I would like to give all of you a rundown of the cycling community in The Netherlands. Everyone rides a bike. I mean everyone; men, women, children, elderly, wealthy people, and poor college students alike. It has nothing to do with social status, it is simply the quickest way to get from point A to point B. It seems as if people don't actually care how nice their bike is.
Today I saw a man in a 3 piece suit, overcoat, and Louis Vuitton "European shoulder bag" talking on his blackberry while riding a (pardon my language) POS bike. I wouldn't be caught dead on this rusted out poor excuse of transportation but there he was, just riding along enjoying his phone conversation.
There are roughly 17 million people living in the Netherlands with approximately 20 million bicycles. Parking a bike is like trying to find a parking spot during the first week of class at WMU. Nearly impossible and when you finally do find a parking spot, you end up a quarter mile from where you need to be. People park bikes anywhere and everywhere they can. I saw a bike locked to the door of a KFC at 2:00pm. Yes, the KFC was open and operating at the time.
Also, in "Central" which is what they call the downtown area of the city, bikes take precedent over everything. Cars slow down and pedestrians get out of the way when bikes are crossing the street. Some bikers are completely oblivious to their surroundings. With an Ipod blaring or in mid conversation on a phone, at any given time a biker could give a quick hand signal and shoot across the street without any thought of personal safety.
At first it was a little overwhelming to see a two lane-bike path with a painted center line, but then it hit me. Riding a bike in Utrecht is AWESOME! It's a playground for people who haven't quite grown out of adolescence. Granted, these are Euro bikes (similar to your grandmothers bike from 1950) so you can't exactly hit jumps or cruise at high speeds. But, you can enjoy a nice cruise with minimal stops and virtually no rules.
Like I said earlier, everyone owns a bike. There are no arguments over who will drive or who didn't pay for gas. We just hop on our second hand bikes and go. Whether we are riding to the University or to a local watering hole, I think deep down everyone has a moment of gratification knowing that this is real. Much like the feeling that child gets after being allowed to leave the neighborhood for the first time on a bike.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
First Day of Classes
The first day of classes started like any other first day of classes, except this time I was in another country. I woke up in the hostel next to a complete stranger (again) and started my day.
After I had eaten and prepared myself for the big day, I debated between riding the bus or taking my bike. I was thinking about taking the bus because it was 1 degree Celsius and I was feeling very lazy at the time but I decided to fight the cold and ride my bike. The ride to HU (Hogeschool Utrecht) takes about 20 minutes at a brisk speed. These are Euro bikes, so a "brisk speed" isn't very fast.
I had only been to HU by bike once and I was following a group of classmates, so I didn't pay much attention to where I was going. This time though, I found myself stuck behind a group of about 15 people who were all wearing backpacks. So, I figured they were students and decided to follow them. Luckily they were and leaded me directly where I needed to be.
Finding my class was not as easy as finding the University. I often walk into the wrong class at WMU let alone an entirely new set of buildings and hall structures. The Hogeschool Utrecht FEM building (Faculty of Economics and Management) is a beautifully constructed modern work of art (I will upload pictures later). The inner workings of the building are much like that of a labyrinth. Almost every floor is on a slpoe and each floor has a sub floor or a half floor assosiated with it. The place literally looks like a maze.
When I thought I was simply going to give up looking and walk back to the front receptionist and ask for directions, I saw a fellow classmate who I'd met a few days earlier. She informed me that she knew where the classroom was located and asked if I was lost. of course, I played it cool and told her that I also knew where the classroom was but just wanted to check out the rest of the building. She bought it.
We entered the class a few minutes late with some Dutch students and took a seat in the middle of of the lecture hall. This particular classroom was set up like any other small lecture hall I had visited in the past; stadium style seating, small tables that pull out to write on, projector in the front along with a small podium, etc.
As we began the first lecture, or as my fellow Dutch students say "List day" which refers to the syllabus, I started to settle into the seat as if I were back in the states. The professor spoke about how difficult it is to get the correct number of books ordered for the class, how he doesn't like the setup of the University's web access, and made a few jokes about people walking in late and sleeping in class.
