Grey

The introduction day at the Maastricht Graduate School of Governanace was a grey, rainy, cold day.  It was the first such day I had experienced in Maastricht after a month of warm blue skies.  That afternoon the dean of the school said, ""Welcome to fall in Maastricht!  Now that the weather has changed, it will likely stay like this for the next nine months."  I had expected this.  In my research about Maastricht, I had discovered that it seemed similar to Seattle in terms of climate.  I had resigned myself to the cold and even the rain....though I was rather apprehensive about the combination of the two.  Still, I failed to account for the grey.  Every morning, you open the curtains and see...grey.  The leaves change colors, and the sky is grey.  Today it rains, and the sky is grey.  Some days it is warmer, and the sky is grey.  Some days it is cold, and the sky is grey.  Grey....unrelenting grey.

The Way They're Learning Me

I haven't posted in ages...and I can make a lot of excuses about that, but mostly I just haven't found anything I've felt compelled to write about.  I briefly considered an entry about toilet brushes after I found a sign on the toilet stall door at school that read, "Please use me.  I feel bored and lonely. Thanks, The Toilet Brush"  This briefly led me to think on the cultural difference between a place where the toilet brush is conveniently located next to the toilet for all toilet users to use and a place where the toilet brush is reserved for cleaning staff.  It also seemed an interesting nod toward sanitation given that in bars here "washing" a glass consists of the bar tender dipping it in some water for about 5 seconds.  But, ultimately, this topic didn't bear enough weight for me to think much beyond that.

To be honest, there still isn't much I feel like writing about.  Sure, I have a laundry list of petty complaints I could make about my life here.  I could write about my incredulity at actually being yelled at by a store manager for asking a question of an employee.  I could write about my crappy bike and my extreme aversion to it.  I could also write about how cold it is, and how I'm about 90% sure that the radiator in my room doesn't work at all.  But this is all just garden variety FML-type fodder.  It's not the sort of witty banter I hoped this blog would consist of.

So...what can I say?  I still don't know what to write to you about.  People here really do talk about "learning" you....as in "I'm going to learn you about governance."  It always amuses me, but more and more it seems like a fundamental issue in my life.  Where students\faculty do not understand English well enough to know that it is simply impossible to learn me, is there really much room for them to teach me anything in an academic sense?  I still hope that the answer may be yes...but my experience thus far has been an emphatic no.  I find myself in a place where the tutor who leads the class often wildly misunderstands the book and then spreads her misinformation around confusing students who were not previously confident in their own understanding.  For the first time, I feel spoiled by LSMSA and Hendrix.  I miss having professors whose thoughts I trusted and having peers with whom I could have stimulating, nuanced conversations about the topics of the course.  But this is only the first course, and perhaps I am judging prematurely.  Perhaps there is in fact much that these people have to learn me...much that I have to learn.

A Quick Note to Americans Traveling Abroad

Dear American Travelers,
As a fellow American, I must beseech you to stop making such asses of yourselves. Standing in the street spewing obscenities because you've been forced to ride a bicycle in The Netherlands not only makes you look like an idiot, it makes all Americans look bad by association. I realize that you're 40 pounds overweight and that taking up bike riding after years of inactivity is a challenge, but you chose to get your fat ass off the couch and venture to a place where bike riding is the norm. In fact, it is what they're known for--bikes, wooden shoes, and windmills. I just don't see how you could have missed this memo. How did you think you'd get from place to place here? I mean really. What I am trying to say is, when I can walk up to a crowd and instantaneously know that you're a stupid American, it's a problem. I have to work harder to convince people that we don't all suck.  Also, can you please stop making McDonald's your first stop upon arriving in a foreign country?  They actually have better fries at the Friture directly across the street.

Ok, thanks.

P.S.  Being from New Hampshire does not make you cooler than anyone else.  Nor does attending American University.

I'll only complain about this once...

