103 Weeks

End of Week 103: Final Thoughts

2015-07-25T08:24:00.000+02:00

103 Weeks started when I first moved to Amsterdam in 2011. My indefinite, two-year contract from work, an agreement with understandably confusing terms, set the time period for this blog. Started after my first week, 103 Weeks represented the two years I was certain about living in the Netherlands. Needless to say, the "indefinite" part of my contract became the driving term in the deal and I am still happily living in Amsterdam.

I intended my blog to be written within those weeks during late nights, train rides and weekends. My pace a year and a half in promised the realization of this intention, however those last weeks somehow became absolutely impossible. This feeling extended those last weeks into years.

Let me explain. Other activities and interests emerged - hiking, writing, website building, sailing, traveling and moving – that occupied my time and finite mind space. It was not until I cleaned absolutely everything I owned, from books to clothes, hard drives and computers, that I then felt ready to complete the task. With my psyche clear, the remaining project stood more its size – doable – and I was able to finish those last four weeks of the blog in only two.

This blog gave me the motivation to practice writing and photography without clear expectations of where it could lead. Fortuitously, good did come out of the constant endeavor. My blog presented other opportunities such as writing articles for Unseen Photography Fair, photographing events, becoming a music journalist for GLAMCULT and starting TREFF Magazine with a group of talented friends. The events that followed affirmed that dedication to a project, and also talking about it, gathers interest from others along with tangible results.

Like the final inspection on a newly bought apartment or the last minutes of a gym class that could have killed you if it were legal, finishing 103 Weeks felt rewarding. I look back at written posts like End of Week 06: Thank you for Sharing or End of Week 78: The Four Standard Expat Questions with a soft smile. While my writings might suggest a distant observer, my photos tell another story. Whether it was jumping on a beer-fueled vehicle in Mid-Week Moment 46: Amsterdam by Beer Trolley or heading to ‘s Hertogenbosch for my first ever carnival in Weekend 28: In the Crowd, I always looked to forward to heading right in the middle of happenings to capture lost moments. The experiences of 103 Weeks seemed to occur so long ago that I feel fortunate this blog served as a living journal for one of the most formidable periods of my young adult life.

Now with this project closed, others can be considered. My mind is constantly searching for new developments and opportunities to grow, where my list of goals nearly intimidates my free hours. TED Talks and other motivational broadcasters agree that making your goal known to friends, family or the general public increases their likelihood of fruition, so here it goes. First, Dutch. I hope to one day be fluent enough in the language and culture to pass the exam and apply for a permanent residency. Secondly, dreams of small side businesses in graphic design, textiles or product keep my mind busy outside of the 9-5. And thirdly, one day - one day - I intend to travel the world by boat or by other means before my fortieth birthday. Needless to say, I will be busy for a while even with 103 Weeks finished.

Stay in Contact and Keep Exploring:
Emilyvernon.com

Emily (at) emilyvernon.com

Weekend 103: The Patterns of Istanbul

2015-07-23T16:20:00.000+02:00

Topkapı Palace: The patterns of the palace overwhelm anyone who walks through the numerous rooms.

The Grand Bazaar: You can find many interesting products in the Grand Bazaar, including the famous Turkish rugs.

Cat Nap: Animals cherish tapestries in a different way then we might.

Hagia Sophia: The mosaics of this celebrated sacred building inspire many with its beauty and intricacy.

The Loom: In numerous shops, experienced weaves show visitors how it is done.

Mid-Week Moment 103: The Colors of Innsbruck

2015-07-19T17:04:00.000+02:00

Across the Inn: The view over the river shows not only mountains but also cheerful houses.

End of Week 102: Living in Amsterdam Noord

2015-07-17T13:34:00.000+02:00

Just beyond the lit overpass of Amsterdam Centraal, the metallic waters of the IJ, a bay-like lake above Amsterdam, gently lap against the city's edge. My front light beams as I follow its curving path, looking for clues to determine if the night ferry to Amsterdam Noord (North) had already arrived. My wheels turned with vhh-vhh-vhhs as I peddled toward the two sizeable groups lining an invisible path in front of the ferry landing for Buiksloterwegveer.

