Shiermonnikoog

Shiermonnikoog: with a name like that, you bet your ass its going to be…a nearly deserted island in the Noord Zee. 1000 permanent inhabitants, livestock, little English, and CIEE thinks it’s a great idea to take 30 American college students up there for the weekend.

We arrived in a downpour; immediately an executive decision was made.

Overheard: “If we’re just gonna be sitting around, no reason to do it sober.”

However, while the Netherlands has a strange similarity to New England, the deluge stopped, and the sun began to shine. We embarked on rented bikes with questionable breaks, into a natural world of trees and sheep and savanna like fields. We then promptly got viciously lost. Riding into a gale-force wind along a dijk, calling for directions wasn’t even possible; you couldn’t talk over the gust, nor were there any identifying landmarks. “Well, we’re near a dike. There’s some waterfowl. I see a barn in the distance.”

In a feat of pure perseverance, we arrive back too late to catch the guided bike tour (though at this point, we only need a nap) but just in time to crack open a beer.

Dinner comes and goes. The rain commences, wanes, recommences; I’ve stopped noticing. We head to the beach for a bonfire and quickly head back in hopes of warmth and dryness. On the ride home, I am yelling – of course – about being able to ride this bike, as it is unfamiliar and has foot breaks, and out of the darkness comes a perfectly calm and unaccented English: “Are you sure?” Moving on, though the locals appear to enjoy our presence; at least we’re something different to look at.

Back at the hostel, the alcohol consumption is in full swing. The CIEE stocked Amstel is gone in less than an hour. All the beer our room bought is gone. And the best part of drunken college students trapped in small spaces together has begun: drama. I can sense it; its in the air – with this group, tension spurred by self righteous liberals (more often than not from California) constantly hangs in wait, but the bier has only lubricated a quicker descent into CIEE Shitshow: 2007. I think it’s a good time for bed, but I’m cool, chillaxing, but then someone does it.

“Maria, you can’t go to bed!”

Oh bitch please, watch me. I don’t need permission in life to do anything; trying to withhold it from me only causes extreme rebellion. At this point, Christ himself could be scheduled to arrive shortly, but the challenge has been made; I will prove you wrong, I will go to bed, I will be a stubborn bastard. Conclusion: Maria’s happily in bed.

And happily asleep until:

“Mar-ree-ah!”
“Mhmdhm, huh?”
“I just got slapped in the face by Emily; drama is going down!”
“What the fuck?!”
“Yeah, I’ll regale you with stories in the morning.”
“Uhhh, dank u wel!”
“Astu!”

Not long after that exchange with Sully, Molly comes in, overwhelmed by the tension in the common room. She brings me water as she tears around the room, recounting what is going on…but no one really knows for sure what’s going on. By what I’ve gleaned, a debate on gender roles has arisen.

Not long past this, Sully wakes me up again.

“I made Madeline cry.”
“Huh? How?”
“Well, I chose to disagree, and she chose to cry.”
“Well, what did you say to her?”
“I told her she was a lost cause.”

In hysterics, I advise everyone to go to bed and pass back out. When all was said and done the morning after, I was nominated as the smartest individual present, as my decision spared me so many opportunities for problems. I win. Not that that is new.
Sans alcohol (and plus a lot of hangovers) we head out on the mud flats with the epitome of the Dutch fisherman as our guide. There are several causalities to the mud, but it’s quite awesome – the ecosystem here is pretty similar to what I’ve experienced in the North Atlantic around New England. Check out my pictures.

The trip back is long and semi-painful, but we arrive home in A’dam an hour ahead of schedule; just in time for everyone to start laundry. Twas a good time, but I have to say, I’m glad there will be no more traveling with CIEE.

As we speak, I am 10 hours away from being in Nice, France. I’ll be back on Sunday; be ready for stories and joyness!


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