*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.
Showing posts with label pancakery. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pancakery. Show all posts
Sunday, May 6, 2007
Monday, April 9, 2007
Easter in Amsterdam
While you were all off to your family estates, I was celebrating this holy week in a largely atheist city. Of course, that’s perfectly fine for me – still to this day, no one knows how I ended up at Catholic School. Nevertheless, I still celebrate Easter and Good Friday (yeah, I know, supposed to be a solemn day. Day off from school, I say, so praise Christ) and this would be the first – and probably the only – year without a family gathering.
I started the weekend doing the best to occupy myself – doing homework, spring cleaning, absinthe, but still, as Easter Sunday approached, I was slightly grumpy lunch. In an attempt to pacify myself, I slept in, then made pancakes before getting all dressed up (read: actually getting dressed for the first time in almost three days) and heading over to plantage.
There were not many CIEE individuals left in the city of Red Lights, as many were traveling and/or with family over the long weekend. Several of us orphans left here decided it was only fair to throw ourselves an Amsterdam style Easter dinner.
Megan was in charge of the menu; I showed up to carry supplies and help cook. Tory and Ned sliced bread and made salad, while Megan, Sully, and I did most of the cooking. Megan’s very zealous and a-mazing menu included:
Spinach dip
Bruschetta
Chicken, with mysterious peppercorn sauce (it was all in Dutch)
Green beans
Bread
Salad
Mashed potatoes
Gravy
And dessert:
Pound cake with Caramelized bananas and ice cream
Now, of course, with so many cooks – and so many college cooks – practically everything was done at different times. The mashed potatoes were a successful, first time attempt by Sully; I don’t think he realized how long it would take to boil them to a satisfactory mashing point. The chicken was chopped up as it cooked. The spinach dip, bruschetta, and most of two loaves of French bread were all gone by the time we actually sat down for dinner. An hour and a half later, dinner was served. The meal was a resounding success all around.
It wasn’t the traditional Easter dinner per se, but pretty similar to many I’ve been privy to. Violent placing of food on plates,some yelling, inappropriate conversation topics…sounds like home to me.
After dinner – and a marvelous dessert – I headed home to skype the family celebration going on at Mem’s. I got to talk to almost every person present, which was awesome. Just an example of the glory that is my family:
Jon (my cousin): “Hey Cupcake”
Me: “Helllllllllllllloooo, what’s up?”
Jon: “Oh, you know, just being a silly goose.”
Then we talked about how I’m making him and Uncle Jay proud in my time here and also how we both despise all liquors that are licorice flavored (we are not meant to drink jager in my family).
In continuation of the holiday celebrations, I spent an hour at the gym this morning and then went to FOAM, a photography museum late this afternoon (yes I find both of those activities entertaining). I’ve also done no homework – this post is clear evidence of that.
And now, the productiveness begins as my parents arrive on Friday!
I started the weekend doing the best to occupy myself – doing homework, spring cleaning, absinthe, but still, as Easter Sunday approached, I was slightly grumpy lunch. In an attempt to pacify myself, I slept in, then made pancakes before getting all dressed up (read: actually getting dressed for the first time in almost three days) and heading over to plantage.
There were not many CIEE individuals left in the city of Red Lights, as many were traveling and/or with family over the long weekend. Several of us orphans left here decided it was only fair to throw ourselves an Amsterdam style Easter dinner.
Megan was in charge of the menu; I showed up to carry supplies and help cook. Tory and Ned sliced bread and made salad, while Megan, Sully, and I did most of the cooking. Megan’s very zealous and a-mazing menu included:
Spinach dip
Bruschetta
Chicken, with mysterious peppercorn sauce (it was all in Dutch)
Green beans
Bread
Salad
Mashed potatoes
Gravy
And dessert:
Pound cake with Caramelized bananas and ice cream
Now, of course, with so many cooks – and so many college cooks – practically everything was done at different times. The mashed potatoes were a successful, first time attempt by Sully; I don’t think he realized how long it would take to boil them to a satisfactory mashing point. The chicken was chopped up as it cooked. The spinach dip, bruschetta, and most of two loaves of French bread were all gone by the time we actually sat down for dinner. An hour and a half later, dinner was served. The meal was a resounding success all around.
It wasn’t the traditional Easter dinner per se, but pretty similar to many I’ve been privy to. Violent placing of food on plates,some yelling, inappropriate conversation topics…sounds like home to me.
After dinner – and a marvelous dessert – I headed home to skype the family celebration going on at Mem’s. I got to talk to almost every person present, which was awesome. Just an example of the glory that is my family:
Jon (my cousin): “Hey Cupcake”
Me: “Helllllllllllllloooo, what’s up?”
Jon: “Oh, you know, just being a silly goose.”
