"...tell me,

what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?"

a history lesson

'Ghost of Amsterdam' photo series

I keep thinking about this link that Casey sent me a few months back.

We had to do a little research last week about our neighborhoods — I hadn’t thought a whole lot about my immediate area (it’s an inconspicuous residential street that connects to a drag of vintage shops, late night snack joints and coffeeshops) because it seemed so quiet and quaint. In my searching, I found out that the vicinity of my abode is home to such a sad story —

The Gassan Diamond Factory

Though my building was built in the 1920s, the row of houses across from us was erected in the 1600s. They acted as warehouses and tenement houses back in the day when this was the bustling Jewish quarter. On the same street was the Waterlooplein market, the center of commerce for the neighborhood’s population (it has since moved a few streets down). A few houses down stands a former diamond factory, a huge source of economy for the people who lived in the area. Interestingly, my street is technically on an island, cut off on the sides and ends by canals (former swamp land, I was told). It was here during WWII that the Nazi’s cut off bridge access on both sides, trapping a large portion of the Jewish population before taking them away. A few blocks away, a statue called De Dokwerker stands to commemorate the February Strike, the first action taken by non-Jews to protest the Nazi treatment of the Jewish population in all of occupied Europe (the strike was quickly squashed). The neighborhood was pillaged and, after the war, the Jews who returned relocated to a different part of the city.  We visited the Dutch Resistance Museum this afternoon and located my street on a map in the exhibit — it had one of the highest population densities of Jewish inhabitants who, literally, vanished in a night.

The small bridge as you step out my front door.

It’s chilling to have those images in the back of my mind as I ride my bike home in after dark. I pass the diamond factory on my right, now open for tours — and a building or so away are photographic murals of the Waterlooplein market taken before the war.  I can’t help but to reflect on how quiet it always is as I roll along… and I can’t help but to go back to that old adage, “if walls could talk…”

when it's over, so they say, it'll rain a sunny day

It's the rainy season around these parts — here's  to our trench butts, foggy glasses, soggy notebooks and temporary vitamin D deficiencies. Cheers!

Job requirements: write, photograph… mop up blood?

“These are gezellig, no?”  asked one of the girls. Using the beloved Dutch term to describe something that's cozy, amiable, or simply that warm fuzzy feeling, she flicked a pair of crusty cut socks across the table.  “Without putting those on before you bout,” said Jen — the president of the Amsterdam Derby Dames — grabbing at the limpy, makeshift skate-toe covers, “you’ll go through a pair of skates reallllllly fast.” 

These Dutch are a funny bunch — mostly of a nationally conservative, straight-laced mindset and no bullshit mentality, they still do enjoy their fun, namely of the gezellig variety: i.e. small cafes, warm pubs and a quiet evening with friends. I had to laugh. Something tells me that a hoard of screaming women on skates — especially in stinky socks — would not typically be defined as gezellig by the average tight-lipped Dutch man. 

___________________________

I hopped on tram 14 last Thursday night, armed with a map big enough to wrap my soggy bod in and an address of an elementary school gym. Somewhere at the end of the line waited the Amsterdam Derby Dames; between us, 16 stops and the woman next to me that reeked of wet dog. 

Earlier in the day I had received an e-mail back from Jen, their Dutch-born team president with a Texas twang (seriously, talk about them apples), inviting me to come to their practice for a chitchat. We were going to talk details about my practicum, my internship component of this semester. Because I’m focusing on sport sociology, I thought what better way than to kill two birds with one stone: a) get a head start on my independent research and b) live vicariously through them and my love of all things bloody, bruised and bedazzled?

After hopping off the tram and splaying this ridiculous map across the sidewalk (how I didn’t laughed at or mugged is beyond me), I meandered past a few swing sets and behind a building where Jen met me at the door. Inside were about 10 other girls getting booted up — expats of all kinds — all equally clad in stripes, tattoos and sass and greeting me with, “ohh hallooo!”s and “where are you from?”s and more importantly, “are you here to skate?!” I was bear-hugged by two other American gals (another of the Texan variety, and one from New Hampshire who lives in spitting distance from me at home) and then gave them my schpeel about why I was there, soaking wet in a pink rain jacket and sans wheels.

My project topic isn't totally nailed down yet — there is still a lot of discussion to be done with my advisors and such... but going off of my capping project, I'm aiming for photo component in conjunction with the required 50ish page paper. My interest is in 'doing gender,' in the derby world but I haven't nailed down in which way I want to look at it yet. But, now that I've been given the green-light and can entrench myself within their ranks, it'll give me a better feel of the make up of this crazy roller derby world and how these women function in it.

