Camping in Europe - Trailer House Paradise

Over a week ago now, I wrote my first post about camping in Europe, a far different experience than the camping that I'm accustomed to in America. One stark difference is all of the facilities you can find at a European "campground", which is more of a trailer park, an RV park and a summer camp all rolled into one. To see more of the grounds and facilities, check out my earlier posts.

Now, in the U.S. we definitely don't have other folks living on the campground, unless you count the park ranger, but that's just one. Here, they have entire neighborhoods on the grounds, and some of the trailer houses look ripe for Goldilock's pickin'... I want to sneak in and pretend they're mine for a while.

I promised you a trailer park Homes and Gardens tour, and I'm delivering, baby. As you're looking through the photos below, decide which one you'd like to spend a stolen evening in. (There will be a test at the end.)

To start, let's take a stroll down this road.

I love this photo of the trailer called Eekhoorn, pronounced a lot like Acorn in English, but with an added "H" sound... ache-horn. It means squirrel.

I don't know about you but I could definitely sit here for a while... on the outdoor furniture behind this wall, cold drink in my hand, nose in a book, listening to the beads in the doorway move in the breeze.

I know Goldilocks would be tempted by this charming gate and vine arch. What wonders lay beyond?

Ahh, now this one is fit for a Queen.

This spot looks simple and cozy. If I were Goldilocks, I'd sit here with my Goldilover,
hand in hand and happy.

Well, that concludes our virtual tour!

I lied about the test.

But I do want to know... Where would you hide away?

Until next time,

Xx Alison

Camping in Europe - Cool Camps

One thing I was amazed at when I got to this campground was the huge and lovely caravans people set up to camp in! I wanted to share some photos that I took just walking around on the grounds. 

I saw so many of these tents with two or three sections! 

Or like this one, a pop up extension fixed to a camp trailer. SIGN ME UP!

Side view.

How about this adorable camp? Umbrella, lights, lounger, and clothesline. What else do you need?

Side view.

This one comes with a deck, and it's for rent by the night, week, or month!

I liked this tent! and the space they set up next to it.

Okay now THIS is where I wanna be.

Slingers! Someone must have had a birthday.

So there you have it. What do you think? Is it very different? Will you be on the internet shopping for European camping gear? Are you right now as we speak?

Interested to hear your thoughts. 

Till then!

Xx Alison

Camping in Europe for a Week

Hey everyone!
How are you all holding up?
I’m doing okay - some days are better than others. This week is already off to a fabulous start!

I’m on a little vacation! I’m camping in South Holland for a week, and it’s my first time camping in Europe. I had never occurred to me that it would be much different from the camping I knew, but in the week or two leading up to our trip, I started to get the impression that it wasn’t the type of camping I was used to. From some of the pictures I’d seen of the camping area and whatever I heard from my host parents and other Dutchies, I knew it was gunna be an experience unlike one I’d had before.

Yesterday, as I hung the laundry on the line, my neighbor and I had a chat about it. He’s a Dutchie, born and raised, not yet having visited the states. “I’m excited to see what it’s like as opposed to camping in the U.S.” I said to him. “Probably about the same,” he remarked.

“Nooooo, I don’t think so. For one thing, I know they’re going to have showers and bathrooms there, and most of the camping I’ve done has been in the mountains and... there are no facilities.”

We continued to chat as he explained that camping in Europe can be very social, because everyone in the campground is on vacation mode and just walking around. He didn't realize our idea of camping is much, much, different. From what he described, I was reminded of the huge family reunion we have every other year on my dad's side. And indeed, it feels a bit like that. A few hundred people gather on a ranch in Idaho and camp for the weekend, put on various activities, either catch up with old family members or meet new ones, or maybe run down to the creek with a cousin, aunt, or straggler neighborhood kid that tagged along with so-and-so.... But we don’t have a bar or tennis courts at our family reunion.

I’m here now, it’s our first night in the campground, which is more like an RV park on steroids. You’ll see what I mean if you stay tuned - I’m going to blog throughout the week, posting pictures of the place.

It’s AMAZING. I don’t even feel guilty about glamping here. At all. It’s like a budget resort, guys. I could live here. 

As soon as we pulled up, we came upon the welcome building, and I immediately saw a few playsets, a giant trampoline and three different sized pools in the flat expanse behind it. I was amazed already, a pool? Camping? And it was getting crazier by the second. I saw other buildings, and mini golf to the left. What else could this campground hold? 

After my host dad checked us in, we followed a golf cart to our reserved campsite, passing trailer neighborhoods and speeltuins, playgrounds, on the way. Maciah sat in the front seat looking at the map they provided and checking out the two decks of cards they gave us for free.

We pulled in to our designated spot and cut the engine. The kids snacked, the dogs got a little walk, and we began setting up tents and various camp equipment. It’s now dark out, 11pm, and I’m sat outside the tent I share with Maciah, connected to WiFi and writing this on my blog. After dinner at the snack bar, Maciah and I swam in the pool, jumped on a giant bubble trampoline, and took a tour through some trailer neighborhoods with porchscapes that are seriously home design magazine worthy. Pics. To. Come.

I’m excited to do some more glamping and blogging. Can’t wait to share more of this place with you guys.


Xx Alison

Have you ever been camping in Europe? Where at? What was it like? Share your experience in the comments below!

Lekker luien in de tent / tasty lazing in the tent

Zneck bar dinner - a croket in a hamburger bun with mustard on the side..

That’s how the Dutch do it. 

And frites! Lots of frites!

You Can Run, But You Can't Hide from Your Troubles

This morning as I drank that first, religious cup of coffee, I found myself opening my web browser and searching for flights. With 10 months down on my year-long exchange, I'll be moving on to the next destination soon.