Then we talked about how I’m making him and Uncle Jay proud in my time here and also how we both despise all liquors that are licorice flavored (we are not meant to drink jager in my family).
In continuation of the holiday celebrations, I spent an hour at the gym this morning and then went to FOAM, a photography museum late this afternoon (yes I find both of those activities entertaining). I’ve also done no homework – this post is clear evidence of that.
And now, the productiveness begins as my parents arrive on Friday!
Sunday, April 8, 2007
When Egos Collide
…now, enough of that thought-provoking, semi-intelligent rambling; let’s talk adventures. By now you probably have all safely and accurately assumed that Boswell and I managed to not kill each other during his visit last week. We represented Americans well; we did not end up as a headline.
After almost a three month period of not seeing each other, it takes less than 15 minutes for Boz to launch the first fat chick joke.
“What? I couldn’t let that one go.”
“Please, let’s just try to survive 24 hours.”
Was there any hope? We decided to encourage good will by breaking out a Siena standard – drinking together. Making sangria was the only thing actually on the itinerary for the weekend, and we wasted no time in accomplishing our goal.
Now, as you all know, I love sangria, it is truly a celebratory drink, except when f’ing Siena Security raids your room and takes its all. But this was a mildly celebratory evening and the Dutch are as laid back as Siena is uptight, so it was a fail proof plan. As we are preparing this heavenly beverage, I forget that irony rules my life, and make a truly poor thought statement:
“You know, red wine makes my head hurt sometimes, but if it’s in sangria form, it never makes me sick.”
Some of you already know where this is going, but I think all of you can see where it’s going. Anyways, several glasses of sangria later, we headed out to meet up with Molly for a bit. …the night’s festivities are cut just ever so slightly short when it is determined that sleep would be most beneficial for Maria.
The next morning commences with “Maria still loses” and “how did you even manage that?” Word to the wise: don’t mix antibiotics and wine.
I rallied though, of course, and we spent a good amount of time wandering the city and shopping before more sangria – I don’t learn – and booze and pancakes at Lenore’s, which was amusing. I had given a precursory warning to my friends here – “he’s my friend, but sometimes – read: often – he’s offensive” but everyone managed to play nice. We recounted my failings of the night before and discussed other similar college-style adventures of Siena, because our parties at Siena are comparable to other, much larger schools. We really do pre-game harder than most people party, though I’m not sure if we should wave that banner around.
The gallivanting continued: photography museum, shopping, apple pie and beer, watching soccer (yeah, a first), wandering. Shortly after Boz’s arrival, there was more alcohol in my flat than had ever been yet this semester and by Friday it was gone. Being it was Friday night though, we headed to the Red Light District. The weekend nights are when the best of the best are on display – “first class,” if you will. That is, in comparison to “economy.” The Red Light District is such a fun place to bring visitors – we all do it shortly after a new person arrives. The RLD was even better than normal this weekend for several reasons:
1)Tons (more than regular) drunken British; applauding each other as they emerged from the girls’ locales, taking over whole sports bars, waving their asses out of bar windows, advertising “50 Euro, 50 Euro.” Oh the Brits, they really might be more hated than us on the continent.
2)Red Light District Open House on the 31st – got into the (in)famous Casa Rosso, where a much tamer show than advertised was going on, got to see in one of the girls’ apartments (though, that’s an overstatement; it’s a bed, sink, and chair really), and the unveiling of the first monument to Sex Workers in the world. The monument's content/form had been an object of debate for days; it turned out to be a mildly unimpressive woman standing in a doorway.
3) As a feminist, I hate to admit this out loud, but walking around this city with a male makes life easier – no strangers blowing kisses or smacking their lips, no comments, and no harassment at the hands of the sex show bouncers. It was a nice respite from the daily sexual harassment that Europe regularly gifts me.
As usual though, the RLD proved entertaining every time we went – and we just seemed to keep on wandering back into it.
As if life in Europe isn’t interesting enough, as I was getting in touch with people about going out Saturday night and received the following email from Molly:
“Can’t [go to a bar] I’m going out with Kristen to smoke her Mom up.”
It was quickly decided that this was a must see. It was one of those kinda amusing, kinda awkward experiences – though Molly is so chill, I love her – watching a mother, her son, and her daughter’s friend (Kristen doesn’t smoke) pass a bowl around. Oh Amsterdam.
That, my friends, is the story of two egos coexisting within the same general area. In reality we had a good time, and I only threatened violence once…and roofies, but that is another story you may or may not hear.
After almost a three month period of not seeing each other, it takes less than 15 minutes for Boz to launch the first fat chick joke.
“What? I couldn’t let that one go.”
“Please, let’s just try to survive 24 hours.”
