Tuesday Travel Blog: Paris

Posted on May 14, 2013 by visitingmissouri

I’ll start with a mandatory Eiffel tower picture

As you’ve all seen last Friday, miss Missouri came to town. Or, as she would see it, to Europe. Even though the Netherlands has been voted most picturesque country in the whole world* time and time again**, she feels too much contained in the 16,000 square miles that is my home country. So, as Americans do, we went to France (and she went to London while I was in class; I’m really committed). More specifically, we went to Paris. Early morning, we got in the high speed train, only to arrive in Paris three hours later. As we spent half the night not printing our tickets and had a mere four hours of sleep, those three hours were spent sleeping by miss Missouri and her dad (who joined us for the trip), and studying by me (again; commited).

Once we arrived, we went to our hotel in the middle of Indiatown. Nothing French yet. We had seen nobody walking around with the mandatory paper shopping bag including baguette, we had not seen even one part of the Eiffel tower, and every street corner had Bollywood music playing. We checked in at our hotel and started walking. Actually, we didn’t stop walking until we were at the edge of our beds and ready to fall in. The weather was beautiful, and I was thrilled to explore a new city. For some reason, it’s never the bigger moments I remember. For me, Paris wasn’t exploring the Eiffel tower and seeing the sun set over the city. It was sitting at the bank of a river, looking at Japanese tourists in a boat floating by, while having lunch in the shade of a tree. It’s the joy of being in a metro and seeing how daily life in Paris looks the same as in any other city, but with the small differences that make it fun to be part of. It’s walking along huge boulevards that make you imagine what life was in the high days of French grandeur. Climbing stairs that are just a tiny bit too long, but make up for it with the view in the end. It’s the little book stores along the river, that create a different atmosphere (and they know it, too). I was in Paris for only one afternoon and a little bit of evening, but there’s something about walking in a new city that never gets old.

*Not an actual contest
**Not an actual statistic

European Traditions And Marketing

Posted on January 29, 2013 by visitingmissouri

Let’s face it: America is basically an independent woman having divorced Europe. One day, America couldn’t take it anymore – all the feudalism, monarchies and free spirits – and moved away. Now, she keeps telling herself she’s better off. At least she’s independent and doing things on her own terms. In this light, it’s a little weird how European traditions seem to be a big marketing asset. Walking through the aisles of any grocery store will have you pondering on how things would be in the old continent. For instance, a can of hot cocoa promised to give you that feeling from a ‘European tradition of drinking hot cocoa on the promenades of Rome and Barcelona’.

All the while being topless, another great European tradition.

There’s a lot wrong with that. As I am an expert on American-European cross culture, I can explain why. There is no such thing as a European culture. Europe is actually a continent, containing many different countries and just as much cultures. There is a Dutch culture, a German culture and, please pay attention all of you in marketing, an Italian and Spanish culture (Rome and Barcelona). It could very well be an Italian tradition to drink hot cocoa on the promenade, but the chance of that also being a tradition in Spain is about as high as the chance of a Mexican family baking an all-American apple pie for their church pot luck next Sunday. Overmore, as far as I know, drinking hot cocoa is not really a tradition on any promenade.

‘And after our pot luck, we’ll watch some football and hunt some deer.’

It’s not all bad news though. We actually do have a few traditions in Europe. Through the ages, a bond has been formed and an identity can be seen. As any culture, Europeans see how certain events bind them together. It is in those events that we remember what Europe stands for, how we set ourselves apart from the rest of the world and how to take pride in that. Still, the number of traditions is very limited and it has occured to us how other continents want to take part in this as well. To conclude, I give you the European traditions:

Having wars between the French, Germans and British (nowadays revolving around a monetary currency, but war it is).
Feeling superior over any other country for being French/German/British.
Mocking the French/German/British for their arrogance.
Mocking the United States for their lack of social security, while also envying their lack of high taxes.

Bonus: This is a somewhat less traditional way of drinking cocoa in the Netherlands.

Training ‘Merica At The Speed Man Was Made For

Posted on January 23, 2013 by visitingmissouri

My recent visit to Missouri was concluded with a train ride from Saint Louis to Chicago, where I’d board my plane to Amsterdam. I’m used to travel by train; I never needed a driver’s license just because using a train was cheaper and just as easy. I knew where I was boarding the train. I had seen Saint Louis Union Station many times before whenever we passed it on our way downtown. It is a majestic hallway, a tribute to steel and coal, located in the heart of the city. The massive building in a way represents mankind conquering nature, it’s the starting point for the man-made masses that plow through the open land. In my mind, I saw the train standing in the main hall, blowing off some steam. The excited chatter of passengers and those who will be left behind is overwhelmed by the mechanical sounds of the machine that is warming up like a bull getting ready to charge. While I lean from the open window and hold miss Missouri’s hand for the last time in months, the conductor gives a last shout: ‘All aboaaard!’. While the train starts to move, miss Missouri takes out the handkerchief, still moist from getting the tears of farewell out of the corners of her eye. In slow motion, I see her watering eyes slowly part from me, as the train departs that awesome station.

