Looking for my chin. And my waistline. And my flawless complexion.
Coincidentally, these things have been MIA since winter started.
Have resorted to countouring my face with makeup to make it look like I have some definition, and wearing lots of layers of clothes to disguise bulge. Ditto for foundation on my face.
If anyone sees the aforementioned items, please do not approach them, in case they freak out and seek refuge on someone else's body. I need them returned to me in mint condition.
Meanwhile I will conduct my own search for these articles in places such as the gym, the solarium (only once a month for 10 minutes a time!) and the beautician.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Can't stop now
And I’m a chase that feeling,
Take that pain and replace that feeling,
And I’m a take that healing then,
Stand so tall they’ll have to raise that ceiling man
From a young age I was making my mark, chasing my start,
Forever aint enough when your state of the art,
Fuck the haters that had said I’d never make it this far,
It’s the pavers that I’d tread to dedicate to my craft,
I’ve tailored every thread that bare the shape of my heart,
Treating every breathe as my first and day as my last,
It’s got a hold on me, I still chase that feeling,
It’s got a hold on me, yeah I still chase that feeling
Take that pain and replace that feeling,
And I’m a take that healing then,
Stand so tall they’ll have to raise that ceiling man
From a young age I was making my mark, chasing my start,
Forever aint enough when your state of the art,
Fuck the haters that had said I’d never make it this far,
It’s the pavers that I’d tread to dedicate to my craft,
I’ve tailored every thread that bare the shape of my heart,
Treating every breathe as my first and day as my last,
It’s got a hold on me, I still chase that feeling,
It’s got a hold on me, yeah I still chase that feeling
When the definition of your feelings are only clear from the way you feel about other things
I'm really busy at the moment trying to roll out a global (eeek!) campaign, and slightly freaking out.
I am T-3 weeks away from cutting my teeth on the global marketing arena, and to say I am nervous/anxious is a mild understatement. I have been pulling late nights at the office, consuming (yummy) dutch lattes like it's sangria, and working at semi-warp speed and getting some sleep inbetween.
No wonder my glands have swollen up to the size of golf balls, all when I am supposed to be going to Cologne with my heroes, George and Sarah this weekend. I am having a quiet night on the houseboat tonight, after being somewhat melancholy about Australia Day, trying to get some rest, and maintaining some social aspects of my life too.
It was a non-event to say the least - the only bar that does anything is called "Coco's Outback" bar, and quite frankly, I am a little scared of it. It's dingy, and dark and it's tagline is "Lousy food and Warm beer". They announced on their website that they were having Triple J hottest 100, free lamingtons, 1 EU Australian beers (Fosters????) and a raffle that was giving away a "choock" ( a choc? or a chook? Or something in between?) and a carton of VB. Apparently it goes off on Grand Final day, but, you know, if I didn't care too much for AFL in Australia, it would be wrong for me to pretend here in Amsterdam.
The pub is just so wrong, I can't bring myself to be apart of a cave of a playground that associates itself with Australia, by bastardising the notion of it. That's when I knew I held much more regard for Australia than I ever thought possible. The idea that... THAT building, and the underdressed, considerately underdressed bar wenches that patrol the tables, could represent where I came from, was insulting.
I know it's more about the atmostphere and the potential people I could meet there, but I just can't bring myself to do it. Not physically feeling like this, and being all wound up like a yoyo, in terms of work stress. On a Tuesday night.
One of my colleagues, Sarah, bought me a cookie and made a little card that said "Happy Australia Day" and left it for me on my desk this afternoon. That cheered me up a bit.
Laura's dad is in town, and she invited me over for some fondue and wine. So I went. It was nice. Funny that I was doing something really swiss with swiss people, on Australia day.
Thinking about Australia day has made me think about the concept of 'home', a lot. It's something that I have been actively pondering about for a while. There are a lot of things that I miss about Australia, and I think since the weather just reverted to minus some-teen degrees here, I have been feeling particularly homesick.( Which I never thought I would really feel, since I always felt for some time that I was so desperate to leave, and experience new things.)
I had to explain to a colleague that I went to Indonesia for Christmas.
"Oh, so how was it at home?"
It's not my home, I had to explain to him.
"So where is home?"
"Well, I grew up in Australia."
"So that's home?"
"Guess so."
And then the questions start.
Who makes a home? Do you make it with stuff and photoframes, and a cosy bed to rest your head? Or is it organically created by the presence of your loved ones? And memories of good times and not so good times that were influential in shaping you as the person you are today?Where is home? Is home just where you have your belongings? Cliche after bloody cliche started pouring into my head.
I have held off on writing a post of this nature for some time.
It's a difficult topic for me to delve into and give the attention I feel it deserves. And this post, by no means, even scratches the surface of this topic and the meaning this one word means to me, in the context of my life.
I have only managed to define home by a process of elimination. It is only when I have realised where home was NOT, that I could ever define where home was.
Familiarity. Sources of comfort. A catalyst for memories of significant moments. Where you are known. Where you are cared about. A combination of all these things make a home. I am sure there are more factors.
In short,
Indonesia is not home.
I don't speak the language fluently enough to feel comfortable with interacting whole heartedly with locals. I don't always understand the customs. Or the celebrities. Or the laws. Or the history. I like the food though. And my parents live there. And I have a room in their house there. But it's their house. Not mine. Nothing I own permanantly resides there.
I live in Amsterdam now. It's my home right now. I have a room in an apartment filled with things that I have purchased in order to make my life here livable. I have pictures up in my room of people I care about. The fridge is full with my food. I know how the dishwasher works, and how to get to and from my house from most places in Amsterdam.
But there are some things that can't be replaced or even mildly replicated from the place where you spend the majority of your life. And once you experience them once in your life, and you get used to it, or you get hooked, and you take them for granted, it starts to dawn on you when they aren't around, that there some things that are unique to the place you grew up (kind of like Johnny; the balding, spandex wearing, aboriginal dude that trapses your local town hotspots with his miniature koala backpack. But I don't miss him.) I experienced that a lot when I lived in Queensland, for crying out loud, I was a two and half hour plane trip away from Adelaide.
I also think that the 6 month mark also represents a time when things aren't new anymore, YOU aren't new any more, and things are around you are somewhat familiar but still hold a foreign air about them, and that can be even more challenging than the getting settled in period. Before the big move to Queensland a couple of years ago, I remember a lot of people saying to me "Just give it six months at least, you just don't get a feel for a place until you've spent that much time there, don't think about coming home until it's been six months". I always concurred, and even thought to myself, at least a year, anywhere before you even begin to scratch the surface of a new place.
Funny, that in Brisbane, after 2 years, and I knew that it was never going to feel even home-like, and as a seperate feeling, I knew it wasn't for me.
I thought that once I was in Amsterdam with a steady job and an apartment, and circle of friends, that everything would be smooth sailing.
Yeah, uh... no. It's hard. Getting up in darkness is hard (damn near impossible actually). Trying to negotiate the trains on a daily basis can be frustrating. Negotiating with dutch suppliers, when you know they are trying to take the piss out of you, is demeaning. Not being able to feel your toes once in a while is downright scary. And staring into the cafeteria fridge, and all that peers back at you is rows and rows of cold cheese rolls is depressing. There are obviously more challenges, that run deeper than this, but I can't be bothered focusing on those right now.
And it can be fun.
Living freely, making my own choices is invigorating. Travelling randomly with old friends is exhilirating. Spending time with new friends is eye-opening. Strolling across a canal is breathtaking. Speaking a new language is rewarding.
Australia Day - It's just a day, like every other 364 days of the year. The sun rises, and sets, and in between, before and after, you do things during that time. Sometimes fun, sometimes not so much fun, sometimes obligatory. And there will be plenty more days to be had in the year. But there's only one Australia Day. Noone that's not Australian really "gets" Australia day. Like I'm not really going to get "Queen's Day" in the last weekend of April in Amsterdam this year. I'll just be here, but I don't really get the meaning behind traditions, and the festivities.
And that's when I knew for certain that Australia was home. Home isn't a perfect place, (it has Wayne Swan for a treasurer to start with, it's a nation full of uncouth, clone like, bingedrinking, aggressive teens, and don't get me started about cricket), but I "get it". I don't need to think twice about the way I interact with any of it. It just is what it is. And it took me 24 years of my life to get the way things work in Australia, but I know it's home because living and existing there is so intuitive. And I am lucky to have lived there for so long. And I love the majority of what it offers.
And it's a great place to live and exist. Will be "gezellig"* when I get back there.
Happy Australia Day xxx
* Explanation of this word requires a whole new post that I can't be bothered writing right now.
