Horn of Plenty

Who would have thought that I’d be sitting in Amsterdam (Amstelveen technically) eating a mango, persimmon, and pear fruit salad for dessert, a sip of Jameson to warm it up, while watching fireworks out of my living room window?

I love that all of those fruits are available here. The only things that I haven’t been able to find in the “grows out of the ground” category so far are tomatillos for my salsa. But it’s still pretty eatable with out them. No such thing so far as egg whites sold on their own. Probably not a bad thing to get the real deal, it just makes me spend a little more time. I finally managed to found cottage cheese a few days ago at the Albert Heijn. It’s not a food I eat every day, but when you get a hankering for something, and when you just can’t find it, those are the times you get a little home sick. Most of the time it’s a matter of figuring out what it’s called in Dutch. Schmierkase. That’s Cottage cheese. Schmeirkase. Animal bits are tougher to come across. I just today found turkey fillet’s for the first time, at the bio market in the town square. When I asked the butcher if he carried any ground turkey he gave me a look coupled with an “enh” kind of noise that made it seem more likely that I’d be able to find ground reindeer, or possibly unicorn. He said he would look into it for me, and in the mean time I ordered a few pounds of ground chicken and pork, separately, to be picked up next week. Not eating beef, I really miss my ground turkey tacos, patties, etc. So, we’ll see what he can come up with.

We’ve been hearing and seeing random fireworks all around us for the past week. It doesn’t actually have to be New Years to make some noise around here. Matt says the guys at work have been telling him stories about New Years Day traditionally feeling similar to battle, and most of the time you feel like you’re under mortar fire attack because there aren’t enforced rules about shooting off fireworks under other people’s noses. I’m thinking we’ll watch from the 10th floor….

The Forest

Matt had the day off from work for the Christmas holiday (Not Sinter Klaas this time) on Thursday, so we finally took a walk. A walk to the Amsterdam Forest that is.

It is only about a 20-minute walk from our apartment to the Amsterdamse Bos. We walked west through an older section of Amstelveen, and I finally got to see the windmill (now converted into a restaurant) that we can see the back side of from our 10th story window, up close and personal. I hadn't realized how much the blades curve to catch the wind. It's beautiful, and now I really want to go back there for dinner. Apparently, that part of the town used to be considered the heart of Amstelveen, and was much more popular than where we live. There was a train track through that part at the time, and it was before Stadsplein got built up with a mall, theater, museum, and restaurants. But it's got a lot of charm, and feels more European than our modern slice of Amstelveen. We passed home after picturesque home with lovely yards, manicured and inviting, even in the bareness of fall.

As for the forest itself, I didn't really know what to expect, but what we entered fits my definition of a park much better than a forest. Perhaps that's the influence of Mt. Diablo wilderness, or the Smith's (thank you so much) annual Yosemite treks. But the "forest" was beautiful. And quite popular, even on Christmas day. Even with the bathrooms locked up... We witnessed a funny family outing where a 30-something son vaulted away from his wife, and over some downed trees to snap pictures. I thought maybe a family pet was being cute, but it turned out to be his father/father-in-law taking a potty break in a clutch of trees. Shouldn't have gotten his son that nice camera for Christmas...

Compared to the tangled mess of trees I called a forest outside my childhood bedroom window, this wasn't a forest. Forests are places you can get lost in. They carry an edge of danger to them. Not so, the Amsterdam forest. It's almost completely flat, for starters, and the trees are evenly spaced over a lot of the area. Canals and lakes crisscross over manicured greens, swimming with noisy birds, large and small, chased by family dogs, in turn chased by dog walkers. Paths are well worn by joggers, family outings, and romantic, slow ambling couples of all ages oblivious to all else. A well-planned "fitness" path runs down the length of the forest offering visitors the opportunity to jump hurdles, stretch, try chin ups or muscle ups, balance bars and dips. I tried a few.... Matt tried most. Muscle ups are crazy and should only be attempted in the Olympics. But, then again, Matt has superhuman strength. We walked for an hour or more, and found our way out on the north end, in another section of town altogether. It was still early, so we caught a bus home (I didn't wear the right socks, and had started working up a nice blister, so no more walking, please) about a 2-minute walk south.

After changing, and grabbing a warming bowl of soup, we headed back into the city to catch what we could of the light. We went to find ourselves a particular pub that Matt had read about, but neither one of us could recall the name. This particular local is distinguished by having been home to an artist named Max Beckman. The pub rents out the rooms above the restaurant. Beckman was an expressionist painter from Germany who lived here in Amsterdam during somewhat of an exile by the Nazi’s. In 1937, the Nazi’s marked him as a “degenerate” for his work, and he fled to Amsterdam, and 10 years later, moved to the US where he taught as well as worked. He died in New York in 1950. His work puts my mind somewhere between Dali, Hieronymus Bosch, Picasso and Van Gogh... Unsettling stuff. I’d never heard of him before this, but it seems that Amsterdam is full of tragic personal stories like these, where people come to Amsterdam looking for refuge from something. Some find it, most find something else. They become pieces of history mostly forgotten, but etched into the buildings. Of course, being Christmas day, the pub was closed… We ended up having dinner at an extremely touristy place (therefor it was open) in Leidseplein called the Pancake House. They serve these huge plates with a huge flat pancake (somewhere between a crepe, pancake, and burrito tortilla) topped with anything from Thai style chicken to guac, to berries and ice cream. We watched the Lakers v. Celtic game, and the people on either side of us spoke in loud American accents. It almost felt like we weren’t living in a foreign country.

We tried the Beckman pub again on Friday. First we followed a canal route suggested by a AAA guide book that I got in Walnut Creek before we left. It takes you from Central Station through a corner of the Jordaan, and follows a main street, Herengracht, from west to east, ending on the opposite side of town at the Ship Museum where a replica Dutch East India company ship bobs on the water. I snapped so many pictures (seemingly of the same canal scene or row of Dutch houses I’ve snapped so many times before, in hindsight) that we ran out of light about half way round. So we stopped, and made our way back around to Dams Square (the main shopping drag of Amsterdam), got our bearings and found our way to the Tara Pub.

This time we not only knew the name, but had also found the exact address of the artist abode/Irish pub. After circling a few time in an area we’ve walked nearly every time that we go to Amsterdam Central, we finally found the pub. We had been looking on the wrong side of the canal all along. The extra wide canal streets, and the fact that the main city thoroughfares are laid out in circles instead of squares makes for lots of “exploration”, aka: getting lost. Once we found our way in, it was easy to stay. There’s a kind of faux Irish theme pub that Matt and I get a kick out of. They take old Irish myths and recreate them on the walls, and in huge, garish statues, often with badly faked wood work in bright colors. The Tara has landed on purples. They’ve mashed that together with a true traditional pub. It takes up about 4 different properties, not including the hotel suite, and melds them together so you can find whatever atmosphere suites you, from modern black lit bars, to close and cozy fireplace rooms, to a smokers pool hall, or a high ceiling-ed fancy pants restaurant, along side the bar with the Dubliner bartender cheering on the home team. All under one roof.

