I gathered up all our empty glass jars and bottles from the kitchen cabinets to take them to the recycling bin – I figured it was a good reason to get me out of the house and into some fresh air for a few minutes. After dropping off all the bottles (I felt like a bit of a boozer, even if my only contribution to the collection had once contained orange juice), I decided to keep walking around, just to explore the neighbourhood.

I picked a street at random. I kicked up the leaves as I walked, lifted my face to the breeze – the freezing chill is lurking around the corner, I know it, but today was still mild – sniffing the air. Somewhere, someone was barbequeing (which seems rather odd in November, but oh well). Somewhere, a father was wrangling a very upset child. Somewhere, someone had dropped a receipt and some blue, delicate wrapping paper with golden stars on it. I said hi to the old drunk tottering down the street; him and a young man walking his dog were the only people I saw until I hit one of the main streets. It’s Sunday. Everything’s quiet.

When I first came to the Netherlands, my complaint was that all the houses looked the same. It was rows and rows of townhouses that, while cute, made it impossible for me to remember which part of town I was in. And how boring it must be, living in a house indistinguishable from the hundreds of other cookie-cutter houses.

But today, while walking, I noticed that they don’t look alike at all. Some are red brick, some are yellow brick. Some are “traditional” townhouses, some are modern, square apartment blocks. Some have little, manicured gardens in front. Some open straight onto the sidewalk. Some have benches outside. And in some streets, it looked like the family who moved in first had a choice of doorways, and no one wanted one that looked like their neighbours’. There were white, blue, black, green, brown, red doors. They had ornate mailboxes or slots, they had stained glass windows, they had fancy doorbells, they had arches above the doorway, the had rosebushes crawling on either side, they had little plaster figures of the Virgin Mary and baby Jesus inlaid in the brick.

Another thing I noticed is that people display who they are and what they stand for through the big living room window sills. In Mark’s town, I’ve seen one window absolutely filled up with little (stylised) Native American busts, figurines and statues. There must be at least 20 in the window sill. Others have fancy white and blue China vases. Some have lots of plants, or a jersey representing their favourite sports team.

It’s amazing what you learn on a 20 minute walk. Now I just need some proper shoes – after a while I felt my knees starting to get sore, but I think that’s both due to the shoes and my pace. When I walk slowly, it puts more pressure on my knees. But it was nice. Now I just have to keep it up.

(P.S. The mittens I showed you yesterday? Frogged. Gauge was off. Will try again with smaller needles. It sucks big time, even more than having to frog the Mary Jane sweater. Poop!)

… oh right. It’s November. Which means NaNoBloMo, or NaNoWriMo, or NaNoSweMo, or NaNoWTFMo, or whatever. It means people have much better self-discipline than me (and evidently, much more interesting lives) and write or blog or take pictures or run around in circles or whatever it is they do, and they’re doing it really well. At least it makes my days a bit more interesting, to read about what’s going on in other people’s at a much higher rate.

My yearly dose of SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder) has finally come around. It’s later than usual; I suspect it’s either because I’m further south than last year (though not by much), or because I’ve been so busy lately that I didn’t notice I’d caught it again. I get so lazy and lethargic and “blah”. I know I should do something to get out of the house, improve my mood and get my energy levels up… but I just can’t be bothered. It’s an evil spiral.

I’m thinking of getting some sort of exercise routine. I have plenty of time every day to go for at least a half hour walk, or a long bike ride. Just to get some air. I should also do something to strengthen my back – I’ve had really bad back problems for years, but only recently decided I should do something about it. Now my back muscles seem all confused about this new state and can’t decide whether to be loose and stretchy or tight and cramped. I’m afraid they’ve gone rather manic on me, which results in even more discomfort and more frequent head aches. I’d go to a physiotherapist, but I’ve been to one of those before and I didn’t like it very much. Also, my new insurance doesn’t cover any sort of chiropractor, massage therapists, physiotherapy, etc. No “alternative” or physical treatments whatsoever. Even just trying to figure out which treatment would be a better option is tiring (not to mention expensive).

At least I’ve gotten my knitting mojo back (for now).

