Apparently,

if I continue in this line of work, THIS is my future.

Bleak.

Den Haag and Amsterdam

Den Haag.

This past weekend I went to visit my friend Ben (whom I met in Bhutan, is from Arizona and now goes to NYU Law school) in The Hague in The Netherlands. Apparently, Holland is the only country in Europe where the seat of government is not in its Capitol, which is of course Amsterdam. It is located in The Hague. This supposedly has something to do with the Napoleonic Wars. According to my wonderful tour guide and wikipedia; after the Wars, Belgium and the Netherlands became a single country, the United Kingdom of the Netherlands. This was a protective measure against their powerful neighbour France. However, to be fair the capitol of this new country alternated between Amsterdam and Brussels every year. To avoid mass confusion in the Netherlands however, even though the capitol changed every year, the seat of government remained in The Hague full time. The two countries were separated in 1830, however the capitol continued to be Amsterdam, and the government remained in The Hague.

We had a great time, everyone in the city bikes around, after walking out of the train station on Friday night; I was greeted by a sea of bikes parked (sometimes precariously) in front of the station. Most of the streets have bike lanes, and if they do not, the bikes, cars and scooters weave in and out of each other in what looks like a sometimes nerve racking dance. So Ben and I rented bikes (see pictures) and biked around the city, going to The Mauritshuis museum where I finally got to see Girl With a Pearl Earring; which, ever since I’ve studied Vermeer in High School, has always been my favourite. We then went to the beach at Scheveningen right outside the city, and walked down the boardwalk, ate frits (so good), had a raw herring with onions (not so good),

and of course some delicious fruity beverages at a beachside restaurant and relaxed. I also visited the Peace Palace, the house of the International Court of Justice, which is the UN’s judicial body. Very interesting stuff, the main funding for the Palace’s Library and the Temple came from American Businessman Andrew Carnegie (somewhat reluctantly I think). Anyway, the idea is a good one even if the UN isn’t as authoritative as one would hope.

On Sunday, Ben flew back to NYC, (haha he has to go back to Law School), and so I spent the day wandering around Amsterdam, before I got on the train back to Brussels. Now my main impression of Amsterdam is the one I saw in the movie Eurotrip. I’m not going to even apologize for my inability to separate the real world from a fictional movie. It was a great movie. So my basic impression of Amsterdam was the introduction we saw in the movie, when the main characters check into their hostel and the woman at the desk says, “Hello, and welcome to Amsterdam's finest and most luxurious youth hostel. We feature one medium sized room containing 70 beds which can sleep up to 375 bodies a night. There is no bathroom. Nor is there one nearby. If you do not wish to have your valuables stolen I suggest destroying them or discarding them right now. You can also try hiding your valuables. In your anus. This will deter some but of course not all thieves. Once you are inside, the doors are chained and locked from the outside. They will not be opened again until morning, no matter what. Should a fire occur due to our faulty wiring or, uh, the fireworks factory upstairs you will be incinerated along with the valuables that you have hidden in your anus. Tips are greatly appreciated.”

I however arrived just before six in the morning, and walked through the tiny alleyways before the street cleaning crew arrived. The smell of pot and beer still heavy in the air, and many who had partied a little too hard the night before were still staggering back to their hostel or hotel or were passed out on the street, soon to be woken by the huge street cleaning vehicles that soon swept the streets clean. The city itself is an interesting mix of small narrow alleyways and canals that run south from the Central train station. I am planning on going back to Amsterdam with a friend of mine from work sometime in September, and will try to see the city at night, and hit the nightlife. But it was a great day trip just to get a feel for the city.

Anyway, I’m back at work now (blogging over my lunch break….God I’m cool). I’m meeting up with some friends after work today, which is a good thing as it forces me to leave work before 8 PM, which is when I left yesterday after getting into a fight with the service provider for our newsletter. Good times. And next weekend I’m heading home to Brockenhurst to see my Second Cousin Wiz, her Mom Alex and my Uncle John who are over to visit. So it should be good fun.

The Toilet Paper

For the first week I was here, I'm pretty sure the girl who I share a bathroom and kitchen with was on vacation. Apparently she is at university learning to become a teacher. Because of this, we have only recently come in contact with one another. Now due to the fact that I speak no French and she doesn't speak any English, our experiences with one another have been brief and almost silent except for the occasional greeting or nod of the head.

