Bikes, Brothels and Boogy-Men (but not all at the same time)

Hey, you'll never guess what I did this weekend... wait, I already told everyone. Fuck. Okay, I was in Amsterdam. But it was aMAZing, and not at all what I'd expected. So here, for your scintillation, I offer my Amsterdonian Top Ten.

#10: Outdoor Urinals

Because this way the city doesn't smell like pee. Downside: there's no way for them to wash their hands, so there's always this question in the back of your mind... Tragically, I never saw one of these being used.

#9: The Canals

I know, I live in a city with a big canal, I've been to Venice, I should no longer be impressed by man-made tunnels of water, but they were really beautiful. Very wide, tree-lined, much bluer than they were in Venice, and they didn't smell at all. I really loved the fact that no matter where you walk, you're always near water. Plus I love bridges; don't ask me why, I just do. Also note: the presence of outdoor urinals makes it much less likely that people are peeing in the canals. Anyway, we spent most of Saturday just wandering around the canals, drinking coffee in little waterside cafes and checking out little local markets; Maya, who is a film student, took a lot of videos of the city, which I'm trying to convince her to edit and put on a disc for me

#8: Michiel's Flat (and Michiel)

It was really great having somewhere to stay, and to prepare food (which totally cuts down on food budget, may I just say) and a cool local guy to hang out with. That was, of course the best aspect of it: his localness. I mean, he spoke Dutch for us and convinced taxi drivers to cram unrealistic numbers of us into their back seats and took us to local clubs and also to the best Dutch event ever... which you'll see later on because it's much higher in the top ten. This is in numerical order, by the by. Anyway, Carrie and Arnaud (her french lover), Maya and I stayed at Michiel's flat, while the other four (Geeta, Ben, Helen and Carolyn) stayed at a hotel, and we split the hotel eight ways so it was super cheap. Or relatively so. In the evenings we all gathered at Michiel's and Arnaud cooked elaborate french food - he's a chef, and really loves to cook, and absolutely refuses to let anyone help him. I was admittedly a little irritated that he constantly made dairy-and-egg-intensive foods and then made me a separate little dish of something - I hate being really pointedly singled out like that - but other than that I have no complaints about someone cooking for me. Michiel is an old friend of Carrie's (he was on exchange in New Zealand with her); he's a graphic design student, so his walls are covered in cool graphic art, and his bathroom comes equipped with a sharpie and an invitation in three different languages to write or draw anything you want. Very cool.

#7: Traveling with Large Groups

This way if you get really tired of one person, there are six others you can talk to instead. Also, we got to count off and have a buddy system like in kindergarten. And if different people wanted to do different things, it was really easy to split up. For example, on Saturday, Arnaud, Carrie, Maya and I did a cheap wandering day, where we just walked around the city, going into little shops and markets and stuff, getting our bearings and enjoying the sunlight (a scottish rarety), whereas Geeta, Ben, Carolyn and Helen, who have a little more money, went to various museums and then went out for dinner. We, on the other hand were saving our money up for #6 and 7.

#6: Coffeeshops

Now, you all know me, and know I'm not a big drug-user, but these were actually really fun. The nice ones are run like good wine stores, where they let you smell the various vintages and tell you the history of them. I was encouraged to detect the citrusy scent of one as opposed to the woodsy smell of another... in the end we selected Willie Nelson, last year's winner of the Cannabis Cup, which provided a "mellow high with creative impulses." After we got back outside I almost wet myself laughing. But I didn't laugh AT the guy, because he was providing the drugs.

#5: the Food

Remember when Anneke used to bring us weird Dutch candies and make us eat them, like salty licorice and crap? It was just like that, but moreso. Stroopwafels (honey cakes) were in abundance, though I tragically could not eat them as they are action-packed with honey, eggs, and butter. However, I could eat the many varieties of gingerbread, licorice and peanut-buttery things that my fellow travelers were constantly buying. Also, I was very pushy on the few occassions that we eated out, and managed to score both a visit to a healthfood restaurant called Bolhoed (fun fact: vegetarian in Dutch is "vegetarische") where we had these amazing pastries stuffed with leeks, mushrooms and tofu, that were SOOOO good; also, there was a Wagamama's, and I made them go there as well. That soup is like my crack. I also bought you all an ingestible (and vegan friendly!) present that will be arriving along with your Christmas package. Expect great things. Prepare to be disappointed.

