The Stolen Bike: A Rite of Passage

The expatriate life can be a tricky, emotional journey. If you're like me, with strong family and friend ties to the land from which you came, it often feels as if you're caught between two worlds. I seem to go back and forth between being ecstatic to live in Amsterdam and missing Minnesota to the point where my heart aches.

You see, on one hand, Amsterdam is most certainly my home. In late August 2013, I became an registered Amsterdammer (you may recall the post written excitedly after mijn verblijfsvergunning is ingewilligd). I've since planted roots by personalizing our flat, starting a job, and paying taxes here among other things. All the signs point to the fact that Amsterdam is my home, and most days I feel this way too.

On the other hand, I have moments when I wonder what exactly I'm doing here, and why I chose to move an ocean away from so many that I love (I'm pretty sure that just returning from a week in Florida with my family has something to do with these feelings rising to the surface). While I have become accustomed to the many differences between my old home and my new home, I don't necessarily feel that I fit in with Dutch culture and have realized that I'll never fully feel like a Dutch woman. 

Yes, being an expatriate has its ups and downs. And yesterday, I experienced a combination of both feelings in the event I'm now referring to as "The Stolen Bike: A Rite of Passage." As I'm sure you know, Amsterdam is full of bicycles. In fact, the data I find tells me that there are as many bikes as people, if not more, in Amsterdam proper. That said, I'm not sure why bicycle theft is such a problem since the research indicates everyone already has a bike, but unfortunately it is, and unfortunately I'm not immune to it.

My first bike in Amsterdam got me safely to my first wedding,
but ended up costing more money and causing more trouble than it was worth.

About two months ago, I purchased a brand new, shiny bike to replace the used bike that was starting to give me more trouble than it was worth. My goodness, how I loved my new ride. It was an omafiets (direct translation: grandma bicycle) which means that it had pedal brakes and no gears ... just an average yet beautiful street bike like the one your grandmother rode when she was young (or something like that). 

This empty space on the sidewalk is where my bike should be.

Imagine my disappointment when the husband and I walked down the stairs with a picnic in tow to find an empty sidewalk where my bike should have been. I was incredibly bummed. Not only were we no longer going to be able to ride to the Amstelpark and enjoy a picnic in the sun surrounded by budding flowers, but my beloved bicycle was gone. And probably forever.

It was then, well actually it was after a few tears were shed, that the husband tried to spin the event in a positive light (I think my gratitude project is having an effect on him as well). He shared the story of when his bike was stolen a few years back, he reminded me of our other friend's bike that was stolen a few months ago, and both stories then caused me to remember another friend who had her bike stolen this week. He helped me realize that as much as a stolen bike really, truly sucks, I have now gone through the Amsterdam rite of passage to become a true Amsterdammer. It's just too bad that I'm now an Amsterdammer without a bicycle.

So here I am, about to spend my afternoon looking for a new bike and reflecting to see if there is a lesson I can take away from this (a lesson besides the fact that it's probably a good idea to lock my bike to a rack instead of just to itself). What I'm finding is that no matter how comfortable I may feel some days, there are bound to be other days when I feel out of place. As happy as I am to be starting a marriage with the love of my life, there will always be part of me that misses my other loves across the ocean. The lows will continue to accompany the highs, but what matters most is how I choose to view the events that happen to me. So today, I choose to feel like a true Amsterdammer, to find a new set of wheels to take me where I need to go, and to enjoy my life as an expatriate.

Shopping in Amsterdam: A Love / Hate Relationship

I have a love / hate relationship with shopping in the Netherlands. I definitely love the abundance of flower stands and open air markets, but unfortunately the shopping is not all sunshine and tulips. Growing up in the States, I've been pretty spoiled by the convenience of American shopping. Shopping in Amsterdam, however, is a completely different story, and I attribute this to three main reasons:

1.) The hours and days of operation
2.) The store-specific availability of products
3.) The reality that I have to carry all purchases on my bike

In Amsterdam, most shops are open Monday through Saturday, from 9 or 10 am until about 6 pm. Grocery stores are an exception, opening for limited hours on Sundays, and often staying open until 10 pm every other day of the week. Another exception is Thursday, when stores will stay open until 9 pm to accommodate shoppers who work during normal shopping hours. Shops in Amsterdam's center are also open on Sundays, but believe me that unless you can navigate through crowds of tourists or fully embrace the virtue of patience, you'll want to stay far away.

At first, I perceived these limitations as inconveniences ... and I hated them. But then I changed my mind. I realized that they aren't necessarily inconvenient, they just mean that shopping has to be more of a planned activity. It also means that people are spending their time doing things other than working or shopping on evenings and Sundays. And I think we can all agree to love that, right?

