Off the Tourist Track

Luke has been here for a little over a week now and so we're now doing those lesser known activities for visitors to Rotterdam, which include:

Trying to stay warm while walking through new neighbourhoods in Rotterdam North:
Little bit of ornithology. Many of the avian wildlife were in cramped quarters starting at the beginning of this week since much of their canal and lake spaces have frozen over. It made for good photo shots though!
Well, this is still a bit tourist. Luke and the windmills (and if you look closely, me in the glasses reflection).

Watching the national waterpolo finals! Our team won - thank goodness, and apparently we're all famous because we sat in the V.I.P section (thanks to Malt) and were right behind where the teams were sitting. While I felt important, the coach made a better door than a window.

Our inclusion in the V.I.P area also won us some new shoe attire! Luck us! This is me and Vespa looking gorgeous as you can see.

Winter Quiet in the Neighbourhood

As a researcher of space and place it is interesting to note some of the differences around life in the neighbourhood, when something like seasonal weather changes take place. I was finally getting use to all the daily screaming and racket produced by the children on the playground located next to my building (I know, I sound like the grinch), but since the heavy snow fall, I’ve heard hardly anything at all. As a child growing up in Canada and as someone who is use to the quiet that winter snow can bring, I am a bit surprised to find the same kind of quiet here where I was sure that such a large and uncharacteristic snowfall, coupled with the fact that today is the first day of winter break, would bring children out in droves! Yet, there were hardly any children to see. In fact, the only ones that I did see were being pulled around by their parents on sleighs (there are no hills in our area to speak of but this also looked quite fun). This is not to say that playing in the snow doesn't exist. Numerous snow-people, snow families, and at times just big snow balls have popped up over night along our sidewalks so it seems as though the engineering spirit still abounds.

Another notable of the seasonal changes are, as mentioned in an earlier blog, the Opzommer trees that are now fully adorned with ornaments (some made out of cardboard and foil while others are replete with thin board cut-outs of the Opzommer symbol that I assume were provided by the same bunch). An interesting detail to these Opzommer projects is that most of these trees have lights in them and that one house nearest the tree must take the responsibility (and the charge?) for lighting it each night. I'd be interested to learn who does this and why? At the very corner of my street, the doctor's office is paying for the lights. This tree however does not appear to be for the residents of my street but for the lane that we come off of.

Finally, and with Luke's insight, it has now become apparent to me that this level of snow has be somewhat debilitating for travelers in Rotterdam. While there are less bikes on the roads, there are still those brave enough to cycle. Even this is tough as the snow creates slippery roads and decreases the speed of one’s trip. Most of cars here are snowed into place and many get stuck on the smallest of inclines due to their rear wheel drive systems or lack of snow tires. Luke and I helped push one car out of it spot today and felt sorry for many others. As I write, Pdot is currently stuck in Utrecht where he went on Saturday because the trains were and are sporadically running (the NS website asks that passengers try not to take the train for today) and Luke and I check on the status of planes at the Schiphol airport every so often since we leave for England in just a couple days. Even with all the setbacks, Luke and I watched cyclists, pedestrians, drivers and trams narrowly avoid one another as they traversed an intersection bursting with snow and activity today while sitting in the Nika Coffee Corner.

So in reflection, I think it's a bit of both. My neighbourhood seems to be full of business and activity in certain commercial areas and somewhat devoid of it in the more residential areas. It's my impression that the people of the neighbourhood are spending more time getting together at private parties and gathering with their families. As it stands, most of my neighbourhood group events are scheduled to start up again in January and even those events planned by the city appear to be waiting until at least New Years to begin anew. So from this, I get the feeling that Rotterdam has only slowed and not stopped. Either way, it makes for a nice bit of winter quiet.

Giving Credit Where It's Due

So the people of the Netherlands can all thank Luke for the wonderful weather he brought over with him. I guess he thought that he might miss the white stuff over Christmas as he left Canada for Europe and as it turns out, Father Winter felt like obliging him. To lend evidence to this point, I've included two pictures take of my street from my balcony window. Would you care to note the difference?

This is the usual scene when I live here:

This is the scene yesterday, days after Luke's arrival:

Ships Ahoy

Luke and I walked down to Wilhelminaplein yesterday which is one of the areas around Rotterdam's harbour. In our snow gear (because it's still snowing and cold here), we walked out onto Wilhelmina Pier to take in some of the extremely interesting architecture like the raging red Luxor Theatre, KPN's 'Piano' building (this 98 metre tall office building has a front facade that tilts away from the building at an angel that matches the suspension cables of the nearby Erasmus Bridge or the Swan Bridge as I noted in an earlier post), Las Palmas (which is the Foto Museum that we both thoroughly enjoyed, especially their 'This is War!' exhibit), and Hotel New York that once used to be the headquarters of the Holland-America transatlantic shipping company is now both a kitchy hotel and restaurant. In the midst of these sites we stopped for a coffee at the Cafe Rotterdam, which is a cafe located in the Terminal Building for the Holland-America Line that although ruined during the 1940s bombing was restored to an impressive concrete structure of six shell roofs and floor to ceiling glass walls. Yet, none of this most stunning architectural feats really impressed Luke. Instead, he was impressed by the ocean liner that was docked at the harbour that was as grand as it was huge. Working cranes, men walking around in hardhats and steel toed boots occupied our conversation while we sat and sipped our strong coffees. It was like we were back in Sudbury watching 'Big Machines' on the National Geographic channel except we were getting a much more up front view. As long as we were both dazzled at something, my abilities as a tour guide remain intact!

Winter Wonderland

To date, Luke and I have spent a couple days in Amsterdam trying to avoid large crowds (quite a feat but if one tries to avoid the Damrak their chances are higher), one day taking in the sites of Gouda during their annual Christmas Tree Lighting festival with my family, one or two days in Rotterdam showing him where I live, the places I go, and introducing him to the people I spend time with here in Rotterdam (and beyond). Yet, with all this crucial planning, there were two events that I just could not plan for...the bitter cold and the snow. Now you'll say, "why would two Canadians have an issues with either of these?" Well, it probably wouldn't be as much of a problem if Luke had been able to come prepared. But days before he came I said to him over the phone, "Just so you know, it hasn't really dipped below 11 degrees during the day so I don't think you need to bring your big winter jacket. Seriously, you won't need it." And what happens? On the very first day that he arrives the temperature drops, the wind picks up, and then we wake up to this scene this morning:

I know, it looks more beautiful than horrible, but the point is that I'm still dragging Luke around to see the sites of Rotterdam with only his leather jacket, no gloves or toque (hat for non-Canadians), and with only one sweater to warm him. Oops. I'll take responsibility on this occassion (it's probably good that I'm somewhat publically declaring this).

In any case, my research concerning Rotterdam neighbourhoods has not stopped (although it's definitely declined somewhat). Just yesterday Luke and I were walking about our neighbourhood taking pictures of the Opzommer trees. What are these? During the month of December, the local government has been advertising for different communities to take advantage of government funds to decorate their neighbourhoods for the Christmas holiday season in the form of large pine trees. These trees are then decorated with ornaments and lights by residents living on a particular street. The importance of these trees is that, from what I understand, individuals or families from one street must get together and request this tree. This action in itself is showing a certain amount of community belonging among neighbours. It might also be the case that local schools or neighbourhood organisations also request trees and hold events to decorate these trees so there is a chance that these trees have less to do with the surrounding neighbourhood. After it is requested, the tree is then decorated (although I haven't seen this in action), but this event is also a means by which to bring people together (regardless of the requesting insitution) and just one of the many events that the Opzommer money (government money) funds throughout the year. This activity has raised some questions for me.

For example, what sort of community networks and feelings of belonging exists on those streets without trees? Is there no tree because there was a lack of resources? Was it because of the choice of decoration and the particular holiday (Christmas) that made certain residents not participate? Was it the method of advertising (ads in local newspapers and bus/tram stops)? For whatever reason, there are some streets with beautifully decorated trees (or trees at all) and others without. In any case, this is something that warrents further attention. At least the snow at this point is spread around equally.

Guess who's here?!?!

Yep, it's been 3 months and 1 day since I've seen my partner Luke and it's been tough. Actually, after the first week or two (maybe three) away you get back into the mode of being by yourself and living life according to your own rhythum - marching to your own drum beat. This feeling builds and although you miss one another, life goes on. I noticed that in the weeks before we saw one another again, I started to feel the pangs that I felt in the first few weeks. I realised just how much I had missed him as I waited anxiously at the gates in Schiphol for him to arrive. To the left is a picture of a very tired looking Luke after a 12 hour trip from Toronto to Chicago to Amsterdam. Unfortunately, he sat beside a lovely woman who had some sort of deep chest cold that kept him up most of the night.

