Posterous theme by Cory Watilo

That's what you call someone from Amsterdam right?


I need a louder bell.

In Amsterdam, everyone's bike has a bell. You ring your bike bell to let someone know you are passing them, or to tell them to move over, or to tell the tourists to get out of the way because they are walking in the bike path (duh! thank god I never did that, or that no one I knew at the time caught me doing it).

The problem, however, is that the bells you can buy sounds like this sweet little ring - kinda like, "Excuse me, but um, could you get over.'' 
I've tried ringing it with a strong index finger, which somewhat increases it's powerI've tried multiple rings, which usually pisses people off, but still not quite what I want.
I've tried combo strong rings with a big "God!", but that doesnt' seem to translate to the Asian tourists.

I just want a ring that says, "F*** YOU, OUT OF MY WAY!''

Since this is Europe, I doubt I will find that kind of hostile sounding bike bell.  Europe is too non-punishing (''No, come on Greece, you can join the EU - debt? What debt?")

Which is why for any of my American friends who are reading this blog, please be on the lookout for something that might convey the right meaning. Ideally, it would have multiple sounds, including the Dixie Lee horn from ''Dukes of Hazard''.

See links below:




I think this horn sound, and a variety of others, would definitely send the message I want to send.

I also think I would need to leave the country soon.

Some days you just want to go home.

Today was one of those days where I just wanted to be home, back in the United States.  And it's not that I had a bad day here, I guess I just missed so much of home, and of my friends and family.

I spent a day doing a lot of errands and interacting with a lot of people and I think I just missed how Americans talk, how we say things, how we connect.

I feel so disconnected from here - like a visitor that is staying a long time and can't seem to catch a flight home.

I was riding my bike today and a woman cut out in front of me on her bike and I am sure I gave her the ''WTF are you doing?" look since she almost caused us to crash.  She said in British English, "So sorry! I'm a tourist!" and I immediately responded, realizing she is probably struggling just to stay on her bike, much less ride it well, ''Yes, we are all tourists!'' and she laughed and I realized that no matter how long I live here, I'm still just a tourist. 

Albeit one that rides their bike better than most. 

America, Oh America.

Maybe I should write about going home over the holidays this past December.

After living in Europe (see, I'm doing it already) for about 4 months, my world had already gotten adjusted to this new way of living.  
Of everything being so much smaller.
Of riding a bike everywhere (and not having a car).
Of being in a restaurant where everyone seemed to be inordinately close.

When I got back home, I was amazed at just how much space we have.  Just...s p a c e. The roads are wider, the aisles in the stores are wider, the room for restaurants is more, there's just more, more, more.

Of course on the flip side, at 30% obesity rate, apparently we need the space. I wonder if all our space made us want to grow into it - like a child with their older brother's pants, we just couldn't wait to expand into all that space that was given to us.

However, after having been back for 3 weeks and quickly gaining 5 lbs during this time, I do have to blame our easy access to sugar-laden food, a high-dependency on cars, and relatively sedentary lifestyle as the likely source of our body's manifest destiny.

I didn't see home as some bad place - I think a lot of Americans come home and either say, "THANK GOD!" or say, "This place is horrible...when I lived in Europe..." For me, it was just a place - a very comfortable place that I love and care about and feel very patriotic towards. At the same time, I know that there are lots of places in the world where one can build a home and feel just as strongly about. It's really about figuring out what parts of life are important to you and the best place you can live that can fulfill those wants.  

As for now, I am not 100% sure where the place is. You'd think I'd have figured it out by now, but alas, I feel I still have a lot more wandering to do.

But eventually I'll come home. 

It's been a while.

Hello Blog.

It's been a while.

I don't know why I stopped writing around October 22nd. 

I certainly didn't lack for things to be culture shocked about.  

I think maybe that's the time when it started to sink in that I lived in Europe. A continent away from pretty much everyone
I love and care about. I started to feel extremely isolated and question my decision about coming here in the first place.