I am T-3 weeks away from cutting my teeth on the global marketing arena, and to say I am nervous/anxious is a mild understatement. I have been pulling late nights at the office, consuming (yummy) dutch lattes like it's sangria, and working at semi-warp speed and getting some sleep inbetween.
No wonder my glands have swollen up to the size of golf balls, all when I am supposed to be going to Cologne with my heroes, George and Sarah this weekend. I am having a quiet night on the houseboat tonight, after being somewhat melancholy about Australia Day, trying to get some rest, and maintaining some social aspects of my life too.
It was a non-event to say the least - the only bar that does anything is called "Coco's Outback" bar, and quite frankly, I am a little scared of it. It's dingy, and dark and it's tagline is "Lousy food and Warm beer". They announced on their website that they were having Triple J hottest 100, free lamingtons, 1 EU Australian beers (Fosters????) and a raffle that was giving away a "choock" ( a choc? or a chook? Or something in between?) and a carton of VB. Apparently it goes off on Grand Final day, but, you know, if I didn't care too much for AFL in Australia, it would be wrong for me to pretend here in Amsterdam.
The pub is just so wrong, I can't bring myself to be apart of a cave of a playground that associates itself with Australia, by bastardising the notion of it. That's when I knew I held much more regard for Australia than I ever thought possible. The idea that... THAT building, and the underdressed, considerately underdressed bar wenches that patrol the tables, could represent where I came from, was insulting.
I know it's more about the atmostphere and the potential people I could meet there, but I just can't bring myself to do it. Not physically feeling like this, and being all wound up like a yoyo, in terms of work stress. On a Tuesday night.
One of my colleagues, Sarah, bought me a cookie and made a little card that said "Happy Australia Day" and left it for me on my desk this afternoon. That cheered me up a bit.
Laura's dad is in town, and she invited me over for some fondue and wine. So I went. It was nice. Funny that I was doing something really swiss with swiss people, on Australia day.
Thinking about Australia day has made me think about the concept of 'home', a lot. It's something that I have been actively pondering about for a while. There are a lot of things that I miss about Australia, and I think since the weather just reverted to minus some-teen degrees here, I have been feeling particularly homesick.( Which I never thought I would really feel, since I always felt for some time that I was so desperate to leave, and experience new things.)
I had to explain to a colleague that I went to Indonesia for Christmas.
"Oh, so how was it at home?"
It's not my home, I had to explain to him.
"So where is home?"
"Well, I grew up in Australia."
"So that's home?"
"Guess so."
And then the questions start.
Who makes a home? Do you make it with stuff and photoframes, and a cosy bed to rest your head? Or is it organically created by the presence of your loved ones? And memories of good times and not so good times that were influential in shaping you as the person you are today?Where is home? Is home just where you have your belongings? Cliche after bloody cliche started pouring into my head.
I have held off on writing a post of this nature for some time.
It's a difficult topic for me to delve into and give the attention I feel it deserves. And this post, by no means, even scratches the surface of this topic and the meaning this one word means to me, in the context of my life.
I have only managed to define home by a process of elimination. It is only when I have realised where home was NOT, that I could ever define where home was.
Familiarity. Sources of comfort. A catalyst for memories of significant moments. Where you are known. Where you are cared about. A combination of all these things make a home. I am sure there are more factors.
In short,
Indonesia is not home.
I don't speak the language fluently enough to feel comfortable with interacting whole heartedly with locals. I don't always understand the customs. Or the celebrities. Or the laws. Or the history. I like the food though. And my parents live there. And I have a room in their house there. But it's their house. Not mine. Nothing I own permanantly resides there.
I live in Amsterdam now. It's my home right now. I have a room in an apartment filled with things that I have purchased in order to make my life here livable. I have pictures up in my room of people I care about. The fridge is full with my food. I know how the dishwasher works, and how to get to and from my house from most places in Amsterdam.
But there are some things that can't be replaced or even mildly replicated from the place where you spend the majority of your life. And once you experience them once in your life, and you get used to it, or you get hooked, and you take them for granted, it starts to dawn on you when they aren't around, that there some things that are unique to the place you grew up (kind of like Johnny; the balding, spandex wearing, aboriginal dude that trapses your local town hotspots with his miniature koala backpack. But I don't miss him.) I experienced that a lot when I lived in Queensland, for crying out loud, I was a two and half hour plane trip away from Adelaide.
I also think that the 6 month mark also represents a time when things aren't new anymore, YOU aren't new any more, and things are around you are somewhat familiar but still hold a foreign air about them, and that can be even more challenging than the getting settled in period. Before the big move to Queensland a couple of years ago, I remember a lot of people saying to me "Just give it six months at least, you just don't get a feel for a place until you've spent that much time there, don't think about coming home until it's been six months". I always concurred, and even thought to myself, at least a year, anywhere before you even begin to scratch the surface of a new place.
Funny, that in Brisbane, after 2 years, and I knew that it was never going to feel even home-like, and as a seperate feeling, I knew it wasn't for me.
I thought that once I was in Amsterdam with a steady job and an apartment, and circle of friends, that everything would be smooth sailing.
Yeah, uh... no. It's hard. Getting up in darkness is hard (damn near impossible actually). Trying to negotiate the trains on a daily basis can be frustrating. Negotiating with dutch suppliers, when you know they are trying to take the piss out of you, is demeaning. Not being able to feel your toes once in a while is downright scary. And staring into the cafeteria fridge, and all that peers back at you is rows and rows of cold cheese rolls is depressing. There are obviously more challenges, that run deeper than this, but I can't be bothered focusing on those right now.
And it can be fun.
Living freely, making my own choices is invigorating. Travelling randomly with old friends is exhilirating. Spending time with new friends is eye-opening. Strolling across a canal is breathtaking. Speaking a new language is rewarding.
Australia Day - It's just a day, like every other 364 days of the year. The sun rises, and sets, and in between, before and after, you do things during that time. Sometimes fun, sometimes not so much fun, sometimes obligatory. And there will be plenty more days to be had in the year. But there's only one Australia Day. Noone that's not Australian really "gets" Australia day. Like I'm not really going to get "Queen's Day" in the last weekend of April in Amsterdam this year. I'll just be here, but I don't really get the meaning behind traditions, and the festivities.
And that's when I knew for certain that Australia was home. Home isn't a perfect place, (it has Wayne Swan for a treasurer to start with, it's a nation full of uncouth, clone like, bingedrinking, aggressive teens, and don't get me started about cricket), but I "get it". I don't need to think twice about the way I interact with any of it. It just is what it is. And it took me 24 years of my life to get the way things work in Australia, but I know it's home because living and existing there is so intuitive. And I am lucky to have lived there for so long. And I love the majority of what it offers.
And it's a great place to live and exist. Will be "gezellig"* when I get back there.
Happy Australia Day xxx
* Explanation of this word requires a whole new post that I can't be bothered writing right now.
Just think like a guy
"You know for guys, it's like smashing a wine bottle against our balls, over and over again... you know it hurts, so just stop doing it!"
- My flatmate's adorable Italian boyfriend, in reference to how girls obssess about past, present and potential relationships
- My flatmate's adorable Italian boyfriend, in reference to how girls obssess about past, present and potential relationships
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Eighty Three Million = Amazing
The Dutch people donated Eighty Three Million Euros through a coordinated television and radio charity event held last thursday for the Haitian people.
EIGHTY THREE MILLION EUROS.
I think that is extreme and phenomenal at the same time.
EIGHTY THREE MILLION EUROS.
I think that is extreme and phenomenal at the same time.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
I choose the latter
"You can spend minutes,
hours,
days,
weeks
or even months
over-analysing a situation;
trying to put the pieces
together,
justifying what could've,
would've happened...
or you can just
leave the pieces on the
floor
and
move the fuck on."
- Tupac Shakur
hours,
days,
weeks
or even months
over-analysing a situation;
trying to put the pieces
together,
justifying what could've,
would've happened...
or you can just
leave the pieces on the
floor
and
move the fuck on."
- Tupac Shakur
Monday, January 18, 2010
Big question
If you could meet yourself from 5 years ago, what would you tell them?
Err, let's see. 5 years ago I would have been 22.
Probably finishing my degree. Working at Freedom Furniture. Going to PJ O'briens 2-4-1 ladies vodka nights, and working towards getting my driver's license. Or just got it. Stressing about somehow putting my degree to use, having just finished it.
Here's how the conversation would go.
Me Now: 'Sup Rani?
Me Then: Who are you?
MN: I'm you. At 27, almost 28.
M Then: But you're fat.
MN: Shut up.
