Six Hours Ahead

Background

Well it certainly has been a while hasn’t it? Let me start off by apologizing to my multitudes of reader (once again, nope, not a typo) for the lack of posts in the past 3+ years. I can only imagine the turmoil you have been experiencing, but believe me, it was necessary and not completely intended. Here I am again though, finding inspiration to continue my art (the art of writing, you dolt) in the most unusual of places. Maybe not that unusual, if you believe that art breeds more art, creativity breeds further creativity, and all that crap. Seeing someone pick up their long-ignored craft has inspired me as well, and as per the aforementioned statement, the art I have been ignoring is writing. So let me tell you about the past few days of my life.

If you recall in my school-related post #4 (I’m going to take a wild guess and say that at least two of you out there have read every post on here but for everyone else here’s a link: kwog.blogspot.com/2008/11/official-blog-assignment-4-visions.html), it has always been my dream to travel the world and live in and experience different cultures. After my second time in München (that would be Munich for you uncultured swine *wink wink* *nudge nudge*) in November of last year, I fell in love (in more ways than one). I decided that I wanted to move to Germany eventually, specifically München, and live there for at least a year.

So I am going to do that annoying thing where I have random pictures in the post that have nothing to do with the adjacent text in the post. They are just photos I've taken in Amsterdam. If you really want to know the meaning behind these you can ask ;)

“WHY GERMANY?” YOU ASK? I feel like I have explained this many times so I’ll just summarize it all right here, even if it gets a little off topic in a tangential sense. I have always admired the German people for several reasons; they are typically hard-working, practical, efficient, logical, law-abiding citizens. Seriously, why do you think the holocaust happened? Because Germans just blindly follow the law, even if it is causing massacres. I am not saying that blindly following the law is a good thing, but the Germans have been so scarred by their horrible past that they have put several measures in place to ensure that shit never happens again. And ya know what, law-abiding citizens are a good thing (though I must admit, my stereotype of the blindly law-abiding German citizen was most definitely shaken when I met a German guy who said he never pays for the metro because he crunched the numbers and calculated that he saves more money by taking the chance of being caught and paying a penalty, than by actually paying the fare each time). Germans also love speed, as evidenced by certain speed-limitless sections of the famous autobahn (highway), and I am a fan of that.

Other reasons include the fact that Germany is the fourth largest economy in the world and it is the only country in the top five whose people do not work like a bitch (as of the time of this writing, #1, 2, 3, & 5 are USA, China, Japan, and UK respectively). How do I know this? Because everywhere I fucking travel I always meet Germans (and Australians). Germans love to fucking TRAVEL. It’s so ingrained in their society that I am sure it has to be some government mandate that everyone gets a minimum of four weeks paid leave a year (I made that up from talking to a German in Peru once, don’t quote me on that).  How can they afford to do this while being a top five economy? Because they’re so fucking efficient! Refer to the previous paragraph, German adjective #3 (we have come full circle).

Okay, that was a much longer tangent than originally intended. But it had to be said. Oh yeah, and an enormous factor in my desire to move to München is because I want to actually live there during Oktoberfest. Do not ask why, just accept. But I digress.

So I started looking for jobs in Germany because I ain’t no fool to be completely uprooting my life with NOTHING. And by looking for jobs I mean replying to every Linkedin recruiter that ever messaged me and saying “I actually plan on moving to München in the coming year, would you happen to know of any opportunities there?” Yeah… if you are thinking that my novel / innovating / ground-breaking job-finding methods resulted in resounding success, I would have to refer you to my calculations detailed below:

I was lamenting my dreams of working abroad to a South African friend of mine (he came from South Africa to work at the firm I was working in at the time and we bonded), and he connected me to a recruiter friend of his. This recruiter did not know of any opportunities in München but he did have an opportunity in the Netherlands. He asked if I wanted to apply and I said; why not? A few intelligence assessments and two Skype interviews later, I had a job offer. Was it München? No. But… close enough. Eh, why not?

So what did I decide? I know the suspense has been killing you, so let me put your mind at ease right now right here. I

decided

to go.