Was there any hope? We decided to encourage good will by breaking out a Siena standard – drinking together. Making sangria was the only thing actually on the itinerary for the weekend, and we wasted no time in accomplishing our goal.
Now, as you all know, I love sangria, it is truly a celebratory drink, except when f’ing Siena Security raids your room and takes its all. But this was a mildly celebratory evening and the Dutch are as laid back as Siena is uptight, so it was a fail proof plan. As we are preparing this heavenly beverage, I forget that irony rules my life, and make a truly poor thought statement:
“You know, red wine makes my head hurt sometimes, but if it’s in sangria form, it never makes me sick.”
Some of you already know where this is going, but I think all of you can see where it’s going. Anyways, several glasses of sangria later, we headed out to meet up with Molly for a bit. …the night’s festivities are cut just ever so slightly short when it is determined that sleep would be most beneficial for Maria.
The next morning commences with “Maria still loses” and “how did you even manage that?” Word to the wise: don’t mix antibiotics and wine.
I rallied though, of course, and we spent a good amount of time wandering the city and shopping before more sangria – I don’t learn – and booze and pancakes at Lenore’s, which was amusing. I had given a precursory warning to my friends here – “he’s my friend, but sometimes – read: often – he’s offensive” but everyone managed to play nice. We recounted my failings of the night before and discussed other similar college-style adventures of Siena, because our parties at Siena are comparable to other, much larger schools. We really do pre-game harder than most people party, though I’m not sure if we should wave that banner around.
The gallivanting continued: photography museum, shopping, apple pie and beer, watching soccer (yeah, a first), wandering. Shortly after Boz’s arrival, there was more alcohol in my flat than had ever been yet this semester and by Friday it was gone. Being it was Friday night though, we headed to the Red Light District. The weekend nights are when the best of the best are on display – “first class,” if you will. That is, in comparison to “economy.” The Red Light District is such a fun place to bring visitors – we all do it shortly after a new person arrives. The RLD was even better than normal this weekend for several reasons:
1)Tons (more than regular) drunken British; applauding each other as they emerged from the girls’ locales, taking over whole sports bars, waving their asses out of bar windows, advertising “50 Euro, 50 Euro.” Oh the Brits, they really might be more hated than us on the continent.
2)Red Light District Open House on the 31st – got into the (in)famous Casa Rosso, where a much tamer show than advertised was going on, got to see in one of the girls’ apartments (though, that’s an overstatement; it’s a bed, sink, and chair really), and the unveiling of the first monument to Sex Workers in the world. The monument's content/form had been an object of debate for days; it turned out to be a mildly unimpressive woman standing in a doorway.
3) As a feminist, I hate to admit this out loud, but walking around this city with a male makes life easier – no strangers blowing kisses or smacking their lips, no comments, and no harassment at the hands of the sex show bouncers. It was a nice respite from the daily sexual harassment that Europe regularly gifts me.
As usual though, the RLD proved entertaining every time we went – and we just seemed to keep on wandering back into it.
As if life in Europe isn’t interesting enough, as I was getting in touch with people about going out Saturday night and received the following email from Molly:
“Can’t [go to a bar] I’m going out with Kristen to smoke her Mom up.”
It was quickly decided that this was a must see. It was one of those kinda amusing, kinda awkward experiences – though Molly is so chill, I love her – watching a mother, her son, and her daughter’s friend (Kristen doesn’t smoke) pass a bowl around. Oh Amsterdam.
That, my friends, is the story of two egos coexisting within the same general area. In reality we had a good time, and I only threatened violence once…and roofies, but that is another story you may or may not hear.
Monday, February 26, 2007
48 Hours of A'dam Stereotypes, or Maria and Laura are reunited in Europe
After an enjoyable Friday evening at the van Gogh and a local cafe, I eagerly awaited the early morning arrival of Ms. Daingerfield. Shortly before 7 AM, we were joyfully - and loudly - reunited in the lobby of Prinsengracht. We quickly settled in and after probably waking up most of the first floor, we went back to sleep.
At noon, we met Kristen and her visiting friend, Em at the Pancake Bakery for a delightful meal, in which it was deduced that every life situation can be improved by the application of powdered sugar. We cruised the Noodermarkt and then met up with Molly at the Botantical gardens.
That evening, we prepared a romantic meal of gnocchi - Maria cooked, Laura videotaped. A little Dane Cook and a Nip/Tuck episode later, it's just like home.
We head to Rembrandt Square around 21:00 to meet up for some adventures. Picking a bar is worse than going on a blind date; no one has any preferences, or at least, won;t just come out and demand them. So and so wants to watch the Madrid v. Madrid game, but the bar listing it is currently showing a France v. who knows rugby game. One place is crowded; oh wait, it's Saturday night, every place is crowded. In one possibility we would be the only women - isn't that what some of you want? All I want is a drink that is not beer and is less than 8 euro.