Although I gave him a coffee the minute he touched down and have proceeded to fill and re-fill him full of coffee during all day light hours, he's still in the process of conquering jet-lag as is evinced from the photo taken moments ago on the right.

Bridges of Rotterdam

Picture taken from : http://www1.american.edu/ted/ice/images4/212vm_WillemsBridgeRotterdam.jpg
Willemsbrug was built in between 1975 and 1981 to accommodate more traffic in between Rotterdam North and South. Its deck is held aloft by a system of tie rods attached to two V-shaped steel towers the colour of red lead (Historical information was taken from Architectuurgids Rotterdam that was a present from Audi on my birthday! Thank you Audi!) .

Picture taken from : http://www.archi-europe.info/Archinews/032006/2portrait.jpg

The Erasmus Brug built between 1990 and 1996 as 'a bridge for the 2000s' and was dubbed the Swan on account of its white colour and because of its angeled pylon that can be conceived of as a swan's neck.

Finally, in October there was an event put on by 'YourCity09' in Rotterdam Zuid called 'I Bridge You'. I have found another blogger that has covered this event impeccably. Please visit: http://observatoriumrotterdam.blogspot.com/2009_10_01_archive.html

Questioning One's Interest

Often in the field I am analysing the direction of my project, which at times can lead to my questioning the entire purpose of my project! All of this is actually good in my opinion because it allows me to tweak it or its direction when necessary. I try not to be obsessive over it for fear that I'll never get anything done but when, for example, explaining my project to others, certain things tend to peak my interest in ways I have yet to come across. Yesterday was one of these times.

I met with another scholar yesterday who asked if I would provide him with a quick run-down of my project, something which I have done many times before and so I began: 'Well, my project looks at how individuals interact, connect to, and have an interest in certain public places. I've decided to use the neighbourhood as one means by which to understand how unique individuals connect with one another. So I will be looking into why certain connections happen in the neighbourhood? And why that is. What interests there are, etc. etc.'.

My answer prompted another question from him: 'But what then is the difference between places and spaces?' Oh, well...'In my usage of the terms, places are specific areas that are involved with human understandings, experiences, or are connected to humans in some way. Spaces are those areas that have no immediate connection with particular or group of individuals. Those in-between or container areas'. I then explained that I was also interested in learning how public places and the understanding of what proper behaviour within these places were (as conceived of by those in positions of authority). And that I also wanted to understand how these places were used in accordance with or contradiction to these more official understandings by different and unique individuals. Finally (I swear), I also wanted to know how the physical make-up of places affected one's use, and understanding of that space, as well as how and when this usage changes. For more theoretical background see Henri Lefebvre's 'Production of Space'. If you can't tell already, I had many exam questions on this topic. If it makes your head spin it's alright, I still don't have it all worked through either.

This however, brought up another question in my own mind: how can I know whether or not the people that I speak with from the neighbourhood are actually interested in their neighbourhood or just involved because of their proximity to activities that happen to fall within neighbourhood jurisdiction? Is the neighbourhood important? If it is not, does that matter? Right away I thought that there are some people, like those who belong to the neighbourhood association, who are pretty easy to peg in terms of their preliminary ideas about the importance of the neighbourhood. They're heavily involved in the administrative activities of the neighbourhood because they're interested in its outcome/future. But what about others?

So I decided to look up the definition of 'interest' to see whether or not my new lens (that of the neighbourhood) would stand a test of importance. Is the neighbourhood important in its own right?

The following are different definitions that I received from dictionary.com with examples and explanations from my fieldwork.
1. Interest: the feeling of a person whose attention, concern, or curiosity is particularly engaged by something. For example, she has a great interest in the affairs of her own neighbourhood. Yes, I've met some people like this, genuinely interested in the future of their own neighbourhood whether it be for personal or other reasons.
2. Interest: something that concerns, involves, draws the attention of, or arouses the curiosity of a person. It is true. The idea of ‘neighbourhoods’ and the categorization of certain neighbourhoods as either good or bad, has produced more discussion about neighbourhoods in the Dutch media. Supposed 'problemwijken' have become a matter of debate (in terms of what to do about them) since a list of those offending neighbourhoods was leaked to the press in early 2009.
3. Interest: a concern. The fact that there are newly instituted Stadswacht which is a security group that walks around problem areas, who are not the police, but are in charge of the moral order and with providing security and atmosphere on the street (but are only present in certain neighbourhoods) is an interesting example where interest turns to concern (although I'm sure this can be interpreted differently).

So to answer my own question, yes, I believe neighbourhoods are becoming an important topic in the Netherlands. As a physical place, many unique individuals come together through different interest programs which allow me to look into processes of interaction between individuals and groups within places and interaction between individuals and their environment. Now does everything that individuals living within a certain neighbourhoods do, constitute as something 'of the neighbourhood'? Certainly not! But as a lens, the neighbourhood and different interests (whether personal or group) within and concerning the neighbourhood are one avenue by which to understand use of place and ideas concerning belonging and involvement.

Not that any of this is concrete as of yet. Ask me next week and I’ll probably give you another take on the matter. For now, I’ll continue to think about it.

Sounding of the Alarms

On the first Monday of every month, an alarm sounds from towers strategically placed throughout Rotterdam to warn of an impending threat whether it be from a chemical spill in the wharf, the failure of a dike, or an air raid from a neighbouring country (this last reason is of course a bit dated). Now if this alarm happens on the first Monday of every month then it's just a drill. Schools and related emergency programs get to practice their emergency procedures and life is allowed to return to normal.

For someone who has not been brought up with this knowledge, the siren is frightening! What first came to mind the first Monday in October (I arrived in mid September) was an air raid. I was so confused! Through Second World War movies, I had been trained to recognise this sound (or at least imagine this sound) and as the siren wailed, I walked through the apartment and looked out the windows for the sight of panicking people and flashing lights in the streets. I also began to wonder what the emergency numbers (the 911) of the Netherlands are and why I hadn't thought it important enough as of yet to learn any. I racked my brains about what this alarm was trying to tell me to do, do I run and hide, just run, just hide? Eventually it stopped and after some time I returned to my work convinced the school next door was having a fire drill.

Pdot returned home for a trip yesterday and was home today, the first Monday of the month, when the siren when off. 'That siren! That's it! What does it mean?' I asked. I had tried to describe this siren before to him with no avail. 'Oh that!' he said and started laughing. After explaining the possible threats (see above), he told me matter of factly that if I hear this sound on another day besides the first Monday of the month that should 'get inside somewhere, lock the doors, close the windows...and turn on the radio'. He said it just like that. 'The radio?' I thought, turn on the radio as oppose to turning on the computer, television, or mobile phone with internet capabilities? From my understanding, this siren was created during the Second World War to warn of the very real threat of bombing attacks on Rotterdam (Rotterdam city centre was in fact leveled during WWII) and the procedure continues to be reinacted today, on the first Monday of every month. Although it has morphed to include other threats such as environmental disasters, its history remains pertinent through how Dutch children are educated about the sirens and of course through the history of the city that one can see in its post-war architecture.

Just an interesting point to ponder as a stranger living in another country. Past histories are not always lying low waiting to be uncovered but get up in your face and bark loudly. Here's to hoping that a natural disaster (or national emergency) doesn't happen on the first Monday of the month...yet another question unanswered!

Growing Up, Out, and Beyond!

Well, today is officially my birthday. I'm turning the ol' dirty thirty today and in truth I couldn't feel happier. Having spent only 2 and a half months here in the Netherlands I was happy to learn that I could fill a table full of friends in a new place for my b-day dinner, be sung birthday songs in more than one language (thank you to Cananon and Luke for this), and to be able to 'virtually' open my gifts as enabled by the wondrous Skype. A little bit of shameless plugging, tonight they deserve it!

I've just got off of the phone with my twin sister who will also (in a couple of hours) be celebrating our birthday. While it is only the second time in our lives that we will not be together for our birthdays (and the second milestone birthday in my opinion) it was also exciting to evaluate where we were in our lives in terms of the places and stages we thought we’d be at and the achievements we thought we would have earned.

I have to say, I was pretty pumped when I thought about the fact that I'm living in the Netherlands, that I have an opportunity to learn a new language, and that (in my opinion) am succeeding at my research project. All these things (and the fact that my English group today told me that I looked much younger than my 30 years, thanks girls!) made me extremely satisfied with my life assessment.

