Frisian

We are having a quick lunch on the Frisian Island of, Ameland. The Islands are much different from the rest of Holland. We were lucky enough to find a bed and breakfast run out of a nice Dutch lady's house. Everyone knows everyone on the island and the people are uncharacteristically friendly. I'll post pictures and tell stories when I return. For now I must eat some fish. We are, after all, in the middle of the North Sea.

Balkan Hosts

I have some bad news. Willie Soft Spot was stolen last night. I enjoyed a nice dinner with Francesco at the same Italian restaurant that Rhett and I frequented. When I walked outside, Willie was gone. I played back the situation in my head a hundred times. Did I forget to lock the bike? Surely not, it has become second nature to lock my bike much the way you lock your car door. I’m less likely to forget to lock the bike because it is such an ordeal. Forgetting to lock your car door is a pretty easy mistake to make. All you have to do is push a button, from anywhere. You don’t even have to be next to the car. The bike is different. You have to unlock the chain, take it off of the bike, wrap it around the back tire, and relock it. Regardless of how it happened, it happened. The good news is the office has an extra bike which I am now borrowing until I can find a suitable replacement for Willie. The part that bothers me is that it wasn’t my bike. It was Brent’s bike. He was nice enough to let me borrow it and I lost it. I feel like a jerk.

In the meantime I have a pretty nice ride. The seat is not as nice as Willie’s and the color isn’t as awesome but the new bike is an upgrade in all other respects.

A lighter note:

My coworker, Jelena, went to Bosnia and brought back some of the local red pepper sauce, homemade by her mother. I raved about it when we went to the Bosnian restaurant and she promised to bring back the recipe when she went to visit. She did me one better. Apparently it takes eight to ten hours to make this stuff. The time spent is evident.

Leiden Pictures

Tuesday Night Fights

I went out looking for a fight last night. Not a fist fight because that’s not my style but a good ole fashion political debate. I have smiled and nodded when pressed on the election by Europeans. Last night I was taking no prisoners. Thankfully, the election was mentioned only once and it was by a very polite German who just wanted to know whether we were interested in the results.

Chris and I went to a bar that featured live Irish music. A six piece band played an assortment of Irish folk songs with a banjo and didgeridoo thrown in for good measure. The Dutch started smoking cigarettes as the band was packing up their instruments so we walked to another Irish bar around the corner. I poked my head in the door. The crowd was sparse and rough looking. They all turned to look at us and as we were walking away, thinking better of going in, they yelled at us to join them for a pint. The bar was run by a Dutchman but all the patrons were British and Irish expats. Dave was the most intoxicated of the bunch. He had a small town English accent, the kind that is difficult to understand sober and nearly impossible to understand when the accent holder is drunk. Everyone was incredibly friendly.

Dave’s buddy, Noel (father of Leon, true story), came into the bar carrying a guitar case. Dave was all over Noel to play a song. “Oh, frr fcck sake, Noel, jss play us one fcckin dune.” Noel finally relented and I am ever glad he did. Chris and I ended up staying out way too late; but how could we resist a free private show from an Irish folk singer? Chris knew several of the songs and sang along. I chimed in on "Sam Hall" and a couple of the more famous ones. They loved us. The bartender gave us half pints of Guinness and asked us to come back on Friday night. We’ll see. We have made plans to go to the West Frisian Islands this weekend. I’m sure we’ll have plenty of seal pictures come Monday.

The End of Freedom

Ladies and Gentlemen, the President of the United States, Barack Hussein Obama.

I don’t want to go on and on about the election but I’m a little queasy right now. I wish I could enjoy the historical significance of the first black President of the United States but I can’t. Chavez, Putin, and the like are going to eat him for lunch. It’s scary. But, worrying is not going to change anything. Obama is going to be our President. There’s no way around it.

Proud

Ridin' to Leiden and Delft Interest Part II

Francesco and I biked 14 km (8.7 miles) to the University town of Leiden on Saturday. Holland rained on us all day. We talked health care, philosophy, Obama, and freedom. The trip took about an hour because we took the long way. Francesco knew of a park that we decided to visit on the way out of town. This park illustrated how the Dutch, for all their faults, are prone to flashes of brilliance. I think it is where they put all the water that should be the ocean. As you know, Holland is supposed to be the floor of the North Sea (kinda like how New Orleans is supposed to be the floor of the Gulf of Mexico). It only exists because the Dutch don’t want to live in Germany so they pushed back the sea and created their own country, hence the reason for all the windmills. The park is full of canals and what looks like swampland. Algae and funk covers the canals and various deformed wildlife- seahorses, sharks, whales- roam about unfettered. We saw a local football game being played and I wondered aloud whether the local recreation league teams have hooligans like the pros do.

Leiden is beautiful. I have a few pictures but they will have to wait because I inexplicably left my camera at Chris’. Speaking of Chris, his mother was in town and she made a home cooked American meal. We had stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravy, fried chicken, salad, and a round of jump high fives. It was awesome. We (I) followed the meal by watching the Packers at the Titans. It was Thanksgivingesque. The dinner had been preceded by a second trip to Delft. Chris’ mom, Julie, had a little trouble adjusting to the bike culture but she caught on much more quickly than Rhett. Delft was just like the last trip aside from the fact that this time the square was not full of a carnies and death traps.

I faxed my absentee ballot today. If this election is as close as I think it will be, they will have to either throw out my ballot or get Bush’s lawyers on the case. Incredibly, you can fax your absentee ballot and have it counted just like all the others. The only caveat is that you waive your right to secret ballot. This is fine with me as I am willing to shout from the top of Mount Holland (the bridge that slightly rises over the canal down the street) that I am voting for John McCain and against King Obama. But I keep thinking that if hanging chads were an issue in 2000, what are they going to say to five-page-copy-of-ballot-faxed-from-Europe? What will they even call that?

Go Gators!

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