Another thing that took some getting used to was going to many stores to acquire everything on my shopping list. Very often, my shopping list looks something like this:



In the States, this is a one-stop shopping list. In Amsterdam, however, I have to go to at least three stores to make these purchases ... possibly four if the grocery store doesn't have the specific light bulb I'm looking for. It's making these multiple stops to cross everything off my simple list (this is a pretty simple list, right?) that I like least about Amsterdam shopping.

I'm getting used to it though. And I'm actually starting to love the fact that Amsterdam doesn't have the one-stop everything stores so commonly found in the States. Instead, the city has a whole slew of neighborhood shops that specialize in specific items and offer a huge variety. While it takes a bit more effort, I never have to bike more than 1 km (or just over half a mile) to find all the items on my list. Plus, my neighborhood's butcher shop, seafood shop, cheese shop, flower shop, and pet shop (to name just a few) easily allow me to shop local and interact with store owners who are (usually) more than happy to help me make the best selection for my needs.

Lastly, there's the bike situation. This one is mostly love. I love being able to hop on my bike to go shopping. I love relying on my own legs to get me where I need to go, and I love getting exercise and fresh air while doing so. I also love that only being able to carry so much means that the husband and I buy groceries more frequently, and that this results in us buying more fresh foods.

There are times, of course, when I hate it. This mostly happens when it's raining, my bike decides to give me troubles, or I have a long list of items to buy resulting in multiple trips back to the flat. Like that one time I was planning a wedding and had to get ten vases back to our flat without breaking them. In the rain. Uphill both ways. Ok, maybe that last part wasn't true, but at that moment I was in the thick of my hate relationship with Amsterdam shopping. Thankfully, these times are few and far between. Usually, I'm the girl with my tote full of goods, slightly annoyed from going to a variety of stores, but mostly just happy to biking home in my new neighborhood.

Did we just skip winter?

This post is in no way intended to make my North American readers (especially those so affected by the polar vortex) feel jealous. But it probably will. So for that, I'm sorry.

Amsterdam is all green grass, blue skies and cherry blossoms this winter.

There were a handful of things that made me feel worried about moving to the Netherlands, and two in particular plagued my mind the most. The first was the fact that I was going to be living so far away from my friends and family with no real date set for when I would live near them again. The second was the weather.

The months I had spent in Amsterdam prior to my move evoked the second worry. My visits were either warmer than I preferred, wet and rainy, or colder than I preferred, wet and rainy. I vividly remember that excited feeling I had while packing for my first summer in Amsterdam, carefully folding all my sundresses, skirts and tank tops, throwing in a few cardigans for the colder days, and tucking my sandals along the side of the suitcase. I was so enthusiastic about spending the summer with my man, cruising around on my bike wearing a flowery dress, lounging in the park wearing a flowery dress, drinking coffee or beer at a café in the sunshine wearing a flowery dress ... you get the idea. That said, I also vividly remember that disappointed feeling I had while buying a completely new wardrobe once I arrived, a wardrobe that consisted of jeans, sweaters, scarves and closed-toed shoes. You see, I like my summers to be in the high 70s if we're talking Fahrenheit, in the mid 20s if we're talking Celsius, and full of sunshine no matter what. Anticipating that my summer temperatures would now be in the high 60s if we're talking Fahrenheit, right around 20 degrees if we're talking Celsius, and often accompanied by a chance of showers didn't exactly thrill me.

And the winters? Well, while the two Januarys (Januaries? I don't think I've ever written the plural of a month ending in y before) I spent in Amsterdam were warmer than pretty much any January in Minnesota, the warmer weather usually just meant that it rained more. Plus, it was still cold. Not necessarily freezing, but still cold. Now, it does snow in Amsterdam, and every few years the canals freeze over lending themselves to a fantastic skating experience I've yet to behold, but my short rendezvous with Amsterdam winters had mostly left me feeling like a shivering, drowned rat (pictured in this post).

So just imagine my surprise! My excitement! My elation! When I discovered that my worries about the weather were all for naught. This summer in Amsterdam was absolutely beautiful, and I took full advantage of this by basking in the sun on my balcony, picnicking in the park, and drinking coffee and beer at cafés in the sunshine. My only regret was that I neglected to pack my full collection of sundresses when I moved, thinking that they would spend most of their time hanging in my closet, taunting me every time I reached for a long-sleeved shirt instead.

And this winter? Well, I think we actually may have skipped it. As of now, we've only had a handful of days during which the lowest temperature dipped below freezing, and the maybe two not-even-worth-talking-about snowfalls lasted about five seconds with all flakes melting before they hit the ground. At first, I wasn't so happy about the lack of snow (I like my winters white ... and am beginning to realize that I have quite a long list of preferences regarding the weather), but now that we approach March and I find myself biking to work without gloves, I'm starting to change my mind.