#4: Dutch Clubbing

We went to a club called Bitterzoet (bittersweet) on Friday night, and it was a blast. There were a whole bunch of actual DJs, who were actually mixing really well, playing a combination of oldschool r&b, something they called "50 cent" which is actually all hiphop that sounds anything like 50 Cent, and Dutch rap. Dutch rap rules, by the way. At one point they played Scrubs mixed with some incomprehensible Dutch thing and it was really funny. I've never been in a club so packed before, you were just crammed up against total strangers and it was impossible to drink on the dance floor, so I just didn't drink. Also, in the punkrock spirit of the Amsterdonian lifestyle, the clubs don't close until 4am that the earliest, which means hours and hours of fun. I am seriously getting spoiled for the clubbing over here: there's always somewhere to go, the music is always good and there are always plenty of people, but this club was all of these things only moreso. One of the best nights out in memory.

#3: Art

The museums in Amsterdam are really expensive, but to make up for it they're really great as well. We went to two, the Rijksmuseum (which is old Dutchy art, like Rembrandt and a lot of blue-and-white ceramics) and the Van Gogh museum, which is relatively self-explanatory. The latter was really incredible, well worth the ten euros. There was an entire floor of Van Gogh - about 200 paintings - plus a permanent collection of his predecessors, contemporaries, and those whom he inspired. It was a really well setup museum, with just enough information and, most importantly, some stunning paintings. Thankfully I managed to dodge going through any museums with Ben, who is a typical American, run-through-and-see-everything-famous-in-15-minutes kind of guy; I was able to take my time on Monday to see all the Van Gogh carefully, and it was really rainy and dreadful outside so I didn't feel like I was missing anything great out there.

#2: This Photo

There was a canon. Where was there a canon? There was a canon at...

#1: The Sinter Klaus Parade!


It just so happened that when we woke up Sunday morning, Michiel was reading the paper, and told us that we were in luck because Sinter Klaus was arriving that very day! Apparently he arrived by steamboat from Spain (?) and procedes through the city, then every day from November 19th through to December 5th, the children can leave their shoes near the chimney and, if they're good, Black Pete will leave them a handful of nasty licorice-flavoured cookies. Other cultures as weird. So yeah, we went to the parade, and it was the best thing ever. Mainly it consisted of tons and tons of people (men and women) dressed up as Black Pete, Santa's very sketchy helper; to dress up as Black Pete you need to paint your face with boot polish, draw on a big red mouth, put on a velvet doublet and a cap with a feather, and eat some watermelon and fried chicken. Sorry, what? Forget that last part. There was even a marching band made up entirely of Black Petes. Also, there were like three really crappy floats, one with an ostrich. The highlight was the fact that all the Black Petes had canvas bags full of cookies, and we were surrounding by adorable little Dutch children equipped with plastic bags, and the Black Petes would shove fistfuls of ginger snaps and stuff into their bags. Only ginger snaps and those nasty licorice cookies. No normal candy. The kids were REALLY excited about these cookies, it was so cute. Also, they (as in the Petes) kept giving us cookies as well, so we made ourselves sick on ginger snaps, which is always fun. At the end Sinter Klaus rode by on a big white horse; he has a real beard and a very stylish red velvet cloak, and was not at all jolly. In fact, he was very solemn and had a big cross on his chest; he's pretty much the actual Saint Nicholas, meaning stern and Catholic. Good thing he has a wacky black sidekick to liven things up.

So, that was my weekend in Amsterdam. There are some bits I didn't mention, like when we walked through the Red-Light District and I was thoroughly demoralized, but I think I've covered all the important bits. Chronology is for losers. Oh, and the Boogey-Men reference? Last Wednesday I went on a Haunted Edinburgh tour that took us into the Black Crypt, home of a notoriously mysoginistic poltergeist. Afterward we went into a little pub, a friend of mine found what she swears is a poltergeist scratch on her arm, and we were hit on by an old Scotsman in a kilt. Good times all around.