M Then: Sorry, but it's true. (mutters under her breath) Don't shoot the messenger Fatty.
MN: Listen carefully.
M Then: Yeah, love to stay and chat "Rani at 27, almost 28" but I don't really have time. I'm running late for work. My bus will be here soon. Besides, you're not really me. You look way too corporate.
MN: Surprise, surprise, you're running late for work. Listen, I AM YOU. I had to get corporate, to some extent. It's how the real world works. We can't hang out at the Austral and Unibar in our jeans and thongs everyday. You ain't gonna be stocking shower curtains and toilet brushes at Freedom for the rest of your life.
MT: Is that a promise? 'Cos I'm sort of over this minimum wage job at this poor excuse for a designer homewares store.
MN: Enjoy it while you can kid. Full time working life blows. Save as much money as you can, and run amuck now. Go out ever Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday night if possible, but save money if you can. And stop going to the Havelock. You know you hate it, just don't go.
MT: What, save?! How is that possible on twenty bucks an hour...?
MN: Jesus kid, just shut up for a sec willya? You know that girl that you're best friends with? Ditch her. Take up a hobby. And save your money and put it towards something worthwhile. And I don't mean that dress that caught your eye on Rundle street.
MT: Like what? A house deposit? Or stocks?
MN: No, not stocks. Just save it for a rainy day,but don't put it in stocks. Or if you do, put it in a little company called ABC childcare, then pull it out again in 2006-ish.
MT: Who? ABC Childcare? Who ARE you?!
MN: And another thing... that guy you're dating. Make sure you cook him dinner once in a while, and when you start working full time, make sure you arrive at work early so you can leave on time, so you can spend some time with him, instead of dicking around at the office for some client that will rip your self esteem to shreds no matter how late you stay back.
MT: Cook?? I have to learn how to cook?!
MN: Up bap bap bap... shush. He's phenomenal. Just make sure he knows it. And don't skimp on seeing a beautician when you move to Queensland. Waxing your own eyebrows is not worth it.
MT: Seriously, lady, keep walking. I won't ever live in Queensland. I've never even been to the Gold Coast. Here's a tip FOR YOU - check yourself into rehab.
MN: Yeah, that might come later, after you move to Amsterdam.
MT: Amsterdam... isn't that in Germany? I don't even speak German. Why would I go there? And if you really are me, and you're acting all corporate, why aren't you at some funky ass party, schmoozing at a hip bar with a champagne in your hand, charming the pants of some client to win the next account? You're 28, you should be hot, and working every social function in town.
MN: (mutters under her breath) Was I really this delusional back then? (deep breath) Yeah, ok... I'm going to let you in on a secret. The Marketing and Advertising world is going to eat you up and spit you out, but it's ok, you'll be alright. It's not glamourous, it's all a facade. And even if it looks glamourous from the outside, 92% of people in the industry are not people you are going to get along with. You might get along with 6% of them. 2% you might actually become friends with. For the most part, they're all heartless vampires. For real. But here's a tip - don't let anyone push you around. Walk with your head high, be humble, no matter how they treat you. Don't settle for anything less than authenticity in people.
MT: Really? Hmmm. Maybe I should rethink my career.
MN: YES! YES! Do that! Or at least keep writing and putting your stuff out there. And learn how to make dumplings. And learn how to sew. And call your mum and dad every week. No matter how painful it is to talk to them. And don't be scared of doing anything. Just do what you think is right. You're going to be ok.
MT: Well, I sort of do like dumplings. Especially jiao zi. Am I going to travel like I always wanted to? Because I really want to. Like, I really really really want to.
MN: For real kiddo. It's going to be epic. You don't even know how good it's going to be. But it'll be lonely at times. When you go on the road less travelled, being a trail blazer isn't always a party. But don't worry, the universe is going to show you beauty and magic of the likes of which you've never seen.
MT: Sweet.... (looks me up and down) What are you, a size 11 now? Too many dumplings?
MN: Whatever. Go stock some more shelves with toilet brushes.
Err, let's see. 5 years ago I would have been 22.
Probably finishing my degree. Working at Freedom Furniture. Going to PJ O'briens 2-4-1 ladies vodka nights, and working towards getting my driver's license. Or just got it. Stressing about somehow putting my degree to use, having just finished it.
Here's how the conversation would go.
Me Now: 'Sup Rani?
Me Then: Who are you?
MN: I'm you. At 27, almost 28.
M Then: But you're fat.
MN: Shut up.
M Then: Sorry, but it's true. (mutters under her breath) Don't shoot the messenger Fatty.
MN: Listen carefully.
M Then: Yeah, love to stay and chat "Rani at 27, almost 28" but I don't really have time. I'm running late for work. My bus will be here soon. Besides, you're not really me. You look way too corporate.
MN: Surprise, surprise, you're running late for work. Listen, I AM YOU. I had to get corporate, to some extent. It's how the real world works. We can't hang out at the Austral and Unibar in our jeans and thongs everyday. You ain't gonna be stocking shower curtains and toilet brushes at Freedom for the rest of your life.
MT: Is that a promise? 'Cos I'm sort of over this minimum wage job at this poor excuse for a designer homewares store.
MN: Enjoy it while you can kid. Full time working life blows. Save as much money as you can, and run amuck now. Go out ever Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday night if possible, but save money if you can. And stop going to the Havelock. You know you hate it, just don't go.
MT: What, save?! How is that possible on twenty bucks an hour...?
MN: Jesus kid, just shut up for a sec willya? You know that girl that you're best friends with? Ditch her. Take up a hobby. And save your money and put it towards something worthwhile. And I don't mean that dress that caught your eye on Rundle street.
MT: Like what? A house deposit? Or stocks?
MN: No, not stocks. Just save it for a rainy day,but don't put it in stocks. Or if you do, put it in a little company called ABC childcare, then pull it out again in 2006-ish.
MT: Who? ABC Childcare? Who ARE you?!
MN: And another thing... that guy you're dating. Make sure you cook him dinner once in a while, and when you start working full time, make sure you arrive at work early so you can leave on time, so you can spend some time with him, instead of dicking around at the office for some client that will rip your self esteem to shreds no matter how late you stay back.
MT: Cook?? I have to learn how to cook?!
MN: Up bap bap bap... shush. He's phenomenal. Just make sure he knows it. And don't skimp on seeing a beautician when you move to Queensland. Waxing your own eyebrows is not worth it.
MT: Seriously, lady, keep walking. I won't ever live in Queensland. I've never even been to the Gold Coast. Here's a tip FOR YOU - check yourself into rehab.
MN: Yeah, that might come later, after you move to Amsterdam.
MT: Amsterdam... isn't that in Germany? I don't even speak German. Why would I go there? And if you really are me, and you're acting all corporate, why aren't you at some funky ass party, schmoozing at a hip bar with a champagne in your hand, charming the pants of some client to win the next account? You're 28, you should be hot, and working every social function in town.
MN: (mutters under her breath) Was I really this delusional back then? (deep breath) Yeah, ok... I'm going to let you in on a secret. The Marketing and Advertising world is going to eat you up and spit you out, but it's ok, you'll be alright. It's not glamourous, it's all a facade. And even if it looks glamourous from the outside, 92% of people in the industry are not people you are going to get along with. You might get along with 6% of them. 2% you might actually become friends with. For the most part, they're all heartless vampires. For real. But here's a tip - don't let anyone push you around. Walk with your head high, be humble, no matter how they treat you. Don't settle for anything less than authenticity in people.
MT: Really? Hmmm. Maybe I should rethink my career.
MN: YES! YES! Do that! Or at least keep writing and putting your stuff out there. And learn how to make dumplings. And learn how to sew. And call your mum and dad every week. No matter how painful it is to talk to them. And don't be scared of doing anything. Just do what you think is right. You're going to be ok.
MT: Well, I sort of do like dumplings. Especially jiao zi. Am I going to travel like I always wanted to? Because I really want to. Like, I really really really want to.
MN: For real kiddo. It's going to be epic. You don't even know how good it's going to be. But it'll be lonely at times. When you go on the road less travelled, being a trail blazer isn't always a party. But don't worry, the universe is going to show you beauty and magic of the likes of which you've never seen.
MT: Sweet.... (looks me up and down) What are you, a size 11 now? Too many dumplings?
MN: Whatever. Go stock some more shelves with toilet brushes.
Ik weet het niet.
There are some days where I ask myself what I am doing here.
Ok.
I'm lying.
It's most days.
Ok.
I'm lying.
It's most days.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
The perfect little bachelorette pad
Laura has a new apartment.
It's awesome. It is possibly the most perfect little apartment for her.
