Woke up early, hit Waterlooplein to try to find Christy a birthday dress, bought a pretty bracelet, biked to Vondelpark without getting lost or hit, and settled in for a priceless film that I recommend to anyone interested in Elvis, fast food, America, or documentaries. Entitled The Burger and the King, it's about Elvis's eating habits - complete with recipes, interviews with his personal chefs, interviews with lunch ladies at his elementary school, etc. Fried peanut butter and banana sandwiches, pbj banana and bacon whole-loaf sandwiches, sloppy joes, cheeseburgers, and this priceless quote (one of many):
"Have you ever dreamed of lathering Elvis's coffee? Putting cream and sugar in it, stirring it up? Have you ever dreamed of giving Elvis a back massage? Well, ladies, I have lived your dream."
It was strange and very cool to get such a dose of Americana in Amsterdam. Ate delicious broodjes at Vertigo, the Filmmuseum's Hitchcock themed restaurant. All the Nederlanders out playing in the sun and warmth. Hit the Jordaan, where I was again charmed by Laser 3:14. His opening is next Sunday - we are going. Some Mac kids are in town and tonight we are having a Burger and the King party and maybe going out later.
29 March 2008
28 March 2008
Everything In Its Place
I feel like my posts have been lacking something lately. Intrigue, perhaps? I'm really settled in, at this point. It occurs to me that I might not cotton to Amsterdam if I came here as a tourist - certainly if I had someone to show me around, I would love it, but if I just came here and was left up to my own devices I'm not sure I'd be wild about it. As a tourist you can come here and stay within a one mile radius of Centraal, surrounded by other tourists, huge international chain stores, flashing lights and coffee shops, with the Red Light District and all you might think it entails directly to your left. In any case, the point is that I'm going crazy about this city, as a place to live. There are amazing creative people here, there are amazing creative things and good food and beautiful canals and nice places to bike and hip hole-in-the-wall stores and bars and restaurants and galleries all over the place. I walk down certain streets, the Singel and Koningsplein, for example, at least a few times a week. I notice new and exciting things almost every time.
I only had one class this week, so I've been laying low and trying to get things done. Taking Lupe for spins around town, walking and exploring, cleaning, reading for school and for the field experience, pondering my future, etc. My gut has not been quite the same since the food poisoning incident. I bought a really cool skirt with Warhol-esque faces on it for 3 euro! We finally made the trek to the Dappermarkt, a huge market with clothes and food that's just around the corner. I had a real stroopwafel hot off the griddle, and vowed to come back the next time I'm shopping for vegetables. Produce in Dutch grocery stores is often lacking, and yesterday Hallie mentioned as we wandered spellbound past stalls displaying bounties of leafy greens and gigantic root vegetables that this could probably be attributed to the fact that most Dutch people buy produce at markets. It hadn't occurred to me, but I'm going to try that from now on. I found a coffeeshop in Leidseplein that I really like, it's called Dolphins. It's underwater themed, so there is coral everywhere, and sea murals, and a big plastic dolphin near the door. And comfortable couches. All ages and types congregate there.
Last night we went out to De Duivel again. This place is quickly becoming my favorite bar in Amsterdam. Rembrandtplein is easy to get to by bike, and there seem to be an endless number of late night fast food options, an always very welcome characteristic of a neighborhood. Sat for an hour or two, bopped along to the wonderful music they are always spinning, drank een biertje and chatted. A rasta complimented my shoes. A girl sitting on the bench next to us whipped out a sketchbook. Everyone was grooving and standing in circles and patting each other on the back and laughing.
A word about something very strange that's going on here right now. Geert Wilders' anti-Qu'uran film Fitna came out yesterday. Watch it. Geert Wilders is one of the Dutch politicians who has been very vocally anti-Islam in the aftermath of the Theo Van Gogh murder. It's really interesting to see what Islamophobia in the Netherlands is like compared to Islamophobia in the States. Here, curiously enough, it's based in a logic of what one might call "tolerance-gone-wrong". The Dutch pride themselves on their long history of progressive policy towards religion, integration, and gender. There is a rampant belief in the current political regime that Islam is a danger to these relations, and that integrating the ever-growing number of Islamic immigrants into Dutch society will threaten "Dutch values" of, for example, gender and sexual equality. There is a huge lack of recognition that all Islam is not practiced in the way that religious fanatics practice it. This is obviously hugely problematic for a number of reasons, and deserves a much more in-depth analysis than the very brief and general gloss I'm giving it here. Islamophobia is more insidious here. Watch the film - it's about 15 minutes long. Take note of the moment where Islam is compared to Nazism and Communism. Read Ian Buruma's book Murder in Amsterdam, which gives a context for the circumstances surrounding Ayaan Hirsi Ali and the death of Theo Van Gogh. Read Hirsi Ali to get a fuller context of the anti-Islam stance. Try to track down the film that she made with Van Gogh. It's such a different set of fears and such a different framing of debate than we are used to in post-9/11 America.
Love you all.
I only had one class this week, so I've been laying low and trying to get things done. Taking Lupe for spins around town, walking and exploring, cleaning, reading for school and for the field experience, pondering my future, etc. My gut has not been quite the same since the food poisoning incident. I bought a really cool skirt with Warhol-esque faces on it for 3 euro! We finally made the trek to the Dappermarkt, a huge market with clothes and food that's just around the corner. I had a real stroopwafel hot off the griddle, and vowed to come back the next time I'm shopping for vegetables. Produce in Dutch grocery stores is often lacking, and yesterday Hallie mentioned as we wandered spellbound past stalls displaying bounties of leafy greens and gigantic root vegetables that this could probably be attributed to the fact that most Dutch people buy produce at markets. It hadn't occurred to me, but I'm going to try that from now on. I found a coffeeshop in Leidseplein that I really like, it's called Dolphins. It's underwater themed, so there is coral everywhere, and sea murals, and a big plastic dolphin near the door. And comfortable couches. All ages and types congregate there.
Last night we went out to De Duivel again. This place is quickly becoming my favorite bar in Amsterdam. Rembrandtplein is easy to get to by bike, and there seem to be an endless number of late night fast food options, an always very welcome characteristic of a neighborhood. Sat for an hour or two, bopped along to the wonderful music they are always spinning, drank een biertje and chatted. A rasta complimented my shoes. A girl sitting on the bench next to us whipped out a sketchbook. Everyone was grooving and standing in circles and patting each other on the back and laughing.
A word about something very strange that's going on here right now. Geert Wilders' anti-Qu'uran film Fitna came out yesterday. Watch it. Geert Wilders is one of the Dutch politicians who has been very vocally anti-Islam in the aftermath of the Theo Van Gogh murder. It's really interesting to see what Islamophobia in the Netherlands is like compared to Islamophobia in the States. Here, curiously enough, it's based in a logic of what one might call "tolerance-gone-wrong". The Dutch pride themselves on their long history of progressive policy towards religion, integration, and gender. There is a rampant belief in the current political regime that Islam is a danger to these relations, and that integrating the ever-growing number of Islamic immigrants into Dutch society will threaten "Dutch values" of, for example, gender and sexual equality. There is a huge lack of recognition that all Islam is not practiced in the way that religious fanatics practice it. This is obviously hugely problematic for a number of reasons, and deserves a much more in-depth analysis than the very brief and general gloss I'm giving it here. Islamophobia is more insidious here. Watch the film - it's about 15 minutes long. Take note of the moment where Islam is compared to Nazism and Communism. Read Ian Buruma's book Murder in Amsterdam, which gives a context for the circumstances surrounding Ayaan Hirsi Ali and the death of Theo Van Gogh. Read Hirsi Ali to get a fuller context of the anti-Islam stance. Try to track down the film that she made with Van Gogh. It's such a different set of fears and such a different framing of debate than we are used to in post-9/11 America.
