Leiden, the sea, and other things that are the bomb

The sun is the bomb.

   It is amazing how much more beautiful this country is in the sunlight.  Also, how much happier I am.  Vitamin D is totally underrated.

Sand dunes are the bomb.

    And so are the WW2 bunkers still intact along the walking trails just up from the North Sea.  While the bunkers are heavily damaged from weathering, graffiti, etc. and are mostly filled with sand, it is nonetheless fascinating to see them, and to recognize how much a landscape can change over the course of 70 years.  Where the hidden German bunkers once had a clear view of the sea, they are now mostly uncovered from the sand that once camouflaged them and have a minimal view of the sea, if any at all.

The North Sea is the bomb.

    It is absolutely beautiful and has gorgeous dunes around it.  As a perk, the aforementioned sand dunes keep the areas inland safe from flooding.  Win-win.

The beach is the bomb.

    Turns out that the two weeks I chose to come to the NL coincide with North Holland work and school holidays.  As such, the back-half of the beach was completely packed, even though we went on a Monday afternoon!  I had never seen anything like it before.  Nonetheless, Carole and I found a spot, and I got to stick my feet in the sea!  (Actually, to be more accurate, I ended up knee-deep in it during a walk along the (cold) water.)  The beaches are a lot wider than the beaches I've been to in the US (that is, the sea is farther from the dunes), and they are completely covered in people.  People as far as the eye can see!  There are food trailers (pulled by tractors), selling refreshments, ice cream, etc. that make their way up and down the length of the beach.  There are seasonal beach restaurants and beach houses that literally get taken down at the end of summer and are then built back up again the next year.  These Europeans don't play around with this stuff.
     Also, they have totally different senses of modesty.  Bare-chested women, naked children, men in speedos.  This is definitely not Kansas (or even Florida).

[no picture here...you'll have to see these in person!]

The shoes I bought near the beach are the bomb.

     I love a good pair of shoes.  These are a good pair of shoes.  I am thrilled.  I want to kiss whoever made these shoes.  And I want to thank the Dutch for having similarly narrow, long feet, and while I'm at it, for being tall.  Maybe I was actually adopted from this country?

Biking is the bomb.

     It is so awesome to bike in a country that actually supports biking.  There are bike paths, bike roads, and even garages to park your bike in!  You can bike to the beach, bike to the store, bike to work...  You can bike just about anywhere, and the Dutch do!  The parents are the best...they don't just bike, they get around with multiple children attached to their bike!

An efficient train system is the bomb.

    Today, I went to two separate cities--Leiden and The Hague--and it only cost me 15 euros and 45-60 minutes of travel time!  It can cost me that much to park in the French Quarter and/or takes me that long to get there via streetcar...if the streetcar even ever comes.

Leiden is the bomb(-diggity).

    Granted, I was only there for a mere 4 hours, but Leiden quickly became my favorite city in the Netherlands.  The city is small enough to walk, old enough to invoke awe, touristy enough to speak English, quiet enough to enjoy, and beautiful enough to run out of batteries in my camera.  On top of all of that, the city has its own app (called "Leiden Loop") that you can download for free from the app store.  It takes you to 24 different significant places in the city (never farther apart than a few blocks), all of which come with a notification sound when you get close to the landmark, a brief synopsis of the location's importance, and one or more pieces of media that enhance your understanding of the place.

     Also, Rembrandt painted in Leiden, the Pilgrims spent time in Leiden, liquid helium was discovered in Leiden, and Descartes and numerous Nobel prize winners spent time at the University of Leiden.  At one point, I found myself thinking, "Oh man, the likelihood that Einstein and I have stood in the same place has never been this high!"
     Yes, I am aware that I am a nerd.

Palaces are the bomb.

     I don't care how terrible absolute monarchy is.  One thing we are sorely lacking in America is old palaces.  Versailles is still my favorite (I mean, the gates are literally made of gold!), but I must say, the palaces I've seen this week, like the Vredespaleis in The Hague (which houses the UN International Court of Justice, among other things), were not too shabby.

Being back home is the bomb.

    No matter how amazing a trip and adventure may be, there is nothing better than getting back home, using the bathroom for free, and putting my feet up, all in preparation to share just how good of a time I had.

July 22: An Exercise in Mimicry

There is nothing like trying to figure out how to get to mass on time in another country, or the pleasure of accomplishing that very mission, even when you don't speak the language.


