I realize the hypocrisy of my situation, given my aversion to cyclists, previously described in a post cursing their very existence. But, I proudly announce that I'm now the owner of a Dutch bicycle (as they say, when in Rome...). Everyone cycles here for a few reasons: there is nowhere to park, the whole country is perfectly flat - no hills anywhere, nice wide bike lanes make it easy to get around, and I'm sure there are others. Notably, the above conditions do not exist in San Francisco and therefore I will not be continuing this behavior at home. I will, however, go back to complaining about cyclists on the road and continue hating the fact that I have to share it with them.
My bicycle is not "Dutch" simply because I bought it here - there are certain characteristics that make it so. It has no handlebar brakes, but the back-pedal ones you may remember from your training wheels days. No fancy graphics or metallic paint, just flat black with delicate gold letters - almost retro looking. The seat is rather high and the handlebars curved, so rather than appear "sporty" when riding I look more like one of the Double Mint twins (or maybe the wicked witch from The WIzard of Oz). I have little bell to alert others of my presence - perhaps the hardest part of the selection process. I endeavored to find one that sounds polite, yet assertive. I don't want to offend anyone but don't want a wimpy sounding bell either. I think I found the perfect one, people seem to respond positively when I use it.
The other must-have accessory is an industrial strength lock. I bought two locks (one for each wheel) and together they came to almost half the price of the bicycle. Bicycle theft is a national pastime here, and it is a common saying that if you live here long enough you'll buy your original bicycle back from a junkie eventually. I toyed with the idea of talking with one of these unsavory characters but eventually decided to play it safe karmic-ally (let's be honest: I'm afraid of how they smell). Anyway, I decided to purchase one from a store here in Amsterdam which offers a decent selection and standard quality Dutch service (read: nonexistent). I'm not sure if it's a good bicycle or even what makes one bicycle better than the next, but I'm happy with my purchase anyway.
Riding a bike is obviously not something you can forget how to do, in fact there is even a cliche saying about it. Presumably, I should have been able to just leave the shop and ride off into the sunset rain. Not the case. Think back to learning how to drive a car. Physically coordinating your actions to make the car go where you want is not difficult. But once you get into traffic, learning to process all of the sensory input and becoming relaxed with it takes time. That translates to cycling as well. I have not ridden a bicycle since I was in college - and then it was on a campus, very different from busy city streets. What I'm trying to say is, don't judge me for what I'm about to say unless you've tried it - its harder than you would think!
I left the store, satisfied with my new bike and excited to hit the open road. By "excited" I mean terrified. And by "open road" I mean a bike path that seemed much wider when I was avoiding it while driving my car. After a wobbly start and some shaky maneuvering, I felt like I wasn't riding the bike but rather pleading with the forces of the universe to let me make it to my birthday in one piece. The heavens sent me two things: a red stop light (finally) and a bright idea - I decided to get my balance in a safer spot: the park. So off I went, headed toward beautiful Vondelpark to practice riding my new bike. Pride kept me from just walking it there, so my first task was to make it to the park entrance. Easier said than done when you've only mastered right hand turns and are trying to avoid stopping (well, actually I was avoiding getting going after stopping). I passed the park entrance a few times before finally making it into the safety zone. Yeah right - the park was also crowded only there were no markers for where I was allowed to ride and others to walk. So much for that idea. After a trip around the park it was almost time for dinner, so I headed toward my favorite restaurant to meet some friends for a pre-birthday celebration...
It was on my way from the park to the restaurant when I happened upon what may be the best bike riding strategy ever devised. There I was, riding along the bike path, trying not to die when I came upon a motorized wheelchair rider. Still too nervous to loosen my death grip long enough to ring the bell, I wasn't sure how to alert him of my intention to pass. Yelling seems rude, but sneaking up on him might be scary for both of us. Other cyclists breezed past with the precision and skill of Lance Armstrong - I was afraid if I tried to pass I'd hit the curb and fall over onto him which I'm pretty sure is even more rude than yelling in any culture. After a few blocks of pedaling slowly and trying to figure out how to get around him I realized I was doing a pretty good job of just maintaining my balance and not getting hit by a car. It occurred to me that slipstreaming (that's an official cycling term for you rookies out there) was the perfect tactic for several reasons: 1) other cyclists passing by took a wider approach; 2) his speed is limited by horsepower thus setting a comfortable pace; and most importantly 3) motorists are more aware of a wheelchair rider than a clueless American girl on a bike for effectively the first time.
So on we went together - an old Dutch man and me. We made it about 4 more blocks before he realized I was behind him. At least I think he realized I was there because he started trying to lose me. I think he was pretty freaked out, understandably so. I would be freaked out too if someone was stalking me in my wheelchair. He must have known that turning left was my Achilles heel because he threw me off his trail about 2 more blocks away by doing just that. Luckily all his meandering in an effort to lose me left me in a rather quiet neighborhood with minimal traffic. I made it the rest of the way to the restaurant on my own and lived to tell about a great dinner with great friends.
