The Other Fam

I was also informed by my lovely mother that I should probably actually post a picture about the kind people who are putting up with me in their home for the duration of my stay in the Netherlands. Well here she be.
A little bit of explanation is necessary I do believe. The girl in the back on the left is named Lineke and she is 17. Next to her is her boyfriend Hans, he is pretty much part of the family. Next to me is Elize who is 19 and next to her is my little brother Steven (14) but more about him later. The wonderful couple on the end is Gerda and Freddy, and the two on the bottom are Myranda (my sister who is 15) and her boyfriend Rob who is also pretty much part of the family. As you can see it comes out to be a large and hospitable group, and it is not rare for the home to be filled with even more guests. It is busy, fun, and exciting. They are full of laughs and full of life, and let me tell you it is never too quiet around here!
Also, here is another picture of my brother Steven. He is a character in a half and I therefore believe he deserves an extra paragraph to his dedication. He is full of energy which even I can’t comprehend, and he is also always getting into something (usually mud, water, or trouble. Usually in combination and he also always seems to add something which I didn’t even know existed!) Anyway, today he decided to go fly his kite. It is a big kite and when I see the guys in the parks flying these kites it always looks cool as they have to lean and fight against the pull of the wind. Still, flying a kit is usually a pretty uneventful endeavor. You run, the kite catches the wind, you watch it fly, you get bored as soon as you realize that it isn’t possible for someone to tie a string to you and watch you lift off the ground, and then you go home. Well, here is a picture of Steven returning home from flying his kite.

Apparently the wind was too strong for him, he lost his footing and was drug along the muddy ground near the river until the kite finally crashed into the ground just before dragging him into a canal. Man that kid amazes me, I have never seen such a creative kite flying excursion, and perhaps if we all flew kites like that it would be an Olympic sport.

The Visit

Many of you may know my mother. She is a special lady. A lady who is very lucky for many reasons which she overlooks. One obvious reason is that she gave birth to such a wonderful son, so wonderful in fact that they decided it was not possible to top him so they stopped having children right there. Once again I know I have some skeptics in the crowd who will claim they stopped having children because I scared them to death. Well obviously they are alive and kicking, and you can once again just go away! Another reason my mother is lucky is that her son crossed the seas and she therefore had a reason to visit him. The third, and possibly final, reason this lovely lady is so lucky is the fact that she will have no clue that this blog was published. Ah yes, she will be able to travel Europe knowing none the better. And trust me, I will keep you all updated on her actions, because we all know she would do the same!
So the time finally arrived when I was to be reunited for a short time with my family. My Dad, Mom, Sister, Grandpa, and Grandma all flew the ocean in order to wish me hello (for only a couple days) and travel Europe (For many more days). I guess we know who is really lovedJ Anyway, I arrived at the airport in Amsterdam to meet them and we exchanged the usual I have not seen you in two month hugs and greetings. It was pleasant, and I have nothing more to say about that as it has little relevance to the story and well all know I keep all stories on a precise and determined plotline.
That day we took the shuttle (not the space shuttle you dork, the ground ones that are really just a glorified bus) to our hotel. It was then that my mom opened her suitcase and holy crap was I surprised. I will give it to my mom that she is a very caring and considerate person, and I did in fact ask for some of these things in the suitcase as well. She did not disappoint that is for sure, and the suitcase was overflowing with gifts for my host family. Now the interesting thing is when she pulled out a package and said, “Oh I wonder if this is still good”. Now I have heard this response in connection with discoveries under the couch or maybe that pile of cloths in the corner, but never while traveling abroad have I pulled out something from my suitcase and had such questions. I was a bit confused until my dad explained that my mom got on another one of her kicks again (my mom gets on a new one ever other hour, sometimes two at a time, in which she can focus on nothing else except her newfound interest. Sometimes she is an interior designer, jewelry crafter, head chef, or travel agent, heck onetime she thought she could make a bundle of extra cash off cute bunny rabbits so she started a breeding center in our backyard with 5 rabbits she picked up from the local pet store. It failed, and when they all escaped they also ate her flowers and laughed at the irony of the situation).
So anyway, she took this questionable object and quickly exited the room and returned with it wrapped in ice announcing that she could not find a fridge to store it. I then asked what possibly could be so important that it must be taken overseas despite the fact that it should be refrigerated. She responded, “Well it is cheese for the pizza Dustin” as if this is just a normal thing to take over to Europe. Needless to say I still am amazed that she did such a thing. I mean this woman went to school for a long time for crying out loud and she brought cheese to the freakin Cheese capital of the world?! Oh my mother, ya gotta love her.
Ohhhh wait, I’m not done yet, I have to keep going being as she can’t defend herself. I mean usually you can only get one little thing in before she totally rips apart your own stupidity, at my count I have a good 10 days before this is even going to backfire on me. We will just worry about that laterJ So some of you may know that I am a pure bread Dutchman, and my Grandfather was born in the wonderful town of Eda in the South part of the Netherlands. We therefore rented a car in search of his birthplace so as to gaze upon the plot of land which began such a splendid family. To our dismay the home which he grew up in for his first 3 years of life was no longer there. It was demolished to make room for a new home, but the location was still beautiful. The countryscape was typical Dutch with small fenced in land for animals and crops belonging to the stout brick homes dotting the countryside. We pulled over the rental van to take some pictures when my mom glances out the window and announces “Hmmm…. Looks like a bunch of dogs over there.” Hmmmm….. is pretty much the only response I could provide to that comment (actually my dad and I proceeded to make plenty of other comments, but I am sure you all can make your own, just check the pictures).
Yea, my wonderful, and very educated, mother thought those looked like dogs. YEA WHEN YOU ARE 3!!!

