Holland: Part Amsterdam

Sound: "Killer Queen" by Queen

Day 6-10: October 19-23, 2010- Den Haag-Amsterdam-London

Dutch phrase of the day(s): "Geef aan mij ollie bollen!!!!"

Amsterdam: a city of canals, culture, liberalism, and ollie bollen. Our four days were, literally, a blur (possibly because coffee is very popular in Amsterdam, and we wanted to truly experience the city, and therefore went to a good number of coffee shops). We visited all the important places- the palace, the Rijksmuseum, the Red Light District, and The Taco Shop (more on this later), but we also spent time just walking around the city, up one canal and down the next, discovering little side streets and shops, and questioning the lack of public restrooms. Because of this blurred and varied experience, I'm just going to pick a few important, stand-out moments, and discuss those.

With part of the "I amsterdam" sign (located right outside the Rijksmuseum).

The Sex Museum

For the low, low, price of 4 Euro, the Sex Museum is truly a steal. I thought that I was just going to visit a novelty, silly little shop, but the museum actually consists of three floors of well-labeled displays that explore the history of sex through various cultures (although Western culture is still a majority), as well as sexual laws and practices today. Plus, they have giant penis chairs. You cannot dislike a place with giant penis chairs. Their only downside, I'd say, is that as hard as they try to appear open-minded and accepting, their Western societal values do come out in certain exhibits.

The Taco Shop

The Taco Shop is run by an American expat on the Amstel River. It tastes like home. It is wonderful. It is extraordinarily cheap. We went there twice, and I was disgusting and ate WAY too much food.

Ollie Bollen

In case you haven't figured this out yet, but fall break was basically characterized by food. I had received many, many, many recommendations to eat ollie bollen. After discovering that ollie bollen are basically donuts of joy and goodness, I was determined to experience them. I had heard that these magical foodstuffs were sold at carts littered throughout the city; maybe this once was true, but sadly, it is no longer (I think the lack of ollie bollen carts is a HUGE detriment to Holland and that the government should reinstate them if they every feel like increasing tourism). For days, Mia and I walked the streets of Den Haag and Amsterdam, searching for these mythical ollie bollen carts. I began to question the existence of ollie bollen; my mother was the biggest proponent of their delicious existence, and she was pregnant with me the last time she was in Holland. Maybe ollie bollen were merely a pregnancy-induced hallucination? I feared that a) my mom had totally lost it, and b) I was never going to get to each these fried dough balls I had heard so much about.

But then, we found them.

It was a sunny, crisp day. Mia and I were walking back to our hostel for nap time, and noticed there was a fair going on in Dam Square. "If ollie bollen are real," I thought, "this is where they'd be." I urged Mia to follow me into the fair and check all the food carts. The first food cart had waffles, but no ollie bollen. Waffles are very nice, but they are NOT OLLIE BOLLEN. The second cart, with it's halo of light and angelic music playing from its speakers, was what I had been searching for all these days: an ollie bollen cart. I bought one. It was hot and fried (but not greasy) and covered in powdered sugar. I took a deep breath, inhaling the smell of oil and sugary goodness. Then I opened my mouth, and ate the ollie bollen.

It was like the movie "Jaws," but with a lot more powdered sugar and a lot less blood.

IT WAS AMAZING. Flavors that could only have come from heaven filled my mouth. The outside was crisp, but not too crisp. The inside was soft and warm and melty. The only thing that could have made my ollie bollen eating moment more perfect would be if I was simultaneously riding a unicorn to the Candy Mountain.

I need to go back to Holland and eat more ollie bollen.

Peace out, cubscouts.

Break From Holland: A Letter to the Cute Jewish Boy on my Train This Morning

Sound: "Voulez Vous" by ABBA

Dear Cute Jewish Boy On My Train This Morning,

I don't have any conclusive proof of your Jewishness, but, based on your curly, thick, dark hair, big honker of a nose, short stature, and darker skin tone, you are. To quote my Holland welcoming committee, "you look like Jew." Don't worry, though; you look like a really cute Jew.