Love you all.
25 March 2008
Xtreme Luxembourg, Round Two
Luxembourg was lovely again, and legitimately more extreme this time. It was snowing there (as it has been in Amsterdam) when we arrived, but intrepid souls that we were we wandered the city anyway.
Alex and I had been unable to book rooms in the sole youth hostel in the city, so we left Bri to her own devices at around 9 (when the public transport stops running) and stayed in a hotel out by the airport. There were distinct advantages and disadvantages to this experience. Advantages included: British MTV, including a bizarre game show that takes place in silence in a library. It is called Fist of Zen. The best complimentary continental breakfast I have ever had (pain au chocolat! cold cuts! douwe egberts coffee! fresh-squeezed orange juice!). Having a private bathroom was also an advantage. Why did I need a private bathroom? That comes later. Disadvantages were mostly our distance from the city (not so bad, once we discovered how smooth the bus system is) and the hours we spent being hassled by a ghost. I'm not kidding. It was terrifying.
Saturday we hitched the bus to Echternach, a little town by the German border in a region that calls itself "Little Switzerland." Here we ate the glorious ice cream you see above, bought things fer cheap (the whole town was on sale, for some reason), and spent the two hours of beautiful sunshine hiking through woods and gorges. It was amazing to be in nature - I didn't even realize I had been missing it. Amsterdam is beautiful, but it's not a very green city. I almost died numerous times on our hike. This was partly because everything was slick and I was wearing virtually tractionless shoes, and partly because something funky and painful happened to my left hip and knee. By the end of the day, I could barely hobble down inclines. Echternach, though, was splendid.
I was the only one who hadn't been able to book a hostel room the second night, so we embarked on a clandestine operation to sneak me into Alex's bed. This worked out ok, but it was A LOT of stress. Turns out I am not a law-breaker. There was an old woman sleeping below us and she freaked out and started mumbling in French in the middle of the night, I hoped not about my presence.
Easter Sunday was gloriously beautiful. My leg was better and we did lots of roaming of the teeny city - through the Parc Petrusses, which is basically in a gorge, and then through the Petrusses Casements. It was really cool to be inside the walls of such an intense fortress. Luxembourg takes a lot of pride in its military history. There was also a festival going on in the main square - "New Orleans Meets Luxembourg." It was a lot of jazz and blues and gospel musicians from the US, and it was free, and we spent some time happily perching and listening and eating one-euro gelato. I decided that I didn't want to deal with the stress of sneaking into the hostel again, so I went back out to the Campanile and booked a room for that night. And conducted the entire transaction in French! On my way back into the city my tummy started to feel a little funny. "Oh," I thought, "I must be getting a little bus-sick." Wrong. What I was getting was food poisoning. I've never thrown up in so many public places before. They include buses, trash cans on the street, trash cans in lobbies, restaurant restrooms and public restrooms. Alex and Bri came back out to the hotel with me and I curled up and watched TV and was sick for a long time. Alex, kindly, stayed with me through the night and fetched me glasses of coke and ice periodically. I was really worried that I wouldn't be better by the next morning, when we were going to take the (10 hour) bus back to Amsterdam. Stranded alone in Luxembourg, and ill, did not sound like what I wanted to be doing. Thankfully I was mostly better by the morning, although standing up initially made me sick again, and I got sick the first time the bus stopped. I just curled up and conked out for most of the ride, though, so I was mostly ok. It has never felt so nice to be home.
Snow is coming down hard in Amsterdam. They rarely get any at all, let alone scads in late March. It makes me a little homesick, and it's pretty funny to see all the cylists continue their rush hour as usual - stillettos, cell phones, and all.
Alex and I had been unable to book rooms in the sole youth hostel in the city, so we left Bri to her own devices at around 9 (when the public transport stops running) and stayed in a hotel out by the airport. There were distinct advantages and disadvantages to this experience. Advantages included: British MTV, including a bizarre game show that takes place in silence in a library. It is called Fist of Zen. The best complimentary continental breakfast I have ever had (pain au chocolat! cold cuts! douwe egberts coffee! fresh-squeezed orange juice!). Having a private bathroom was also an advantage. Why did I need a private bathroom? That comes later. Disadvantages were mostly our distance from the city (not so bad, once we discovered how smooth the bus system is) and the hours we spent being hassled by a ghost. I'm not kidding. It was terrifying.
Saturday we hitched the bus to Echternach, a little town by the German border in a region that calls itself "Little Switzerland." Here we ate the glorious ice cream you see above, bought things fer cheap (the whole town was on sale, for some reason), and spent the two hours of beautiful sunshine hiking through woods and gorges. It was amazing to be in nature - I didn't even realize I had been missing it. Amsterdam is beautiful, but it's not a very green city. I almost died numerous times on our hike. This was partly because everything was slick and I was wearing virtually tractionless shoes, and partly because something funky and painful happened to my left hip and knee. By the end of the day, I could barely hobble down inclines. Echternach, though, was splendid.
I was the only one who hadn't been able to book a hostel room the second night, so we embarked on a clandestine operation to sneak me into Alex's bed. This worked out ok, but it was A LOT of stress. Turns out I am not a law-breaker. There was an old woman sleeping below us and she freaked out and started mumbling in French in the middle of the night, I hoped not about my presence.
Easter Sunday was gloriously beautiful. My leg was better and we did lots of roaming of the teeny city - through the Parc Petrusses, which is basically in a gorge, and then through the Petrusses Casements. It was really cool to be inside the walls of such an intense fortress. Luxembourg takes a lot of pride in its military history. There was also a festival going on in the main square - "New Orleans Meets Luxembourg." It was a lot of jazz and blues and gospel musicians from the US, and it was free, and we spent some time happily perching and listening and eating one-euro gelato. I decided that I didn't want to deal with the stress of sneaking into the hostel again, so I went back out to the Campanile and booked a room for that night. And conducted the entire transaction in French! On my way back into the city my tummy started to feel a little funny. "Oh," I thought, "I must be getting a little bus-sick." Wrong. What I was getting was food poisoning. I've never thrown up in so many public places before. They include buses, trash cans on the street, trash cans in lobbies, restaurant restrooms and public restrooms. Alex and Bri came back out to the hotel with me and I curled up and watched TV and was sick for a long time. Alex, kindly, stayed with me through the night and fetched me glasses of coke and ice periodically. I was really worried that I wouldn't be better by the next morning, when we were going to take the (10 hour) bus back to Amsterdam. Stranded alone in Luxembourg, and ill, did not sound like what I wanted to be doing. Thankfully I was mostly better by the morning, although standing up initially made me sick again, and I got sick the first time the bus stopped. I just curled up and conked out for most of the ride, though, so I was mostly ok. It has never felt so nice to be home.