Everywhere you go here in Amsterdam, you will see Dutch people riding bikes the way Americans drive cars: talking on cell phones, not using their hands to steer, eating, smoking, disciplining their children, you name it. For now, this American is going to keep her hands on the handlebars and leave those other activities for where they belong - in the car (just kidding!).
So far, here is what I know:
Mijn naam is Lauren. Ik won in Amsterdam. Ik ben uit America. Ik houd van wijn.
(My name is Lauren. I live in Amsterdam. I am from America. I love wine.)
The mosquitoes in my apartment have resorted to psychological warfare. Despite my attempts, I am losing the battle. This may be my last post, it is hard to say - for I am certain that one morning I will simply have been completely devoured by my winged flat-mates. These are not just any insects, they're a rare breed (hopefully) specific to this area and unlike any I've ever come across. They are calculating, sneaky, and manipulative and they are at once driving me crazy and eating me alive.
In Alaska, the mosquitoes are rampant for about two weeks in the summer. I had the pleasure of spending a week in the Prince William Sound during that exact time of year, and got to know them quite well. They're the size of dragon flies, it is a long-standing joke that they're the Alaska state bird.
Despite their size and overwhelming numbers, you can trust the Alaskan mosquitoes. You get the sense they're just flying around waiting for you to stumble into their path. When you do, they bite you through two layers of clothing and let you go on your way. They're scary as hell, but there is nothing sneaky about them.
In Oregon, they're tiny but aggressive. Anyone who has moved sprinkler pipes in the summer can tell you that Oregon mosquitoes are a force to be reckoned with. They are unlike their Alaskan cousins in that a swarm of Oregon mosquitoes will smell a human from across a 60 acre field and charge toward her with amazing speed and force. You feel like Winnie the Pooh being chased by the honey bees, and it has led people to do some crazy things (like covering oneself in mud to prevent their bites - don't ask).
I can't tell for sure, but I imagine they are also highly choreographed. If you remember the scene in "Finding Nemo" where the school of fish is teasing Nemo's dad you may know what I'm talking about. I think if I were less edible, I would like to stick around to find out more about their capabilities there.
In Montana the mosquitoes, like the people, are sparse. You rarely have to deal with more than a few at a time, and then they are slow and easily swatted (not that the people are slow and easily swatted, some of my favorite people are from Montana and I would never imply such a thing).
In Amsterdam, the mosquitoes are part insect, part demon. I'm not kidding. Somewhere along the evolutionary line one of these pesky bugs mated with Satan himself to produce a mutant line of highly specialized human eating machines, and they live in my apartment! I knew when I took the place on the canal that it would be a risk, but I do love the location and so I chose to deal with it. Mind you, my most recent experience was with the slow, swattable, Montana mosquitoes with whom I really wouldn't mind sharing a place with so I suppose my memory was a bit cloudy.
The mosquitoes in my apartment are predators. They wait until night time to strike, and only when I'm in bed. I leave the light on in the other room, hoping it will distract them but they are too savvy for such juvenile tactics. Once I am soundly tucked in the stalking begins. One at a time they approach my face (the only part of my body that is not covered in layers of protective cotton). Here is the clincher - THEY DON'T BUZZ. They are stealthy little bastards and they know better than to give up their location. They also know that once I fall asleep I'll be an easier target and I can't do that with them buzzing around my head. So they scout the situation: they fly close, wait to see if I swat at them, and stay just beyond arm's reach. I'm pretty sure they then report back to the others. I know they're there, I can see their grim outline in the faint light from my window and I can feel the air from their wings on my (apparently tasty) skin. So I lie there in fear, waiting for them to strike - but THEY DON'T. I feel them all around me, hovering, waiting, watching. But they are patiently waiting for the command from their leader (who I am pretty sure lives in my closet).
This dance has become a part of my nightly routine. I fight off my need for sleep in an attempt to avoid the inevitable. Once I finally give in they make their move, they crawl down into the covers to bite the backs of my knees, the spot between my shoulder blades that I can't reach, my feet (in places that rub against my shoes). Every 45 minutes I wake up, I try to catch them at it, I roll around hoping to squish them while they feast but to no avail. And so, I surrender. Usually around 4:30am I drift to a cautious state of sleep, knowing that I will wake up covered in itchy red battle wounds, with circles under my eyes and the groggy, clumsy, morning personality of someone who partied all night. But my state of disarray is not because I'm hung over, it's because I'm hunted. In my own place no less, where a girl should feel safe and relaxed.
This war has slowly begun to take over my days as well. Any slight breeze, a floating piece of fuzz catching my peripheral vision, a stray hair tickling my arm sends me into a frenzy. I can no longer see the line between the dark reality that is my situation and the 6 legged villains that haunt my waking dreams. When will it stop!?!?!?!
I know there are solutions - like citronella candles, a mosquito net perhaps. It all sounds like a good plan, but where would you go to buy these things? That's right - Target. And they don't have a damn Target store here. I don't know where to buy the weapons I will need to continue fighting this war - I have asked, and I have looked, but I remain unarmed and fear that I am close to defeat. So if anyone knows where in Amsterdam to buy Mosquito repellent, candles, traps, or insect-seeking missiles, please share!
