I am back! Honestly, I haven't felt very chatty lately... so bare with me while I get back into this.
One of the pleasures of living in this village of mine is having everything I need (okay, rephrase: everything I am going to get) just down the street from where we live. I love our neighborhood. And I love our neighbors. Sadly, our fantastic Italian neighbors are moving today... I hope they are replaced by equally fabulous tenants. But, back to my village moment.
I was at the store picking up a few essentials, Lola right beside me (that's right, you can actually take your dog along with you to most grocers ) when I realized at the checkout line that I had left my bank debit card at home. This is a strange and scary experience for me - I have an aversion to paying for things with cash/euros - maybe it is all of the coins that you have to drag out over here to get things done. If you don't have exact change - don't bother! You might even get scolded. Ahhhh, right, this is why I love my magical plastic card so much... now I remember.
Well, I just happened to have a lump of euros in my coat pocket, because I am that crazy person that squirrels money away EVERYWHERE - just in case of an emergency. My husband could tell you some stories about stumbling upon my stashes, but I trust he loves me enough to keep it in the family. So... grocer / no debit card / adrenaline to pay with cash - we are caught up now - wouldn't you know that I am ONE euro short when my bill is tallied? Big panic. And just when I open my mouth to explain that I am short - my most wonderful (yes, I have favorites) upstairs neighbor sidled up beside me and plopped a euro in my hand! It was a truly magical moment. Movie quality.
To top it off, we walked home together and gossiped about who our new neighbors might turn out to be. Yep, it is getting a little Melrose Place around here. Fun!
Monday, August 30, 2010
Friday, August 13, 2010
rainy day
I love rainy days - I don't know why - but I always have, and it just so happens that today is a rainy day. I ventured out for lunch in the neighborhood with an amazing book on the history of the village (Geert Mak's fantastic Amsterdam: a brief life of the city). Sitting outside under the canopy, with the heaters blazing and the rain pouring down, the restaurant was buzzing. It just so happens in this neighborhood that lunch is a serious outing... Louboutins come out of their boxes, as well as the "good" jewelry. It is such a site! I absolutely love it!
I have to give it to the Dutch... when they get dressed up, they don't mess around. None of that deconstructed chicness of the French, or understated American, or even haphazardness of the Brits. No, the Dutch bring IT - and strong. So today I found myself more focused on my fellow diners than my book. The first thing of note: I was the only person without a glass of wine or champagne. These people are fabulous! If it is noon on a Friday and you have nowhere else to be... start pouring. Second observation: Instead of the traditional 3 kisses rule when saying hello and goodbye here, apparently if you know someone really well you revert to one kiss. I love this efficiency and resolve to make deeper friendships if just to enjoy this exception. And lastly, which comes as no surprise, lunch can last several hours if you wish.
Usually, I have a very hard time slowing down and stretching my meals out for hours (I am American after all!) But today I had a nice, long, leisurely lunch of tomato soup and a grilled cheese (aka "tosti" if you are native). It was the best 12 euros spent in a very long time.
I have to give it to the Dutch... when they get dressed up, they don't mess around. None of that deconstructed chicness of the French, or understated American, or even haphazardness of the Brits. No, the Dutch bring IT - and strong. So today I found myself more focused on my fellow diners than my book. The first thing of note: I was the only person without a glass of wine or champagne. These people are fabulous! If it is noon on a Friday and you have nowhere else to be... start pouring. Second observation: Instead of the traditional 3 kisses rule when saying hello and goodbye here, apparently if you know someone really well you revert to one kiss. I love this efficiency and resolve to make deeper friendships if just to enjoy this exception. And lastly, which comes as no surprise, lunch can last several hours if you wish.