Let’s go, maybe, or not. Ah fuck it.

Of course, there were several things holding me back. I have lived my entire life in New York City. How could I leave NEW Amsterdam for OLD Amsterdam? (Actually, I am pretty sure they just call it Amsterdam. Shut up Helpful-Paperclip!) It is not easy to leave your entire life behind. Friends. Family. Lovers. (Yeah you probably think I am a player but I only said that because my marketing department set a goal to triple my viewership to two and you know fucking what? Sex sells).

But how could I pass up this opportunity to follow my dreams? It was not the greatest offer monetarily, but I was already comfortable financially (by my standards). I was still young and I knew I could always make money later. Unfortunately though, I was not getting any younger and the ideal time to uproot your life is when you are young. So yeah, I did it. But it wasn’t without its trials and tribulations.

One of the things that surprised me throughout all of this was the outpouring of love. Here I was thinking I was an unimportant easily disposable readily-passed-over always-ignored speck in everyone’s lives, but so many people made the effort to say their goodbyes. My ex-roommate *Raynoid* drove me to the airport (I am sure he did this out of sheer overwhelming guilt for abandoning me as a roommate), and several people tagged along, including *Rattatatat*, *Platypuss*, and *Warmachine*.

*Platypuss* as always, was late. So typical of her: “Hey, I want to see you off at the airport! But I’m going to be late.”

Anyway, we made it though, and I cannot thank *Raynoid* enough for driving. JG Melon’s on me when I get back.

Me being the dumbass that I was, booked an Icelandair flight (which means a layover in Iceland). It had the ideal time (leaving late Sunday and getting to Amsterdam relatively early Monday). Unfortunately though, the flight to Iceland was delayed. No worries! The kind Icelandair employees reassure us “All connecting flights are guaranteed.”

Well whoopdeefucking doo!

So yeah, I land in Iceland. “If you have a connecting flight to Frankfurt, Stockholm, ……………………………… or Amsterdam, please see the service desk. All other connecting flights, please proceed to your gate.”

I go to the service desk and talk to a rather stone-faced Icelandic lady. She confirms that my luggage will arrive in Amsterdam with me on my new route. I get re-routed to Copenhagen… on a flight that is leaving RIGHT THAT SECOND. I run to the gate and get on the plane, and manage to get to Copenhagen safely. I go to the Copenhagen transfer service center to inquire about the fate of my checked baggage (let’s just call it luggage for simplicity’s sake). I am told that my luggage will arrive with me in Amsterdam. Cool beans!

I am dead tired at this point, so I head to the gate for my flight from Copenhagen to Amsterdam (which isn’t for a few hours) and take a nap. I plop down on an empty row of chairs in an entirely empty section. Slowly but surely, the chairs start filling up. As I am an expert eavesdropper when I am asleep (and ONLY when I am asleep), I am awoken by murmurs of a cancelled flight. “Huh, what?” I stand up from my slumber and walk to the screen detail of flights; indeed it is cancelled. A sprightly young woman asks me if the flight is cancelled and I respond:

“Well, I just looked the flight up on my phone and it says the flight is cancelled, and the people sitting here said it was cancelled, and this screen here that we’re staring at says it is cancelled, so…. I think the flight is cancelled.”

“What should we do?”

“Well, _I_ am going to the transfer service center and talking to them.”

“Okay, I’ll come with you.”

As we head over to the transfer service center, I learn that she has been living in Holland for twenty seven years and she moved there when she was ten years old. Well then, she definitely looked a little bit older but she did NOT look… whatever twenty seven plus ten is. Anyway, we get put on a flight three hours later. I confirm that my luggage will be arriving with me in Amsterdam. We each get a 50KR voucher for our troubles and proceed to get coffees and get to know each other. I was actually quite surprised with this woman’s behavior, women do not usually stick around me for a long time, but she seemed quite keen on it.

I learn a little bit more about her; she has “three” kids, one of which isn’t “her” kid (DAMN she looks GOOD for whatever twenty seven + ten is and two kids). She shows me pictures and I ask her about Dutch life. Some key exchanges in our many-hour conversation:

On daylight savings:

Me: Does the Netherlands have daylight savings?