We moved her in on Friday night at 10pm. She's still got some of her stuff at her old place, but not much. Between us we carried a suitcase, 2 traveller backpacks, and 3 carry bags and 2 handbags of stuff to her new place and up the steep Amsterdam stairs to her 2nd floor, 1 bedroom, separate living room, separate kitchen, separate bathroom palace. It is, in a word, supacute.
The whole apartment is teeny tiny, like maybe 35m sq, but the living room has a little pot belly heater, a mantlepiece, chandelier and a light pink wall.
What this place lacks in space, it makes up in character.
She settled in over the weekend, putting her stuff around the place and unpacking. We went to the supermarket across the road to buy some food and household stuff.
I bought myself a toothbrush to keep at her place - That, in itself, speaks volumes about how much time we spend together.
We had a little housewarming by cranking up her heater, eating swiss cheese, celery, bread and dips, drinking cups of tea, playing music videos on youtube, and eventually drinking 3 bottles of wine.
I'm very happy for her.
It's awesome. It is possibly the most perfect little apartment for her.
We moved her in on Friday night at 10pm. She's still got some of her stuff at her old place, but not much. Between us we carried a suitcase, 2 traveller backpacks, and 3 carry bags and 2 handbags of stuff to her new place and up the steep Amsterdam stairs to her 2nd floor, 1 bedroom, separate living room, separate kitchen, separate bathroom palace. It is, in a word, supacute.
The whole apartment is teeny tiny, like maybe 35m sq, but the living room has a little pot belly heater, a mantlepiece, chandelier and a light pink wall.
What this place lacks in space, it makes up in character.
She settled in over the weekend, putting her stuff around the place and unpacking. We went to the supermarket across the road to buy some food and household stuff.
I bought myself a toothbrush to keep at her place - That, in itself, speaks volumes about how much time we spend together.
We had a little housewarming by cranking up her heater, eating swiss cheese, celery, bread and dips, drinking cups of tea, playing music videos on youtube, and eventually drinking 3 bottles of wine.
I'm very happy for her.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
hustlers and dreams
My friend, Boy, and I went out for dinner tonight.
For some reason, whenever we get together we always end up scheming up plans to hustle people. I think it's because he's a Gemini and I am too, so we just encourage each other and take things too far.
It all started one of the last times we saw each other, we had plans to go to a bar, so we went to an ATM to take money out.
I bought the first round of drinks and thought I paid with a 50 EU note, since I had only withdrawn that much anyway. When I got 5 euros change ( from buying a wine and a beer), we both innocently pointed out that I had paid with a 50 EU note, and the confused bar tender went through the cash register, and then gave in, and gave me my change.
Later that night, I found the 50 EU in my wallet. Boy and I met up for Dim Sum the next day, courtesy of heresaid bar.
Tonight he suggested we become permanent partners in crime every Saturday night. If it meant I could eat dumplings every Sunday, I would seriously consider it.
For some reason, whenever we get together we always end up scheming up plans to hustle people. I think it's because he's a Gemini and I am too, so we just encourage each other and take things too far.
It all started one of the last times we saw each other, we had plans to go to a bar, so we went to an ATM to take money out.
I bought the first round of drinks and thought I paid with a 50 EU note, since I had only withdrawn that much anyway. When I got 5 euros change ( from buying a wine and a beer), we both innocently pointed out that I had paid with a 50 EU note, and the confused bar tender went through the cash register, and then gave in, and gave me my change.
Later that night, I found the 50 EU in my wallet. Boy and I met up for Dim Sum the next day, courtesy of heresaid bar.
Tonight he suggested we become permanent partners in crime every Saturday night. If it meant I could eat dumplings every Sunday, I would seriously consider it.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Men that have baggage
I just meant "man bags".
It's very yuppie to have one as a young and upwardly mobile male professional. And as an old, experienced, dinosaur professional.
Clutch it as you board the train.
Pull your oversized headphones out of it as you settle into the train.
Sling it around your shoulder/torso as you disembark the train.
The real question is, what do these guys store in there?
Chewing gum? Pockets should suffice.
Dirty magazines? Keep them in your bottom draw at work. Or log on to the internet like every other red blooded male around the world.
Love letters? Haven't their girlfriends heard of sms?
Hmmmm. I will make it my mission to find out while I am here.
It's very yuppie to have one as a young and upwardly mobile male professional. And as an old, experienced, dinosaur professional.
Clutch it as you board the train.
Pull your oversized headphones out of it as you settle into the train.
Sling it around your shoulder/torso as you disembark the train.
The real question is, what do these guys store in there?
Chewing gum? Pockets should suffice.
Dirty magazines? Keep them in your bottom draw at work. Or log on to the internet like every other red blooded male around the world.
Love letters? Haven't their girlfriends heard of sms?
Hmmmm. I will make it my mission to find out while I am here.
Monday, January 11, 2010
Train mishap# 432
8.12 am
-3 degrees
I am frantically boarding the train to Den Haag, via Schipol, I've just made it with seconds to spare. Usually I get off at Schipol and transfer to the train to Hoofddorp. I am sweaty, puffing, but smug, I am going to be on time... nee, EARLY this monday morning. Yes! Life is good.
8.22 am
Amsterdam Sloterdijk station: Announcement.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, Please depart the train here to change trains to Amsterdam Zuid, and Station RAI. A special announcement; this train is making an extra special stop at Hoofddorp today, an extra special stop at Hoofddorp today."
Hmmm... Did he just say what I think he said?
8.29 am
Amsterdam Leylaan station: Announcement.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, Please ensure you take all your belongings with you as you depart this train. A special announcement; this train is making an extra special stop at Hoofddorp today, an extra special stop at Hoofddorp today."
Ok, it was definitely clear that time. Today is my lucky day! No need to transfer.
8.35 am
Schipol : Announcement.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, This is Amsterdam Schipol International airport. A special announcement; this train is making an extra special stop at Hoofddorp today, an extra special stop at Hoofddorp today."
Ok, I need to be sure about this. I am NOT, repeat, NOT going to Hoorn or Leiden this morning, or Den Haag. I am GOING TO MAKE IT TO WORK.
I turn to the guy next to me;
"Did he just say that this train is going to be stopping at Hoofddorp today?"
"Yes, he did"
"Ok, great thanks."
8.40am
Train approaches Hoofddorp station and slows slightly, and then speeds up again. I am standing at the doors waiting for the train to stop, and notice there doesn't seem to be any intention for the train to actually cease moving.
8.41am
"Ladies and Gentlemen: we've decided not to stop at Hoofddorp station today. We'll be letting you off at the next stop where you can board the next train back to Hoofddorp."
8.45am
-4.5 degrees
I am standing at a train stop (not even a station, it's a platform with a sign post in the middle) in the middle of nowhere, amongst snow covered fields, continuing my mental cursing of NS - the dutch rail company- the train driver, his wife, his dog, and any children he might have, vowing that I will seek his name, and start mastering a grand plan for him to be dumped at this very train stop at 3 in the morning, in nothing but his little train driver hat.
"Ladies and Gentlemen: The next train to Hoofddorp will not be arriving until 9am. We apologise for any inconvenience this may cause you."
Late when I was meant to be early, on the morning my boss comes back from holidays, and cold. Oh so cold.
Fuck You NS. Fuck You.
-3 degrees
I am frantically boarding the train to Den Haag, via Schipol, I've just made it with seconds to spare. Usually I get off at Schipol and transfer to the train to Hoofddorp. I am sweaty, puffing, but smug, I am going to be on time... nee, EARLY this monday morning. Yes! Life is good.
8.22 am
Amsterdam Sloterdijk station: Announcement.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, Please depart the train here to change trains to Amsterdam Zuid, and Station RAI. A special announcement; this train is making an extra special stop at Hoofddorp today, an extra special stop at Hoofddorp today."
Hmmm... Did he just say what I think he said?
8.29 am
Amsterdam Leylaan station: Announcement.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, Please ensure you take all your belongings with you as you depart this train. A special announcement; this train is making an extra special stop at Hoofddorp today, an extra special stop at Hoofddorp today."
Ok, it was definitely clear that time. Today is my lucky day! No need to transfer.
8.35 am
Schipol : Announcement.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, This is Amsterdam Schipol International airport. A special announcement; this train is making an extra special stop at Hoofddorp today, an extra special stop at Hoofddorp today."
Ok, I need to be sure about this. I am NOT, repeat, NOT going to Hoorn or Leiden this morning, or Den Haag. I am GOING TO MAKE IT TO WORK.
I turn to the guy next to me;
"Did he just say that this train is going to be stopping at Hoofddorp today?"
