haikus produced en route

biking in utrecht

isn't as hard as it sounds -

you just pedal on

streets full of bike lanes

and bike specific street lights

make the city safe

daydreams possible

let your mind wander on wheels

thoughts jolted by bells

count the minutes
on a bike it's different

the seconds mean more

I wasn't expecting to miss you, Wi-Fi.

A short list of things I wasn’t expecting to miss:

1. The Internet. More specifically, the Wi-Fi. And even more specifically: the sense of constant connection, which is for some reason so reassuring. While the student house I stay in provided an ethernet cable, the connection has yet to feel constant. Opening a browser is a gamble each time. Sure, the symbol on my tool bar is full, but that is only occasionally an actual representation of the signal. 

“Why don’t you just get a router and guarantee a signal,” you’re probably asking yourself. You aren’t? Oh, well, okay.

I haven’t bought a router yet - I’m writing this on the second week of life here. (Publication time is obviously in the air, but I have it for the moment.) Each time I contemplate the minor purchase that would alter my daily habits, I feel this sense of guilt for pining after the world wide web. Then I pick up my novel and read a bit. Realizing that it’s almost over and it’s the second of the books I brought, I put it down and reflect. Then I wish it wasn’t raining and that I didn’t have a sore throat so that I could go out and explore my new city (and forget about my misconnections.) Then I think about what’s happening on my favorite photography sites, and of course, what the people of Facebook are discussing. 

The reason I wasn’t expecting to miss the Internet is two fold. Firstly, I wasn’t anticipating such problems with the accessibility. And secondly, I didn’t think I would feel the necessity of a connection - who wants to spend all of their time in a new country on the computer?! Not all of my time, but I now see that I need it. How else can I check my teacher’s emails, chat with Mom and Dad via iMessage or keep up with all of Knoxville’s conservative lawmakers? 

So yes, I confess, I miss the Internet.

2. Singing. No aspect of my American life required me to sing, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t doing it. I blame the increase of melodies in the last three months on Tori. If you haven’t yet heard that lady sing, hunt her down and request a rendition. The woman knows words to songs I haven’t heard in years. Knowing that I could never match her repertoire of lyrics, I took to incorporating diddies into conversation - just little things I was making up on the spot. I probably annoyed some of you. I know. Who really wants someone to sing to them when all the question requires is a simple yes or no? (I apologize if I ever really did frustrate you.) Maybe I’ll eventually feel comfortable enough with the people around me to risk singing, but for now I’ll remain a little reserved.

But it isn’t the simple, stupid melodious retorts I’m missing. I miss singing in the car. Driving anywhere alone meant I was singing to some CD. Please don’t take this repeated statement of my singing as a sign of boasting. I’ve never won a talent competition, and I was kicked out of high school choir. I just like singing, loudly, and I’m sure a lot of you can agree with me on this. I don’t have a car here, so there’s no safe place for me to really belt it out. I feel weird just humming on my bike ride to school - apprehensive that someone will assume I’m a loon. (I’ve not noticed anyone else singing on their bikes, so for now I stick to humming.) 

I could sing in my room, but there’s also another layer to this. Eliza told me to find new music so that I would be reminded of my adventure later on in life when I heard the song again. Most of the playlists I have synced to Spotify are new songs I found in January, so I’m still learning the words (which I will because I can’t access any other music, haha.) 

3. The yellow couch on the front porch of the home I won’t live in again. That sounds a bit melodramatic, I know. It’s a simple couch, but it’s been there for at least three years. It’s seen a lot of action; I’m sure it’s full of secrets. The material is scratchy, it’s not protected from the weather, but I always found it comforting.

I know that if it’s still there when I return, I will be invited to sit on it whenever I like, but it won’t be “my couch on my front porch.” I’m returning to the world of campus living and the R.A. life for my final year of university. (The Europeans refer to college as university, and I like it, so I’m using it. Do I sound posh? haha.) I already miss that house - full of people on a regular basis. People I cherish, who are quick with a joke and a hug, but only if you really need it. I miss the dark interior, the sketchy “garage” and the open basement doorway. Hmm, I wonder if they got that door put back. 

I miss the couch with its fantastic sunsets and gospel music on Sundays. And I miss the house. And the people in it (but I knew I would miss them.)

4. Slip-on shoes. I opted to only bring boots/boot-like shoes in anticipation of the rainy weather. Problem is, it’s not always raining here and three pairs of shoes seriously limit your outfit options. I have slippers for walking around the house, sandals for the shower, but I really want some informal shoes for walking down the street (and adding “flair” to my wardrobe, haha.) 

I’ll buy some shoes, just like my father suggested. I just wasn’t expecting to wish I had more pairs of shoes. 

Things I was expecting to miss but won’t because I have them here:

1. Guacamole. I have access to avocados, cilantro, garlic, limes AND TORTILLA CHIPS. I found those in the market the other day, and they ain’t expensive. It’s no Mexican restaurant with unlimited chips and salsa, but homemade will do. 

Speaking of Mexican restaurants, I realized the route to school has a place called Taco Mundo on it. I’ll letcha know how it is.

2. Things to do on the weekend. I was perfectly prepared to spend a lot of time by myself. Okay, no, I was not prepared for that. When I realized my original housing option would have left me alone an awful lot, I made arrangements to relocate. Now I have the option to retreat to my room, but with 30 people in this “house,” there is always something happening. 

