Eight year olds, dude.
On Monday night, Judith emailed me with some news about moving in with Vi and her daughter, Mar. There are some limitations/requests on the weekends, as far as privacy for Vi and her boyfriend. Also, Overvecht is far north of the city (by “far”, I mean a 10 minute bus ride, a 15 minute bike ride). Other than that, there is a room for me, a closet, and the opportunity to unpack for the first time in three weeks!
So, I packed my stuff up from Suzanne’s, and climbed onto the bus with my Snoopy suitcase, my hiking backpack, my purse, and a blanket from Ikea in tow. When I got on the bus, a bunch of American Jesuit boys were speaking English and Dutch on the bus. I was on the phone with Suzanne and heard one say, excitedly, “This girl has an American accent!” They immediately engaged me when I got off the phone.
From Alaska and Utah, they were under 20. At 18, Jesuits can go to any country where their church is present, to do “work” for two years, which includes walking the street and talking to people about Jesus and the Church of Latter Day Saints. They always travel in pairs. They live in housing provided by the church, and also consider helping people in any way as part of their “work.” One of the guys gave me the contact information for one of their leaders, and said that he could give me free Dutch lessons. They also mentioned that the US military is looking into their Church’s methodology of teaching languages, since it is apparently very efficient and effective, compared to the military’s current programs.
At Centraal, we parted ways and I got on the 1 bus to Overvecht. I arrived 30 minutes early – Vida and I were to meet at 15:30. I sat at the bus stop with my iPod, and decided that I know no one in this country, and will likely never see any of these people again, so contentedly sang along to my English music at the bus stop. Hope it didn’t annoy anyone too much; but it sure didn’t stop people from starting conversations with me.
I met a few Moroccan teens – the most contentious of the current immigrant hostilities. Apparently, the third generation Moroccan teen boys have a reputation of being troublesome and resisting assimilation into Dutch culture. (I am reporting this completely neutrally; I know there is so much more, but I have not had a chance to discuss the history with a Dutch or a Moroccan.) All I know is that the guys I met – Moroccans, about 20 years old – said racial tensions have improved over the past three years, but that Dutch culture is very closed to them. They likened themselves to African-Americans in the US. All this was gathered in a five-minute exchange, which ended in us trading iPod earbuds for one minute. He was listening to 2Pac (we agreed that he was still alive, despite the staged assassination a decade ago), and I was listening to the Soggy Bottom Boys (they called it jazz).
(Sidenote: It’s amazing how much American culture is known around the world. Our music is on the radio, every girl I’ve met watches Sex and the City religiously, a lot of people love Friends, and Maggie’s roommates have a tradition of watching Beverly Hills 90210 (the original series) every week after a group dinner!)
At 15:30, Vi and Mar came to get me. We walked to their house, which is so close to the busstop. My room is really cute – flowery and with a Barbie doll house. I have a lot of teddy bears on the couch. The beds here are generally singles/twins. And most rooms have balconies off them; mine is spacious. We went to a Moroccan grocery to pick up stuff for dinner; Vi negotiated a bag of almonds I bought from EU5 to EU325. Still, that’s about USD7 for a pound. I can’t remember if that’s normal or expensive for almonds. . .
While she made dinner for us, I unpacked. It was really nice to unpack, hang up some stuff, and put my suitcase away. Normally, a roommate situation would entail each making their own dinner, but from the start, this living arrangement was more like a friend offering me to stay for a while. She refused to let me help pay for groceries, and insisted on my eating dinner with her and Mar, like a family, I guess. After I vowed, to myself, to cook sometimes, always do the dishes, and to give her extra money on top of the rent for groceries, I allowed myself to enjoy her awesome cooking (chicken curry with rice), and her company.
I washed all the dishes, we watched TV and chatted for a long time, all the while with her daughter just hanging out. They are from Afghanistan; the daughter speaks Dutch and Afghani, but not English. Vi is tri-lingual. In Dutch schools, children are required to learn English starting in 6th grade; so Mar will begin learning it next year already.
For a few hours after dinner, there were chanting crowds of Dutch students walking down the street. They made a lot of noise. Vi said they are drunk high school kids, who are in a club or group of friends, just walking around singing and sort of trick-or-treating. When one group stopped in front of our building, we crowded by the window to see what they were doing. The girl in the apartment below us, yelled something in Dutch, and one of the guys ran towards the building, and climbed onto her balcony. Afterwards, the whole crowd whooped and hollered. We couldn’t see because it was directly under our balcony, but I bet she kissed him for climbing up the building. Crazy kids :) Then, another neighbor starting throwing candy out the window at them. After the candy, he started splashing cups of water at them, so they started to leave. I told Vida that, in the US, even though it all started out as fun and games, there would definitely have been a fight once the water splashing started. She said, “The Dutch are so happy when they drink – everyone is so nice and everyone is beautiful.” I like that mentality.