For many Amsterdammers, Noord raises questions. "Oh Amsterdam Noord," many would start "without a bridge over the water you have to ride a ferry to get there, right?" To some, it could be in another country. Last Saturday over brunch, I looked up from my Danish open-faced sandwich, proceeding to explain my move to Noord. I could not deny the response my friend had that afternoon. Breaking his coffee concentration with "that" Bas smile he began, "Amsterdam Noord right," I knew what was coming, "should we have a going away party? I mean it's practically like moving back to the States." No, my passport was not required then and definitely not needed for my journey to Noord tonight, but it would not be the first time I heard that remark.

Four minutes remained on the countdown clock over the ferry landing. Unlike other types of public transit, the night ferry does not feel like a privilege. A drawn out wait for a bus, tram or train stimulates I-just-want-to-get-home irritation, while appreciation floods any of these thoughts when the ferry approaches. As the crowd from Buiksloterwegveer siphons onto the mainland from the just-arrived ferry, our group shuffles onboard. With its meep-meep-meeps and flashing red light, the ramp engaged and the ferry labored forward, pushing aside the water in its path before fully pulling away from the pontoon.

Night after night, the same ferry runs on routine, maneuvering around the IJ's traffic comprised of tankers, sailing vessels, canal buses and cruise boats to successfully deliver its passengers. Everyone onboard, if they realized it or not, over time identifies more with Noord than Amsterdam. The cross-water journey and overall mystery surrounding our neighborhood instigates conversations, like my one with Bas, suggesting our unique status. When you look at mainland Amsterdam from across the IJ, you cannot help but feel partially like an urban trailblazer.

At the sight of Buiksloterwegveer, everyone's composure gives way to anticipation. Lights of the scooters click on, bikers kick off their kickstands and, like the rush before a headliner act comes on stage, everyone begins to rumble forward. All of us moving toward a common goal: getting home. I might not personally know each individual on the ferry, but I do feel we belong to a distinct community. One that stands incomparable to other Amsterdam neighborhoods for its genuine quirks, diverse mindset and largely unvisited terrain by mainland Amsterdammers.

We all wish we could go back in time and make that last witty remark in a conversation. Standing amongst my Noord neighbors as we stepped off the ferry, I imagined this scenario for my brunch with Bas. After taking a sip of my coffee, I would say, “Bas, I guess we should have a going away party. But let’s make it a long celebration, as - from experience - I know the night ferry to Buiksloterwegveer runs all night. “

Weekend 102: Escape to Malta

2015-07-15T09:21:00.000+02:00

Unexpected Names: Apartments and houses have their own names, like Gemini.

Charming Streets: Valletta offers getting lost in unexpected streets and vacant stairways.

Canons Over the Harbor: The island has served militaries through time.

Yachts Upon Yachts: Malta's location in the Meds makes it a popular sailing destination.

Delivery: A man pulls up his daily bread delivery through the window.

Mid-Week Moment 102: The Tiniest House in Delft

2015-07-13T09:19:00.000+02:00

End of Week 101: The "Is He Dutch?" Dating Question

2015-07-11T15:31:00.000+02:00

When considering a longer-term residence in the Netherlands, dating and moving in with someone who is Dutch holds the same regard as passing the language exam and receiving a permanent residency card or Dutch passport. This cannot be found in guidebooks or even online - it was something I deduced after numerous conversations about my non-Dutch boyfriend. When typically faced with the relationship questionnaire, first inquiries commonly include, "oh, where is he from", "how long have you been dating" or even "has he met the parents yet?" to investigate its meaning and potential. This was not the case in the Netherlands, and specifically in Amsterdam. Instead "oh is he Dutch?" would lead the conversation, leaving me to respond "no, he's Ukrainian" so many times I knew it was not just a coincidence.

My boyfriend and I both belong to the non-Dutch population. Only the few from this group earn the possibility to stay long-term with many assumed to leave only a year after arrival. Particular indicators signal commitment to the Netherlands, where dating another non-Dutch does not become one of them. If one non-Dutch is a floating boat away from the shore of permanence, than two is just a larger floating boat still uncertain of docking.