Her: What is that?

Me: It’s when you set the clocks one hour forward or one hour back.

Her: Oh yes, we do that every summer and winter.

Me: Oh really?

Her: Yes, we do it the first day of autumn and the first day of winter.

Me: … Okay, but you JUST said you do it every summer and winter, and now you’re saying every autumn and winter…

Her:

On Dutch coldness:

Me: Do you wish you had stayed in Iran instead of coming to Holland?

Her: I can’t really say since I don’t know what my life would have been like if I had stayed in Iran. I will say that there are things about the Dutch that I do not like.

Me: Like what?

Her: They are very cold. For example, they wouldn’t invite you to have dinner with them. If you are in their home and they are about to have dinner, they will point to their watches, look at you, and say “so… we’re about to have dinner… it is time for you to go.”

Me: I would appreciate that though; I want them to be direct.

Her: Really? *Rolls eyes* I just remember as a child, I was playing with a friend and she says to me “Okay, can you come back in an hour? We are about to have dinner.” I was like, “oh.”

Me:

Her:

Me: That’s not how it is in Iran?

Her: The thing with the Dutch is, they get panicked. They make dinner with a set portion for a set number of people and additional guests ruin everything. In Iran, we make it work. We somehow add a little something, we just make it work.

On “ratchet”:

Me: This girl is very ratchet, do you know what “ratchet” means?

Her: No.

Me: Are you familiar with what “ghetto” means?

Her: Yes, that’s where poor people live.

Me: Well, yes, that is the technical definition… hmm… do you listen to rap?

Her: Yes.

Me: Okay, so you know how the people are like in those videos right? They wear basketball jerseys and caps and they call themselves gangsters.

Her: Oh okay, I get it. So she lives in a ratchet?

On racism:

Her: In Dubai, they pay the immigrant labor practically nothing per day. They pay so low just because they can. It is rationalized by saying it is money they would not be getting otherwise. The Arabs are animals.

Me: Oh come on, that’s a big generalization isn’t it.

Her: Yes, but I believe it. I have several Arab friends and I just cannot bring myself to trust them 100%.

Me: It depends on the experiences you have had with them…

Her: Yes. And there have been some negative ones.

Me: Like my dad… in his early years in America, the only experience he had with a black person was when a black guy robbed him. The Chinese are a very racist people.

Her: Who do they hate?

Me: Anyone that isn’t Chinese. My dad was a very racist man, but recently he had an experience that made him very much less racist.

Her: Tell me about it.

Me: He was coming back from China and he had luggage with him. One of the airport employees forced him to go through customs declaration. I guess my dad thought that since the employee was Chinese that the employee would go a little easy on him. When my dad got to customs declaration, a black employee was working there and was like “eh, just go.” Ever since then, my dad thinks he is the standard by which all those with moral integrity should strive to reach.

To detail all of our conversations would take a fortnight, but we covered a wide range of topics including but not limited to; racism in America, how the wealthy Jewish people in America can be compared to the Chinese in southeast Asia, why southeast Asia hates the Chinese, the official language of Persia, and why I’m fake-Chinese. We eventually board the flight and I Beyonce-in-a-thong (ass-out).

Eventually we land in Amsterdam (it has been a twenty hour journey for me, I land at ~22:00 when I should have landed at ~12:00), and before my new friend rushes out of the plane to catch a train, she gives me her card. We bid farewell; until next time.

I head to baggage claim to pick up my luggage and I wait. For minutes. For hours. For days. Okay, maybe I am exaggerating. But I waited. And nothing came. As it turns out, my luggage is… still in Iceland. Goddammit. So let’s recap: My first flight gets delayed. I miss my connecting flight to Amsterdam despite them guaranteeing it. I get re-routed to Copenhagen (and confirm that my luggage will follow me and arrive in Amsterdam with me), get to Copenhagen, and confirm again that my luggage will be arriving with me in Amsterdam. My flight from Copenhagen to Amsterdam gets cancelled. I get put on a later flight and reconfirm that my luggage will be arriving with me to Amsterdam. This later flight gets DELAYED as well. I arrive in Amsterdam and my luggage is still in Iceland. Also, I was peeing in JFK airport in New York and I farted. Except it was a shart. My boxers were ruined. I threw them away. I have going commando in the same clothes for two days now. And it will be a third day as well. Because I have work. The next day.

