Yesterday, in Fun Hour With Letje, I decided that it's important to me to make my project not just straight-up research, but also an experiment with narrative, memory, reflection, oral history. Amping up my subjectivity as researcher, basically, and seeing what comes out of it. I'm excited.
Today, for Squiggling Ocean (the writing roundtable that Bri and Nick and Tim and i hold weekly), I actually submitted something new. Well, that's not entirely true. It was born out of a freewrite that I did in Parc de la Ciutadella when I was in Barcelona, so fragments of it are old, but it is basically new. I'm not sure how I feel about it yet, if it is dull or productively tense; if it is absurd, or boring for people who don't know French. I kept thinking about Mary Poppins In the Park when I was writing it. I'm excited to go back for round two! Even if I will not have the advantage of a good friend and tour guide, this time.
For your viewing pleasure.
Partout, n'Importe Où, Le Coeur Casse
Pigeon poop.
Gratis.
Hungry.
Parc.
Bonsoir?
Elle ne dit pas bonsoir?
Men and pigeons.
What?
The scent of fresh feces.
Tu marches trop vite pour moi.
Je ne peux plus t’ignore.
Qui en plus?
Vieux hommes whistling a tune.
Welcome to umbrella leaves tickling your head-top,
Stylish mothers wheeling strollers.
In Turkïye, you go and sit down next to someone you don’t know, you say
“Hello uncle, how are you, fine weather today,"
And in this country they look at you like you are a murderer.
Where did I get off the Metro?
Where you at, crayzee?
Duh, bébé, I am hungry for this.
Maybe appetite is not as urgent a breathing thing as I thought, once.
Torrent,
If you do not turn around.
If you do not open your eyes, if we do not meet just yet.
If we do not find what we are looking for here.
If I do not know what direction you are coming from, if maybe you have forgotten me,
If perhaps I get a little cold waiting;
If I see you emerge calm from the mer of scenester bikers jumping twirling, and smile,
If the pigeons are smiling also,
If we do not understand foreign airports,
You home?
I would have guessed you were French.
I would have guessed you were from Ireland,
I would have guessed you would have learned Spanish before coming here.
I would not have guessed, from your demeanor, that you missed me ever or at all.
Where you first jumped off the boat.
How high, my man, how high?
This time she will pick up.
This time we will climb the montagne.
Who bought food for this journey,
Pain and chorizo, drinks and drinks.
As I said, skip to skip on the boardwalk as we passed your ship,
How high?
Made in Espagne,
Si,
Si,
Claro,
Oui,
Oui,
Claire.
10 April 2008
09 April 2008
Academia, What?
It's been a pretty uneventful week, except for the daily joys of trundling about the city, looking at beautiful things, eating, playing with my friends, blah blah blah. I'm going back to Barcelona for the weekend, with Bri and Whitney, which I'm super pumped for.
Last Friday I had a meeting with Mattias, my Masculinity + Migration professor, and it was unbelievably fruitful. it was nice to be in the house of an academic, drinking tea, and surrounded by books and plants and talking about gender theory. He gave me a lot of really useful books and contacts that will help to further my project. For example, he asked me if I had read anything by Paul van Gelder, who is THE Dutch male prostitution expert. No, I said, because his work hasn't been translated into English. "Oh!" said Mattias, "But you know, you could talk to him! You will like each other very much!" And at the end of our meeting, I left his house with Paul van Gelder's email address in hand. It is times like that that I am sure that academia is where I belong.
But there are also other times. I emailed Christine a while back to update her and get an update (Christine, for those of you who don't know, is the woman who brought me into the WGSS fold where I since have been comfortably residing). I also wanted to pick her brain about History of Consciousness. She sent me back a nice long email chock-a-block full of the humor and bluntness that I had forgotten made me love her, and with a lot of information about the program. She talked about it as if she thought I could probably get in, if I play my cards right - and then she went into detail about what those cards are. it's not anything out of this world, but it reminded me that the life of an academic is more than sitting surrounded by books and papers and having revelations and publishing books that People Like and having cozy meetings with your students wherein you change their lives a little. It's also strenuous, and political - the politics of getting into grad school, the politics of doing and writing the right things to get you money and a job, the politics of academic self-representation. Maybe it's just because I'm still a little worn from the rigamarole that I went through with high school and IB and college applications, but I'm not sure that I have the patience for those games. Where does that leave me, though? I can't envision what my life would be without school, pens, books, an intellectual community. Maybe I just need to grow up a little before I can enter that world, and let go of my vague and unrealistic hopes of being a prodigy. Or maybe I need to use my mind to radically shape an intellectual world around myself and my beliefs. Possible? I don't know. Mostly, what I know is that I want to think and write as much as possible. I'm not sure that the sort of thinking and writing actually matters to me very much at all.
Last Friday I had a meeting with Mattias, my Masculinity + Migration professor, and it was unbelievably fruitful. it was nice to be in the house of an academic, drinking tea, and surrounded by books and plants and talking about gender theory. He gave me a lot of really useful books and contacts that will help to further my project. For example, he asked me if I had read anything by Paul van Gelder, who is THE Dutch male prostitution expert. No, I said, because his work hasn't been translated into English. "Oh!" said Mattias, "But you know, you could talk to him! You will like each other very much!" And at the end of our meeting, I left his house with Paul van Gelder's email address in hand. It is times like that that I am sure that academia is where I belong.