Snow is coming down hard in Amsterdam. They rarely get any at all, let alone scads in late March. It makes me a little homesick, and it's pretty funny to see all the cylists continue their rush hour as usual - stillettos, cell phones, and all.
19 March 2008
Accidents Will Happen
Today, I made frites for dinner! Not for real because they were not deep fried, but they looked a lot like what you see on that plate thurrr. And I ate them with mayonnaise. I am never going back to ketchup.
So, other things. I am really Dutch now. Meaning, I hit a pedestrian with my bike. It wasn't so bad, although he was very angry and I am very bruised, and Lupe definitely needs another tune-up. When I am riding and the front wheel is straight, my handlebars slant distinctly to the left. In this way I can trick people into always thinking I'm turning. Today I also wiped out behind Funen because they are doing some kind of weird construction and I got confused.
Also, I ate winter vegetable soup at Greenwoods and it was amazing. It tasted like home. Also, I'm going to Luxembourg again for the weekend.
So, other things. I am really Dutch now. Meaning, I hit a pedestrian with my bike. It wasn't so bad, although he was very angry and I am very bruised, and Lupe definitely needs another tune-up. When I am riding and the front wheel is straight, my handlebars slant distinctly to the left. In this way I can trick people into always thinking I'm turning. Today I also wiped out behind Funen because they are doing some kind of weird construction and I got confused.
Also, I ate winter vegetable soup at Greenwoods and it was amazing. It tasted like home. Also, I'm going to Luxembourg again for the weekend.
17 March 2008
Leanin', Checkin' Out the Scene
This weekend was wonderful - exploring and finding things in this city that I want to be a part of. I think that we tapped into a more laid back, more creative, more optimistic scene. I am going to Laser 3.14's opening in April - he's the "guerilla poet" whose words you see on the plywood above. Friday was spent blissfully wandering the Jordaan and around Leidsestraat. At night we went out to de Duivel, which is a hip-hop bar near Rembrandtplein. Everyone there was both hip and happy, and the tiny dance floor filled up fast. Saturday was spent blissfully wandering again, this time around Dam Square and the outskirts of the Red Light District - de Warmoestraat, Zeedijk. It is really nifty that your standard fast food joint here sells noodles, chocolate-covered waffles, shoarma, falafel, frites, and sometimes pizza. You basically have the full gamut of fast food options available to you in one place. The snackbar phenomenon could really take off in America, I feel. Some of them have silly themes, like the Sphinx which is just down the street from where I live, or one that we passed a few days ago in the center city. It sold all of the above, plus I think spaghetti and ice cream, and it was called "Good Luck" and had a shamrock logo. Oh, happy St. Patty's! A surprising number of people in Amsterdam (I think 95% of them tourists) are all drunk and decked out for the holiday. I thought this was odd until I realized that they congregate around British sports bars and hotels.
Anyway after all the wandering and eating we hit up Crimejazz, which is a monthly event that has spoken word (some of it in Dutch) and different unsigned jazz and funk and hip-hop and soul musicians - here I fell in love with a man by the name of Steve Hartley, who sadly has a very minimal internet presence. He did, however, break out some wicked funky jams, and he had two bassists and a bongo player. Bianca Rose was also cool - cheerful and British, and endlessly optimistic. Oh oh oh, and a WGSS plug for those of you interested in queer of color theory and progressive gender practice! Hanifah Walidah was also there, all the way from Brooklyn - she's a queer black spoken word poet and the leader of a band called the Brooklyn Funk Essentials, and she has a documentary (U-People) which is all about the making of a music video which has the first all queer women of color cast ever.
They cleared out the tables, after the cabaret, and brought in a DJ and played all hip hop from the late eighties and early nineties - the event was called Live at the BBQ and we didn't know beforehand what we were getting into, but I'm so glad we stayed. It was such good music and everyone was so hip and happy, again. It was cool to see all the performers from the first half breaking it down on the dance floor. Also, the DJ booth was improvised out of plywood and chicken wire and there was a smiley man with the most beautiful dreads I have ever seen bouncing up and down with a mic next to the DJ. His role was just to be happy and to periodically yell things like "OWWWWW! THIS THE OLD REAL SHIT! WE BRINGIN' IT BACK!" and then he would do this really masterful trill thing with his tongue that could perhaps be best transcribed as "RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRAAA!" He made me so happy, as did seeing so many people of different nationalities and age groups and races and repping different styles all just groovin and being happy together. This is the creative Amsterdam I want to get to know better.
A little bit of the kind of reflection that's been pouring over me the past two weeks or so, and especially the past few days - I have been listening to this song "Ovaconfident" by a really on point rapper of the mid-nineties, and the word has been ringing in my ears. With security comes concern. Recklessness was never really a possibility before, so I never had to worry about it, and now I am afraid that it might be - that I will wake up one morning and find myself having been too cavalier with too much, and whether met or zonder regret, without much left in my life that has enough substance and value to sustain me. This is, I just realized, pretty cryptic. It's because it's such an abstract fear to have, not because I'm trying to hide anthing. Don't worry. I haven't and do not intend on doing anything actually stupid - I think I have a pretty good head on my shoulders. But bravery is a new territory for me, and one that encompasses every minute arena of my world - the 99% of things that could be said to belong to the Big Bad Unknown are now better qualified as the Big Bad Discoverable. Aiiiie. What comes next?
In any case, later today I have an appointment at AMOC, which is a social work program that provides aid to drug addicts who have tenuous immigration status in the Netherlands, including an entire unit devoted to the aid of male prostitutes. I'm hoping that speaking with an organization will lead me to other organizations, and thus deeper into my project. I also have my Dutch final, and an entire paper to write, and Kabir is coming tonight. AIIIIIIIIEEE!
14 March 2008
Day of Happy Wanders
Today I brought my camera out with me for the first time in a long time. It was overwhelmingly gorgeous outside, and Christy and I had really good koffie and broodjes ("little breads", akin to sandwiches but more delicious) and then a meeting with Letje. I spent another long while in an amazing postcard store buying amazing postcards (why are there so many here?). I will not disclose how many I bought or how much I spent, because it's pretty obscene. I will just say that they gave me a "bulk discount." Then we wandered the Jordaan for a while with the intention of gallery hopping, but we really only hopped to one - an exhibit called "Guide to Ruined Buildings in the Netherlands XIX-XXI Century." It was all striking photos of odd abandoned or ruined architecture. Some of the photos looked like they were in Greece, some in the Everglades, some here - but they were all Dutch.
Words can't really express how happy I am right now. I don't ever want to leave this city.
Words can't really express how happy I am right now. I don't ever want to leave this city.
12 March 2008
Take Me To the Bordello, -ello, -ello
It’s been a gender-plentiful few days.
Exhibit A, my Saturday afternoon visit to the only remaining boy’s club in Amsterdam. This was valuable for a bunch of reasons.
First of all because this project is becoming more and more spatially oriented the longer I spend on it, so it was really interesting to be in what is probably the most formalized space for male sex work in this city. Similarly to the window and working room we visited with the PIC, it was cozy – a tiny bar, a tiny room with (subversive, radical gender and BDSM) books lining the walls, big comfortable leather chairs, flattering lighting. The staircase up to the door is discreet and you have to ring a bell to be let in.