In reality, it turned out that Union Station is a Hard Rock Cafe now. The actual Amtrak station is a few hundred yards to the side and looks as nostalgic as an Arby’s parking lot after midnight. In a cold hall, people were scattered around trying to catch some sleep. This was quite the anti-climax, especially when the conductor refused to yell the ‘all aboard’, even with me adding ‘pretty please’. But when the train started moving, my journey was nostalgic again. The glass windows that make the Saint Louis skyline were reflecting the golden glow of the sunrise. With the train moving at deferential speed, I watched the arch wake up, the city get ready for a new day.

My phone does not capture the magic. It’s a miracle it captured anything at all. Also, I’ll pretend the reflection in the window adds to the travelling feeling.

Outside the city, the risen sun gave a perfect view on the many small towns we passed. Everyday life was going by me at a pace that made it easy enough to wonder about. I liked looking out of the window and seeing the big industrial complexes, big mansion next to golf courses and the trailer homes with the rusty cars. It may not be time efficient, but going at that speed is what man is made for. Flying rips you away from life, away from the earth and cars just get you focused on what’s ahead, to where you’re going. It’s the train that allows you to sit and wonder. Isn’t that what travelling should be about? If you decide to try it, be sure to bring an e-reader for the boring parts in between. Illinois has some cute towns, but those boring open lands in between still take way too much time.

And rolling into Chicago a few hours later is just as exciting.

Bridging Time Gaps And Fighting Boredom

Posted on January 15, 2013 by visitingmissouri

Watching a lot of television makes you less capable in a lot of things among a wide spectrum of intelligence. Even worse, I can’t talk to people when there’s a television in the background. Combine that with the intake of alcohol and you may have found out why going to an American bar is mentally challenging for me. It’s pretty easy to measure, too. My mental capacities are strongly related with my accent. By the time I start talking Dutch, it’s time to go home.

Sometimes, television fills the gap between two activities. There’s nothing worse than waiting for a doctor’s appointment or running on a treadmill without a television. Before you know it, your mind wonders off and you’re thinking for no reason. We wouldn’t want that. That’s why it’s a good thing we now have television even in the smallest gaps of life.

The Dutch have two things to gasp about: low gas prices and the mini tv.

That’s right. If you were ever afraid how to bridge the time gap that you use to fill up your tank, don’t despair. NFL highlights, a short weather overview and news flashes are at your service. Now you’ll never have to be bored the whole forty to sixty seconds you stand outside your car. And even better yet, if you never watch a game outside a bar or airport (like yours truly), you can still participate in coffee conversations about the three most spectacular catches, runs and touchdowns that were evidently made last weekend.

What’s your favorite magazine/tv channel/phone app for the doctor’s waiting room?

Call Scripts, Crickets And An Angry Spanish Chick

Posted on January 8, 2013 by visitingmissouri

As I am preparing for a wedding, I’m calling a lot of people. In the Netherlands, phone calls follow a script that would make telemarketers feel controlled. Because the Dutch are apparently afraid of the novelty that is communication on a distance, they pick up shouting their own name, just to establish who is being called before the conversation has properly started. Then, in an immediate response, the caller will pronounce his name and purpose for calling. The first part may seem a little odd, since the caller dialed a number and knows who is calling, but before you giggle too loud, remember the last time you dialed the wrong number and took about a minute to find out. In case you’re ashamed, let me sympathize. When I started calling miss Missouri (which I do at 5am central time), I mixed up the last four digits of her number and got a Spanish talking lady four mornings in a row. Imagine being waked up by a Dutchman at 5am who takes a solid minute to figure out you are not his girlfriend. Four days in a row.

For some reason, searching for ‘angry Spanish woman’ got me a few angry naked latino men, so I went for J-LO with a shotgun.

For some reason, calling English-speaking people at more decent times does not go over much better. I am still used to the idea that a conversation starts with a proper name, so that I can go from there. Let me picture you the first twenty seconds of my phone call yesterday:
Callee: ‘Hello?’
Me: ‘…’
Crickets: ‘Chirp chirp chirp’
Okay, maybe the crickets weren’t there, but it sure felt that awkward. Don’t worry, after I said my name and had him try to pronounce it (he failed, it’s okay), our conversation was perfectly okay. I’ll be better prepared for any calls from now on and make sure our wedding has the appropriate people.

Ever talked to someone who you didn’t know was the wrong person?

Ever liked my Facebook page yet?

