in Holland. The terrace is spotted with bean bag chairs, oversized pillows, hammocks and mattresses. Sun kissed people are sprawled out in the arms of their lovers, reading on mattresses, or lounging with friends. It’s exactly the kind of place to spend a lazy summer Sunday (and better yet, void of the loud rowdy tourists that have invaded Amsterdam these last weeks).
This weekend’s Rond de Wereld theme is Japan and so Shan and I decide to have a Reiki healing session, complete with palm reading.
Summary of my reading:
1) I will have 2 big loves in my life; the second will be “life long” (sounds about right)
2) I will experience a series of changes in my life between the ages of 25-30. During these years I will live in many cities and have many different jobs (while explaining this, the timid Asian girl giving me the reading looks as though she has told me some awful news. She’s says “don’t worry you will settle down eventually” with a concerned look in her eye. I explain to her, that this doesn’t surprise me and is in fact good news...she looks surprised, but reassured).
3) The jewelry I am wearing is very powerful, but needs to be positively energized because it may have been caring negative energy (hmmm...odd, but interesting)
Shan is thrilled to hear she will have a baby girl in 3 years. We walk away satisfied with our readings; both secretly pleased most by the noted strength of our life lines...
I want to ride my bi-cy-cle
I think I may have alluded to the love affair I am having with my bicycle but I definitely haven’t filled you in on all the juicy details yet…
My first Dutch bicycle was a real piece of work. I bought it last summer from a Dutch woman who works in my office building. She had just bought herself a brand spanking new bicycle for 500 EUR (yes, buying a new bike in Holland is highway robbery!) and was happily tossing her old clunker. After seeing the bike--no front tire, no gears, covered in rust--we decided on a price, 10 EUR. I walked away from the deal thrilled to have a genuine Oma fiets, even if it needed a tad of work.
I quickly learned the “rules of the road” (mandatory lights, no helmets, two locks required at all times) and have been cruising around the city on two wheels ever since. Unfortunately my beloved bike gave out one day --I may still blame him--and is now in bike heaven (a.k.a. the bottom of an Amsterdam canal). Luckily, my mom picked up a bargain on Queen’s day, which I've since inherited.
Bicycles in the Netherlands are omnipresent. City officials estimate there are almost as many bicycles (600,000) as people (700,000). To truly experience this city you need to be on a bike, or at least on the back of one. I have spent many a great night on the back of a friend’s bike, pedalling along the canals, discovering an Amsterdam I never knew existed.
And so, the love affair continues…I may have opted for the bus today (due to the sweltering heat—32C!), but I assure you this weekend’s sole form of transportation will be our fiets . (Of course after a couple drinks added concentration is required!)
P.S. Great article on Holland's biking culture found here .
Oh Mr. Sun, Sun
It's funny how a bit of nice weather can change the whole being of a city. When the sun comes out in Amsterdam, I am reminded why I love living here.
Yesterday as I rode my bike to work, the sun was shinning, the canals were full of happy rowing people, and I was greeted by smiles all round. I had to drive on the sidewalk to avoid a stretch of particularly treacherous traffic, and guess what, no angry comments were fired off from the pedestrians I dodged! This morning I could have even sworn that I saw a smile on the lips of my archenemy (a.k.a. “always-nasty bus driver”).
I have decided the Dutch aren’t such a grumpy bunch; they are just suffering from a lack of Vitamin D for 8 months of the year. (Hey Mo--is there some sort of business niche here? hihi)
Warning: This entry may contain harmful generalizations
It's hard to believe I have been living in Holland for over a year. My excuses for not yet learning Dutch are starting to run out, and in some ways I feel like it is time to move on. Don't get me wrong, I like Holland. Amsterdam is a beautiful, picturesque city; the canals, architecture, and parks are truly stunning. I enjoy my friends, my work, and my colleagues. I ride my "Oma fiets" (translation: Grandma Bike) to work most mornings along the Amstel river, and am amazed by the peacefulness and beauty of the scenery. However, the splendor of the surroundings isn't enough to convince me to get too comfortable.
I like this country, but I haven't necessarily fallen head over heels for it. The typical Dutch cuisine is nothing to write home about, and no matter how many times the virtues of honesty and directness are rattled off to me, I will never get use to what I perceive as plain old rudeness. (Hasn't anyone heard the motto "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all"?!)
I also feel the Dutch are preoccupation with other people's business; this is described best as a nasty offspring of "citizen's arrest". I have been scolded more than once by a random passer-by who felt the need to tell me what to do. "Don't walk there", "don't ride your bike here". What I love most are the lectures on my need to learn Dutch and to integrate properly into society. Admittedly, I realize you can't truly discover a culture until you speak its language; however, my five year old self doesn't like to be told what to do-- particularly by a complete stranger.
Above all, I am a foreigner here, and will always be. I have friends who have lived here almost a decade, speak perfect Dutch, heck some are even married to a Dutch native, and they still feel like outsiders. Considering the current political situation in Holland, being a buitenlander isn't something to be necessarily proud of.
Once upon a time, a foreigner in Holland may have been an exotic curiosity; however, the novelty of our kind has seemingly worn off.
P.S: The last thing I wanted to become was a bitter expat. (I have met far too many of those---complaining about every aspects of their adopted land and comparing it to the picture of perfection they call home.) I haven't become one of them, have I???
P.P.S: I promise the next entry will have you packing your bags so fast you won't even have time to shout " Holland here I come!"