And finally, I am going to close this section of the blog offering my humblest apologies to my mother who will read this in 10 days and surely find a way to get me back tenfold. Yet, I am sure that all of you out there who know this splendid woman will agree that she definitely has it coming to her!:-)




Oh yea, I almost forgot, she never tried to start the bunny farm, but I could see it happening. Really, I honestly could.

Bike Riding Adventures: Part 584.5a

So I was biking to school today by a spot which brought a smile to my face. It brought a smile to my face today only after having many laughs over it with a Mr. Bryan Burgers. Yet, at the moment, while comical in a way, no laughs were had. Apologies were present, once again I reverted to my childhood ways which consisted of me saying “it was an accident, I promise!” in my most sorrowful tone of voice. Anyway, here is what happened.
Bryan and I are biking to school like any normal day, and we are getting pretty good at it. The paths are only so wide and all the native Netherlandic people ride two by two. Now this gives one very little room for error, and upon first arriving we made the trek in single-file fashion. Yet, we have now been here for a while, and our confidence has risen to the point were we blend in with the natives much more. Heck, we can ride side by side, and we did. This worked well for a long time. No problems there, until.
At this part of the story I would like to insert another story; a story involving the characters of Juliet and Maggie, the truly original girls who experienced with me the adventures of Paris. It was one day after school when we didn’t feel like biking back to Hattem that we decided to go pick up a couple drinks at the local pub. We decided to explore a new one and walked into what was an oldmans haven. We received odd looks upon first entering and I realized they had probably not seen women of this age in here for a while, probably ever. Still, we were cold and sat down at a table. I approached the bartender and asked for three beers only to find out they had no wonderful Heineken but only grolsch. I was disappointed but he said it was better and I therefore returned with three for our table.
Anyway, the conversation began to flow and if you know Maggie and Juliet, when they get excited their voices tend to rise. Somehow we got on the topic of the horrible agony which is sure to make you want to scratch your eyes from their sockets if you would happen to be one of the most unlucky soles on the face of this green earth who happens to walk in on his/her parents. Well Juliet was getting super into the conversation and begins to yell, I tried to settler her down but it was too late. The entire bar filled with 75+ year old men put down their glasses and turned their heads to gaze at the voice which just uttered such words. I don’t remembered what was exactly said, but I do now know that 75+ year old men sure turn their heads quickly when they hear a young woman talking about the topic (Apparently the pill is working). Anyway, the point of the story is that the beer was bad, I hated it. And that is that.
So there Bryan and I are biking to school and a sign appears advertising Grolsch beer. It is then that my hand flies into the air as I point out and begin my warning to him never to try such horrible stuff. I was just getting to the pivotal point of my argument when I realize that my traveling companion is gone. I look back and see him lying on the ground behind an elderly woman. I was very confused, and Bryan must have been too because he just laid there on his back for a good minute pondering his current situation. The best part of it was the old woman whom Bryan landed behind. She didn’t even turn around until a good 30 seconds into Bryan’s minute of pondering (which began after his awkward and loud dismount from his bike), and when she did finally see a young man on his back with his bike awkwardly lying on the street she just turned around like it was nothing at all. The moral of the story is that apparently my story telling can be dangerous, so if you are ever riding on a bike with me just ride behind me and let me swerve and point wildly to allow the full effect to hit you metaphorically and not literally.
Another interesting Netherlandic biking fact is that they often enjoy riding two on a bike. Clearly my experiences so far on the bike has proven that the dangers are present even during a solo run, and thus I had spent much of my time avoiding this attempt at a double riding adventure. Yet, our friends Tymona & Pumba (Jenn) had ridden into Hattem from Zwolle and were complaining about their ride and wanted a rest, and they then asked to ride on the back of our bikes to the next house we were supposed to travel too. Being as we were once taught how to double ride by our host sister we promptly agreed and began our travels. Now double riding brings a whole new eliment to bike riding. The balance is thrown off dramatically when the person mounts and dismounts, plus you need to attain the proper speed before the other rider decides to jump on. The first part went fine, and all was ok as we took off from our house to Juliet and Maggies. Tymona and Pumba were safely on the back of my and Bryan’s bikes respectively, and the girls were happy they didn’t have to pedal. This ease of their life led to increased conversation being as they were not gasping for breath, and this ease of conversation prevented Bryan and I from taking the proper turn. Therefore, we soon realized we had to turn around and Jenn and Bryan were unable to take the turn together and Jenn was forced to dismount. Now this is not all that uncommon as intense turning is difficult to balance when another person is perched on the rear of your bike. Yet, what is different about this situation is the fact that Jenn, promptly after dismounting, decides to quickly jump back on without warning Bryan. The balance was quickly lost, and Jenn ended up with her butt in a pile of dirt because the location of your legs while riding on the rear of a bike prevent you from catching yourself if you fall to one side. It was this event that made it apparent that Jenn was clearly ignorant about the rules of life. One of them being completely explained during this situation. You can’t just mount a guy without proper warning!