After almost three years from becoming non-Dutch and one year after meeting my boyfriend, we decided that I would move into his apartment. With the organizing, purging, donating, carrying and driving behind us, I finally stood in my former apartment with the two real estate agents for the final inspection. My agent came dressed in the exact same outfit as before, something I could later confirm through my housing search snapshots, in a Chanel-like tweed jacket, boyfriend jeans and black ballet flats - a very classic and timeless look. She leaned against my former kitchen counter to chat about my future plans, starting "oh you are moving in with your boyfriend, how nice." Testing the sequence I continued, "yes, and we've been dating for a year now". This did not work. After the is-he-Dutch-no-he's-Ukrainian exchange, she made a comment that did not solve the puzzle, but presented the corner piece. She said, "I met another couple just like you two, expats from different countries. What is this with expats getting together?" I could only replace a vocal response with a shrug at that moment into my investigation.

A discussion with an Irish-American with an English boyfriend led me closer to understanding the inquiry. After completely the same is-he-Dutch-no-he's-Ukrainian volley, I looked over to this girl who I only met that night and said, "okay, wait. Do you know why people keep asking me if he is Dutch?" With her situation a layer more complex than my own - dashed nationalities always get more conversation - she offered an immediate response, "I think people are wondering if you are planning to stay permanently and integrating." In other cities throughout Europe this would make more sense, however Amsterdam's diversity offers more than just one population in which to integrate.

Only in Amsterdam would the conditions present itself for two cultures to so easily come together in a country they both do not initially belong, a point overlooked by many but recognized by one born-and-raised Amsterdammer. While cleaning the boat following a difficult sail with a limited crew and high winds, the only other sailor looked at us from across the cabin and said, "who would have thought, a Ukrainian and American; only in Holland would something like this be able to happen". He was able to celebrate the unique situation Amsterdam offers where non-Dutch just as easily date Dutch as well their own.

The boyfriend volley will surely continue with the is-he-Dutch-no-he's-Ukrainian exchange amongst Amsterdammers, both Dutch and non-Dutch. Holding the corner piece and concluded insight, can I now offer "only in Holland" as my final play instead of a shrug to extend their point-of-view on what passage plans can lead to permanence and integration.

Weekend 101: A Trip to the Dutch National Opera Atelier

2015-07-10T12:59:00.000+02:00

Two Ateliers: There are separate ateliers for the opera and ballet.

For Me?: I would totally wear this costume.

Swatches: The base of any collection or costume design.

Accessories: A room filled with beautiful hats, jewelry and gas masks (?)

Shoemaker: There is one shoemaker diligently working on a variety of custom footwear.

Mid-Week Moment 101: The Band Keeps Playing

2015-07-07T12:51:00.000+02:00

I Know: Sometimes the touristy things still make you smile.

End of Week 100: Learning Stick Shift versus Maneuvering a Boat

2014-07-01T16:43:00.000+02:00

Since moving to the Netherlands, I have learned to drive two totally different vehicles: a yacht and stick shift car. While it may be tough to imagine the trying task of learning to drive a manual transmission, it is equally difficult to conceive how I succeeded more controlling a 40-foot boat. This should not make sense. A 40-foot boat's movements are subject to wind, water and the other near by boats in the marina. While cars, on the other hand, have defined driving lanes and rules that drivers should and actually follow. So how was a stick shift more daunting than boat handling?

 It has always been a goal of mine to learn how to drive a manual transmission since moving to the Netherlands. Like some sort of golden token, I imagined moving back to the States and coolly saying, "Oh yes, stick shift, I learned how to drive in it Europe". We all have teenage-like fantasies once in awhile, however both moving back and learning manual transmission have not really happened. Maybe Europe is not done with me yet.

The hardest thing about learning how to drive stick shift after being on auto-pilot for over eight years is that you already know how that freedom feels. Similar to learning how to walk again after being in a cast for six months, revisiting a known task is like a set of stairs that then becomes daunting and even irritating. You have "normal" envy. If only I could be "normal" and drive stick shift like the other millions on European roads.

But somehow, during the same period, learning to maneuver a boat was a bit easier. Yes, I had the proper motivation and no expectations, except not to crash. It was not to say that I was pretty scared mommyless upon my first, second, third, fourth - heck, it is still completely nerve racking - attempt. Imagine motoring around with a 80,000 Euro vessel near tens of other 80,000 or more Euro vessels, while some sailors are treat the rules like we all treat dirty laundry. I'm unsure if I should be proud or embarrassed that I can't drive stick shift but I can control a boat.