It all went by very fast, as time seems to do in its strange, somehow also-creeping way. This morning I am reflecting on my time spent here and coming up... disappointed. The last year in Holland has been a bit of a dud, if I'm being honest. Getting kicked out of my first host parents' house, surviving a very non-ideal Dutch winter, dealing with the changes COVID insisted humanity make, and now watching my country from afar as they fight, yell, plead and hate has made it hard to stay positive. In addition to outward influences, I do a pretty good job of making myself miserable, which I guess  means that I'm just like everyone else on the planet. I decided a couple months after moving here that I needed to pursue the ultimate dream: digital nomadship. I spent a majority of my free time working. (You can take the girl out of America, but you can't take America out of the girl). While I spent a lot of time chasing stable income, I felt guilty for how much of my time I wasn't spending exploring the country.

Besides all of this, I've been incredibly lonely; both love-sick for my ex and home-sick for everyone else I care about who are spattered in different places around the globe - mainly, not where I am. I do have a few really good friends here whom I love dearly, but I have to admit, I am already hurting from missing them, and I haven't even left yet.

People often tell me how lucky I am to travel, how proud they are of me that I make it all work and how happy they are that I am gaining all this life experience. Of course, I know I am blessed, and I am proud of myself, too, because what didn't happen by chance that has allowed me to stay safe and adventuring has been a product of my own very hard work. But... it's really not all rainbows and butterflies.

Some days I wonder, why have all these adventures, if I have no one to share them with? Every single one of my best friends lives in my phone. When I explore a new city, I am the only one there. And let me tell you what, I am sick of going on first dates. I just want to be around people who know me. I want to be needed-- do a favor for a neighbor, bring a dish to a potluck, talk about mundane things or babysit my friend's kid.

Today, I know that this is true: you can run, but you can't hide from life's troubles. Even a year spent abroad in a European city can't make me happy just on its merits. So instead of trying to power through it, continuing on with the facade of my wonderful, romantic European life, I think I'll go back home to Eastern Oregon for a while. To be with family, to rest and find respite, to be needed and to lean on others, to be where I am understood.

Did You Know? Belgium's Famous Peeing Statue

This week, Alison talks about the famous naked little peeing boy, a statue in Brussels, Belgium with a long and hilarious history.

Visit Manneken Pis via Webcam

https://www.manneken-pis.be/en/

https://www.visitonweb.com/wikipedia/mannekenpis-uk.html

Check out this episode!

Accidentally in New York

What kind of accommodation establishment doesn't serve coffee? I grumbled inwardly as I got dressed. I'm the type of person who needs coffee as soon as I wake up. Right after peeing, but definitely not before dressing. I don't know why I was surprised that this hostel didn't have what I would consider to be a basic human right. It's what I deserve for paying $20 for a night in New York City.

Nestled not-so-cozily underneath the J metro line in Brooklyn, I had stumbled in the night before after making the trek from JFK International Airport. I could hear the train whirring by as I found my shared room and set my stuff down on the bottom bunk. I was tired from the 8 hour flight from Amsterdam. It was 9 pm, which was 5 am where I'd come from, and I hadn't slept yet. I wanted to collapse right into bed, but I desperately needed a shower, so I made my way down the hall to the bathrooms with my towel and my cosmetics bag.

I opened it and realized that I'd forgotten to buy shampoo at Amsterdam Centraal before heading to the airport that morning. I have been using a solid shampoo from Lush for years now, but I'd run out just before my trip and apparently was too focused on ordering my favorite dish from Dӧner Company to remember to visit the Lush store in the enormous train terminal. All I had in my bag was a travel-sized container of Lime Verbena Body Wash. I decided my hair would be better off unwashed for now and opted for a body-only shower for the night. I opened one of the shower stall doors and looked down to see a bunch of hair clinging to the drain. Nope... I tried the second. It wasn't as bad as the first, but there was a wad of used tissue sitting in the 3-tiered rack that hung from the side of the tall shower wall. Nope... I tried the third. This one'll do. Like Goldilocks, I didn't feel at home in this strange place, but I made do with what I had.

After a hot, but barely trickling shower, I padded down the hall in my towel and found my room again. I found it strange that my bunkmate had been sleeping with the light on when I'd first entered, but I left it that way during my shower and as I got ready for bed. It was past 10 o'clock, which was when "quiet hours" started, but I could hear loads of people talking and someone was on a speaker phone call. Why did it sound like they were standing right next to me? I could hear every cough, rustle, and conversation. I looked up and found my answer. The small room just big enough to turn around in had a panel of lattice, like the kind you'd see in your elderly neighbor's yard,  instead of a ceiling. Wow. I should've splurged the extra $6 and stayed at that other place, I thought as I flipped off the light and crawled into bed. I popped my headphones in and turned on my audiobook, thinking it better to listen to one calm voice than fifteen annoying ones, and drifted off to sleep.

Maybe because of the time difference, maybe because I could hear an alarm going off in some other room down the hall, but I woke up around 6 am. I lie there for a bit, waking up slowly, scrolling through Instagram, popping my audiobook back on (I'm addicted to these things) and closing my eyes for a bit longer before finally deciding that the day was going to start. I knew I had to figure out where I'd be staying for the next few nights, and I figured I'd be up to the task after a cup of coffee. Still in my pajamas, I went downstairs, through the lobby, out the front door, taking an immediate turn to the right and punching in the code for the cafe/lounge area that belonged to the hostel. After a few tries, I managed to enter the correct number sequence and find my way to the back of the large room where the kitchen was. I looked around for the coffee machine and went through some of the cupboards only to find that, you guessed it, they don't serve coffee. I hate this place.


