When I got to Amsterdam, the rain and cold hadn't started yet, but the description-through- contrast began immediately. I got off the train from middle-class, white, German-speaking Quackenbrück and suddenly saw all kinds of people and heard all kinds of languages. When I'm at home in Greifswald, I rarely think about the fact that everybody else there is ancestrally German and white. Granted, there are some foreign students at the school, but relatively very few. I wrote in one of my previous statistics-oriented posts about how few foreigners there are in Meck-Pomm. And being white and ancestrally German myself, it's not until I see someone who doesn't fit this description that I think about it. I think the very fact that I notice when I see someone non-white (especially African or Asian) in Greifswald seems to only underscore the point that there aren't many such people around. Anyway, I live in a fairly homogeneous little community (and for that matter, always have), and the first thing to strike me about Amsterdam was its cosmopolitanity.
There was a lot of English in Amsterdam, of course, but what I cared about was the Dutch. It was strange to listen to because I felt like I should be able to understand it. It sounded like German....kind of....but I just couldn't get anything out of it. "Ausstiegen"** did pop out at me a couple times while evesdropping on other passengers' train conversations. It was like hearing your name spoken in a nearby conversation--hearing that familiar sound, but nothing else. Reading was much better. Reading I could do (-ish), though this was rarely necessary. As I said: lots of English.
I walked around for awhile the night I got to Amsterdam. The canals shimmered under dim streetlights and a full moon. A man sold me raisin rolls (30% off), as he watched a Middle Eastern TV show in his bedroom-sized supermarket. Children ice skated at the still-open Christmas market. I accidentally found the Red Light district. I would have liked to have walked around there some more for the sake of curiosity, but it was unnerving, being alone and approached by strange men. Whatever they were selling, I was pretty sure I didn't want to buy.
Amsterdam by daylight was nicer. The day I was there was gorgeous, actually: sunny and not very cold. I broke with my usual policy of not going to museums or taking tours and did both: a three-hour walking tour*** and the Anne Frank House. The walking tour was great. The Anne Frank house probably should have been. Some other visitors seemed quite moved--this lady in front of me kept saying "it's so sad!" And though it was no doubt interesting to see the places I'd read about, processing with a line of tourists through the bare rooms of the house (each holding a couple of small display cases) honestly didn't do a lot for me. I think I was more affected when I watched someone visit the house on a video we watched in the 6th grade. The classroom lights were out then, so at least you felt alone.
From Amsterdam, I went to Gent and met my CouchSurf host, Elke, who was awesome: smart, well-spoken, funny. We dropped my stuff off in her neat little old house (three stories, but with about one room per story, requiring a couple very steep stairways) and went walking around town, though the sun had gone down hours earlier. We went to a simple little restaurant just outside the old town where she ate and I snacked on two Belgian products: French fries and beer. This being the only time in Belgium that I drank beer, I can't really comment on the quality of "Belgian beer" as a whole. Nor am I particularly qualified to be evaluating beer at all, but I did think that the one I had was good. Online beer-raters seem to agree, for whatever that's worth.
So thus we passed the evening, talking about languages and books and sipping beer, until it was no longer evening or night, but in fact the next day. Thus some sleeping-in was necessary, and the half-day of sightseeing in Gent I had planned for the next morning didn't begin until the first half of the day was well underway. My host had to work, so I walked around on my own, getting lost and re-oriented repeatedly in the quirky Middle Aged-streets. The town was just beautiful. There were canals and narrow buildings and lots of brick and old gray architecture in various medieval styles. From what Elke said and I saw, I got the feeling that Gent was kind of like a Lawrence--a university town, more liberal than others around it, smaller, but with personality.
Unfortunately for my already-poor navigation skills, the personality was under construction while I was there. Also, it was cold and became rainy. Any of these things might have been fine alone, but when put together, I ended up walking around central Gent for an hour-and-a-half, trying to figure out how to get to the train station. My shoes were wet. My socks were wet. My pants were wet, and everything was muddy. Everything was also cold. And I was lost with no map, no signs, dead-ending tram tracks,**** and confusing (or even downright wrong) directions from people on the street. Additionally, my left ankle had been starting to hurt (apparently from all the walking, though all wasn't really all that much) and was getting fairly uncomfortable by this point. Plus, I had to drag my silly suitcase with me, through the mud, over the cobblestones, across the tram tracks, etc. In short, I was pretty much miserable.
The next few hours weren't a lot better. I finally found the station and boarded my train. Realizing I didn't know where I had to get off to make my connection, I asked the conductor. She told me a city. I thought I got off where she said to get off. Apparently, it wasn't where I was supposed to get off. So I had to sit on the platform in the cold for another hour until the next train came. The plan was to spend about half a day in Ieper, the city associated with Flanders Field/WWI, but by the time I got there, it was dark and I had only an hour until I needed to head on to my couch in Brugge. Determined to make the most of my time anyway, I trekked into the city and walked around, still being rained on, still hauling my suitcase. The city was pretty from what I saw. I'm sure it's even better in the spring, in the sunshine, in the daytime, when you're dry. After getting lost again on my way back to the train station (seriously, posted maps do you no good if they tell you "you are here" but don't tell you which way you're facing!), I was finally bound for Brugge.
And once in Brugge, the day got much, much better. My host was, once again, great. She was talkative, welcoming and friendly, and I could finally take my wet clothes off and get warm and dry.