I started the Cotton Reel Mittens by Ysolda, from her Whimsical Knits 2. They’re puckering a bit, but I hope it’ll even out with blocking. I don’t mind much, though, because I think they’ve turned out a bit smaller than pattern specs, and I have small hands and (especially) wrists. It’s a fun knit, and it’s really whizzing along. Unfortunately it makes my back ache because my “old” knitting posture isn’t good for me anymore. Never was, really, but now it’s even worse.

*sigh* Knit and feel sore, or not knit and feel annoyed that you can’t knit?

I just got my statistics exam results tonight, and I got an 8 (on a scale from 1 to 10, of which you need a 5.5 to pass). I am absolutely thrilled, and have decided that a little treat in form of yarny goodness and new clothes will be just the right thing (let’s face it, good exam results are as good an excuse as it being Tuesday, or raining outside, or what-have-you).

Aside from gifting myself, I also get to buy a plane ticket home for Christmas. I had decided I wouldn’t book a ticket until I knew whether or not I would have to do the re-sit. It’s not until the 11th of January, but it’s nice to know that I can go home whenever I please without having to worry about a re-sit. I’m really excited to go home for Christmas, I miss my family and my friends and I get to see them all during the couple of weeks I’ll be back home. I’m celebrating New Year’s Eve with my best friends as well, and I expect it will be legen-… wait for it… dary. ;)

The [explicit] nay for the day came just now when I realised the Mary Jane sweater I’ve been working on is… too big. The yarn was frogged from an almost complete Victoria Yoke pullover (that was too small), washed and dried to cast on for a new project, and this Mary Jane only needs two sleeves and a ribbed neckline… and it’s too big. It’s baggy. I knit a size small, against my better judgment (I’ve always been an extra-small), but it’s actually alright around the bust – it’s around my waist that it’s baggy. I look … lumpy.

If I wasn’t so euphoric about my statistics exam, I might cry a little out of frustration.

Since it looks like I’ll probably frog another sweater made out of this yarn, I think it’s wise to turn it into something else the third time around. I’m thinking a little lap blanket, or a capelet, or something similar. Just something to keep me warm. It’s no use being upset about it being too big – I knew that was a risk when I chose to knit a size small instead of extra-small. And really… in the scope of things, it’s not that big of a deal.

(Remind me I said that when I actually decide to frog the thing. This euphoria will wear off soon enough.)

I think about this blog now and then, I really do. But I’m almost exhausted before I even get around to taking any pictures. I have this idea that no one will read my blog if it doesn’t have pictures. Because I don’t often read blogs if there aren’t pictures, unless I kind of know them personally (as much as you really know anyone from their Ravelry profile), or if they’re really funny. Like the Yarn Harlot or Crazy Aunt Purl. Unfortunately, my life is hardly as interesting as theirs. Anything I have to say about anything is mundane; every day life stuff that’s probably not of any interest to anyone but me (and even that’s pushing it).

School’s still tiring. We had the first “final deadline frenzy” week, with the due date last Friday. I postponed one paper after having a mental breakdown (in front of a teacher, who I’m guessing really didn’t need another crying student in his office, poor man). I handed in two others, one group, one pair, and I wonder if I completely missed the point with the second one. I’m afraid to go over it in case I realise I didn’t answer the essay questions at all, but rather went off on a tanget of my own. That happens a lot. That’s why I’m not a good storyteller.

I get my statistics exam results back on Wednesday. I have no clue how it went. I didn’t leave with a bad feeling, but I didn’t leave with a good one either. It wasn’t a very pleasant exam; just a lot of frenzied, scrambling mess of papers and results and explanations, and two cases of wasted time because I fail at reading through the questions before answering them (it’s my curse, it really is. It’s like applying medicinal lotion daily, only to look closely at the label: “Apply 1-2 times a week”, not “Apply 1-2 times a day”, which would explain why you’re not feeling better*).

I had a brilliant night out Friday night with my group mates to celebrate our half-day of freedom. We curled each other’s hair, did our nails, tried on various clothing before deciding the first thing we tried on was much better, did our hair again, did our makeup, talked about boys and sex and relationships and Spice Girls (I was always Posh Spice – who were you?), and then we went dancing until my feet ached and my dress could be wrung out. It was grand. And on the way home, we dreamed about all the things we’d do now we had time to enjoy life – like starting on the reading load for our Master’s thesis, because, you know, it’s about time I hand in something to my superviser, and if I’m to interview youths I need to find samples, and it’s only a few months until Christmas and we really should know something by then. Oh, and don’t forget about that 500 word assignment for Monday!