The Tara seems to be a place that has never wearied of expanding over the years, where most Dutch places are content to eek out a few hundred years in a closet and call it a café. I love and hate the stairs in Dutch cafes…like the ones in this picture. They seem like such a death trap. But everyone is used to them. An these are typical in places where people drink alcohol. Yet, somehow, accidents are infrequent. We ducked into this place, which I don’t even know the name of, mostly so I could use the bathroom when we were trying to find the Tara on Thursday. We stayed for a pint and listened to the bartender tell the history of some of the jazz décor to another few patrons in Dutch. We almost knew what he was talking about. It always confuses people when we do that, and then turn around and ask for the tab in English. Someday, we'll learn Dutch. Hopefully the conversations will still be as interesting :)

What's Happening in the 'Plein

Greetings all :)

We're finally getting back into the swing of things here. Going on vacation while in the early stages of moving to a new country really sets things back in the "settled in" department. It took about a week for us to get out of the jet lag and back into sleeping all night. It doesn't help that the sun doesn't really get up and shine until around 10 am. I thought these two pictures illustrate the lack of light pretty well. I had to check the camera to see when I took each one because I had them confused. The completely dark one is at 8 in the morning, and the one with the peek-a-boo sun is about 7pm. Totally messes with my mind...

When we got home, our quiet corner of Holland had turned completely holiday themed. It started with an ice rink where kids skate in bright orange rented skates, and if they aren't too strong, they get what looks like a blue walker to help them keep balanced. Next came the carousel complete with music and flashing lights. The next day (Saturday), Matt and I tried to go to the grocery store because, not having a car, you can only carry so much at once, and we hadn't made enough trips yet to stock the kitchen to my liking. At 10am the town square was just about desolate. I only saw one other person, and she was just walking from one of the apartments over to where you can recycle glass. The garbage by the apartments only have trash and paper recycling. We thought the grocery store should have been open by then, but nope...everything was under lock down. Matt and I thought maybe it was because of the holidays. But, were this California, and the week before Christmas, most things would open at 7am for early sales opportunities.

We rolled back home, a little disappointed at not being able to buy juice (sap), and took a nap. When I woke up, I took out the trash, and when I got down stairs, I decided to try the store again. If the Albert Heijn was still closed, I knew I could hop on the bus and get to another shop that should be open. To my total shock, the Stadsplein was crawling with people. Everything was thrown wide open, and literally stuffed to the gills with merry makers.

And, now someone has installed bumper cars, a donut shop, one of those stalls where you throw darts for prizes, but the stall was just called "Cherokee"... All the hustle and bustle had almost swallowed the star center piece, the carousel. Today when I went out to check if the organic "bio" market still ran during holiday hours, everything was in full swing, market included. There is some serious atmosphere going on in this town... It must have been tough for those commercial makers to get a slot with the square empty. Just before we left for Jamaica, we saw it air. It is indeed a commercial for the local lotto, but it was interesting to see our street and our shopping center front and center on the TV. I recorded a smidgen to show ya'll. Who knows at what point the clip here was actually shot, but when Matt and I were watching, we stood behind these guys walking, and to their right. And the doorbell they ring is on our walk to the bus station. I've seen Walnut Creek on the news before, but not in something like this. For some reason, this piece of fiction is way more interesting than actual news... go figure.

Ugh! It's after midnight again!!!!

Whirl wind Whirl wind

I feel like we just stopped spinning.

This is gonna be a LONG post :) Where to begin...we flew to SFO two weeks ago, on Dec 5th. Matt's parents picked us up, let us sleep, and took us out for a late breakfast the next day ( a first opportunity to get my Californian salsa fix). We came back and started pulling ourselves together for our late night flight to Jamaica. Around 12:15, I jumped in the shower, and Matt tried to check us in early online. Since we were 9 hours ahead mentally, Matt had woken up at 3am and called in to see if he could bump our tickets up to business or first class to Jamaica (since it was SOOOOO nice on the flight from Amsterdam, Matt was trying to surprise me). He succeeded for part of the flight, but didn't check in. When he tried to do early check in a little after noon, he got an error message. You can't check in with less than 90 minutes to take off. Problem. Our flight wasn't supposed to take off for another 10 hours or so. He got someone from US Airways on the phone, who pretty much told him that he should have received notification that our flight time had changed back in August (with plenty of attitude and "I can't believe that you wouldn't check this earlier, Jamaica's a long way away" comments thrown in). This person had no answer for how it was that when Matt called in at 3am, our 10:30pm flight time was confirmed. A few breathless angry minutes later, Matt gave me a shock by saying, time to get out of the shower, and GO.

We had less than an hour to be at the airport before boarding started for our new flight. It takes 45 minutes to get to SFO from Matt's parents house.

Matt threw our belongings into our suitcases while I slammed myself around the bathroom trying to dry off and get decent. I still had to get our toiletries case inside one of those suitcases to check in for the flight. As we ran ramshackle out the door, barely saying goodbye, I felt more than heard Matt's determination to get us on that flight when he turned to his dad and said "I'll drive". Patty hid her maternal worry well, and wished us a good trip as we hurled ourselves into the car. After I got the last of our stuff stuffed into the suitcases, all liquids and creams dutifully packed in our checked luggage, I got on the cell phone.

I am still sorry for Leighton (Matt's dad) for having to endure our crisis. We spent the whole drive, Matt aggressively and skillfully making his way through So. SF traffic down 101, towards SFO, and me on the phone trying to asses our situation, trying not to have to pay extra for a ticket change. And trying not to loose my mind in the process. Really, our whole ludicrous flight course from Amsterdam to SFO to Jamaica and back was to avoid the insane charges for changing a ticket these days. We argued back and forth with the agent that we'd never received a flight time change, and had called in to check that morning and had not been told that there was a change. I got transfered to a supervisor, who maintained their position, and informed me that the soonest we could get a flight out if we missed the one leaving in 10 minutes (which we were at this point sure to miss) would be flying out Monday morning. !?! We ran up to the check in counter at 1:51. The flight was scheduled to take off at 1:50. I hung up the phone, having told the less than helpful supervisor that I was gonna deal with this at face to face at the check in desk. We explained our situation to the desk workers, who were infinitely kinder and more helpful. As we talked, low and behold, the supervisor I'd spoken with on the phone had a change of...something... and called the SFO desk. The person who answered looked confused, took some information down, and told us later that the person on the phone was a little wacky, but that they had found a way to re-route our flight and get us out only about half an hour later than our original flight time. He handed Matt a print out of the new info. They also told us that the web page was experiencing a glitch. Not our fault. This time we'd have an extra lay over, but no extra charge. Someone must have found their error, and realized that we weren't lying and lazy. However, Matt and I agreed that we were almost guaranteed to loose baggage in the change up...we were correct. But that is another story.

