Hello from sunny Amsterdam. I'm here now, a resident of this country. This snowy, smelly, foreign country. It's weird to be a resident of a place I feel no connection (nay, even resentment) to, more alarming than I would have thought. But, well, it's already been a big adventure, so while I sit here in the dark of my new "home" (home is where your stuff is, hearts do their own thing) I feel I should share my stories.
THE JOURNEY:
On Tuesday night I dropped off my keys at Warwick and began the grand adventure to Amsterdam. Let me break it down in sections.
Taxi- Warwick to Coventry
Rush hour. Awesome.
Train- Coventry station to London Euston
Fell asleep.
Underground- London Euston to Liverpool Street
Ask me how fun it is to travel up and down stairs between the different lines carrying a 50lb suitcase. Ask Ian how it feels to realize we just climbed an extra set of stairs (up and over and down again) to get to a track that is actually going in the wrong direction. Ahh, fun.
Train- Liverpool Street to Harwich
We met Jasmine in the train station. Then we got on our train, took some pictures, and got caught up on life over break. Off we went on our journey. We ate lots of candy and chatted, and I kept getting scared whenever a train would come the other direction and rattle our doors, much to the amusement of my companions. Well, we eventually arrived...
Ferry- Harwich to Hook of Holland
Let me tell you a secret. Have you ever thought of smuggling as a profession? For fun or profit? Just like the sound of being a proprietor on the Black Market? I found your new best friend. The Ferry. We got off the train and went to check in with the ferry people. They checked my passport, but I don't think the guy even looked inside Ian's or Jasmine's. They just let us on through. Then the baggage check. Let me take a time out to tell what we had. I had my huge rolling duffel bag and a backpack. Ian had a backpack and his manpurse, and my huge rolling suitcase, and Jasmine's bag. Jasmine had her purse, camera bag, and her rolling suitcase. They checked Jasmine's camera bag. And nothing else. So no one would have found the coke and pipe bombs and the midget in the rest of our bags... Nice.
Well, what can I say about the ferry trip. The ferry is HUGE. We were on the 8th floor, in our tiny bunk bed room. As soon as we got in we were like kids in a candy store. See facebook for photographic evidence of our mischief, but basically it involves a re-enactment of our class project where we climbed on furniture in odd ways. After this, we went for a walk. Checked out the duty free store, contemplated buying some waaaaay oversized bars of chocolate, but instead made our way to the bar. Where the bartender decided he loved us. Or, well, he loved Jasmine. Who doesn't, seriously, but I mean, this guy was intense. He even brought Jasmine behind the bar to show her how to change the temperature on the taps because, come on, what else turns on a lady? And she even got a free beer she got to pour herself, as Ian and I laughed uproariously and took many (blackmail) pictures. Well, they had their beers and I enjoyed my hot cocoa, and we were having a nice peaceful time watching the ship float away until... (dun dun dun!) the bartender's return. We had a nice chat with him, hearing about his many trips around the world, how he loved his life on the ship, and how he wanted to invite us to come back to his room to watch tv. Or, you know, if not all of us, then just Jasmine. He was nice enough, but persistent. He didn't leave until I convinced him that I "ate with both spoons" and wouldn't give Jasmine up for the night. After that he quickly packed it in, and we pretty much darted back to our own rooms to get what little sleep we could.
Train- Hook of Holland to Rotterdam to Amsterdam Centraal
Damn we woke up early. I thought Ian was going to die, he looked so miserable. Well, since no one checked our passports or luggage at immigration, we just waltzed off the ship and out into the frozen Holland morning to wait for the train. We made our way to Rotterdam in a pretty short ride. Then we had to switch trains and get one to Amsterdam. Get this: double decker trains! Which, unfortunately, meant stairs, and we couldn't get our luggage up or down, so we sat (slept, leaning on our stuff and each other) in the doorway. This ride was long, and again I thought Ian looks like he wanted to throw himself off the train rather than keep dragging my massive suitcase and having to stay awake. But we got him a seat, so hopefully he caught a little nap, and we did eventually make it to Amsterdam Centraal station. The mecca of all Amsterdam.
Taxi- Amsterdam Centraal to De Key
We took a taxi to the place to get our keys. The driver was rude.
Once we got to the key place, life got more awesome. Adorable tall accented men in skirts took our luggage, really tall men in furry hats directed us about, they gave us coffee and snacks and sat us at picnic tables until they could escort us about to sign our leases and register as citizens and get our keys. So cute. I was almost feeling good about things. Ha.
Bus- De Key to Stavangerweg
The packet from the leasing office gave us directions (Leave the building. Go left. The bus will pick you up under the windmill) and so we made our way to our new "home." Jas and I both want to cry when we call this place our home, so it will be our "home." Here is why.
From the outside, the buildings are kinda cute. Ish. They are white blocks stacked together (Mom found out more of the story. They are apparently Chinese shipping containers. No one wanted them, and they kept stacking up, so someone decided they should be made into student housing for immigrant children. And that is what they did. They might have considered recycling...) with some colored plexi glass on some of the windows to make them look friendly and rainbow-y. It took forever to find our respective rooms since the buildings are hardly marked, and forever to carry our massive bags to our rooms (both of us are on the third floor, but of different buildings, I think we can see each other's rooms across a courtyard (that is, third floor for you Americans, second floor for the rest of the world who don't count the ground floor as a floor. Cultural difference)). Ok, seems ok so far.
Inside they are hell. HELL. HEEELLLLLL. Jasmine and I both cried when we saw we had to live in them. What are we being punished for? Being foreign? Being students? Why?!
My floor is blue-ish grey vinyl that at some point must have been flooded because it is all puckered, and it had food spills on it. The walls are formerly institutional white but are scuffed. The bathroom has a tiny shower, though it was clean with a nice shower curtain. One of the light fixtures is just wires hanging out of the wall so its really dark. There are only screws where the toilet paper roll thing should be. But it is clean. I have one wardrobe, a bookshelf, a bed with the hardest but not the worst mattress ever, orange plastic kitchen chairs (think elementary school cafeteria), a kitchen table/desk, and a very ugly mini love seat bench thing. I have a fridge with no freezer (dirty), a two burner hob (dirty and doesn't get very hot but it works), a microwave (I tried to use it today for the first time and it blew a fuse so now I have no overhead lights or half my outlets (and they wont fix it until Monday) and it was really dirty), a sink, and a cabinet for all my food, dishes, and cleaning supplies. There once was a shelf above the kitchen, but it must have fallen, and rather than replacing it they spackled over it and now the wall is two-toned. And the place smelled like a boy. But, well, the heater works really well, and there are blinds on the windows, so I'll live. But, damn, you walk into a dark dirty place with, like food on the floor and no color anywhere and you just want to cry. Well, you don't just want to, you do. Jasmine's room is worse. Uglier furniture. Her wardrobe is a locker. Ugh.
But, there is a shining white knight in this story. And that knight is named IKEA. But, for now, you have the story of how I came to be in Holland. More to come:
Jo Takes On IKEA
Jo Finds Her School
Jo Visits The Red Light District
Everyone Has A Crush On Jasmine, Even (Especially) Gay Afghani Men
Stay tuned.
Shout out to Jasmine and Ian. I could not have gotten here without you. That's not a turn of phrase, that is the truth. And I'm so grateful for you both. And shout out to the kids in Helsinki, one of the other schools on my course. They arrived to their housing and found they had been provided walls, a floor, a ceiling, and nothing else. No beds. No lighting fixtures. I guess it kinda makes Stavangerweg seem palatial. You guys are troopers!
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