We end up in a cafe, and I initiate a conversation that proves to be foreshadowing.
"What song would a locale have to play that would encourage you to leave?"
...And I'm talking bad. I tend to be pretty opinionated on music (yeah, and everything else) and often find myself trying to understand what the f the Europeans are thinking when they make club playlists. My votes for tonight include "Every time we Touch" and recent Gwen Stefani songs.
In the continuing epic to find a bar, Molly votes for "Club Cafe Smokey;" most likely because of the adjacent sister coffeeshop with the same name. Drink prices are alright, and when we first get there its not too crowded. People are smoking inside alot (weed and cigs) which only aggreviates my fastly developing cold.
The nights soundtrack commences with a large amount of Justin Timberlake's most recent album, some Sean Paul, and then it hits...M.C. Hammer. When I hear "can't touch this" start, I am standing at the bar, gesturing my dislike across the room to my table.
We then get the bright idea to request shitty songs. First order; "Call on Me." We're not sure the request was understood, but oh yes, "Call on Me" starts, we scream, as usual. Continuing in the amazingness of shitty music, out of nowhere it happens "Cuz every time we touch..." More screaming. The rest of the night is a mess of more JT and AKON.
We meet more Manchester men and other parts of England (we attract them like flies, its awesome) including a pretty decent looking guy who tries to make eye contact several times, but I am too lazy to socialize. As usual though, we make lots of new friends. By midnight, its packed, and security is harassing up to check our coats and leave. On principle, we leave and after a debate about more partying, Laura and I walk home in the pouring rain, only to crash joyfully into bed.
Sunday was less eventful; I got us lost on the way to the Rijks, we cruised the Red Light District and had INDIAN! Which I had been saving my first trip to share with Laura.
Upcoming adventures: A chartered canal tour, a rainy day diversion for stir-crazy kids like L-Dog, and the Bible Museum (really not joking).
At noon, we met Kristen and her visiting friend, Em at the Pancake Bakery for a delightful meal, in which it was deduced that every life situation can be improved by the application of powdered sugar. We cruised the Noodermarkt and then met up with Molly at the Botantical gardens.
That evening, we prepared a romantic meal of gnocchi - Maria cooked, Laura videotaped. A little Dane Cook and a Nip/Tuck episode later, it's just like home.
We head to Rembrandt Square around 21:00 to meet up for some adventures. Picking a bar is worse than going on a blind date; no one has any preferences, or at least, won;t just come out and demand them. So and so wants to watch the Madrid v. Madrid game, but the bar listing it is currently showing a France v. who knows rugby game. One place is crowded; oh wait, it's Saturday night, every place is crowded. In one possibility we would be the only women - isn't that what some of you want? All I want is a drink that is not beer and is less than 8 euro.
We end up in a cafe, and I initiate a conversation that proves to be foreshadowing.
"What song would a locale have to play that would encourage you to leave?"
...And I'm talking bad. I tend to be pretty opinionated on music (yeah, and everything else) and often find myself trying to understand what the f the Europeans are thinking when they make club playlists. My votes for tonight include "Every time we Touch" and recent Gwen Stefani songs.
In the continuing epic to find a bar, Molly votes for "Club Cafe Smokey;" most likely because of the adjacent sister coffeeshop with the same name. Drink prices are alright, and when we first get there its not too crowded. People are smoking inside alot (weed and cigs) which only aggreviates my fastly developing cold.
The nights soundtrack commences with a large amount of Justin Timberlake's most recent album, some Sean Paul, and then it hits...M.C. Hammer. When I hear "can't touch this" start, I am standing at the bar, gesturing my dislike across the room to my table.
We then get the bright idea to request shitty songs. First order; "Call on Me." We're not sure the request was understood, but oh yes, "Call on Me" starts, we scream, as usual. Continuing in the amazingness of shitty music, out of nowhere it happens "Cuz every time we touch..." More screaming. The rest of the night is a mess of more JT and AKON.
We meet more Manchester men and other parts of England (we attract them like flies, its awesome) including a pretty decent looking guy who tries to make eye contact several times, but I am too lazy to socialize. As usual though, we make lots of new friends. By midnight, its packed, and security is harassing up to check our coats and leave. On principle, we leave and after a debate about more partying, Laura and I walk home in the pouring rain, only to crash joyfully into bed.
Sunday was less eventful; I got us lost on the way to the Rijks, we cruised the Red Light District and had INDIAN! Which I had been saving my first trip to share with Laura.
Upcoming adventures: A chartered canal tour, a rainy day diversion for stir-crazy kids like L-Dog, and the Bible Museum (really not joking).
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