I noticed as I stood next to you that you were reading Adolus Huxley's Brave New World. I myself have read that book and am a fan. I wanted to tell you how much I loved the book and ask if you thought I was an Alpha, Beta, or even a Delta (I'm pretty sure I'm not an Epsilon, since I possess the power of speech). Alas, I was feeling shy and my stop came far too quickly. Also, I was looking pretty strange in my leggings, tennis shoes, and bright green hoodie (sorry, Mom, but it was a stage combat day, and I have to wear exercise clothes).

Perhaps I will see you next Tuesday on the 9:36AM District Line Train to Wimbeldon via Earl's Court. And perhaps you will be reading another book that I like. And perhaps I will talk to you and we will fall in love and get married.

And then my family will be happy because I am with a Jewish boy (as opposed to my track record of Christian, Mormon, and Satanist).

Maybe.

Love,

Morgan

Holland: Part Voorburg

Sound: "Mr. Jones And Me" by the Counting Crows

Day 5: October 18, 2010- Den Haag-Voorburg

Dutch phrase of the day: "Waar is Prinses Marijke Straat?"

Monday dawned bright and sunny. Even more than the lovely weather, I was excited because today was the day I was going to be super creepy. See, back in the 1970s, my grandfather took a sabbatical to Leiden University, which meant my grandparents, dad, and aunts and uncles lived in Holland for a year. Specifically, they lived in Voorburg, a suburb of Den Haag. My grandmother had given me the address of the house they lived in and I wanted to go see it, take some pictures, and possibly creep on the people who currently live there by knocking on the door and asking if I could look inside.

However, the deities were not going to support my planned creepiness.

The first sign that our trip was cursed was the fact that no one really knew how to get to Voorburg. The tram drivers didn't know, the tourist information people didn't know, even the map wasn't super clear. After being told to take the #1 and #10 trams, then told to take the #6 underground tram, we were finally told that the #26 bus would take us to Voorburg Station. So we took it.

Then the second issue appeared: my family's house is not exactly near the Voorburg Station. It's not super far (I think), but it is quite a walk. So, we started walking. We knew that Princes Marijke Street ran parallel to Prins Bernhardlaan, so that's where we headed. After a while, we found it. And walked. And walked. And walked.

We turned down sidestreets and turned up others, but no Princes Marijke Street. We asked some people out in the front yards; no one knew where Princes Marijke Street was. Maybe it was on the other side of Prins Bernhardlaan? Nope. Finally, we had to turn back; the weather was turning ugly and we were not any closer to finding the house. I was very sad, because seeing where my family lived had been a major goal for this trip. But I comforted myself with the knowledge that at least I had seen Voorburg, which is really a lovely little town. It has lots of nice statues and a windmill with cows.

When we got back to Den Haag, I was hungry. So, on the recommendation of my father, I bought a herring broodje (bread, butter, raw herring, and raw onions. It was... strange.

Zero Food Points for Dad. Sorry, Dad.

Actually, Half a Food Point for Dad because I love him and I really would like him to bring me Kraft Mac n' Cheese when he comes to visit.

Next time: AMSTERDAM!

Peace out, cubscouts.

Holland: Part Madurodam and Delft

Sound: "Ever And A Day" by AFI

Day 3: October 16, 2010- Den Haag

Dutch phrase of the day: "Madurodam is de meest magisch plaats in de wereld!"

Saturday morning I woke up, looked out my window and OMG, IT WAS SUNNY AND BEAUTIFUL AND I WAS GOING TO MADURODAM. I'd been excited for Madurodam since my dad had told me all about this wondrous, tiny city of joy and magic. Then my mom told me it was like seeing the entire country in one go, and I was hooked. I had to go to Madurodam. So, Mia and I hopped on the #9 tram and got off at Madurodam (See? This place is so awesome it has its own stop.). I could write a novel about how fantastic Madurodam is, but that would bore you (and probably be really repetitive), so I'll just show you some pictures:

This is not actually related to Madurodam, but it shows my level of excitement for Madurodam pretty well.

It's me and a tiny Leiden University!

A teeny tiny cheese market! How awesome IS this place?

Obviously, Madurodam would kick Disneyland's butt in a fight.