If we did, indeed, skip winter, you won't hear me complaining. If this phenomenal Dutch weather continues, I may write off that initial worry altogether. And if you're looking for a reason behind this great weather, well, I like to think I brought it with me.

(Some of) My Shmamsterdam Truths

This has been one crazy week so far. My life's busy factor has been off the charts and I've hardly found time to cook dinner let alone write a blog post. Tonight, however, the husband has a haircut appointment and I'm doing everything in my power to stay awake until he gets home. So, here is the fruit of my efforts: a post on some Shmamsterdam Truths. I've decided to call them Shmamsterdam Truths instead of Amsterdam Truths because, well, even though I've found them to be true, they might not be true for everyone.

This fall, I bought a pair of jeans from H&M. Now I know you're probably thinking that H&M jeans wear out faster than any other brand, and that very well might be the case, but I buy H&M jeans all the time so I am well aware of their shelf-life. This pair of jeans, however, black jeans with the small zippers on the bottoms of the legs, started pilling in the bum area quite quickly. Was it from sitting on the floor with my nanny kids? Was it from spending to much time sitting on the couch looking for jobs (ok, and maybe watching some TV too)? I just couldn't figure what had caused my jeans to deteriorate so quickly, so I let it go. That is, I let it go until I bought another pair of jeans and the same thing happened. I then realized that this strange phenomenon is likely due to the fact that I bike everywhere.

So there you have it, wear and tear from the bike seat is causing my jeans to fall apart. Maybe it's time to invest in higher quality jeans after all.

This statement is actually a bold-faced lie because the other day, someone did. I had plans to get together with an American girl who was a friend of my friend's friend who I had met once in New York (you can draw a diagram if that helps your comprehension) when I received a message from her asking if we could reschedule due to forecasted rain. Seems normal enough, I suppose, but rain is just not something you can plan around in Amsterdam. In Amsterdam, rain is part of everyday life and you just have to deal with it. I even remember telling the husband, who was getting ready for work at the time, "I don't have plans anymore, we rescheduled because of the rain." He looked at me, baffled, and let out a chuckle.

So there you have it, no one will ask you for a rain check in Amsterdam (unless they are a new expatriate).

I can still vividly remember one special morning this fall. The sun was shining, the air was crisp, and I was finally finally feeling really good about myself on the bicycle. Cycling in Amsterdam has been a bit of a challenge for me. It seems that every time I had started to get really comfortable navigating the roads, traffic, and other bikers, my trip would come to an end and I would have to go back to Minnesota. But by the time this autumn rolled around, I had had months of practice, my confidence had reached new levels, and there was no looming plane ticket to interrupt my success. At this point I was an Amsterdam resident, and biking was now, officially, part of my life. This particular morning, I was biking to a nannying job along one of those roads that had left me with white knuckled hands gripping the handlebars in the past. But today, I was at ease ... until a kid who looked about six years old (and his dad) came up from behind and passed me right by.

So there you have it, there's nothing like a young kid cruising by on his bike to trample all over your accomplishments. Though, he's probably been biking since he was four which means he has at least one more year of experience than I.

The reason my week has been so hectic is because I accepted a substitute teaching position at an international school. Every day this week, I am in the classroom teaching second graders. It has pretty much quadrupled my normal week's workload and at least quintupled my normal week's excitement factor. On my first day, one of the students celebrated his birthday with a fruit tray and homemade cupcakes brought in by his mother. Did you catch that? Homemade cupcakes! Can you remember the last time any type of homemade food was allowed in a school? I'm probably only talking to Americans when I ask this, but seriously, I think it was more than twenty years ago that they stopped allowing us to bring in homemade treats. At first, I thought it was poisoned, naturally, but I'm still alive to talk about it, so it was just a delicious cupcake after all.

So there you have it, I'm living in a land where students can bring homemade treats to school ... and I'm teaching in a school so I get to eat them. No complaints here!

A Seven-Month Reflection

I totally meant to write this post at the six month mark, but the month of December completely got away from me as far as blogging goes. So, without further ado, here it is:

The view from our apartment in summer.

This Saturday, I will have officially spent seven months living in Amsterdam. I will have spent seven months living without a clothes dryer or a microwave. Seven months in an apartment with one (one!) tiny, built-in closet. Seven months without measuring cups or spoons. And seven months in a country that doesn't sell ingredients I had never thought twice about before, like corn syrup, baking soda, and monterey jack cheese, yet has a whole section devoted to black licorice.

No thank you.