To save my sanity, I joined a local knitting group. I had hoped to start one for students, but since that failed miserably (before I even started, really) I decided to join the existing one in Tilburg. It’s lots of fun. I’ve only been once, but I like the people there. They speak Dutch, I speak English, and a Swedish woman I met (who is THE coolz) speaks both Dutch, English and Swedish, so we have a merry time trying to understand one another. But it’s amazing how far knitting and popular TV will get you. I moaned about writing down the wrong instructions for the Mary Jane sweater I’m knitting (apropros failing at reading instructions) and a 70 year old Dutch woman looked at me and said, “That sucks”. Simple as that.

These are Mark’s socks. He’s absolutely tickled I’m making him socks, which tickles me. It’s nice to be appreciated. He’s coming home with me for Christmas, which is both exciting and a little scary. I didn’t even have to ask – he offered himself. I hope he won’t get freaked out by our “strange” traditions (do people in other countries walk around the Christmas tree singing psalms before opening the presents on the evening of the 24th?) and the crazy fun that is my family during the holidays. But I suppose if he likes it, he’s a keeper, eh?

* This is just an example. I’m not currently administering any lotions except moisturizer; it’s getting windy out. I don’t know why I feel the need to tell you this, only that I’m generally more careful with reading medicinal labels than statistics exam questions.

I’ve done quite a lot of things the past month or so. I immigrated, I bought lots of stuff from IKEA, and I voted for my government election back home:

I successfully (except from one handle that came on upside-down) built an IKEA drawer system all by myself:

(Some of it was made in Denmark. I find this hilarious.)

I celebrated my birthday, and I got presents:

(I haven’t yet cooked anything from it, but there are some fun recipes!)

And I got a beautiful necklace from Mark. It’s a “real zirconia”, came with a little certificate and everything, since he couldn’t afford a real diamond. Aaw!

I haven’t done much knitting, except from a small headband in bulky yarn. It was kind of fun to knit, but I haven’t been wearing it much since it rains a lot here. And when it rains a lot you want your whole head covered, not just your ears. When it’s really windy it doesn’t make much of a difference anyway – I’m thinking a colourwork headband like the one from Kate Davies would’ve been a better choice. But by the time I would’ve finished that, it would be summer again…

I’m working on a pair of socks for Mark. It’s comforting and easy knitting, and he doesn’t want them to be too long so I hope they’ll go reasonably fast (meaning, I hope they’ll be done before the end of the year, which at the current rate is almost laughable). I’ve found a local SnB that I hope to join in a couple of weeks when my exam is over with, so I can get out and socialise with people that aren’t from my school. I’m really happy with my group mates, we hang out a lot outside of school, but somehow we always end up discussing homework. When really, I’d rather be talking about knitting. Two of them are interested in knitting though, so maybe I could bring them…

In the mean time, I blog for my school’s magazine website as well, so if you want more regular updates I can be caught at Univers - mine is “Trine Blogs”, in case you had trouble finding it. ;) I just (literally, just now) got an e-mail from the editor that she would like to use part of my most recent blog in the actual magazine (translated into Dutch, I think) – they’ll be taking my picture and everything! Very exciting; there’s always something happening in my life right now. I love being busy but man, I wish the schoolwork would lighten up a bit. If nothing else then just so I could knit and blog more…

This is Tosh Sock in “Fjord”. I hadn’t expected it to be pretty much duochrome, as the picture on the website (I believe the shop mainly used MadTosh’s own pictures) displayed it to have more colours in what I consider “forest floor” colours – more browns, more golds, more greens. This is pretty much just forest green and dark olive/brown/black. This is probably the one I was least pleased with, but a quick search on Ravelry would’ve told me to get a different colourwork.