In the end, this post is in vain because to get around Amsterdam, you need neither! Biking is the way to go on these streets and fortunately I am not a part of the minority here who cannot bike.

Cycling, driving and maneuvering a boat spell freedom. When trying to ride a bike or drive a car there is that extra thrill that you can get around on your own. Your uncool parents - I'm speaking as a teenager of course, my parents are awesome - don't have to drive you to a party. That thought of independence temporarily numbs worries of safety or general embarrassment. When I first started stepping up to maneuver a boat from a command-abiding crew member it was about control. I could get somewhere else with my own abilities and others assistance under the extra inspiration of a larger vessel. It is like taking the training wheels off of your bike or kicking your parents out of the car for your first solo ride.

Maybe one day I'll learn how to drive a manual transmission. I think that will come when I actually really need to. When there is freedom involved, places to see and absolutely no other way to get there. But for now I'm by bike by foot, and, by boat.

Weekend 100: Above the Netherlands in a Cessna

2014-06-30T12:42:00.000+02:00

Before take off: Admiring the garages and graphics as our pilot prepared.

Engine Check: Our trusted pilot went through all the necessary checks before we finally headed onto the runway.

In the air: Muiderslot from above!

Roads for Days: According to my iPhone, we were somewhere above Utrecht.

A City to Visit: I wonder if Heudsen looks as beautiful on the streets as it does in the air.

Mid-Week Moment 100: London Bridge on the Rise

2014-06-22T19:21:00.002+02:00

Going Up: Traffic and pedestrians stopped and enjoyed the raising of a bridge in London.

End of Week 99: My Biggest Travel Secret

2014-06-07T12:11:00.000+02:00

Whenever I talk about travel, planning that next adventure comes easily. I never have to go through lists spontaneously created on my iPhone one train ride home or conquer my cluttered memory to access the locations that I wish to visit. Instead, like other modern means of file storage, I also keep this one in the cloud. My single Google Map with the layers of "Already Visited" and "Planning to Visit" holds just that, locations done and to-do. Logically, this seems to make sense. If emails sit in an inbox, documents are left in Google Docs and music can be found on Spotify, then locations should be on a map.

Using a map over a list comes naturally to some, including myself, compared to others. Though many would agree geography is not an American's greatest talent, I have always been obsessed with maps, collecting books such as The Mapmakers and A Map of the World along the way. Whenever I am flipping through an in-flight magazine to pass the time before take off, I head to the back to try and learn where Bucharest really is on the map or review the countries ending in -stan. The never-ending complexity of maps and their evolutions never bores the active mind. Borders and geographical features of today will not be the same in the distant tomorrow.

My Google Map started years ago after moving to Europe. I wanted to make sure every city or trail I dreamed to visit, which could now be accessed in a matter of single - not double digit - hours, reached a reality. As I sat down to make my Google Map of the places I wanted to go, I first put down yellow pins on the ones I already experienced. By identifying my progress thus far, I could appreciate the opportunity I had then and the new one ahead. Satisfaction grew upon the recognition that I spent time in thirty major US cities and that a small head start existed on my European expeditions with previous trips to Paris, Copenhagen, Rome and other destinations.

Previously visited places does not take them off my future destinations list. I'm sure my 15 year-old self did not conquer all that was Paris, or a wiser 22 year-old Emily learned enough Danish small talk to get around. Depending on when, how and with whom you visit an area, it will on all occasions be a novel experience. By putting them on the map, you are reminding yourself that maybe another trip to London is necessary after a two year gap, especially if an old friend wants to meet you there. It just might not be as much as a priority as say, the undiscovered markets of Marrakech or winter wildlife in Iceland, but it’s not crossed off completely.

With a map, the initial planning just gets easier. For a particular place you can quickly estimate the best time of year to go, the travel time and how much it could potentially cost. Then, you can get straight to the fun stuff. Research tells us the reason travel makes us happy is that it give us something to look forward to. Half of the fun of travel is preparing and researching where you will go, asking colleagues if they have ever been and picking up tidbits along the way before the grand adventure. Now, that's not actually a statistic, but it should be. Whether it’s one weekend or three weeks, the time leading up to it is just as satisfying. I can never think of a time that I was not completely excited to pack my bags, say good bye to my apartment for the next couple of days or week and plot my route to Schiphol.