Twenty minutes later I was dressed and walking down the streets of New York to the coffee shop that the guy at the reception desk had told me was just a block and a half away. I guess it's better this way. You'll always be more effective at getting your life together if you're wearing pants. I thanked Benjamin Franklin and Lady Liberty that here in America, it was easy to get things like coffee in large quantities. I guess "large" is subjective. Any European would tell you that 16 ounces of coffee is a lot, but we Americans call that a medium, and sizes go all the way up to extra large. I was glad to be back in the land of big ole portions.



I sat down and opened my journal. I knew I needed to make arrangements for this unexpected visit I'd found myself in the middle of, but I was waiting for some people to get back to me. I have friends in New Jersey and Philadelphia because I used to live there, I'd found myself a loving community in the two years I'd spent in the area before I started my exchange year in Amsterdam six months ago. I sat there thinking, I know they'll be happy to see me, and I know I'll find somewhere to stay, but I was a little nervous nonetheless. I wasn't giving them much notice, and I still had to get there from where I was in New York. Traveling between countries entails dealing with a lot of issues you don't think about everyday, like exchanging currency, whether or not your cell phone or debit card will work, using the trains and buses with no problems, and depending on where you go, whether or not they speak the same language as you. I'd only been living abroad for six months, but I didn't have an American phone plan anymore, my American debit card has been inactive for months, and my paychecks are, of course, in euros. Luckily I'd exchanged my currency already, not without realizing how weird the bills had looked in my hand.

Getting from New York City to Philadelphia wasn't going to be hard per se, but I did need the help of a friend to buy the bus ticket, since the website wasn't allowing me to use PayPal, and I had to have WiFi to make these plans, since my cell phone data wasn't going to work. Besides that, where should I go when I get there? To whose house? I reached out to Steve and Heather, whom I call my Jersey parents, but I hadn't heard back yet. I waited for responses as I journaled about why I was even here.

It would be unusual for most people to accidentally end up in New York, but I wasn't that surprised that it had happened to me. Since I started traveling a little over two years ago, almost every single trip that I have made has gone, well... not according to plan. The reason I ended up on the east coast in the first place was a hoax. I was bound for Puerto Rico, but never made it, even to this day. So when my friend, Dean, had started to give me signs the night before of throwing off the plans we had to spend a weekend together in the Caribbean, I took it in stride.

Dean lives on one of the Caribbean islands. He used to live in Philadelphia, and that's where we met for the first time two years ago, after hitting it off with each other on a dating website. We'd got on really well from that very first minute and, over the next several months, saw each other on and off, always enjoying each other's company. When I'd left the east coast to spend half a year back home in Idaho we'd stayed in touch, always remaining friends, sending pictures to update one another on our lives, calling now and again, it was real gezellig. When I came back to Philadelphia the second time, we had even gotten together for dinner once or twice, even though he was steadily seeing someone he met through a mutual friend. We were proper friends.

This continued after I moved to Amsterdam, as expected. It is always good to hear from Dean, even though sometimes months go by in the interim. We often talked about visiting each other. He had moved from Philadelphia to the Caribbean two months before I came to Amsterdam; after more than a year of asking his company to transfer him; they finally did. One time, when we mentioned visiting each other, it took a more serious tone. We checked how much it would cost for him to visit me in Amsterdam, but the flights were outrageous, plus Dean wasn't the type to put forth a ton of effort traveling to visit someone he'd casually dated more than a year prior. For some reason, when we checked the same flight but in reverse, the prices were considerably more affordable. I am always willing to do a bit of traveling, and besides, would you rather spend time in the sunny Caribbean or visit a country on the same latitudinal line as Canada? That's what I thought.

But it doesn't matter anyway. I don't want to get into details about why Dean decided he wasn't up for a visit. I'll only say that it was half anxiety about how travelers coming from certain destinations were being denied entrance on the island due to the coronavirus outbreak in Europe, and (this one is my own speculation) half anxiety about how the visit itself would go. I don't really blame him. I can't say that in the week leading up to it, I hadn't had thoughts of canceling, but the money I'd put into it held a lot more value to me than it did him. I just cannot justify spending $400 on a vacation I didn't take, but I had felt a tinge of regret more than once over spending the money in the first place. Dean and I may have had fun dating one another before, but that was a long time ago, and there was a reason we hadn't "taken it to the next level." He and I had always had a light and easy situationship. Flying across the Atlantic just to spend a few days with someone could be interpreted as something more than light and easy. It's enough to scare away anyone who's not looking for a serious relationship.

But again, I had spent good money on this plane ticket, and I'd be damned if I was going to stay in Amsterdam and just watch it go to waste. Instead, I had taken all the shorts, and tank tops, and swimsuits out of my bag (moment of silence for the warm weather I wouldn't be basking in), replacing them with long pants, tights, the only dress I had that was long sleeved, and thus, readjusted my sights. I had checked my world clock, was there anyone I could call in Jersey to warn them of my arrival? It was the middle of the night, so no, I'd just have to figure that part out once I got there. Maybe I'd show up on their doorstep, bags in hand and just knock. Wouldn't that be fun? I have to force myself to find hilarity in these types of situations... for sanity reasons. So yes, that's why I was here in this coffee shop in Brooklyn, a full 24 hours after taking those swimsuits out of my bag. And I was waiting for responses. And I was journaling.

45 minutes later, no one had gotten back to me yet. Now that I was in the same time zone as those I was reaching out to, it made it a little easier and put some of my nerves at ease. I know eventually they'll wake up and get going. It's Saturday; if I know Heather at all, she'll be running errands today.  I had caffeine in my system and I'd started to think more clearly. I decided my hair would definitely need washed and I'd need to eat soon, so I put my coat and scarf back on and walked to the supermarket that I'd passed between the hostel and the coffee shop.