***


It has been an interesting 48 hours, culturally-speaking.  I feel a little as though I've been standing at the Four Corners of culture, stuck at the juncture of various languages and customs and navigating them all without serious faux pas.


Take yesterday, for example: after having a delicious lunch-time encounter with mustard soup (a dutch favorite) and wandering an open-air market on foot and by bike, Carole, Michiel, and I then spent the evening eating pizza at a restaurant called Woodstone Pizza and watching The Dark Knight Rises at the Pathe' theatre across the street.  Soup and biking were a breeze, though I admit there were moments of discomfort anytime I had to communicate with a local.  I find that any time someone speaks to me in Dutch, I immediately freeze and look to Carole or Michiel for help, despite the fact that the Dutch person probably speaks English better than I do.  Still, I feel out of place for not being able to speak the language and occasionally awkward for not knowing the customs.  At dinner, I expended way too much mental and physical energy trying to eat a pizza with a knife and a fork, working myself into homesickness (I just wanna be home and eat with my hands).  Eventually, at the encouragement of my hosts, I gave up on utensils.  And it was good.


The movie was similar in culture-confusion: an American movie, cast with many UK/international actors, in a French movie theatre, surrounded by Dutch people, eating oddly-shaped bags of M&Ms and popcorn.  On top of all that, I kept trying to read the Dutch subtitles (habit, I suppose) only to repeatedly realize that I cannot read Dutch.  Not that I haven't been trying to pick up the basic elements of the language.  I've figured out a few words here and there, but most of the time, the Dutch language might as well be background music.


So, as you might imagine, I spent a good deal of time at church this morning not listening to the priest, simply because I had no earthly idea what he was saying.  He could've been preaching about Jesus's love, or he could've been giving rave reviews of the Fifty Shades of Grey books.  For all I know, it was heresy supreme, and everybody was in on it.  Meanwhile, as the possibly heretical liturgy unfolds, I'm trying to sit respectfully on what feels like half a pew, figure out where we are in the mass, and kneel at appropriate times on the uncushioned slab of wood by my feet.  I pass much of the time looking over the Sunday readings/Liturgy guide in my Prions En Eglise (in French) and occasionally joining in with the choir, who is oddly enough singing mostly in German.  At one point, I am so lost at where we are in the mass, and flipping so furiously (but quietly?) through my book and the Dutch handout, that I almost miss the Consecration.  You know, the part where he holds up the wine and bread and consubstantiation happens?  It's kind of an important part, I think.  I am one of the only young people in the entire church, and definitely the only one who mispronounced the Dutch responses and songs as badly as I did.  By the end of mass, I gave up on trying to blend in and took this picture of the church with my iPhone, officially announcing my tourist-ness to all the old people around me.  Still, when it took an hour searching online last night and a solo reconnaissance mission at 8:30 this morning to figure out where the church was, what it was called, and when mass began, I felt vindicated.  Booyah, Heemstede church, ik win.

July 19: I Love Honkbal

Miserable weather has limited my activities the last two days, but I saw blue skies for the first time yesterday. So, after two days of quick trips--a walking tour of Amsterdam from an American friend of Carole's studying there, multiple visits to T-mobile to figure out the prepaid sim card's issues, some window shopping, and a Dutch birthday party (just smiled, nodded, and ate cake)--we finally got to do something super fun and super Dutch: Honkbal.


And so, I give to you...


Top Ten Reasons Why I Adore Dutch Baseball:


10. The Name
       It's called Honkbal, for heaven's sake.  It actually sounds fun.


9. American Baseball Traditions
      They sing Take Me Out to the Ballgame and the YMCA.  They stretch at the 7th inning, and they do the YMCA.  There are peanuts and beer.  They will rock you.  There are Yankees hats (plus a few other pieces of MLB paraphernalia) throughout the small stadium.


8. Pass the Cheese, Please! 
      Fans are literally passing around containers of cheese to share with other fans in their section.  These people are so damn friendly.


7. Let's Just All Get Along
       There were children.  There were old ladies with backpacks full of oxygen.  There were a lot of people dressed in orange.  Everybody got along.  Everybody had fun.  And when they lost, they stood up and applauded their team and the other one, too.  This is what baseball should be like.


6. Are You Irish?
       There is a lot of singing...and a good amount of drinking, too.  Just when I thought these songs, belted by everyone of every age, were happy--like their rhythm and tone suggested--Michiel's friend Stijn would translate them for me.  "In this one, the man has a terrible wife...then he breaks his 'chains' and leaves her."  "This one is about a kite...that he attached a letter for his mother to and sent to heaven."  "This one says 'you're ugly when you get close.'"


