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.
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