Hans, who is about 25, described it perfectly: the epitome of student housing is coming home on a Tuesday night and finding the kitchen table covered in empty beer cans. 

If they drink beer on school nights, you know they’re probably drinking beer on the weekends. I think there’s actually a birthday party happening in the kitchen right now. It sounded like it was slowly getting started about an hour ago. 

On that note, I’m finishing this collection of thoughts.

xoxo//hc

eyes on utrecht // what i've been eating

Before I ventured abroad, I had this idea that the next six months would be full of foreign foods. After ten days in this new city, reality kicked in: I'm going to be cooking most of my meals. 

I live on a street with more fresh produce vendors than it knows what to do with. Five avocados for €1? Yes, please. A manic man trying to sell me mangoes every time I pass? Why not. There's a horse meat shop that I have little interest in and a bakery that sells the best bread I've ever eaten. 

Oh, and I should probably mention that most of these stores are owned and operated by people who have migrated to The Netherlands from places like Morocco and Iran. I was informed that my new home is a little bit foreign for even the Dutch, which really doesn't affect me because I can't speak either of those languages. Luckily, everyone has enough English that I'm not completely helpless. 

But back to the cooking and eating. I share a kitchen with 15 other people. If I use more than one pan for a meal, I feel guilty that I'm denying someone the tools to cook. (This has yet to be an actual problem; I'm not sure where the apprehension comes from.) By the end of the day, the majority of the dishes in our kitchen have been used. It's been interesting to share a space with students from other countries. Their go-to, know-it-by-heart recipes are obviously so different from mine. 

Jingeol, from South Korea, prepares Asian food with chopsticks. Mustafa, from Denmark, uses coconut milk instead of water for his basmati rice. Hans, from Germany, has snagged some fantastic discounted pizzas from the supermarket. I clearly have a lot to learn. 

My vegetarian diet has been noticed by most. It's kind of hard to miss when I'm peeling and chopping vegetables for dinner. If you've been around me, you might have seen me take a bite of a hamburger (or eat an entire turkey leg at Thanksgiving, a fact that my best friend continually reminds me about.) The vegetarian, pescatarian if we're gettin' technical, diet isn't for the animals. It's just something I've been doing for the past six years, and that's why I didn't say no to that kroket. 

Here's proof that I've been eating:

This was my first meal in Utrecht. I got to the city later than I expected. Night had fallen, I didn't understand the Dutch street signs and the hostel seemed to be miles and miles away while I rolled my fifty-pound suitcase down the sidewalk. After finally finding my lodging, I needed sustenance. I found Café Hofman and took a seat at the bar. A few sips of the Belgian beer, Cuvee du Chateau, and I didn't feel so cranky. The bartender handed me a menu with an apology that it was in Dutch and a promise to help me when he returned. I guessed that the first two items were bread and soup, so I just asked for that. The celery soup was delicious - creamy with perfectly balanced flavors. Celery makes me apprehensive, but it was reassuring and homey in this recipe. The bread basket came with two olive relishes and a beet spread. All three successfully complimented the fresh bread. A fantastic first meal.

Back to that kroket I mentioned. The fried stick on the left is typical Dutch street food. At the international orientation, we were offered meat krokets. (I think that I'm calling this the right thing.) I burned my tongue with the first bite - always remember to break a fried stick open to let the steam out. The soup was a tomato-based broth, topped with sliced leeks and crunchy croutons. 

I moved into my new home on Saturday evening. Too tired to cook, I snagged falafel from one of the cafes on my street. This pesto pasta was cooked on Sunday. I didn't do much to make this happen other than boiling water and slicing the cherry tomatoes. The pesto was pre-made and pasta is impossible to ruin. I did pick out the bread from the bakery - two 8-inch loaves cost me 80 cents! 

Fries. With mayonnaise. All you mayo-haters can look away, but if you're with me on this condiment, high five for you. If you ask for naked fries, the vendor will 1) be flabbergasted and 2) will probably curse you and your family. The Dutch like mayonnaise. Granted, it's got a lot more flavor than any of the American store-bought jars I've ever tried. (Homemade mayo/aioli in this situation obviously doesn't count.) The fries aren't too thick, they're perfectly crunch and you eat them out of a paper cone with a little wooden two-pronged fork. Dip each in the mayonnaise. Avoid touching your tongue to the wooden fork - feels real weird. Repeat. I've seen more fry vendors than McDonald's (thank God.)

 This is the last/latest food picture I've taken. After an all-you-can-eat sushi dinner at Sumo, I ordered two scoops of ice cream. The orange is mango and the grey is black sesame. Both were delicious. Oh, you want to know more about the unlimited sushi? Hmm, well, you can choose five items from the menu in each round. You're entitled to as many rounds as you can manage, but you can't stay longer than three hours. The menu included other Asian things like fried rice and ramen, but I stuck to sushi. Henni and I shared most of the things we ordered. She tapped out after nearly choking to death on a shrimp egg roll. Not an egg roll, but a roll (or seaweed pocket, rather) topped with shrimp eggs. 

I'll keep you posted as I try more typical Dutch cuisine.

xoxo//hc