5. Party Time
       There is a tented dance hall with a DJ right outside of the stadium.  Need I say more?


4. Rave, Anyone?
       Before the game starts, and intermittently throughout the game, the music guy plays lots of House music.  Everyone sings and dances.  If only it had been darker and they'd all had glow-sticks...


3. Song and Dance
       And they are constantly singing and dancing.  Imagine a Saints game, but a much smaller crowd of people in orange, where everyone is singing, entire sections are dancing (sometimes the same dance), and no police are being called because nobody is throwing punches, flinging insults, or cussing.  And the music is upbeat (but sad).



2. 3rd Base is Where It's At!
       Stijn found us four great seats in what I am told--and fully believe--is the 'rowdy section.'  People stand, they cheer, they sing, they dance, they fling ice at people (lovingly) and make fun of each other and themselves (lovingly), they pretend to be the ESPN America cheerleaders or those guys who shoot t-shirts at the crowd, they start the wave.  There are even impromptu poetry cheers: over the course of the game, multiple Dutch fans make up 4-line poems.  They get up in front of the crowd and shout their poem, line by line (the crowd echoes it back line by line), and then everyone erupts into singing.  [Right?!?!]



1. It's Baseball
       Same rules, same game.  In the end, it's an All-American, All-Dutch pastime.  What's not to love?

July 17: Venturing Out

Apparently, I'm still jet-lagged and my body still isn't quite sure where I am.  I thought for sure that I'd had a quick adjustment period--I woke up at a normal time yesterday and felt good--but I suppose I gave myself a little too much credit.

After a nice late-morning walk in the woods with Beau (my canine friend) and Carole (my godmother), Carole and I ventured into Haarlem, the closest city, and wandered around for a few hours.  I was quiet and trying desperately to think of something to say, so Carole wouldn't think I was miserable or a terrible person, but I failed.  I was hollow.  In retrospect, I'm pretty sure I was functioning on a level just a notch above sleep-walking.

Around 1:30, we got a cup of coffee/hot chocolate (I had the latter) and discussed the iPhone we'd just activated for me while I'm here in the NL.  And by discussed, I mean that we talked a little bit, but mostly we looked at various (Dutch) magazines and occasionally commented on them to each other.  Sleep-drinking.

We had to drink fast, though, because I was set to go on a tour of the Ten Boom house, a place where some large number of Jews stayed during their escape from Nazi control--something akin to the underground railroad houses that existed during slavery in the US.  The first portion of the tour was the back story.  Everyone on the tour--except me, of course--had read the book that Corrie ten Boom had written, "The Hiding Place," and so many of them already knew the story.  I, on the other hand, had no idea.  I tell you this to explain the vested interest I had in listening to the story.  Plus, there was life or death at stake for the people in the story.  Still, twenty minutes in, I was literally holding my eyes open with my fingers as we sat and listened.  Between the dark, cool room and the tour guide's soothing voice, I was struggling to continue sleep-listening and was falling into straight-up sleep mode.  I was being rude--there were only 7 other people on the tour, and I was sitting directly in front of the guide--but I couldn't help it!  I rubbed my eyes.  I shifted positions.  I blinked constantly to keep my eyes from rolling back into my head, but they just kept rolling and blurring!  I just kept thinking, what happens if I DO fall asleep?  And what happens if I have to keep up this almost-unconscious state for the next hour of the tour?  What happens to Corrie, Betsy, and their dad?  Well, I found out the answer to the first pretty soon thereafter when I jerked back awake after what I suppose was a split-second of sleep.  That little jerk kept me awake for a little while, but luckily we got to the end of the story soon enough, and we began to wander the small house on foot.

So, the story.  Or at least what I was awake for, and I'll keep it short.  The ten Boom family helped--if I heard correctly--hundreds of Jews take refuge for a period of time in a small, hidden room in their house, that you accessed through the bottom of a cabinet.  Eventually, they got ratted out by a neighbor, but the police only found the extra ration cards they'd hidden in a baseboard.  So, the ten Booms were taken away to a concentration camp, but the Jews that were hidden at the time (six of them in this tiny, tiny room!) were released by a couple of good police officers who already knew they were in the house.  The dad and older sister died in the concentration camp.  Corrie, the youngest, lived and spent the rest of her life working to repair the brokenness the war had created in Europe and across the world.

