This was the last weekend of the February half term and I went the day after I got back from Lyon with Mark. To be honest, I didn't really know what to expect. Of course, I knew the two main things people do there: weed and prostitutes. (Not necessarily in that order-- oh, and, pun intended.) However, I was completely clueless as to how the city would look and what else there would be to do there.
My first challenge was biting the bullet and admitting that I was linguistically lost. I imagine most erasmus students feel a certain pride in being able to express themselves in at least one foreign language, and when you've been submerged in the culture of a different country with a different language for a few months, it's easy to forget that you can feel useless and isolated. Having been an English assistant, I actually feel fortunate that my mother tongue is English because a) it's quite difficult, and b) because it's such a unique language with both romantic and germanic influences, making it very versatile and rich. That said, I feel nothing but embarrassment and shame at the thought of speaking English in a foreign country. Admittedly, it's mainly pride: 'No, I am not one of the (frankly, too many) native English-speakers who assume that everyone in the world speaks and understands English perfectly, thus I need not bother myself with learning any other language. I speak French-- and even a tiny bit of German.' Okay, so when I try to speak/think in German these days I almost immediately stream into French and come out with bizarre things like 'Ich voudrais...' (I would like), but I make the effort.
In honesty, I feel shame when I hear a native English-speaking tourist in France making not the slightest effort to say any French (not even 'bonjour' (hello), 's'il vous plaît' (please) or 'merci' (thank you)). Even an apologetic look would be something, but no, I see so many arrogantly stroll up to a shop assistant/waiter and speak as if they were still in their home country. Imagine this happening in England: a French/German/Spanish person walking into a restaurant and speaking their mother tongue. They'd get nowhere. And, we'd all get indignant about how this is England and we speak English etc, etc. It makes me furious.
To avoid this stigma, at least for a brief time, I decided to use German. I'd heard a bit of Dutch before, and it does strongly resemble German and English (especially written), so I thought I'd blow the dust off the German words floating somewhere in my brain. It was pretty rusty, and the bus driver I was talking to didn't understand a word (naturally) and simply asked if I spoke English. 'Yes.' I sighed. To compensate for my Englishness, I tried to speak as little as possible and say only what was strictly necessary to get my bus ticket and looked constantly apologetic for my Englishness and overly thankful for his good nature.
It soon became apparent, that if you don't speak Dutch (as most people who are not from Holland don't) you really need to speak English (not French or German, alas.) So, I asked the hotel receptionist to write down a few useful phrases for me so I could at least be polite and ignorant. I don't remember what 'hello' is in fact. I can only think of 'God dag', which is Norwegian, and is fairly similar I think... 'Dank ye well' (said dank-e-vell) is 'thank you' and that's all I remember now although I used other things, too. Whilst I still felt guilty about being English for the majority of the time, I can at least say that being able to say just a few polite words makes so much difference. Paul and I were commenting on how well everyone spoke English and we even think that speaking fluent English must be a basic requirement to work anywhere in Amsterdam because of how many tourists speak English as a first or second language.
There was one incident in a café where we had lunch when I went to the bar to collect something I ordered and a 20-something girl barged in asking something (no 'hello', 'sorry to bother you', 'sorry, I don't speak Dutch', nothing.) I must be honest, I didn't realise she was English at first. She had the strongest accent I have ever heard. Naturally, the waitress didn't understand a word, so she repeated her question (she was asking where Dam Square was) but still the waitress didn't understand. I didn't really feel like helping the girl out-- as harsh as that may seem, I find it incredible that someone can be so ignorant about what it is to speak another language. I come from Birmingham-- I don't have the famous accent, no, but I at least know I need to speak with a fairly neutral accent and avoid using lots of slang and so on when speaking English to a foreigner. Obviously, people don't learn English with a Liverpool/Birmingham/Manchester/Cornwall... accent: much as I didn't learn French with a Ch'ti accent.
Rant over.
So, Amsterdam.
I had a bit of time to kill before Paul arrived, so I checked into the hotel, dumped my bags and picked up some leaflets about attractions and got the bus to the main station. Having been on a coach for three and a half hours and various buses for maybe another hour, I got myself a drink and some food, armed with my polite phrases and all went well. The baristas all looked appreciative of the fact I was speaking a few words of Dutch, and it's actually a very satisfying thing to do.
After, I had a quick walk up the main street from the station where I was almost immediately run over by a bicycle. If there's one thing they know how to do-- aside from prostitutes and weed-- over there, it's bikes and cycle lanes. They're everywhere. I've never seen anything like it. There's a multi-story bike park next to the station that is just full of bikes, and they're all by the canal-front too. I've never seen so many in one place in my life. Good on them, too.
Anyway, Paul eventually arrived and we went back to the hotel so he could leave his bags and then we went to eat. Amsterdam is lovely at night. Since there are lots of canals, there are lots of bridges and at night, they are lit up:
We didn't actually do an awful lot while we were there-- this was partly because of how busy it was. The queue for Anne Frank's house was crazy, so we went to the Van Gogh museum instead, which was brilliant. We also walked around Vondelpark which was full of people, but it's still a nice place to visit. Unfortunately, the tulip gardens weren't yet open, but views like this aren't too shabby:
Aside from this, we just explored the city and relaxed, which is no bad thing. On our adventures, we happened upon the most depressing pub in the world which played the most depressing songs imaginable and was playing Spartacus, I believe, on the tv directly opposite us. All I have to say about that is that I'm glad I drink white wine, not red. We also ate in a restaurant where the owner's pet cat was allowed to walk around freely, which made me very happy, although I'm not sure Paul felt the same way...
Sunday came around very quickly, and it was sad to say goodbye to a friend, but at least I liked where I was going: home. That's how France feels now.
I finished my time in the schools only about a week ago, but I'll tell you all about that soon/in a few weeks.
À bientôt! (Sort of.)
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