London: The Pound Kills Ya!

London is a stunning city, and the sights to be had are immense. It is a place of culture and history and off which we had both. Our flight over there was short and consisted of approximately 45 minutes of air time. Yet, if any of you have ever taxied through the Amsterdam Schipol airport you know that there is 20 minutes of taxing before you are able to take off. Apparently they believe that they should drive the plane half way to the destination in order to save on soaring gas prices. Still, the excitement of flying was not squelched by this process, and despite the ease of taking trains, there is one vital and wondrous difference between the two. Airplanes will not split mid-flight! I have been on one too many trains which have split at a station without my knowledge only to carry me to some unknown destination from where I must attempt to find my way back to the right track. It is a bit aggravating and I must say that knowing no such thing is going to happen brings a comfort to the airways. I love it.
Upon arriving at London Luton airport we had to take an hour long Coach ride into the city to find my wonderful friend Travis from high school. Upon exiting the coach we spent probably another hour wondering around trying to find his place. The wondering was not all in vain though for we stumbled upon Buckingham Palace during the changing of the guard. What a wonderful coincidence, but I was a bit unimpressed, for the suits these men wear make them look absolutely hilarious and there is no way you can take a guard seriously unless he looks mean, not like some freaking clown. I therefore would like to suggest the palace gets into talks with the costume designers of Braveheart or Gladiator, for if the guards were to look like that I assure you no more tourists will line up to take a corny picture next to an even cornier looking guard who in reality just stands there doing absolutely nothing. In fact, I found it rather ironic that the police were present to ensure the proper changing of the guard. Shouldn’t the guards be able to do this themselves?! Honestly, something really must be done.
We did finally arrive at Travis’ glorious place of residence which is smack in the middle of absolutely everything. It is a ten minute walk from the palace, Westminster abbey, Big Ben and the Parliament building, and the London Eye. It was wonderful and we spent the first part of the day browsing these sights. That night is when the cold began. We decided that being as it was St. Patricks day the only logical thing to do is go to the five story Irish Pub in London. We also had heard that it is easy to get your jackets stolen in such an establishment so our jackets were left at home. The chill was not terrible from the tube to the Fish and Chips establishment (absolutely scrumptious) we visited from dinner. But the hour queue (The British’s wicked awesome name for a line [they also say “mate” and “cheers” and combine them in a hundred different ways at a skill level which made me quite jealous {oh yea, they also swear with an amazing politeness and sophistication!}]) outside Waxy O’Conners with only a t-shirt (only green thing I had so I am not a complete idiot for wearing it:-) was a bit chilly. But the wait was worth it, and we had a few beers in what is the coolest pub I have ever seen. It was made into a giant tree, and you went in and out of it as you went through the different rooms and levels. It was like you were underground, in the tree, and seeing roots coming out of the walls. I don’t know how else to explain it but it was a good time.
The next day we saw the typical tourist sights. We began at the Kew gardens which were beautiful, and had the wind now been so biting it would have been splendid to spend more time walking around the massive gardens. We reserved most of our time to the greenhouses, especially the warm and tropical palm houseJ We then went to see the Castle of London and Tower Bridge before we went to this sweet outdoor market. At this market we stopped for lunch and I had an Ostrich burger! Yea it was super tasty, and now I can scratch one more thing off my life goals list.
The next stop was one of my most anticipated events yet. Going to see Postman’s Park, it is a park dedicated to those giving up their lives to save others and one of my favorite movies of all time focuses around this park. It was wonderful, and I could have spent the remainder of the day there but we had places to go and things to see so off we went to Trafalgar square to casually browse the sights and visit the National (FREE) art gallery which housed a ton of great artwork including Peter Paul Reuben’s amazing Samson and Delilah. Anyway, the square was unwalkable because there were a bunch of people protesting something bush. It is amazing how unintelligent people quickly look when they invade a square to whine together.
That evening we topped off the night by taking a flight on the London Eye which was well worth the money. It set us high atop the city allowing us to see many of the sites all lit up. It was splendid, and a wonderful way to top off our excursion to London. It was one of our shortest trips but one of the most expensive. Still a great time was had by all and our wonderful tour guide Travis led a spectacular sight seeing adventure through London.