"Yes, he did"
"Ok, great thanks."
8.40am
Train approaches Hoofddorp station and slows slightly, and then speeds up again. I am standing at the doors waiting for the train to stop, and notice there doesn't seem to be any intention for the train to actually cease moving.
8.41am
"Ladies and Gentlemen: we've decided not to stop at Hoofddorp station today. We'll be letting you off at the next stop where you can board the next train back to Hoofddorp."
8.45am
-4.5 degrees
I am standing at a train stop (not even a station, it's a platform with a sign post in the middle) in the middle of nowhere, amongst snow covered fields, continuing my mental cursing of NS - the dutch rail company- the train driver, his wife, his dog, and any children he might have, vowing that I will seek his name, and start mastering a grand plan for him to be dumped at this very train stop at 3 in the morning, in nothing but his little train driver hat.
"Ladies and Gentlemen: The next train to Hoofddorp will not be arriving until 9am. We apologise for any inconvenience this may cause you."
Late when I was meant to be early, on the morning my boss comes back from holidays, and cold. Oh so cold.
Fuck You NS. Fuck You.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Where is the love?
I sat opposite a dutch lady on the train to work last Friday, and she smiled at me as I took my seat.
I was a little bit taken aback. It occurred to me instantly that I haven't received a smile from a stranger in a long time. I almost felt like I didn't know what to do.
Sometimes it's lonely here. This feeling can be amplified because I don't always get what's going around me because of the language barrier. Sure, everyone can speak english to me, but when dutch is flying thick and fast around me, I get frustrated at myself because I don't understand, and I get a heavy craving for comprehension.
When someone mistakes me for a dutch person (yeah, it doesn't happen often, but it sometimes does), and speaks to me in dutch, and I don't understand (and can't feign comprehension) I feel embarrassed that I don't understand, and can't reply, and almost always go into apologetic mode, with the stock standard line "Spreken engels?". And in my experience, most Amsterdammers will just repeat what they just said in english, and then their attitude almost becomes a bit dismissive and that's where the interaction stops, like their's no point in carrying on the conversation.
With respect to the language, I can pick up the gist of conversations through cues in body language, and tone of voice, and other non verbal clues, but for example when a train announcement is made in dutch, it would be really nice to know what's going on without having to ask someone around me to translate.
I think there are instances where I am baited into a false sense of integration here because everyone can speak english, and will obligingly do so, and because it's still a "western society", I haven't experienced that many culture shocks because it's not like I am living in China or India with a lot of foreign customs to learn.
But one thing I really notice besides the language thing, is the cultural difference in personal "warmth" and "openness".
One thing that I always used to read in travel memoirs/articles, or hear people say when they found out I was Indonesian, was that Indonesian people are really friendly. I hear that a lot about people from most South East Asian countries, like Thailand, Vietnam, and Cambodia etc. Having just come back from Indonesia, I really noticed it. In shops in Jakarta, shop assistants went out of their way for us, and genuinely smiled all the time, thanked us for our custom.
I even remember road tripping with my mum, and going out into the villages in the rural areas of Java, and we stopped a villager from our car for directions, and the lady was really nice, bubbly, happy, gave us directions and invited us to her house for a snack and a drink to revitalise us for our journey home. Mum made the point, "It's just how it is out here. They are so trusting and kind. She doesn't even know us, and she's offering us what little she has to make sure we will be ok."
In Australia, I just remember that it wasn't that strange to just exchange a random, innocent, smile with a stranger or a shopkeeper, even if you were just walking down the street. In fact, looking back, I think I was a "smile sharer" from way back, not really giving much thought to just breaking out into a smile.
But I have definitely noticed that it's not really done here much. Ditto for chit chat and small talk. God forbid you break out into conversation with someone while you're on public transport, or answer your phone.
Sometimes I get on the train and it can feel almost... hostile. It's quiet on carriages, and it almost feels like everyone has a major wall up. Even if you happen to catch eyes with someone, the most you will get is a fleeting glare.
Before I sat down on the train last Friday, I was walking down the carriage aisle, looking for a seat. There was one girl with her feet up on the seat opposite her, and as I paused momentarily to consider sitting here, she didn't move at all. She didn't look particularly bad ass or anything, just uninterested in being inconvenienced. When that lady smiled at me as I sat down, I gave her a shy smile back, and I realised that it felt really nice to be acknowledged in a friendly way, and I missed that a lot. Especially when you have a perpetually niggling feeling that you don't really, truly belong somewhere.
I'm not saying as a generalisation that dutch people have cold, cold hearts, or are rude, and aloof. Not saying that at all. I'm merely saying that in my experience in living here, comparatively to the two cultures I know the best, Australian and Indonesian, social interaction and interactive norms here in the Netherlands are a lot more reserved. And I have come to really miss the warmth of Australia and Indonesia - both physically, and emotionally.
It's really a big goal for me to learn more dutch because I really believe that making the effort to learn the language will almost be like a key to getting to know people and getting past the walls.
I was a little bit taken aback. It occurred to me instantly that I haven't received a smile from a stranger in a long time. I almost felt like I didn't know what to do.
Sometimes it's lonely here. This feeling can be amplified because I don't always get what's going around me because of the language barrier. Sure, everyone can speak english to me, but when dutch is flying thick and fast around me, I get frustrated at myself because I don't understand, and I get a heavy craving for comprehension.
When someone mistakes me for a dutch person (yeah, it doesn't happen often, but it sometimes does), and speaks to me in dutch, and I don't understand (and can't feign comprehension) I feel embarrassed that I don't understand, and can't reply, and almost always go into apologetic mode, with the stock standard line "Spreken engels?". And in my experience, most Amsterdammers will just repeat what they just said in english, and then their attitude almost becomes a bit dismissive and that's where the interaction stops, like their's no point in carrying on the conversation.
With respect to the language, I can pick up the gist of conversations through cues in body language, and tone of voice, and other non verbal clues, but for example when a train announcement is made in dutch, it would be really nice to know what's going on without having to ask someone around me to translate.
I think there are instances where I am baited into a false sense of integration here because everyone can speak english, and will obligingly do so, and because it's still a "western society", I haven't experienced that many culture shocks because it's not like I am living in China or India with a lot of foreign customs to learn.
But one thing I really notice besides the language thing, is the cultural difference in personal "warmth" and "openness".
One thing that I always used to read in travel memoirs/articles, or hear people say when they found out I was Indonesian, was that Indonesian people are really friendly. I hear that a lot about people from most South East Asian countries, like Thailand, Vietnam, and Cambodia etc. Having just come back from Indonesia, I really noticed it. In shops in Jakarta, shop assistants went out of their way for us, and genuinely smiled all the time, thanked us for our custom.
I even remember road tripping with my mum, and going out into the villages in the rural areas of Java, and we stopped a villager from our car for directions, and the lady was really nice, bubbly, happy, gave us directions and invited us to her house for a snack and a drink to revitalise us for our journey home. Mum made the point, "It's just how it is out here. They are so trusting and kind. She doesn't even know us, and she's offering us what little she has to make sure we will be ok."
In Australia, I just remember that it wasn't that strange to just exchange a random, innocent, smile with a stranger or a shopkeeper, even if you were just walking down the street. In fact, looking back, I think I was a "smile sharer" from way back, not really giving much thought to just breaking out into a smile.
But I have definitely noticed that it's not really done here much. Ditto for chit chat and small talk. God forbid you break out into conversation with someone while you're on public transport, or answer your phone.
Sometimes I get on the train and it can feel almost... hostile. It's quiet on carriages, and it almost feels like everyone has a major wall up. Even if you happen to catch eyes with someone, the most you will get is a fleeting glare.
Before I sat down on the train last Friday, I was walking down the carriage aisle, looking for a seat. There was one girl with her feet up on the seat opposite her, and as I paused momentarily to consider sitting here, she didn't move at all. She didn't look particularly bad ass or anything, just uninterested in being inconvenienced. When that lady smiled at me as I sat down, I gave her a shy smile back, and I realised that it felt really nice to be acknowledged in a friendly way, and I missed that a lot. Especially when you have a perpetually niggling feeling that you don't really, truly belong somewhere.
I'm not saying as a generalisation that dutch people have cold, cold hearts, or are rude, and aloof. Not saying that at all. I'm merely saying that in my experience in living here, comparatively to the two cultures I know the best, Australian and Indonesian, social interaction and interactive norms here in the Netherlands are a lot more reserved. And I have come to really miss the warmth of Australia and Indonesia - both physically, and emotionally.