When Reading Pays The Rent

Posted on January 2, 2013 by visitingmissouri

Walmart is fascinating. Shopping after ten is an experience that you both can’t miss and never want to happen again. The opposite can also be interesting. Mom and pop stores do exist in the Netherlands, but in a different form. My favorite encounter with an American mom and pop store was last summer. During our car rides I had seen a small book store a few blocks from miss Missouri’s apartment. I had determined it was at most a fifteen-minute walk, so I decided to check it out. After a solid forty minutes of walking in the intense Missouri heat, I arrived at the book store. It was at a small store strip, one of those places where several smaller stores and a ridiculous amount of parking spots are placed alongside the road. The book store is cramped in between a Subway sandwich shop and a shady nail salon. Note that book stores for me are like malls to a stereotypical teenage girl. Sometimes, my neck hurts on Sunday just because I’ve been reading book titles in a 90 degree angle all Saturday.

The best thing about American book stores might just be the chairs. They also prevent a pain in the neck afterwards.

The store was small, to any standard. It didn’t help that too many book cases were actively occupying too many square inches. While I spent hours browsing the books, I started wondering how the guy that owned the store could ever pay his rent. I walked around for a long time and nothing else happened in the store. Nobody walked in, nobody called on the phone and the owner was not actively selling books on the internet, but rather getting high on his own supply. I decided on three books and wanted to pay. The well-read man got up from his chair, strolled to the register and added up the prices for the books. In the middle of this process, the phone rang. He looked at me as if he wanted me to tell him what to do. He answered the phone, looked up a book in his system and then told the tele-client that he did not have the book he was looking for. When he had hung up, he looked at me again and shook his head in disbelief. ‘What do you know’, he said, ‘it always gets busy when I’m just having a customer.’

Do you have a favorite book?

I Have A Great ID

Posted on December 11, 2012 by visitingmissouri

Sometimes, Saint Louis seems like a small world. Maybe it’s the perspective of crossing an ocean for hours to get there (boring flight I tell you), but it appears as if I travel more than some Missourians I come across. Take my ID, for example. I enter the country using my passport. No problem. The thing about a passport though, is that it’s pretty expensive, important and a full-time job to replace. This means you don’t carry it around all day. In fact, when we were in Turkey, miss Missouri would hide our passports under the matrass (also because the only hotel with a safe had locked the safe without instructions or keys). Future burglars: we don’t do that anymore. Go check shoes on the beach for watches. Anyway, whenever I travel Missouri, I use my Dutch ID card.

I decided the bar before my eyes wasn't necessary to make this a mug shot.

I decided barring my eyes wasn’t necessary to make this a mug shot.

For some, this poses a problem. Even though I radiate an age-deceiving wisdom that you’d rarely come across, I still have to show ID whenever I want to drink an alcoholic beverage. All the times I do, this sparks conversation. First of all, you’re not allowed to smile in European pictures. This means that every official picture looks like a mug shot. Secondly, my hairdo in the picture is high school emo and as I have a haircut every time I get to see miss Missouri, I look slightly different. After seeing those obvious pitfalls that apparently stand in the way of just handing me a beer, the person holding my card has to search for my date of birth. In the picture above, you can check how long you need for that (for your convenience, I have even erased my SSN and Document no. They cannot be mistaken for a date of birth). Note that I’m 6′ tall, so 2008 isn’t a likely year of birth. Lastly, they have to check for it to be genuine.

'Well, I'm not denying I googled 'fake ID card', but it was for my blog!'

Unlike this one, that might get me in trouble. ‘Well, sir, I’m not denying I googled ‘fake ID card’, but it was for my blog!’

Sometimes, to do this, the waitress will just walk away and take it somewhere. I feel that’s overreacting really. Don’t take this the wrong way, but however someone would fake an ID card, this would not be it. On the back of the card, my photo is shown as a watermark if you hold the card against the light. Numerous reflections and seals are shown when you move the card back and forth in any light and I’m pretty sure if you rub your finger nails on the right spot in a 30 degree angle, it will play the Dutch national anthem for you. It may be exotic, but it’s clearly an ID card that looks nowhere near an easy-to-fake library card. Yet still, if you want to enter Electric Cowboy, they won’t trust you. No line dancing for me.

Adult Bookstores And Fitness

Posted on December 4, 2012 by visitingmissouri

Whenever you drive from Saint Louis from Kansas, you start to feel wanted. You get invited for all kinds of things. People want you to come. Come to Jesus, come to Mizzou, come to the Amish, come to adult bookstores… Apparently, Missouri adults read a lot. No children’s books for sale, but lots of philosophy books, popular psychology books and policital books, evidently. I wouldn’t know, because even though miss Missouri knows my love for book stores, I am always denied a little side trip.

