Day 26, 8 July:

Friday meant the end of the week, so we had a picnic in Oosterpark. In lieu of food we sat in a circle to discuss the week and share opinions. I think it was Lindsey who expressed her appreciation for exposure to knowledge she'd never othewise have gained: I felt this way about the morning's first lecture on Dutch colonial history. Not a fact was uninteresting, and in ways I never knew we related the Spanish, Portuguese, English, French, Kiwi, Japanese and Indonesian; and in the Americas, the Curacaoan, Surinamese and Manhattan. I'd like to read a copy of Max Haavelar, and see what it's like to be an outspoken critic in such a unique historical situation. I admire the Indonesian students of "the ethical policy" who fought fire with fire by using western ideas to criticize the West of its hypocritical imperialism and expoitation.

The second lecture laid the background for how controversy arose out of multiculturalism in the Netherlands, creating a rift between the conservative Muslim minority and the progressive Dutch majority. At the picnic we tried to discuss this issue, but its polarizing controversy threatens the comfort of neutrality - to speak bluntly about such issues may be off limits. In my own contemplation my principles have been challenged. Yet, as I learned on the tram, multiculturalism is an inevitable issue which must be addressed. The debate is gaining decibels.

The issue of Islam arose with a growing Turkish and Moroccan population, although Indonesia, a nation with much deeper roots in the Netherlands, is home to the largest Muslim population. Has the Dutch-Indonesian population assimilated into Dutch culture in a way unlikely of conservative Islam? Did the assimilation come with its share of controversy, or was it not so divisive?

We arrived at the Picnic from the Tropenmuseum nearby. There we spent two hurried hours in a grandiose building of international and historical cultural exhibitionism. It would have been worth a whole day to explore the Tropenmuseum. The exhibits made it easy to understand the 17th century's obsession with the exotic. Everything is displayed like an annotated cabinet of curiosities. I was particularly fond of an exhibit about the metropolitan landscape in general and Manila in particular. Two films were especially revealing and nostalgic. One was raw footage of Metro Manila traffic, a puzzling network of brave, jigsaw drivers; the other was filmed by a man walking slowly through lively, homely slums and alleyways.

Backtracking hostelbound after the picnic, we passed by the slavery memorial and the Theo van Gogh memorial, newly aware of their significance in local history, past and present.

Friday also meant that the group divulged in the night life, a commercial fiesta of overexcitement.

Day 25, 7 July:

Today was about the Holocaust. a day which in retrospect the class called "intense." A lecture by Prof. David Barnouw at the Nederlands Instituut voor Oorlogsdocumentatie gave historical context to the country's victimhood of the German invasion and Holocaust. The Professor posed an important question: what will happen to the memory of the Holocaust as generations pass? Will our future forget, and our lessons expire? The city displays dozens of monuments. Will these keep its culture informed?

We saw museums paying tribute to the honorable Dutch resistance and the history of Jewish culture. "NOOIT MEER AUSCHWITZ," engraved in glass at the Auschwitz memorial, means to never abandon the memory of the death camp's victims. Visitors could walk over the broken mirrors, an act reflecting the significance of individual responsibility in the face of inhumane atrocities. The February Strike memorial represents the progressive solidarity of the working-class resistance through the singular figure of a monumental everyday man. The gay and lesbian memorial, a series of three pink marble triangles, comemmorates not only the queer victims of the Holocaust but victims of AIDS as well. Through the subtlety of being built into the cityscape, the memorial is able to represent the deep tolerance of homosexuality in Dutch culture.

I haven't mentioned that at the Institute we watched a film called Zwartboek, directed by Paul Werdooven. It's not surprising to know he did Robocop; the plot was a dramatized pastiche "based on true events" and the mainstream demands of the action-war drama genre. I don't think this style is the most respectful or educative or deep way to approach such historical material, but it is the most charged and suturing. A sober film would have seemed more appropriate to be shown at such an institute, but perhaps street memorials and such movies would not be enough to keep the memory alive. Prof. Barnouw expressed a pessimism that was unfortunately professional. To the future, the Holocaust may seem as aloof as the Napoleonic Wars seem to us, now.

The Anne Frank Huis was a straightforward place. You come, you pack through the renovated hideaway, read diary excerpts stenciled on the wall, see fragments of a life-in-hiding, read replicas of the Frank notebooks, develop your inner-connection to her experience. I thought what the museum lacked was an emphasis on the greater importance of why we remember Anne Frank. She is the most famous voice of the Holocaust's victims, yet she is just one voice. It feels a bit forgotten in the museum, which by memorializing her makes her seem legendary, erring on mythical, and distanced from the reality upon which we have based her commemoration. I believe that the museum should focus on the broader subject of Holocaust refugees and put the Anne Frank story second.