Who am I?????

My loyal blog readers may already know this, but for you newbies or those of you who have difficulty remembering such important things I will remind you. I don’t really know how to put this, but my family is a pretty big deal. A few years back my uncle Glen made the discovery that my mother’s side of the family was actually the founders of a the small town of Huizen in the Netherlands. Then during their immigration to the United States a clerical error changed the “I” to an “L” and they became the VanHulzen family. Some of you people with a more cynical inkling will quickly state that such facts are not true, well to you I say to stop reading now because your negativity is not needed and in fact your mind is a useless mass of pink gelatin which obviously does not function properly if it does not believe such clear factual information. Also, others will say that it is such a small town that it means nothing, and to these pessimists I would ask as to how many towns they have named after their family??? Yea that is what I though. Anyway, just let me continue with the cold hard facts of this narrative already will ya!
As we all know it is a rarity for a family of royalty such as the VanHulzen clan to marry into a family of commoners. I therefore have found it very odd for many years how my Mom and Dad came to marry, fall in love, and birth two of the most spectacular kids ever. Yes, this question has plagued my mind for years, and it has even led me to speculations of my true heritage, the confusion was tumultuous and my life was in turmoil. This problem proved to be quite the existential difficulty and I therefore set out on a quest to my homeland to solve the conundrum of my life. How were these two families united? How was such royalty allowed to unite with a family of commoners? And with the background laid I shall now reveal the tales of my journey thus far, and it is hear the story truly begins.
I entered this weekend with a small bit of sorrow in my heart as I realized I was in Europe for only a short time longer and was going to spend this weekend at home with little traveling or adventures. Yet, my sadness quickly gave way as the light of joy peered through the clouds as my wonderful Paris traveling partners Maggie and Juliet invited me along to visit a land which I had previously only thought existed in fairy tales: a land with knights, dragons, and damsels in distress. They had planned a visit to a castle, and I enthusiastically agreed to be their help and protector as we sought to climb to the tallest room of the tallest tower to meet me true love and have true loves first kiss. Yea right, like that is ever going to happen :-). Still, while I understood that my true love had long ago melted away, I eagerly accepted their invitation to visit this magical world and slay this wondrous dragon for the mere purposes of saying that I had in fact slayed a dragon. I was stoked.
I entered this adventure blindly, I had no time to prepare and had totally forgot to pack my armor and we all know that taking a sword through customs is darn near impossible, especially when they freak out about a finger nail clipper. Thus, I figured I would have to rely on my MacGyver knowledge and ingenuity, and I new this dragon was all but dead. With this plan now hatched I began to mentally prepare as I flashed through the past 16 years of MacGyver soaking in all the MacGyvernisms possible.
After leaving the train we began our hike to the isolated Castle near a remote village in the south of Holland. And soon through the trees a massive, stately structure powered into the air. The castle was in view and I was in awe. The draw bridge was already lowered and it was clear the Dragon was a little arrogant by providing me such an easily accessible entry point over the moat.

I then proceeded to scan my surroundings and purchased my ticket for entry, once again an extremely easy task which proved beyond a doubt that this dragon had clearly overlooked the security of his pad. I bribed the ticketmaster and he discretely slid me a ticket beneath the glass for entry beyond the gardens into the inner depths of the castle. It was then as my gaze scanned the paper in my hand that I realized Kasteel de Haar was printed prominently above the top of the paper. Hmmm…. That is strange, it is very similar to my own last name, but I continued on my journey figured it was merely a clever ploy attempting to divert my attention.

The girls and I quickly crossed yet another moat and descended the steep twisting staircase into the depths of the inner castle, and there we waited. It was then that a woman approached us; she quickly opened a door and filed us through as if not wanting others to see what she was doing. She then quickly handed me a paper in English. Upon it was written something greater than I had ever imagined: the history of the castle, a castle which was not just an ordinary castle, but nothing less than my very own castle! The file I held in my hand described how the castle had been destroyed and rebuilt many times, and how the Vande Haar family had restored it to its former glory in order to never allow the world to forget the wonders of its heritage. I am pretty sure it is painfully clear to all you out there that upon immigrating to America the Vande Haar name was once again changed because of a clerical error resulting from the rich Dutch accent of my ancestors. They therefore became the Vander Haar family which we all have grown to know and love today. This was too much to bear, and I could hardly keep my wits about me before it dawned on me that this too could merely be another clever ploy. The girls and I were securely escorted (guided tour) through the castle in order to protect us from the beast which roams the empty halls, and we were prevented from taking pictures (which I was very upset at especially being as it was rightfully my own family’s castle). Yet, I still had an inkling that this could not be true, and such a fact would not possibly be hidden from me all these years.
Yet, sooner than not I realized that in fact it was true, and this castle was a beautiful part of my family’s heritage. For upon entering the gardens I was shocked to see a statue in perfect representation of me?!

How could this be? How could they possibly know what I look like without ever even taking the time to let me know about my past? I didn’t know, but I just blamed it on the internet and figured that through such means they attained pictures and information because we all know that the internet is an amazing tool. Once again some of you will claim this picture is fake and that it is just me acting like a statue. Again I will ask a question too you “How could I take that picture if I was standing as that statue???” yea that is what I thought. Plus I am not nearly that good of an actor to pull of such a spectacular pose.
We continued walking the gardens and exploring my newly discovered lands. It was a truly beautiful experience, and the history I discovered was astounding. It appears that my thought that my travels in Europe would merely yield some fun stories and some typical touristy attractions were dead wrong. Instead, I was actually able to come across my family heritage and calm the existential quagmire billowing in my soul. I now know that two of the greatest families in the Netherlands combined to bring about my birth. In the end the VanHulzen family did not marry into a bunch of commoners, but true royalty with a beautiful castle to match! I will therefore no longer be going by the name Dustin Vander Haar, but instead will only answer to Prince Vander Haar III (putting numbers behind your name just makes it seem so much more significant don’t ya think?)


Oh yea, for those inquisitive readers, you are probably wondering what happened to the dragon. Well, because of my newly discovered royal blood line, he and I came to an agreement that he could live in my castle as long as he protects it while I am away. We now play poker on the first Tuesday of every month (online when I am in America).

Mmmmmm

It has been a long time since I have updated this bad boy so I figured I would let you in on a little of my life over here in the Netherlands right now. This weekend I do not have any plans so there will be no stories of valiant worriors overcomming scam artists or even failed attempts at orienting oneself in a new city. No, I do believe this weekend I will remain in the Hattem/Zwolle area. I was attempting to make a trip to either Normandy or Wittenberg and they both fell through, so sadly I do believe Luther's door will not been seen (I guess it isnt the real one anyway right???) but I have vowed to make it to Normandy, and I can pretty much guarantee you that when I do there will be a heck of a story involving me getting there and back because it is looking like it will be some work. None the less, after fighting off some slight dissapointment of having to put my travels aside this weekend I was blessed with a wonderful oppotunity last night. American food!!!
Some of my fellow students decided that we would go to Amsterdam and visit the good ol' Hard Rock Cafe for an evening of food and fellowship. I immediately recognized the name of this restaraunt, and I despite the fact that the first Hard Rock Cafe opened in London I associated the meals with America and prayed that my dreams would come true. I was not dissapointed!!!
Oh how I have longed for a good, fat, juicy American Bacon Cheeseburger for so long, and this one met all the expectations. It was served with a hearty helping for fries, and even all you could drink soda. I am telling you that this was an American oasis in the center of the European desert of health. I am sure that if our fellow Dutchmen knew that we spent our evenings dining over soda and large slabs of meat they would proably react with the same concern and worry that my grandma expresses when she hears that I have partook of the local Heinekin brew. Nonetheless it was a grand evening, and a burger has never tasted so good. NEVER!

Best Weekend EVER!

Apparently my host family has been thinking I am a lonely young man because after returning from school one cold winter day, they rushed to my side and said with excited eyes “Dustin!!!! We have a wonderful surprise waiting for you outside. She is all yours” Now this addition of a she confused me at first until I stepped out into the bright sunlight reflecting off of her pale skin only to see the wonderful SnowWoman built with love just for me. They said now I can finally get a girl and it is actually the perfect girl because when you get sick of her she will probably just melt away.