Traveling when you're poor means being very, very choosy. I wanted to get myself a nice food-truck bagel for breakfast, especially because that's one of the things I miss when I can't have it (believe me, I've already started a list of the things I'm going to eat this weekend), but I knew that I could only afford a few frivolous purchases, and I didn't want to waste one on a bagel, on my first day in the city, no less. Better save that for cover charge into my favorite gay bar, to see whatever variety show they'd had on that night, or a glass of wine at my favorite jazz hall. I was feeling giddy about being in my favorite city again, and daydreaming about the lovely things I wanted to do.

I entered the store and started shopping to the soundtrack of Mexican music. Right near the door, I spotted some avocados priced 2 for $5 and knew I could use one to make avocado toast, and still have the other to eat later. I also grabbed some raw almonds and peppered salame. These are my go-to snacks that I know I can count on while traveling. They store well, provide energy, and are pretty filling. After I had my food for the day, I found a small hygiene section in the cleaning aisle. They didn't have shampoo. I would have to wash my hair with a bar of soap and be grateful that I'd at least packed a small container of a leave-in conditioning treatment. With that, I went back to the hostel and showered, properly this time. Then I packed my things, checked out, and headed to the cafe/lounge area again to eat my breakfast and pull out my laptop.


Two hours later I'd made headway with a bus ticket to Jersey, Heather was going to pick me up on the other end, I'd found someone who would let me crash if I were to need it, and I'd made contact with a couple of the people I wanted to visit if they were around. I made another trip to the coffee shop to begin writing this post, feeling relaxed and unhurried, but I was too busy talking to the French guy sitting next to me who had struck up conversation and unsuccessfully trying to connect to the internet to have actually drafted anything. After chatting and having a coffee with him, I let Google Maps tell me which trains I'd need to take to get to where the bus picks up its passengers and said goodbye. I'm typing this now from my seat on the charter bus that runs from New York to South Jersey and then Philadelphia multiple times per day. I'm 30 minutes from my seeing my Jersey parents and if I'm lucky, eating a homemade pizza pie on 5th Avenue.

What will I do this weekend? Crash a wedding? Skate the parking garage in City Hall? See a drag show in the Gayborhood? All of the above? I have a feeling I'll be finding out the answers to these questions only at the moment its happening.

A Spontaneous Trip to Belgium

Since starting my exchange year in Holland 5 months ago, I've been wanting to take a train ride to another country and spend a weekend there exploring. From Amsterdam Centraal you can catch a train to lots of places I'd never been - Germany, Paris, and Belgium, to name a few. To me, an American, who didn't experience what it's like to be a passenger on a train until I was 23, being able to buy a ticket, board a train, and be in another country in 3 hour's time sounded like an amazing adventure, and it was!

I figured since I'd been dreaming of doing this for a while, I had a paycheck in my pocket, and my birthday was around the corner, January was a great time to take a trip. I had picked Germany out of a hat, partially because I had an acquaintance called Peter who was also visiting Germany that weekend, and he said we could share sleeping arrangements to make it cheaper. I was supposed to meet him there on Sunday, but I wanted to head up Saturday with my sister to make the most of my time.

So Maciah and I packed a duffel bag, grabbed our skateboards and headed over to Amsterdam Centraal to start our journey on Saturday morning. Now, the travel plans are about to take a slightly unexpected turn, so keep in mind that Peter and I had only just scrambled together some arrangements a few days prior. Besides that, I had only just reserved a hostel the night before, and Maciah and I hadn't purchased our train tickets yet.

We got to Centraal and went to the International Tickets desk, beaming and giggling as we walked up after waiting patiently for our number to be called.
"Two tickets to Cologne, please." I said, confidently. She went over departure times and copied our names from our passports into the computer system. We looked over at each other with excitement and anticipation. We could almost taste it!
"Alright, one hundred and thirty Euros, please." She said plainly.
Woah. This was NOT what we were expecting. Somehow, I thought it was going to be much cheaper. We had to ask her to clarify. What did it cost per ticket? 70 Euros? Was that for the whole journey, there and back? No? Ok so it's gunna cost us 70 Euros per person, one way.... Yeah, the budget was more structured around.... 30 Euros or so. The lady explained that if you buy the tickets in advance, you can get them much cheaper, but to head over the day-of, you risk paying more... Cool, cool, cool, cool, cool.... Maciah and I thanked her, then stepped outside for a minute to recalculate. That's when Peter texted me... "Wait, you're on your way to Cologne now? Have you already left? I'm not going to be there until next weekend!" Ok, so... that wasn't going to work out anyway.

Actually, it turned out better, Maciah and I reasoned, since the tickets were expensive on our small au pair budget. But what now? We still had our bags packed and wanted to go somewhere. We went back to the desk and pulled another number, waited our turn, and then asked where we could go for 30 Euros. There was a train leaving for Brussels, Belgium 20 minutes from then and the tickets were affordable. Before we knew it we were sitting in our seats on the EuroStar train that would take us there.

Once we sat down we were again giddy and excited. By the time we'd purchased our tickets and left the counter, we only had a few minutes to catch it, so we had hurried through the huge train station and found platform 15 with hardly any time to spare. Now that we had made it and the train had started moving, we got out our journals and spent a couple hours reading and writing. We had also linked up to the on-board wifi, cancelled our hostel booking in Germany, and made a new reservation at a hostel in Brussels. There were many to choose from, which hasn't been our experience in the states (there are usually only a few in a city; hostels are far more popular in Europe than back home), and we managed to find one very near the train station for only 26 Euros... hell yeah!