Don’t worry, I know what adult book stores really are. I’m not that naive. I just wonder how it applies to other adult areas. In a quiet corner on the beach, I have seen an ad for adult fitness, taking place around 4pm. Now what is adult fitness? Can I safely take my kids to the lake around 4pm or will I be known as the worst parent ever? Is there a bunch of naked old people jumping up and down once a week? Do they read afterwards?

I guess this is super-adult fitness.

Sometimes, signs can be amazing, if you read what they’re really saying. Short one, because I can: this sign indicates that burglars are prohibited in the neighborhood.

What’s your favorite ambiguous sign?

Travel Tuesday: Gobble Gobble Gobble (Part II)

Posted on November 30, 2012 by visitingmissouri

Because it’s part II, this still counts as Tuesday. For Part I, click on the words ‘Part I‘.

I had seen American tourists before. They are notorious for a lot of things, but when they visit Europe, one thing stands out: they see more of it in a week than most Europeans do in a lifetime. After coming back from Turkey, I realized I was becoming one of them. I had spent 9 days in the country and seen three cities and a major tourist attraction that wasn’t close to any of them. Travelling inTurkey is food for travel tales, though.

Not to be confused with turkey travel food.

When we arrived in Antalya, a city on the Mediterranean sea, the internet guide I printed out told us to take the bus, a luxury coach-style tourist bus operated by the local government. We sat down and waited for the bus to leave. Of course, it didn’t. The driver came in and started a game of charades, making clear the bus wouldn’t leave. He pointed at the municipality bus in front of us while gently pushing us outside. That bus drove away while we were halfway through the door, so he pushed us back in our seats, got his keys and started the bus. The man was going for a bus chase through the streets of a Turkish city. I fastened my seat belt and got my camera ready. This is the stuff good stories are made of (that, or small newspaper messages telling of a tragic accident with an engaged Dutch-American couple driven off a cliff by a crazy driver in pursuit of an early day off work). The bus wouldn’t start, though, so he now pushed us in a taxi cab that drove us to our hotel.

I started humming Paul McCartney songs as a clever reference, but things clearly didn’t work out.

Another story developed when we were heading to the airport. As we were more acquainted with Turkish travelling, we knew what minibus to get and we were well on our way. Nothing could stop us from catching our flight, because this minibus was driving us to the airport. It did. On the highway it slowed down a bit, pulled to the side of the road and dropped us off. We could see the airport through the very well secured fence guarding it. There was no road leading to the airport, but there was a taxi driver across the highway. He ran to us, said he’d take us to the airport and we agreed. I thought he was going to get his cab, but instead he made very clear we had to run with him. He made miss Missouri and I hold hands, which makes a lot of sense, because that’s the one thing that makes you immune for high-speed traffic on a busy highway. Don’t try that at home, kids. When we sat in his cab, the driver hadn’t lost any of his craziness. He kept looking at miss Missouri (who was in the back seat, while all the oncoming traffic was not) and started making hand movements while looking at us that can best be ignored. We made it to the airport. Turkey is a safe country, but much like any other safe country, crossing the highway is still crazy.

Crazy I tell you!

What’s your worst traffic story?

Who Said Anything About Skiing?

Posted on November 20, 2012 by visitingmissouri

One of the trips I had been really excited about was boating. Actually, miss Missouri and I went on two boating trips. One was a cruise on the Mississipi, assuring me that hot summer can be quite breezy when cruising the water, and the other trip was at a lake. I had seen Facebook pictures of miss Missouri’s boating trips and noticed a fair amount of water skiing (or ‘skiing’ as the locals refer to it, whereas I refer to alpine skiing as skiing; cultural and mildly distracting side information: check!).

An artist impression of my first attempt of water skiing.

Her brother went on first. He jumped in the water, picked up the rope and the boat started moving. Sliding across the surface, he performed thirteen saltos, a few screwdrivers, put the rope between his teeth. I’m almost sure he walked on water back to the boat. I thought I’d give it a try. He had made it look so easy, so I just had to copy what he had done. That optimistic thought lasted approximately one second. The second the boat started moving, I lost my balance. The skis never straightened out. I immediately realized what went wrong, so with a few tweaks I’d be crossing the lake.

I thought this would be cool for my third try.

Only I wasn’t. After twelve tries, I lasted for about ten seconds, before I was being dragged through the water again. All together, my actual skiing time might be around 25 seconds. It felt really weird to have to learn something like that. All my movements (walking, running, cycling) are natural now. I’m not used to fall and pick myself up. It was slightly frustrating, but I kept trying. It wasn’t until I got back in the boat that I really felt how tired I was. The twenty five minutes of trying had worn me out. Next summer I’ll have to try again.

Can you ski? Alpine or water?

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Visiting Missouri: A Dutchman's view on the Real America

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