The man I talked to could have been more helpful, but there were a few things standing between us. First, I was sort of testing the waters of my research manner and seeing how much informality would be helpful. Now I know that it’s good to have a list of questions ready in case you get one -word answers. Second, while he spoke excellent English, there was definitely a conceptual barrier between us that prevented him from elaborating very much on my secondary, more complex questions. This is also something I’ve noticed with my professors from time to time. There may be such a thing as a “Western” school of thought, but there’s also a distinctly “American” school of thought that seems to exist just beyond a “European” one that is different enough to cause some misunderstandings when dealing in abstractions. Third, I think he was thrown off by the fact that I’m a young woman who is exploring a subculture and profession dominated by gay men and men of ambiguous sexuality.
So while things didn’t click as much as I would have liked, it was really good to talk to him for the time that we had – he told me some things that reaffirmed my suspicions about the practical difficulties of conducting this study – that the majority of male sex work takes place informally, in the back dark rooms of gay bars, that the men who participate are often difficult to track, categorize, or regulate, that I will be point-blank denied access to many of the more organized spaces in which male sex work occurs because they are men-only bars and parties.
The positive thing is that all of these walls will be valuable to reflect about in and of themselves. And at some point, sitting behind the bar and talking to this bartender with years of experience in the sex industry and the gay scene, I had one of those out-of-body revelation moments – that there I was, timid little me, doing something professional and radical that required many levels of bravery, and being pretty blasé about the whole thing. When I was visiting Andrew in Barcelona we had a conversation and he threw in some comment about “growing into one’s competence.” I think that, more than anything, is what’s been happening to me here at Lightning Speed – academically and personally and logistically, to name a few of the ways. Part of growing into your competence is realizing that pretending to be brave produces bravery. Part of it is realizing that you will inevitably do and say stupid things, and that’s acceptable. I’m a little worried that all this revelation, such a long time coming in any visible material way, will lead to some kind of oppressive personal mediocrity, but that’s just my inner perfectionist. In shoving her aside perhaps I will come closer to the equilibrium I seek.
Exhibit B in ImpromptuGenderWeekend 08 was Saturday night, which was the International Women’s Day celebration at the Paradiso. There was another bike-related fiasco which led me to chain Lupe to the guardrail at a Texaco and tram it to Leidseplein in frustration. And then there was Women in Paradise. I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to be a woman in the company of other women, to be honest. There was jazzy smoky-voiced playful grrrrrl band after grrrrrl band, there was dress after dress and manner after manner that I wished were mine, there was extensive dancing with more COOL WOMEN than I have ever seen in one place to tunes dropped by She-J’s, there was a keyboard and a mermaid dress, there was jazzitude, there were fake tattoos and long cigarette holders and lots of smiling and laughing. It was so so glam in such a comfortable genderful colorful musical European way. I felt like I was in Weetzie Bat, some kind of modern fairytale. Everything was gezellig and noisy and pink-lit and everyone loved each other. And on the way home we got fries and were accosted at the fry stand by drunk Dutch men who wanted to talk to us about Obama. Europeans think McCain doesn’t have a chance “because he is friends with Mr. Bush” – I am pessimistic, but hope they’re right. Anyway, in sum: WOMEN!
Exhibit C would have been Judith, if rain and logistics and sadly misinformed library employees had not come between us. I don’t want to talk about it.
And Exhibit D, well, Exhibit D was Moving Manhood today – highlights included my T.A.’s observations and ruminations on an XXX All-Men Leather Party that he attended grâce à Drag Queen Bingo, clad in sportswear; my (aging gay hippie) professor’s familiarity with both the boy’s club I visited and the man I spoke to there; and my successful recommendation of Methodology of the Oppressed to lots of people who I think need to read it (including aforesaid professor, TA, and classmates).
All this Gender and Sexuality In Yo’ Face is making me really miss Scott, Christine, my Mac WGSS classes and buddies, and that glorious film of films Shortbus (disclaimer: this is my favorite movie ever, but it is not for the easily shocked).
Apart from these things, there’s not much to comment on over the last few days. As Angie put it when I prompted her to talk to me about Cape Town, “it’s life in a different place.” I have done lots of homework and reading, been grumpy and/or stalwart in the persistent rain and wind, broken a needle in half trying to sew buttons back onto my coat, sat in cafés, and done more bummin’ than I’ve yet allowed myself to do in this fine city. Love to all.
Exhibit A, my Saturday afternoon visit to the only remaining boy’s club in Amsterdam. This was valuable for a bunch of reasons.
First of all because this project is becoming more and more spatially oriented the longer I spend on it, so it was really interesting to be in what is probably the most formalized space for male sex work in this city. Similarly to the window and working room we visited with the PIC, it was cozy – a tiny bar, a tiny room with (subversive, radical gender and BDSM) books lining the walls, big comfortable leather chairs, flattering lighting. The staircase up to the door is discreet and you have to ring a bell to be let in.
The man I talked to could have been more helpful, but there were a few things standing between us. First, I was sort of testing the waters of my research manner and seeing how much informality would be helpful. Now I know that it’s good to have a list of questions ready in case you get one -word answers. Second, while he spoke excellent English, there was definitely a conceptual barrier between us that prevented him from elaborating very much on my secondary, more complex questions. This is also something I’ve noticed with my professors from time to time. There may be such a thing as a “Western” school of thought, but there’s also a distinctly “American” school of thought that seems to exist just beyond a “European” one that is different enough to cause some misunderstandings when dealing in abstractions. Third, I think he was thrown off by the fact that I’m a young woman who is exploring a subculture and profession dominated by gay men and men of ambiguous sexuality.
So while things didn’t click as much as I would have liked, it was really good to talk to him for the time that we had – he told me some things that reaffirmed my suspicions about the practical difficulties of conducting this study – that the majority of male sex work takes place informally, in the back dark rooms of gay bars, that the men who participate are often difficult to track, categorize, or regulate, that I will be point-blank denied access to many of the more organized spaces in which male sex work occurs because they are men-only bars and parties.
The positive thing is that all of these walls will be valuable to reflect about in and of themselves. And at some point, sitting behind the bar and talking to this bartender with years of experience in the sex industry and the gay scene, I had one of those out-of-body revelation moments – that there I was, timid little me, doing something professional and radical that required many levels of bravery, and being pretty blasé about the whole thing. When I was visiting Andrew in Barcelona we had a conversation and he threw in some comment about “growing into one’s competence.” I think that, more than anything, is what’s been happening to me here at Lightning Speed – academically and personally and logistically, to name a few of the ways. Part of growing into your competence is realizing that pretending to be brave produces bravery. Part of it is realizing that you will inevitably do and say stupid things, and that’s acceptable. I’m a little worried that all this revelation, such a long time coming in any visible material way, will lead to some kind of oppressive personal mediocrity, but that’s just my inner perfectionist. In shoving her aside perhaps I will come closer to the equilibrium I seek.