I've always wanted to be one of those travellers who catches the train and sees all of Europe in one pass and casually eats gelato each afternoon while spending their evenings drinking at terrace cafes, but I am not that person. I am not that person for one important reason...I can't afford to be that person. No, I would not even go so far as to consider myself a budget traveller. I dream of want one could actually buy with the insane amount of $50 a day (okay, honestly, I've never considered that budget...nor do I understand how Rachel Ray can pretend that is cheap). Still, the fact remains that I consider a 5 euro meal a luxury. If I am actually minding my budget, I have roughly 100 euro a month...3 euro a day. I have...nothing. And yes, I am quite aware that there are starving children in Africa who could do amazing things with my 3 euro. And, of course, these things need to be kept in perspective, but I feel that you must know this because it is central to my impression of living abroad. You see, being poor abroad is somewhat like being poor at home. Only without the bonuses of friends and family that want you to get out of the house from time to time. Instead, you have to severely limit your activities, which is also less enjoyable than it might be given the lack of tv programming to occupy those otherwise fruitless hours. Sure, there is walking around to be done. There are sights to be seen...but you can only idly look at things so much. When I received this scholarship, everyone was raving about what an amazing opportunity I was being given, and to be sure it is an amazing amount of money, and a chance at furthering my education and by extension my career...But my greatest fear was that it would be like my last trip to Europe. Interesting, new...impoverished. I worked feverishly to a-pay off all debt and b-save up money, but to no avail. When you receive a big scholarship, it is not evident up front that you will spend upwards of $6,000 in upfront costs before you ever leave home ( you know, for minor incidentals like planes tickets, residence permits, health insurance, etc.). They also don't make it completely clear exactly how long you will be in your new country before receiving any scholarship funding...3 weeks and counting so far. So try as you might to prepare, you may find yourself quickly depleting what little savings you had after the $6,000 you hemoraged at home. And let's be clear, the 3 euro a day estimate is my funding post-receipt of the scholarship funding...because as you may or may not be aware, the exchange rate is miserable....ablsolutely miserable. In short, what I'm trying to say is that being an impoverished traveller is not as fun as you probably think it is, and receiving a large scholarship is a lot more stressful than you might believe. This is, in fact, what I long suspected and feared...and it is true. I feel like I cannot be the first to have this experience, and it is a wonder that no one else mentions it. I suppose no one wants to come off as a petulant child, and I don't mean to...but I feel that you must know that stressing out about this issue is a MAJOR part of my experience here. Especially given the impossibility of employment in The Netherlands. But like I said, I'm only mentioning it once...because I don't want to be ungrateful and because I know no one really wants to read about how terrible it is living in Europe.

Dutch Class Recap

This is Raoul, one of my three Dutch teachers. I found Raoul wonderfully amusing for 4 reasons:
1-He bears a striking resemblence to Michael Stipe (of REM).
2-He is, in his own words, half-Buddhist, which lends a very zen quality to him.
3-He always used a little bell to get our attention after breaks or at the end of an exercise.
4-He brought a plastic crown with him to class and just set it on the table...for days we all wondered what the purpose of this crown was...


Well, it turns out that when he was exceedingly pleased with a response, Raoul would crown students king/queen of The Netherlands. This is the best thing about Raoul in my opinion. Above, I have received the crown for the second time...because I am an outstanding student.

I saw this sign in the window of a school for advanced children. The sign explains that Obama is trying to fix all of the things that Bush did wrong and how he is a hero for "all people with the color black." It concludes with some comment on racism and the democratic state that I don't quite get, but I find it so interesting that a young Dutch child wrote this. What do we know about other countries' leaders? Even as adults? As a young child, could I have said anything at all about international politics? No. Definitely not. It is amazing to me that a child knows this, and wonderful to me that the American president should be described as having a "warm heart." What a change! Can Americans stop being viewed in such a negative light because of our leaders? Yes, we can!

Walk with Me

This is the infamous door. The fickle door that so challenged me. Imagine my joy when I heard one of my new roommates struggling to open it. It's not just me!

On my way to dutch class, I walk down many streets. One such street is called zakstraat or "pocket street." I find it so aptly named. It is not pictured, but you can imagine what a pocket street might look like.

This is Her Blessed Statue...at least, that is what she's called in my head. She sits to the left of the main gate at the university. I do not know why.

Just up from Her Blessed Statue, you'll find the Big Bishop (again, my name) the wall behind him also has a wonderful painting that is marred by graffiti, but it's still quite pretty.

These baguettes are delivered to this restaurant before it opens. One morning, I watched a garbage truck roll by as this bread hung there, and I worried about the sanitary implications of that.

Bikes...pretty much what you expect here. I've learned you must avoid "wild parking," though. Bikes need been in their place not parked willy nilly all over the sidewalks.

I pass this canal. Sometimes it smells and I wonder if it is not just a fancy looking sewage canal. Probably not, though.



This donkey is my favorite part of the morning walk. Why a donkey? I couldn't tell you. Eee Aaaa.

The roman era city wall and the entrance to the school.

The school as seen from atop the city walk. No, I don't usually go up on the wall on the way to class in the morning, but I thought you should see the building. it used to be a church, and in one of the lecture halls there is still holy water so you can cross yourself as you go in to visit the graves in the wall. I tried to take a picture; it didn't come out.