Since we still had the afternoon and evening that we thought we'd lost, we went back to Matt's parents house, and tried to calm down so that we could enjoy the evening we had planned with his sister Leanna, and her husband Remi. Matt's parents drove us to Pacifica, and we said real goodbye's to them. We relaxed a lot more since the airport is only a ten minute ride from Leanna's & Remi's. We went out for my much missed Mexican food (salsa to die for and real orchata), and then "hung out" at the mall people watching and book shopping for the plane. We said our last goodbyes, and got on a plane headed for paradise.

JAMAICA!!!!!!!!!

We transfered planes three times, and once with only half an hour between flights. That's where we lost the suitcase. First time in our ten years of traveling together. We stepped through mild cold (SFO) to deep freeze (Chicago), back to milder cold (Charlotte, NC) and then into warm hugging humid island heat. We had arrived. Our first bag showed up pretty quick, but after all of the bags had been taken off of the carousel (standard practice at MBJ where every little act can earn a tip), and suitcase the second still was a no show, we knew our premonition was correct. We'd lost a bag. Tired beyond reason, and running on instinct, Matt and I filled out the appropriate paperwork with the lost luggage people (who told us our origination flight, carrier, and connection before we even started to say it, knowing already because it happens on that connection a lot apparently). We got waived through a very laid back customs, and hoped for the best. They assured us we would see the bag either late that night, or first thing in the morning. Most of our workout gear (gym shoes especially) was in the lost bag, and this was mind-body fitness trip...

At Montego Bay airport, there are several waiting lounges, where the many all inclusive resorts have you wait in comfort for enough people to fill the next buss to their location. Sandals offered cushy island themed rooms, couched like a Tommy Bahama's with Red Stripe on tap, and fresh fruit for the taking. We waited just long enough to finish our drinks, and wash up. Then we were whisked away to the resort, watching Jamaican coastal scenery flash by with the Jamaican bobsled team movie "Cool Runnings" playing in the background on the bus TV.

The ride takes almost two hours from the airport to Ocho Rios. We had one pit stop for shopping, grubbing, and using the facilities. When we finally turned the corner to Sandal's Ocho Rios, we were ready for that fully stocked all inclusive room. And a long long shower. The online map of the resort didn't do justice to the size of this property. It's HUGE. We stayed in a villa (basically a four room unit sharing a pool) on the Manor side of the resort. From reception, we had our things loaded into a "jitney" (kind of a souped up golf cart with a cab, and room for 6 people and luggage behind) that took us up to our room, number 7255. We rode along with another couple, Sunny and Aman from Canada, who, it just so happened, lived downstairs from us for a week. They also signed up for the Shape/Men's Fitness classes that Matt & I did, so we ended up seeing quite a bit of these two.

We had an orientation welcome ceremony our first evening where we met the trainers, and the other participants. Everything is included at Sandals, but we had a special spread for our group, and it was a nice introduction. In fact, we had such a good time, that we had to be hushed by some of the Sandals staff working at a wedding ceremony on the nearby beach. Instead of clapping, we had to snap to show our approval...

The luggage showed up two days later, in the evening. We still made a few of the less intensive classes, where shoes were not required. Over the next few days we killed our bodies by day in class after class ("Parts and Labor" with John, "Buns & Thighs" with Lisa, "Build your own Circuit" with Brett, "Jamaican me Sweat!" with Misty, etc...) which made us feel entitled to the multi course meals that followed. It also made us regret our choice of upstairs at the villa. The view was great, but the pain of walking up stairs after hours of lunges and squats made it a tough choice. We had an Olympian(Amy Acuff) sponsored by Asics who gave us a glimpse into what training means for serious athletes. A real day in the life. If you want to be able to eat 4,000 calories a day and still look like the girl in the pic here with Matt, just train to be an Olympic High Jumper. We missed a few people we looked forward to working with who got pulled from the program (Jeffrey Scott mostly) but met a lot of new people that made it a good experience nonetheless. We had quite a few of our old favorite trainers (Kent and Maria, Misty, and Teri), but there's something about seeing the same faces year after year that makes us just that much more committed. Besides, the club's not the same without a dance off. Tee-quilizers or not.

One of the days where we had early morning classes, and late afternoon classes, we decided to take a tour for the in between time and get "off the compound" to see some of Jamaica proper. Matt decided he wanted to take a class that I was going to miss, so I went with two other couples from our group and did a tour driving to a town called Nine Miles. It's claim to fame is that Bob Marley was born and buried there. His mother's shanty is still there, much built up by tourism and tips, and although Bob spent most of his time living in Kingston, he spent a great deal of his creative time at this shack. His mother died just a few months back, in her 80's. There is a rock on the ground outside the shack they call Bob's Pillow where he's supposed to have spent a lot of meditative time writing his lyrics. His mausoleum is huge, a bit garish, and makes it seem like they've turned him into the Messiah he sang so much about. His death is attributed to a soccer injury possibly exaccerbated by cancer. His toe got such a bad infection that the doctors wanted to amputate it. He said no. The toe infection turned into a leg infection, and when the docs said it had to go to save his life, he still said no: Rasta's don't cut. Ever. He had been diagnosed with some form of cancer, but there is debate about how far spread it was, and how it interacted with his other injury. So, although no one can say absolutely which caused his death, the fact remains that, prematurely aged by the pressure of being the icon of hope to the people of Jamaica, Bob Marley died at the tender age of 36.

The best part of the trek was the sight seeing along the way. Our driver took us to the Dunn's River Sandals for lunch, and along the drive He stopped off for fresh harvested coconut, tangerines, and to grab leaves from lime, lemon, and allspice trees to let us smell and enjoy. The best part of the trek was the sight seeing along the way. The people we passed and the few we stopped to talk with were very friendly and happy seeming, although mostly very very poor. I didn't have any cash on me, but the group I rode with gave out what money they had to the children that swarmed the bus. The driver played Bob Marley tunes the whole way, and wowed us with his control on narrow, steep, and windy roads shared with tractors, big rigs, horses, children, and rastas. My camera skills were to slow to catch them, but we passed two Kingdom Halls along the way, and one group of people in field ministry. Made me miss my people. It also made me want to go back to Jamaica with no ulterior agenda. Just see what there is to see, meet some folks.

Matt began a new project a few days ago involving having people we meet in our travels signing a moleskin notebook he got in SF, and me filming them. We had most of the people we spent time with contribute, and a few random ones we just met. So far, we have 3 different languages, and one sentence entries all the way up to a three pager.