Usually, I have a very hard time slowing down and stretching my meals out for hours (I am American after all!) But today I had a nice, long, leisurely lunch of tomato soup and a grilled cheese (aka "tosti" if you are native). It was the best 12 euros spent in a very long time.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
to your health
I am just coming out of a fluke 48 hour flu bug. These things seem to strike me down with a vengeance since moving to Amsterdam. Funny, it could be argued that I left one of the most germ-ridden places in the world for a cleaner-living environment... but my immune system would disagree. My husband jokes that I am allergic to our new city. I always laugh politely, though secretly I think the guy is onto something.
This is why I have procured an arsenal of over-the-counter medications from the US (along with some nifty new finds in the UK). When I say arsenal, I mean nuclear fallout shelter level of stockpiled pharmaceuticals. Like, I could run a black market drugstore and clear 6 figures easy kind of arsenal. Which, I am beginning to realize, gives me great comfort knowing that I am just a room away from all sorts of synthetic remedies, but once you are sick, they really don't do much good.
That being said... Theraflu has really gotten me through some dark times. When I ended up in the emergency room last fall with bronchitis, and came home without a prescription for anything (* see below note) it was Theraflu in its many forms - powder / thin strip / liquid syrup that consoled me. I have a deep respect for this product. What I failed to stock up on are your average run-of-the mill cough drops. They are at the top of my list for upcoming travels. Halls especially - something with some bite to it. Here the pharmacist gives you something that tastes like black licorice when you have a sore throat. Oddly, the same little drops are sold in most grocery stores in the candy aisle... hmmmm.
When I had a sinus infection last spring, my doctor proscribed what we in the states call Afrin (a nasal spray). When I gently pressed him for something more aggressive, he warned me of a dangerous drug called Benadryl used in the USA and suggested that I let the body heal itself with a little more time. (Little did he know that I was packing a jumbo bottle of the stuff in my bathroom around the corner!) The one time I got my doctor to write me an actual prescription it turned out to be for penicillin. I am deathly allergic to penicillin - he knows this - I got the hint. I have a new doctor, BTW!
So tonight, when I have a thimble of wine with my dinner to celebrate triumph over the bug, I will toast to health. May I have it for another month or so... please.
* I did however end up with a nifty face mask, as the nurse at emergency in-take thought that since I was coughing excessively, I might have SARS. It was a long night, but Dan was there to make me laugh.
This is why I have procured an arsenal of over-the-counter medications from the US (along with some nifty new finds in the UK). When I say arsenal, I mean nuclear fallout shelter level of stockpiled pharmaceuticals. Like, I could run a black market drugstore and clear 6 figures easy kind of arsenal. Which, I am beginning to realize, gives me great comfort knowing that I am just a room away from all sorts of synthetic remedies, but once you are sick, they really don't do much good.
That being said... Theraflu has really gotten me through some dark times. When I ended up in the emergency room last fall with bronchitis, and came home without a prescription for anything (* see below note) it was Theraflu in its many forms - powder / thin strip / liquid syrup that consoled me. I have a deep respect for this product. What I failed to stock up on are your average run-of-the mill cough drops. They are at the top of my list for upcoming travels. Halls especially - something with some bite to it. Here the pharmacist gives you something that tastes like black licorice when you have a sore throat. Oddly, the same little drops are sold in most grocery stores in the candy aisle... hmmmm.
When I had a sinus infection last spring, my doctor proscribed what we in the states call Afrin (a nasal spray). When I gently pressed him for something more aggressive, he warned me of a dangerous drug called Benadryl used in the USA and suggested that I let the body heal itself with a little more time. (Little did he know that I was packing a jumbo bottle of the stuff in my bathroom around the corner!) The one time I got my doctor to write me an actual prescription it turned out to be for penicillin. I am deathly allergic to penicillin - he knows this - I got the hint. I have a new doctor, BTW!
So tonight, when I have a thimble of wine with my dinner to celebrate triumph over the bug, I will toast to health. May I have it for another month or so... please.
* I did however end up with a nifty face mask, as the nurse at emergency in-take thought that since I was coughing excessively, I might have SARS. It was a long night, but Dan was there to make me laugh.
