Dutch people are funny

Went to Amsterdam last weekend (well, Wednesday to Monday) with Kate. We got into London and explored for a little while, though everything was closed. Got to see Buckingham Palace and Hyde Park, though. And we couldn't figure out why Westminster Cathedral was so busy on a Wednesday night...until they started putting ash on their foreheads. Ash Wednesday, duh!

We got on the bus around 10pm, and unfortunately it was packed for a 12 hour ride. Some crazy drunk guy who acted just like Rack 'em Willie talked nonstop through the night in the seat just behind us. The poor Asian kid next to him looked ready to die. So was I when he passed out in the aisle right beneath my feet. At least he didn't puke...

The bus trip, otherwise, wasn't too bad. We took the Eurotunnel beneath the Channel--the driver drove the coach right into a gigantic train (kind of like docking with a Star Destroyer?) and turned the engine off. We felt a small bumb, and 35 minutes later we were in France. And we quickly learned at a gas station that just because the Euro is weaker than Sterling, sandwiches aren't cheaper. Whoa was this an expensive trip!

Behind Kate on the bus was a nice old Polish guy who talked to us so he could practice speaking English, and because he "like the sound of an American accent." That's a new one. He told us he moved to London for his job, and was pretty resentful about the Polish government. Great for us tourists though! He said everything is really cheap (ANYONE WANT TO COME SKIING IN POLAND WITH ME?!). Apparently his son, who he rarely sees because he still lives in Poland, is a huge Chelsea football fan, and this guy brings gifts back every time.

Got into Amsterdam early Thursday morning, and realized, shit, signs aren't in English here. In trying to find the hostel, we asked a woman at the bus station where the trams are. She gave us a hurried answer that made no sense, finished with an abrubt "Okay byebye." Welcome to Amsterdam.

Everyone else we met was very nice (and liked to pick on tourists). We couldn't check into our hostel for a few hours, so we found a cafe to hang out in. Attention Brits: Learn from the Dutch, their coffee is much better. The cafe had a stack of confusing Dutch board games, and a little cardboard book to teach young'ens their numbers. And us foregiers. Look Ma, I speak Dutch! "Een appel, twee kerchen, drie bloemen!" The bar girl helped us pronounce things, until she suggested we learn how to speak by reading the menu....

Renee, a stereotypical friendly Dutchman who rides a goofy bicycle everywhere, wears a leather jacket, and laughs constantly, was our hostel manager. When we met him he gave us very helpful, but useless, directions for the trams (we just walked everywhere). He also warned us not to call him before noon. Strike 1, we tried to check in too early...

We walked down the street to check out one of Amsterdam's famous street markets, Dappermaarkt. On Dapperstraat. They name things efficiently, but it has the unfortunate result of dozens of very similar-sounding names. The market was really cool though, and had nearly a hundred vendors selling clothes, fresh food, local cheeses, fresh fish, cheap watches, etc etc. AND BOOTS. Unfortunately, Kate learned there are no cheap boots in size 42. Love you!

We walked around the city some more until we could move into our room. We found a random cool zoo/aquarium, and were innocently looking at a diorama when the curator tromped in behind us saying "Helloooo loveerrrrrs," and curtly informed us the museum was closing. Hmm, seemed early to close.

That night we checked out center-city Amsterdam: Rembrantplein (Rembrant Square) was all lit up and pretty looking, and we went into our first "coffeeshop," Smokey's. Sweet. But hmm, it seemed to close early too. And a funny Dutchman on a bicycle seemed puzzled it was only 12, and not 1, when he asked us the time. Hmm. And food is where they get you, if you know what I mean: sooo expensive. We stumbled in a haze back to our hostel and promptly passed out. At one point I confidently aimed us in the wrong direction--Kate informed me the map was upside down.

Friday morning we overslept, and tried to find our way to Damsplein (the famous square with the phallic statue--erm, I mean obelisk--in the middle) for an 11am tour. We missed it, and looked for the 1pm tour. Hmmm, it wasn't there. It was raining anyways, so smoked some leftovers from Smokey's the night before at a little coffeeshop called Arabica Lounge, went to explore the flowermarket (Bloemenmaarkt) and the book market. Quaint. Then we wandered up into the Red Light District...

When the rain picked up we stumbled into another "coffeeshop." I, uh, don't remember the name... It was a very local establishment (an elderly Dutchman reading the paper and smoking alone gave me a sassy response when I asked to borrow his ashtray), and we were very clearly out of place. And in way over our heads. Whoa. After some unknown amount of time, we decided we needed to get out of there. Some divine force led us through a hazy distortion of space-time and erratic bicycles to the Golden Arches of McDonalds, where we remained as at least three other groups of diners came and went. When we finally left, and miracously oriented ourselves home, we were drawn into the foyer of a great Cookie Palace--a beautiful hotel banquet hall with enormous trays of cookies begging us for closer inspection. While we both silently debated how Ninja-like we could be in our current state, we heard a subtle cough. Kate. Dont. Eat. The cookies. We vanished into the night, stopped at a grocery store, bought two baguettes, a block of cheese, a box of Special K (the cereal, god!), a chocolate bar, a dried salami, and ate all of it before watching an episode of the Colbert Report online and passing out.