Exhibit B in ImpromptuGenderWeekend 08 was Saturday night, which was the International Women’s Day celebration at the Paradiso. There was another bike-related fiasco which led me to chain Lupe to the guardrail at a Texaco and tram it to Leidseplein in frustration. And then there was Women in Paradise. I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to be a woman in the company of other women, to be honest. There was jazzy smoky-voiced playful grrrrrl band after grrrrrl band, there was dress after dress and manner after manner that I wished were mine, there was extensive dancing with more COOL WOMEN than I have ever seen in one place to tunes dropped by She-J’s, there was a keyboard and a mermaid dress, there was jazzitude, there were fake tattoos and long cigarette holders and lots of smiling and laughing. It was so so glam in such a comfortable genderful colorful musical European way. I felt like I was in Weetzie Bat, some kind of modern fairytale. Everything was gezellig and noisy and pink-lit and everyone loved each other. And on the way home we got fries and were accosted at the fry stand by drunk Dutch men who wanted to talk to us about Obama. Europeans think McCain doesn’t have a chance “because he is friends with Mr. Bush” – I am pessimistic, but hope they’re right. Anyway, in sum: WOMEN!
Exhibit C would have been Judith, if rain and logistics and sadly misinformed library employees had not come between us. I don’t want to talk about it.
And Exhibit D, well, Exhibit D was Moving Manhood today – highlights included my T.A.’s observations and ruminations on an XXX All-Men Leather Party that he attended grâce à Drag Queen Bingo, clad in sportswear; my (aging gay hippie) professor’s familiarity with both the boy’s club I visited and the man I spoke to there; and my successful recommendation of Methodology of the Oppressed to lots of people who I think need to read it (including aforesaid professor, TA, and classmates).
All this Gender and Sexuality In Yo’ Face is making me really miss Scott, Christine, my Mac WGSS classes and buddies, and that glorious film of films Shortbus (disclaimer: this is my favorite movie ever, but it is not for the easily shocked).
Apart from these things, there’s not much to comment on over the last few days. As Angie put it when I prompted her to talk to me about Cape Town, “it’s life in a different place.” I have done lots of homework and reading, been grumpy and/or stalwart in the persistent rain and wind, broken a needle in half trying to sew buttons back onto my coat, sat in cafés, and done more bummin’ than I’ve yet allowed myself to do in this fine city. Love to all.
08 March 2008
On Adjusting To Cycling
Let's start at the beginning. You know I can't go very long without slapping a nickname on most people or objects. Thus Lupe was born (she's mah bike!) We'll have a photoshoot soon so everyone can see.
Lupe and I took our first major spin out to the Melkweg the other night for a dance party called Poptrash. Here three hours of my life disappeared to dance enthusiasm, ultimately resulting in a bad case of whiplash which has kept me humble and unable to dance so hard since. Woe. I also lost the key to my back wheel lock, which meant that Lupe wasn't going anywhere.
I was disheartened and concerned at the prospect of the (hour long) walk home at 4:30 am, but my compatriots decided we shouldn't give up just yet. So I hopped (sidesaddle!) onto the back of Tim's bike, very much afraid for my life but too much yearning for my bed for that to be a serious obstacle, and off we zipped down the Sarphatistraat. We were successful! Props to Tim for being such a gracious and unconcerned bike host, and for pullin' my weight all the way back from Leidseplein. Victory number one in the realm of emulating the Dutch in our cycling habits. When we can ride through traffic while talking at length on a cell phone, that's when we'll really know we've made it.
I spent the night doing more worrying about how I was ever going to free Lupe if the Melkweg didn't find the key than sleeping. My roommate's boyfriend suggested that I call in the aid of his Eastern European Bike Thief Friends if it came down to it. But wonder of wonders,victory number two was the next day, when I called the Melkweg and they had the key. This says something, I think, about the primacy of the bicycle in this culture. No one throws away a bike key. Unfortunately the place where I had parked Lupe is part of a construction zone by day, so I had to contend with angry construction workers in order to retrieve her. A situation which mere months ago would have left me shaky and in tears, but I'm used to being a blissful idiot in Nederland, so a few scoldings and glares from angry strangers ain't gonna phase me. Content that my carelessness had not ended in catastrophe, I pedaled my butt back home (by myself! in traffic! without incident!).
Some key observations: I was especially worried about intersections, because I tend to have trouble getting going again quickly. It turns out that that's only an issue if one doesn't go through intersections. This was a quick and easy and immediately noticeable adjustment, and makes me very proud every time I think about it. The relative ease with which I can navigate those, though, is made up for in spades by the fact that I am such a weakling that the 10 minute ride home from the ISHSS leaves me sweating and panting and my thighs screaming at me. Yikes. The "hill" I blame for this would more accurately be described as a "mild incline." When I'm with other people, my general chagrin makes me soldier through. But when I'm alone, I don't make it very far before I get off and start walking. We'll see how the saga continues.
Lupe and I took our first major spin out to the Melkweg the other night for a dance party called Poptrash. Here three hours of my life disappeared to dance enthusiasm, ultimately resulting in a bad case of whiplash which has kept me humble and unable to dance so hard since. Woe. I also lost the key to my back wheel lock, which meant that Lupe wasn't going anywhere.
I was disheartened and concerned at the prospect of the (hour long) walk home at 4:30 am, but my compatriots decided we shouldn't give up just yet. So I hopped (sidesaddle!) onto the back of Tim's bike, very much afraid for my life but too much yearning for my bed for that to be a serious obstacle, and off we zipped down the Sarphatistraat. We were successful! Props to Tim for being such a gracious and unconcerned bike host, and for pullin' my weight all the way back from Leidseplein. Victory number one in the realm of emulating the Dutch in our cycling habits. When we can ride through traffic while talking at length on a cell phone, that's when we'll really know we've made it.
I spent the night doing more worrying about how I was ever going to free Lupe if the Melkweg didn't find the key than sleeping. My roommate's boyfriend suggested that I call in the aid of his Eastern European Bike Thief Friends if it came down to it. But wonder of wonders,victory number two was the next day, when I called the Melkweg and they had the key. This says something, I think, about the primacy of the bicycle in this culture. No one throws away a bike key. Unfortunately the place where I had parked Lupe is part of a construction zone by day, so I had to contend with angry construction workers in order to retrieve her. A situation which mere months ago would have left me shaky and in tears, but I'm used to being a blissful idiot in Nederland, so a few scoldings and glares from angry strangers ain't gonna phase me. Content that my carelessness had not ended in catastrophe, I pedaled my butt back home (by myself! in traffic! without incident!).
Some key observations: I was especially worried about intersections, because I tend to have trouble getting going again quickly. It turns out that that's only an issue if one doesn't go through intersections. This was a quick and easy and immediately noticeable adjustment, and makes me very proud every time I think about it. The relative ease with which I can navigate those, though, is made up for in spades by the fact that I am such a weakling that the 10 minute ride home from the ISHSS leaves me sweating and panting and my thighs screaming at me. Yikes. The "hill" I blame for this would more accurately be described as a "mild incline." When I'm with other people, my general chagrin makes me soldier through. But when I'm alone, I don't make it very far before I get off and start walking. We'll see how the saga continues.