I came home with a lovely body covering rash in response to eating papaya which normally gives me no worries. Who would have guessed... Three days home in Amstelveen (four now, since I tried to do some editing, and didn't post this when I wrote it) and it's nearly gone. At least the tan line stuck around :) Actually, we had so many of the classes early in the morning, and in doors that we didn't get nearly as much sun as we expected to. It seemed like the times we had to sit by our pool, or swim were the times that the sky clouded over for a bit of Jamaican "liquid sunshine" (aka: rain). For example, the picture of Matt with Amy doesn't quite convey it, but that was a hike through a torrential island downpour. No sun whatsoever. But even the rain was warm and lovely. I couldn't keep a smile off of my face.

On the way back to Amsterdam, we had a few days layover in the Bay area again. Kozera's generously put us up, and put up with us :). We got to see a few friends, but spent most of the time we had taking care of business with our tenants. Far from fun, but necessary to this whole move. We acclimated to Cali time almost immediately, and that made it that much harder to get back in the swing of things back in Holland. But seeing our buds made it worth while.

It's 1am again. Matt and I went into Amsterdam for some pool, and Indian food. We were trying to wear ourselves out so that we wouldn't be awake until the wee hours. Matt just turned in. The problem with waking up with day light and going to sleep when it's dark is that the sun doesn't truly come out until around 10 am here right now. And then only if the fog rolls back. So we're having some trouble getting our timezone control back.

I'm gonna spend some time putting together a Photworks picture book of Jamaica so ya'll can see more of the photos. Those usually take me a while, so in the mean time, if you want to see more pics, you can look at the Flickr stream. I'm still uploading, but it will be done today.

That's the basics. I'm sure in the next few days I'll recall a good story or two to share. Besides airport misery :) I'm still uploading pics to Flickr, but it's taking it's sweet time about it...

G'nite...

We said goodbye to San Francisco, and got home to Amsterdam about 12:30 this afternoon, safe and sound.

It's a gorgeous day in Amstelveen, so we didn't have to trudge luggage home in bad weather which makes it still feel a little like vacation. Our flight to Chicago from SFO was uneventful, but we almost didn't get to leave Chicago. They are socked in by snow, and rather than it keeping planes on the ground, it actually kept our crew from arriving on time. Two out of three pilots got caught in bad traffic and had to pick their way through car accident strewn roads to get to the sky. We were allowed to board about an hour late, and wait in comfort on the plane. We read and snacked, sipped and dozed for about 2 hours before our pilots made it onto the plane, through their check in paperwork, and got the plane through the much in demand de-icer. So, our flight that should have arrived at 9:04 am got to ground at 11:30 instead. Since we didn't have much else to do today, we were just supremely happy that we had a flight to get us home. Amazingly, we still had energy enough to go renew our monthly bus passes at the post office (Postkantoor) and to swing through the grocery store to replenish our barren pantry and fridge.

We both had a craving for Chinese soup so we stopped in at our local Peking dive for lunch. Now it's food coma time. Because Matt was able to get us home on business class tickets, we are much better rested than we would have been in coach, but because of all the time zone hopping our circadian rhythms are dancing like white guys at the salsa club. Way off beat.... So while I upload photos to the lap top, we will sleep.

Chat when next we wake.

Vacations Over, Time to go Home...

Time goes by so very very quickly.

We are sitting in the Kozera's den, sipping on delicious nutmeg spiced latte's waiting for the last member of our party to arrive and whisk us off to yet another airport. Leanna picked us up from SFO on Sunday evening, and brought us back to the Kozy Kozera Inn, where we slept like happy babies, fat off the love of the family. I wish I had time to upload pictures! Too bad for us we had to spend the majority of our one full day here taking care of business, checking in on our tenants, and trying to make sure everything is copasetic. Turns out, we may have a one bedroom condo available to rent at the end of January....great....more long distance work to be done!!! Such is life. I really cannot complain. They took us out for a delicious NY style Amici's pizza, and we got to see at least a few of our much missed friends (I"m looking at you Rachel and Jared!)

Jamaica was amazing, and the Sandal's "Soon Come Back" program is much more enticing than I would have imagined. Since we were taking part in the Shape & Men's Fitness program, we didn't explore the island nearly enough, and our sleeping on the beach time was severely limited. We managed to get a few shades darker regardless.

Leanna and Randi are about to take us back to SFO where will we complete the last leg of our 9 hours back, 3 hours forward, 3 hours back, 9 hours forward time zone tour. As much as I got home sick for the Creek and our people here, it will be good to get back "home" and back to a decent routine. All this flying is for the birds :)

Jamaica!!!!

Take a breath.

I just finished packing our bags for our home/Jamaica trip. Cleared out the fridge that I just spent a month packing. Don't want to come back to a kitchen smelling of rotted broccoli romanesco. I just finally broke down the cardboard boxes that shipped the outlines of our lives here. I don't think they'll make the return trip, so I'll have to find a new source to pilfer used shipping boxes from. William Sonoma's recycle bin is oh so far off.

Matt is making sure we are electronically supplied with music and entertainment for the plane. The books are packed, snacks stowed. No one ever gives you a meal anymore on the flight. It's rare anyways.

Tomorrow we catch the bus at 7:30am. The 300 takes us right back to Schipol, and the travel begins anew. I should be more excited than this, but the my sleepiness has asserted itself. I am actually very very excited. I've been listening to my little home made iPod Jamaica mix (Jamaicanmecrazy) most of the afternoon.

We've elected to leave the laptop home for the week, so you will not hear from us again until at least December 15th. Can you handle it?? hehe, just kidding. I have to say how much I appreciate the wonderful comments we've received. It's really the only way to know that I'm not just jabbering on into cybespace :)

Here's to sunshine, coconut laced drinks, and sand between toes. Everyting is ai're mon.

Last Week of November

Where did I leave off?
Life has been progressing as usual for us which is rather unusual because we're LIVING IN ANOTHER COUNTRY!

Thursday:
Went out for Chinese food. Discovered a path about a 5 minute jaunt east of our apartment leading to the other side of the A9 and a nice walk to one of the older, prettier part of Amstelveen. Walking, Matt and I were both amazed at the Dutch habit of living completely in the open, a feeling not unlike the first time we walked into the co-ed sauna at the gym. MY EYES!!! The Dutch are very open with most everything. As we walked down the lane, past old houses with windows wide open, lights up high, we couldn't help but peer into the warm and inviting living and dinning rooms, wondering what goes on in a typical Dutch household. At the dinner hour, we flicked past culinary and social ritual playing out for all eyes to see. Families, singles, girls nights, and flat screens with games on. No one seemed to mind, and we were left more the impression of frankness and welcome instead of the veiling and distance that usually cut you off from the homes you pass. I still don't get what is going on with Swarte Pete. I don't think I ever will.