After the incomparable Madurodam, we needed to chill out. So we went to the beach. Except "the beach" means Scheveningen, which means hurricane-force winds (but no rain, and therefore no fear of a sunken country). We walked along the boardwalk for a while and then decided to go to a restaurant on the pier (called "De Pier") because we had a coupon. The restaurant specialized in panokoeken and poffertjes, so that is what we ate. Another point to Grandma for yet another awesome food recommendation. While walking back to our hostel after lunch, we came across the Museum Beelden aan Zee. It's a small, but amazing museum that displays contemporary statues. I cannot recommend it enough; everyone should go. Then we had nap time.

For our evening entertainment, we went to a piano bar recommended to us by an Ithaca College student who lives in a suburb of Den Haag. Sadly, we were disappointed by the Dutch's apparent lack of lyrical accuracy. However, it was fun to watch a white man perform "Gangster's Paradise" by Coolio.

Day 4: October 17, 2010- Den Haag-Delft

Dutch phrase of the day: "Oneindigheid en Eeuwigheid zijn hetzelfde ding."

Sunday, we intended to go back to Parliament, but those tricky tricksters were closed. Instead, we went to the M.C. Escher exhibit at Het Paleis. I learned two things at this exhibit: 1) M.C. Escher was one funny-looking dude, and 2) The M.C. Escher book at my dad and stepmom's house does not do this man justice.

After the Escher exhibit, we went to the Historical Museum of The Hague. If you do not speak and/or read Dutch, do not go here. Almost nothing is labeled, and what is, is labeled in Dutch. Dutch: 2, Morgan and Mia: 0.

Fed up with a lack of English and not sure what else there was to do in Den Haag, we decided to go to Delft. Delft is a city/suburb (depending on who you ask) near Den Haag. It is also where Delft china is made (see what they did there?). After a long walk through Delft (because we're not very good at reading Dutch signs), we found the Royal Delft China Factory Museum Thing. We learned all about how Delft china is made and painted, and then went to a lovely gift shop. Mia and I thought it might be nice to buy some Delft china for our loved ones, but that stuff is super expensive, so sorry. I did, however, find a nice cheap rip-off Delft china Christmas ornament that will be adorning someone's tree when I get home.

Also, we did not take a nap on Sunday because we decided to be adults.

Next time: The Ultimately Unsuccessful Voorburg Adventure.

Peace out, cubscouts.

Holland: Part Den Haag Proper

Sound: "Take On Me" by A-ha

Days 2: October 15, 2010: Den Haag

Dutch phrase of the day: "Uitsmijter." (I know that this is technically a word, and not a phrase, but apparently in Dutch culture, serving a guest an uitsmijter is the equivalent of saying "Please get the heck out of my house. I am done with you.")

I awoke Friday morning excited for one thing: Madurodam, the tiny city of wonder and goodness and magic. Then I looked out my window and saw the rain. As wonderful and good and magical as Madurodam may be, I was not going to walk around in the open when it was raining. So Mia and I decided to be cultured and go into the center of Den Haag and see Parliament and museums and history and stuff. We got off the tram at Kneuterdijk ("Kuh-new-ter-dek"), which was, according to the nice tram driver, the stop for Parliament. We did not see Parliament, but we did see a nice big building with lots of flags. It looked old, so we decided to go explore it. After exploring for a while, Mia asked a lady selling postcards where Parliament was. Her reply: "You're standing in it." Dutch language: 1, Morgan and Mia: 0.

This is part of the fountain in Parliament. It appears to be a dog throwing up violently. Holland, what is wrong with you?

Excited to learn that we had actually found Parliament, we decided to go on a tour. However, we had just missed the 12:00 tour and the next one wasn't until 3:00. "Well," we thought, "we'll just come back and get our tickets later." We asked the people selling tickets if this was a good idea, and they said yes. So we went to Mauritshuis (a lovely museum right next to Parliament) and looked at paintings for a while. Mauritshuis has quite a few paintings by Rembrandt, and we found a rather odd theme: Rembrandt's subjects, at least in those in the paintings in Mauritshuis, do not look very happy to be painted. In fact, they look quite awkward, and occasionally outright scared.