Dutch Fat Kids

I want to bring to light a hitherto little known fact about the Dutch. Yes, we all know they ALL speak English (an impression that I do think could take some modification), but were you aware that here in the middle of Europe lies a fat kid population just waiting to...eat? I've come to this conclusion based primarily on one important fact--the Dutch put sprinkles on their bread...and their biscuits...and really anything. That's right, sprinkles, like you'd put on a cake. But these sprinkles are not for special occassions, except for that glorious meal that is breakfast...and sometimes lunch...and yes, I suppose also for special occassions. These sprinkles are not sold in some dainty container on the cake aisle. Oh no, my friends, they've got a whole shelf full of cartons of sprinkles. Cartons. Of course, there are other contributing factors to the fat kid state of Maastricht. There's the variety of prepared potato salads to be found at every grocery store and the deep and abiding love of cheese. Do not be fooled by their bike riding and seeming fitness. Here in the south, they are likely riding to their next meal. On my first day in town, while being served delicious vla (a sweet pudding/custard type pie dish that can be made with a variety of fruits on top...also another testament to the thinly veiled fat kid mentality), I was told that should I gain weight while here in Maastricht, that would be "no problem." No problem indeed. Where there are fat kids handing out free vla, rest assured, I'll be there.

Excuse Me, Can You Help Me?

This is how I've begun a rather embarassing coversation with multiple strangers today. You see, the sad, awful truth is that I cannot open my front door. The door knob is deceptive. It does not turn. In fact, I believe that it has no real function other than to taunt me as I desperately turn my key back and forth while slamming my shoulder into the wood. The concept seems simple enough: turn key, push. And yet today I have frequently found myself on my doorstep with no prospect of entry. The first person I encountered during my epic struggle was an elderly Dutch woman who spoke no English. She indicated an upper lock in the door suggesting that I needed an additional key. However, the upper keyhole is unused, and as I tried to convey that point, the woman gave up on me as a lost cause and continued on her way. Meanwhile, I continued fussing with the key and trying uselessly to push and turn the useless doorknob until an english speaker passed by. She was kind enough to open the door and even welcomed me to my new home. The latest endeavor with the door require a young bicyclist to put down his case of Heineken and come to my aid. He informed me that opening the door was "quite easy actually." I practiced once while he stood by and...SUCCESS! It seems I've been turning the key the wrong way. I hope this will mark a new beginning with the door, and I feel compelled to go outside and ensure that I have mastered the trick of this faux-knobbed door. However, the fear of being stuck outside is too great to risk it. Eventually, I will have to leave, of course, and we shall see who will be the victor.

The Truth about Trash in The Netherlands

As an American, trash has never been an important issue in my life. There really has only ever been one trash-related question, "do you recycle?" Like a choose your own adventure novel, the potential answers offer a few different paths.

Path 1-- Yes.
Directions: Proceed to recycling bin with glass, plastic, paper, etc.

Path 2--Yes, but only certain items because our city does not process everything.
Directions: Proceed to recycling bin with "yes" items, toss all others in the trash.

Path 3--No.
Directions: Toss all items into the trash.

However, I have come to understand that The Netherlands does not espouse such simplicity. While certainly an adventure, Dutch waste disposal does not allow you to opt out of thinking about your waste.

The trash system as I understand it is as follows:

Step 1: Purchase special waste disposal bag. This bag is available at your local grocery store.

Step 2: Sort Waste
This is where things get tricky because one must learn to differentiate different garbage types. Proceed cautiously.

Garbage Types:
Type 1--"Normal Waste" We will return to this description because let's face it, to an American, pretty much all waste is normal. See Path 3.
Type 2--"Green Waste" Do not confuse this with the American "recyclable" category. This must include only compostable waste, veggies, etc.
Type 3--"Paper Waste" Paper products.
Type 4--"Special Trash" This seems to be everything else that does not quite fit into the other categories i.e. glass bottles, plastic bottles, cartons, and tins. For the most part, recyclables=special trash. However, not all plastics qualify as "special trash" some must go into the "normal trash." Thus, "normal trash" becomes the other category.

Step 3: Dispose of Waste
Now where this gets truly complex is at the pick up stage. The average American town features the easy to remember weekly pick up system.

Not Maastricht.

The trash schedule in Maastricht is as follows:
Every Wednesday-Normal Waste
Every Other Wednesday-Green Waste
Every Other Month-Paper Waste
Never-Special Waste Note: Special waste is to be dropped off at various specified locations. With no car in sight, this means biking the trash up the street.

This complex system of waste disposal offers but one path: Keep written trash explanation and schedule near trash receptacle.

So this is the adventure I have chosen, trash charts in the kitchen and carrying garbage up the street on my bicycle.

The truth about trash is that I never really thought much about it, and now I'm going to have to think about it, sort it, and carry it around.