Friday:

Matt and I have been mourning the fact that we haven't actually done or seen much of anything in the way of tourist attractions. We've had a whirlwind experience with work and the congregation, and made some really good friends, but haven't done any of the things that, had we only been here for a week, we would have knocked out immediately. So, to make reparations, (after work, service and spending the afternoon with the fix it guy ripping out and replacing the kitchen counter) we made our way to the Van Gogh Museum, which hosts special Friday Night events. These seem to consist of a the regular exhibition, a DJ, a special feature (such as films, poetry readings, or dissertations on art topics) and a temporary transformation of the entry area into a lounge. The museum was an education. I've always enjoyed Van Gogh, and now I know a lot more about his troubled and short life.

We tried to go back to the Indian restaurant that made Matt cry for live music. The musician was still a no show, so we moved on, next door to the "country music" place, the Watering Hole. The band was more of a rock and roll standards cover band, but they were very good, and the ambiance kept us entertained. Especially the head size coasters.

Saturday:

After bookstudy, I joined Tina and a brother named Ebanezar (from Nigeria) for service. We got chased by geese. Matt and I had every intention of going to Amsterdam to book shop before going to Haarlem for a dinner party. Instead, we went very domestic and hit the grocery store, and took a nap, hehe... Too many late nights in this country. I did swing through the Amstelveen Book Festival held over the weekend here in Stadsplein. I caught a glimpse of it on our bus ride home and had to check out the giant sling the set up to throw your kids into the sky. And they had ponies for the kids to ride. I have never seen such think fur on a pony before. These things are made for cold weather. Incidentally, it snowed again, but nothing stuck for long.

We took the 300 bus from Amstelveen Busstation (one word in Dutch) all the way to Haarlem for our 6:30 dinner with Charlotte and Parker, the Texas couple here for 2 years. Turned out that the stop listed on 9292ov.nl (our link to all things transportation related here) wasn't on the bus driver's schedule that night, so the He told us that He'd let us know when to get off and switch to a different 300 bus... No explanation for why. At one point, when I knew that we were within a half a mile of where we needed to be, and could just walk, I stood to exit the bus. The bus driver eyed me in the rear view mirror, and waggled a finger at me indicating we were not yet allowed to vacate. I sat back down, and Matt and I continued to watch our progress on his hand-held Magellan GPS device. He took us all the way to Haarlem Central Station. Much farther than we needed to go. Then told us to take the 176, sitting patiently waiting for passengers. Earlier, Charlotte told me that from the Station, we should take the 73 since it stops almost directly in front of their house. Giving the bus driver the benefit of the doubt, we walked over and asked the driver of the 176 if she stopped where we needed to. She said no, she did not, and told us we should take the 73. Relieved, we walked to the lane where the 73 should appear, and waited. Matt handed me his phone to call the Deardorff's to let them know we weren't lost, but late, and on our way.

And here comes our helpful bus driver. He actually walked over to where we waited for our chosen bus, and redirected us back to the 176. We told him that she also wasn't going to be going to our stop, and directed us to the 73, and we were content. He proceeded to have a rather heated discussion with her in Dutch, and motioned us on to her bus. We acquiesced, thinking that he must know what he's talking about. Whatever piece of information we gave him that made him think that we didn't know what stop we wanted to end up at, made him adamant in his helpfulness. We ended up walking about 10 minutes out of our way in the end, but got to see a little of Haarlem before dinner. Thankfully, it wasn't raining, and Charlotte did as she said she would, and had the lights up high and the curtains open so that when we marched quickly past her house, we managed to still register people that looked like the might be Witnesses having pre-dinner snacks and conversation in time to do a double take, and back track.

Charlotte made a tasty dish of Chili con Carne, and she and her husband taught the group of us (except Matt) how to play Texas Hold 'em poker. Most of the other guests came from the North English congregation and they spent a fair amount of time trying to get us to move over and attend with them. Seems that we may be in their territory actually, but we are pretty well set in the South East English hall for the 5 months we have left here. But it's nice to feel wanted. We had a really good time, made even better by one of the couples present living in our town and generously giving us a ride home. Even though it was closing in on 1am.

Sunday:

After the meeting, Matt and I sadly turned down another dinner invite(this time from the Pender's) in order to clean house (the fix it guy left a wreck in the kitchen, which we tracked everywhere else) and get ready for the coming week, especially Matt who has to actually go to work for the company that sent us here. I still have laundry and packing to do for Jamaica, and we leave Friday morning. We made plans to get together with them when we come back here. I almost said when we come back "home". It almost feels like we live here for real.

Since we didn't get to the book store on Saturday, and it would be Matt's last opportunity to do so before our flight out, we headed into "town" for the evening, after our chores. Since Matt needed a book in English (which requires extra effort) anyhow, we ended up having dinner in town as well. After the previous nights' meal, I was craving Mexican food. We stopped in to use the restroom at a cafe (which obligated us to get quaff a La Chuffe) and asked for suggestions. The waiter, and eves-dropping locals, guided us to a street nearby where we found a Mexican Caribbean fusion restaurant, which seemed apt in sight of our upcoming trip. Great food, with family like service. Translation: Dinner took forever. Expedient service, not imperative. Another late night. But I got to have salsa, and that makes it all worth while.

Monday:

Today one of the brothers from the Amsterdam North English congregation organized an outing to an outdoor market in the Jordaan. This brother, Edwin, is originally from the Netherlands, but has spent many years living in the Southern States as well. He enjoys playing tour guide for the newbies, and took Charlotte, Tina, and myself to see something new. Although, I'm sure Tina had been there before. We wandered and wandered, ogled and eyeballed countless wonders and deals. This picture is Edwin, Charlotte, and Tina walking ahead, used to me lagging behind for yet another photo. I walked away with a sweater for Matt to wear over his dress shirts, under his suit. Charlotte's coat hunt was unfruitful, but Tina pocketed a few euro items. Edwin made a killing, walking away with a beaver blanket. Yes, beaver. Seems he doesn't have a heater in his room, and sleeps next to a window. This is less expensive than remodeling. I want to bring Matt back to this market, partly to people watch, partly so I can take more pictures, and wander more slowly. Tina also suggested a few good restaurants in the area.

Tomorrow, I'll be in service, and Matt at work. I'll finish packing for our brief home and anniversary trip. All of this will seem like a sleep deprivation derived dream, back on home turf. We'll see how long it takes to wake.

Hey! I'm here too!

Living in the Netherlands is fun and different, but it reminds me of reading something that is based on an alternate history. For instance, anywhere you go on the planet there will be a McDonalds (there may be one orbiting the planet at this point, but I can’t confirm that.) The McDonalds here have many of the same items, but also something called a Mc Kipsaté which is some sort of chicken kabob.