Especially "Susanna." But, hey, I too would be uncomfortable if some man was painting me naked.

After looking at uncomfortable naked people for a while, we still had time to kill. So we went outside towards Spui, the shopping street, and saw Emma Thompson, an actress that Mia is obsessed with. Ms. Thompson was promoting a exhibit called "Journey" that was put on by the Helen Bamber Foundation, an organization that works with victims of extreme trauma (genocide, slavery, etc.). Mia and I went through the "Journey" and then spoke to some of the workers afterwards (not Emma Thompson). Mia then made connections for a potential kick butt internship, because her major (Television-Radio) is super cool. We then had a yummy lunch of uitsmijters (score 1 point for Grandma's recommendation).

At this point, it was time to go back to Parliament for our tour. Except we had been tricked! Tour tickets were all sold out and a new sign had appeared reading "We recommend that you buy tickets in advance." Tricky, tricky Parliament. Slightly sad and very tired, we returned to the hostel for nap time.

After our nap, we walked to Scheveningen beach to get some dinner. It was still raining and Scheveningen is possibly the most windy place in the world. These weather conditions reminded me of a hurricane. In fact, I thought that this night might possibly be the night when the ocean finally reclaims Holland. Fortunately, it wasn't. We had some Mexican food (because I have a need to eat Mexican food in every country I visit), and were very disappointed by the teeny little beers we were served. After a month and a half of England, we were expecting proper pints, but apparently the Dutch do not share in England's alcoholism.

After dinner we returned to Jorplace, because it was three stories and we thought that being on higher ground might help if Holland sank. However, we were not done for the night, so we made friends with Corky, an American expatriate who used to live in Belgium, except he had just gotten divorced and couldn't come home for a few weeks. Corky, by the way, grew up in Danville, CA, which is where my family's synagogue used to be. We also made friends with a Canadian girl (more on her later), and two very stereotypical Irishmen. Then we went to sleep, because it had been a long day of trickery and food and people.

Next time: Madurodam!!!!!

Peace out, cubscouts.

Holland: Part Take-Off

Sound: "Don't Phunk With My Heart" by the Black Eyed Peas

Okay, I know that I'm technically still on vacation, but Mia and I are experiencing some down time, so I thought I would start what is sure to be an epic series of blog posts about my trip to Holland.

This trip was marked by my (and Mia's) struggle with the Dutch language. Therefore, I would like to introduce Holland and it's culture with this quote by Mia:

"Dutch is the bastard child of English and German."

I'm not trying to offend anyone, I'm just putting it out there. Think about it for a little while; it's totally true.

Now, without further ado, here is...

Morgan's Fall Break Trip To The Netherlands!!!

Day 1: October 14, 2010: London-Schiphol-Den Haag

Dutch Phrase of the Day: "De volkend halte ist: Duinstraat."

After being freed from Interrelationships hell at 2:49pm GMT, Mia and I booked it to Gloucester Road tube station, hopped on the Picadilly line, and went to Heathrow Airport Terminal 4. Then, we sat around for a while. Our flight was supposed to take off at 6:35pm GMT, but it got delayed. Airport highlights include:

-Mia cracking my back in the middle of Heathrow (it was totally necessary)

-Dinner at Garfunkle's (sadly, no relation to the singer)

-The Maori martial arts team that was on the same flight as us

Finally, we got on the plane. And sat on the tarmac for about half an hour. However, I was able to use this time to adjust to the height discrepancy that would prove an issue for me throughout the trip. As you may know, the Dutch are statistically the tallest people in the world. I am not. Cue slapstick-style comedy.

I was seated in an exit row, which is normally nice, but was totally ridiculous for me. An exit row on a Dutch KLM flight has so much legroom that, even with my toes pointed, my feet actually could not touch the seat in front of me. My seat partner was a HUGE, blonde Dutch businessman. He looked like Ivan Drago from Rocky IV. Normally, I at least say hello to my seat mate, but I chose not to talk to this man because I was sure his only response would involve some form of the words "I will destroy you." Also, he was reading a book with a title that I can't fully remember, but definitely was something along the lines of "How Being Reasonable and Innovative Harms Productivity." This man would not survive in a Silicon Valley start-up.