Besides growing up or rather older, I also feel as though I'm growing out (not width-wise hopefully although birthday pie doesn't help) in terms of making connections and being in places where 'it' is all happening. Friday I had the pleasure of joining the first ever VISOR conference at the Vrije University in Amsterdam. This conference was dedicated to the subject of Islam in/and of Europe and it was the place to be because some really 'big names' were there, giving their papers, and debating all the hot issues. Not 9 months earlier I was quoting these great minds, analysing their research as I was struggling to survive my comprehensive exams. Now here they were right before my very eyes! No one has to worry, I contained my yearning desire to collect autographs ;) .

In addition to growing old and up, I'm also getting the sense that I'm growing beyond. I’m talking (writing) about the fact that my research project is growing beyond its original boundaries and concepts. This is of course expected considering I created this project from my study in Canada using secondary resources however, upon evaluating my project today (as I'm doing with many things) I found that I really enjoyed the direction that my research was going! So even though I'm still looking at space and place and how people use neighbourhood areas to interact (or not) I'm now also interested in such areas as access, security, and those physical aspects of the public domain. It's all so fascinating and it's so hard to follow every lead that intrigues you!

Thus, despite missing some key figures in my life who I wish were here with me today, I’m having a very happy birthday!

Once Upon a Time...

Before my posts return to the Netherlands I wanted to take one last opportunity to blog about some of the very interesting legends that I learned while I was away in Krakow, Poland.

One of the first stops that QueenB and I made in our tour of the Old Town was St. Mary's Church. This gothic basilica was built between the 13th and 14th Centuries. A bugle call is played from the taller tower every hour and the first time that I heard it I thought there was something odd about it. 'Do you hear the bugle, do you hear how it breaks off in mid-tune?' asked QueenB. And I did. She went on to explain that this call is cut off deliberately because as the story goes, back in the 13th Century or ‘once upon a time’ the Mongols were coming to invade the city. As was then the tradition, a call was played from that tower to warn all the towns people as well as the guard. As the bugler sounded his call on this particular attack, a Mongolian arrow flew threw the window and pierced his throat in mid-song and the bugler was struck dead. Today, this tune is re-enacted at every hour when the plaintive tune breaks off in mid-stream, to commemorate the famous 13th century trumpeter. It was and remains the practice to sound out the call of distress through all four different windows of the tower to ensure you were heard in all directions. Standing in the square below, it is eerie to hear the close and distant calls of the bugle cut off in mid-stride. The noon-time call (or hejnał) is heard across Poland and abroad broadcast live by the Polish national Radio 1 Station.

Another legend I learned was about a painting of Madonna of Częstochowa a replica of which I saw in St. Adalbert’s Church. This church was built in the 12th Century in the Romanesque style and was converted to Boroque style in the 17th and 18th Century. The Madonna of Częstochowa is a depiction of the Madonna with two scars on her cheek. The legend concerning the two scars on the Black Madonna's right cheek is that the Hussites stormed the Pauline monastery in 1430, plundering the sanctuary. Among the items stolen was the icon of the Madonna. After putting it in their wagon, the Hussites tried to get away but their horses refused to move. They threw the portrait down to the ground and one of the plunderers drew his sword upon the image and inflicted two deep strikes. When the robber tried to inflict a third strike, he fell to the ground and squirmed in agony until his death. Despite past attempts to repair these scars, there has been great difficulty in covering up those slashes as all attempts usually sloughed off (artists have found out that the painting was painted with tempera infused with diluted wax). In commemoration of the attack, depictions of the Madonna of Częstochowa have been recreated by honouring the slash marks in the Madonna’s cheek.

Lastly, QueenB and I visited the Royal Castle (Wawel) where there is a figure of a dragon associated with the castle and even a tour of the Dragon’s Den during the summer months (alas, we were too late). A popular version of the Wawel Dragon tale takes place in Kraków during the reign of king Krakus, the city's legendary founder. Each day the evil dragon would beat a path of destruction across the countryside, killing people, pillaging their homes and devouring their livestock. In many versions of this story, the dragon especially enjoyed eating young girls, and could only be appeased if the town folk would leave a young girl in front of his cave once a month. The King wanted to put a stop to that awful situation, but his bravest knights fell to the dragon's fiery breath. When it finally came time to sacrifice the King's daughter’s life, the King promised his beautiful daughter's hand in marriage to anybody who could defeat the dragon. Great warriors from near and far fought for the prize and failed. One day, a poor cobbler's apprentice (or as I heard another version - a poor Tailor) named Dratewka accepted the challenge. He stuffed a lamb with sulphur and set it outside the dragon's cave. The dragon ate it and soon became incredibly thirsty. No amount of water could quell his stomach ache, and after swelling up from drinking half of the Vistula river, he exploded. The apprentice married the King's daughter as promised and they lived happily ever after. When QueenB first told me this story she was of the opinion that the reason why a lowly Tailor was able to suceed when no other nobility could has to due with a possible communist twist put on the tale. Either way, it’s entertaining and the dragon’s tale wins the hearts of many (when we were walking along the passage way in the mine our guide informed us that the dragon was so large, that his tail reached the mine and there in front of us was a replica of a dragons tail built into the wall).

I was enthralled with these legends. I have always been interested in folklore as my original degree was going to be Classical Mythology and Literature. It’s something missing here in Rotterdam and I’m wondering if it has to do with the fact that many of the old buildings here in Rotterdam were bombed away. Does one need the space of history and the past in order to have legends?

Hangover

No, this is not what you think. It's not a hangover from alcohol but from my vacation. As readers will know, I spent from last Wednesday to yesterday night in Poland with QueenB and I loved every minute of it! It wasn't just that I got to see the many sights of Krakow, which happens to be a beautiful and historically rich city, but that I was able to hang out with a good friend and not feel the pull or hear the nag of research left undone. Leaving the country highlighted the fact that I spend each day trying to meet people and make sense of my research questions, struggle with learning a new language, organising my schedule, and fighting an ever-present and ever-loosing battle with money. While most of these tasks are rewarding (hint: I'm not talking about the money part) each bring a degree of stress and level of obligation with them. While I wouldn't trade this year in the Netherlands for anything, it was nice to leave and be taken care of; it is the only way I can put it.

I think subconsciously, I had decided that it time for a little relaxation. This was proven by the fact that I walked out of my house in the wee hours on Wednesday morning and left for my trip without my glasses. Now, I'm not blind by any stretch of the imagination. I can see large objects but would have a hard time reading signs or seeing distinct features on peoples faces at a distance. As I cycle the streets of Rotterdam to get groceries or go to my Dutch classes, my glasses are on and I'm looking for potential research ideas. Since I left my glasses at home, I was relieved of having to take charge and just went with the flow. It made looking at beautifully articulated church ceilings tougher, but for those areas where I was able, I took a picture with my camera and zoomed in to note the detail (a regular MacGyver solution minus the duct tape if you ask me).

All in all, I had a wonderful time in Poland and I was taken care of like a Queen! In fact, Grandpa decided to give me a Polish name (as Jennifer's are not common there) and we chose Jagoda. The short form sounds somewhat close to my name in my opinion and also, Jagoda is the name of one of the most famous Polish queens. Hence, from my truly royal treatment...I have a hangover adjusting to life as a mere pauper again back in my native borough. I'm sure there is some part of me excited to get back to work (I'm still searching...) and it is good to get back to Nederlanders. But as of the first day back, with my glasses secured firmly in place, I'm suffering from a mild hangover.

Mine Life

Friday day, QueenB and I drove with a friend up to the Wieliczka Salt mine located 8km outside of Krakow. The tour (which we took in Polish because it costs extra to go on an English tour!) begins with descending 56 flights of stairs into one of the mine shafts. From there we commenced walking 2 of the 300 kms of underground passageways that have been made available for tourists. This mine has been worked for approximately 900 years and continues to produce small quantities of salt today. As one might guess the working standards of the mine now are much improved from those hundreds of years ago. In previous times, prisoners sentenced to death had the option of being put to death or working in the mines checking for methane gas. How was this done? Methane gas when put into contact with open flame, explodes. These prisoners would crawl along the mine shafts with a torch attached to a long pole to ensure that the shafts were free of gas for the other workers. Of course if they found methane gas...their service and sentence was completed. If the prisoners made it through a couple of years without being blown up, they were free. The mine has been used as a tourist attraction since the mid 18th Century. Thus, our tour like Pope John Paul II's tour (he's a big figure over here) covered 2kilometers of the undergound maze of passageways and included a trip to the subterranean museum that explained a lot of the geology involved with mining salt. One of the most interesting stops along our way was the 3 of the original 17 chapels found underground. Miners, being superstitious and religious observes (1 out of every 10 miners used to die) created a network of chapels underground for easy access during their work day. The largest and most ornate of course being dedicated to St. Kinga, the patron saint of miners. This chapel is cavernous and replete with salt figurines, chandeliers, alters, and staircases. The mine has many of these areas with huge vaulted ceilings and beatifully carved salt pieces. Weddings take place underground and there is actually a sanitorium for asthma and allergy suffers located at the 135 meters deep mark. Although I'm not an allergy sufferer, my trip down the mine was invigorating! A wonderful mixture of sweet saltiness!