It's really a big goal for me to learn more dutch because I really believe that making the effort to learn the language will almost be like a key to getting to know people and getting past the walls.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Better than a native speaker
I know you have been in this situation before - perhaps this exact one, perhaps not, but definitely the awkward social circumstance I'm about to describe.
You're in a bar. In this instance a large bar. It's pretty cool - not overly hip, it's just been one of those steady cool bars. It didn't peak too early in it's "just opened, overhyped and over reviewed as the epitomy of trendy" phase, nor did it attract the diehard trendoids with the desperate "scene queen" air about them. When its popularity started to ween off, a loyal crowd of students and underground influentials still frequented it on weekends, and stabilised it's street rep, and an older, more mature but still rebellious crowd was attracted to it, thereby cementing it's existance in the city's bar scene.
It's the Friday night before Christmas. The bar is pumping with people celebrating the end of year a cometh, and you are there for the birthday drinks of a friend of a friend. You know about 5 people at this very very large party, and to say you "know" them is an overstatement. They are all occupied with their old friends, laughing, drinking, joking, cartwheeling, kissing, hugging, punching each other. It's a tight knit circle of friends. Funky music that you would never know the name of the artist of is playing and you notice it's that completely non offensive, very suave, global, somewhat acoustic, but sort of electric, toe tapping kind of music. You are holding possibly the most awkward physical stance possible; standing in your typical hunched over posture, one hand shoved in pocket, one hand clutching a beer, not really knowing what to do, who to talk to, and noone is giving any friendly "come join" signals.
Then you make eye contact with a guy you have met a couple of times before through these friends, and you have made small talk (possibly mixed with a history of awkward flirtations) previously in similar circumstances . You can assess that it would be a seriously awkward situation if he were to come and talk to you, or vice versa, but it's too late, he has already made stride over to where you stand with your insecure/bored body language.
Fake smiles, and dutch kisses exchanged later, you have already done the "how are you?" conversation that takes about 3 seconds, and you realise the inoffensive music has just gotten louder. A lot louder. And the volume of beer in your glass is getting smaller. Much smaller, as you just took a big gulp to fill in that really strange nanosecond when you realised that you have no idea what to say next.
You: So.... aren't you going travelling soon? Isn't that what everyone does in January here?
Him: Yeah, but I'm leaving a bit later than I originally planned.
You: Oh really? Why? I thought you had your ticket all booked.
This is where it's dawned on you that the music is significantly louder than comfortable conversation level. And you're having trouble hearing the complete sentences he's uttering, and some slightly crucial words as well. It should explained, that the dutch have almost near perfect English. It is unbelievable how good their english language skills are. (It astounds me daily.) There's no such thing as lost in translation here, well, rarely does it happen. And if you compare their english language skills to the french, spanish, italians or even the germans, The only things that they might get confused with are saying the word "learn" instead of "teach". eg. "So you can learn that to him when he comes back into the office." But these mistakes are few and far between, and not only that, they understand english through every type of accent; Irish, English, Australian, South African, Kiwi, thick asian accents, thick middle eastern accents. (I would even go as far to say that their language skills are better than the Nordic countries.)
Him: I decided to wait, I want to get out of here but meanwhile I'm ....(muffled uttering) ... rain.
You: Well, yeah, I can understand that you want to get out of here, because rain equals pain right? (At about now your Internal voice is saying: WHAAAT?!? What did you just say ?! RAIN equals PAIN? Who ARE YOU? Dr Suess?!)
Him: (patient but strange look on his face)
You: I mean with rain, it's a pain to cycle everywhere. And it's also windy, and now, with the snow...
This is where I should also point out that noone is joking when they say the dutch are direct. They'll point out when you're having a bad hair day, when you're makeup is smudged, you're clothes are creased, when you have food on your face, when they don't agree with you, and when you've misunderstood what they are saying. If you think it's socially awkward to do or say something, and would rather be polite and not say anything or dodge around it, the dutch will do the complete opposite. They are just ... direct. They don't see anything wrong with telling things straight up.
Him: I think we are talking about different things.
You: No, I mean it makes sense. Rain? Pain? (For the love of god, just shut your mouth, and walk to the bar.)
Him: I still think we may be talking about different things.
You: What do you mean?
Him: I said I'm waiting for more of my pay to go through.
You: Oh. Right.
Needless to say, you don't want to follow up one awkward conversation with another, so you don't really talk again that night.
You're in a bar. In this instance a large bar. It's pretty cool - not overly hip, it's just been one of those steady cool bars. It didn't peak too early in it's "just opened, overhyped and over reviewed as the epitomy of trendy" phase, nor did it attract the diehard trendoids with the desperate "scene queen" air about them. When its popularity started to ween off, a loyal crowd of students and underground influentials still frequented it on weekends, and stabilised it's street rep, and an older, more mature but still rebellious crowd was attracted to it, thereby cementing it's existance in the city's bar scene.
It's the Friday night before Christmas. The bar is pumping with people celebrating the end of year a cometh, and you are there for the birthday drinks of a friend of a friend. You know about 5 people at this very very large party, and to say you "know" them is an overstatement. They are all occupied with their old friends, laughing, drinking, joking, cartwheeling, kissing, hugging, punching each other. It's a tight knit circle of friends. Funky music that you would never know the name of the artist of is playing and you notice it's that completely non offensive, very suave, global, somewhat acoustic, but sort of electric, toe tapping kind of music. You are holding possibly the most awkward physical stance possible; standing in your typical hunched over posture, one hand shoved in pocket, one hand clutching a beer, not really knowing what to do, who to talk to, and noone is giving any friendly "come join" signals.
Then you make eye contact with a guy you have met a couple of times before through these friends, and you have made small talk (possibly mixed with a history of awkward flirtations) previously in similar circumstances . You can assess that it would be a seriously awkward situation if he were to come and talk to you, or vice versa, but it's too late, he has already made stride over to where you stand with your insecure/bored body language.
Fake smiles, and dutch kisses exchanged later, you have already done the "how are you?" conversation that takes about 3 seconds, and you realise the inoffensive music has just gotten louder. A lot louder. And the volume of beer in your glass is getting smaller. Much smaller, as you just took a big gulp to fill in that really strange nanosecond when you realised that you have no idea what to say next.
You: So.... aren't you going travelling soon? Isn't that what everyone does in January here?
Him: Yeah, but I'm leaving a bit later than I originally planned.
You: Oh really? Why? I thought you had your ticket all booked.
This is where it's dawned on you that the music is significantly louder than comfortable conversation level. And you're having trouble hearing the complete sentences he's uttering, and some slightly crucial words as well. It should explained, that the dutch have almost near perfect English. It is unbelievable how good their english language skills are. (It astounds me daily.) There's no such thing as lost in translation here, well, rarely does it happen. And if you compare their english language skills to the french, spanish, italians or even the germans, The only things that they might get confused with are saying the word "learn" instead of "teach". eg. "So you can learn that to him when he comes back into the office." But these mistakes are few and far between, and not only that, they understand english through every type of accent; Irish, English, Australian, South African, Kiwi, thick asian accents, thick middle eastern accents. (I would even go as far to say that their language skills are better than the Nordic countries.)
Him: I decided to wait, I want to get out of here but meanwhile I'm ....(muffled uttering) ... rain.
You: Well, yeah, I can understand that you want to get out of here, because rain equals pain right? (At about now your Internal voice is saying: WHAAAT?!? What did you just say ?! RAIN equals PAIN? Who ARE YOU? Dr Suess?!)
Him: (patient but strange look on his face)
You: I mean with rain, it's a pain to cycle everywhere. And it's also windy, and now, with the snow...
This is where I should also point out that noone is joking when they say the dutch are direct. They'll point out when you're having a bad hair day, when you're makeup is smudged, you're clothes are creased, when you have food on your face, when they don't agree with you, and when you've misunderstood what they are saying. If you think it's socially awkward to do or say something, and would rather be polite and not say anything or dodge around it, the dutch will do the complete opposite. They are just ... direct. They don't see anything wrong with telling things straight up.
Him: I think we are talking about different things.
You: No, I mean it makes sense. Rain? Pain? (For the love of god, just shut your mouth, and walk to the bar.)
Him: I still think we may be talking about different things.
You: What do you mean?
Him: I said I'm waiting for more of my pay to go through.
You: Oh. Right.
Needless to say, you don't want to follow up one awkward conversation with another, so you don't really talk again that night.
The rearview mirror
Gefeliciteerd Rani, gelukkig zeven maanden verjaardag!
10 countries, 15 cities, 1 suitcase, countless litres of various alcoholic beverages.... 7 months and still rocking.
I left Australia 7 months ago today.
The day is still crystal clear in my mind.