However, just because you do not speak with someone, it does not mean that you are not affected by them.

When I moved in, one of the first things I did was stock up on the essentials. I bought shampoo, soap, dish washing soap, laundry detergent and of course, toilet paper. Now don't get me wrong, I am not cheapskate, however, when I bought toilet paper I bought regular white two ply paper. It works, it's not too costly and I see no problem with it. Yesterday however, as I was brushing my teeth, I saw in the mirror something a little bit strange. On the toilet paper roll, where my white regular two ply toilet paper hung, was now, yellow quilted four ply paper with hearts on it, and my two ply paper had been taken off of the roll, and put on top of the washing machine.

Seriously.

My flat mate, took my half used roll of toilet paper OFF of the roll, and put her toilet paper (which she felt necessary to buy?) on the roll in its place.

OK.

Now, I was thinking about this while I was brushing my teeth. Does this mean that we are supposed to use different rolls of toilet paper? Should I continue to use my white paper, which was now sitting idly on top of the dirty washing machine? Or should I move up in the world and feel the bliss of four ply between my ...cheeks. I have no idea.

In addition to the toilet paper switch, it seems that none of my "basic supplies" were good enough for my flat mate. She moved my dish washing soap that was barley used at all, under the sink and replaced it with a different brand. She pushed my laundry detergent behind the machine and placed hers on top, sitting proudly next to my pitiful excuse for toilet paper.

It's not that I particularly MIND having these items moved, it's not like she stealing my food or using my towels. It's just really strange. And on top of that, I can't really talk to her about it because she doesn't speak English, so I suppose I will just see where all of my bits and pieces end up in the next six months.

The Fight and The Date

So, I've now been here for over a week. Work has continued to be a bit overwhelming, but the real test comes next week when Okie, the guy who had my job for the past six months, is no longer around to guide me, and I am truly on my own. More to come on that.

However, this has been an interesting few days. Firstly, on Friday, I went to my commune, to get my long term work visa. Now as a British citizen, I can legally work in Brussels, however, if I want to work there for more than two months, I have to get a Belgian ID, to do this you have to go to the headquarters of the commune you live in. The city of Brussels is divided into communes, with Brussels in the center and other ones surrounding it. (Think of like Queens and Manhattan in New York). I asked my landlord which commune I live in and he said Brussels. So, I googled the commune and found out I could get my identity card starting at 830AM.

I got there at 815AM and the line is out the door around the corridor and into the elevator lobby. Seriously. I stood waiting for over three hours. As I got close, I was about three people from the front, this man dressed in a disgusting shade of green steps in front of me. Now, for the past three hours, I have been standing behind a black woman dressed in bright pink with a screaming baby. I KNOW where I was, and after waiting for this long, there was no way in HELL this guy was going to push in front of me. So I simply said, "excusez-moi monsieur, the end of the line is over there". He turned, gave me a look that would freeze a lava field and said, "I do not speak English, you must speak French", and turned back. (He said this in perfect English mind you).

OH HELL NO....

So I replied, (whilst giving him an equally chilling look I hope) "La ligne est là-bas". He ignored me. So I said LOUDER, "escusez-moi, la ligne est là-bas". Then he turned, looked at me, and started SCREAMING in French. I have no idea what he said, but it sounded as though he was saying some not very nice things about me, and then the baby started crying LOUDER and his hands were going all crazy and his papers were flying everywhere...so someone called security and we were both brought into a back room.

Yep, I got hauled away by security. They basically told me that they believed me, but they ask that I don't do anything about the fact that this guy is an asshole line cutter and let it go. Because if they do have to escort him out (it's not like that's there job or anything) it would be SO much paperwork, so could I please shut up and let him go.

Welcome to Belgium.

Regardless, I didn't get to work until about 1:30pm that day.

So after a stressful Friday, today, Saturday, I decided to go out and hit the town. I left around 10:30PM and wandered the wonderful streets near La Gran Place, taking in the scenery, the smells, I got a delicious waffle. It was wonderful. Now, as part of the European experience, if you go out alone at night as a women, guys frequently talk to you, yell at you and/or whistle at you on the street. I usually smile at them or ignore them, but it is harmless. However, during my time in India, I was much more aware that their culture perceived American women as being "loose" women, basically sluts. I blame this on the mass amount of media that comes out of the States showing this, such as but not limited to the latest Britney video or those Dawsons River people jumping into each others beds all the time. Regardless, I am much more weary of attention from strange men when I'm a foreigner because of my experience in India. However, as I was enjoying my waffel in the main square, a guy came up to me, he looked harmless enough, gave me a cute little smile and asked if he could take me out for a drink.