Break Time

Speaking with my mother the other night I was told that I've been slacking on my blog and she's right. Almost a week has gone by and no new post! It's not like things haven't been happening in fact, the opposite it true. Last Saturday I made my way down to Schiedam a small neighbouring town to Rotterdam where I watched landing of SinterKlaas. I will write about this later as I have pictures to include.

Sunday I had a great time at my Engels Les at the Bergpolder Centrum. Monday I was back again for a mini private bike lesson with two of the women from Friday's bike class and that night I was off to my second last Dutch lesson of the year. Tuesday night I attended the neighbourhood block meeting (very informative!) and yesterday I spent the entire day at the airport and in transit.

I'm writing this post from a different country than the Netherlands. I am currently visiting QueenB in Poland, taking in the sites of the city and being wowed in general by the beautiful landscapes, wonderful food, and by the sounds and smells of Krakow. I'll have more to report later but for now, I'm off to have a little break from my research to be a tourist. We're leaving right now to get a better look at Mariacki (St. Mary's Church), the Wawel castle, and to sample the local hot chocolate, pastries, and a communist Milk Bar!

It's time for a break!

Friday the 13th

After posting the previous blog, I realised the date...it's Friday the 13th! Every Friday the 13th in Ontario, the province where I come from in Canada, thousands of motocyclists converge on the small town of Port Dover, located in South Western Ontario. This event started in 1981 with 25 bikers met at a pub in Port Dover. Chris Simons (the founder) and his friends had such a great time that year that they decided to make meeting in Dover an annual event. Since then, this event has grown into the thousands as bikers from across Canada (and the United States) coming together in Port Dover to eat, drink, and be merry. Vendors booths pop up on the streets, local restaurants buy stock by the case, and the red carpet is rolled out as this sleepy town turns into the place-to-be over night. Click here for more info: http://www.pd13.com/origins.html

In other respects, certain people feel as though Friday the 13th is filled with either good or bad luck. In the year 2009, there have been 3 Friday the 13ths. The next year to have 3 Fridays land on the 13th day is not until 2015. That's special isn't it? As far as I know, there is no superstition here in the Netherlands having to do with Friday the 13th. But if anyone knows better, please write a comment!

Come Rain or Shine

I got up this morning to volunteer at the neighbourhood cycling lessons (now a weekly event in my agenda) and looked out the window at the grey sky and rainy weather. Brrrrrr. I walk into the kitchen to put on the coffee ask Pdot if he thought that the cycling lessons (fiets les) will be cancelled because of the weather. 'Oh no', he says, 'this is the Netherlands and people go out in all types of rain unless it's storming. That is the only time that people will cancel things'. Thus, despite signing up for this activity one warm sunny morning (at least that's why my memory serves) a couple of weeks ago, I found myself climbing on my bike under three layers of clothing to cycle the couple blocks to the buurtcentruum.

Indeed, there were 10 - 15 women who came out for the lesson despite the rain. We even had 3 new participants who were coming to try it for the first time. When I spoke to Luke later and told him that I was surprised at the number of people who came, he made the point that learning in the rain was probably a good thing for those who will be cycling in this kind of weather more often then not. So apparently I was the only one who was a little fearful at the idea of riding in the rain. You'd think I was afraid of melting in it!

In the end it was good that I went since I will be away for next Friday's lesson. Another good thing to come from this morning is that I've made an appointment to meet some ladies from our fiets les on this coming Monday afternoon so I won't miss my cycling lesson afterall! It remains to be seen how the lesson will all turn out since my Dutch (and some of their Dutch) is still in the learning stages. Regardless, I'll be there come rain (but hopefully not! I don't care what anyone says...rain is never better!) or shine.

For Remembrance Sake

Remembrance Day (in Australia, Canada and the United Kingdom) is a day to remember people who fought and died in the World Wars. Today, November 11th is the day chosen in these countries to remember the end of World War I on November 11th in 1918. Remembrance Day was started in 1919 by King George V from the United Kingdom. As a demonstration of respect, many people in Canada wear a fake poppy during the month of November and on Remembrance Day. The poppy is a symbol to show that these individuals remember the wars, and the soldiers who fought in them. Poppies were chosen to be a symbol because they often grew in battlefields after the soldiers stopped fighting there.

So far in the Netherlands I have not celebrated the typical Canadian holidays such as Thanksgiving (although I was treated to dinner by Cananon - see earlier blog), Hallowe'en and now, Remembrance Day. I just wanted to write a small note on Remembrance Day to mark the fact that I am remembering all Canadian soldiers while here in the Netherlands - one of the most important to me being my grandfather - L.C.E. Long.

In relation to research, this day has also peaked my interest. As I've mentioned in my earlier blogs, QueenB is currently researching the longevity of memory and history in Poland (at least that is one part of it and one way to look at her project). Although I have not specifically focussed on the act of remembering in my research, the history and one's memory of the neighbourhood influences how individuals and groups perceive the neighbourhood and their role within it. For example, many of the renovations occurring in my neighbourhood right now feature holding onto historical buildings and architectural features of the area, so as to preserve the past. Thus if nothing else, this day served as a reminder of the importance of the past as it is used as a tool of the present.

A Comedy of Errors

So I was running a bit late leaving for my English teaching lessons tonight. Who me late? Yes, I know - what a shocker. As I was running a bit late, I forgot my map, ran back upstairs to grab it, relocked the door, sky-rocketed back down the 3 flights of stairs, grabbed the other bike and moved it out of the way; at times it feels at times that I'm working through a life-size jigsaw puzzle trying to figure out which bike of the four stored down below is mine. After taking the first bike out of the way, I grab my umbrella out of my bag because it has begun to rain very hard, shove my way outside, jump on my bike, and cycle down the street. For the first time that I can remember I hear a thwap, thwap, thwap. 'What is that?' I think, 'it must be my lock knocking against the tire cover'. Thwap, thwap, thwap. God, that's actually quite loud. I stop take a look; don't see much because it's pouring rain. ‘Man, I have to get going!’ is all I can think so I hop back on the bike- thwap, thwap, thwap- and stop at the next red light. 'Seriously what is that?', I say to myself and take one more good look at the back tire that has just revealed itself to be ... completely flat.

Oh no.

So I jump off my bike, hop onto the sidewalk and start walking down the road with my limping bike at my side. Plan B, hop on a tram to get to the metro and then it's off to Gramma's house (I am going to English lessons here; I'm just making a reference to Little Red Ridding Hood that you all should have picked up on). The problem with owning a bike does not have to do with the maintenance for upkeep or the possibility of spending an entire morning wearing soaking pants and boots after riding in the rain. The problem is becoming dependent on quick travel times by using your bike in between point A and B. For example, I left at 20 minutes after 6pm to be in Rotterdam Zuid (South) in 40 minutes time. On a bike I can do this no problem. On foot, using the tram, and then the metro, I cannot. So I make the best of what I can, I lock up my bike to a pole next to the tram stop and wait the 5 minutes for the tram.

The tram goes to central station without issue (I've been on a tram that has dropped us off 2km from the station due to electrical failures) and I think to myself, ‘Ah, I'd better top up my travel card (used in buses, trams, metro stations here) because I'm getting low'. I walk past the first booth because both its line-ups are out the door. 'That's a significant amount of people', I think to myself, 'lined up on a Tuesday night after dinner'. I think it will be quicker to go downstairs and use the automatic tellers, and so I go. I arrive downstairs to see a line-up just as long if not longer. 'What is going on here?' I try to squeak through the doors with what I have left on my pass and it's a no-go. So I join the line and then think, 'there has got to be another machine around here'. In fact, there is a huge sign saying 'two other machines located that way'. Hopping out of line I search for the other machines and find both with an out-of-order sign taped to them. I go back to the line where I wait for the next 15 minutes for my turn. It appears that this machine, although working, is only taking coins at the moment and nothing else. No debit, credit cards, large bills, nothing. Just coins. Yet everyone in front of me still has to try regardless so as to determine whether or not the machine will work for them especially or maybe just to prove or disprove what the person in front of them had told them - that the machine wasn't working. Hmmm, wooden shoes, wooden head....