Saturday, August 7, 2010
vespa - oh thy dreaded sound
Amsterdam is jam packed with scooters these days. They have even made their way onto the bicycle paths - which is a complete annoyance. More annoying are the teenagers who roam in packs on their vespas and terrorize my neighborhood between the hours or 2-5 AM. Last night they were cruising our street again.
When we moved here last year I went and bought myself a vespa. I had one in NYC and it was a terrific way to zip around the neighborhoods quickly and not be beholden to taxis in traffic or subway delays. But as I am figuring out every day - the city and the village are very different places. Here vespas are considered a nuisance - and the bicycle reigns king supreme. So I put my vespa on the market shortly after purchasing it. However, in typical "American style" I had just about every option included on it - which has made it near to impossible to sell. But such a target for theft!
My poor vespa has been vandalized 3 times in the last 3 months. Every time one thing gets replaced, another goes missing. The fact that it is parked directly under a street lamp and is on permanent display hasn't done the least to stop this. My vespa has become the easy target. It is currently in the shop having 4 things replaced - all in hopes of selling it at some point - oh the pain. Oh the euros.
So last night I awoke to the sounds of a vespa gang (how ridiculous does that sound?) outside on the street. I got up to peek from our upstairs window - prime viewing spot! There they were - all circled around where my vespa is usually bolted down. Obviously, they were back for some more shopping. Watching them all down there - congregated and vulnerable - I had a strong urge to retaliate for all of their mischief. I really wished that I had a paint gun (and knew how to use it). I mentioned this to my husband later and he quickly replied that although it sounded like a good idea to him - it was probably something that could land me in jail here.
When we moved here last year I went and bought myself a vespa. I had one in NYC and it was a terrific way to zip around the neighborhoods quickly and not be beholden to taxis in traffic or subway delays. But as I am figuring out every day - the city and the village are very different places. Here vespas are considered a nuisance - and the bicycle reigns king supreme. So I put my vespa on the market shortly after purchasing it. However, in typical "American style" I had just about every option included on it - which has made it near to impossible to sell. But such a target for theft!
My poor vespa has been vandalized 3 times in the last 3 months. Every time one thing gets replaced, another goes missing. The fact that it is parked directly under a street lamp and is on permanent display hasn't done the least to stop this. My vespa has become the easy target. It is currently in the shop having 4 things replaced - all in hopes of selling it at some point - oh the pain. Oh the euros.
So last night I awoke to the sounds of a vespa gang (how ridiculous does that sound?) outside on the street. I got up to peek from our upstairs window - prime viewing spot! There they were - all circled around where my vespa is usually bolted down. Obviously, they were back for some more shopping. Watching them all down there - congregated and vulnerable - I had a strong urge to retaliate for all of their mischief. I really wished that I had a paint gun (and knew how to use it). I mentioned this to my husband later and he quickly replied that although it sounded like a good idea to him - it was probably something that could land me in jail here.
Friday, August 6, 2010
the first and not to be last post about jogging
I hate jogging. I always have and I am pretty sure that I always will. I have dabbled with it through the years - always searching for that "runner's high" - so elusive and coveted. My thought is that if I can train myself to like it (or just tolerate it) that I will magically age with the grace of Cindy Crawford (and can't we all agree that she is lookin' mighty good?) But once my feet start moving my mind says "when can we stop this nonsense?" and I don't last long.
So I have enlisted a running partner - Lola. On a good day, she inspires me. On a bad day, she stops and lays down on the running path. She isn't the most consistent... but then again, in dog years she is around 47 (so the online conversion chart just told me). I hope at this point you aren't worried that poor Lola is being run to death. My version of jogging pretty much allows her to walk full stride next to me - we aren't breaking any records here.