10 countries, 15 cities, 1 suitcase, countless litres of various alcoholic beverages.... 7 months and still rocking.
I left Australia 7 months ago today.
The day is still crystal clear in my mind.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
New Year Resolutions
1. Learn dutch formally - ik wil lesens hebben dit jaar.
2. Lose the Winter padding that has been acquired of late - Noone likes a "Schipol injection".
3. Save, Save, Save!
4. Travel, travel, travel!
5. Get the tattoo I've always wanted.
6. Read more books.
7. Rethink impulses.
8. Be more gracious to myself - Live and know that I'm doing the best I can, with what I have under the circumstances I am in.
9. Write more.
10. GET ON WITH IT!! Rock on in Amsterdam!!
2. Lose the Winter padding that has been acquired of late - Noone likes a "Schipol injection".
3. Save, Save, Save!
4. Travel, travel, travel!
5. Get the tattoo I've always wanted.
6. Read more books.
7. Rethink impulses.
8. Be more gracious to myself - Live and know that I'm doing the best I can, with what I have under the circumstances I am in.
9. Write more.
10. GET ON WITH IT!! Rock on in Amsterdam!!
A scandal that makes relations "frosty"
Iceland borrowed billions of Euros from the UK and the Netherlands to bail their national bank out.
Now the president of Iceland refuses to pay either country back.
Reason? Because a referendum of the people concluded that the Icelandic population wasn't happy about the decision to borrow the money, and doesn't think that they should have to pay back the debt when it was a private company that got them into this disaster and hence wash their hands of the responsibility.
That's like saying; " Dude, I'm not paying you back the 10 euros you lent me for lunch because I bought lunch for my cousin with it, and he says that he shouldn't have to pay back my debt and I didn't actually get to eat the lunch, so I'm not paying you back either. "
What the? What sort of ludicrous decision is that? They're good enough to take the money, but can't be bothered paying it back. Is the president of Iceland 12 years old? A bold move to make, to anger 2 key players in the EU, when you want to be part of the EU I think.
Now the president of Iceland refuses to pay either country back.
Reason? Because a referendum of the people concluded that the Icelandic population wasn't happy about the decision to borrow the money, and doesn't think that they should have to pay back the debt when it was a private company that got them into this disaster and hence wash their hands of the responsibility.
That's like saying; " Dude, I'm not paying you back the 10 euros you lent me for lunch because I bought lunch for my cousin with it, and he says that he shouldn't have to pay back my debt and I didn't actually get to eat the lunch, so I'm not paying you back either. "
What the? What sort of ludicrous decision is that? They're good enough to take the money, but can't be bothered paying it back. Is the president of Iceland 12 years old? A bold move to make, to anger 2 key players in the EU, when you want to be part of the EU I think.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
New Year musings
Mantra for 2010
Gelukkig Nieuw Jaar people!!
"And what he greatly thought,
he nobly dared"
- Homer
- Homer
Gelukkig Nieuw Jaar people!!
Where to begin, where to begin...
Ok, well how about I start with a tale of delusion and dreams - wait, pause .... just on that phrase, how can one possibly tell the difference between the two? What is a delusion and what is a dream? There is most certainly a fine line between the two, nee? A grey area has to exist, and I think that sometimes people don't know when they are crossing that line. Like me for example. I think I teeter on that very fine tightrope a lot.
Wasn't my whole idea about coming to Amsterdam with no clue about the city or country- in terms of geographical layout, worldwide reputation, culture, environment- a somewhat vague, unformed, unplanned, misty dream to me, but had others thinking that I was completely delusional??
"She's been TALKING about going travelling for over 10 years. Seriously, the girl needs to jump or get off the diving board and admit defeat." (P.S Shout outs to anyone that had to endure the countless hours of THAT conversation,which would be, well, everyone I know. I know you were all thinking what I just wrote, no need to deny it. I understand. If I was my friend I would have told myself a long time ago to wake up and smell the chai latte, and move on with my life.)
But, you know, I say, allow others to live in their dreams /delusions, as long as no one gets hurt. (I'm not advising that because you happen to think that you have a spiritual connection with Jude Law, and that he would MOST DEFINETELY recipricote, if, you know, you could happen to get within 10 feet of him at a film premiere and just introduce yourself, but to do that you would need to hysterically knife some bouncers of his that just happened to be in the way, and... errr... i digress...)
Anyway, back to the start of the post- dreams and delusions. So last night, everyone in my office left at about 3:30pm, after watching the live weather feed on the internet intensely since about 1pm. Phone calls from concerned mothers in Haarlem blocked the office switchboard, sms' from boyfriends came through thick and fast, all bearing the same message: "Make it home now if you can, there's a storm a brewin'."
My colleague Evelien was showing me photos that her friend had sent her from Haarlem, a town nearby to Hoofddorp - I mean to me, it didn't look that unusual, it was just a picture of it snowing, and she said "No man, that's like a blizzard happening 10 minutes ago in a town 20 minutes away... "
"So?"
"SO?!? So, if we don't leave now, there will be traffic jams for sure, and the trains will be disrupted, it could take us hours to get home."
One of the department managers strolled into our office, hoodie on, jacket buttoned up, beanie planted on bald head, and said "I'm leaving - you all should too if you know what's good for you." and then dashed off. I looked around at my colleagues and there was about a nano second of hesitation, and we had laptops packed, folders clutched, coats on, and we were like a stampede of wild african buffalos running from a famished cheetah.
The thing is about the snow is that Netherlands hasn't seen this much snow in years - so I'm told. Must be my lucky year. Their infrustructure isn't coping with it. For example, there is a salt shortage at the moment, which means that roads and pathways will be slippery, and be hazardous.
People don't really know what to do - last night, trams weren't running, trains were late, and Evelien told me this morning it took her sister 5 hours to get home, when it's really a half hour journey. Ridiculous.
Anyway, preparing to haul ass to work today, I dragged myself out of bed, got dressed ( half an hour, two pairs of socks, long johns and a thermal, top, vest, jacket, gloves, pants... you get the idea) and nearly broke my neck trying to haul my oversized laptop briefcase to the tram stop about 600 metres away through the snow, and I check my phone on the tram, and there's a message from my boss;
"Don't risk coming in to the office today - work from home today if you want, I will."
Yee-fucking-har.
So I am almost at Centraal Station, and I get off, and then hop back on the tram going the other way, and think, "today's a working from a cafe sort of day."
Ok, well how about I start with a tale of delusion and dreams - wait, pause .... just on that phrase, how can one possibly tell the difference between the two? What is a delusion and what is a dream? There is most certainly a fine line between the two, nee? A grey area has to exist, and I think that sometimes people don't know when they are crossing that line. Like me for example. I think I teeter on that very fine tightrope a lot.
Wasn't my whole idea about coming to Amsterdam with no clue about the city or country- in terms of geographical layout, worldwide reputation, culture, environment- a somewhat vague, unformed, unplanned, misty dream to me, but had others thinking that I was completely delusional??
"She's been TALKING about going travelling for over 10 years. Seriously, the girl needs to jump or get off the diving board and admit defeat." (P.S Shout outs to anyone that had to endure the countless hours of THAT conversation,which would be, well, everyone I know. I know you were all thinking what I just wrote, no need to deny it. I understand. If I was my friend I would have told myself a long time ago to wake up and smell the chai latte, and move on with my life.)
But, you know, I say, allow others to live in their dreams /delusions, as long as no one gets hurt. (I'm not advising that because you happen to think that you have a spiritual connection with Jude Law, and that he would MOST DEFINETELY recipricote, if, you know, you could happen to get within 10 feet of him at a film premiere and just introduce yourself, but to do that you would need to hysterically knife some bouncers of his that just happened to be in the way, and... errr... i digress...)
Anyway, back to the start of the post- dreams and delusions. So last night, everyone in my office left at about 3:30pm, after watching the live weather feed on the internet intensely since about 1pm. Phone calls from concerned mothers in Haarlem blocked the office switchboard, sms' from boyfriends came through thick and fast, all bearing the same message: "Make it home now if you can, there's a storm a brewin'."
My colleague Evelien was showing me photos that her friend had sent her from Haarlem, a town nearby to Hoofddorp - I mean to me, it didn't look that unusual, it was just a picture of it snowing, and she said "No man, that's like a blizzard happening 10 minutes ago in a town 20 minutes away... "
"So?"
"SO?!? So, if we don't leave now, there will be traffic jams for sure, and the trains will be disrupted, it could take us hours to get home."