About a half hour before we got to Brussels we got to do something I've only ever seen in movies... we got up from our seats, walked to the back of the train car, where the automatic doors opened for us, and continued on through two more cars until we reached the cafe. Yes. There was a cafe in the train!! I have imagined this many times before, as I read books as a child in which families crossed America on passenger trains that took days to reach their destination. The reality wasn't as glamorous as I'd pictured. Then again, this train probably takes trips as long as 5 hours and no more. Still, it was amazing to order a coffee and a croissant while the countryside flew by in the window behind me. It wasn't about the plastic-packaged croissant as much as it was about the novelty of being able to buy it while traveling 250 km/hour.

When we arrived in Brussels and got checked into our hostel, we skated out into the city for a drink or a bite to eat, not searching for something to do, but hoping that something would just... turn up. Sometimes it happens this way, but not this time. We ended up returning to the hostel and just resting. An uneventful evening, but one we weren't upset about.

The next day, after eating a small breakfast that was included with our reservation, we grabbed our skateboards again and set off. There was a market in the square right outside our hostel. Literally, if it had been any closer it would have been on the front stoop. Markets are something I've really started to enjoy; I've been to a few now in Amsterdam and Haarlem. A bunch of vendors set up in the street and sell everything from fresh fish, fresh flowers, street food, clothes, souvenirs, curtains, shoes, and more. They're fun and usually you can find great deals there. This market wasn't exactly like the ones I'd been to in Holland, though. It was an antiques market, but it really felt more like a huge outdoor thrift store, if thrift stores kept all their merchandise on the ground, spread out on tarps. Yes, on the ground.

Some vendors had their items on tables, but mostly, you wandered through the small crowd of people and vendors with your head down, looking at the wares. I walked around one vendor's items, interested. He had two large canvas drop cloths with hundreds of silver utensils laid out neatly into groups. I kept walking. I saw vintage shoes, postcards, books, trinkets, art, and pins. The next thing I knew I was looking around for Maciah, but there was no sign of her.

"Alison!!" I heard her yell a few minutes later. I spotted her and went over.
"You have to look at these! You have to buy one! I already bought two! THEY'RE ONLY FIVE EUROS, DUDE!" She said, holding up two very large, brown, fur coats. Maciah was on the hunt today for a coat to weather the cold, Dutch, winter wind. We had already seen a few, but they were too expensive, mostly because none of the items in the market were marked. This allows the vendors to make up a price, one we assumed was different for locals who spoke French or visitors who spoke anything else. I tried a few on and she helped me pick one out, we purchased, and then went back to the hostel to stash them in the cubby we'd rented for the day. And then we were on our way.

We spent the day skating around the city, gaping at the ancient and intricate architecture we saw around every corner. We were going down a narrow, cobblestone street when it opened up into a sight that made our jaws drop. To our right was a row of buildings that reminded me so much of Amsterdam, built straight up and right next to each other, with funny tops, all shaped differently. Except these were all quite ornamented, and each keystone or statue or piece of molding was inlaid with gold... or at least gold paint. As my eyes wandered to the left I saw more of these buildings, most of them cafe's or bars on the bottom floor, and then a beautifully gothic building which we discovered was a museum. We had walked into a square surrounded by ornate, gold-inlaid buildings on all sides, including one that was either a palace, government building, or Hogwarts itself, because it had spires, hundreds of statues laid into the exterior brickwork, two towers and yes, accents of gold. It was breathtaking.

We spent the day doing a lot more open-mouthed staring at really old buildings. Brussels took my breath away left and right, including when we ended up at a palace on a hill, with a monument placed outside that evoked feeling and reverence in my me and a incredible view of the city to boot. We ventured to a huge landmark called Atomium, which is a curious structure that looks like an enormous atom, with huge metal tubes connecting giant orbs where restaurants and a place called "Kids'Sphere" lie. For only 15 Euros you could gain entry to these giant spherical wonderlands at colossal heights, but we settled for seeing the outside of it and buying a Belgian waffle from a truck parked just outside it.

After we'd explored and skated and we were thoroughly worn out, we went back for our coats, made our way to the train station wearing the coats we couldn't carry, with way too much shit in our hands, tied to us, and hanging off of us, and started our journey home. Another 3 hours on the international train, but this time we were thoroughly worn out. We were too exhausted to leave our seats even once, but we had had so much fun in Belgium. And the best part? We were back home by midnight.


Here are some photos from my trip. You can find more here


 

 

The Twelve-Hour Turnaround

This week has been an emotional rollercoaster. I feel like dead weight, like I'm sitting on the train in the middle of the night, slumped over and exhausted, swaying this way and that as the train turns and bumps its way to my destination. Unknown.

Two days ago, I got kicked out of my host parents' house. I have been living with them and working as an au pair for this family for six weeks. I moved across the world with the intention to come be a part of their family and take care of their kids, while they taught me about their culture and helped me adapt to a new country, with different government and social rules.

We all sat down together Monday night after the boys were in bed. They started by saying that they appreciate how great I am with the kids but that they think it'll be a long year ahead. They were right. Things in the house hadn't been great. After the first couple weeks I thought we'd get to know each other better and I would start to feel like I was at home. I wanted to feel comfortable but instead I just felt like I was imposing.

Little things happened which made me unsure of myself in my new surroundings. I brought popcorn home from the movies one night and the next night someone had thrown it away. One week I didn't know I was supposed to do groceries and it caused a big fuss, the week after my host mom said don't worry about it if she's home, and the week after while she was home and I didn't worry about it, the groceries waited two hours in the entryway until I came on shift and put them away, including the milk. Fridays during dinner we'd all have a glass of wine, but Tuesday when we ate Mexican food I wasn't allowed to have a beer with my meal. Things like this confused me and made me feel like I should be extra conscious of their expectations; however, they didn't come out and say them and I, for some reason, didn't go out of my way to clear them up. I felt as if I only owned the space around me. I felt like I was in their way.