Of course, not all is lost – Mark has been hinting that he might very much appreciate some knitted socks ever since I offered a while ago, and as the weather gets chillier the amount of hints increases. I bought some Lana Grossa Meilenweit Tweed for the heels and toes, as this yarn doesn’t seem sturdy enough to stand the wear of time. I’m sure his feet will like the soft roundedness of the yarn – as I was winding it I was pleased with how little the individual strands stuck to each other, and it seems like it will make for very pleasureable knitting.

(And after I admired the smoothness, I cursed it far into hell as my skein became tangled as the smooth yarn had no grip on itself and fell to the floor. An hour later I was done winding the ball, and it was promptly put in a time-out.)

This is a skein of Tosh DK in “Alabaster”. Again, the pictures led me to believe that this would be more grey than peach. In fact, it didn’t look peach at all. I don’t wear peach. It’s a bit lighter in real life, and I think I’ll turn it into a cowl (eventually) but I’ve thought of gifting the final object. Possibly to someone here in NL. They seem to like odd colours (all that neon, all that orange…!) so I’m sure it could find a home. ;)

Finally I got a skein of Tosh Lace in the colourway “Ginger”. This is the one I’m most pleased with, but it’s still not what I expected. I thought it would be more golden, but I’m pleased with the variegation. It will probably be a shawl – I considered a cardigan, but 1) it would take ages and I’m just not that patient, and 2) I’m afraid I’d snag it on something, or felt it at the under-arms, and it seems like it would be wasted work. So more likely a shawl, once I find the perfect pattern.

Ravelry has lately (or this year, at least) experienced a flux in smaller pattern collections, it seems. Everything from shawls to accessories to garments to a mix, ranging from 3 to 6-8 patterns, from established designers and some becoming well-known as a result of the pattern boom. There’s so much to choose from that it makes your head spin, but I enjoy perusing the patterns every time I go online.

My fingers are itching to finish my Mary Jane sweater, which has been on hold since I got to Holland. I had no measuring tape (how could I forget?! I swear I had one) so I couldn’t finish the body. After that it just needs two sleeves and ribbing around the neckline, and it’s done! I really want to start a new, big project but I’d better finish this one first…

(I made it to the city centre, realised that something exciting was going on, and eventually went back for my camera which I had foolishly left at home. As it turned out, I am rubbish at taking pictures when I am fascinated by my surroundings. So I haven’t got any pictures of the exciting things that were happening, but oh well. I got a brisk walk and soaked clothes out of it. Win-win?)

There are a lot of funny little shops in Tilburg. I saw an old-fashioned butcher shop, some very strange shops that carried useless gadgets and everything neon (and possibly weed, but I couldn’t tell from the outside), and a cute little candy shop.

“Snoep” is the Dutch word for candy (it’s pronounced snoop. I wonder if that’s where Snoopy comes from). So this signs tells you that they have approximately 680 kinds of candy in that shop. I went in briefly to have a look, but was told pictures weren’t allowed as there were plenty on their website (which is rubbish, but oh well). Also, I was afraid of spending the money I was supposed to spend on bike repairs, so I left rather hurriedly.

Tilburg, I find, is a rather odd city. You’ve got the main shopping streets that look new and modern, and then you turn down a little alley that looks like nothing’s changed for several decades. The next one you turn up is absolutely void of any commercials, no signs on the walls or in the street, except one lone art gallery sign, waving in the wind. It’s like a hodge-podge city. Maybe it looks like Århus, where I’m from, but I don’t notice it because everything’s new here. And honestly, when every street looks different, it makes you wonder if they just built the whole city one street at a time, but left space inbetween to make newer streets later on in history. If that makes sense.

I saw knitters in the city centre. They were knitting, and the things they were knitting they wrapped around little staircases and lamp posts. I think there was a purpose, but I was too shy to ask them about it. As far as I could understand from the flyers everywhere, it had something to do with the textile museum in the city. I’ll have to investigate further. What you see above is something they were crocheting on. Again, I was too shy to actually take their picture, so this is all I have.

I found a very nice little café called Mugs & Muffins where I had a muffin and a milk & cookie milkshake. It was delicious, and well worth the €6,45 I spent on it. They also had a large selection of hot chocolates, which I’m definitely going back for. Hopefully next time there will be someone with me; eating alone at a café or restaurant feels as strange for me as going to the movies by myself. It’s just nicer when you can share it with someone.