But there are also other times. I emailed Christine a while back to update her and get an update (Christine, for those of you who don't know, is the woman who brought me into the WGSS fold where I since have been comfortably residing). I also wanted to pick her brain about History of Consciousness. She sent me back a nice long email chock-a-block full of the humor and bluntness that I had forgotten made me love her, and with a lot of information about the program. She talked about it as if she thought I could probably get in, if I play my cards right - and then she went into detail about what those cards are. it's not anything out of this world, but it reminded me that the life of an academic is more than sitting surrounded by books and papers and having revelations and publishing books that People Like and having cozy meetings with your students wherein you change their lives a little. It's also strenuous, and political - the politics of getting into grad school, the politics of doing and writing the right things to get you money and a job, the politics of academic self-representation. Maybe it's just because I'm still a little worn from the rigamarole that I went through with high school and IB and college applications, but I'm not sure that I have the patience for those games. Where does that leave me, though? I can't envision what my life would be without school, pens, books, an intellectual community. Maybe I just need to grow up a little before I can enter that world, and let go of my vague and unrealistic hopes of being a prodigy. Or maybe I need to use my mind to radically shape an intellectual world around myself and my beliefs. Possible? I don't know. Mostly, what I know is that I want to think and write as much as possible. I'm not sure that the sort of thinking and writing actually matters to me very much at all.
03 April 2008
April 2nd
I mark this day (all these days, really) with a white stone. That's what Lewis Carroll said about days that were really perfect some way or another. Yesterday was the first tangible spring. Occasional drizzle, of course ("April does what it wants."), but a lot of sun and ridiculous cloudscapes, a soft twilight that lasted until 8, etcetera.
Had tea as per usual, fresh mint this time which is a brilliant green color, and Christy and Nate had open-faced sandwiches as well which are always delicious. I did not have one because I had cheesecake, which was also delicious. There was lemon yogurt on top!
Witnessed an anticlimactic bike-on-pedestrian collision - the cyclist rolled his eyes and the pedestrian laughed and stepped back up to the curb, cigarette still in hand. No words were had, and no one fell over. I guess my bike-on-pedestrian collision was dramatic because I am incompetent, and because we both fell over.
Wandered down de Warmoestraat and Zeedijk, which are very close-together streets, narrow with tall buildings, so you feel like you're in a city fortress. Passed the Chinese bakery which was, once again, closed. Passed a place where they have dim sum! Passed the place where we once ate waffles dripping in pink frosting and chocolate sauce. Stepped out into Nieuwmarkt, which is a pretty big deal (but I had never been there). There is a lot of open space and a big church, and some mosaiced benches that look like they belong in Barcelona. Sat on one of said benches for some time, and looked at the happy group of Dutch ragamuffins sitting across from us, juggling and rolling a joint. Some bicycle police came by and talked to them sternly for a while, but then they got derailed by another pair of bicycle police and all stood around in a jolly circle and did nothing. Both the juggling and the joint-rolling continued.
Walked to the OBA, stood at the cafe's roof-deck and soaked in the wonderful evening. Took lots of photos, including this one of the Nemo (there's a science museum in there). If you look closely between the masts of the pirate ship you will see the windmill. That means home! The light was beautiful, the library was beautiful, the clouds were beautiful, the water was beautiful, the company was beautiful. Came home and watched "Martian Child," which was also beautiful. John Cusack as adoptive father of dysfunctional child. Glued the sole of my boot back together. Bed.
Had tea as per usual, fresh mint this time which is a brilliant green color, and Christy and Nate had open-faced sandwiches as well which are always delicious. I did not have one because I had cheesecake, which was also delicious. There was lemon yogurt on top!
Witnessed an anticlimactic bike-on-pedestrian collision - the cyclist rolled his eyes and the pedestrian laughed and stepped back up to the curb, cigarette still in hand. No words were had, and no one fell over. I guess my bike-on-pedestrian collision was dramatic because I am incompetent, and because we both fell over.
Wandered down de Warmoestraat and Zeedijk, which are very close-together streets, narrow with tall buildings, so you feel like you're in a city fortress. Passed the Chinese bakery which was, once again, closed. Passed a place where they have dim sum! Passed the place where we once ate waffles dripping in pink frosting and chocolate sauce. Stepped out into Nieuwmarkt, which is a pretty big deal (but I had never been there). There is a lot of open space and a big church, and some mosaiced benches that look like they belong in Barcelona. Sat on one of said benches for some time, and looked at the happy group of Dutch ragamuffins sitting across from us, juggling and rolling a joint. Some bicycle police came by and talked to them sternly for a while, but then they got derailed by another pair of bicycle police and all stood around in a jolly circle and did nothing. Both the juggling and the joint-rolling continued.
Walked to the OBA, stood at the cafe's roof-deck and soaked in the wonderful evening. Took lots of photos, including this one of the Nemo (there's a science museum in there). If you look closely between the masts of the pirate ship you will see the windmill. That means home! The light was beautiful, the library was beautiful, the clouds were beautiful, the water was beautiful, the company was beautiful. Came home and watched "Martian Child," which was also beautiful. John Cusack as adoptive father of dysfunctional child. Glued the sole of my boot back together. Bed.
29 March 2008
The Burger and the King
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.
"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.
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.
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