So when they told me it wasn't working, I agreed! I myself had wondered if this situation could sustain itself for a year, and I had called the agency that acts as the middle man between the family, the government, and the au pair to discuss my options if things were to not work out. I had made up my mind to talk openly with my host parents and get clear on the expectations, lining out things like the schedule and what my role was in the household, and give it an honest effort. If things still weren't working after another month or two, then I would go in a different direction. I had come downstairs with my notebook and pen, ready to ask for the clarity I needed.

To repeat myself, they opened with saying that they appreciate how great I am with the kids but that they think it'll be a long year ahead. They said that I would be better off with a host family who embraces me, who I am, my podcast and social media, my active social life, and so on.
But after they ended their "We think you need a new host family..." sentence with "...so we've arranged for you to go to a safe house in the morning where you will spend the next three weeks," I was utterly shocked. After a long pause, all I said was "Oh." I couldn't believe this. It was 11 pm. This meant what? That I would have to pack up my room all night, be waiting at the door in a few hours, ready to leave quietly and respectfully, knowing that even though I was headed two hours away to some strange house in a small town in a rural area of a country I am not familiar with, that things would probably work out and I would be fine in the end? Did they consider me at all?

"And you have to realize, this was not an easy decision for us. We've thought about it long and hard over the past two weeks."

Weeks. Weeks. They've been mulling over this for weeks. This is the first time I'm hearing this. I have to move tomorrow. What is happening? Why didn't they tell me? After a few minutes of them talking I finally came around to the reality. It's already been done. So I set about finding out the logistics. And since I couldn't hold my head high, I stuck my fist under my chin, set my elbow on something stable, and propped myself up so I could fake it. I asked them what time I was supposed to be gone, and if someone was coming for me in the morning.

"We can give you a ride if you want, if you have too many bags for the train."
Wow. Duh, I have too many bags for the train. I have to completely MOVE tomorrow. I wan't very keen on going with one of them, but I continued nonetheless.

"Where is this place?"

"Well, we don't know. You can certainly call the agency tomorrow. They are open from 9 am."

Cool. So I'm supposed to be gone the next morning. They're not sure where I'm going but it's "somewhere safe". I should take their word for it, I guess I'm supposed to trust them? It was a lost cause trying to get answers from them, so I said, "Okay then. Good talk!" and went upstairs.
In my room I called my friend, cried, called my sister, cried, added my best friend, Kyan, to the call and switched to FaceTime, and gradually moved from sad to mad. I don't like to play the victim. But I felt that this was completely unfair and inconsiderate. I felt betrayed. I was pissed.

I stayed up till 1 am talking shit and catching up with the two people who get me through everything. I didn't care at this point if I was keeping my housemates up. I didn't care if they heard what I was saying.

I woke up the next day at 8 am. I made coffee and while I drank it, I reactivated my online profile and started browsing profiles of potential new host families. I messaged a few. At 9:22 I got a call from my lady at the au pair agency. Then I heard about a whole lot of complaints from my host family that again, I was the last to hear about. It became known to me that they had searched out my twitter account, my blog, and my podcast, and had seen or heard all of my posts.

Now, I know that anything I put on the internet is public information, duh. I usually don't have anything bad to say. I didn't change my Facebook status to "Looking for a new host family, this one sucks! They're address is ____________ come beat them up or harm their children," but I had complained about them a few times on one platform: Twitter.

Twitter is the place you go to vent, to act cool, to joke about shit that makes you mad, and to basically let any thought fly out of you without a second glance. I had complained about the popcorn, about an argument I'd had one day with one of their kids, about whatever, but I had never posted their address. I had never said, "This person, first and last name, is a piece of shit." Still, I sat there, embarrassed, on the other end of the phone as the representative from the au pair agency scolded me for such poor behavior. I'm mortified.

Well, I still have to pack my room, and I really don't want to take the long car ride with them, so as I wash and fold and put things into suitcases I try to make other arrangements. I could have a friend come get me that evening but he didn't get off work till 4:30, putting him at my house around 5. My host parents were not receptive to my suggestions and it was clear they wanted me out of there as soon as possible. So they kindly extended the time to 3 pm... but I still had to ride over with one of them.

Meanwhile, Maciah told her host parents what had happened, and before she even got through the story they insisted that I come stay with them in Amsterdam instead of some safe house in the middle of farm country. Thank God for kind, welcoming people.

Five minutes till 3 o'clock my host dad texts me, asking if I would need help with my bags. My independent ass would never allow this. I lugged all my stuff downstairs and then loaded it all into the car as they stood there awkwardly, as I had denied help again and they had nothing to do with their hands. I was out by the car and I could tell that they were going to attempt to say a parting word or something.

The host mom stood at the door and wished me well, saying she hopes I find somewhere I can feel at home and accepted. "Yep." I said, without a smile, as I shook her hand and headed back out to the car.

"We're actually not going to the safe house. We're going to Amsterdam," I told the dad as he got in.
He put in the address I gave him and we set out on a quiet, awkward, car ride.

20 minutes went by before I broke the silence. I told him that while I was packing that morning I had listened to a few podcast episodes and anytime I had said their names, in passing or while talking about my new life in Holland, I had taken those bits out and now it just said "host mom" or "host dad". I also assured him that I deleted any tweets about them, however vague, and that I had never intended to put their privacy or identity at risk.

That sparked some constructive conversation where I got out some of my feelings and was mostly diplomatic, but still blunt about my fears of finding a new family, my fear of being in a foreign country without much support, my anger over hearing this all for the first time and not having a chance to fix the issue and cooperate with them, and I was not polite when I repeated what I'd been thinking ever since Maciah's host parents invited me into their home, "Thank God they're kind and welcoming people."