Once again, we overslept on Saturday morning. When I left our room to get a shower, wearing nothing but a tiny white towel that maybe covered my cheeks, I locked us out. Shit, we're going to miss the tour again! Shit, how are we going to get back in? Shit shit shit. Kate hid in the bathroom, while I knocked on every door in the hostel without any luck. At one point, a French girl nextdoor (who speaks no English) came out into the hallway, saw me with a giant smile, hairy chest, and sparse loincloth going "Bonjour!" and pointing at the door. She repeated, "Je ne comprends pas!" three times, and then ran back into her room saying her boyfriends name. I think something was lost in translation. Finally a friendly kid who came up the stairs and spoke English stopped laughing at me long enough to lend me his phone. I called Renee, who was clearly asleep and not happy about being woken up. Strike 2, calling before noon. But when he arrived with a spare key, he cracked up too: "I know you didn't mean to disturb me, because you don't want to stand like Adam and Eve in the hallway all morning." After the shower, I found Renee back again in the hostel to let that French girl into her room: she locked herself out too!

We missed the tour again because we were having a grand old time pretending to be Adam and Eve, so we went to explore another huge street market--Albert Cuypmaarkt--and find breakfast. On the way, I laughed aloud at something Kate said, and a funny Dutchman on a bicycle mocked me as he passed (Huh huh huh huh huuuuhh). We ended up filling my backpack at the market with an assortment of delicious fruit. Still no size 42 boots, Kate. We found another nice coffee shop and got some espresso, decided to go to the Van Gogh Museum, so then found another nice "coffeeshop" to stop in first. No need to explain, the museum was awesome. Other people seemed to think so too (overheard: "Dude, he painted a whole tree with that one line. Whoa."). I liked Van Gogh's trees too, I thought they looked like the trees in a Dr. Seuss book. The museum was really well done, and I learned a lot about the evolution of his work and his influence.

When the museum was closing, hmm, it seemed to be early again. And we finally figured out why we kept missing tours, bars/coffeeshops were closing early, etc etc. Since we arrived in the Netherlands, we had been on British Standard Time and were an hour behind. Goes to show you can make it three whole days in Amsterdam without an accurate time! And I guess you can't expect a $4.95 mobile phone to adjust time zones automatically.

We housed another bag of candy, some soup, and some expensive beer, and wandered back into Arabica Lounge. We watched an XC skiing race in the olympics, which was (at the time...) intense! I couldn't exactly clearly communicate to Kate how the split times worked, but the end of the race was a nail-biter, and we were veeeerrry happy we watched it. We felt a bit funny constantly pulling grapes, clementines, apples, and strawberries out of my back while we sat watching the Olympics, listening to a black girl singing (the only black girl we saw in Amsterdam), watching a fat Eastern European man roll a gigantic blunt and smoke it while demanding respect from his friend, and drinking tea and coffee.

Sunday morning, our last full day in Amsterdam. We had the right time zone, had keys to our room, woke up on time...great start. We also used Skype to call THON--sorry we missed it, but CONGRATS GUYS! And we finally made our tour! After a sprint to get there on time and get breakfast, we did indeed learn a lot on the tour. For example: the canal houses lean forward intentionally so heavy objects can be hoisted through upper-story windows, avoiding the narrow/windy stairs; the highest elevation in the city is 2m above sea level; the oldest church (named Old Church, but in Dutch) is right next to a 73-year-old prostitute's window and a preschool (it used to sell indulgences to absolve sailors of the sins--very convenient); one of the oldest Buddhist temples in Europe is in Amsterdam, and is 20 years old; an anonymous sculptor placed a bronze statue of a hand grabbing a breast in a sidewalk in the Red Light District that the city couldn't remove due to excessive protesting; Napoleon's brother, Louis Bonapart, was the worst king and forced the Dutch to create last names besides "the Baker"--they thought it would be funny, then, to make last names like "Pubichair, and I'm sure their great-grandchildren think it's funny, too; a coffeeshop called Dampkring was in Oceans 12. After the tour, we got a traditional Dutch meal of sausage and mashed potatoes...in an American comedy club.