That said, I don't regret that I did it. I think a lot of the choices I make are somewhat drastic, but in the end, I think I'm a better person because of it.

I'll work on writing more - if only to document this part of my life that will be short-lived, but will be continually brought up every chance I get later on..."You know, when I was living in Europe..."

Yes, I will be *that* person.

:)

Pizza Pizza.

Pizzapizza

Just when I thought I understood the Dutchies, they threw me for a cultural loop.

Last night, I had dinner at an Italian restaurant with 8 lovely Dutch people. I ordered a pizza, and contrary to most Dutch meals, this pizza was quite large. Despite being American, I wasn't able to finish all of it and after I was full, I still had about half a pizza left (see photo).

I thought to myself: "Self, I have half a pizza left - it would seem weird to just leave it here.  Plus with all these Dutch people around, they will think I am being a wasteful spendthrift."

So when the waiter came by, I asked him, "May I take this pizza home?"

*insert sound of a cartoon car screeching to a stop*

Suddenly, a table which had been full of talking and laughter just moments before, became focused on my recent request.

"Did you just ask to take home your pizza?"

"Yes...?"

"Like in a 'doggie bag'?"

"Um, yes....?"

"Interesting."

Interesting?  WTF?  You think I'm going to leave behind half a damn pizza?  A pizza that will save me not only money, but more importantly, the effort of making another meal tomorrow?  I thought you guys were Dutch???

I was utterly confused.

Fortunately, they all decided to elaborate.

"See, we Dutch don't take food home."

"We are taught to eat what's in front of us and finish it all."

"We don't want people to think we're poor and need to take food home."

These comments, and more, went against everything I thought I knew about the Dutch.

I would think the Dutch would take food home because it would save them time in making another email, thereby achieving rule #1 of being Dutch: Be efficient.

I would think that a Dutch person would only eat until they are full because well, they aren't a country full of fatties. Just based on the people I've seen, they seem to have a good handle on portion control.

And of course, being very money conscious and not wasteful, I couldn't imagine that they would pay for a pizza, only eat half of it, and NOT take it home.  And this is a country where you see people in a duck suit riding a bike while singing the theme from the "Andy Griffith Show" - these aren't the actions of people who care what others think. 

At least one thing that I've learned about the Dutch people seemed to remain true.  As compelling and interesting as it was that I wanted to take home half my pizza, I didn't feel judged.  At the end of the day, if you want to smoke pot, dance in the streets in a giant pink tutu, or bring a giant pizza box stuffed into your purse on your bike ride home, more power to you. The Dutch don't really judge people - they may stare in disbelief and maybe a bit of mockery, but they will still love you.

And I love them. And I sure as hell loved eating that pizza today.

Loud American.

Loudamerican

I always liked to think that David Bowie was singing about me in his "Young American" song. But given that he probably didn't know me then (it was 1975 when the song came out and we didn't first make love until the late 80's) and that the song isn't about some lost American in a foreign country, nor am I really young anymore, I just like to think it somehow applies to me.

It's like how I used to think Simon LeBon was singing about me in "Rio". (And we didn't make love until the aughts.)

Anyway.

Alas, I am not a Young American - and as I was reminded yet again at my first-ever personnel-development course - obliquely called "Communication Course" - I apparently am a LOUD AMERICAN.

The course, I guess, is being taught to us to help us communicate with different types of people. The night I went, we all took a self-describing test which placed us within basically one of four groups and then we had to hold a meeting across our opposite group.

Easy. As. Pie.

Except when it got to my turn, as I was about to launch into a brilliant presentation which would surely turn them to my way of thinking, I was told to lower my voice.  WTF?  Lower my voice?  I can't lower my voice - you people have to raise your listening.  I'm American!  We speak loudly and carry a loud-ass stick. We saved you people in WWII!

The thing is, compared to other countries, we are loud - but we never hear it because we're just around each other all the time. You never really notice it until you are in another country and a group Americans come into your hearing range and you think, "Ah, there's my people!"  

So yeah, anyway, when in Rome, and in this case, Amsterdam, another one of my cultural adjustments will be the attempt to keep my voice lower and speaker slower. Also apparently you also can't really be self-promoting and brag about yourself - somehow self-confidence and salesmanship is somehow bad. Not sure how many more personality traits I can cut from myself, but I can work on it. (Mick Jagger never seemed to have a problem with me when we made love in the 90's, but whatever.)

The thing I have to remember is that I am really awesome and if anyone can learn how to fit in with these Dutch people, it's ME. AMERICA!!! F YEAH!

Dutch Sugar Cow Patty.

I saw these things in the window of a bakery in Amsterdam. I found it interesting that there is some sort of Dutch dessert (snack? special occasion food? cat toy?) that looks like a colored sugar-based cow patty. I included a picture an actual cow patty so you could admire my astute observation.

(download)

French Bikes.

Frenchbikes

The French have bikes, too! I saw somewhat surly French people riding bikes in Paris using these awesome rent-a-bike things where you basically can pick up a bike, bill the rental to some sort of transit card, ride the bike, then put it another one these racks somewhere else when you get to your destination. 

Given you're sharing this bike (the handles, the seats, the every part) with complete strangers, but it's a lot better than having to put 20lbs of locks on your bike everyday (as I do in Amsterdam) and lock it and hope some junkie doesn't want to steal your 300 euros bike and sell it to someone for 20 euros.

Still, the Amsterdamnites are #1 in terms of bike riding as a way of life. Paris isn't really built to accommodate bikes - very few bikes lanes, and I am not sure if cars have the same approach to bikes as they do in Amsterdam. In Amsterdam, you can ride your bike like a jerk, and the cars will still put up with you.In the US, the cars might just swerve and hit you for fun, call you a low-emissions dirty hippy, and tear off in their SUV.  

Not that there is anything wrong with that, I am just saying that Dutch cars seem to take more care with human life and don't see someone who rides a bike as some poor bastard who can't afford a car.

Weird French Dude.

Weirdfrenchdude

 

I took a picture of this French dude while taking the metro in Paris.  Sorry about the somewhat blurry picture - it's hard to take surreptitious photo of someone a few feet away from you.

So why do I think he's weird?  He looks normal, right?

No. He is not normal. He is a grown, adult man who has a damn razor scooter. Am I to understand that this man is wearing an Izod shirt, little yuppy shorts and Oakley-looking sunglasses and riding around Paris with his black briefcase on a razor scooter?

Definitely a weirdo. Ladies, these are the French guys your mom warned you about. 

Ah, France.

Ahparis

The most awesomest thing ever about Europe is that it takes like 12 minutes to go to a completely different country.

Okay, maybe that's a bit of an exaggeration, but when you're used to driving a lot in the US and here you can hop on a train (with WiFi) and be in Paris in 3.5 hours, it's pretty damn amazing. One minute I'm surrounded by unnecessarily tall, blond and overly organized Dutch people and in the next minute I'm with people more like myself - small, dark, and with a sorta surly attitude. 

I mean, the French aren't surly surly - they just seem kinda defensive. Like at any minute someone is going to just destroy their culture if they aren't careful. They were generally nice, besides the few tourist scams that were attempted - but those weren't real French people - just some enterprising immigrants who thought offering me a fake gold ring that they found so they could demand money later or a string-friendship bracelet that would be gently woven on my hand in return for a monetary gesture of friendship, all in all, it was a very nice city. 
I do wish my French was better and I would definitely consider moving to Paris for a year if only to become fluent in French and impress other people with my vast command of, well, something.  After listening to Dutch all the time, listening to French was like cold water on a very hot day. No offense to Dutch, but it just ain't that pretty to listen to. 

Yes, Paris is beautiful (I submit this photo as proof), and at the same, I think I like Amsterdam better. There's something familiar and comfortable here. I dunno. Just can't explain it.  
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