(I'm pointing at her scratch, not just making a stupid face.)

moral lethargy or in defense of caring

In the past months I have become increasingly overwhelmed by two things: the shocking moral lethargy of the majority of people, and my overwhelming pride in those who I know who are doing something to change the world. In regards to the former, as I'm sure I've mentioned to several of you, I keep encountering women who don't care about women's rights or think feminism has "done its job" and supposed animal lovers who eat meat anyway because vegetarianism is too much work. In regards to the latter, I'm thinking of people like Anneke, who sees injustice in her own backyard, is outraged, and tries to mend it; and Jessie, who feels grateful for how much life has given her and expresses it through helping others. People like this give me hope that our generation is not full of morally lethargic nihilists who can't be bothered to care.
To this end, I have set up a new blog... of sorts. It isn't for me to write on, though I did put in the first submission. It's basically a forum for people who care about things to post what they care about. I want to prove, to myself and to anyone who's interested to see, that our generation is full of activists and agitators who see that the world is going to hell in a handbasket and try to make it better. The site is called "what are you doing" and basically anyone can email me whatever they want - art, photography, a quote they like, or something more elaborate, like a written description of the causes they believe in, really absolutely anything, and I'll post it. I guess it's supposed to be a collage of caring-about-anything. It's mostly for my peace of mind. I hope it works out.

Happy Bonfire Night!

Also known as Guy Fawkes Night... you know, "remember remember the fifth of November." Anyway, Scotland is not so much with the effigies (which is good because that sounds creepy) but very much with the amateur fireworks displays! As soon as it gets dark (ie 5pm) everyone across the cities starts setting off fireworks like crazy. To appreciation this singular spectacle we (a brave troop of about eight international students) climbed up Arthur's Seat (in the dark with no flashlight - very punkrock) and sat and ate delicious vegan cookies (courtesy of yours truly) and drank various forms of alcoholic beverages (I love parentheses!)out of various forms of water bottles, and watched all the fireworks go off across the city, including a big beautiful one put on by the city itself. So fun, so beautiful, and we were home by nine! Now that's what I call a wholesome evening.

Emily in Edinburgh

...also known as a Parisian girl in Scotland. Or a Canadian werewolf in Britain? I'm not quite sure.
Anyway, Emily came and visited me this past weekend, which was excellent because 1) we had a rockin' good time and 2) it was a really good excuse to go and visit some tourist attractions from the city I'm actually living in.
I went and met her Thursday evening in Glasgow (her plane was late arriving, and she ended up getting a ride from the airport from a lovely Scottish couple, which I think set the tone for the weekend pretty well). We had 1:30am dinner (very greasy, very Scottish, included deep-fried mushrooms) and then talked into the wee hours of the morning, thus waking up just in time for checkout. Spent much of Friday in Glasgow, saw the cathedral (again) and shopped a bit, then headed back to Edinburgh in time to have dinner and a couple of drinks with a big group of international students. I got the distinct impression Emily was relieved to be speaking her native tongue again.
On Saturday we did Edinburgh castle, which actually took us about four hours. I've been before, but it was definitely worth going again; I mean, it's pretty much what you'd expect in a castle, very big and very old and very castle-y, but it's gorgeous and really fun, and there's tons to explore. Also, it was really funny watching Emily have to duck to get through every single doorway, because I'm pretty much medieval-height and she's really really not.
Saturday we went to a Halloween flat-party (like a house party but with a lot less space) where we played drinking-jenga, I've Never, bobbed for apples, and then a drunk guy stole half our bottle of Malibu and started breaking stuff and that was the end of the party. But that didn't happen until around 3:30am, so it was okay. Emily dressed as a black cat (all in black with some cat ears and a really cute tail) and I dressed as snow (all in white with a lot of glitter and a snowflake ornament around my neck), and Carrie dressed as a tomboy (a cultural reference that our French companions didn't get, as they kept asking her if she was a "dirty boy") and he french lover Arnaud dressed as a french-man. He had suspenders. It was really cute.
So. Sunday we slept in, ate a giant vegan brunch (courtesy of yours truly) and then, at my brutal insistence, climbed Arthur's Seat. It took us a couple of hours, mostly because we were taking it pretty slow, and stopping for pictures a lot, but it was really beautiful. Lot of great view of autumnal-ness, and around the back we found this little loch and the ruin of some old abbey and lots and lots of swans. Also, apparently there's this whole other half of Edinburgh BEHIND Arthur's Seat that I didn't even know was there. Huh.
Anyway, that's really it for news from me; I'm working on essays pretty much constantly and doing nothing of interest. I've posted pictures again at http://www.flickr.com/photos/91173227@N00/ so you can go check those out if you want more.