After two hours of air time, we pulled into the gate and proceeded to the nifty train station in Schiphol. Then began the struggle with the ticket machines. All across Holland, the machines to buy tickets for trains provide instructions only in Dutch. They also only take coins, credit cards, or debit cards (except for American cards, because they don't want our democracy-loving, country-invading, capitalist money). After many tries and many struggles, Mia and I were prepared to take the ultimate sketchy step: we were going to ask someone to buy our tickets for us, and then just give them the cash. Except we only had twenty-euro bills, and the train tickets totaled to fourteen euros. It was then we found the ticket counter (Oh.). We went up to buy our tickets and asked about the credit card issue. The not-very-nice ticket lady told us that they "don't like credit cards in Holland" and that we would have to use cash. This led to crazed, fearful calls to our parents begging them to transfer money into our bank accounts so that we could eat for the next week. Later, we found out that the airport lady lied.

After a nice, short train ride, we arrived in Den Haag and figured out how to use strippenkaart (which, by the way, is WAY better than chipkaart) and got on our first tram to get to the hostel. On this tram, we met our first Dutch man, who had some interesting questions for us.

Dutch man: Where are you from?

Us: New York.

Dutch man: I have friends in Connecticut.

Us: Cool.

Dutch man: I am from Aruba. You know Aruba? That's where that girl got killed. The man killed another girl in South America. He liked to play poker.

Us: Yes, we've heard of Aruba. That was a very sad case.

Dutch man (to me): Are you Jew? You look like Jew?

Me: Um... yes. I am Jewish.

Dutch man: Yes, you look like Jew. I will show you pictures of my family now.

Fortunately, it was at that moment that our stop came and we got off the tram. I was a little unnerved; if we had not been in Holland, I would have been very scared, but fortunately, my grandparents had told me all about how the Dutch love Jewish people, so life was going to be okay.

On the next tram we had a nice conversation with the driver, in which he told us to "watch out for the brown people (specifically immigrants of Arab or Caribbean descent)" and to only ask Caucasian people for directions. Apparently, in Holland, the residual anti-Semitism found in the rest of Europe has been replaced by good old-fashioned xenophobia. Since I am a white Jew, I was reassured that I would be a-okay for the trip. Cool.

NOTE: I know not everyone in the Netherlands is racist or doesn't trust "the brown people." I just found this to be a very interesting, rather strange welcome to the country. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that it was 11:00pm. Perhaps the crazies of Den Haag come out at that time.

Finally, we arrived at our hostel in Scheveningen. Our hostel was called "Jorplace" and can only be described as hippie haven. The walls were painted funky colors, and the decor was a mix of Venice Beach surf with... marijuana (that is honestly the only way you can describe this particular style of decoration). We were in a 20 person dorm, so we went upstairs, made our beds, and proceeded to fall asleep.

Then the snoring started. It was (at the time), the worst snoring I had ever heard in my life. It was as if my dad and brother were riding their dirtbikes right next to me while simultaneously cutting down trees with chainsaws. And it wouldn't stop.

Finally, after a few hours, the snorer turned on to his side, and lo and behold, the snoring stopped! So we went to sleep.

Next time: Morgan and Mia get tricked by Parliament and begin their gastronomical exploration of Den Haag.

Peace out, cubscouts.

British Children Are Delightful (I'm Serious)

Sound: "Pursuit Of Happiness" by KiD CuDi

As many of you may know, I do not like children. Except for my cousins. But seriously, children are just not my thing. To quote a wonderful TV show called "Scrubs," children are "loud and you can't understand them. They're like little taxi drivers." Also, little kids tend to smell kind of funny. But I digress.

The other exception to my general dislike for children appears to be British children. Especially British school children. There are several private schools near my flat (in fact, Prime Minister David Cameron's children attend one of them), so I often see them walking to or from their recess or getting picked up by their parents. And it makes me so happy.

Look at him! He's eating cheesy curls! How cute is that?!