I figured, I'm here, I'm alone, and I can't really afford to buy myself a drink, so why not.

I let him lead me to a bar where we sat on the street and talked. Or tried to. Unfortunately his English is..."how I say, not so good" so he taught me some French sayings and told me I was beautiful like one hundred times.

He then asked if I was hungry. I wasn't, but as I rule I don't turn down free food, so I said OK, and he led the way. He then pointed at a McDonalds, and said, "Food yes?".

Strike one.

I shook my head and made a vomiting motion. I think he understood, that or he thinks I drank too much (which I didn't because he didn't drink anything so I only had half a beer as a caution). He then tried to take me to a falafel stand.

Strike two.

So he finally found a sweet little Asian fusion place on the street where I ordered yummy curry and a diet coke, (he ordered a coke, so I’m so not going to be the lush with a stranger in a foreign country thank you very much).

It was good, and afterwards we wandered. He repeated the few phrases in English he knew such as, “You are so beautiful”, “Your hair is so beautiful” and “I love you”.

Yep, “I love you”.

Now, when someone that you haven’t been dating for a very, very long period of time says I love you, you are automatically put into one of two categories. Neither of them are preferable in my book.

1. ABC Family Channel (with an emphasis on “Seventh Heaven”)
2. Phil’s life

If you fall into option one, it means that he genuinely likes you, wants to marry you and for you to move in with his mother and nine siblings. If you fall into option two, it means he wants to get into your pants and will say anything to get there.

So, after we wandered for like ten minutes, I began to steer us towards the nearest metro station. As we got there, he kept trying to get me to go to his house to “meet his mom”. Because I’m sure his mom is up at midnight and anxious to see the hussy her son brought home. I said no and marched onto my platform, he was going in the other direction but wanted to “make sure I get to train ok”.

He then started to get a little bit too “touchy feely”. After turning my head a few times and hitting his hands away, I finally heard the train coming, as it pulled up to the station, I let him know exactly what I thought of his “fondling” with my knee... in his groin.

Well, at least I got a free dinner.

Blogging fun

So Dan (ahem...) I mean my "friend who shall remain unnamed" started an anon blog today, and it made me miss writing my blog from India and Bhutan. So, I started my own.

Thanks "Friend".

First I'd like to say, thank you Penny. Penny, my sweet if not slightly judgmental cat gave me the strength to leave home. Mainly because she would take up 90% of my bed, and I just really needed a good nights rest by the time I graduated high school, but also because she loved me, and I knew that whenever I would come home, she would be there, ever so slightly miffed at me for leaving, but still full of love. Now however, I will be forced to return to a home without Penny, who was my best friend and my Muffin.

Alas, I am not going home anytime soon anyway, I am cramped in a 4 floor walk up bedroom in downtown Brussels. I applied to a position I was totally unqualified for on a whim, knowing I would never end up perusing it...and here I am, now attempting to pretend like I know what I am doing.

I left on the 6 AM Eurostar from London and arrived in Brussels expecting my landlord who I had never met, and whom I found on a website advertising a room for rent, to pick me up at the train station. In my own defense, I carried an impulse body spray in my purse; a scent so cheap that it actually burns when applied to the skin...think of the damage it could do to other parts of the body. Lucky for me (and maybe for him too) my landlord turned out to be a sweet man with a wife and two young children, who simply had the day off and offered to do me a favor.

I arrived, signed the lease, paid one months rent, walked around the neighborhood with him, went grocery shopping, got a new sim card for my phone, went home and passed out.

Monday morning I began my new job as Communications Manger at Eurodad, the "European Network on Debt & Development". I was literally thrown into the fire of things to do and not enough time to due it. There were deadlines to meet, most of them outrageous and I had to learn where files were on computers and what programs to use for the million different tasks I was expected to accomplish in the day.

Coming home I had blisters on my feet, a pile of reading in my bag, and a weird sense of excitement about what is in store in the coming six months.