It's a system that motivates me to travel more than my colleagues, earning me the title of "adventurous expat" over "predictable American". The more you use it, the more of an obsession your Google Map becomes. Every time I get home from a new city, I change or add the pin, giving me an inner sense of pride. With such a tool, you will not only realize, as I have, how big the world is that you set out to explore, but also how you might go about doing it.

Weekend 99: Sailing on the IJsselmeer

2014-05-24T10:45:00.000+02:00

Relaxed Sailing: We knew how to keep enjoying the day even when the wind died down.

Lasers! Hundreds of lasers - or it seemed like it - reentered the harbor as we left.

Good Morning Hindeloopen: We woke up to another sunny day in the Hindeloopen harbor.

Beyond the Lock: Towns on the IJsselmeer are dictated by streets as well as waterways.

Sunset: Before dropping the mail sail, we all admired the sunset over the IJsselmeer.

Mid-Week Moment 99: The Lone Boat of Monaco

2014-05-09T10:00:00.000+02:00

Clear skies and clear waters.

End of Week 98: Deciding to Buy An Apartment

2014-05-04T09:16:00.000+02:00

Finally deciding to buy an apartment is a move that doesn't always come easily to someone who values personal freedom and who does not understand the basics of apartment purchases in the Netherlands. I often wonder about the “what ifs” of future moves or job circumstances, which at some point becomes exhausting. Waiting to see their results could take years; and delaying my personal decision for their realizations qualifies as a bit silly. At some point, I need to rely on plain ol' good judgement and feelings for the future to keep moving forward.

 My younger self had no interest in purchasing property or taking on the thought-consuming project of properly decorating an apartment. My standards toward furnishing for a rental apartment never got higher than a livable space without obviously awkward furniture or pieces with too much personality. "Project" could have been my middle name, well if it weren't the fact that it's actually Grace, but years ago it never referenced assignments around living spaces.

Before even considering the projection of my image onto a space, I had to figure out what that image actually was. This included not only stretching my abilities in design, journalism and photography, but also discovering my personal style. After graduating from art school, I quickly discovered that the material-stained clothing that came with an industrial design major would not pass corporate standards. For over five years, my purchases and research went into building an image, figuring out my style and going through many, many morning routines and haircuts before find the ones that complemented the other perfectly. But now with that figured out - well there is always room for improvement - a new challenge seems necessary.

New pursuits come with new territories, and in this instance, more permanent connections. In the past, the idea that nothing literally kept me grounded to a place and that only a week's notice was necessary to clear my belongings felt comforting. However, my years of living in Amsterdam only saw the exercise of this freedom in one to two week long travels, not three year relocations. Amsterdam has a hold on me unlike any other city I have encountered. If this city was to become my figurative husband-to-be, I would need to get over my biggest semi-not-so-rational fear of buying an apartment to make a lasting commitment.

Have any of you ever realized that “mortgage” kind of sounds like “morgue”? Well, I did and could not separate the obvious differences in meaning. A mortgage appeared to be a predecessor to dying – like once you got one, your ticket was pre-booked to your final destination, depending on which flight was cheaper or direct. It did not sound friendly, inviting or even somewhat desirable to have a mortgage. And this my friends - a similarity in sound between two completely dissimilar words - prevented any thoughts to cross the threshold between light consideration and serious commitment. It was not until I discussed my views with a numerous people that I understood the words really had nothing in common. Silly me.

Yes, something in me changed as my twenties progressed. The idea of buying an apartment became just as attractive as starting a magazine, learning how to sail or changing jobs. It comes with a whole set of new life experiences that I could pass onto others after learning myself, especially as I will be doing the process in a country whose rules and regulations are completely new to both myself and my first point of advice - my parents. I'm sure unexpected circumstances will surface along the way and I might need a glass of wine to smooth it over, however I always think, "if many have done it before me, I'm sure I can too" and even with a little more style and grace, especially as Grace is my middle name.

Weekend 98: Scuba Diving in Zeeland

2013-06-28T09:06:00.000+02:00

There is no better way than to just jump straight into the cold waters.

Scuba diving is as much as an individual achievement as a group effort.

Cars gathered at a set of stairs leading to the water for a day of scuba diving.

And I waved back.