He was receptive and open on his end, we talked respectfully for the duration of the car ride, and he gave me some money as he dropped me off outside the houseboat that would be my resting place from there on out. I unloaded my bags, again denying help because thanks, I can take it from here, shook his hand, and headed inside. I could finally breathe.

Maciah and I hung out with the kids that afternoon, and I happily distracted myself from my worries by playing cars with the two toddlers. Maciah's host parents got home in the evening and we all had dinner together. This was the first time I actually met them, although I'd heard so many wonderful things about them and had spent a weekend at their place with my sister while they were on a trip somewhere a week ago. They were understanding, comforting, welcoming, and equally confused and irritated over the events of the past 12 hours. We all chatted in the living room and played with the kids until bedtime, and once tiny snores were coming through the baby monitor their parents left to go for a late-night swim together.

When they got back something amazing happened. They sat down and invited me to live with them for the next year, becoming their second au pair, allowing them to take the kids out of day care and eliminating the expense of a dog walker. I was... shocked, again. Was it really going to be this easy? Did I... actually just find a new host family, a new home, one I didn't have to bring my suitcases to and settle in? Are these people... for real, this amazing?

Of course I accepted, and I went from angry and scared to incredibly grateful and amazed. We talked about the logistics over tea: where I would stay, what my responsibilities would be, if all of us were on board with the new plan. They made sure to announce that the final word would be Maciah's, since she was here first. Then they went to bed and my sister and I went for a skate, shouting back and forth over the noise of skateboard wheels on brick, "Is this real?! We live together now, dude! They are such nice people. We're going to be like family! I can't believe this is happening! Is this real??"

The next day the agency was called to see if it was allowed. Paperwork was started and I stayed limp, being tossed around by the waves of change, weakly thanking my new host parents and getting through the day tired, incredulous, and a little out of it.

Today is my third day here in this house boat. I finally slept a full 8 hours and worked through my thoughts with a pen. This is the best I've felt in months and I'm completely optimistic about the year ahead for the first time since I moved here.

Am I still a little bitter? Yes. I do hope they regret their decision. I hope they reconsider their firm stance in this situation and that it causes them to act differently in the future. I can't say that I wish
them well, that I hope they find a new childcare situation quickly and that my replacement has a positive, nurturing relationship with them. I can't say that because at this point I still hold hope that they will miss my presence, miss the type of mentor, teacher, and playmate I was for their kids, and be remorseful about the way they treated me throughout the conflict. That's my pride. But overall, I am thankful that they were harsh and inconsiderate, because it landed me here. And I will spend the next 10 months living on a ship in Amsterdam with two amazing people, two great kids, and my best friend, Maciah. God Bless.

First Days in the Netherlands

I've been in the Netherlands a few days now, and I wanted to share with you what my experience has been so far!
When I first landed in the country it was 9 am, I had traveled for a day (flights went ok, other than having contracted a cold two days prior, I made it with no issues) and my host dad was there to pick me up. From there I went to the house, which is a 20 minute drive from the Amsterdam airport in a city called Haarlem. My host mom greeted me and we chatted for a bit, then I set about getting unpacked. The rest of the day and even the next was mostly uneventful, but I did make a few observations about the neighborhood, my situation, and the Dutch people in general. I am writing now on the night of my third day, relaxing in my new room.

Relaxing in my new room.

So!
About my host family and new family life:
Bas (pronounced like "Boss" and is short for "Sebastian", but no one calls him that) is Dutch, he grew up here, and he met Kripa (pronounced Crip-uh) at university in the U.K.. Kripa is from South Africa, but she is of Indian ethnicity. They are both very welcoming and accomodating so far! I have my own room and bathroom and they've given me more than enough privacy and dominion over that space. This week I am sharing the bathroom with Ashton, who has been the Au Pair for the last year.

Ashton is American, she is from Minnesota but she's been living abroad for some time now. Before living in the Netherlands, she lived in Finland and then a hostel in Croatia or something like that. She's actually staying in the Netherlands and changing her visa from Au Pair to a type of expat visa. Expat is short for Ex-Patriot, which is a term (not a derogatory one) they use here to describe people that are from other countries. It's different from the term Immigrant, which describes someone who is a more permanent fixture here, like someone who might apply for citizenship or already has. For pretty much anything you wanna do, there's probably a group of expats that get together for that activity. Last night I went to a yoga class with three other expat participants and an expat instructor. It's a good thing that the class wasn't led in Dutch, because I had a hard enough time keeping up in English! It was very challenging.

Anyway! About the boys! Dhruv (Drew-v) is 10. He's an Aquarius, like me, and so I have hit it off with him pretty quickly. He's more serious, he's always reading these Donald Duck comic books which are apparently very popular here. He says things like, "I don't like to have friends over every day because I need to have my rest days." He's into Harry Potter, chess, football (soccer for us Americans), playing guitar, and loves the English. On my first day we jumped on the trampoline, he showed me his room, taught me some football maneuvers, and used his Harry Potter Sorting Hat to see if I was a good egg or a bad one. I got Huffelpuff, so I guess I'm in the clear.

Ruhan (Rue- soft "h" -ahn, sometimes it almost sounds like "Rue-ahn") is 7 years old. He is more social than his brother, very wild and loud and active. He speaks mostly in gibberish or fast Dutch, but he can speak English, like 95% of the country. He plays football as well and gets competitive with his brother. Yesterday they each had a friend over and hosted a football tournament in the back yard (or back garden, as they say here), for which the trophy was one sweet.

The boys and their friends, playing the football tournament.