Despite my newfound love, I had commitments to keep and off I went to a new land were adventures were to be had a wars were to be fought. For we all know that in any good drama the only thing to separate two star struck lovers is a battle between good and evil. Yet, in this case it was between the tourists and the scam artists.
My travels began on a Thursday with me battling sloppy sidewalks in order to arrive promptly at my train traversing the glistening countryside with its destination in sight: Paris, France. I was stoked. Yet, I was a bit on the weary side for I had heard that the French men are not big fans of the Americans because apparently we were only supposed to borrow the statue of liberty for a period of 24.7 years so that they would be able to stand lady liberty besides the Eiffel tower in order to create the world’s greatest tourist attraction. Yet, as the story goes, the American’s were quite fond of this statue and decided to fool the French by spray painting it green and pretending they replaced it with a new one and sent the original back. Still, this claim is under suspicion being as it has still not arrived on French soil. If you ask me I would back the American side of things and blame it on the insane taxes you have to pay to get something imported into this continent. If my friend’s Euro-rail pass cost her 230 euros to get imported imagine the Statue of Liberty! There is no way the French were going to pay such prices, and the real statue of liberty probably is sitting in storage at some international FedEx center. In the end, the French have settled for a much smaller version which resides in a hidden location which I was not able to discover, but I do promise it is there.
Anyway, they still have managed to accumulate many giant tourist attractions, and their sheer size made them amazing. From the Arc de Triumph, The massive glass pyramid at the Louvre, and then the Eiffel Tower, the city has much beauty to show off. And I spent two wonderful days soaking it all in. Our first day began with the Arc de Triumph which was amazing and not just another arc. It is ginormous, I couldn’t believe it.

Sadly it was raining that day and we were petrified that our weekend was going to be ruined so in order to forget about it we quickly escaped into the underground metro and arrived at the Louvre museum to browse some art and race around the massive building attempting to see in 5 hours what many people see in 4 days. Our attempts failed but I did get to see some awesome painting by Ruebens, the Mona Lisa of coarse (which is way too hyped up) and a few other beauties including the Wedding Feast of Cana.

We next traveled to Notre Dame. The architecture was amazing, but it was a bit odd to walk through the church with the other tourists because a Mass was actually going on as we strolled the church. I guess if you ever want to feel famous just attend Mass at Notre Dame because you will get countless pictures taken of you while you just go about your business. Or perhaps we were not supposed to be there at all and they were just too nice to tell the stupid American’s to leave. I guess both instances are completely plausible. The outer architecture was the most impressive though, and once again I turn you over to the pictures.

That night we saw one of the most impressive buildings or pieces of art or whatever you want to call it: The Eiffel Tower. It was amazing, I loved it, I stood in awe at its behemoth footings as I gazed up at it towering above me. In the night it seemed to glow with radiance and just then I was interrupted by a young man trying to sell a corny light up plastic souvenir. 20 Euro he said, and to this I laughed. How could he expect me to pay 20 euro for that, and then he lowered the price. He asked what I would pay. I promptly walked away before getting caught in some sort of trap. I have learned that the best way to avoid buying something you don’t want is just not to talk to them. These people have some serious skills that is for sure. This was my first avoidance of the scam artists. I was proud. We went to the top of the tower by the way, it was wicked awesome. You should do it sometime.

Oh, and at every hour for ten minutes it does this really cool blinking light thing. Once again, you should see it, it is worth it I promise. If it isnt I will buy you one of those little plastic light up towers.

On our way back from the tower we weaved in and out of the scam artists and avoided eye contact at all costs. Apparently the lady in front of us was not as skilled as she was seen looking into the glowing figure only to be surrounded by 5 other glowing towers each offering a lower price. Ah how superb my skills were. But oh how wrong I was once again. That following day we decided to go to Mountmontre where a beautiful church is situated on a hill overlooking the city of love. Well it sure sounded pleasant reading of it in the book, but upon arrival we were greeted by some kind Jamaican fellows telling us to give them our finger. The crowd was large and I was unable to keep walking and therefore unable to avoid his gaze. He reassured me that it was nothing bad and pointed to the many people around me doing the same thing. I gave in and he began to create a bracelet using my finger and his thread. He talked to me about something in Africa, mixed in some Jamaican stuff and even some Lion King acunama-tata. Before long he had a stupid thread bracelet tied around my wrist and told me it was 20 euros. I was like no way, he then lowered the price. I ended up paying 3 euros for him to leave me alone. Juliet paid 4. Maggie paid another 3. We all were ticked off and we all had plenty off worries contrary to the acunama-tata which they had preached.