Let’s put the past behind us

Not much going on the first day of work; I get taken to the immigration office by a lovely lady and we talk about life and food and Holland. She is from Suriname which is the smallest country in South America. It became a Dutch colony after it was traded by the British for New Amsterdam (that’s New York by the way). Though the smallest country in South America, it is one of the most diverse countries in the world due to various immigrants settling there over the years. That’s a fun history fact for you!

I spend a vast majority of my first day looking for apartments. My company was putting me up two weeks in a hotel but after that, I was on my own. I go through craigslist, gumtree, funda, and eventually: kamernet.

I looked online at dozens of places and must have inquired with at least ten (this took up most of my day/night). It is important to note that at first I was looking for studios and one bedroom apartments but if I wanted to be in a decent area, it would be far too expensive. I quickly realized that I needed roommates to bring down the cost of rent as much as possible since I did not plan on being at the apartment much (due to work, jiujitsu, and traveling). With all of my inquiries though, I only received one response that night, from a certain man named Peter.

I could tell from his e-mail that he was Dutch; the English wasn’t perfect but it was there. He seemed to be a very no-nonsense sort of guy, very by-the-book and generous use of exclamation points. He had a lot of patience though, as I had a lot of questions though and he answered all of them clearly. There would be an apartment viewing the next day; I would be there.

I leave work the next day and make my way to the apartment. The neighborhood is beautiful. The apartment is right by the Amstel river, and I am a sucker for water. The apartment is also a mere twenty two minute walk to the nearest jiujitsu school; score.

I turn onto a quaint little street and end up in front of the building. There is already a gentleman sitting on a bench and he asks me if I am here for the apartment too. Dammit, competition. I knew as I was walking there that the apartment would be hot commodity due to its awesome location. But I was hoping that I would be the only one to notice that. Wishful thinking much?

We talk and I find out that he is a systems engineer from Portugal. He has an incredibly English accent though, which I learn he got from studying in London. He already lives in Holland but his firm is moving to Amsterdam’s city center. He is also contemplating quitting his job and finding another job in Amsterdam. I ask him which room he is interested in (there are two rooms up for grabs, one is open in December (which is the one I am gunning for), the other opens up in January). He says he prefers the January one; score again!

Eventually a man arrives and gestures us in. He is the Peter I have been e-mailing with. Exactly as I had hoped would NOT happen, many other people come by to look at the rooms. Among these include a Lithuanian woman who works at Amsterdam University, a Russian woman who works at booking.com, a Romanian woman who is a wannabe-nurse, an English barista girl, and a chubby Dutch guy. I feel like I am forgetting someone but fuck it.

Let me give you a little information on the apartment. Basically it is four rooms connected by a tiny common area. Tenants in two of the rooms were moving out (one in December, one in January) and these were the two rooms that were opening up. *Osteo* (English guy) and *Flambook* (French guy) currently resided in the two other rooms.

As was explained in the e-mail, there would be a viewing at 19:00, and interviews by the continuing tenants (*Osteo* and *Flambook*) at 20:00. I was very curious as to how this would work out. I imagined that all of the potential candidates would each individually go into a room and be formally interviewed. Peter clarified that we would be interviewed as a group. I was even more curious as to how this would work out. As we wait, Peter gives us a bit of information on *Osteo*. He is English and has been living in Holland for several years. He used to live down the road but got “divorced” and moved to the apartment to be near his daughter, who sometimes comes by.

As it turns out, *Osteo* was late and *Flambook* was even later. *Osteo* walks in and I can instantly tell he is half-Chinese.

“Yeayuhhhhhboiiiii Chinese connection!” I think to myself, as I look within myself to increase my competitive advantage.