05 March 2008
Things of Import
Today I bought a bike, finally. It is purple and yellow and the right size for me and has hand brakes. Sometimes I get flustered at intersections and get off and walk it across because the pedals are in the wrong place, but that will change. It's so nice to have one. I am going to try and figure out if there's a way to bring the lock home with me - it is so heavy duty. No one in America would ever steal a bike with a lock this extreme. It's a huge, thick chain more or less. Today was also the day of the first writing meeting of Tim and Nick and Bri and I, and it was super cool. I am always happy when I have writers in my life. And the fact that we have weekly deadlines means that I'll push myself to keep churning out work that I want to be working on. We met at Greenwoods which I still love with all my heart. The waiter was very concerned about us being cold. And he refilled our teapot free of charge.
Then there was Letje which is always a treat, and today was extra special because we took a walking tour of the Red Light District, led by Mariska Majoor, a former window girl who's been the head of the Prostitution Information Center for the last fourteen years. I have so many things to say about the hour and a half we spent together, but I'll try to keep it concise. Everyone should explore the PIC website - it gives a really comprehensive background of the project and a lot of the issues that sex workers face, in Amsterdam and the world over. It also addresses the particular ways in which sex tourism functions in Amsterdam. Don't be intimidated by the fact that it's in Dutch - just click on the little British flag and you'll get everything you need to know in English.
The PIC is located right in the heart of the Red Light District, on a square in the center of which sits a church, and a bunch of 14th century buildings. Mariska's organization erected a pretty little statue called "Bella" in front of the church sometime last year, inscribed with a message to respect sex workers all over the world. First of all, the shop is small and very gezellig, with a big group of women chatting and laughing around a table behind the counter, a lot of kitschy touristy things (e.g. shirts that say "Good Girls Go To Heaven, Bad Girls Go To Amsterdam") and local Red Light District based artwork and lots of literature on sex work. I got so happy when I noticed that it sells Global Sex Workers and Trafficking and Prostitution Reconsidered, both excellent books which Scott Morgensen introduced me to in the context of his Transnational Sexual Politics class, and both of which have been key literature in the Transnational Sex Worker's Rights Movement formulating over the past ten years. Mariska and her organization have their hands thoroughly entrenched in this movement. And it's no wonder - women from all over the world work in the RLD.
The legalization of prostitution here means that street prostitution is frowned upon in Amsterdam - window prostitution is much more common. The way it works is that women go to the office of a landlord who owns buildings with windows, register, and show their passports. They are given a window and can pay rent for an 8 or 12 hour shift - night shifts are generally a little more expensive than day shifts. Because you have to show your passport in order to register with a landlord, illegal immigrants can't work in the neighborhood. Because you pay rent for a window, the space is yours to use as you choose, for the time that you rent it. Pimping is illegal, and the system is set up for independent contract work, which is why Amsterdam is a very good and safe place for women to practice sex work, compared to most places in the world. Each window is attached to a working room, and each working room has an alarm system. In a dangerous situation, the woman working can press a button and the alarm will sound, and either her colleagues or the landlord or the police, or all three, will be able to quickly come to her aid. Another measure of control offered by this system is the fact that the women working behind the windows can pick and choose their clientele - you sit and watch the people walk past on the street, and make eye contact with people that seem safe or intriguing to you. Mariska described this as using the same instincts that anyone in a customer service position has about customers - you can tell from body language, from eye contact, who is aggressive or who is sweet or who is shy or who is reckless or who is scared or who has something to prove, and from these hints you can decide who you are willing to take a chance on.
That said, coercion does happen - the system is set up to prevent pimping or human trafficking, but some landlords turn a blind eye to these practices, and allow sex slavery organizations or pimps to install unwilling women in their windows for a few weeks at a time. Mariska estimated that about 10 to 15 percent of the women working in the RLD at any given time are in a coercive situation. If she hears a story like this, she tries to provide both comfort and legal counsel to the woman in question. Unfortunately 9 times out of 10 these women are too scared to press charges - and the problem with a system of legalization is that it's dependent on the law for recourse, so if they refuse to press charges there isn't much that can be done to actually nab the pimps or the crime organizations. Mariska's organization and others like it attempt to form safe spaces for coerced women to come to. That's just a brief sketch of the situation here. The website of The Red Thread is also a good source of information on prostitution in Nederland.
Right now, there's a huge debate going on about the "oversexualization of the Netherlands," which means that the government is buying up window brothels and trying to forcibly change the face of the Red Light District. This is both complicated and contentious, and Mariska got worked up about it several times during the course of the tour. You see former windows which have been bought by the government and offered up to young Amsterdam designers as display spaces, full of bejeweled hate couture manikins. They're sponsored by the tourist administration and say "Red Light Fashion" across the front, and they poke fun at the poses and working positions of the actual women they're in the midst of. There have been a lot of protests mounted against this. Mariska said that she told them that if they do that to the windows around the PIC, she'll be the first to smash in their displays. There are also antagonistic protest posters up all around the Red Light District.
So the most interesting part of the tour was when we got to go into a real window space and working room that the PIC has temporary access to while the landlord straightens out some licensing troubles. Every window has a red light (duh) and a blue light, to make the skin glow and emphasize white lingerie. The windows and rooms are surprisingly cozy, and Mariska had us sit on the stools for a minute to see how it felt. And I have to say, it was really interesting - I'm still processing it. Even though there were 6 of us, men and women of different generations, and we were all wearing coats and backpacks, people were still looking in the window curiously as they walked past. It's clear that you could discover a lot about human nature sitting in a window - some people were clearly cruising, some looked curious but inhibited, some walked fast with heads down as if scared to look, some walked aggressively with fists bunched up as if about to hit. It was so strange to watch.
Also, I was really fascinated because male prostitutes are so visibly absent from this world - it's a very different and much less accessible scene, mostly linked to gay bars and organizations. I'm going to go back to the PIC in the next few days and try to pick Mariska's brain about this disparity. It will be interesting to see what someone so embroiled in the politics of regulation and sex work advocacy will have to say about that. Hopefully she'll be able to give me some ideas for contacts, as well.
Then there was Letje which is always a treat, and today was extra special because we took a walking tour of the Red Light District, led by Mariska Majoor, a former window girl who's been the head of the Prostitution Information Center for the last fourteen years. I have so many things to say about the hour and a half we spent together, but I'll try to keep it concise. Everyone should explore the PIC website - it gives a really comprehensive background of the project and a lot of the issues that sex workers face, in Amsterdam and the world over. It also addresses the particular ways in which sex tourism functions in Amsterdam. Don't be intimidated by the fact that it's in Dutch - just click on the little British flag and you'll get everything you need to know in English.
The PIC is located right in the heart of the Red Light District, on a square in the center of which sits a church, and a bunch of 14th century buildings. Mariska's organization erected a pretty little statue called "Bella" in front of the church sometime last year, inscribed with a message to respect sex workers all over the world. First of all, the shop is small and very gezellig, with a big group of women chatting and laughing around a table behind the counter, a lot of kitschy touristy things (e.g. shirts that say "Good Girls Go To Heaven, Bad Girls Go To Amsterdam") and local Red Light District based artwork and lots of literature on sex work. I got so happy when I noticed that it sells Global Sex Workers and Trafficking and Prostitution Reconsidered, both excellent books which Scott Morgensen introduced me to in the context of his Transnational Sexual Politics class, and both of which have been key literature in the Transnational Sex Worker's Rights Movement formulating over the past ten years. Mariska and her organization have their hands thoroughly entrenched in this movement. And it's no wonder - women from all over the world work in the RLD.