The lecture continued for about an hour. In that hour we touched on a few main points the course will cover and started discussing topics that were familiar to me. I even shared my opinion a few times. For the first time in 4 days I felt completely comfortable in another country...
After I had eaten and prepared myself for the big day, I debated between riding the bus or taking my bike. I was thinking about taking the bus because it was 1 degree Celsius and I was feeling very lazy at the time but I decided to fight the cold and ride my bike. The ride to HU (Hogeschool Utrecht) takes about 20 minutes at a brisk speed. These are Euro bikes, so a "brisk speed" isn't very fast.
I had only been to HU by bike once and I was following a group of classmates, so I didn't pay much attention to where I was going. This time though, I found myself stuck behind a group of about 15 people who were all wearing backpacks. So, I figured they were students and decided to follow them. Luckily they were and leaded me directly where I needed to be.
Finding my class was not as easy as finding the University. I often walk into the wrong class at WMU let alone an entirely new set of buildings and hall structures. The Hogeschool Utrecht FEM building (Faculty of Economics and Management) is a beautifully constructed modern work of art (I will upload pictures later). The inner workings of the building are much like that of a labyrinth. Almost every floor is on a slpoe and each floor has a sub floor or a half floor assosiated with it. The place literally looks like a maze.
When I thought I was simply going to give up looking and walk back to the front receptionist and ask for directions, I saw a fellow classmate who I'd met a few days earlier. She informed me that she knew where the classroom was located and asked if I was lost. of course, I played it cool and told her that I also knew where the classroom was but just wanted to check out the rest of the building. She bought it.
We entered the class a few minutes late with some Dutch students and took a seat in the middle of of the lecture hall. This particular classroom was set up like any other small lecture hall I had visited in the past; stadium style seating, small tables that pull out to write on, projector in the front along with a small podium, etc.
As we began the first lecture, or as my fellow Dutch students say "List day" which refers to the syllabus, I started to settle into the seat as if I were back in the states. The professor spoke about how difficult it is to get the correct number of books ordered for the class, how he doesn't like the setup of the University's web access, and made a few jokes about people walking in late and sleeping in class.
The lecture continued for about an hour. In that hour we touched on a few main points the course will cover and started discussing topics that were familiar to me. I even shared my opinion a few times. For the first time in 4 days I felt completely comfortable in another country...
Monday, January 31, 2011
The Trip From Amsterdam
When we touched down in Amsterdam I let out a sigh of relief, knowing that I had almost made it. Much to my dismay, I hadn't. At the time I didn't realize my trip from the airport to my hostel would be much worse than the three flights.
I stepped off the plane and walked to the luggage area where my bags quickly came around the belt. I was relieved my luggage wasn't lost or damaged. Then exchanged US dollars to Euros and headed toward the symbol that looked like a train.
Mind you, I am still wearing the wool coat an untied shoes, but this time I picked up two over sized bags containing all my worldly possessions for the next five months. I have a very nice rolling suitcase with an awkward waterproof camping duffel bag stacked on top. These bags didn't get along so well. Every 50 to 100 meters I would have to stop and readjust something.
I finally purchased my train ticket and asked which train to take. The gentleman at the ticket booth told me I could take train number 1 or 2. Which came out as "Tram 1 da Tram 2, leaves in eight minutes." with a heavy accent. Confused as to which train I should take, I quickly ran down to loading area and awaited my train. Train 1 and train 2 boarded on separate sides of the station and, judging by the signs, it looked as if they went to two completely different places.
I hopped on train 2 because it was the first to arrive. Once on the train, I asked the man who checked my ticket "Sir, what stop do I get off?" and showed him my ticket. He simply held two fingers in the air and kept walking.
To make a long story short, I got off at the second stop and had to take two more trains to my final destination, Utrecht Centraal Station, where I could catch a bus to my hostel. I got on the correct bus and didn't pay (which I soon found out, could be a 45 Euro fine) but I didn't get caught. Thank goodness.