It is obvious *Osteo* is a little flustered with the whole situation. He admits that this must be incredibly weird and he feels sorry for all of us to be put in such a situation. He even comments that he did not have to go through this when he first moved in. We basically go around the circle with introductions and tell a little bit about ourselves. He seems like a really cool down-to-earth guy and overall just genuine. We finish up and *Osteo* asks if anybody wants to go to the pub afterwards. I say “Hell yeah!” but I am not sure if he is kidding. Everybody else seemed to chuckle when he asked. As we say our goodbyes I ask him “So I’ll see you at the pub right?” I have my doubts about whether he will follow through.

He says “yes, I just need to discuss with Peter and *Flambook* first.”

As I walk out of the building, I see that everybody has already dispersed. I had a feeling that nobody was going to the pub… was this my chance to seal the deal? I realized that I was the only American in the room; I started to contemplate how the cultures of the world are so different. I feel that as an American, we are greedy and it is really hammered into us to go for what we want and hold nothing back. In addition, my personality has been shaped by my ugly talentless nature such that I have had to fight and scrap in everything I have ever done and for everything I have ever had. I leave no stone unturned and will take every opportunity to improve my chances in anything. If there was a chance that *Osteo* was going to the pub, then there was a chance that we could bond. And hell, maybe I would get that apartment! Was I that goddamn desperate? Maybe. I really needed an apartment soon and this place was perfect. Whether he showed up or not, I needed a drink anyway.

It took a while since I did not have WiFi, but I eventually find the bar after asking a few locals. I sit alone, drinking Heinekens. I make conversation with the old fogie next to me. I learn that he used to be in the Royal Dutch Army, which allowed him to see the world (his favorite place being the Seychelles). Now, he acts as a financial planner in Amsterdam, helping people of all ages get their finances in order. I tell him that I am looking for an apartment and he mentions that he might know somebody; he writes down some information for me.

But lo and behold, guess who shows up? *Osteo* takes a seat next to me and we start talking. 

We share our stories. I tell him about why I am in Amsterdam; I fell in love in Germany which really gave me the momentum to actually take the initiative to move abroad. She (die Liebe meines Lebens) quickly made it known that she did not feel the same way, but the momentum was still there and I rode it to make my dream of living somewhere else a reality.

He tells me his story; he is forty one years old and fell in love in England with a Dutch girl. They moved to Amsterdam together (or more like he moved for her) and had a daughter who is four and a half years old. His girlfriend got back with her ex-boyfriend; Mark. *Osteo* and his girlfriend ended their relationship in March of this year.

Him: So yeah, this year we are all going to spend Christmas together. Me, my daughter, her mother… and Mark.

Me: Isn’t that going to be… a… weird… situation?

Him: Yeah, it will be. This will be our first Christmas together with everybody… like this. Yeah. It’s going to be weird. I guess I’ll see how it goes.

Me: Well, you seem like a very happy guy and you’ve been all smiles all night, so I guess you’ve been taking it pretty well.

Him: Yeah… I don’t know about that.

His friend is outside the bar (I can only assume he is smoking) so *Osteo* starts to head outside to check on him. Before he goes, he says “by the way, the room is yours if you want it.”

I am ecstatic. “Hell fucking yeah I fucking want it!”

When he comes back, I ask him how he made his choice. I did not think any of us really stood out, was it simply a choice of eeny mini miniy moe?

Him: Well, you were standing right next to me, so that helped. Also, you had a nice smile. What was weird was that I asked *Flambook* who he wanted and he said the English girl and the guy standing next to you. It was uncanny that we were thinking about the same people. Peter also agreed that it was a good choice.

Me: Well, that’s fanfuckingtastic. Cheers.

So that was my Wednesday night. Thursday night I signed the rental contracts and it was a done deal. Peter does not waste any time nor does he seem to fuck around. Peter seems very Russian to me, although he is Dutch. I can definitely foresee myself drinking a bottle of scotch in the common area, sending him a photo of the bottle, and saying “Hey Peter, saved some for you, come and get it.”

He would then say “Kwok, you are an idiot.” but he would be chuckling to himself. I just know it.

And so Jackie, that is why I cannot hang out with you; because I’m in the fucking Netherlands.