If you don't decide to jump in, there are always stairs leading to the water.

For more scuba diving adventures, check out Scuba Republic

Mid-Week Moment 98: Sailing Past the Windmills

2013-06-26T09:20:00.000+02:00

Zeeland : Many sailing boats floated past the windmills near the dyke that summer's day.

End of Week 97: 20 Questions Visitors Ask

2013-06-21T21:00:00.000+02:00

1. What is typical Dutch cuisine?
2. What is in bitterballen and croquette?
3. What is the cost of a tram ride?
4. What are the best museums to visit?
5. How many people live in Holland?
6. How long is the train ride to Schiphol Airport?
7. How long do you plan to stay in Amsterdam?
8. Is your boyfriend Dutch?
9. Why are the Dutch so tall?
10. Is Amsterdam below sea level?
11. Do you like it here?
12. Do you miss the States?
13. Do you know how to convert Celsius to Fahrenheit?
14. Do you bike in the city?
15. Do you say Holland or the Netherlands?
16. Do you have Dutch friends?
17. Can you swim in the canals?
18. Can you actually smoke (marijuana) in Amsterdam?
19. Can you show us the red light district?
20. Can you say something in Dutch?

Weekend 97: The Fishermen of Cannes

2013-06-21T12:06:00.000+02:00

After a morning out, the ship needs to be tidied up, including the piles of fishing net.

Buckets of line and supplies fill the area next to the fishing ship.

You could go home with a kilo of these bad boys.

This gentleman helps a group of women pick out their needed seafood.

Mid-Week Moment 97: Smartphone and Cigarette Break

2013-06-19T09:37:00.000+02:00

It used to be coffee and cigarettes.

End of Week 96: Hometown Culture Shock

2013-06-17T22:02:00.000+02:00

I did not think that culture shock when returning to your hometown actually existed. In my mind the term remained reserved for greater excursions to countries with twenty-hour flights or a half a year of planning. Others used it with more liberty, however. Even after three semesters on the East Coast for university, people inquired if I experienced culture shock when returning to my hometown; a question I entertained with “kind ofs” and “in a ways”, but never with complete conviction. This was still America and Pasadena my hometown. I knew how to find my way through her streets without a map, pay for food and small talk over the news. But after over two years in another country, I truly experienced something I considered only applicable to faraway lands: culture shock.

Quickly, I realized after landing at LAX two weeks ago that I did not know how to properly function in America. Like a smartphone or even an internet browser, my default settings were reset and my previous learnings locked with restricted access. What many did automatically, and I used to do as well, came either after deliberate thought or even a distressed Japanese restaurant owner running after me with an unsigned credit card receipt. This did happen and was not the only peculiar occurrence. From my general disorientation, I sat in the manicurist's chair instead of the customer's; tried to enter on the driver's side instead of the passenger's (resulting from my recent trip to the UK); and set off the fire alarm with my shower steam. All actions that might appear less intellectual or absentminded, but actually originated from uncertainty in a once familiar environment.

Misstepping on local normalities indicates a change in learned behavior, something after a couple of days could be adjusted. If life were a language, those tasks or habits would be the sentence structures of the everyday and local knowhow the idioms. It is the latter that determines your true familiarity with a particular place. The week after my arrival a number of cultural confrontations unfolded that did not occur when coming back to Pasadena after living on the East Coast. Sunday, I had my first conversation over GMOs; Monday, overheard playful comments from high schoolers regarding my blue metallic shorts; Tuesday, discovered that celebrities such as Jennifer Lopez and Nicole Kidman, who I thought had disappeared, were indeed alive and on magazine covers; Wednesday, realized YOLO was an acronym; Thursday, observed very bulky, OtterBox iPhone covers on many people's devices; Friday, listened to songs on the radio from my college years that I thought were taken off the airwaves; and Saturday began talking about the new Robocop movie even though it had not be released in the States. My glances fixed on what people wore with anthropological wonder as the athletic shoes, preference in pant cut and awareness of fit deviated from the population I joined over two years ago. Palettes of fashion, media, humor or even worry fed from a distinct source exuberantly filled with California customs, long-held American beliefs and current pop references. The culture and its source differed from my current, adopted hometown.

