Jon Praha

Jon Mann agrees. There are three stages to expat life. It begins with euphoria. This lasted about a month in my case, five days for Jon. The second stage is frustration. You grow sick of not having decent food, bored by the culture, and annoyed with the lack of access to American football. The second stage lasted about three weeks for me, considerably longer for Jon who is enjoying his first trip abroad. The third stage is acceptance. I can't get enough of Dutch idiosyncrasies. I no longer gorge myself on frites but I have found my niche, finally hit my stride. Jon concurs. Based on two test cases, this is a universal expat condition.

Prague is gorgeous. It looks like Candyland, the boardgame. I keep expecting to turn the corner and climb gumdrop mountain. Jon took me to some of the main sites today and we sampled the local beer. The Czechs are the supposed kings of beer. The verdict is still out but I'll say that the beers are damn good. The original Budweiser was Czech. Our Bud could learn a lot from the Czechs.

Cheers

Go Gators!

I am going to watch the game on either, a) real television or b) Jami's webcam pointed at her television. Cheers.

Hup Holland!

I went to my first ever professional soccer game on Saturday night. Holland was playing Iceland in a World Cup qualifying game. The outcome was a foregone conclusion. Holland was arguably the best team in the world during the Euro 2008 tournament, a contest they lost because of the peculiarity of the tournament’s structure. Iceland is, well, Iceland.

The game was in Rotterdam. I was looking forward to seeing the city because of its historical significance (it was annihilated by the Third Reich in WWII) and its rebirth as an architectural landmark.

I have now visited two cities that I just do not like, Tampa and Rotterdam. At least Tampa has the Bucs, some good friends, and the Rays (sort of). Aside from the occasional interesting building, Rotterdam looks like any decent size city in America. It could be Tampa. The city is dirty and the people are rude. We had a difficult time getting to the stadium because of the behavior of the Rotterdam residents. We were to meet our friends at a pre-party at a mutual friend’s house. He lives in the Turkish area of town. Turks are roundly hated in Holland. I refuse to elaborate; delve into Turkish history and draw your own conclusions.

This guy’s apartment was terrible. It looked like an old dorm and was called, “In Africa hotel”. True story. He is from Florida. He grew up in Sarasota, goes to law school at FSU, and was the only person at his apartment. Apparently, the rest of the group decided to go straight to the stadium without telling us. There was no pre-party. Tristan, the Florida guy, was a saint. He welcomed us into his apartment as if we were long lost friends. As it turns out, he speaks Dutch because his family is originally from Holland.

The game was amazing. There were a few unruly fans in front of us but other than that it was pretty tame. No booze is sold at the stadium, much to our initial disappointment but ultimately a blessing. Soccer fans do not need booze to get excited. I expected the fanaticism to be more intense than that of U.S. sporting events but that was not the case. Florida football games are much higher octane than this. I realize it was an inferior opponent but even when compared with a Florida v. Western Kentucky snoozefest, the atmosphere paled. Still, it was an incredible experience and I really enjoyed it.

Super Troopers

Add Neosporin to your list of things that are not available in the Netherlands. I asked the pharmacist for some, she wasn’t familiar so I showed her the names of the ingredients. She looked at me like I had asked her, “Where do you keep your heroin? I’ve been tootin’ blow all weekend and need something to settle my nerves.” She offered vitamin B12 but I didn’t buy it. Neosporin is going to be added to my Holland survival kit-list that Travis is so graciously bringing.

Speaking of Travis, I saw someone get pulled over on their bike the other day. I was riding home from work Wednesday night with my brand new street legal lights when I noticed a tall man on a bike wielding an air traffic control baton. The closer I got, the more apparent it became that this man was in fact a bicycle fuzz who had a Dutchman in his clutches. The exchange looked much like the typical American traffic stop. The bike fuzz was chastising the young man while he looked up and nodded, occasionally asking questions to feign interest. The Law handed him a ticket and started the arduous process of refolding his ticket book and putting his pen back in the front jacket pocket. I immediately pictured a scenario from my forthcoming road trip to Germany. If you have never seen Super Troopers, stop reading and Google, “Super Troopers, German Couple Scene”. Warning: Some mild sexual content.

I can see us getting pulled over on the autobahn. A German patrolman comes to each side of the car and asks us whether we know how fast we are going.
“Well, yes officer, we were goin’ waaay too slow. We don’t have the aw-tow- bahn in ‘Merica,” my friend Jon replies.

“Ja, und maybe zere is zomething you can do vhor me, or perhaps zomething vhor my partner,” says the German trooper.

“Zomething? (I explain this last exchange to Jon) Oh, hell no! Buncha fa..”

Just then, Bulldawg wakes from his nap and asks what’s up. He has been drinking Belgian beers for the last five hours and has no idea we were just pulled over for going too slow. He says something in drunken Magamoll. It turns out that the Magamolls have been speaking German this whole time. It’s not that they mumble when they are drunk, they speak fluent German, that’s why we cannot understand them. Whatever he says works and we avoid spending the night at Dachau.

I promise to update you on our travels as soon as possible including whether or not my hypothesis about Magamoll speak is true but I do not plan on taking my computer to the world’s largest beer festival. I’m sure the hotel will have internet access so I will write a little something and/or have guest writer, Travis, add some of his observations.

I have recruited a group to go to Delft tomorrow. If you are unfamiliar with it, do a quick Google search. William of Orange, the George Washington of the Netherlands, defeated the Spanish from his Delft command center. He is buried in the Nieuwe Kerk (new church) which was completed in 1510. The Oude Kerk was built in the thirteenth century. The town is the birthplace of Delftware and is reportedly gorgeous. We are going to bike there which should be interesting because the guy at the market is sold out of budget wheels and I refuse to pay twice as much at a store; Willie and I are just going to limp along to the next town. Twenty or thirty Euro could buy a one way ticket to France or a nice bottle of wine once I get there.

Please exercise your right to vote. I have posted a poll. Travis and I need to figure out what to do during his second weekend in town.

Go Gators. You never appreciate something so much as when it is unavailable. I love Gator football but have become a fanatic since coming to Holland. I will not be able to watch the game so somebody pick up the cheering slack.