I got off the buss and walked a few hundred meters (I'm trying to get used to the whole metric system) in the wrong direction, of course, because I did the typical male "I can find it on my own". Soon after, I realized I couldn't, swallowed my pride and asked someone for directions. I am thankful that a large majority of Dutch can speak English.
Later on in the day I discovered that, if I would have jumped on train 1 instead of train 2, I could have had a direct ride to Utrecht Centraal Station... Regardless, I found my hostel and after 17 total hours of traveling was ready for a hot shower and a long nap.
I stepped off the plane and walked to the luggage area where my bags quickly came around the belt. I was relieved my luggage wasn't lost or damaged. Then exchanged US dollars to Euros and headed toward the symbol that looked like a train.
Mind you, I am still wearing the wool coat an untied shoes, but this time I picked up two over sized bags containing all my worldly possessions for the next five months. I have a very nice rolling suitcase with an awkward waterproof camping duffel bag stacked on top. These bags didn't get along so well. Every 50 to 100 meters I would have to stop and readjust something.
I finally purchased my train ticket and asked which train to take. The gentleman at the ticket booth told me I could take train number 1 or 2. Which came out as "Tram 1 da Tram 2, leaves in eight minutes." with a heavy accent. Confused as to which train I should take, I quickly ran down to loading area and awaited my train. Train 1 and train 2 boarded on separate sides of the station and, judging by the signs, it looked as if they went to two completely different places.
I hopped on train 2 because it was the first to arrive. Once on the train, I asked the man who checked my ticket "Sir, what stop do I get off?" and showed him my ticket. He simply held two fingers in the air and kept walking.
To make a long story short, I got off at the second stop and had to take two more trains to my final destination, Utrecht Centraal Station, where I could catch a bus to my hostel. I got on the correct bus and didn't pay (which I soon found out, could be a 45 Euro fine) but I didn't get caught. Thank goodness.
I got off the buss and walked a few hundred meters (I'm trying to get used to the whole metric system) in the wrong direction, of course, because I did the typical male "I can find it on my own". Soon after, I realized I couldn't, swallowed my pride and asked someone for directions. I am thankful that a large majority of Dutch can speak English.
Later on in the day I discovered that, if I would have jumped on train 1 instead of train 2, I could have had a direct ride to Utrecht Centraal Station... Regardless, I found my hostel and after 17 total hours of traveling was ready for a hot shower and a long nap.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
First day in Utrecht
Today started with a tiny bid of panic... After sleeping 4 out of the 9 hours on the international flight, we touched down in London at 10:13am local time. My next flight was from London international to Amsterdam which departed at 11:10am. Due to some sort of problem with the terminal, our plane didn't start unloading until 10:35.
On a side note, I was in the rear of a Boeing 777. Which meant there were plenty of people exiting the plane before me. Also, I was wearing a three quarter length wool coat with a dress shirt, blue jeans, and untied Reebok classics. I was carrying a 35 liter day pack along with a computer bag.
I didn't physically step off the plane until 10:43am. This allowed 27 minutes to find my terminal, gate, and flight before they stranded me high and dry (or standing on the ground). I was at a brisk walk from the gate to where I thought I needed to go and where I thought I needed to go really meant; I went the wrong way three or four times.
Soon after the mass confusion in the World's fourth busiest airport, I found my way to the correct terminal only to be stopped by a 20 person line for customs.
Those who don't know me, let me explain my perspiration habits. I sweat a lot. I'm not just saying that to sound funny, or make the situation sound worse. I really, really sweat a lot. I sweat when I walk. I sweat when I stand still. I sweat when I'm nervous, anxious, or simply excited.
So here I am, running through a very large airport, wearing heavy clothing, carrying too much to be comfortable. Then, coming to an abrupt halt at international security with roughly 15 minutes to catch my flight to Amsterdam.
Needless to say, I was a little nervous. Before I arrived at the scanner belt to load all my belongings, I had sweat through just about all of my clothing and was starting to feel a little woosey. Because; number 1. I thought I was going to miss my flight. Number 2. I hadn't eaten a good meal or drank a bottle of water in over 9 hours. And number 3. I didn't have a phone, nor anyone to call if I missed my flight.