It was pouring rain, so we went back to Dampkring for a little bit to warm up, and walked up to the Red Light District for another tour at night. Also very interesting. We got a good look at the "sex workers," and laughed at the old men coming out of the windows. We saw advertisements for "50% off Fake Pussy," a DVD called "Bubble Butt BBQ," a vibrator that moves to the rhythm of your iPod, and intricate sex shows featuring "Banana Tricks" and the such. We learned that the 3rd floor of a nightclub called the Cockring specializes in "Golden Showers," and Bondage-specialist sex-workers hang blue and black flags over their windows. We also learned that you can get a discount blowjob in "Green Windows," where the gender of your prostitute is questionable. A typical service--the "suck and fuck"--costs 50-euro for just that, and nothing more; it costs more to take her top off, more to change positions, and if you don't finish, too bad, "Okay byebye!" She is entitled to cover you with a plastic sheet if you look dirty, always provides her own protection, and statistically is less likely to have an STD than girls at the university in Amsterdam. If you screw with her, there are security cameras and emergency call buttons, where if you're luck the police come. If you're unlucky, thug security forces kick your ass. And after an 8-hour shift, she might go home to her husband and children, go to a day-job, or take a nap.

We capped off the night with a last visit to Dampkring--I practiced blowing lots of smoke rings while Kate created an origami constellation of paper stars on the table. We went to bed, and got up at 6 am to catch the bus home. Somehow, we found another group of Penn State exchange students on the bus, one of whom had happily consumed a "Space Cake" that morning. Small world!

Great trip overall! The Dutch are awesome people, very funny and friendly, and the lifestyle in Amsterdam is easygoing and accepting of everyone. And the city is beautiful--tons of canals, parks, museums, and colorful markets; I'd love to go back when it's warmer.

Bath, Pancakes

So I tried to go to the New Forest on Friday, but the stupid buses ruined me. We were standing at Southampton Central Rail Station, where the schedule said it would come, but never did. When we went to the other stop in Southampton, we watched the bus drive straight by, and we forgot to flag it to stop. Fail.

For Valentine's Day I caught a train to Bath to visit Kate. The city is awesome, but way more expensive than Southampton. It was beautiful though-- and there was actually sun!

Saturday night when I got in we went to a club called the Blue Room. With a discount coupon, cover was still five pounds! Pre-gamed with Kate's exchange student friends, including a crazy Chilean kid who drinks 1-pound Scotch neat.

Sunday we walked around the city for a while. I found a street vendor selling fossilized ammonites her husband found in Yorkshire. We walked around Bath Abbey, the Royal Crescent (picture above), and then up onto the hill above town where the rich people live. On one block was a Ducati bike and an Aston-Martin DB7. Saw some old people playing on grass tennis courts, too.

Tonight, everyone in my flat had a big cooking party for "Pancake Day." British pancakes don't have baking powder, so they're more like crepes, and they eat them with granulated sugar and lemon juice. I'm now a professional pancake flipper. It's the day before Lent, so most people in England make pancakes tonight to use up the dairy products they won't be able to eat. Everyone else, like myself, just eats pancakes.

AMSTERDAM TOMORROW!

Yes, I really did get punched by a girl.

So I need to catch up and write a full post about adventures to Bath, and to the New Forest (almost), but I've had enough people ask me what happened last night that I'm sick of repeating myself.

I've never seen anything like it, except on Jersey Shore. In fact, my friend who was with me at the time called the girl a "pikey." Imagine a Jersey shore-whore, but instead of a fake tan, she's a pasty alley-rat.

Coming home from a club last night with Stuart, I was standing on the street corner by Ted's Fish Bar (can you guess why it's my favorite late-night "chips" stop?) counting change to see if I could afford any food. Some girl holding hands with her boyfriend bumps into me--a solid hit that sends the change out of my hand. I just laughed and picked up my change (who's stupid idea was it to make 2-pound coins?)

About 20 feet away from me, this pikey girl with her boyfriend sprints away from him, towards me, screaming "DID YOU JUST HIT MY MATE?!" Apparently "mate" is a unisex term. Me, the naive American, gave her a little benefit of the doubt and sarcastically said "Yes," and turned to keep walking down the street, still trying to count my change (what's the octagonal coin again?).

She took me literally, and WHACKED me in the back of the neck. Stuart said it was full fist, no sissy little slap. I don't remember it hurting, but I was surprised to be hit, and spun around expecting it to be her boyfriend, ready to go at it. When I saw this crazy girl, I made naive American mistake number 2: "FUCK YOU SLUT!"

Oops.

She lost it, and while the first girl and her boyfriend watched, the crazy girl started punching and swinging her purse at me. And while I was swatting her arms away and protecting my eyes, her boyfriend starts coming at me...

Stupid naive American mistake 3: I yell at him to "Keep that bitch under control." I think I said it three times before he actually stepped anywhere near me or the crazy girl. Luckily at that moment, Stuart grabs me and yanks me away from the crazy girl just as her boyfriend puts HER in a chokehold, and drags her off asking, "Why do you keep pulling shit like this?"