These are my observations about the Dutch so far:

1. All Dutch people are born on bicycles (just like all Norwegians are born with skis on their feet). This I am absolutely certain of. They can do anything on their bikes. I have seen people talking on their cellphones. Holding hands while cycling. Biking with one hand holding a large grocery bag (because despite all their cycling, no one has thought to put a basket on the front of the bike). Biking with no hands. And once, I swear I saw a guy sleeping over the steer while biking. Also, they seem very proficient at biking with people on the “back seat”.

1a. Dutch cyclists rule the road and always have first priority. This I find a bit strange. Cars come in second, and pedestrians finish last, as usual. This I can relate to.

2. Dutch people like cheese. They like cheese more than Danish people do. Their supermarkets are full of cheese, and you can get a nice wedge of brie for under €2. This would not be possible in Denmark. I’m not particularly fond of cheese, except for young brie and Gouda, of which there is plenty.

3. Dutch people are very nice and smile a lot. They also don’t look at you suspiciously if you stop them on the street to ask for directions. They don’t mind speaking English to help you, and really make an effort, instead of shrugging and saying “I don’t speak English” (like I’ve seen many Danes do).

4. Dutch teachers watch their students like hawks, even at Master’s level. I was forced to miss class thrice so far (once due to a train malfunction Sunday night which meant I couldn’t get to Tilburg until the next day, and twice due to illness, one morning and one evening class) and they will e-mail you a short hour after the class to ask where you were. Some will even threaten that you must retake the class next semester if you miss anymore classes (this particular class, I’ve missed once due to the flu). I’m not sure if there is any legal absence. I have asked my classmates that if I die, could they please bring my corpse to class.

5. Dutch houses are rarely (if ever?) single villas/houses, except maybe in the country (but I haven’t checked). They are all townhouses (in rows), and the walls are very thin. I know this because I have not seen a single, stand-alone house yet, and I can hear everything that goes on with the Indian family next door. Thankfully nothing icky, but their 2 year old doesn’t want to sleep (it also seems like her bedtime is between 11 and midnight, but who am I to judge).

5a. Despite all being townhouses, Dutch houses are very cute. Only the main roads have asphalt, the rest are brick roads. This means they also don’t get potholes, just really deep dents which make your bike jitter.

5b. Dutch houses all have huge windows for their living rooms facing the street. Many don’t pull the curtains. I’m not sure why they don’t, but maybe Danes are more private than Dutch people. All I know is that I want to be able to walk around my house in my birthday suit without entertaining the whole neighbourhood.

6. Most things in Holland are cheap compared to Denmark. Fruit is not. Neither is bread, which confuses me. I wonder if many people eat at work or school, and therefore don’t need lunch packs. This remains unsolved.

7. Dutch people don’t drink a lot of shots. And when they do, they drink a disgusting cinnamon-flavoured 50% vodka with gold flecks called “Goldstrike”. I saw a friend drink it like juice, and then almost pass out at the end of the evening. How his brain didn’t melt and come out his ears after one shot is a mystery to me, but perhaps it’s in the blood from birth. It burns worse than whiskey. Danes drink a lot of shots, especially at private parties. Most involve a thick, black licorice-flavoured substance, but these are only around 20%. They also come in smaller, more manageable sizes. Dutch people drink crazier than Danish people. This is also a surprise. But Dutch people also drink a lot of beer. This is no surprise, but just like Denmark.

8. A coffeeshop is never what you think it is. Unless you think it is a place where they sell marihuana. Then you would be correct. People think you are strange if you want to go to a coffeeshop for a cup of coffee and some pie. They think maybe you want to go get that after you’ve been to the coffeeshop.

8a. Coffeeshops are not as common as you might think. There are more cafés, where they sell actual coffee.

8b. Not many shops have proper signs from the outside (including coffeeshops). Many are hidden under a sunblind or written directly on the window. This is confusing when biking, and may lead you to almost run down little children. The Dutch do not seem fond of this behaviour.

9. Dutch companies chop up onions and put them in baggies and sell them for more than a regular onion. I don’t understand this at all, and I have no comment.