And they were AWESOME. On the sidelines we talked music and shared stories of war wounds and discussed the Amsterdam life. A year ago, they were the first team in Holland; now, there are seven or eight others. They told me how their first skates were made out of army boots with wheels attached because the skate shops didn't carry what they needed, and how they now have a waiting list to join the Fresh Meat — the rookie — group. A reporter came to talk to them a little bit after I had arrived. Though they seemed to have these larger-than-life personalities, they were humble and spoke passionately to her about the derby sport. "We're a bunch of misfits," one girl mentioned. It was cool to see: that these kids from around the world somehow all ended up in this tiny school auditorium, dressed in tutus and loving the fact that they had found their perfect niche. I hoping I've found one too.

 

i should probably take some canal pictures

Protesting in Dam Square

a quickie

I can see the bell tower from my three attic windows. It chimes on the hour, with the number of tolls denoting the time. This morning the first chime woke me up. The second chime jarred my consciousness a bit more; by the third, I was counting them with dread. The fourth, I could swore it HAD to be the last one; then the fifth — no way could it be past 5:00 a.m — at six, I flipped over and started cursing and on toll seven, I growled myself awake and kicked the covers off. With chunks of reading to do and a few hours to do it, I threw on some deceptively unsensible shoes (little did I know that later, one of the laces would get caught in my pedal while going full-speed, nearly turning me into a blonde-kamikaze) hopped on my bike (!)  and rolled through the streets to Bagels & Beans, a canal-side café a few blocks from school. Amazingly, the sun finally came out in blinding fashion. I’m thankful for that, and the fact that the trams have outstanding brakes…

The past few days have been steady flow of getting settled, getting oriented, and getting fed (literally, carbocide. And I’ve never ingested so much cheese in my life). My host moeder, Yvonne, is a lovely lady who’s been whipping up curries and veggies for our nightly dinner dates and spinning tales with no definite middles or ends. We drank tea and watched the news together earlier, with her translating news on Egypt and criticizing the coifs of the featured political figures. School-wise, my group had a scavenger hunt day last weekend, with my two of my mystery addresses to locate ended up being a quaint Buddhist tea-house and a hardcore leather shop (the task came complete with directions to “bring something back for the group.” Alas, my lunch budget couldn’t cover 10 pairs of leather chaps). We’ve been roaming about, starting the first few classes, attending lectures, embracing the “gezellig” and struggling to differentiate my “v’s” from our “w’s” — I’m pretty sure that mine come out somewhere between a lisp and a spit. I do enjoy the Dutch language though. It’s kind of like a funny, bastardized form of English with a hearty, gutteral chutzpah deserving of a outfit complete with a top-hat and monacle. Basically.

I'll get better at updating this baby — I e-mailed my practicum contact, so hopefully good news will be coming on that front soon. :) For now, I need sleep so I can get up and do the dreaded bell-tolling ritual all over again. But tomorrow: I will properly tie my shoes. And wear sunglasses. And avoid trams, pedestrians, bikers, cars and all other non-padded obstacles.

Perfect.

another reason to learn dutch

We finally arrived at the SIT headquarters today, a beautiful flat in the city center over-looking the Herengracht, one of the main canals. After storing some luggage, Hannie, one of our directors, approached me with this morning’s paper that she had saved for me: a spread featuring the Dutch national women’s rugby sevens team! I’ll admit it: I squealed, probably to everyone's alarm. From the gist of the article, they got their start in 2009 and are hoping to make the 2016 Olympic bid… And, according to Hannie, something about how a lot of the women seem to be veterinarians (I’m wondering if the term ‘veteran’ got lost in translation?).

Further proof that women's rugby is taking over the world, one day at a time

It got the gears turning — if this is a fledgling team looking for support and exposure, I wonder how accessible they are? And if indeed they are, and they are as local as they seem to be — can I go work with them for my ISP? Slash get all of their rugby secrets and smuggle them home back home to America. Bwahah.

In terms of a daily round-up, this morning we hung out in a little village full of windmills and ate some ballin’ cheeses today. After trooping to the city, we went to photo exhibit at the Melkweg gallery that featured portraits of transgendered folk and then proceeded to the hostel where I hit my bed like a ton of bricks. Woke up thinking it was tomorrow, and when I realized it was indeed not, reveled in the fact that I seemingly got 12 or so hours of my life back...  love when that happens.

I'll hopefully be getting solid internet access in a few days so I will be more Skypeable... hope to see some pretty faces soon. :) Until then, xo