The legalization of prostitution here means that street prostitution is frowned upon in Amsterdam - window prostitution is much more common. The way it works is that women go to the office of a landlord who owns buildings with windows, register, and show their passports. They are given a window and can pay rent for an 8 or 12 hour shift - night shifts are generally a little more expensive than day shifts. Because you have to show your passport in order to register with a landlord, illegal immigrants can't work in the neighborhood. Because you pay rent for a window, the space is yours to use as you choose, for the time that you rent it. Pimping is illegal, and the system is set up for independent contract work, which is why Amsterdam is a very good and safe place for women to practice sex work, compared to most places in the world. Each window is attached to a working room, and each working room has an alarm system. In a dangerous situation, the woman working can press a button and the alarm will sound, and either her colleagues or the landlord or the police, or all three, will be able to quickly come to her aid. Another measure of control offered by this system is the fact that the women working behind the windows can pick and choose their clientele - you sit and watch the people walk past on the street, and make eye contact with people that seem safe or intriguing to you. Mariska described this as using the same instincts that anyone in a customer service position has about customers - you can tell from body language, from eye contact, who is aggressive or who is sweet or who is shy or who is reckless or who is scared or who has something to prove, and from these hints you can decide who you are willing to take a chance on.
That said, coercion does happen - the system is set up to prevent pimping or human trafficking, but some landlords turn a blind eye to these practices, and allow sex slavery organizations or pimps to install unwilling women in their windows for a few weeks at a time. Mariska estimated that about 10 to 15 percent of the women working in the RLD at any given time are in a coercive situation. If she hears a story like this, she tries to provide both comfort and legal counsel to the woman in question. Unfortunately 9 times out of 10 these women are too scared to press charges - and the problem with a system of legalization is that it's dependent on the law for recourse, so if they refuse to press charges there isn't much that can be done to actually nab the pimps or the crime organizations. Mariska's organization and others like it attempt to form safe spaces for coerced women to come to. That's just a brief sketch of the situation here. The website of The Red Thread is also a good source of information on prostitution in Nederland.
Right now, there's a huge debate going on about the "oversexualization of the Netherlands," which means that the government is buying up window brothels and trying to forcibly change the face of the Red Light District. This is both complicated and contentious, and Mariska got worked up about it several times during the course of the tour. You see former windows which have been bought by the government and offered up to young Amsterdam designers as display spaces, full of bejeweled hate couture manikins. They're sponsored by the tourist administration and say "Red Light Fashion" across the front, and they poke fun at the poses and working positions of the actual women they're in the midst of. There have been a lot of protests mounted against this. Mariska said that she told them that if they do that to the windows around the PIC, she'll be the first to smash in their displays. There are also antagonistic protest posters up all around the Red Light District.
So the most interesting part of the tour was when we got to go into a real window space and working room that the PIC has temporary access to while the landlord straightens out some licensing troubles. Every window has a red light (duh) and a blue light, to make the skin glow and emphasize white lingerie. The windows and rooms are surprisingly cozy, and Mariska had us sit on the stools for a minute to see how it felt. And I have to say, it was really interesting - I'm still processing it. Even though there were 6 of us, men and women of different generations, and we were all wearing coats and backpacks, people were still looking in the window curiously as they walked past. It's clear that you could discover a lot about human nature sitting in a window - some people were clearly cruising, some looked curious but inhibited, some walked fast with heads down as if scared to look, some walked aggressively with fists bunched up as if about to hit. It was so strange to watch.
Also, I was really fascinated because male prostitutes are so visibly absent from this world - it's a very different and much less accessible scene, mostly linked to gay bars and organizations. I'm going to go back to the PIC in the next few days and try to pick Mariska's brain about this disparity. It will be interesting to see what someone so embroiled in the politics of regulation and sex work advocacy will have to say about that. Hopefully she'll be able to give me some ideas for contacts, as well.
04 March 2008
What Happens When Your TA Casually Announces That Judith Butler is Speaking on Monday
You make a snap decision to skip Dutch that day.
Girl 1: Who is that?
Girl 2: WHAT? SHE'S A GENDER SUPERSTAR!
Boy 1: Laughs and pumps fist.
Boy 2: Nudges you and says "Fuck, I'm getting goosebumps."
Words cannot express how. excited. i am.
Girl 1: Who is that?
Girl 2: WHAT? SHE'S A GENDER SUPERSTAR!
Boy 1: Laughs and pumps fist.
Boy 2: Nudges you and says "Fuck, I'm getting goosebumps."
Words cannot express how. excited. i am.
02 March 2008
Luxembourg
If I could think of one word to sum up Luxembourg, it would be "XTREME." You think I'm joking, but I'm not. Just wait.
Off Hallie and Tim and I set with our very American backpacks and very American accents, into the great unknown that is the third part of Benelux - booked it through Brussel-Nord, and made it in t-minus 6 hours to a delightfully picturesque little country (one of the smallest in the world, although I don't know the exact statistic, and am too lazy to look it up). The weather could best be described as "grey" and "abysmal" or in the terminology of my beloved parentals "43 and dank," but we nonetheless spent some happy hours wandering the capital (which is also called Luxembourg). And you can bet we felt Xtreme, battling the weather to enjoy beautiful scenery. I got to practice my (very rusty) French on a few occasions, which was super cool. The city has a lot of hills and greenery and topiary and bridges and squares - it's not in the mountains (I think they would qualify as "very tall hills"), but in pictures it almost looks like it could be. The whole place feels like a miniature out of a fairytale. And, shockingly enough, every touristy store in the nation has a preponderance of light-up dragon statues in 8 different shades of glitter and similar whatnot - they're not shy, in Luxembourg, about their fairytale heritage.
After having wandered for about two hours and taking an obscene number of pictures, we looked at a tourist map only to find that we had stumbled upon about 95% of all the remarkable places in Luxembourg Stad. This is one of the beauties of a small country.
We spent a long time looking for affordable dinner, only to discover that such a thing is not really possible in the home of the World Bank - and so, embarrassingly but happily, ended up in a Chi- Chi's off the main square (yeah, that's what you think it is). It was really nice to eat Mexican food after not having found any in Amsterdam for so long. And it was really nice to be indoors, where it was not 43 and dank. The funny thing about roaming when we were roaming is that the ghosts of beautiful summers were everywhere. I half expected to see Grace Kelly stepping out of a lit up terasse and strolling down the majestic bridges to a cozy villa overlooking the city, arm in arm with a debonair Prince Renier. I know they lived in Monaco, but I have a sneaking suspicion that there are a lot of similarities between the countries. And Luxembourg looks surprisingly Mediterranean - this is because the Moors conquered it once, long ago. I am really curious now, having been there, about how such a teensy-weensy Grand Duchy managed to be conquered so many times by so many imperial superpowers and somehow always regain independence.
I won't tell you when we went to bed, 'cause it's not very Xtreme. But I will say that our hostel was really nice. HI all the way.