Chapter 8: in which our intrepid adventuress lames out and just posts an email instead of rewriting her adventures in London and Ireland

That's right, I'm too lazy to re-narrate what I have already narrated. So behold, something everyone has already read! Just here for posterity, so that years from now when I'm remembering the salad days, I have something to look back on... *sigh*

I can't seem to remember if I emailed you guys about London... Wait, I
think I sent out a general notification about the pictures and that
was it. Well, I had an excellent time there, I really nerded it up
with Luc and because we only had 2 1/2 days there we did the balls-out
tourist thing and saw as much famous stuff as we could in our limited
time. To that end we went to the National Gallery, the British Museum,
the Cutty Sark, Greenwhich Village (home of the prime meridian),
Westminster Abbey, Trafalgar Square, Buckingham Palace, and walked
THROUGH a lot of famous areas, like Soho and Covent Gardens. It really
is an amazing city, and Luc and I agreed we've got to go back - we're
planning to meet there again in May when the Globe Theatre opens again
(the season was over when we were there) so we can take in some
Shakespeare. The tickets are super cheap, just a few pounds. One of
the best parts of that trip was my walk from Waterloo Station, where
Luc left, to Baker St, where I was to catch my bus. It took me about 3
hours in total, basically spanning the entire city, and it was really
nice to just walk around and see it without any sense of direction or
urgency. Also, as you can see from the pictures, my award for arriving
was a flock of Canadian geese. So exotic.

Anyway, I got home Monday at midnight, spent 2 1/2 days going to
classes and frantically doing my readings, because we were leaving for
Ireland Thursday afternoon. I was a little nervous about the Ireland
trip, to be honest, just because a lot of things were up in the air,
and three people were coming along who I'd never met before, plus we
were supposed to hook up with this Irish guy named Damian who Carrie
met in New Zealand, which sounded like it could potentially be pretty
sketch.

HowEVER, it turned out to be one of the most amazing weekends of my
life. By the time we got through airport-everything and arrived at our
hostel it was about 9:30. On the way there we got a call from two of
the three other people supposedly travelling with us, saying that
surprise! they weren't coming after all, and could we just cancel all
those hostel beds we had booked for them. Boo. I don't know these
people but I hate them anyway. However, the other guy, Ben, who is
also a student at the uni here, arrived safely and met us at the
hostel. We ate a quick dinner at some burger place (which had the
cutest security guard I have ever seen, even if Geeta does say he was
way too old for me... whatever...) then met up with Damian. He, as it
turns out, is the cutest (and littlest) Irish boy in the land, with a
tiny little faux-hawk. You'll see pictures of him when I eventually
post them, but for now I've used up all my bandwidth on flickr and I'm
apparently cut off. Anyway, he took us to Temple Bar to have our first
guiness, which was very touristy and silly, and Geeta (who is from
Texas and has an uncanny knack for attracting all Americans in the
immediate vicinity) met a bunch of Americans... however, Damian's
older brother Dave showed up shortly, and they decided that place was
too touristy and instead took us to a local-er place a few blocks
over, where there was some trad being played in the basement and no
other tourists. I switch from guiness to whiskey (because everyone
insisted I drink something local but guiness is just too much man for
me) and we sat around getting to know each other and listening to the
trad. Damian and Dave turned out to be the nicest guys, and they told
us all about their various travels; Damian is a sound
engineer/musician and Dave is currently a computer programmer, though
he used to be an acupuncture therapist which I think is uber cool.
Anyway, Thursday night was a relatively early night as that pub closed
at midnight, and they both had to work the next morning.