It's finally my turn and I bumble through the buttons and throw in enough coins to get myself to Rotterdam South and back. It's now 7pm on the dot which is the exact same time that I'm supposed to be walking into class (if not greeting my students looking cheerful and ready to learn). Instead, I am running down the stairs to catch the next train to Slinge that will drop me off at Rijnhaven where I can walk to Afrikaanersplein, which is where the lessons are located. My hair is wet and a mess, the wool scarf I'm wearing has shed more than its share of 'hairs' that are in my mouth and on my wet glasses, my bag is soaked and I'm hoping not my lesson book, but no matter, I'm on the metro! My last method of transportation there!

Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Rijnhaven station. The tram has barely come to a halt and I'm waiting, poised by the doors, pressing incessantly on the 'open' button of the doors. Then suddenly I'm freed and I start on a run down the ramp, out of the stalls, through the doors, across the street, down the way, over the bridge (I'm not kidding), up the lane, across the plein, into the building, up the stairs, through the glass doors (well not through it but pushing the handle walking into the glass doors...you know what I mean) and home free. At this point I am 18 minutes late.

All this and it's only 7:18. I have two more hours of comedy and fun as the girls and I chat about things in their lives and role play potential scenarios for when they visit English speaking countries. Although the money I made tonight will only defray the costs of getting a new tire on my bike, I'm still happy that I made it in one piece with only my bike worse for wear. Besides, I get to learn a new phrase:

Mijn fietsband is plat. Kunt u het alstublieft repareren? (Thank you Marbles)

The Potential for Spontaneous Combustion

I'm sure I've read somewhere that there comes a time during an anthropologist's ethnographic experience where they do things or become involved in certain events that at first thought appear to be against their nature in some way. This morning at 10 o'clock, I'll be going to church for the first time in a very long time. Yes, you read me correctly, to church. While there has been 'many-a-joke' concerning the potential for my body's spontaneous combustion following my arrival in and through the doors of the church, I hope that my presence there will be quite a bit less theatrical.

This week I was able to meet with one of the local ministers to discuss the church's role in neighbourhood events. Due to history, politics, finances, and local social state of affairs (essentially the dwindling of numbers and hard financial times), churches have had a harder time staying afloat in this globalised world of diverse loyalties and the churches in Rotterdam are no exception.

However, I visited this church a couple of weeks ago when they played host to a discussion between an author who used to live in the neighbourhood (who also happens to be a Moroccan and a Muslim writing about immigrant experiences) and a 'Christian representative' from close by. From the layout of the event, one can conclude that the purpose of the dialogue was to begin a discussion between faiths on areas where these faiths come together and potentially in areas where they do not. It indeed proved to be a lively discussion which despite not understanding the majority of what was said, I could understand the dance of quick voices that were at times a bit heated (and of course from the synopsis that I received a little later on). The author made a lovely presentation actually; he was graceful in his responses, and always listened to opinions. Overall, the activity was a success precisely because attendees were engaged and I was quite interested in the fact that a church had brought on this event and spurred on such a discussion.

Thus, I was happy to have the chance to meet with the minister this week to discuss like events and the churches role and involvement with the community (which happens to be quite a significant contribution). At the end of our discussion, I was asked if I'd like to come to this Sunday's service, to 'see them in action', to which I said, yes, thank you I think I will.

While attending this event might seem a bit out of the ordinary for me, to my knowledge, in every anthropologist's life, a little difference must fall. Mine just happens to fall at 10 am on a Sunday morning which reminds me...I should go. Who'd of thought hey, Aggie and Ella?

Local Wild Life

Meet Mr. Jibbs. Mr. Jibbs was sitting on a roof of a car along one of the canals in Amsterdam. I would never dare to get this close to something with such beady eyes, but Cescarina did when she was here...brave, brave lady.

Meet Macho. If I were to ever cheat on my own cat (never going to happen) it would be with Macho here (Spanky is also in the running of course). Why? Because she's a female cat whose name defies all gender boundaries and who has a weakness for water straight from the shower drain. She likes to live dangerously!

Finally, the goblet-eyed-drink-sipper. This specimen is especially rare here, only coming out on 'girls nights' and only after rare beverages such as French champagne and Elvish mead are consumed.

Model No. RR-US750

I'm not a gadget girl. I'm not especially technologically inclined. Although I don't believe that I've been passed down the genes of my mother (who for some reason has the effect of the Black Plague mixed with Ebola on all computer life forms) I would say that computers and I (and the majority of other electrical and mechanical objects) have a civil relationship at best.

Enter the need to learn how to use my digital recorder in preparation for my first interview. This was a test to find out whether or not computers hold a grudge and have passed on the word that I’m less than technologically inclined. This experience prompts me to do a ‘first’ in my life. Yes, I do the unthinkable…I read the manual, or at least parts of the manual (which is probably half the reason why I have problems with machinery and appliances in the first place). It was a painstaking process. I first read about which button did what and where it was on the device, then about how to power-up, and then about how to charge the battery from its comatose state. Following these thrilling entries I took a break for 2 hours (not solely by coincidence as it also took two hours to recharge the batteries). After a quick meeting with my English lessons colleague at the Turkish restaurant Sofra on Zwart Janstraat, I returned to my flat to read about the hold function, the recording settings, and the process of recording itself. This reading brought me up to page 10 and I was still not out of the ‘basic operations’ section.

The problem is that I know this machine works. And it works well. I received it from another good friend of mine - Shelly-bean- who used it during her Masters research. This means that there are no excuses! If it doesn’t work…it’s me and not the machine!

Sitting at the kitchen table with my computer in front of me, manual in one hand, digital recorder in the other and a blank look on my face, my thoughts briefly scrolled through the list of potential help-mates to weight in on this venture. On Dutch programming, they have a commercial that shows a couple in the process of buying a new flat screen television and satellite cable package (or something of this sort) from a store. As the couple turns around to approach the cash register, another worker wheels out a dolly with a 6 foot tall man packaged in a box. This man is suppose to be the free gift that comes with the purchase of the system as he will install the cable (or whatever) when they get home. Seeing as this was a second-hand product and the warranty has probably expired, there were no gift-wrapped knight in shining armour for me (much to Luke’s appreciation I’m sure).

No matter, with all this ado, I happily report that the machine worked perfectly following its and my first test drive. Voices went into the machine just as they were supposed to and I breathed a sigh of relief. I learned how to save the folder to my computer (more reading!) and then I could listen to the excerpt from my computer. It feels as though I’ve jumped another hurdle, not gracefully, but with lots of coaching and enhancement products (manual). Mind you, I have yet to understand how to play it back on the machine itself…baby steps I tell myself baby steps.

Running Around In Circles

My arms, shoulders, back, legs and but muscles are very, very sore. Why you ask? Two days ago, on Friday morning (yes, they're still sore), I volunteered at my first 'Ladies bike riding lessons' available in the Bergpolder. This event runs every week and is overseen by neighbourhood volunteers/organisation. Its purpose is to teach women (only) how to ride a bike as well as teach riders the rules of the road and the signs that all bikers should understand and abide by, which is something that I benefitted from personally. This event appeals largely to women who have immigrated to the Netherlands and who come out to not only learn a new mode of transportation but to understand more about this typical (and uniquely so) Dutch past time.

Since the lessons start at 9.30 in the morning, I showed up a couple of minutes early to introduce myself to the convenors and to the women attending the session. After coffee and cookies, the entire group trouped out to the square located adjacent to the community office. The bikes are rented from a local shop and the women can take turns riding their bikes through the square (riding in circles, cutting diagonals, hitting trash cans, benches, other bikes, the grass...don't go in the grass! No one picks up their dog poop!). In addition to the cycling activities in the square, one of the convenors Tol, takes the more experienced riders on a short circuit around the neighbourhood so that the participants can gain experience riding in traffic and paying attention to the different road signs. Overall, there is lots of laughing, lots of people saying 'watch out!' and in general, there is much fun being had.