It was, however, a crowded place; as a steady source of funding it perhaps deserves no criticism. In the lobby there was a platform studded with voting podiums, in view of a projected screen to watch introductions to many of today's international controversies. (I was there to watch a clip about the illegal white-laced black combat boots, swastikas and other Nazi emblems in Germany. The audience voted 50%-50%, with the protest arguing for freedom of expression.) This exhibit had a powerful effect, the feeling of being in a room saturated with controversial disagreement and realization.

When I was in Houston until day 4 of 5, I spoke to an elite (highest tax bracket) mid-20s on a 7-month-vacation and touring-America German. To warn us from deception, he suggested that Obama's charisma relates him to Hitler. But he was a reasonable person; a lot of his complaints were the quantifying of taxes and percentages. In Berlin I met an old American on the subway. He bought me coffee and acted himself. His wife had died last September and he was still bitterly grieving; he's impatient, couldn't walk far, loved talking to or at people, is obsessed with his camera, and had several albums of photographs to share and people to talk about. The whole afternoon went by over slow dark beer and a five euro velocab. I mention him because he's homophobic, rude and sexist, an old marine and new widower, but he's here until he dies with outdated views that our generation now considers extremist. These are two people I met.

Day 24, 6 July:

At Utrecht University my classmates and I were greeted with tea, the promise of an umbrella, and a welcoming-warning lecture (by guest lecturer Prof. Dr. Wiljan van der Akker) discussing the way in which the brain creates stereotypes ("fits things into boxes") in order to cope with the trauma of newness. In other words: the longer you're in any place, the more its stereotypes go away. To me, in relation to Holland, this was a little funny. I think the Dutch expect to be stereotyped - justly, perhaps they are all over Europe - but in California, I for one have never been aware of their stereotypes. It wasn't until the readings that I realized what they all were - and because the readings sought to clarify, justify and somewhat purify them, I came to the Netherlands with a more balanced but still biased preconception. I understand, for example, that while the Dutch can be seen as "cheap," it's more considerate to think of them as "thrifty." (In any case I appreciate economical people).

The lecture was on one hand a promotion of the university and its zealous attitude toward rankings, and on the other hand a discussion on the differences between American and Dutch education. What's most fascinating is how much gender differences in cognitive development affect the results of the respective systems. Females mature earlier, so in Europe where children are given placement exams at an earlier age, they are more successful; males mature later, finding more success in America where we tend to "procrastinate" testing. The Professor concluded that the European high school system is the biggest obstacle towards adopting the Anglo-Saxon higher education system - I wonder if other European professors find such an adoption desirable, if even this conclusion valid.

Afterwards, around a flattering lunch we had the chance to speak with Dr. Wiljan van der Akker. He was a charismatic, worldly person. He took a year off in high school for charity work in Ecuador, a feat which he explained made his résumé all the more impressive. The most interesting thing he discussed was the linguistic arrogance of the French, a people who he called "horrible." (I wonder if he's spent more than six months there). Apparently they haughtily believe that one day, the world will all speak French. I wondered, in response, if the Dutch have a sort of pride/arrogance as a people of polyglots. I wouldn't blame them. I'm ashamed that the American majority is so monolingual.

We then went around the city, stopping by two unique museums: the Museum Starrenwacht and the Museum Speelklok. The former was a space and weather exhibit housed in something of a 16th century fortress, topped with a revolving dome in which a giant telescope was housed. At the latter we took a tour of automatic music-playing machines throughout history, from carillons to jukeboxes to full-on mecha-orchestras: everything after the automaton and before the amplifier. We also spent a few minutes at a botanical garden, a beautiful place that we had little time for. The rainy weather was perfect for both the plants and our umbrellas. In addition we toured an academic hall by the Dom church and tower, as well as the physics building, campus and library of Universiteit Utrecht.

Dinner, on the Dutch department, was by the canal at a pannenkoekenrestaurant called De Oude Muntkelder. It surprised a lot of students that Dutch pancakes aren't all meant for whipped cream, syrup and strawberries, a la IHOP. In fact my pancake was cooked with spek & champignons, served with a glass of amstelbier. I was tempted to try some of the unheard-of combinations, especially bacon and raisins, but I resisted for what made great comfort food. Dutch pancakes are a simple, practical, eatable meal. It does justice to the [reader's] claim that Holland is modest with its gastronomy.

Day 23:

Today was all about art: 17th century Dutch Golden Age painting, to be precise, so in the morning Prof. Dewulf lectured on the rise of the merchant class and citizen as, among other things, the new market for painting, and how this and the Dutch culture and landscape came to characterize the art of the Golden Age. We headed off to the quiet town of Haarlem to get a better feel of the era, and after a short lunch in the cobblestone town square, see the Frans Halsmuseum. It was easy to appreciate the way the era's culture colored the exhibit. For example, there were several paintings featuring the Good Samaritan, but none of saints. There were paintings of regal people, ordinary people and peasants, and to a much lesser degree nudes, beautiful women and erotic tableaux. I also enjoyed admiring the painstaking work of the gallery's banquet piece artists, who would demonstrate their skill and patience in such subtle ostentations as fanciful knife handles, reflective tableware and luxurious drapery. Also of interest was how replete Dutch art is of symbolism, whether the memento mori of a snail on a leaf or the honorable display of a crest- and ribbon-adorned frame.'