There is a Santa Clause that comes and brings presents in December named Sinterklaas, but it’s on the 5th and not the 25th and he doesn’t ride in a sleigh from the North Pole – he arrives on a steamboat from Spain. He is accompanied by Zwarte Piet (literally translated Black Pete) which men and woman dress up as by putting on black-face and huge afro wigs.

Most homes and offices have a microwave, but they call it a ‘magnetron’ which is much cooler.

Phones ring differently, electricity plugs are different, signs are different with some words I recognize and some completely gibberish.

All in all, I like it here. The weather is cold but the people have been generally very warm hearted. The city of Amsterdam is gorgeous; it feels like you are walking through a story-book with all the bridges and canals – especially at night with all the bridges lit up.

I started a project yesterday to try and preserve some memories of the time we are spending out in this part of the world. I’ll write more about it when I am farther along and can tell whether or not it is going to stink.

If there are any random questions about anything, please email me or leave a comment. I am so overwhelmed with trying to work and live here I am unsure about what people would like to hear me chatter about. It seems that the most information I have spread around so far is about food, drink and the bus – not exactly the most exciting.

Train Story

Here's a snippet from my afternoon on Tuesday:

Out in service with Tina (the sister living here for years, originally from Texas), walking between calls. She just finished helping me "top up" my phone minutes, because the directions on the receipt, and the phone tree you have to call into, are in Dutch.

My phone rings, it's Charlotte (the sister who just moved here for a 2 year stint, also from Texas). Can I come to Heemskerk for a study at 4:30 (16:30)? Sure I can. Can you give me the train information, since I won't be able to get to a computer to look it up? Charlotte SMS'd (Dutch version of texting) me the information. Done. It's about an hour train ride north.

Tina and I go on a last call to a lovely woman from St. Kitts. Her doctor makes a room call in her building to administer eye drops. Talks about college. I think...it's all Dutch. I smile, nod, smile, nod, catch every tenth word. Suddenly, the time on the clock registers with me. I have just under an hour to be in Amsterdam Central Station to catch the 15:27 train from Spoor (platform) 2a, to Heemskerk. I'm a 15 minute walk to the metro station, a 20 minute ride to the train station. If we don't have to wait for the metro.

I still need to buy a train ticket.

That means finding a ticket machine quickly that will take cash or credit cards instead of just a local bank card. Few and far between.

I signal Tina, we say our goodbyes, and run for the door. Tina does rapid metro and train schedule calculations in her head. We walk like Roman soldiers on march hefting book bags, slamming our nice boots down in the muddy terrain trying to select the optimum cut-throughs to the Kraainest Metro Station where Tina's (fold up) bicycle sits locked up and waiting.

As we site the station, we see the metro scoot off without us. We're power walking, making good time. We get to the platform just before the next metro arrives, 7 minutes later. That's how far you can see ahead in flat, flat Amsterdam. Tina, diving into undercover-operative handler mode, instructs me on every detail of what I may and may not encounter on this mission. I listen with rapt attention. Board the first metro car, so upon arrival I won't have to negotiate so much of the inevitable mob. It's the fastest route to the train station entrance, which will be immediately on my left. She tells me, after I have located the correct big yellow ticket seller box, and purchased my ticket, walk up the first set of stairs to the left. That will be spoor 1 and 2, and, she continues, spoor 2a will be heading north. She thinks it will be to the right at the top of the stairs. IF I follow her directions correctly, quickly, I should be able to catch the 15:27 train to Heemskerk. Just.

She rides the metro with me as far as Weesperplein, her stop. I ride on alone. Wallet uncharacteristically in hand. No time to waste digging for it when ticket time comes. Jacket, scarf, and bag positioned to not interfere with high speeds. I mark the stops as they flow past. Three to go, two. Amsterdam Central Station.

Push through the milling metro crowd towards the open doors. Spot the stairs. Run. If I saw myself, this grown person running around and through the metro crowd, I'd have given myself a healthy tisk.

Jump the steps quick like a bunny. Weave through the slow motion crowd. Choose escalator over stairs. Pass the motionless escalator riders on the left. Lift the toes, do not trip. Pretend I'm not out of breath already. Enter the main terminal hall. Locate the ticket purchase terminal. Make sure it takes the forms of money I can pay. No. Pass on. Next machine: Yes. Choose payment type, return trip ticket, single day use, full fare or discount. Enter the first letter of the destination name. The second letter. Find Heemskerk on the list, punch print. Hesitate too late, momentarily balking at the $19.40 euro price tag. Chalk it up to the sacrifices made in order to participate more fully in the ministry here. RUN.

First stair way on the left, spoor 2a. Clock reads 15:27. Look for Heemskerk on the sign post. Don't see it, jump on the train anyway. This has to be it. Once safely on the train, peek out the open doors again, try to assure that I am on the correct train. No luck. Turn to two girls sitting behind me, hoping they speak English, ask if this train goes to Heemskerk. Instantly, one says yes, and one says no. The more adamant of the two gets up to look out the still open doors, but the opposite direction I had looked. As they shut, she tells me, yes, it said Heemskerk. I still don't quite believe her. Just waiting for the other shoe to drop so I can call Charlotte and Tina and tell them I've failed.

Sit back, tentative. Pretend the winter bundle of layers sheathed by a full length wool jacket isn't a sweat suit and that I haven't just raised the interior temperature of the cabin by several degrees just be being there.

First stop, Sloterdijk. Yes indeed, there in plain sight, I finally see with my own eyes that this train does go to Heemskerk. I begin to relax. After making sure I'm sitting close to the exit so I can bolt for the door and not miss my exit since I've gotten this far. I snuggle down into my seat, and pull out a magazine. Graffitied windows and soft drizzle make watching the world go by less appealing. Although I have no idea how many stops I have yet to go, it seems that all is well.

Mobile buzzes in my pocket. It's Tina asking if I've made it. I reply, yes, thanks to her. She SMS's back saying "Me of little faith". She watched me go saying to herself, she'll never make it. I smile.

Heemskerk station comes into view, I make my way to the door, and it even opens when I push the button. Glancing around, I don't see Charlotte waiting, so I walk to the exit. I hear my name, and Charlotte comes walking up behind me having been on the same train a few cars back all the while. As we walk together towards the study's house, I mimic my mad dash to meet her. I'm much calmed having someone who knows what they're doing with me. We get to the study early for once, and feeling good. She's not in. We figure it's because we're actually ahead of schedule, and wait in the lobby of her apartment building. A few minutes later, in she walks, saying she tried to call, she has to take someone to the doctor, she can't meet with us today after all. So sorry. In these moments I wish I could replay for people the journey I've made. For the sake of irony.

Charlotte reschedules, and we wonder off. No where else to go. There is a small grocery store, Lidl, at the station. We duck in and I buy dinner fixings. We bench ourselves to wait for the return train. Good news is, we can both make it to the gym after all.