Unfamiliarity with certain references, American or otherwise, precipitations from locality as well as age. YOLO, for example, was referenced in the recent issue of the Dutch Cosmopolitan and my knowledge of celebrities or pop media lacks any constant update in general. However, when looking upon my sensitivity toward cultural dissimilarities, changing locations accelerated my awareness. The particularities of Pasadena, or my learned habits, would not reveal themselves so readily without varying contexts. My shorts for the warmer weather would be unremarkable, GMOs just another subject to discuss and my iPhone case resistant to any sort of destruction. I would not confuse restaurant owners, my mom or even a local manicurist with my actions, all who took my naive mistakes with humor. These little mess ups or misunderstandings became more of a joy than actually embarrassment, as I discovered by the end of my trip that even my hometown could be an unexpected, exotic destination.

Weekend 96: Umbrellas on the Square

2013-06-14T09:55:00.000+02:00

Blank umbrellas waiting to be painted did not have to wait long.

Some created designs with freehand spray paint skills.

While others used stencils to decorate their creation.

Many were happy after painting their own umbrellas. Rightfully so as it involved a lot of work.

Mid-Week Moment 96: Blank Puzzle Pieces

2013-06-12T21:29:00.000+02:00

Good luck figuring this one out.

End of Week 95: Pretending to Understand Dutch

2013-06-10T12:23:00.000+02:00

Growing up in a predominantly English speaking country, I did not experiment with other languages on the streets. My high school French cultivated like a laboratory project, practiced in isolation amongst non-French speakers, which when released into the actual French world of Paris, quickly deflated. However at that point, I could -and did - go back to the comforts of my English speaking life. My flight would land safely in California and my confidence restored at my next French lesson. This cannot be done today. Living in the Netherlands offers differing circumstances from those of a family, cross-Atlantic holiday and my relationship with languages needed to change.

Previously I did not concern myself with how it felt not to understand another. Yes of course, I could live in the Netherlands for ten years with only English, however that would amount to another discussion. At some - actually many - points while attempting to speak the language, situations emerged where what was being said stood beyond my vocabulary set. My embarrassment of not knowing caused unnecessary frustration, which grew faint after realizing every conversation was a dress rehearsal, not the final show.

Every attempt during my 2 plus years in Amsterdam offered new techniques. Let's consider a conversation from a year and a half ago. On train platform 5 in Amsterdam Centraal, I asked in Dutch if this was the way to Maastricht. At that point, my comprehension level did not extend too far past textbook examples. Any deviation from the expected and I was lost. The train conductor said, "ja" (yes) followed by a lengthy explanation that included a city name and parting hand motion. After "ja" I did not did not understand the words but comprehended the situation: the train would split in Sittard and I needed to be in the correct car. Conversations in Dutch, especially in the beginning, became more than just words.

Informal exchanges arose, on the other hand, where I had no idea of the topic or even the starting point. Here it goes, someone starts a conversation. It could be in the supermarket or at a bar - it does not matter - the case unfolds in the same manner. My mind does not catch up quick enough and I sit above the words instead of amongst them, trying to pick out the known elements to simply deduce the context. The other unfamiliar units are loosely stored in my internal Dutch folder, figured out either minutes or months later. However, on the spot with no rewind or stop button, the goal is to get through the dress rehearsal without switching to English.

Since experimenting with Dutch outside of a secluded laboratory, I learned techniques to get through an exchange such as the latter. These include the age-old smiling-and-nodding technique; a laugh of wry amusement that could suggest either good humor or lofty disagreement; the smile-and-shrug with a quick raise of the eyebrows to agree with a tint of uncertainty; or wait for a pause and casually assert, "dat is waar" (that is true) with a "sometimes" or "kind of" head bob. It took many exchanges to identify my go-to conversation continuers, and certainly each person develops their own methods along the way. With these I could complete the conversation, pick up what was not understood and buy time for a graceful exit.

When stepping away from the comforts of my first language, I quickly recognized that to gather information, new techniques and approaches needed development. Each Dutch conversation encountered outside of the home would test my abilities while expanding comprehension. Incremental steps were taken, embarrassment experienced and individuals probably left slightly confused by my particular approach. Even so, my time within a conversation expanded with experience like a free diver's ability to hold their breath underwater. It was about going through the steps even with holes and imperfections because actors never got to where they were by being afraid to pretend.