SO, the next morning we went BACK to the airport and rented a car
(Carrie knows how to drive standard and drove on the left side of the
road in New Zealand, making her the most useful girl in the world) and
set about with our wacky Irish roadtrip.
This was the best part, because, since we were in a car, we could get
off the major bus/rail/plan tourist routes and see some little tiny
towns that were perhaps a bit more "authentically" Irish. We drove
from Dublin (east coast) to Galway (west coast) in about four hours,
and that was with a length lunch stop in the middle. Galway is a sweet
little town but still quite touristy, lots of the same shops as Dublin
and lots of kitschy Irish restaurants. I was getting really tired of
eating Irish food, since the vegan options tend to be potatoe with a
side of more potatoe, so I put my foot down for pan-asian, which made
me very very happy.

I had also been responsible for booking our hostel that night (since
everyone else was strangely afraid of making phonecalls, I did all of
the bookings and cancellations the entire weekend), and had chosen a
cheap place in this little town called Oughterard, apparently 25
minutes outside of Galway. It actually turned out to be more like 45
minutes, down very dark unlit windy roads, and the hostel itself was
in the middle of this big unlit field, which was at the same time
beautiful and creepy. It was actually mostly beautiful, though,
because we could see all the stars out there.

Once we had checked in (an easy process, because he required no ID, no
deposit, handed us a key and went back to bed) we went into the centre
of town, which was basically a bar/restaurant/hotel (all one
building), a grocery store, and a hardware store. Oh, and a church. I
mean, we were in Ireland after all. So we went to the bar, which was
advertising - what else? - live music, expecting some more trad...
turned out to be this Irish singer songwriter who'd just gotten back
from a tour of the States, but was from Oughterard, and when he's home
he performs at this little local bar every Friday. He was very good,
and a lot of people from the other little towns around Oughterard had
come in especially to see him; the place was crowded, and everyone was
up jiving and swining (couples dancing only, because everyone was over
50). We were the only tourists there, as well as the only young people
there, and we had an absolute blast, swing-dancing with the old Irish
men at their wives' insistence and singing along to all the american
covers he was playing especially for us (I complained that I wasn't
american so he sang a Neil Young song for me - yay!). It was an
amazing night - the Irish are so generous and welcoming and FRIENDLY,
everyone seemed to love us just on account of our being guests in
their country, and we weren't allowed to buy our own drinks all night.

After a very good night's sleep in the hostel (four people in a 12-bed
dorm room means lots of pillows for all!) and a very good shower, we
headed out for some adventures on the Irish coast. We ate a quick
traditional Irish breakfast at the bar/restaurant (where we saw some
old Irish men drinking guiness at 10 in the morning - I'm still not
sure how I feel about this). As you can imagine, vegan options were
not plentiful, so I ordered the vegetarian breakfast hold the eggs,
and got 1) the weirdest look from the server ever and 2) a big plate
of beans and toast. Aw, well. It was cheap.

We spent most of Saturday driving around the coast of Western Ireland
(if anyone is consulting a map while reading this email, we drove from
Oughterard to Clifden, which is a coastal down, then south along the
coast until we got back to Galway). I have never seen a landscape more
beautiful than western Ireland. You all have to see it; it literally
took my breath away. I took about a thousand pictures, which you'll
see once flickr stops being such a douche. Anyway, these were all tiny
towns, no tourist-attractions or interest in tourists at all, because
they're so far off the main transit routes. At one point we stopped in
a little town to get lunch, and they were speaking Gaelic to each
other in the grocery store. Apparently in most of these little towns
gaelic is the first language, though everyone of course spoke english
as well. Once again, everyone was very friendly, though also really
surprised to see this carload of university students unloading into
their sleep irish town. I'll let the pictures do most of the
describing for me, but it really was incredible; the landscape is
rough and rocky, and full of incredible blue lakes; the inlets to the
ocean (Atlantic, of course) are all silver and full of these long
fingers of rock. There are tiny white houses dotting the hills, and
sheep and cows everywhere, wandering without fences or regard for cars
(as we learned). The highway is just a winding single-road street
where you have to full off to let another car pass, with all these
tiny stone bridges going over various streams and rivers. You all have
to promise me right now that you will go to Western Ireland at some
point in your lives - it was amazing.