On the train home, we talk about the day, and I mention the price of my train ticket. She looks shocked, and says that the longest train ride she's taken, south of Rotterdam to catch the ferry to England, only cost $13 euros. Something is definitely wrong. Just about then, the train steward comes into the cabin to check tickets. They do this randomly, but it seems to always happen near Haarlem Station, Charlotte's stop. The steward takes Charlotte's ticket, glances at it, stamps it. Takes mine, glances at it, starts to stamp it stops. A confused look blooms on her face. This is alarming because the fines for not having a ticket, or having the wrong ticket can be very steep. She reads the ticket to me. It says Amsterdam C. to Helmond Brouwhs. I have no idea what that means. But it's definitely not Heemskerk, which dwindles away behind us. Turns out, we're about 2 hours north of Helmond.

She stifles a laugh. She reads the price I paid. She says, lucky for you that you checked "discount fare" when printing the ticket, and got 40% off of the whole price. Apparently in my mad dash to catch the train, I found the correct stop name, but neglected to actually highlight it when I pushed print on the ticket. My round trip should have cost closer to $7 euros and change. I wish I had a euro sign on this keyboard... Instead of a fine or a lecture, the ticket steward consoles me with good humor for the small fortune paid out in error. Charlotte, coming to my defense, says, "we're new here". Response: "No, you think?" She kindly gives me a phone number I can call to try to get a refund for the extra amount. Smiling, chuckling to herself, exchanging smatterings of Dutch with the other passengers as she does so. I secretly suspect that it's so I can tell my story to her co-workers and give them a laugh as well. I haven't' called yet. Charlotte can't help but laugh too. I'm too bewildered to be overly bothered by any of it. I'm still amazed I made the train to begin with.

Charlotte said her goodbyes as we pulled up to Haarlem Station, and we made plans for dinner at her house next weekend. I'd like to see more of her town anyhow.

Incidentally, here's a picture of why the bus can sometimes take longer than it should. This little girl, safely seated where her mother is not looking, pushed the stop button every time that the bus pulled away from a stop. Regardless of people entering or exiting, the bus must stop, because some one has requested it. Thanks a lot 3 year old button pusher. At least it's free entertainment. The picture of the kissing statue has nothing to do with anything, I just like it. I bus past it most days, and finally took a picture through the window. We were stopped at a Bijlmerdreef stop with no one getting on or off anyhow. Let Op means Beware.

Snow View

I had to share this picture.

I took this late on Sunday evening, just before bed, when we noticed that the snow was really sticking. I didn't think that this picture would come out at all because looking out, the scene was practically pitch black. I'm amazed at the detail the camera still managed to pick up. When I looked at it yesterday afternoon, it wasn't that impressive because I was looking at it in a very bright room, and the sun made it hard to see my laptop screen. But when I looked again early this morning, when the surroundings were still dark, I could see the contrast much better. I love looking out at our little pond/canal and the path to the bus station. I thought it was great watching the leaves turn all shades of oranges and yellows, but the snow just made it even prettier. This is why the night setting and a gorillapod are an awesome combination.

Too bad for me, by the middle of the night, the rain came and melted all the pretty white snow. So, no snow picture day in Amsterdam yet. I may, however get to take pictures of a different city in snow. I am very excited that we've gotten in touch with our old friends Leonard and Lisa Brennan from Ireland, and we may get to see them, not here, and not there, but by joining them on their snowboarding trip to Austria this winter. Maybe January. I knew I should have brought our snow gear!!

Last night, Monday, Matt and I rushed home from the gym to meet the husband and wife from India who own our rental apartment, and the handyman who is supposed to be fixing our 3 unresponsive radiator panels, adding coat racks, etc. Seems he will also be refinishing the hard wood kitchen counter that the previous tenant scoured down removing all the water resistant varnish in places, enabling mold to take root. It's not that bad, yet. But the owner's want to deal with it sooner rather than later, so it looks like we have home renovation in our future. Just one more unexpected thing.

Maybe we can get them to schedule it while we are away on our 10th anniversary trip to Jamaica (that we had planned long before we knew anything about Holland happening). I feel so ridiculously spoiled sometimes. I know it's not an illusion.

Wind, Rain, Hail, Snow

Sorry, I've been a bit busy. We've had too many late nights in a row to come home and post after.

Here are some random odd things:

For those of you who watch Dora the Explorer at home, you may be surprised like myself, to know that here, She's Dutch, not Hispanic. So now Matt sings, I'm the kaart I'm the kaart I'm the kaart, instead of the map song.

For those of you who watched the Irish cartoon "The Adventures of Piggly Wink" (thank you Latham's for the introduction), you know that it's an Irish Grandfather (Piggly) telling his American grandkids tales of his youth. Here, the grandkids are British. I don't relate nearly as well... It's the strangest thing to realize that our stereotypical predilections are preyed upon so blatantly by marketing teams around the world, with us all the time unaware. Shocking.

We met more of our elderly neighbors. It seems that the building is made up of foreigners and older people whose house stairs seemed too daunting to keep living with. So they move to the 10th floor of an apartment building with an elevator. Hank and his wife "Mesch" (spelling unknown) met us at the elevator and chatted while the guys on the 6th floor that we passed up accidentally waited and waited for the elevator car to come back up. I've seen them in passing before, but this time we got to talk a little. When I tried to repeat the wife's name, I said "Miss?" They laughed, said her name again, and Hank said, yes, I guess that's right, she's "Miss Mesch". She told me that she feels lucky because her husband is a little crazy. I think she meant that he keeps her laughing. Something is always lost in translation here.

Thursday evening we went out for Indian food in Amsterdam. It was a little quiet on a weeknight, which was enjoyable. It's still odd to not have bookstudy on Thursday. That was the first time being in Amsterdam that we've not felt so very very touristy, but more like locals eating in an off the beaten path place. We tried to gage the spice level at this place; Matt aimed high. The spice in his lamb madras actually made him cry. I ate most of my dinner, because I could still feel my mouth, whereas he only had about a third. Maybe that's the secret to weight maintenance. We'll go again (and order more conservatively) on a touristy weekend because they have live music then.

Friday I got to join a sister, Charlotte, (whom we met at the dinner party last weekend) from the North English congregation who has a very similar situation to my own. She and her husband are here from Texas for work, however they get to stay on for 2 years. I'm trying not to be jealous. She is also pioneering, and needs support for longer days to make up from time lost packing and moving. We even drive the same car back in the states. She inherited a few studies from a sister who moved to Nigeria, and I was privileged to accompany her on two of them. That lasted us from 11 am to 6 pm because of the travel time involved. I got to see Holland as far north as Uitgeest (pronounced Out-haste, which translates literally to Out Mind) and east to Haarlem, which is a really amazing little town, just as packed with history as Amsterdam. Think, Harlem NY, the Holland Tunnel, New Amsterdam which sold for a dollar to become New York... I look forward to spending some time there. The weather was brutal, and traveling by foot, bus and train all day really made me miss what I take so for granted back home. Cars! And Heaters!