Anyway, we enjoyed the church on the hill; we also enjoyed watching others get scammed from the top of the hill. There was also a little artistic community on this hill where sidewalk painters sold their art and others attempted to paint your portrait. It was very pleasant as soon as I forgot that I had to get scammed to get here. Touché for the good Jamaican/African scam artists, they were one up on us.
Still, as any good American, we were going to go down fighting. At least the girls with me were. On our way back down some more young men spotted us tourists descending the hill and quickly asked for our finger. The only response they received was Maggie’s fist in the air revealing the 3 euro thread bracelet accompanied by Maggie yelling “It’s a Scam, a SCAM I TELL YOU!” They quickly backed off but Maggie was not so amused. Before long Maggie and Juliet noticed some other men trying to convince more unsuspecting tourists to provide their finger. Before I could stop them Maggie and Juliet were yelling for tourists not to give them the finger for it was a scam. I quickly put my head down and kept walking only to hear a few French words fly through the air. I laughed hard. Touché for the American’s I think that at least makes us even :-)
That evening we returned to the Eiffel Tower and just enjoyed its beauty one more time before saying goodbye. Apparently the romance of the place had intoxicated the girls because suddenly the cheap light up Eiffel towers became irresistible, they just had to have them. Therefore Maggie made up a very extravagant story and decided to see just how cheap she could get it for. She got him down to 3 euros. She was stoked, and Juliet was super jealous, and therefore she made an attempt to attain the prize for the same price. Still, if you would have listened to Juliet’s bartering skills you would have noticed they were lacking (actually pathetic). Anyway, Maggie had to pull the story on some other helpless young man and before long she attained two towers for 3 dollars each. They were thrilled and apparently had pulled a scam over the scam artists themselves. It was as we were walking home and the girls were giggling about their new purchases that I heard some fellow Americans talking to each other on their way to the tower about how they couldn’t believe that guy offered to sell them the light up towers for 3 euros. Who scammed who? Perhaps we will never know.
Early the next morning I entered the metro only to see 3 ruffians scamming vending machines by kicking them with violent force. Being the only other person yet waiting for a train I was rather uncomfortable. Yet, I was thankful any food they would attempt to kick out of me wouldn’t taste so good so I reasoned I was probably in good shape of not getting violently kicked as long as I kept my mouth shut and looked away. I quickly boarded my train and took off for Geneva: the land of Calvin.

Geneva is one of the most naturally beautiful cities I have seen. The mountains were perfectly hugged by the clouds as the sun reflected off the radiant turquoise harbor. It was stunning, and from the top of St. Peters cathedral (Calvin’s Church) it was even more amazing as it was a perfect view overlooking the entire city surrounded by mountains only to have them give way to the expansive lake. Besides taking in Geneva’s natural beauty, I set out on a course pertaining to all things reformation. I got to see Calvin’s church, his chair, his pulpit, and the reformation museum in Geneva. I also got to view this old church excavation which they have discovered underneath the new Cathedral. It was pretty cool but in the end it was a bunch of old rocks with French explanations which helped me very little. The museum and church themselves were wicked awesome though. I even picked up a Calvin beer at the museum and too this day it is one of my few souvenirs besides my billions of pictures taken.
I then proceeded to the reformation wall in which the early reformers are situated in stone overlooking a beautiful park. It was a great sight, and now I can officially say I had lunch (left over bread with small amounts of peanut butter) with Jean Calvin.

Yet, all good things must come to an end and I therefore went to say goodbye to my new friend. I visited Calvin’s grave after a long search for the entrance of the graveyard (even the most simple things I make difficult). Anyway, apparently his desire to strip religion of icons applied to his grave as well as the only thing remembering his death is a small stone with the inscription of JC barely legible anymore. But it was still amazing to think of the many places I had walked that day were once walked by him as well. With this thought still new in my head I turned and headed to the station to begin my 13 hour trek back home.
I made it home all right, and without a shower for the 2nd/3rd (depending on where you start the count) day in a row I had to head strait to class. I am sure I was not the most beautiful sight to behold. But hey, the snow melting in the warm sunlight gave me reason to be in mourning. For with the dawning of the sun I knew I would never be able to properly say goodbye to my SnowWoman. She melted before I returned from my travels, but the long train rides were made bearable by my knowing that some cold low pressure system would someday return only to send my beauty my way once again when I least expect it.

