Classes

Word on the street (by “the street” I mean “my mom’s email to me”) is that I’ll be receiving my new laptop (and by “new” I mean “my old-school Powerbook Ti”) on Wednesday via UPS. Hopefully it means that I’ll be updating the blog more frequently. Unfortunately, being sans-laptop means most of my blogging for a while will just be in an effort to catch you up on my life over the last three-and-a-half weeks.

So, let me tell you about my classes. This semester, I’m taking four courses: Dutch, Health and Development, Violence in Peace and War, and Urban Anthropology. The latter three are all UvA courses, and since they’re taught in English, they are open to international students like myself. Dutch is put on by CIEE, so it’s only for the American students on my program. Classes are around three hours long and take place once a week. This is kind of a double-edged sword. On one hand, it’s pretty nice because I spend very little time every week in class. On the other hand, three hours can be an excruciatingly long time if you don’t want to be there.* Because UvA is a de-centralized campus, my classes take place all over the city – which is great because it makes you learn Amsterdam quickly.

Dutch:

I’m just going to start out by saying that knowing Dutch is not a necessary part of living in Amsterdam. As such, I originally didn’t want to take the class, considering how many other interesting-sounding classes there were (i.e. Ethnic Diversity in Popular Culture and Terrorism in the News). Too bad Oxy requires its students to take the course, even though everyone knows it’s technically pointless. To tell you the truth though, I’m glad I’m taking the class. The professor (Bonny) is hilarious and it’s pretty cool to be able to order a beer at a bar in Dutch (“Mag ik ein biertje graag”).  I’m always really happy with myself when I can throw down some Nederlands (the proper way to refer to the Dutch language) at the Albert Heijn and have the cashier mistake me for Dutch. If I’m going to live in Amsterdam, I want to take the time to actually be a part of the city

Dutch is unlike the rest of my classes in that I have it twice a week, Monday and Thursday, for two hours at a time. We spend the first half of class learning grammar and vocabulary (as one is wont to do in a language class) and in the second half, Bonny teaches us practical things about Dutch culture. So far, we’ve had an in-depth discussion about how to find what we’re looking for in Dutch supermarkets (and no, they don’t have applesauce), what kind of glasses we can expect our beers to come in at a bar, and gossip about the royal family. Riveting.

Health and Development:

Initially, I was really stoked for this class. The class description on the UvA website made it sound like a course on healthcare and poverty, which could definitely apply to my UEP major. What I didn’t know (and apparently neither did any of the other American students who signed up), is that the UvA has a very specific definition of “development.” From what I can peice together, development revolves around super-impoverished, rural villages in Africa, Asia, and Latin America, and the study of it is pretty anthropological in nature. Basically, this class isn’t a discussion about healthcare systems and how poverty affects ill-health (you know, all that fun UEP stuff). Instead, it’s about how to convince African villagers to take precautions to prevent HIV, and what role the medicine-man plays. It’s on a very micro level. I guess we have some interesting discussions in class, but I was really expecting (and hoping) for something else. Oh, and did I mention that it’s four hours long? Yeah, that definitely doesn’t help. In this instance, I actually wouldn’t mind being lectured to for that period. But unfortunately, for the final two hours, the class breaks up into smaller discussion groups, and then we regroup to share with the entire class. This style of teaching, in the which the professor doesn’t have enough interesting or relevent material to fill the alotted time, is one that I absolutely loathe.

Violence in Peace and War:

This class is legit. It probably won’t count for anything (maybe I could get it to count for a Sociology class), but it’s super-interesting. We basically take an inter-disciplinary look at what causes people to be violent. Each week, we look at violence from a different perspective:  We looked at the philosophical definition of violence (Hobbes, Rousseau, Freud, etc) and we will look at the issue psychologically, neuro-biologically, sociologically, and crimonologically (yeah I just used that word). I’m still forming an opinion about the professors and my class-mates. I’ll keep you posted. I have it every Thursday from 15:00 to 18:00.

Urban Anthropology:

Honestly, I had no idea what to expect from this class. The last time I took an anthropology class was in high school, and that was taught by (who we assumed was) an acid-head who admitted to eating lead-paint-chips as a kid. This class has probably turned out to be my favorite. I still haven’t figured out what the class is about, but I think that’s a testament to how many different, but interesting, topics we’ve covered. The first class we talked about “the city” as an ideal, and what kind of philosophical and literary connotations it has (i.e. it’s a place when you can forge your own identity and make a name for yourself). The last class we had was about Soviet modernist urban design. We talked about everything from Marxist philosophy to the use of baroque architecture in government buildings in Moscow to history of a failed steel-town in Siberia that was supposed to compete with Gary, Indiana. It’s pretty crazy but I love it. The only downside is that Urban Anthropology is at 9am on Fridays, which is probably the worst time for anything, ever.

Right know, I’m chilling in the Amsterdam public libary – the Oba, as it’s called – listening to live piano-playing and sitting in a fourth-story window that looks south over the entire city. Life’s good.

*Last week I got hella sick. I sat through the four-hour class with a fever, and every part of my body hurt. I never wanted something to end so badly.