We had read that Saturday was sposed to yield high winds and heavy rain, and woke to something akin to that - but it stopped, thankfully, before we were done with breakfast, the sun peeked out, and the day turned balmy (relatively speaking, anyway). I bought an ice cream cone from a vending machine for 1.5 euro and was delighted to discover that it was even called "Extreme" (except with a circumflex over that second "e," because it was in French). We did a scenic walk up and down hillsides by crumbling castles and a rushing (if a little brown) river, and then headed out to Xtreme Destination #2, Vianden.
Vianden is Xtreme because a) Victor Hugo lived there for three months while he was in exile b) There is an Xtreme number of religious figurines tucked away in the surrounding forest c) it is Xtremely close to Germany (we actually walked to Germany, which I only know because my cell phone sent me a "Welkom in Duitsland" message) d) there is an Xtreme castle there. The castle was seriously wonderful, and the town was seriously charming. I was pretty entranced the whole time we were there. Pictures are up on Flickr. The castle was inhabited by William of Orange at one point. It is one of the best curated sites I've ever been to - most of it was open to the public, and there was lots of information in every room. They didn't babysit you through it at all though, which I appreciated. There was a room with pictures of everyone who's made official visits there - including but not limited to Patrick Swayze circa George and the Dragon, and Salvador Allende's wife the year after his assassination (one might wonder what she was doing in Luxembourg at that juncture). We spent a solid hour and a half, and I think we moved through it pretty quickly. You could easily spend hours (and I think even picnic) in the summer when it is warm and beautiful. There's not much to say about what we did in Vianden, except that we wandered very happily and I think we all preferred it to the capital. We were very Xtreme in that our hostel didn't open til 5, so we spent the whole afternoon lugging around all of our belongings. That includes Castle Tour, Town Walk, and Forest Walk To Germany. Once the hostel did open, we discovered that the sole employee did not speak or understand English or French. This barrier meant, ultimately, that we left 7 dollars more than we owed and split without saying goodbye (or officially checking out) in the morning. Before morning, though, was night, and some of the best (wood-oven) pizza and (elaborate) ice cream (sundae) I've ever had - not what I expected from a teeny pub in a teeny town in teeny Luxembourg, but very welcome.
Today was all train and bus, all day, and I'm glad to be back - I think I'm coming down with a little cold, and have a lot of work to do. But I was very taken with the Lux, amassed some pretty hilarious postcards of the royal family to send to friends and loved ones (these are cheesily posed and ubiquitous), and, if I can work out a way to have the money, am going to try to go back for a hiking weekend sometime when it is a little warmer.
Off Hallie and Tim and I set with our very American backpacks and very American accents, into the great unknown that is the third part of Benelux - booked it through Brussel-Nord, and made it in t-minus 6 hours to a delightfully picturesque little country (one of the smallest in the world, although I don't know the exact statistic, and am too lazy to look it up). The weather could best be described as "grey" and "abysmal" or in the terminology of my beloved parentals "43 and dank," but we nonetheless spent some happy hours wandering the capital (which is also called Luxembourg). And you can bet we felt Xtreme, battling the weather to enjoy beautiful scenery. I got to practice my (very rusty) French on a few occasions, which was super cool. The city has a lot of hills and greenery and topiary and bridges and squares - it's not in the mountains (I think they would qualify as "very tall hills"), but in pictures it almost looks like it could be. The whole place feels like a miniature out of a fairytale. And, shockingly enough, every touristy store in the nation has a preponderance of light-up dragon statues in 8 different shades of glitter and similar whatnot - they're not shy, in Luxembourg, about their fairytale heritage.
After having wandered for about two hours and taking an obscene number of pictures, we looked at a tourist map only to find that we had stumbled upon about 95% of all the remarkable places in Luxembourg Stad. This is one of the beauties of a small country.
We spent a long time looking for affordable dinner, only to discover that such a thing is not really possible in the home of the World Bank - and so, embarrassingly but happily, ended up in a Chi- Chi's off the main square (yeah, that's what you think it is). It was really nice to eat Mexican food after not having found any in Amsterdam for so long. And it was really nice to be indoors, where it was not 43 and dank. The funny thing about roaming when we were roaming is that the ghosts of beautiful summers were everywhere. I half expected to see Grace Kelly stepping out of a lit up terasse and strolling down the majestic bridges to a cozy villa overlooking the city, arm in arm with a debonair Prince Renier. I know they lived in Monaco, but I have a sneaking suspicion that there are a lot of similarities between the countries. And Luxembourg looks surprisingly Mediterranean - this is because the Moors conquered it once, long ago. I am really curious now, having been there, about how such a teensy-weensy Grand Duchy managed to be conquered so many times by so many imperial superpowers and somehow always regain independence.
I won't tell you when we went to bed, 'cause it's not very Xtreme. But I will say that our hostel was really nice. HI all the way.
We had read that Saturday was sposed to yield high winds and heavy rain, and woke to something akin to that - but it stopped, thankfully, before we were done with breakfast, the sun peeked out, and the day turned balmy (relatively speaking, anyway). I bought an ice cream cone from a vending machine for 1.5 euro and was delighted to discover that it was even called "Extreme" (except with a circumflex over that second "e," because it was in French). We did a scenic walk up and down hillsides by crumbling castles and a rushing (if a little brown) river, and then headed out to Xtreme Destination #2, Vianden.
Vianden is Xtreme because a) Victor Hugo lived there for three months while he was in exile b) There is an Xtreme number of religious figurines tucked away in the surrounding forest c) it is Xtremely close to Germany (we actually walked to Germany, which I only know because my cell phone sent me a "Welkom in Duitsland" message) d) there is an Xtreme castle there. The castle was seriously wonderful, and the town was seriously charming. I was pretty entranced the whole time we were there. Pictures are up on Flickr. The castle was inhabited by William of Orange at one point. It is one of the best curated sites I've ever been to - most of it was open to the public, and there was lots of information in every room. They didn't babysit you through it at all though, which I appreciated. There was a room with pictures of everyone who's made official visits there - including but not limited to Patrick Swayze circa George and the Dragon, and Salvador Allende's wife the year after his assassination (one might wonder what she was doing in Luxembourg at that juncture). We spent a solid hour and a half, and I think we moved through it pretty quickly. You could easily spend hours (and I think even picnic) in the summer when it is warm and beautiful. There's not much to say about what we did in Vianden, except that we wandered very happily and I think we all preferred it to the capital. We were very Xtreme in that our hostel didn't open til 5, so we spent the whole afternoon lugging around all of our belongings. That includes Castle Tour, Town Walk, and Forest Walk To Germany. Once the hostel did open, we discovered that the sole employee did not speak or understand English or French. This barrier meant, ultimately, that we left 7 dollars more than we owed and split without saying goodbye (or officially checking out) in the morning. Before morning, though, was night, and some of the best (wood-oven) pizza and (elaborate) ice cream (sundae) I've ever had - not what I expected from a teeny pub in a teeny town in teeny Luxembourg, but very welcome.
Today was all train and bus, all day, and I'm glad to be back - I think I'm coming down with a little cold, and have a lot of work to do. But I was very taken with the Lux, amassed some pretty hilarious postcards of the royal family to send to friends and loved ones (these are cheesily posed and ubiquitous), and, if I can work out a way to have the money, am going to try to go back for a hiking weekend sometime when it is a little warmer.
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