Although it was my first time out, the ladies in charge put their faith in me and set me straight to work as I was paired with a woman who had only been out to this event once before and was still in the process of learning how to keep her balance while riding. As neither of us spoke very good Dutch, body language and tips from friends got us through the 'theory' part. Though she was good at getting the bike going, she (and the bike) would eventually tip to one side and it was my job to lean her back up straight and keep us both going. I'm happy to report that we made it quite a few times around the square and by the end of the session she was doing it by herself! The morning went on and I was able to run laps with her (a couple of times actually since riders have to take turns on the bikes) and other beginners as well as taking a turn riding with the traffic group.

It comes as no surprise that these activities took a toll on my upper body which usually receives the hardy work out of typing on my computer and carrying groceries home from the store. Yet despite spending the morning running around in circles, I didn't feel unproductive, and I was extremely grateful to be trusted and allowed the opportunity to participate as I had. I will return to the lessons next Friday to have another upper body work-out, for another dose of fun, and to have another go at running around in circles as it proved to be one of the most productive activities of the week!

Extra, extra, read all about it!

This past Thursday I had the opportunity to spend the afternoon at Vespa's work - a local news paper office. Insight into how the news is delivered (one of the many mediums through which people receive information concerning local and regional events) is important to my research as I am interested in how different shared opinions are disseminated and understood.

I arrived just before lunch time so that Vespa could give me a brief tour of the building (a beautiful office replete with skylights, wood furniture, leafy plants, and a cozy coffee space) and have a quick coffee before our lunch date. Just as we sat down to sip our coffees we heard an AAAAAAIIIIIIIEEEEEEE! from the adjacent room. As it happens, one of Vespa's coworkers had had the misfortune to sit on a mouse that was hiding under one of the seat cushions of the wicker chairs set out in the main meeting room. There in followed much ado about what to do with the mouse remains and cleaning up procedures. Needless to say, these events did not whet our appetites for the impending lunch date.

No matter, when 12:30 rolled around Vespa, her coworkers and I trudged out the doors and down the main street to central Gouda where we had lunch at the Best Burger. The majority of us ordered groote cheeseburgers (actually 'cheeseburgers' not translated into 'kaas') and munched on mash potato fries and mayonnaise while we waited for our meals. There were trash mags on all the tables for our reading pleasure and we had fun trying to decipher (and translate) one another's horoscopes. Mine proved especially difficult but I should have guessed as much, not only was it colloquial Dutch but the message also came from the beyond! After our lunch we all walked back and Vespa and I got settled into teaching/learning the ins and outs of how the local news is created and delivered in a weekly newspaper.

As I found out, the entire process is quite intense as the journalists, columnists, graphic artists, photographers, layout managers, and advertisement sales staff work like dogs for the first three days of the week (this paper comes out every Thursday). The next two days are spent playing catch-up and preparing the following week’s edition that starts-up full speed ahead on Monday morning. Vespa and I spent our Thursday afternoon editing and ‘word-smithing’ a piece on her special print software. The rest of the afternoon was spent shooting down and cleaning out nagging leftovers hanging around under the press that week.

All in all it was an exciting and extremely insightful day. I learned that the local readership has a lot of say in what goes into their newspapers. The editors, writers, and photographers often use the news tips and stories sent to them and so the readers often set the tenor of the paper through their own participation. The more involved the readership, the more representative the stories. This surprised me a bit as I thought the readers would play a more passive role when instead, they played a more active role. While it probably doesn’t work this way at national or at all local and regional papers, I thought it was an interesting divergence in my usual foray into the science of neighbourhoods.

Jennifer, the Imported Popcorn Connoisseur

I've begun to approach my research questions as of late, by looking into how different communities see and project their ideas onto the neighbourhood in concrete ways. That is, how do neighbourhood community members create and influence their own neighbourhood? What role do they play in its creation? Here in Rotterdam, reconstruction seems to be a way of life. When one walks around the city streets there are many, many construction projects, renovation crews, and men in hard hats playing around with noisy yellow construction vehicles. Rotterdam seems to be in a constant state of make-over! It is no different in my surrounding neighbourhood. One of the tramlines, the Hofbogen which runs into the heart of our district, is going to be shut down in January and now local residents are trying to decide what to do with the abandoned station and tracks.

Today I had to fortune to meet with a young and inspired entrepreneur hoping to open up a multicultural cinema (film house) here in Rotterdam North in the old Hofbogen station. There is a need for this enterprise as the old film house (a cinema that goes above and beyond the boring 'blockbuster' flicks) is moving addresses and relocating in Rotterdam South. So after years of deliberation (the local residents here are very aware and notably active) it was decided that another cultural centre was needed and one that preferably catered to the diversity that lives in and amongst the area known as Rotterdam Noord.

Hearing about the entrepreneur’s projections (yes the pun was intentional), I was truly inspired, enough so in fact, that I actually applied to be a volunteer at the upcoming International Film Festival held here in Rotterdam in January 2010. While it's too soon for the Noorder Bioscoop (the tentative name given to the local project) to play a role in these events, I thought that my enthusiasm for such projects would support this local venture in one way or another. For those who are interested, if I see any famous people while popping the popcorn (they have both salty and sweet variety here) I will work hard to get an autograph. I say to them "Just make it out to Jennifer, the Imported Popcorn Connoisseur, all my love, BNer".

P.S. For those outside my present zipcode, 'BNer' is the short form for famous Nederlander, a Dutch celebrity

Barbequing in late October

I volunteered at my first English lesson tonight and it went very well. As mentioned by my esteemed colleague QueenB, English seems to have a certain currency in some countries throughout Europe, in Poland, and in the Netherlands as well. English is spoken by almost everyone living here yet most are interested in practicing and improving their abilities (keeping in mind that they usually speak two other languages besides English, I tell you, it's enough to make you feel thoroughly inadequate!).

Located in Rotterdam Zuid (South), the class is held in the area of the city that is seen to be more residential, to be industrial around the harbour area, and to have 'bad' neighbourhoods. The intention was to be a bit late as the teacher started with theory first, but I ended up being later that I had wanted to be (but still earlier than I was expected) because the trams weren't working. After walking to Centraal Station I made it down on the subway (metro) and through the woods, over the hills (now I'm kidding) to a very busy community centre (they were celebrating Hallowe'en early with a Hallowe'en huis or haunted house).

Someone directed me the correct room and I sat down to enjoy an hour and a half discussion that consisted of rapid fire questions mainly about my personal life. As I answered question after question, the teacher explained any words that they had not yet covered in the course. The questions themselves ranged from 'how cold does it get in Canada?' (they were amused to learn that my brother has to plug his car in at gas stations and grocery stores in Winnipeg during the dead of winter for fear that the engine block won't turn over again) to 'how much UGG boots cost in Canada versus the Nederlands?', to 'why hasn't your boyfriend proposed to you yet and when do I think we were going to get married?' (I swear they could have been working for certain members of our families with this last question!). Anyway, the teacher said that I didn't have to answer this last one and suggested that one of the women continue our discussion by asking me something else about the weather in Canada. I think at this point the teacher really began to notice that he was the only guy in the room! :)

Overall, I found the experience extremely rewarding. And despite being grilled, I had a good night in the hot seat. BBQ anyone?

Spatial Patterns of Birthday Parties

I was lucky enough to be invited to the birthday party of one of my relatives here in the Netherlands. My family here has been so nice, wonderful, and welcoming since I've arrived. I will always be so thankful for this.

Birthday parties with my immediate family (I'm talking about the family living back in Canada now) are really quite...how should I say this...loud. The following is a typical birthday event at my home in Canada: the siblings and their significant others converge on my parent’s house which is located in the suburbs of our childhood home. I think we're one of the few families who remained in the same household during our entire youth (both my parents still live there now). The dinner begins at about 3 pm with a fight over appetizers (typically the fare is shrimp and warmed brie cheese and red pepper jelly over crackers). Usually my older sister brings a dish (always very delectable), which she makes in our relatively small kitchen during the time that my mother is attempting to finish up the night's main dishes (which my mother loves, by the way). We chat, have a couple drinks, and get caught up on one another's lives in either the appropriately named 'family room' or in the back porch if it's warm enough. My mother calls (just like when we were young) and the troupe marches over to the dining room where we begin the feast (my mom used to be a short-order cook for the army...at least that's what one would think if they sit down at one of our tables). The whole meal takes about an hour. There is much teasing, laughing, and teasing...did I mention teasing? After the meal, we clean up a bit and bring out the cake. We sing not one, but two birthday songs (one in English, the other in Dutch - thanks to our Dutch roots) cut the pie/cake/tart and serve. Presents are distributed, opened, and the thanks doled. From there, it is tea time and everyone moves back into the family room for games, a bit of TV watching (if there is a game on) and then around 11pm, those Toronto-bound revellers say their good-byes and leave the sleepy hollow.