In the afternoon we went to the Rijksmuseum, a surprisingly small musuem for being the country's most famous. Its collection sought to impress upon its guests a true sense of the Dutch Golden Age: its most famous attractions are Rembrandt's The Night Watch and other paintings by such names as de Hooch, Vermeer, and Jan Steen, although the museum displays weaponry, colonial acquisitions, luxury wares and other arts of the era. I appreciated most the chance to see the works of the aforementioned artists in person. De Hooch and Vermeer are personal favorites for their creative compositions and unique subject matters, and the chance to understand why Rembrandt is so famed was unforgettable. His work stands out when it's seen in person - his skill is hard to swallow.

I felt sick that night. My body must be feeling the first big dip from all these metro poles, dirty train seats and public phones. Nonetheless I couldn't pass up on the chance to find a new pub with new friends.

Day 22:

Fourth of July for me was au revoir to France. To Holland I arrived by train, with weary eyes from a fast last night opened wide for the new candy of Amsterdam. Hallo: brick buildings and big windows, bicycles, canals, big sky and people that make it obvious they're tourists. Of course these words don't do much justice. This city's first impression left me with a promising feeling I can hardly try to describe. All I knew was that I had to get to lecture.

I was late [aware, from the reader, that the Dutch take punctuality seriously], and it wouldn't be my last time. About thirty minutes into the first lecture, I found Bungehuis and room 3.07. I caught some nods. Professor Dewulf shook my hand then resumed lecture to explain gezellige. I carry around with me a Dutch phrasebook, and on the train that morning I stumbled upon the word. Quoting Lonely Planet:

"Taking this book with you will open the door to a truly gezellige (khuh-ze-li-khuh) travel experience. If you want to discover firsthand the true meaning of this quintessentially Dutch word ('convivial' just doesn't do it justice), then don't leave home without this little book!"

I wondered what the Professor would think about this loose likening of gezellige to "convivial" - lecture made its meaning seem to be in some other direction, towards the word "cozy." Perhaps these two words find common ground in the term; in any case I'd like, as my phrasebook tempts, to truly discover the meaning of the word. I figured it has something to do with depth of character, as it has been said that to "impress a Dutch girlfriend or boyfriend" you must, for example, have a home of meaningful, characteristic posessions. I'm good at that, I thought to myself.

Off to the Van Gogh Museum. And what an odd time I had in its premise. Stepping suddenly into such an extreme social situation was a bit unnerving, especially after 21 days alone, so I went for a solitary to reflect on the end of my independent travels (on a date none other than Independence Day). Little did I know, my watch was several blocks of time behind, so my walk was too long. I found a sack of marijuana on the pavement, and three minutes later, a sack of hashish, then a rolling paper blew onto my leg. I laughed at the irony of this happening upon my arrival in Amsterdam. Returning from these unrelated notes, the Van Gogh Museum was a beautiful collection, and understanding van Gogh's development as an artist makes his life and work all the more interesting and admirable. Hoping I won't go crazy, I can, to some meager degree, relate to his artistic ambitions. Making art from nature yet inspired by the mind is what I strive for. That night I took blurry photographs of the canal and wondered what a post-Impressionist would have thought of them. Would he sense an excitement tempered with care, impassioned by beauty?

The walk from Centraal Station to Bungehuis was hurried - aside from stopping to talk to a kind and desperate Irish beggar who I could not help - and the walk after lecture was a sudden, shocking intake of socializing, so that it wasn't until after checking in to the hostel, dropping off my luggage, and boarding the canal tour that I really got to take in Amsterdam at a slow [boat's] pace. It was wonderful. Much of my attention was on the rows of big, open windows, which make a fascinating feature in a culture that frowns upon anti-social privacy. Of course, many curtains were drawn, but others were not, and inside you could watch their owners do household things like sit in front of their laptops or have their supper. I think most Americans, like myself, are uncomfortable in the presence of anonymous surveillance. Voyeurism is treated differently here.

Isolde took us through the red light district that evening. I was excited to have my colorful imagination shattered and sobered - because reality was that the place was just like any other street along a canal, except red fluorescent bulbs hung over certain panes of glass through which shameless women seduced lonely men. Otherwise it's a tourist hub for pickpockets, cheap rent for up-and-coming designers, ethnic restaurants and synagogues. Afterwards, a handful of us went out for coffee.