For seven months I've dearly missed my family, my friends, and the countless delicious flavors of single serving yogurt cups. Oh yea, and I've spent an outrageous amount of money at the foreign food store to by some must-haves from home (would you believe that a box of graham crackers is €9 and Kraft macaroni & cheese nearly €4?).

I've also spent seven months turning a new apartment into a home, finding creative solutions to the lack of storage space and learning how to practice a more minimalistic lifestyle. I've spent seven months trying new recipes, new ingredients and new ways of cooking. I've spent seven months relying on my legs and my bicycle to get me just about everywhere I need to go. Seven months searching for a job and overcoming frustration to develop my patience. Seven months discovering a new city, experiencing a new culture, and making new friends. And did I mention that I've spent the last seven months living with a boy?

Our cozy home decorated for Christmas.

These first seven months have been quite the ride, not to mention quite the adjustment period. It's been difficult to be so far away from my family and friends, but thanks to strong relationships and modern technology, I am able to stay connected. And yes, it may be easy to rattle off the things that I miss about home in Minnesota, but I can just as easily rattle off the things I miss about the other homes I've made in Chicago and South Korea. Plus, I know that if I were to move back right now, I would have a whole new list of the things I miss about Amsterdam.

So, as I close this chapter of my first months in Amsterdam, I keep myself open to new experiences and will continue to adapt the best I can. I have a good feeling for my future here and am excited to see what it has in store. (Hopefully it includes a teaching position).

Oh to be Dutch!

The first time I came to Amsterdam for an extended period of time was in January 2012. I spent this month not only getting to know the husband better, but looking at the city with a critical eye. Could I live here? Could I fit in here? Do I want to live and fit in here? While mulling over these questions and exploring my surroundings, I made a few observations about Dutch people, and about Dutch women in general.

The first thing I noticed was that Dutch women are tall. In fact, Dutch people are tallest in the world. With my five foot two inch (or 157 centimeter) frame, it was blatantly obvious that no, I would not be fitting in this way. But, let's be realistic, my height has never helped me fit in anywhere but South Korea. So, while this didn't have much impact on my decision to move here, it has impacted my life a bit. I now find myself looking at a lot of shoulders. I find myself avoiding concerts that are standing room only because, well, staying at home and listening to a live album is better than listening to live music while getting pushed around and staring at someone's back. I also ask for a lot of help reaching things off the highest shelf at the supermarket. Things could definitely be worse.

Another thing I noticed was that most Dutch women seemed very relaxed in their style. While my winter wardrobe at the time consisted mainly of dresses and big sweater cardigans with knee high boots, the common uniform of Dutch women seemed to be jeans and sweaters with ankle boots or sneakers. Their style gave the appearance of ease. They looked comfortable and casual, as if they dressed without effort. As for hair and make-up, well, there seemed to be little fuss made over either. Even while out on a weekend night, the majority of women were wearing casual clothes and minimal make-up, their hair tied up in a no-fuss bun.

I realize that describing the style of Dutch women in one paragraph is risky, a sweeping generalization, but my observations gave me the overall feeling that Dutch women are much less maintenance than women in the States. I found it refreshing. And then I found out why.

After trying very hard and to no avail, I realized that it's the long legs of Dutch women that make jeans with sneakers or ankle high boots look stylish. My legs, on the other hand, legs that require each and every pair of pants I buy to be hemmed by at least two inches, don't. They just don't. So, though I may be one of the only, I'll be that girl in the café wearing tall boots with heels.

Secondly, in a city that experiences frequent rainy weather and relies on bicycles as a main mode of transportation, doing your hair and make-up is just not worth it. Take today, for example. I started out having a great hair day. My locks were blown sleek and smooth, and my bangs were obeying my wishes. Then I went on a bike ride. And even with my scarf wrapped carefully around my head, I ended up looking like this:

Not impressed.

Bangs wet and plastered to the face, hair weirdly waved and stringy, and new jeans soaked through, dying my legs blue. But as far as biking-in-the-rain days go, today was a pretty good day. There have been other days when I've reached my destination looking like this:

Even less impressed ... and a little sad.

A picture is worth a thousand words, so I'll spare a lengthy analysis and sum it up: Dutch women don't spend too much time fussing with their hair and make-up because they're smart. They know chances are good that the seemingly ever-present clouds will just ruin whatever effort they put forth, so they choose to avoid the hassle and the disappointment.

As for me? Well, I'm proving that I can live here, but I'm not sure that I can fit in completely (and not just because I'm short). As nice as it would be to embrace the Dutch female mentality, I'm probably going to keep doing my hair and wearing mascara because gosh darn it, I like to. And I'm also going to keep wearing my dresses and tights ... because they dry faster.