I experienced a different type of event at the Dutch birthday party that I attended this past Wednesday.

I arrive at the house at approximately 5:45 and am greeted by the immediate family (including the mother, father, and brother of my aunt). I speak Dutch for most of the night (poorly) as my family is helping me learn (it's tough love and I need it!). I think I sweat a bit because I find speaking in another language quite hard but the audience is wonderfully receptive and encouraging (well, besides Malt who continues to laugh at my accent - ha!). From there we sit around the table, serve dinner and converse about this or that. Both my aunt and my uncle (whose birthday it was) wait until everyone else has served themselves and have begun to eat before they turn to their own plates. Throughout the entire meal, both my aunt and uncle are getting up to serve us more wine, water or anything else we might desire - talk about being put to work! After the table is cleared and the dishes are washed by my cousins (a very efficient process) we are all served ice cream and mousse (homemade by Oma). The entire affair was delicious!

After our meal, we move to sit on the couches in the living room area. As we sit down I look around and see that a circle of chairs has been placed out. Just as I'm about to ask Vespa what the chairs are there for, the door bell rings. In steps a set of neighbours (it's 7:30). The neighbours say hello to my uncle wish him a happy birthday and then come and greet all of us who are already sitting in the living room with 'feliciteerd' which means congratulations. 'Uh...what do I say back?' I ask Vespa, 'Oh, the same thing', she says, 'feliciteerd'! This ritual happened with each of the 20 to 25 guests that showed up that night. Every single person that came into my aunt and uncle's house greeted everyone in turn and then sat down to join the circle. Very cordial!

After dinner but relatively early in the evening (we were there until 11:30pm) my other cousin Soda (again an amalgamation of her name and area where she lives) came by and asked what kind of cake I wanted. 'Cake?' I said, 'Haven't we already eaten dessert?' 'Oh yes' she said 'but in Holland, you have dessert with dinner and then you have pie when everyone else comes over to celebrate. You can't really say no, it wouldn't look polite' she finished with a grin. Trust me, it didn't take much prodding. I agreed (with both arms twisted behind my back) to a piece of traditional Limburg rice cake. It was scrumptious! Apparently, in Germany, a guest must have 2 or 3 pieces of cake at a birthday if they do not want to be offensive to the host. As I sat on the couch all night in between Oma and my translator (Vespa) I watched as my aunt and uncle catered to all their guests. I kept finishing my glass of water or wine or whatever and not a minute later, they were there asking, 'Jennifer, can I get you something?' If I said 'oh, no thank you', they'd reply 'not even water?'. Wow! 5 star restaurants would be put to shame in this joint and my uncle was the guest of honour, no less! Vespa told me the secret, 'at Dutch birthday parties, you must keep a little bit of drink in your glass or else you'll be asked if you want something else to drink'. Dually noted. But it wasn't just drinks that were flowing and ever present - food also came from every which way and while I thought I was full (and I was), I decided to try the appetizers...one after another... smoked salmon, tapas, crackers, cheese, sausage, you name it.

As the night went on, each guest would chat to the individual on either side of them. If someone got up to go somewhere, another person would come to sit down and start a new conversation. When people began to leave, each attendee would make a round around the circle, shake everyone's hand and say 'Tot ziens!' - see you later! Wow!

Wow, because I can't believe that you have to take care of everybody else on YOUR birthday! (QueenB understands this totally) and wow! because I thought our birthdays back in Canada were quite an event!

Thus (put on pompous old professor's accent), although I have observed the 'spatial patterns' of both Nederlanders and Canadians in their natural environments...it has become apparent that while their patterns are of 'flocking' and 'circular' structures, they both know how to party!

Check, one, two, three, check...

It was a beautiful crisp and sunny day today as I cycled down from my apartment toward a coffee shop in the South West area of Rotterdam to meet a fellow researcher, Audi. We enjoyed our ‘s ochtend koffie (morning coffee) while discussing our mutual interests and bouncing ideas off one another concerning out immediate future plans in Rotterdam. Man, it's always great to have someone to play your ideas off of, to have a sounding board!

Speaking of sounding boards, I met with another individual on Thursday morning, who was/is supremely connected within the Turkish community here in Rotterdam, to discuss the possibility of becoming a volunteer for his organisation. As we sat down in a newly renovated Turkish restaurant along the Zwart Janstraat near my apartment with steaming cups of Turkish tea laid out in front of us, he asked me to describe my project and my intentions. So I began with the usual spiel but went on in further detail and then began debating the politics of the current social and political conversation, and so forth, because this man was an inspiration! This might sound a bit dramatic but our meeting made me fall in love with my topic all over again! This is something quite special since not two days before I was (temporarily) a bit disenchanted with it, after having to write it into a neat little two-page bundle that striped it of all its interesting bits (both for myself and the reader, most likely). Needless to say, this man was excited at the prospect of my research, confirmed that he too thought that my research was topical and important and that he might be able to put me in contact with some of his community. Hurrah!

As I look back on our meeting I have a feeling that if this man went for Prime Minister of the Netherlands he would be elected unanimously because he's the kind of person who could whip people up into a frenzy - but like all good leaders (in my opinion, which is based on hearing Nelson Mandela talk and he's a 'whipper') into a frenzy of inspiration! He had me more convinced of the importance of my project than I think I've ever been (I think this is something all outsiders using secondary resources would think about their research before stepping into the field. You think it’s important but to have an ‘insider’ think it’s important is a totally different thing). I've always thought that the issues involved in my project were important, but when he said, oh boy, did I believe it!

In conclusion (ha), the sounding boards were sounding great this week. Lots of good feedback (think Nirvana-style feedback, where feedback is actually the goal) and some really productive sessions (I'm suddenly transported back into the home studio at C&G's house). This one’s for you Hoofie. ;)

Can I get a sound check please!

From Separation Anxiety to Anxiously Awaiting Separation

I received some sad news yesterday, my old car Gaston was finally sold. This car was my first asset (if you could call it that). My first vehicle that got me from 'A' to 'B'. The first thing of value that I could (practically) call my own!!! If I look at it rationally, Gaston was getting on, he was in need of some expensive repairs (although his stalwart frame remained formidable), and there was not much point letting him sit for a year in the garage while I was away. So, calmer voices prevailed and he was sold off to the highest bidder. When Luke broke the news to me I found myself wanting to pass on the quirks and personality traits that I had given Gaston to the new owner. I guess so that 'Gaston' as I knew him could live on! Naturally Luke declined the offer. We (Gaston and I) spent quite a lot of time together, thanks to Luke and I's habit for moving far distances from one another. And they were good times, so I don't think it's hard to believe that I suffered from a little separation anxiety at the thought of loosing an old friend!

Being this far away, I still could not escape from the yearly scholarship run where poor students spend days agonising over relatively few sheets of paper trying to fit every last detail into the assigned margins without making their work, marginal. Although I'm not through with scholarship applications forever (not by a long shot) I am now done with scholarship applications as a PhD candidate! In this case, I am anxiously awaiting separation from the task of rewriting my project into one or two itsy-bitsy pages (with 3/4 " margins).

Feeling Complimentary

I had a wonderfully busy day today as I met with some people from my local neighbourhood association. Both contacts shared their knowledgeable ideas and learned experiences with me. To top it off, even my (wonderful, talented) language teacher mentioned that she might have some contacts in her neighbourhood that she could introduce me to! Why yes, please, I don't mind if I do! But, it doesn't end there. I also had a confidence building day in the language department. Not only were my classmates complimentary concerning my capabilities tonight (they must have been mixing alcohol into their coffees) but the man who I buy my meat products from (at a shop called SAHAN just at the end of my street) also took the time to tell me that I was definitely making progress! 'Oh, you've improved so much!' he said 'One word every day and you'll know 365 by the end of the year!' It is sound advice in my books. I found his words inspiring, and in a way, a bit funny considering our dialogue revolves around ordering ground red meat or chicken filets. But hey, I'll take any compliment I can get on my Dutch.

All the happiness and gaiety of the aforementioned events today is starting to sound like one of those annoying inspirational posters that first-year university students use to wallpaper their dorm room as provided by the travelling poster sale that visits all campuses during frosh week. The very same event which ensures that all first year students have exactly the same amount of unique individuality that can be summed up by cliché pictures and canned sayings plastered to their white walls screaming in unison and in ubiquity... "I am different!" Hmmmm, this dish tastes kind of funny; I think I went over board with the sarcasm and that dash of cynicism in the final thought.

