Adoption of homeland

Its quite comphrendable that I would miss life in the Netherlands. Most Americans ever-so-slightly left of the middle think its a fabulous place to visit; its repuation precedes it around the world, for better or worse. Drugs and hooker jokes aside, the Dutch lifestyle proved very compatible with my own ways; being highly independent and proactive, I careened through Amsterdam with joy. Everyday I had to learn and adapt, making up rules and languages as I went along. Sometimes the cultural difference would wear me out and I'd head back to the flat to listen to the canned sound of pure American English. I was alone and, I was alone. I met a lot of intriguing people abroad, from scores of different countries, all with something to offer, but my family (both blood and chosen) were in America. I can't deny the beauty of Boston that clear Friday afternoon. The bemused customs empolyee was kind enough not to laugh at my overt giddyness. I was home. The return to Siena eariler this month just completed me. I was back in my realm.

It is curious to long for something that was never really yours. Studying abroad is the chance to be a glorified guest; more tolerated than a tourist, but still not truly a part of that society. At first glance, your host is the best thing you've ever seen, much better than back home or anywhere else for that matter. As time carries on, you come to see it realness. Like everywhere else, there are pros and cons. Beautiful art and despairing poverty stand side by side. Young white supremists stalk past the Anne Frank House, leering in ignorant hatred. It rains, and in the Netherlands, that means it rains alot, at the most inconvienent times possible. America, despite it all, is not that bad - we actually have it so well and we never seem able to acknowledge it without leaving for years or enduring some national tragedy. I can not say I am proud to be an American, but I am grateful for the opportunities its citizenship have afforded.

And still, I just completed a half heartd search of jobs in the Amsterdam area. I surprised myself yesterday during French Toast preparation as I mulled over graduate school in the Netherlands. I recalled the horrible housing statistics I learned in Dutch social policy, blatantly ignored my lack of funding, and ultimately just resigned myself to looking over the many photos of my trip abroad. While my outsider status was often apparent, I felt a part of the city, which is a testament to the Dutch way of life. I was just one of a legion of foreigners living there, having my own life just as my neighbors were. Outsider or not, I miss it . I miss riding my bike along the canals, dodging soulless taxis and errant tourists. I miss the shimmer of the canals in the deep quiet of the night, as I walked out live's tribulations along the narrow streets of the Jordaan. The random joys and terrors of the Dam, the bawdy and obnoxious spirit of the Red Light District, the blatant honesty of the Dutch way. Self sufficiency within and without.

I dream of Dutch life at least once a week. I impart useless and unnecessary Dutch vocabulary on innocent bystanders. To gain entrance to my house, one has to undergo the vast collection of photographic evidence of my time in Europe. I'm happy to be back amongst my friends and family, but I miss Amsterdam. Proudly independent, both the city and I always maintained our separateness, but that's the way I work with best with others.

To Hold You Over While I'm out of Civilization

Just something I want to leave you with:


Now that you’re done giggling, let me share the thought of my Father that has been making me chuckle to myself all week. If you know our backyard, you’ve noticed the large field present. I couldn’t tell you how many times I’ve experienced this (Neil likes to recycle stories and jokes) in my young life, but still it makes me laugh. Dad would stroll into the field, strike above pose and ask, grinning,

“Do you know what I am?”
“No, Daddy, what?”
“I’m outstanding in my field!” (Insert ridiculous Segala laugh here)

Scene.

Love conquers all; Or, how Susan and Neil finally made it to Europe (Al would have made it here eventually)

*NOTE* I suck at updating; I know this. There's a lot of things that require my attention here, I'm sorry! I'll do better next time.


The Segalas were happily reunited for an unseasonably warm week in this here delightful city of Amsterdam. This in and of itself was practically miraculous, for several reasons.

Dad never had a desire to leave his own country, and if he was going to, he was going somewhere 1) like America and 2) Where they spoke English.

Mom doesn’t really care to fly; its 7-8 hours to the Netherlands from the East Coast.

BUT, obviously, if I’m in Europe, they’re coming to visit. To make a very long story of suffering short, their original flight was canceled, they were put on and taken off another flight, drove to JFK only to have to battle the airline that they had been switched too, and then finally getting on a later flight and were then separated for the duration of the trip.

I was here, only kind of hearing the story, explaining to my roommate (several times) that “My Mom really doesn’t like to fly, this can’t be good!” On my end, I had conveniently discovered the limit on my debit card, and had my account effectively frozen without warning – I guess I have a 500 dollar a day limit, which really sucks when you need to withdraw a thousand Euro.

This is truly “the ends justifies the means” type situation, but we get from the airport to their – breathtaking – flat without a hitch.

With only six days to experience all that Amsterdam has to offer, we set out immediately, making the 2 mile sojourn up to my flat, throughout the Jordaan, the Dam and the other surrounding neighborhoods. Since we did so much, I’ll highlight.

We went to the Artis Zoo. I was overjoyed, as usual. My immediate family (and one exboyfriend) are the only people who really truly understand my love for Zoos, aquariums, and the like. My parents paid 200 dollars for us to go to SeaWorld in Florida back when I was …16. So, I’m not outgrowing this anytime soon.