I got home from a very long day at work today and was thrilled to see the news that Hillary decided to concede the primary. By the time I could log on and blog about my excitement the story had been corrected.
Shame on you, Associated Press! This is not the first time election results have been prematurely (and inaccurately) announced - remember 2000?
The good news is Obama's candidacy is only delayed, he's not going to lose. By the end of this week my beloved Barack will be able to focus on beating McCain in November.
Come on, Hillary, this is embarrassing (for you) and has gone on long enough! I mean I like you as a candidate and all, it was a tough choice for me - but step aside.
Please pardon my rant, I am extra sad about this because I won't be able to watch Jon Stewart address the whole mishap on The Daily Show. And that's just not right.
As I get used to life in the Netherlands, I am beginning to realize there are some things I can't picture going without ever again, and some I don't know how I will survive the next 18 months unless I can find them here. At the risk of whining, or revealing how little I know about the world I live in, I've listed a few of them here:
Things I Love
- Chipknip (Smart Cards)
- Multi-function appliances
- Flower markets
- Driving sensibly
You can use your bank card like a debit card where you enter your pin, but you also have a separate amount which works like cash (called Chipknip). Once you put it on the card, it is there. If you lose the card, it can't be recovered - this also means that machines can accept it without a network connection since your identity or funds available doesn't have to be verified (like a laundromat card).
I have always thought the reason we don't have this system in the US is that it's not feasible - but they're everywhere here. You can pay parking meters, public phones, the cafeteria - it's fantastic and you don't have to carry change for everything.
I had no idea there was such thing as a washer SLASH dryer. Not a stacking unit where they both fit in the closet - it is ONE machine. You put dirty clothes in and get clean, dry clothes out! It is like a miracle, a dream come true. But as with other things, you must be careful what you wish for. I have already shrunk about 4 items because I wanted them "extra droog" and didn't realize that 60 on the dial meant degrees Celsius and not minutes in the spin cycle. Lesson learned...
But wait, there's more! I also have an oven SLASH microwave! It is small, only a little bigger than a toaster over but it can also microwave things! You can put plastic in there, or reheat your tea - it's nuts. I don't know how that works, nor do I care, but I am damned excited about it as you can see.
Just one canal over from my apartment there is an open air flower market that is open every day. They have every type and color of flower imaginable - several variations of my favorite (lilies). Each stem is the diameter of my index finger and standing on the floor the blooms reach up to my waist! And then as if it couldn't get any better - they're only EUR 7.50 for a bunch that is too big for just one regular sized vase. You can't beat that.
I've come along way since my last post about driving - I'm even praising it now. There is a law here that makes it a higher penalty for passing on the right than the one for speeding. As such, everyone just passes when necessary and then gets back over in to the appropriate lane. Traffic actually flows and you don't spend your morning behind some a** talking on the phone and going 45mph in the fast lane (not that I would care, because as I mentioned before I am now a patient and forgiving driver). It makes sense, America, try it!
Things I Miss
- Produce
- Box stores
- Pseudo-healthy convenience food
- Pedicures
Vegetables. I miss vegetables! I was spoiled in California having access to quality produce - those days are gone. You can't walk into a market with a list and expect to get tomatoes, zucchini, broccoli, lemons, and bananas. You have to walk in with an open mind and settle for the least pathetic looking of the severely limited options. There is no relief in dining out - salads are almost invariably the most expensive menu items and they are mediocre at best.
The Netherlands is not known for good food and I see why. I can also see why they're the tallest on average of any country. Dutch people love meat and potatoes, anything deep fried, and they wash it down with milk. It's as far from California as you can be.
I know... how very un-San Franciscan of me. I can't help it, I miss Target. I cannot even count the number of kilometers I have walked and hours spent trying to find basic things. They have a different store for everything here. There are absolutely no one-stop shops for groceries, toiletries, and household items. It makes shopping an all-day event - but on the bright side I think I am more conservative since I dread having to go find these things again!
Hopefully I redeem myself a little bit when I say I miss Cliff Bars and banana chips. As I mentioned above, there is not much of a demand for anything remotely healthy here. I know of a British/American grocery store but I am trying to acclimate and get used to the local customs so I've been avoiding it. Let's be honest though - I can only go so long before giving in!
Gone are the days of getting a fresh Mani/Pedi every Saturday for $25. I could walk 4 blocks, go right in without an appointment, and read trashy gossip magazines while the girls tried (often successfully) to talk me into the extra foot massage for only $10 more.
I have looked for places here in Amsterdam, but have found only one that seems clean and it takes a week and a half for an appointment to get a EUR 36 pedicure. The magazines are in Dutch, there is no extra massage, and quite frankly the woman is scary.
These are my initial observations about Holland - overall the good still far outweighs the bad and I look forward to getting used to life here and not noticing my bare fingernails or the extra chins I will probably develop as a result of eating fried meat on a regular basis.