My Brugge sightseeing time was also plagued by rain, but I loved the city anyway. It was a lot like Gent in terms of size and medieval-ness. The rain, when not too hard, was even fitting--somehow making it romantic and storybook-like. I didn't even bother with a map here--I had no pre-determined plans and was able to keep my sense of direction pretty well--so I just walked around and saw whatever amazing buildings and canals and churches and stone houses and vine-covered cafes popped up around the corner or on the next street. I got some exposure to modern Belgian artistic culture, as well: Hadewijch showed me a Belgian film she had--one of the better ones. Though bad in the past, the Flemish film industry is improving, she said, especially after the recent success of one particular domestic film (the success was mostly in Belgium, I think, but that's a start).
Until I got to Libramont, several hours south and east of Brugge, it hadn't been necessary to know any French. A lot of text was in both French and Flemish, but if Flemish was involved, I felt at least semi-confident. In the south, as I approached the French border, the use of other languages became sparse. My hope was to get to Boullion, a little town that I hoped would show me a different side of Belgium: French, mountainous, foresty, more seculded. To get there, I had to take a bus, which involved reading a timetable in French. When my bus didn't come at the time listed, I made an effort at reading the fine print and finally, using Spanish similarities, Latin roots, and inductive logic, figured out when I could actually expect some transportation.
Boullion was equally, if not more, French than Libramont, and thus just what I was hoping for. By this point in the trip, my ankle was causing me to limp and progress at a grandma-like pace especially when walking on a grade. There was a "Chateau-Fort" up on a hill, though, so, just as I had with all the buildings-on-a-hill in Mallorca, I went to check it out. It was absolutely worth the wincing. On one side of the gray stone fort's hill was the town; on the other was a river, and beyond that, more hills covered in forest. And all of that kind of clouded in fog. Unfortunately, no hilly hikes were in the cards. Maybe next time.
Arriving in Luxembourg was like coming half-way home, as German (alongside French, and occasionally Flemish) was now part of the mix. I got into Luxembourg (the city, which is the capital of Luxembourg, the country) on the evening of Dec. 31st. My ankle hurt like crazy, but I was in awe as I walked through the city to my hostel. To really appreciate this, you just need to see it, but the great thing about Luxembourg is the casemates: dug-out areas of the city with high walls and towers around them. It's like there are two levels to parts of the city. There's definitely a "city" part of the city, but when you're around the casemates and on the outskirts, it looks much more natural and feels somehow ancient (Roman-era architecture will do that). Sections of stone walls were integrated into the natural rock wall and I felt like this area was a perfect merger of the built and natural environments. Lots of trees, hills, a river--but also houses, churches, and streets. And my upscale youth hostel. Definitely the nicest one I've ever stayed in, and the setting of my solitary New Year's Eve. Ate some great soup (all you can eat for 2 Euros!) at the hostel, tried a Luxembourgian beer (not quite as good as the Belgian, I'd say), and listened to David Sedaris read to me through my iPod until the fireworks began and the calendar switched over to 2010.
One thing I loved about Luxembourg was its touristic accessibility: all streets had conveniently-placed signs, there was a series of arrows leading to the youth hostel, and the station, and a variety of other places tourists might want to go. It was classy, though, and made you feel like a guest, not necessarily a tourist. I discovered, however, that the signed path was not always the shortest. This meant I got started on a jaunt from my hostel to the city center that took me in a circle WAY AROUND the city. Would have been fine if there was something to see, but I was walking along a road in the semi-industrial outskirts of the city and separated from the forest by a wall, so it was just a 4,8 km prelude to the extensive walking I had already planned for that day. For the several days prior to reaching Luxembourg, I'd been worried, not knowing how I'd be able to keeping walking around so much. As soon as I got there, it wasn't an issue anymore: I was determined to see everything I could, even though it'd hurt. And the next day--the day of my accidental 4,8 km walk--I was pleased to discover that, though I was still limping and slow, it was no worse than it had been the day before! That was great. I found the city stunning, and I'd really like to go back some time to check out other parts of the country. For a summer hiking or biking tour, it'd be ideal.
After Luxembourg, the plan was to go to Heidelberg to visit a couple friends from my exchange semester. I arrived in Heidelberg, but no one came to meet me as per the plan. I waited. And I waited. And I waited. And I made phone calls and sent text messages. And sipped hot beverages to keep warm. Finally, I walked to/through the city myself, glimpsed my old dorm building, noted the businesses that had moved and stores that had changed hands. Ate a sandwich. Went back to the train station. By this point, it was about 6 hours after the planned meeting time, so I just gave up and took a night train to Hamburg. From here I continued to Greifswald (with a stop in the small town of Grevesmühlen, solely because of the first five letters of the town's name) the next day. As it turned out, the friend who was supposed to meet me had had a bike accident on the way to the train station, seriously injuring his leg and necessitating a trip to the hospital! In the process, he also broke his phone, hence the lack of communication about this issue. Man. What a bummer. Makes my ankle problem seem not nearly so bad. Just another example of how defining through contrast can make bad things better or good things great.
Note: Ankle's doing fine these days. And after my insurance company pays me back for the money I spent getting (and trying to keep) it that way, I will be, too. :)
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*Belgium, the Netherlands, Luxembourg. Not necessarily in that order.
**In German, as in Dutch: "exits."
***This was free, though (or "tips-only"), so it was OK.
****My plan for getting to the station was to follow the tracks of the tram that, under normal circumstances, goes right to it. These circumstances, however, were not normal.
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