The zoo was very nice and had quite the selection; I wanted to steal several birds and make them my minions. They also had a baby elephant, monkeys that seemed dangerously in reach of human contact, and orange tulips. Mmmhmm.

The weather was summer-time hot for the first 4 days my family was here – which was amazing and I wish it would come back to me – but still did not stop me from making them walk several miles a day. We headed down to the van Gogh museum one of those 80 degree days and I finally got the chance to climb the “I Amsterdam” sign. Alex and I – and several dozen small Dutch kinders – scaled the height, posed for pictures, and discussed how this was a lawsuit waiting to hap…oh wait, this is the Netherlands. They don’t know what “sue” means. Hence the large amount of sexual harassment.
Speaking of, after cruising the Red Light District – and checking out chicks together – Alex began to calculate how much money he could make by trafficking me into the industry. His first asking price was insultingly low (um, 75 Euro? No) while his later estimate of 200 Euro was better – but that was the night he was going to sell me to a carful of greasy Italians. Thanks, bro.

While we didn’t actually fight when we were younger, we now enjoy waging small-scale wars against each other at inopportune times. Unfortunately for me, I tend to be at a disadvantage (despite my “man shoulders;” yeah, Alex’s creativeness, again). I stayed over in their flat several nights and ended up sleeping in Alex’s room. Dead tired, I would come back from the bathroom to find my pillows gone. When I regained them, an arm would reach over and drag all my blankets off (f’ing narrow canal houses!) Or it was the damn emo music, blasting ever-so-lovingly out of the glowing mp3 player that was being shined in my eyes.

Since Alex was here – and Daddy was $upporting the adventure, as he put it so well – we went to see “Hot Fuzz” at the Pathe down on Muntplein. The theatre was beautiful and the movie was absolutely hilarious. It will be on regular rotation in Cushing 104 next semester.

Having lent them all my guidebooks to peruse while I was in class, I was met with a request to go to the ElectronicA museum. While Mom and I weren’t overly interested, I had read it up and knew it was the kind of place made for Alex. We headed over on my break from classes on Wednesday. As we walked in the door, I spied a sign in Dutch and stopped to play that game I like to call “Let’s pretend that I can read Dutch well while all I’m really doing is staring at the words in hopes they reveal the secrets of the Dutch Universe to me.” However, in this sign, one word stood out: “pacemaker.” And a few more: “niet ingang” (no entrance). I literally jumped lithely back out the first entrance and proceeded to step behind the door as a shield, which a really interesting self preservation tactic I’ve taken up more recently. While I knew enough Dutch to cement that I was not allowed in the building, the front desk translated for sure. Vast magnetic fields, duh – I’ve had a pacemaker all my life, my Dad and brother know all about that type of thing, and still we just stroll right in like it’s all good. Needless to say, Mom and I cleared out while the boys continued onward.

With some time to kill, I took Mom for a cappuccino down the way. I then proceeded to astound her with my ability to use Dutch throughout the transaction of ordering, getting the check, and paying. While it doesn’t take that much, it still pretty good, considering my total lack of formal education in the language.

On their last night here, we went on a boat tour with Paap. The temperatures had dropped drastically by now, but the tour was spectacular. Paap knows a lot of interesting things about the city, and while it sounds cliché, there is nothing like seeing Amsterdam from the canals. With everything lit up and the waterways bustling, it was perfect.

I stayed over the last night, so I could see them off to the airport, before biking home. I was a great week, but it arguably made me miss home even more.

With that said though, I have a little over a month left in the gorgeous Netherlands, and oh so many plans. A few day trips here and there amongst the Dutch, a CIEE overnight trip to a remote island (God preserve my soul, ugh), Nice, France for several days in the sun, and finally Barcelona to conclude May. Expect stories and pictures, as I’m sure you were.

This one goes out to this hot chick I know, Katy DeCorah...

I has been brought to my attention that I need to blog so people know what I'm doing 24/7, so here's a mini update until the real adventure of this weekend occurs.

Jorge finally came through; I have a bike. (We secretly nicknamed the bike man because we have seen him more than any other individual in the past week). Its a pretty crappy bike, but that will hopefully deter thieves.

I also finally got to the van Gogh museum. It was, simply put, breathtaking. We discussed going everyday, but that seemed a little overkill. When I got to the metal detectors and refused to pass through them, the man took my word and had me hold his hand all the way around security, it was awesome.

In a uncharacteristic fit of spontanaity (sp?), we have decided to go to Maastricht for the weekend. For those who have no idea what/where/why (i.e. all of you), Maastricht is a lovely medevil town on Southern Holland where Carnaval/Mardi Gras is celebrated heartily. While we won't be there for the actual Carnaval (because we can't start skipping class already), we will be there for some liveiness. We have a hotel, now we just need train tickets and we're set. Blog will follow.

Now, I am getting ready to go out (who thought Tuesday was a good night for drinking?) for the Valentine's Day Borrel (gheyyyyyyyyy), wearing red pink. Rediculousness, just one more service I offer.