But I digress. I need to get this jogging thing figured out. Over margaritas back in NYC a few weeks ago my husband and my sister had me pledge my allegiance to run a 1/2 marathon with them this fall. The fact that it is in Italy certainly helped sell it, but I am blaming the tequila for pushing me over the edge to agree. At this point, I am thinking that it might take another cursed margarita to get me through the actual race.
So I have enlisted a running partner - Lola. On a good day, she inspires me. On a bad day, she stops and lays down on the running path. She isn't the most consistent... but then again, in dog years she is around 47 (so the online conversion chart just told me). I hope at this point you aren't worried that poor Lola is being run to death. My version of jogging pretty much allows her to walk full stride next to me - we aren't breaking any records here.
But I digress. I need to get this jogging thing figured out. Over margaritas back in NYC a few weeks ago my husband and my sister had me pledge my allegiance to run a 1/2 marathon with them this fall. The fact that it is in Italy certainly helped sell it, but I am blaming the tequila for pushing me over the edge to agree. At this point, I am thinking that it might take another cursed margarita to get me through the actual race.
 |
| My running partner |
Thursday, August 5, 2010
the cleaning bug
Today I got the urge to do a little cleaning - which anyone who knows me well understands the humor when I say "a little cleaning" - as I tend to go "a little crazy" with the size and scope of my projects. On the agenda: the garden.
I have been putting off the task of tackling the garden for some time now. First off, I really hate spiders, I hate to say it because they have never done anything personally to me, but they really jeeb me out. I knew the probability of running into a few spiders was high. Second, my grandmother was a tremendous gardner... really top notch, and I have always hoped that I would fall in love with it once I had some space and kind of reconnect with her while pulling my own weeds. But my husband nick-named me the Black Thumb many years ago (for good reason) - so I knew that the probability of this happening was low. Not a lot on the plus side to hopping in the garden!
I will keep it short. It didn't go well. Let's just say that pruning is not my strong suit. I kind of chop. I lopped off a whole lot of greenery today. What can I say, I like the minimalist aesthetic. Still, I didn't get that sense of satisfaction that I was looking for. So I turned my attention to a greater challenge. Something impressive. Something I have never done. Something that could possibly kill me. I decided to clean the 20 foot windows that look out into the garden - all by myself. It took a little creativity, an enormous ladder, and a lot of pluck. I am now on a high that must be similar to when you reach the summit of Everest - or something like that.
I have been putting off the task of tackling the garden for some time now. First off, I really hate spiders, I hate to say it because they have never done anything personally to me, but they really jeeb me out. I knew the probability of running into a few spiders was high. Second, my grandmother was a tremendous gardner... really top notch, and I have always hoped that I would fall in love with it once I had some space and kind of reconnect with her while pulling my own weeds. But my husband nick-named me the Black Thumb many years ago (for good reason) - so I knew that the probability of this happening was low. Not a lot on the plus side to hopping in the garden!
I will keep it short. It didn't go well. Let's just say that pruning is not my strong suit. I kind of chop. I lopped off a whole lot of greenery today. What can I say, I like the minimalist aesthetic. Still, I didn't get that sense of satisfaction that I was looking for. So I turned my attention to a greater challenge. Something impressive. Something I have never done. Something that could possibly kill me. I decided to clean the 20 foot windows that look out into the garden - all by myself. It took a little creativity, an enormous ladder, and a lot of pluck. I am now on a high that must be similar to when you reach the summit of Everest - or something like that.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
driving for the first time in the village
Today was a momentous one! I drove our car for the very first time through the streets of Amsterdam. Funny, I had no problem zipping around NYC in an SUV when we were there, but here I have refused to get behind the wheel. I just figured my odds at killing someone (or myself) were exponential with all of the bicycles, tourists, taxis, buses... and let's not forget the "silent killer" a.k.a. the tram. This morning I took the hint from my husband and hit the streets solo.