Unfortunately, we eventually had back to Dublin because Damian and
Dave were expecting us. We crashed at Damian's place that night
because his housemates were away and because he didn't have to work
the next day; so we dropped our stuff off at his place, changed and
tidied up, and then hit the town. It was about ten this time when we
ate dinner (at this place called Abrakebabra, which sold a lot of
donair - I had a veggie burger, possibly the grossest thing I've ever
eaten). After that we went to a bar called Toast, which was an old
converted firestation (I asked if the name was a clever pun but Dave
said no, just coincidence - I'm unconvinced). Something I have learned
about the Irish: they really like buying drinks for their guests. I
managed to buy one round through a combination of sneakery and
physical force, but it was no easy feat. Dave and Damian must have
spent a fortune that night, because every time I finished a drink,
there was another one miraculously sitting in front of me. We stayed
at Toast until about midnight, then went to this nightclub (I can't
remember exactly where it was) and drank some more, and danced, and
met a whole bunch of Damian's drunk-out-of-their-minds Irish friends.
After the club closed we went to Damian's friends' house, where there
was a DJ table and (gulp) more alcohol. I promise I was good - I
practiced my best nursing-my-drink skills, and a new houseparty
technique I call "oh I have a drink I just left it in the other room).
I also went outside every time someone wanted a smoke break, which
bought me a lot more time. There's no way in hell I could keep up with
these Irish boys, they were drinking at a completely alarming rate;
however, the drunker they got, the more jovial and hilarious they
became; no one was a sad, mean or weird drunk, they were just really
happy and friendly. Eventually, maybe around 5ish, the party moved
back to Damians, where a couple of guys pulled out guitars and we all
started singing songs that nobody could remember the words to, because
everyone was drunk out of their minds. Carrie drunk-texted her new
crush, Geeta intensely made out with an Irish boy, and I met another
Irish boy with an almost-creepy interest in Canada. It was probably
just drunken-intensity speaking, but he was SO sure that Canada held
all the secrets to his happiness, he just needed to get there first. I
feel very bad for his inevitable disappointment. Anyway, we all
crashed around 7:30 or 8 (after watching the sun come up, which was
pretty cool because we were in a warm house instead of a cold bus
stop, with the prospect of bed coming up soon) - there were plenty of
beds to go around, thankfully, and I actually didn't end up having to
share with anyone. Yay me!
So, that was my night of drunken revelling with Irish men, and brought
home the brutal truth that I am just not much of a drinker. Meh,
whatcha gonna do? I still had a lot of fun, and decided that I need to
make more Irish friends (Jessie, you're clearly not satisfying all my
Irish-related needs).

We woke up around 3 that afternoon, and after much showering and
eating of bread to settle stomachs, we (meaning me, Carrie, Geeta,
Ben, Damian and Dave) went for breakfast/lunch/dinner (first meal of
the day, 5:30 pm?), at my insistence, at Wagamama's. Ladies, it is
every bit as good as you remember and then some. I was SOOOO happy. I
ate the biggest bowl of soup in the whole world. We spent the evening
at this pub in the hills south of Dublin called Johnny Fox's. It was a
beautiful drive up, and from the top of the hills you could see all of
Dublin, which was lovely. We made an early night of it because we were
all pretty exhausted, and also because we had to wake up at 4am to
catch out 6:30 plane back to Edinburgh. Before leaving, though, we
made Dave and Damian promise to come visit us in Edinburgh, both
because they were so awesome, but also because, between the four of
us, we owe them about 30 drinks a piece and maybe 4 or 5 packs of
cigarettes.

So what is the moral of this little tale? I like coastlines more than
alcohol and Irish boys more than no Irish boys. Yeah, that sounds
about right.

My next adventure will be next weekend, Halloween weekend to be
specific; Emily is coming up to visit me and we're going to party it
up Scottish-style. Maybe I'll finally see some of the sights of this
town I'm living in, once I have someone to show around.