To help us cope with the weather, after bookstudy Saturday morning (and after Matt's much much needed hair cut at a place in Amstelveen), Matt took us shopping. I think the fact that a lot of our moving expenses finally got reimbursed helped. He's very good at surprising me...I knew he wanted to find a messenger bag to carry the umbrella, his books, and extra warm layers to and from work, but I thought he had a particular shop in mind. Nope. He surprised me by taking us to the biggest outdoor market in Amsterdam. The one I'd been jonesing to get to. The Albert Cuyp Markt. I love the way the Dutch spell. Markt. It's like they were IMing from way back. This market goes and goes and goes for the length of Albert Cuyp Street. The market began trading in 1904, and now over 300 stalls line both sides of the street. It seems to be that the stores that already exist along the street throw out tents and expand their shops and claim the sidewalk and parking stalls as extra shop space for the weekend. You can find clothes (like Matt's new insulated jacket, my new 5 euro leather gloves, and leggings), every imaginable kind of food (similar to a farmers market, but add a lot more prepared foods), antique furniture, electronics, bicycle parts, toilet plungers. You name it, and you can probably find it here. We actually had things in mind that we needed (including Matt's new messenger bag) and shopped according to plan, but still managed to stay from around 3pm to closing, at dusk.

We had a great fish dinner at the Irish pub called a Hole in the Wall, watched some ice skating (way too cold to think about taking our shoes off to put on skates), and caught our tram home just in time for the sleet to come in. I imagine that I will wake up to white streets and tree tops out the windows in the morning. I don't have any service plans (or appointments, as they say here) for tomorrow, so I might just head to town to take some pictures first thing, (since the landlady won't come until evening) because a lot of folks here are telling us that snow doesn't really happen that often anymore. Most seemed quite surprised, and said it was early for snows. They expect plenty of rain, but the canals don't freeze over for skating every winter anymore, and the snow isn't a guarantee at all. Gotta snap a pic while I can :)

Today, after meeting, we turned down two dinner invitations to take care of a few things at home. We've had such a whirlwind of work, service, setting up house, playing tourist, meeting people and socializing, that we've hardly spent time with just each other. We did however, go to sister Davis house for a few hours this afternoon so that Matt could tweak her laptop a bit. She's dealing with Vista and a pre-loaded machine when all she wants is CNN and email. We're cooking in tonight, in part because nothing is open on Sunday, and in part to use up the fresh meats and veg that we've bought from the markets. Tomorrow evening we have the fix it guy coming, along with the land lady again. She should be bringing the final missing items, and he should be installing stable coat hooks, checking the heater panels, and measuring for curtains. And anything else I can think of :)

I can't believe it. "The Young Ones" are actually still on TC here. Time to sign off and squat down!

The Weather: Is it still in the 70's in Cali?

Lots to say, and not so much time to say it. I'll publish more of our encounters in a while. Here's a little snippet of what the weather has been like here lately.

Friday, the wind kicked up.

Saturday morning we woke up to the first snow of the season.

This morning, Sunday, the sky was clear and blue, so I didn't wear the thick jacket. I should always wear the thick jacket.

Bicycle Trials

So, on Monday the landlady (Ekta from India) brought over some missing things, but not everything. Still missing sheets, curtains, and large body towels. The body size towels seem to be about a third smaller than were used to. I think we must be looking in the wrong shops. She did bring an entire set of glasses, so we don't have to wash the two large ones we had after each use anymore. And she got us a nice big spaghetti pot, so I don't have to rely just on the 5 quart pot with wobbly handles.

She's supposed to be making an appointment for a fixer guy to come and check the couple of heater panels that aren't heating (most notably by the shower), and to repair the coat hooks that have fallen out of the wall. The walls are not the drywall I'm used to at home, but seem more like concrete almost. So, the screw or nail hole begins to crumble with repeated weight regardless of how well it's anchored. Matt was sure that we'd be responsible for the repair, but seeing that they were half out of the wall to begin with, our hanging a jacket on one and having it fall the rest of the way out, falls under the category of existing damage and will get fixed by someone who knows what they're doing. She also brought an extra heavy blanket for the guest bed, since the one that was here was immensely stinky, and in need of a washing, but won't fit in my washer here. I thought she'd just take it away, and wash it. Instead she brought over a new hot pink one, in it's original packaging plastic bag, and she says, that it's new and unused. I said thank you, and after glancing a few times at the brown fuzz balls not matching the blanket, and the few random dark hairs on the INSIDE of the plastic packaging, sent it down to the storage unit for use by some other future renter who doesn't mind other people's hair on their bedding.

Oh! I finally tried out the bicycle from the storage unit. The bell works, and the brakes, but the tires are both flat. One of the sisters here (Naomi Ruth) offered her husband's bike repair skills when I told her about the bike, and now I know what to tell her is wrong with it. And it still needs a headlight. During the day it's fine, but we're hoping to bike to the gym, which will be mostly in the evenings. Also, it will make it a lot easier to get to the less expensive grocery shops. After service yesterday, the sister I worked with showed me one of her favorite shops and pointed out the good buys, and good brands. I can get live culture organic yogurt for .35 a pint at this shop called Aldi. At the local Alert Heijn, it's more like 2 euros. I didn't even look at the prices on the huge variety of sandwich sprinkles. I still can't get over how popular these things are. Who thought chocolate sprinkles on a sandwich sounded like a good idea? Like lunch? At least they always add butter so that when you tip the bread to take a bit, the sprinkles stick.

I've found the happy medium between the grocery outlet (the Lidl, or the C1000) and the Whole Foods (outdoor organic "bio" market on Tuesdays) I think. The AH is a super convenient 2 minute walk, but with a bike, I can get some excersize, and save some money on food. I've taken the bus a few times to the C1000, but it takes 30 minutes, whereas the bike would take 10. Same with the gym, and a whole other row of restaurants and shops in the old part of Amstelveen that we've hardly explored at all. If you don't have wheels of your own, you only see what's along the bus route, and what's close enough to walk to without fear of rain and carrying heavy bags long distances. I'll see how long it takes to bike to the Hall, because the territory would be easier to get around in on a bike too...Although that presumes that your partner has a bike as well.

The sister I worked with today (same one who lent me her extra mobile phone, thanks Claudine!) says that we can borrow her daughters unused bicycle too. That way, once we get the tires repaired on the bike in the storage unit, we will have one for each of us. Then I'll feel like I really live here. You can't live in Amsterdam without a bike. It's illegal. But tolerated, like so many other things here...