You can pay for school, but you can’t buy class

Dutch Food

When I used to tell people where I was planning on studying abroad, the response would be about one of four things:

1. Sex (i.e. legalized prostitution)
2. Drugs (i.e. legalized marijuana)
3. “Amsterdam is such a beautiful city.”
4. Pickled herring

I was quick to learn that in addition to its vices (are they really vices if they’re a central theme in the country’s tourism industry?), the Netherlands is notorious for its bad food. I was told – not by any experienced authority, of course – that my diet would consist of bread, cheese, and above all, pickled herring – not to mention ample supplies of Heineken (pronounced “Heinek-uh”). Indeed, there are some truly gross culinary offerings that the Dutch are known for. With french fries (“frites”), they offer dollops of mayonnaise and in the meat section of grocery stores, one still has to keep a vigilante eye out for horse meat – a delicacy according to my Dutch professor Bonny. They also somehow manage to butcher established foods like pizza. On the second day of orientation, our program gave us, for dinner, pizza adorned with gouda cheese* (pronounced “howda”), unnervingly penis-like legumes, and a seafood medley that included shrimp, herring, and baby squid. Needless to say, the culinary traditions of its Western European peers didn’t really influence the development of the Dutch art of cooking.** I suppose food, much like language (more on this in a later post, if I remember), is reflective of culture.*** The Dutch, being an unassuming sort (where standing out and “getting A’s” is not a good thing) impart on the epicurian world bland dishes with very little spice.

However, this leads to – what I suspect is – one of the great ironies of Dutch culture: The Dutch don’t like Dutch food. I know this for a few reasons. First, you’ll be hard pressed to find any Dutch restaurants. Second, I’ve eaten Italian food almost exclusively since I’ve gotten here. It’s not that I don’t want to eat Dutch food (well, maybe it is, a little). It’s just that when I go out looking for something to eat, I can only find ethnic (read: foreign) eating establishments. There are a ton of Italian restaurants, surprisingly common clusters of Argentinian steakhouses, some Spanish restaurants, and Indonesian restaurants a-plenty.**** Italian meat, in particular, is popular in Amsterdam. I’ve had my fair share of serrano- and parma-ham sandwiches since arriving.

My favorite spot to eat so far is this little Italian market down the block from Sara, called Sapori Del Mundo, that makes the best tuna sandwiches I’ve had since Dave’s (Chillin’ and Grillin’) in Eagle Rock. And because you want to know (I’m assuming): No, it does not have mayonaisse in it. Yes, it does have capers, lettuce, cracked jalepeños, honey dijon, and a slice or two of cheddar (gasp!*). I think I like it so much because it’s one of the few spicy selections I can get in my diet. The Dutch don’t make it easy for a spice-a-holic like myself. There are two options on the lid of Dutch chili-powder containers for dispensing the spice: one hole or three (careful!).

However, this is not to say that there aren’t those gems in the world of Dutch cuisine. For example, mayonnaise aside, Dutch french fries are amazing. I’m tempted to revoke the “Masters of the Steak-Fry” award that I gave the Brits in my last post in favor of the Dutch. Here, each batch of thick-cut fries are double-fried for that perfect crunch. The second frying occurs before your very eyes after you order them, so they are still warm when the ubiquitous fry-stand vendor lovingly delivers them to you, their golden aura bursting forth from their newspaper cone. Anyone who isn’t Dutch will opt for either the curry ketchup or the peanut sauce (borrowed from the aforementioned Indonesian tradition) – both are delicious options.

But, without a doubt, the greatest thing the Dutch – nay, God – invented is the stroopwaffel (pronounced “strope-waffel”), hereby referred to as “crack.” Crack consists of two graham-cracker-like cookies (adorned with a waffel pattern) with a layer of caramel syrup between them. I’ll admit, when I first heard about crack, I was curious. While it sounded harmless enough (as crack usually does), the experience – sweet, soft, and chewy – was positively addictive (also, as crack usually is). Usually about the size of a sand dollar, crack can be purchased in packs of twenty for as little as 60 Euro-cents (depending on which hood you’re in). Sometimes though, if lady fortune smiles on you, you’ll run into a crack-dealer peddling his supply on the corner of the street – usually near a market. The crack dealers (whom “normal” people call “street vendors”) sit in their little crack dens (again, “stands”), and will make a giant peice of crack right in front of you for a Euro. I had one of these yesterday, at a market in Den Haage (AKA “The Hague”) and it was like tasting an angel. It’s a sin crack like this isn’t available in the U.S.

The combination of stroopwaffels and Dutch cereal (which all seem to have whole chunks of chocolate in them; so American parents can stop complaining about the sugar in Fruity Pebbles) is going to make me a diabetic by the time I get home.

Seriously. Look at this:

I’m sure I’ll find more diamonds in the rough. And as soon as my computer-situation is figured out, I’ll upload my own photos or the homemade crack and the crack-den.

*The Dutch only seem to like gouda. Other than parmesan (Italian food), there is little offered in the foreign cheese arena. It’s nearly impossible to find cheddar at grocery stores. In fact, when my friend Ian asked a woman standing next to him at the cheese section where he could find cheddar, she gave him this partly-puzzled, partly-disgusted look and said, “Why would you ever want that?”
**Except for Dutch ovens, which are the shit.
***Probably the most obvious thing I’ve ever said.
**** Think Indian food in Britain, or Mexican food in the U.S.