Once through the checkpoint, I went the wrong way one more time and arrived at the appropriate gate at exactly 11:17am. MY FLIGHT WAS DELAYED 40 MINUTES AND WAS SCHEDULED TO LEAVE AT 11:50! I wasn't sure if I was over angered that I had to sprint through the airport or exuberantly happy that I didn't miss my flight. Regardless of what I felt at the time, I made it. In one piece and with all of my belongings.
The next step of the journey is another story to come...
On a side note, I was in the rear of a Boeing 777. Which meant there were plenty of people exiting the plane before me. Also, I was wearing a three quarter length wool coat with a dress shirt, blue jeans, and untied Reebok classics. I was carrying a 35 liter day pack along with a computer bag.
I didn't physically step off the plane until 10:43am. This allowed 27 minutes to find my terminal, gate, and flight before they stranded me high and dry (or standing on the ground). I was at a brisk walk from the gate to where I thought I needed to go and where I thought I needed to go really meant; I went the wrong way three or four times.
Soon after the mass confusion in the World's fourth busiest airport, I found my way to the correct terminal only to be stopped by a 20 person line for customs.
Those who don't know me, let me explain my perspiration habits. I sweat a lot. I'm not just saying that to sound funny, or make the situation sound worse. I really, really sweat a lot. I sweat when I walk. I sweat when I stand still. I sweat when I'm nervous, anxious, or simply excited.
So here I am, running through a very large airport, wearing heavy clothing, carrying too much to be comfortable. Then, coming to an abrupt halt at international security with roughly 15 minutes to catch my flight to Amsterdam.
Needless to say, I was a little nervous. Before I arrived at the scanner belt to load all my belongings, I had sweat through just about all of my clothing and was starting to feel a little woosey. Because; number 1. I thought I was going to miss my flight. Number 2. I hadn't eaten a good meal or drank a bottle of water in over 9 hours. And number 3. I didn't have a phone, nor anyone to call if I missed my flight.
Once through the checkpoint, I went the wrong way one more time and arrived at the appropriate gate at exactly 11:17am. MY FLIGHT WAS DELAYED 40 MINUTES AND WAS SCHEDULED TO LEAVE AT 11:50! I wasn't sure if I was over angered that I had to sprint through the airport or exuberantly happy that I didn't miss my flight. Regardless of what I felt at the time, I made it. In one piece and with all of my belongings.
The next step of the journey is another story to come...
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
first day of travel
Today started somewhat slow but, like any day of traveling, got hectic in a hurry. I finished packing all my bags, double checked my flights, and made sure I had all forms of identification in a safe, easily accessible place. By this time I was informed we had to leave for the airport.
My mother and I, picked up some jimmy johns and took the short trip to AZO (Kalamazoo's airport). We sat and chatted for a few, mostly about how neither of us could believe I was leaving the country for five months, a joke or two to ease the tension, and some old memories.
When the time came, we said our goodbyes and took a few farewell photos. No tears were shed, there were no regrets, simply the mix of anxiety, excitement, and fear that both of us would soon be experiencing.
I walked into the terminal and saw my mother waving from the other side like I did on my first day of school. It dawned upon that this is really happening. I'm actually going to be a foreigner living in someone else's country, abiding by their rules. Whoa
My mother and I, picked up some jimmy johns and took the short trip to AZO (Kalamazoo's airport). We sat and chatted for a few, mostly about how neither of us could believe I was leaving the country for five months, a joke or two to ease the tension, and some old memories.
When the time came, we said our goodbyes and took a few farewell photos. No tears were shed, there were no regrets, simply the mix of anxiety, excitement, and fear that both of us would soon be experiencing.
I walked into the terminal and saw my mother waving from the other side like I did on my first day of school. It dawned upon that this is really happening. I'm actually going to be a foreigner living in someone else's country, abiding by their rules. Whoa
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