I laid down in my bed with my Organized Crime textbook, listened to some Jack Johnson, and slept very well.
So, I packed my stuff up from Suzanne’s, and climbed onto the bus with my Snoopy suitcase, my hiking backpack, my purse, and a blanket from Ikea in tow. When I got on the bus, a bunch of American Jesuit boys were speaking English and Dutch on the bus. I was on the phone with Suzanne and heard one say, excitedly, “This girl has an American accent!” They immediately engaged me when I got off the phone.
From Alaska and Utah, they were under 20. At 18, Jesuits can go to any country where their church is present, to do “work” for two years, which includes walking the street and talking to people about Jesus and the Church of Latter Day Saints. They always travel in pairs. They live in housing provided by the church, and also consider helping people in any way as part of their “work.” One of the guys gave me the contact information for one of their leaders, and said that he could give me free Dutch lessons. They also mentioned that the US military is looking into their Church’s methodology of teaching languages, since it is apparently very efficient and effective, compared to the military’s current programs.
At Centraal, we parted ways and I got on the 1 bus to Overvecht. I arrived 30 minutes early – Vida and I were to meet at 15:30. I sat at the bus stop with my iPod, and decided that I know no one in this country, and will likely never see any of these people again, so contentedly sang along to my English music at the bus stop. Hope it didn’t annoy anyone too much; but it sure didn’t stop people from starting conversations with me.
I met a few Moroccan teens – the most contentious of the current immigrant hostilities. Apparently, the third generation Moroccan teen boys have a reputation of being troublesome and resisting assimilation into Dutch culture. (I am reporting this completely neutrally; I know there is so much more, but I have not had a chance to discuss the history with a Dutch or a Moroccan.) All I know is that the guys I met – Moroccans, about 20 years old – said racial tensions have improved over the past three years, but that Dutch culture is very closed to them. They likened themselves to African-Americans in the US. All this was gathered in a five-minute exchange, which ended in us trading iPod earbuds for one minute. He was listening to 2Pac (we agreed that he was still alive, despite the staged assassination a decade ago), and I was listening to the Soggy Bottom Boys (they called it jazz).
(Sidenote: It’s amazing how much American culture is known around the world. Our music is on the radio, every girl I’ve met watches Sex and the City religiously, a lot of people love Friends, and Maggie’s roommates have a tradition of watching Beverly Hills 90210 (the original series) every week after a group dinner!)
At 15:30, Vi and Mar came to get me. We walked to their house, which is so close to the busstop. My room is really cute – flowery and with a Barbie doll house. I have a lot of teddy bears on the couch. The beds here are generally singles/twins. And most rooms have balconies off them; mine is spacious. We went to a Moroccan grocery to pick up stuff for dinner; Vi negotiated a bag of almonds I bought from EU5 to EU325. Still, that’s about USD7 for a pound. I can’t remember if that’s normal or expensive for almonds. . .
While she made dinner for us, I unpacked. It was really nice to unpack, hang up some stuff, and put my suitcase away. Normally, a roommate situation would entail each making their own dinner, but from the start, this living arrangement was more like a friend offering me to stay for a while. She refused to let me help pay for groceries, and insisted on my eating dinner with her and Mar, like a family, I guess. After I vowed, to myself, to cook sometimes, always do the dishes, and to give her extra money on top of the rent for groceries, I allowed myself to enjoy her awesome cooking (chicken curry with rice), and her company.
I washed all the dishes, we watched TV and chatted for a long time, all the while with her daughter just hanging out. They are from Afghanistan; the daughter speaks Dutch and Afghani, but not English. Vi is tri-lingual. In Dutch schools, children are required to learn English starting in 6th grade; so Mar will begin learning it next year already.
For a few hours after dinner, there were chanting crowds of Dutch students walking down the street. They made a lot of noise. Vi said they are drunk high school kids, who are in a club or group of friends, just walking around singing and sort of trick-or-treating. When one group stopped in front of our building, we crowded by the window to see what they were doing. The girl in the apartment below us, yelled something in Dutch, and one of the guys ran towards the building, and climbed onto her balcony. Afterwards, the whole crowd whooped and hollered. We couldn’t see because it was directly under our balcony, but I bet she kissed him for climbing up the building. Crazy kids :) Then, another neighbor starting throwing candy out the window at them. After the candy, he started splashing cups of water at them, so they started to leave. I told Vida that, in the US, even though it all started out as fun and games, there would definitely have been a fight once the water splashing started. She said, “The Dutch are so happy when they drink – everyone is so nice and everyone is beautiful.” I like that mentality.
I laid down in my bed with my Organized Crime textbook, listened to some Jack Johnson, and slept very well.
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