In a word... TERRIFYING! We happen to have a rather large car and the streets here are extremely narrow. Plus, navigating is kind of like solving a maze, as there are so many one way streets you end up driving in circles. I had the excitement of having a police car behind me half of my journey - that always gets the blood pumping! I also managed to maintain my composure when faced with an oncoming tram - you share the road with them here - isn't that quaint and charming? NO! It is more like a near death experience. In Amsterdam this is common. Where I come from, it really feels like you are playing chicken with dire odds.
In a word... TERRIFYING! We happen to have a rather large car and the streets here are extremely narrow. Plus, navigating is kind of like solving a maze, as there are so many one way streets you end up driving in circles. I had the excitement of having a police car behind me half of my journey - that always gets the blood pumping! I also managed to maintain my composure when faced with an oncoming tram - you share the road with them here - isn't that quaint and charming? NO! It is more like a near death experience. In Amsterdam this is common. Where I come from, it really feels like you are playing chicken with dire odds.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
altercation with the alteration guy
In my 6 years in NYC I can't remember ever getting a single item of clothing altered - ever. And here I am 18 months into Amsterdam and I have probably had a dozen things re-sized. Thankfully they are being taken in / not let out (I attribute this to my extreme discipline with the pervasive eating of cheese here - meaning - I don't look at the cheese, smell the cheese, and certainly don't touch the cheese!) So, I had to find a tailor to keep me in my clothes. A very stylish friend helped me out...
I don't know his name, only how to get to his shop, and that I think he is Turkish. There is an extreme language barrier between myself and my new tailor. He is very good at what he does - but I find it incredibly daunting to have your clothes hacked up when the only common language you share is basically Pictionary. But that's just me.
Regardless, it never fails that this "conversation" takes place when I am at the register waiting to pay. In hand gestures, random English words and sometimes scribbles - the same conversation ensues - every single time:
Tailor: how old are you?
Charlie: 36
Tailor: no this is not true
*to which I act flattered b/c I think he is suggesting I look younger - but in all honesty he could be suggesting the opposite at this point - I never push for clarification.
Tailor: babies?
Charlie: no
*the tailor now gives me a look of sorrow and stares at me in disbelief... I feel very awkward and say:
Charlie: babies are great!
*the tailor smiles and takes out pictures of his 4 young children - he is very proud - I smile - and then without fail he draws a heart in the air with his finger - universal symbol for love, no?
Charlie: (absolute silence)
Tailor: you will have babies!
Charlie: (absolute silence)
Tailor: (stare down)
Charlie: (stare down)
Tailor: 38 euros
Charlie: Dank u / tot ziens / fine dag (thanks / see ya / have a great day!)
I kind of think I need to borrow someone's baby soon...
I don't know his name, only how to get to his shop, and that I think he is Turkish. There is an extreme language barrier between myself and my new tailor. He is very good at what he does - but I find it incredibly daunting to have your clothes hacked up when the only common language you share is basically Pictionary. But that's just me.
Regardless, it never fails that this "conversation" takes place when I am at the register waiting to pay. In hand gestures, random English words and sometimes scribbles - the same conversation ensues - every single time:
Tailor: how old are you?
Charlie: 36
Tailor: no this is not true
*to which I act flattered b/c I think he is suggesting I look younger - but in all honesty he could be suggesting the opposite at this point - I never push for clarification.
Tailor: babies?
Charlie: no
*the tailor now gives me a look of sorrow and stares at me in disbelief... I feel very awkward and say:
Charlie: babies are great!
*the tailor smiles and takes out pictures of his 4 young children - he is very proud - I smile - and then without fail he draws a heart in the air with his finger - universal symbol for love, no?
Charlie: (absolute silence)
Tailor: you will have babies!
Charlie: (absolute silence)
Tailor: (stare down)
Charlie: (stare down)
Tailor: 38 euros
Charlie: Dank u / tot ziens / fine dag (thanks / see ya / have a great day!)
I kind of think I need to borrow someone's baby soon...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)