While my recipe to balance out the day (as an ecstatic researcher followed by curmudgeon) may be a bit off-kilter, it's nice to add good days to the jumble of days lived here. Today’s events compliment previous experiences and seek to challenge/question those in the future. Feeling complimentary, contradictory, and imminently conflagatory (not really a word), I'm outta here!

Riding High! (No coffee shops involved)

I had my first friend pop over from abroad this weekend and it was great! Everyone I've met so far has been so wonderful, helpful, and welcoming but sometimes you just need to see a friendly face from the past to give you a sense of hominess in your new land.

Cescarina came on the 8:30 night train from Schipol airport to meet me at a cafe near Rotterdam Central Station. I sampled the Caprese salad and a glass of red as I waited for her arrival. We were eating and chatting by a quarter past eight, munching on bread and sipping on soup. Our meeting spot was a cafe close to the train station, called Cafe Engels. From its name one might surmise that this café caters to internationals and this is true, this cafe is even attached to the VVV (tourist information) and at any time of the day one can hear spoken English at many of the tables. One might think that since it was Cescarina's first trip to Rotterdam that I'd have wanted to take her to somewhere more 'authentically Dutch'. I found the idea that I had to show her the best places or the typical places of Rotterdam (so that she'll know my experiences and have a true understanding of Rotterdammers) really interesting from a research prospective. To show her Rotterdam in one evening ‘as the Rotterdammers do’ is an impossible feat of course (because it would be hard to know who would like to be labelled Rotterdammers and to compile an understanding of their knowledge and experiences as such, there it is - anthropology at work for you!), but something that I felt compelled to take a stab at anyway.

From the cafe I took her out to the most famous bar (see review in earlier blog) in Rotterdam, the Witte Ape, where I've been before with Malt and Pdot. We had a great time getting bumped and jostled, chatting about the number of English people in the bar on a Friday night, and ended up dropping by a quieter place a little closer to home for one last drink. The grey goose and vodka earned her a headache in the morning but it went well with the salty peanuts and jazzy music.

The next morning we got up early and took a train to Amsterdam where we met Cananon. The three of us walked through the Jewish district through markets, over bridges and around buildings through the cold but sunny day. We stopped and had a late snack at a rustically beautiful restaurant (complete with resident Cat that was very cute and cuddly as it walked over peoples tables toward their cream desserts - you've got to love how the Dutch flaunt their flippancy toward what most North American restaurant's would perceive to be a health/cleanliness violation). After walking back into A’dam centrum we bought groceries for our huge vegetable pasta and a bottle of red wine from Argentina. Cananon and I (well maybe it’s just my doing) are choosing our wines as of late according to the label on the outside (I know, we’re regular connoisseurs). This one was a Malbec and had a beautiful tree on the outside.

After dinner, the night was still young and so we trekked out again (very close to the Dutch verb vertrekt meaning to leave) to enjoy the festivities of ‘Kermis’ which is a travelling carnival here in the Netherlands. The spectacle of the carnival was amazing as the flashing booths and glittering rides lit up against the night backdrop of Dam square. At their full height, the rides of Kermis rivalled the spires of the old Palace and roof tops of Madame Tussads Wax museum (buildings flanking the square). The three of us had all agreed that we wanted to ride the Ferris wheel however both Cescarina and Cananon wanted to ride 'Around the World'.

Now, we have travelling carnivals or fairs at home, yet this concoction of rides, games, and food would put any of those back home to shame! I tried to find out how tall the Ferris wheel was on line but it doesn’t give specifics (probably so as not to scare away any potential clients), but let me just say that it’s huge! I’d wager that at the top of the Ferris Wheel, you are 60 – 70 metres above the ground. Don't believe me? Check out this link to YouTube from another rider: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DJA-vOKZKuI
Back at Canada’s Wonderland (theme part in Southern Ontario, Canada), they have a similar ride to 'Around the World'. The ride consists of a centre column which lifts you up in the air (maybe 3 metres) and then rotates a plate on the top of the column around in a circle. Attached to this rotating plate are swings where people sit and are lifted up (3 metres) and then rotated around with the machine. It’s like swinging at a park but without having to do any work with your legs to stay in the air. At Canada’s Wonderland this ride is for younger children and nostalgic adults. This is not the case however with the Around the World here in the Netherlands.

This ride is built like the one back home but instead of going up 3 meters, you rise up 60 -70 meters! I’m not kidding. Picture yourself swinging (or being rotated at a fast speed, which joyously makes your seat rise even more) 60 meters above the ground in nothing more than a swing. As the ride started I grabbed Cananon’s hand (yes, Cescarina the brave, brave, brave soul went by herself). I was scared at the 20 meter mark, the 30, etc. but it just kept going higher! As we went up and up I kept saying (in between my high-pitched squeals, there was no dignity left at this point) ‘Weren’t not going higher are we?’ ‘How long is this ride going to go on?’ ‘Oh my god, when does this thing end!?!’ I actually managed to take one shot at the top before fear solidified all the muscles in my body. There we were overlooking Dam square - picture this - at the same height as the surrounding roof tops of the buildings, in nothing more than a bench with a single bar holding you in, with my feet dangling out into the black abyss, in the cold, windy night, for what seems like an hour (the ride went on for quite a while for those interested in having mild heart attacks)! I was FRIGHTENED TO DEATH the entire time, I mean literally, the entire time and it’s been quite a while since I’ve been this scared!

After, when Cescarina and Cananon and I were on the Ferris wheel (yes, we all survived), we took pictures from inside the safety of our cabin of the swings and found that the swings went higher than Ferris Wheel. And while they both felt very high, they have unequal feelings of safety as you’re warm and relatively safe on the one, and on the other you’re letting it ALL HANG OUT!

Needless to say this was the most frightening/death-defying experience that I’ve had since my arrival. However, back home in Rotterdam in the safety of my own bed, I think ‘Around the World’ should become a metaphor for how I conduct myself during fieldwork: living life at unexpected heights, on full-throttle, which at times may create feelings of being unsupported (being out there!), but knowing that after its all done, I will be happy at having succeeded (and having a great story to tell!).

Sniff, sniff, Cough, cough

I think I've heard something, somewhere that if you tire yourself out to no end (lack of sleep) and then push yourself hard while adding a nice, healthy dollup of stress - you'll have the perfect recipe for...a cold.

I have heard quite a bit of negative news related to other's health lately so I'll minimise the amount of complaining I'll dish out over the nasty thing brewing in my ears and my chest; however, on a day like today I can't help wishing that I could pay off a government official to import my mother as quickly as the oranges seem to arrive and have her flash back in time to when I was 6 and she thought that my whining was still a touch cute. Now that I think about it, the importation process of my Mother would probably be simplified for her considering at one point she did hold Dutch citizenship. I could probably take her advice on legal matters and have her vouch for me if it came to character witnesses for my residency permit (yep, still waiting).

As I type this it is almost 2am my time. I have no idea how and why I end up staying awake this long but you can be assured...it's partly the reason why it feels like a I have a small child sitting on my chest...at least it's not a mystery. I'll stop while I'm ahead maybe, since I have yet to receive my residency permit and I don't want to appear to any immigration officials as a health risk to the country (past Canadian outbreaks not withstanding).

Hi ho, hi ho, i'm in need of work, I know....

Work, work, work, it's all I ever think about! As I wait for my So-Fi (tax number) to come in (you need one of these if you're going to be hired anywhere in the Netherlands - legally), I reflect upon my rapidly dwindling savings account and ponder the fate of my research and my life here in the Netherlands if I am unable to find a job. My ability however to acquire gainful employment rests on my capacity to speak Dutch in most situations so even when and if I do obtain a So-Fi number, I will also have to look a little harder so that I can find a job that will take me in all my English-ness. But life goes on and I need to eat, pay rent, and buy new scribbling books so that I can continue jotting down my ideas while on the train, at a coffee shop or when I meet someone in the street. I'm not in red flag zone yet, and hopefully I'll have something that helps pay for food soon enough, it's just something niggling, nagging and prodding me constantly in the recesses of my mind. Always lingering like a festering sore eating away at the silver lining of my days here in the Netherlands. A bit too melodramatic? I know, it's not a life or death situation. But it makes doing fieldwork at home or in a place where one can barter for food/work a little more appetising. I wonder if someone here will barter for maple syrup…hmmm.