Soooo. Lessons learned: coins suck for large denominations, drunk girls don't watch where they're going, drunk girls are more protective of their friends than their boyfriends, drunk girls don't like being called sluts, drunk guys listen when you tell them to control their girls, and drunk girls have recurring anger-management issues. Happy Valentine's Day!

Everything Hurts

Last night I joined Uni Southampton's American football team for their practice--I'm so sore today. First time I've worn shoulder pads and a helmet to play football though. Tackling people hurts a lot less with them on. I trained with their linemen. I've never had formal instruction on how to block or tackle, so I've already learned a lot.

The team, the Stags, was national champion a couple years ago, but last year the league broke the team into two (separating players from another uni, Solent), and they seem to be having dedication problems. Looks like the Stags could be good, except a lot of players didn't show up to practice last night. They're 1-4, but apparently had a tough beginning of the schedule.

Despite sore muscles everywhere, I went out to play with the NOC rugby team this afternoon. The game seems like a lot of fun, but comparisons to American football are hard to make--it's pretty different. I think I'm picking it up, but I had trouble figuring out where to be on the field for much of today. You can't pass forward, so there's little advantage in being in front of the player with the ball, which is something that takes getting used to.

I found a local bus to the New Forest, a national park about 15 miles from Southampton. Hopefully I'll get out there to check it out this weekend.

Boats and Balls

Last Wednesday I got the chance to go out on the RV Callista. We collected water samples in the Test and Itchen Rivers to measure dissolved silicon vs. salinity as a tracer for estuary mixing. The Callista is a 35' catamaran--she's pretty cool, with a huge boom crane on the stern that we used to test a big CTD profiler we'll be using in Falmouth this summer.

That afternoon I took a train to London--I can't wait to go back, because I spent less than 12 hours there, and didn't get to see much. It was exciting pulling into Waterloo Station and seeing the London Eye, though! And after a moment of confusion, even the Underground was pretty simple.

Watched my first Rugby match on Saturday afternoon in Archers--England beat Wales in the Six Nations. Have to admit, rugby looks like a rough game, and they do take a beating. I'm excited to try it out next week.

But, watching the Superbowl last night, you can see why Americans wear pads. Rugby doesn't have anything like the full speed spear tackles in American football. I watched the Superbowl at a club called Wahoo. It was broadcast at 11:30pm on BBC, and announced by a right tackle from London's American football team. He was terrible--he felt the need to describe in full detail a screen play with 11 arrows...one to show where every player went during the play. And I missed the commercials! I ran into some American football players for Southampton Solent (the other uni in the city) walking back, who situated me with a secret 1.99-pound value meal at one of the kebab shops. I think I'm meeting the Southampton team Tuesday, and if I'm lucky I can play in their "match" next Sunday.

Yesterday I also visited the Southampton Maritime Museum. It's housed in an old (600 years!) wool warehouse, turned prison, turned museum, right on the docks. The Mayflower sailed from Southampton, but the main city docks weren't built until about the 1840s. They were knocked down and rebuilt a few times. For a while, it had the worlds largest floating dry docks and the worlds largest cruise ship terminal. The Titanic sailed from Southampton in 1912, and there is a memorial on the water.

RAF and AUVs

Last night I met a couple of Hercules AC-130 "Spectre" gunship pilots in the Royal Air Force at Jesters. Proud to say they are envious of how the American public supports our troops, even if they don't agree with the deployment. Unfortunately, these guys said that British citizens don't give a damn what happens to their military men, and "the whole lot of them can be bombed." Something else that was disappointing-- they said they don't like to fly with American pilots, because they don't always know what they're doing.

Today I had my first SOES 3029: Seafloor Exploration/Surveying lecture. We got a tour of the NOC's warehouse for their submersibles, which was awesome.

The Towed Ocean Bottom Instrument (TOBI, below) is the world's highest-resolution Side Scanning Sonar that is towed behind the boat at up to 6000m below the surface (so it's built like a tank to withstand the pressure). They tow it behind the boat at a great depth so that there is not too much signal absorption for the high frequency (30kHz) required for such good resolution. The TOBI can see the sea floor with a 3m resolution. The yellow bar beneath the orange boxes is the sonar array, and has the ability to send the signal 3km in a 2-degree fan, and then detect the echo, which is 1,000,000 times quieter than the source!

The AUTOSUB III (above) is an Autonomous Underwater Vehicle (AUV) that can be programmed and deployed, and spend long amounts of time underwater untethered, without a pilot, and unattended, performing various sensing tasks without a mother ship nearby. They have inertial sensors like a cruise missile for navigation. One of them, though, crashed somewhere beneath the Antarctic ice, and hasn't been recovered.

We also got to see one of the NOC's remotely operated vehicles (ROV), which is being taken to the Caribbean to look at the subduction zone near Haiti.

I have a class this afternoon up at the Highfield campus, which I visited for the first time yesterday: