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.