So That's What Wooden Shoes Are For

So upon arrival on the Netherlands we began to gather general information about what it was like to live here, and upon learning of our transportation in the Netherlands we began to gather information about how the heck you ride bike here in the winter! We were promptly told of the weather here in the Netherlands, how it is milder, it does not snow except for maybe a couple times a year and even then it is just a light dusting. It will rain, but it is nothing you can not handle on a bike. We felt relieved, for after the many harsh South Dakota winters I was not about to attempt to tackle one on a bike, I am an American Dutchmen for crying out loud most of my “strong will” has been lost in translation.
Anyway, as most of you (at least those who are worth anything at all :-) probably know, the first week here in the Netherlands it froze like crazy and we rode to school on a sheet of ice. Needless to say it was an adventure and a first. For who rides bike on ice? I guess the Netherlanders do. We crashed, we laughed, but we arrived at school. It was a good story and being as we just arrived we had not yet lost our romantic appeal for this new land.
Yesterday it began to snow. All the people in this land huddled around their windows and excitement filled the air as they expressed how lucky we were to be here during such a time. I thought I was going to wake up with a Christmas tree and present based on the excitement permeating each passing snowflake. I love Christmas. I love presents. Therefore I was stoked, but I soon realized the terrifying and grotesque truth as the snow continued to fall. Nobody can travel in this land when white things are falling from the air, it doesn’t matter the amount. This applies to Santa as well, and apparently he decided it best to leave Rudolf in the garage while the elves made him a warm cup of coffee in traditional Netherlandic style.
I woke up this morning and the snow continued to fall, but I did not hear the occasional rumblings of snow plows on the streets which so frequently accompany such an event. I began to experience a sort of bewilderment which quickly turned to disgruntled irritation as I realized that the snow they told us would not come did and they are totally unprepared for such an event. Surely without plows for the roads they would not expect us to travel the 20 minute bike ride to Zwolle, but once again this is Europe and all things previously familiar are completely unfamiliar. It soon dawned on me that in all my years of living in snow filled SD I had never rode my bike in the snow. I have many logical reasons for this, but apparently the rules have changed and I strapped up and prepared for the trek.


It started to snow harder. The bike paths were mushy slap pulling us from one side to the other and we soon fell into the long line of bikes trekking into Zwolle (at a faster pace than the cars I might add, the snow traffic here is hilarious:-). We finally made it to class looking like abdominal snowmen abandoning our native habitat in seek of heat. It continued to snow throughout class and slowly my classmates began to file in with most of them failing to show up at all. By the time I left school around 4 hours later the snow finally stopped and approximately 1 foot had fallen with no plows to move it.
The ride home was worse. The slop made it impossible to traverse certain sections of the trip and most people were slowly walking their bikes accepting defeat. I was amazed! Dutchmen accepting defeat?! These people who had conquered the ocean had finally said they have had enough to nature? How could this be? I was soon pulled from my thoughts as my bike hit a patch of ice, my front tired grabbed onto the wet snow, and thankfully my leg caught me from falling completely. I quickly dismounted and proceeded to walk with only my thoughts (and a few other words) to occupy my mind. And here is what I came up with.
Yes, they may be rather clever with harnessing the wind and using its power to drive back the ocean, but you think they could figure out a way for a windmill to do more than just pump water. Those things are ginormous for crying out loud. How about turning them into huge leaf blowers but instead of leaves have them blow snow. Because to tell you the truth, frozen water does not pump all to well, which makes these mills utterly useless. Then my feet started to get cold walking through the snow and I realized that I was in fact wearing my only shoes, my favorite shoes, the greatest shoes in the world that in America have lasted me 2 whole years. They have been my friend. They have hugged my feet with each advancing step. I have adored these shoes, but once again the Netherlands is not a big fan. I think we all know the shoe of choice in this land is wooden. Who the heck would wear a wooden shoe I wondered?! It amazed me, but today as my feet were freezing because of the holes in my shoes I think I finally figured it out.

1. Wood floats. The Netherlands has a ton of water and it is therefore logical that the people here would wear wooden shoes so they have floatation devices just in case the dikes broke through. Well the Dikes have not yet broke so the Dutch people have started to get a little cocky and are starting to wear more modern shoes, especially of the Pumba variety, but I am sure there are still a few hard core Dutchmen out there sporting their floatation devices on their feet.
2. Wood slides easily. In fact, it would work great as a sled. A polished wooden shoe would be absolutely spectacular if I had a rope attached to a moving vehicle. Thus, it appears that these wooden shoes are even prepared for the winter months as they are easily transformed into a type of ski transporting one between locations obviously not passable via bike.
3. There are two shoes. You have two butt cheeks. I believe this one is blatantly obvious! By subtly changing from a standing position to a sitting position you have a Dutch inner tube perfect for traveling down snow covered hills or once again being pulled behind moving vehicles.

There you have it. A three point lesson on wooden shoes, about as good as a traditional Dutch three part sermon, but with intense real world applicability (I only say this because I don’t understand any of the points in a traditional Dutch 3 point sermon because I don’t understand Dutch. Therefore if you are by any chance reading this pastor Cal, worry not. I always find your sermons to have intense applicability [sometimesJ]). Anyway, I believe the trains are running again and I am making a trip out to Paris and Geneva for the weekend. Talk to you all soon!