We got a new combi-oven yesterday. It’s all silvery and shiny. I had asked if we could please have a regular oven, but apparently not. It’s probably protocol that they can only replace what was previously there and not make any major improvements. I haven’t tried it yet, but I really hope that it will function as a normal oven. It must be able to, since it’s a combi-oven, but it just really looks like a microwave… I might try it later next week with a batch of brownies. If they fail, I can always eat the dough!

What this past week has also been full of is guilt. Sometimes I shake my head at the lengths I will go to in order to avoid “The Guilt”. You know “The Guilt” – it’s the feeling you get when you haven’t been exercising enough, or if you skip out on an arrangement due to tiredness/headache/knitting even though you said you might go, or if you’re pretty low on cash and you still splurge a bit on yarn, chocolate, shoes, or your own flavour of comfort purchases.

I paid €69 to join this introduction week, and at times I feel like going to their office and asking for my money back. Not only were my mentors apathetic about our internationally diverse group, they only really found us interesting if we wanted to party and even tried to get us to hand over our TIK-week bracelets if we weren’t coming to the final party, so that their friends could have them. Most introduction week events were in Dutch; the university and its surroundings were clearly not ready for that amount of international students, and on the whole we just didn’t feel very welcome. So far I have not made any Dutch friends – most simply don’t seem interested in getting to know us. We even had other mentors come up to our group and give their condolences to our mentors for being “stuck” with the international students. Please…!

But I still felt guilty for not attending the events. I’d paid all that money, I was expected to be there (I’m starting to think that expectations are my biggest problem) and me and some of the other int.’s made half-serious agreements to show up the next day (which most of us didn’t). I felt guilty for going home, for going to the university instead to fix up some paperwork, for going to the stores to pick up vacuum bags; for being anywhere than at the TIK-week. When I think about it, it seems ridiculous to feel bad about not being somewhere where you’re ultimately not having fun and feeling unwelcome.

My second bout of guilt hit me Thursday, as I placed an order with a Dutch yarn store (Yarns Apart). They are going out of business, or just clearing all their stock, and they had some fairly good prices on MadelineTosh. I bought 3 skeins, one each of lace, sock and dk. I felt guilty because I am essentially broke, I have no clue when I’ll be getting my scholarship and I need the money I have now for food and tuition fees. However, I paid for the yarn using money I had in my PayPal balance, which I “earned” earlier this year by selling some of my stash. That money had always been meant for new yarn purchases once I moved, so I needn’t feel guilty. And yet, I still do.

Also, my government apparently now think I’m living in DK again, and have signed me up for a DK master’s degree. I was admitted there, but I never accepted my spot – in fact I specifically told them that I did not want it. So now I don’t know if my application from July is overridden – if it is, I may lose two months worth of money if I have to reapply, as they cannot reimburse me for months lost. It’s extremely frustrating, I’ve sent documentation that I am studying abroad, and still they make these mistakes. And calling their offices is impossible – no one ever picks up the phone. Argh.

My last bout of guilt came last night. I was supposed to meet with a friend in Rotterdam for an open-air cinema, but since the weather is horrible we decided to postpone it. So I went to see Mark instead (which had always been the plan, except I was going to show up later that night) and he and his friends apparently rearranged some plans. I didn’t know it was going to be a boy’s night, and in the end I didn’t end up going as I was absolutely exhausted from this previous week. I haven’t slept well since my housemates have been getting home at all hours of night/morning, and when my upstairs housemate walks around, the metal ceiling boards in my room jingle. So I went straight to bed, feeling guilty about not going when I said I was going to go. And his friends were annoyed because one of them had brought his own girlfriend, and so they were “stuck” with her all night, watching TV-shows instead of going to a bar (though I hardly see how that’s my fault, they could have gone to the bar anyway).

How do you avoid suffering from “The Guilt”? I do try to tell myself that I don’t have to justify my actions, especially such as yarn purchases, to anyone except myself. The TIK-week did not have attendance, and last night I would have been in a foul mood if I was made to go to a bar (we call that “Tired Bitch”). But I still feel like I should text people and excuse myself, or try to make up for it in some way, and it’s tiring and self-demeaning.

What to do?