One of the department managers strolled into our office, hoodie on, jacket buttoned up, beanie planted on bald head, and said "I'm leaving - you all should too if you know what's good for you." and then dashed off. I looked around at my colleagues and there was about a nano second of hesitation, and we had laptops packed, folders clutched, coats on, and we were like a stampede of wild african buffalos running from a famished cheetah.
The thing is about the snow is that Netherlands hasn't seen this much snow in years - so I'm told. Must be my lucky year. Their infrustructure isn't coping with it. For example, there is a salt shortage at the moment, which means that roads and pathways will be slippery, and be hazardous.
People don't really know what to do - last night, trams weren't running, trains were late, and Evelien told me this morning it took her sister 5 hours to get home, when it's really a half hour journey. Ridiculous.
Anyway, preparing to haul ass to work today, I dragged myself out of bed, got dressed ( half an hour, two pairs of socks, long johns and a thermal, top, vest, jacket, gloves, pants... you get the idea) and nearly broke my neck trying to haul my oversized laptop briefcase to the tram stop about 600 metres away through the snow, and I check my phone on the tram, and there's a message from my boss;
"Don't risk coming in to the office today - work from home today if you want, I will."
Yee-fucking-har.
So I am almost at Centraal Station, and I get off, and then hop back on the tram going the other way, and think, "today's a working from a cafe sort of day."
To conclude my point, I am choosing to live in a delusion/dream today.... so am plonked at a cafe near my house doing not much in general, pretending to be a freelance writer and staring thoughfully out the glass windows overlooking the river Ij, and pretending to be typing something of great importance that will shape the future of generations to come with wit and insight. I wish.
I want to be a freelance writer. That would be the ultimate life goal for me. Spending days in cafes in Amsterdam, steaming coffee verkeerd on the table, laptop positioned infront of me, people watching, researching on the internet, writing musings of life, love, destiny, that sort of thing ( or maybe even just about a dog show I had to review and what pedigree won first prize, i don't really care.)
The quote by Homer as you see above was printed on my tea bag tag ( what are those things called exactly, the cardboard tip at the other end of a tea bag), and by gosh, I am going to live by it in 2010.
I don't particularly want to talk about my New Years Eve (Oud + Niuew), but how can you start a new year post without talking about what you do on the universal night of partying? As many of you know, I went to the Southern Hemisphere to Indonesia for Christmas to see my brother in law, sister, and my folks. It was weird almost being so close to Australia, but not having the opportunity to make it there.
It was a hard time, but also nice in some respects. I thought about staying for longer than a week, but for my own reasons I decided to return to Amsterdam.
I spent my New Year's Eve at Gate 29 in Hong Kong International airport, lining up to board the aeroplane. And admittedly, the flight was not much better, let alone the return to central Amsterdam. 400 drunk/passed out dutch kiddies, that had invaded Amsterdam for the party of all parties, were strewn across Centraal station like my wardrobe often is across my bedroom floor. And there were no trams. And some crook of a taxi driver charged me 40 Euros to get to my house which is about 1.2 km from the station. There's a word for people like him - and I know that I use a lot of profanities on this blog, but I still consider myself a lady (of sorts) and typing the filthy word is a lot different to thinking the filthy word - so I won't type it, but you know the word I'm thinking of.
Rock on 2010.
I caught up with Laura a couple of days after my return, and we chatted about our holidays, and then she turned on her new laptop and played the Hilltop Hoods; "Nosebleed section." and I turned to her, with eyes as wide as saucers -
"YOU KNOW the Hoods??"
"Yeah, i love them. My friend from Switzerland and I cycled around Iceland and the only song on her broken ipod that would play was this song!"
Then I get home and Amber has the new Sia album sitting on her desk.
"Where did you get that?"
"My dad gave it to me.Love her, she's soooo good." Wow. Maybe I'm reading something more into this than I should actually be, but it is totally blowing my mind that my American housemate loves Sia, originally from Adelaide. And my Swiss best friend, loves the Hilltop Hoods, also originally from Adelaide. I mean, granted, music is a universal connection that transcends borders and both are highly talented commercial artists, and, yes, I realise we live in the modern world where music is marketed to the whole world, but it still blew my mind.
It's not that I think coming from Adelaide is necessarily a handicap to success in the world stage (any world stage, be it musical or otherwise), but it's just inspiring to keep these people in midn when I think about these examples when i feel dejected.
I went back to work yesterday, and was pleased to see my colleagues. The fact of the matter is, I really like my colleagues - they are nice, genuine people, and work is so much more fun because of them. My flatmate, Amber, came home the other night and she said " yeah, all my colleagues walked around this morning and did the whole happy new year, dutch kisses thing, and I was like, errrr, I don't even like you people."
Luckily, I am not in the same boat as her. I was genuinely pleased to be reunited with my work colleagues yesterday. When it was my turn (in the 10 strong line of hungry office workers) to buy lunch at the canteen yesterday, the tea lady, also called Evelien, was sooo sweet. "Raaaani!! Hoe gaat het? Allest good?? Oooh, gelukkig nieuw jaar mijn schatje." ( Happy new year my sweetie) and she leant over the counter and gave me three kisses and everyone behind me was like "Woah... she must be pretty tight with the tea lady..." Funny stuff. Anyway, let me conclude this post with some imagery that I have taken of my snowy surrounds.
The quote by Homer as you see above was printed on my tea bag tag ( what are those things called exactly, the cardboard tip at the other end of a tea bag), and by gosh, I am going to live by it in 2010.
I don't particularly want to talk about my New Years Eve (Oud + Niuew), but how can you start a new year post without talking about what you do on the universal night of partying? As many of you know, I went to the Southern Hemisphere to Indonesia for Christmas to see my brother in law, sister, and my folks. It was weird almost being so close to Australia, but not having the opportunity to make it there.
It was a hard time, but also nice in some respects. I thought about staying for longer than a week, but for my own reasons I decided to return to Amsterdam.
I spent my New Year's Eve at Gate 29 in Hong Kong International airport, lining up to board the aeroplane. And admittedly, the flight was not much better, let alone the return to central Amsterdam. 400 drunk/passed out dutch kiddies, that had invaded Amsterdam for the party of all parties, were strewn across Centraal station like my wardrobe often is across my bedroom floor. And there were no trams. And some crook of a taxi driver charged me 40 Euros to get to my house which is about 1.2 km from the station. There's a word for people like him - and I know that I use a lot of profanities on this blog, but I still consider myself a lady (of sorts) and typing the filthy word is a lot different to thinking the filthy word - so I won't type it, but you know the word I'm thinking of.
Rock on 2010.
I caught up with Laura a couple of days after my return, and we chatted about our holidays, and then she turned on her new laptop and played the Hilltop Hoods; "Nosebleed section." and I turned to her, with eyes as wide as saucers -
"YOU KNOW the Hoods??"
"Yeah, i love them. My friend from Switzerland and I cycled around Iceland and the only song on her broken ipod that would play was this song!"
Then I get home and Amber has the new Sia album sitting on her desk.
"Where did you get that?"
"My dad gave it to me.Love her, she's soooo good." Wow. Maybe I'm reading something more into this than I should actually be, but it is totally blowing my mind that my American housemate loves Sia, originally from Adelaide. And my Swiss best friend, loves the Hilltop Hoods, also originally from Adelaide. I mean, granted, music is a universal connection that transcends borders and both are highly talented commercial artists, and, yes, I realise we live in the modern world where music is marketed to the whole world, but it still blew my mind.
It's not that I think coming from Adelaide is necessarily a handicap to success in the world stage (any world stage, be it musical or otherwise), but it's just inspiring to keep these people in midn when I think about these examples when i feel dejected.
I went back to work yesterday, and was pleased to see my colleagues. The fact of the matter is, I really like my colleagues - they are nice, genuine people, and work is so much more fun because of them. My flatmate, Amber, came home the other night and she said " yeah, all my colleagues walked around this morning and did the whole happy new year, dutch kisses thing, and I was like, errrr, I don't even like you people."
Luckily, I am not in the same boat as her. I was genuinely pleased to be reunited with my work colleagues yesterday. When it was my turn (in the 10 strong line of hungry office workers) to buy lunch at the canteen yesterday, the tea lady, also called Evelien, was sooo sweet. "Raaaani!! Hoe gaat het? Allest good?? Oooh, gelukkig nieuw jaar mijn schatje." ( Happy new year my sweetie) and she leant over the counter and gave me three kisses and everyone behind me was like "Woah... she must be pretty tight with the tea lady..." Funny stuff. Anyway, let me conclude this post with some imagery that I have taken of my snowy surrounds.
Brouwersgracht, Jordaan district
Laura has a tantrum because of the snow pelting down on us
A blizzard by Amsterdam standards
Vondelpark
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