British school children are just so adorable in their little uniforms. They walk around in their blazers and trousers/skirts/pinafores, all wonderfully color coordinated and topped off with a white collared shirt and a tie. And they chatter so adorably to their parents, teacher, or each other. I don't understand what they're saying, but I like to imagine it involves the intricacies of dinner party etiquette.

"You must always work from the outside in. And forks go on the left."

I think the real reason I like British children so much is because they're so well behaved. I very rarely see them crying or throwing a fit (even the babies). They're just always so happy. And this, I think is because British people are not afraid to discipline (and by discipline, I mean corporally punish) their children.

Case in point: the other day I was on the District Line when a little girl started screaming and crying and running around the car. Her mother was reading a newspaper. My experience in America is that the parent would pretty much ignore their kid. Or they would ask their child to "please stop," but the kid would totally ignore their parent continue throwing a tantrum. Instead, what followed was this:

Little Girl: AARGHKSHDFIO I'M ANGRY!!!! ADFAIOUREIAUR!!!!

Mother (calmly looking up from her newspaper): I will beat you.

Little Girl:

So, what have we witnessed? Children respond to things that are scary! "Please" is not scary; getting spanked is totally scary. I would like to take a moment to point out that I have yet to see a British child who is exhibiting signs of abuse (not that I'm an expert). Instead, I have seen very happy, well behaved, and adorable British children who brighten my day before I have to attend the "Survivor" torch ceremony that is Interrelationships.

And now, I leave you with my favorite British school child of all time (even though he's no longer a child):

Oh, my.

Peace out, cubscouts.

Midterm Madness

Sound: "The Number of the Beast" by Iron Maiden

There are three things constantly on my mind right now: Midterms, The Netherlands, and Windy Rain.

Midterms:

I have never been good at midterms. When it's finals time, I'm super productive. I'm like a stereotypical jock pumped up on steroids, running around screaming, "Yeah! Finals! I'm going to do work, write papers, kick butt, take names, and go home and eat my Mom's enchiladas! WOOOOO!" Midterms, not so much. During midterm season, I kind of wander around my area, get distracted really easily, and hate on everything (case in point, my essay on The Rivals currently reads: "The Rivals. Artifice. Successful? Eventually... Do we learn anything? Not really... Stupid Georgian people.") I have a little less than two weeks to write three papers and finish a journal. Actually, I'm almost done with the journal because it was the artsiest thing on my to-do list, and I really just wanted to color. I know that I'll get everything done, and hopefully everything will be done well, but I just don't want to do it. Midterms are such a fun mood killer.

The Netherlands:

Once I finish midterms, I get to go to The Netherlands! I'm spending eight days (four in The Hague and four in Amsterdam) in that lovely land of tulips, windmills, and legalized hedonism. I'm ridiculously excited and have a giant list of things to do (and never fear, I will do all of them!). My only minor concern is my (and Mia's) apparent inability to pronounce Dutch words (except Scheveningen- I'm really, really, really good at saying that). However, we've decided that we're going to solve this problem by bringing a pad of paper with us and writing down whichever place/food/etc. we're trying to get and just showing the paper to people. Which I actually don't like, because I try to at least master basic pronunciation of the home language of wherever I'm visiting. But Dutch is really hard! I mean, let's just look at the word "uitsmijter." Honestly, how am I supposed to know how to pronounce that (and if anyone [aka Goldstein family] knows, please help a girl out)?

So maybe in addition to enjoying Dutch culture, I'll also develop a basic understanding of the Dutch language. I think that's a good goal.

Windy Rain:

We all know it rains in London. But did you know it actually hurricanes? Maybe not officially, but I think that when the wind is so strong that two umbrellas break in a three-day period, that counts as a hurricane. I'm not sure if the issue is the wind itself, or perhaps my umbrellas are just weeny colonist American umbrellas, but something has to stop. Because umbrellas are expensive in London, and I need to save my money for The Netherlands.

Peace out, cubscouts.

EDIT: My music for this post actually has something to do with my life, and is not a random itunes occurrence. This weekend Film4 has been showing "The Omen" trilogy. And the flat has been watching it. Because "The Omen" is so bad, it's fantastic.