I’ve reached Holland in one piece (despite my ridiculous amount of luggage). I’m sitting in my new room right now. It’s quiet, none of my housemates are home. I’m not exactly sure that it would be noisy if they were here, but I know that the German girl who lives in the room above mine walks heavily so the metal ceiling boards jangle. The boy from Kazakhstan in the room next to mine plays Depeche Mode before 8 o’clock in the morning. It’s interesting to wake up to.

I like it here. I have a view of a lot of rooftops and small gardens, and my two neighbours’ terraces. And two large cranes and a huge apartment building farther out. I’m not sure they’re building anything, I never see the cranes move. They must be there for a reason, but I haven’t gone to check it out yet. Maybe I will soon.

There’s so many things wrong with this house it’s not even funny. My closet doors barely open because the previous resident(s) pulled the sliding doors off the rails and kept pushing them back and forth, ruining the wheels and the rails. Neither the kitchen nor the bathroom was clean when I got here (as the first person), and the freezer was completely covered in ice. It’s the same size as my old freezer, which was basically just a shelf in a “normal” freezer. Five people have to share that. The oven was also filthy, and it’s not even an oven. It’s a combi-oven, so it’s really just a fancy microwave with an extra heat setting. There are no racks so the food would never be heated through thoroughly. It makes me sad that I have to live without oven dishes for a year – it also means no baking. It’s enough to reduce me to tears.

But I like my room, and once Mark gets his own place I can use his oven. So I can bake things. Like crumble. Or pie. Or cookies. Or chicken. Or vegetables. Or a roast. See why you’d need an oven? I really don’t understand how people can live without.

Also, I appear to be lacking a switch for the ceiling light. It’s most peculiar.

At least I’m the only one with a balcony.

It’s the Introduction Week, but I don’t care much for that sort of thing (though I did pay the €69 required to join). I didn’t like it in high school, I didn’t like it when I started my BA, and this one is just another introduction week. I don’t like the forced social activities; I don’t feel I actually get to know people when I’m surrounded by 2000+ others, most of whom are drunk or hungover. I met some of my classmates and some other really nice people, but our mentors are more interested in drinking beer and never show up in time for meals – and without them, we can’t get food. So today I took a day off to deal with some paperwork.

There’s still a lot of paperwork to figure out. I’m afraid some papers from home won’t go around to the correct institutions and get back to me before I need them. I need them for immigration, and if I’m not on time, they will fine me by charging me a much higher tuition fee. I’m late because the church ministry apparently didn’t see that I sent for a certified copy of my birth certificate so I can get it legalised.

Also, the “didn’t you receive that form?” question is starting to bug me. The answer is always “no, I guess they forgot to include that”, and it is the reason why I have to wait for a bank card and why I can’t sign up for language classes until the spring semester. I kind of need those classes now, I won’t have time when I’m doing my thesis to do a second class. Mark suggested we take an hour every week to practice simple grammar and sentences – he’ll make exercises for me in Dutch, and I’ll make some for him in Danish. He’s been working hard to get me settled and helping me deal with all the curveballs being thrown my way recently. He’s stellar.

I also got a bike. His name is Kenny the Black Avenger. He’s a pretty cool bike. I realised that I could never bring Stella here; she’s too pretty and would get stolen quite fast. I bike everywhere now, which is good for my health I suppose. It just sucks when it rains, which it’s been doing the past week. I hope the weather gets better soon. Also, cyclists pretty much rule the street here, which confuses me a lot. In Denmark, there’s an ongoing war between cyclists and drivers. So people look at me weird when I stop here to cross the street when there is no traffic light, and wait for cars to pass. Apparently the right thing to do is to just ride across with blatant disregard for the cars. They’ll stop in time. Hopefully.

But I like that everything is so close here. It doesn’t take long to get anywhere. I get lost pretty much every time I leave the house, but I’m starting to recognise some streets and signs. It’s a really nice city, even if there are no channels (at all! strange). I haven’t been to the city center much yet, but I’ve located the nearest supermarket and it is HUGE. So big you get lost in it. And I could spend hours just checking out what they have on their shelves, but I haven’t had time for that yet…

I did have time to find this, though. It’s called “vla”, and it’s a bit like pudding. You can get it in all sorts of flavours. This is called “hopjesvla”, and tastes like caramel and coffee. It’s the most delicious treat ever. Now I can have it whenever I want.