I was much more animated after the tour (maybe power napping is a real thing?), but nonetheless, Carole made me take a 30-minute nap when we got home.  I felt much better afterwards, but I think it probably hurt in the long run.  I have never been an effective napper.

We ate dinner with her husband, Michiel, and then walked through Heemstede, their town, to get some air, let the dog out, and hustle her in-laws for some tiramisu at their nearby Italian restaurant.  Best. Tiramisu. Ever.  Also, really good mint tea.  And really nice people. (I probably should've mentioned the people first.  Man, I am on a roll with the rudeness.)

The succeeding hours were spent in front of a computer screen, trying to figure out the details of the iPhone: how does it work? why do I have less credit than was paid for? why is there no back button on an iPhone?  why doesn't this website have a translator, dammit?  I managed to mostly answer the first question for myself, and I used Google Chrome for the last, but the other two are still mysteries.  Nonetheless, I finally set up my internet, SMS text, and phone.*  Score one for communication.

By this point, it was 11pm.  I was proud of myself for staying up so late.  Hell yeah.  I'm practically a Dutch person now.

Of course, what I didn't realize then was that the nap, the tiramisu, and multiple hours staring at a bright screen in a dark room would keep me awake a lot later than that.  Here's to hoping I don't nod off again today.



*Wnt 2 txt me? I downloaded Viber and What's App.  Check me out, yo: 31 06 18 72 03 51.  But don't actually call me the regular way--that would cost a fortune.

July 16: Avoiding Sleep, But Not the Rain

"This is the third rainiest summer in the Netherlands since they started recording in the 1700s."

My godmother, Carole, and her husband, Michiel, met me at the airport yesterday around noon with their dog and this was one of the first facts about Holland to come out of their mouths.  As I began to realize over the course of the day, it is one of the more important facts to know for my time here.  While the morning was apparently bright and sunny, we spent the afternoon attempting (but failing) to avoid the rain.  There were plenty of successes, but staying dry was not one of them.  I may need to make some trips out of the country if I want to see a blue sky.

Success 1: Arrive Alive
The flight over--from Dulles airport to Amsterdam Schiphol--was one of the easiest flights I have ever taken, even including domestic flights.  I got to the airport super early, ate dinner in the terminal, had a couple of lovely phone chats, read some of my book, and then got in line to board.  When, for some reason, my ticket didn't scan properly, I worried, but it ended up being for the best: they gave me a new seat right next to an empty one.  I boarded easily, stowed my carry-on easily, and actually slept pretty well.  I was only kept awake a few times, by the annoying sound of a kid's toy phone (seriously, mom?), multiple water/meal carts (second dinner at 11pm? yes, I ate some), and the ache of an uncomfortable sleeping position (I am too tall, even to lay across two seats).  I woke up for good about an hour and a half out, so I watched a couple of dumb tv shows until we started our descent and I could stare out at the North Sea, its waves, and the occasional shipping vessel.
The descent was easy--minus a kid throwing up on the way down (gross, mom)--and I got to see Amsterdam and the beach from the air: windmills, sheep, sailboats, buildings,...the whole shebang.  The deplaning and arrival was even easier.  The customs agent asked me a couple of questions and let me through, my checked bag came out literally as soon as I walked up, and Carole was standing at Arrivals as soon as I walked out.  In the grand scheme of things, it was a nearly flawless flight.

Success 2: Beaux
I hadn't been in Holland for more than 30 minutes before I'd bought the house dog with affection.  If it was allowed, I'd have him eating right out of my hand.

Success 3: Bike
A success wrapped in discomfort.  Yes, we got the bike from one of Carole's friends for me to use while I'm here, but we also got drenched in the process.  Here's to hoping future bike rides are a little less wet.

Success 4: Catching up
Apparently Boston Legal plays on TV here.  Apparently I suck at holding focus in a conversation when there's a TV on.  I'd plead exhaustion, but I think I have this problem all the time.  Luckily, Carole's patient, and we have plenty to say about New Orleans, life, etc.

Success 5: Staying awake
I couldn't have planned the time of flight arrival any better, but by about 6pm here, I was struggling, and by 8pm, I was literally forcing myself to stay conscious.  Luckily, Carole was great and just told me to go to bed.  So I did.  For 11 hours.  Boom.

Success 6: Ezra Martin
Little E arrived a week early at East Jeff, and he is one handsome little boy.  Can't wait to meet him. Lots of love to the new mom and dad!  <3