Both boys are clever, they go to a school with a certain curriculum structure called Montessori. It was developed by Maria Montessori in the early 1900's and is much less centered around a teacher at the front of the class leading the students through lessons and more centered around the child discovering and learning for him or herself. As far as I understand, they have stations around the classroom for math, reading, writing, science, and the likes, and the children are free to move about the room completing lessons they're interested in and can get help or support from the teacher when they need it. You can read more about Montessori on the Wikipedia page here. They have lessons in Dutch and English, so nearly all of the kids are bilingual even at five and six years old. Dhruv made this paper at school with an American Christmas carol on it (Santa Claus is Coming to Town) and he's written the entire thing in cursive. He made it when he was six, he tells me. My 15 year old sister can't even read cursive, much less write it.

Montessori School

Both boys are also very impressed with my skateboard. My first day here we went around the block a couple of times, they on their bikes and me on my board, so they could see my "skills". I performed some silly skateboard yoga for them which they were delighted about. They were sure to tell me before I left for yoga last night that I should take my skateboard. They're also both... pretty wild. Dutch kids in general are pretty wild. The culture here is very relaxed.  Very opposite of American culture. It spills over into their parenting. In general, Dutch parents let their kids be. It was very obvious to me yesterday when I went to pick the kids up from school. There is a huge sculpture out front where a golden metal globe sits atop a rock precipice. The whole thing is probably 15 to 20 feet tall, and a few kids were actually scaling it like little monkeys. This is not even the abnormal thing, as kids do this; nee, the weird part was, a bunch of parents were standing around and none of the children were scolded or asked to come down. A couple of them almost fell, and none of the adults looked twice. Then, the director of the school came out and even he didn't tell them to stop. Instead he said, "Wow! Do you see this? < to Ashton and I > Wow, boys! You are up high!" Or something along those lines. Again, so opposite of home, where they would probably have a fence around it and a little sign saying FOR YOUR SAFETY, PLEASE DO NOT CLIMB ON STRUCTURE.

America could never!

Which brings me to my next topic: general observations.
People here generally don't care what you do, how you act, etc. They keep to themselves and don't take personal offense to your behavior unless it directly involves them. If another person acts standoffish, short, overly nice, drunk in the middle of the day... no one really says anything. They just carry on. What a concept! It feels like you have room to be. I'm sure that comes with its downsides; the other side of that coin (I can only guess) is that they also don't care how they come off to others, and can be brutally honest, ruthless, or right to the point, but for now it's quite nice. Who has use for politeness anyway?

Another funny little thing might be less Dutch and more European in general, or even worldwide in urban environments, I don't know. There aren't many stores like we would have in the US. I mean, for one, they call them "shops" here, and shops they are. There is a bakery where you get bread, an Italian specialty store where you get pasta, a sweet shop where you buy, you guessed it, sweets, florist, butcher shop, bike shop, a place for home appliances, and many more. There is a store called Hema (pronounced Hay-muh) which is like a small Target, and a big grocery store called Albert Hein which has a large selection of items, but no where near what Walmart would have. They also have shops which are like drugstores, i.e. a Walgreens, Rite-Aid, or CVS, but I forget now what any of them are called. For the most part each shop just sells whatever its specialty is.

I keep getting reminded of how wasteful and unnecessary we are in America. Not that people outright say that, but it's with little things like how their glasses or cups aren't very big. They don't take more than they need. They bring a 16 oz glass of water to the dinner table (usually without ice) and they drink it all, and that's it. I haven't seen a 32 oz cup since I got here. It's just not necessary. Even their water bottles are just regular sized. And I don't think I've seen styrofoam one time, or a plastic Walmart bag. Ashton tells me that people are getting upset with Albert Hein because they wrap a lot of veggies with plastic saran wrap, or they double wrap the prepped food that you heat up, and it's wasteful. Today, Dhruv got a sweet from the store which was a gummy pizza with various toppings. It was in a tiny cardboard pizza box, inside a loose plastic wrap, and then a tighter plastic wrap inside of that. When he got to the second layer of plastic he remarked that it was bad for the environment and wasteful for them to wrap it twice. He's 10.

I also wanted to add in a couple curious facts. Little stuff that I know some people are wondering. The toilets flush the same way, but they're not attached to the ground like our toilets in the US. They come out of the wall, and they don't have the plunger or handle on the side, you flush using two buttons above the toilet. One is smaller and uses less water and the larger is for solid waste, as you can guess, and uses more water.

They drive on the right side of the road, like we do. A lot of the streets, at least the residential ones in my area, are made out of brick instead of black top. The highways are still paved, but not so with lower traffic areas. Also, these places don't need to be repainted ever because instead of painted-on crosswalks, they just use white bricks, which I think is pretty clever.

I was also surprised tonight to see quite a few stars. Less than home, but more than Jersey!

My ass hurts from riding the bike, but I'll get accustomed to it. Dutch people cycle everywhere, rain or shine, old or young, with three small children or one. Yesterday I saw a girl who looked to be four years old cycling next to her mom, who had a baby strapped to her chest. Of course, this four-year-old didn't have training wheels on, and she also rode in the road, as is customary. Drivers are quite used to it. There are more bikes in the Netherlands than people, which makes for a very quiet experience and easy accessibility, even in a large city, and its interesting to see people that are so completely adapted to it.

  

Following Ashton everywhere on the bike.

So you can imagine, my home life here is comfortable and I'm sure I'll get settled in just fine and begin to explore soon. This week I'm only focusing on getting comfy, getting to know my host family, and familiarizing myself with the neighborhood. I'll start Dutch classes in a week and a half and hopefully be grabbing a beer somewhere local in a few day's time. I'm ready to socialize. (Plus, foreign men.............)

Anyway, dat is alles vor nu / that's all for now!
(Click here to listen to the podcast episode I released after week one.)

Cheers,
Alison