Author: thomsoe2

“Hard choices, easy life. Easy choices, hard life.”- Jerzy Gregorek

It’s been two weeks since I arrived home to the cozy embrace of the PNW, fifteen days, since I was in Europe, and three-hundred and sixty hours since I had to pay for public utilities. My time in the land of castles and good bread has come to a bitter sweet finish. (insert sour dough joke, I’m sure I’ll think of something.) I took a whole lot away from these wild escapades, but it’s hard to put into words the exact extent of what this time meant to me. I’ll try though, for you, mom.

There are some skills that are clear-cut and easy to distinguish. I learned how to organize and budget my traveling without extra income, to travel correctly (way more complicated then I thought), and to develop relationships with people that were not only supremely interesting and unique, but also came from cultures that were SO different then my own. This all happened in THEIR second language btw. I can remember two words in Dutch. Europeans have earned my respect, and deserve yours as well.

I read my first b post over again and was reminded of my old ideas about what this time abroad would mean to me. It was something like; by pushing myself into a foreign situation, I would ensure that I learn and adapt to the rapid change in scenery. That was true to an extent. Turns out that I am a perceptive person. My early days were a whirlwind of lessons and activity that at times felt like sink or swim situations. Crazy travels, crazier people, life was novel and I could not get enough. But eventually, it was all too easy to slip in the same boring routine that did nothing but accumulate stress. A routine that felt all to familiar to the daily combination of 2K and Rick and Morty that caused me to spaz out in the spring of 2016 and choose to study abroad in the first place.  Now that turned out to be a great choice, but I am already an anxious college student and would rather make great choices whilst in a sound state of mind (namaste).

I got to know a lot of people while traveling around, and most of them were superbly interesting. They climbed mountains, brewed beer, and fell asleep on city benches. They ran marathons, carried sketchbooks stuffed with innovation, and held mason jars full of fermenting sauerkraut. These were the characters I am grateful to have surrounded myself with, and they became my people. Yet there is a but coming, and it’s coming whether or not your into that sort of thing. There were also others (myself included) that often chose familiarity and comfort over the unknown and growth. Netflix is now available in every country, but you know that you proxy drifters.

While the awesome people that totes meshed with my vibe are abundant, they did not just appear, as one might say, on my pueblo. I had to hunt for them, which was not easy. What would have been easy was binge watching Peaky Blinders in my dorm room while munching on a TONY’s chocolate bar. That’s not to say that didn’t happen btw. (we all deserve an off day). What I mean to say in this awkward little paragraph, is that community made my time abroad. But that time was short, and building that community took perseverance and learning which accent I found to be the most charming (Belgium loses, Italy wins).

Took me a hot sec to figure this out though. Plus, retrospect is always easier then the real thing. No worries if this takes a beat for you download these words into your personal experience. I’ll talk a little more about this before wrapping up.

Once I had visited a few countries and my class schedule was established, I slowly found myself slipping into a routine that was not in line the values I had initially set. Took at least a month before I recognized the pattern. Nothing is wrong with routine, but when it’s built around everything that is safe and predictable, it loses the chance of sparking something new. And I, find that to be wack.

SO my most potent piece of advice for potential study abroaders; Going to a new country does not guarantee a new experience. I mean it does in a sense, like a new country is a new country. My POINT is that depending on how long you plan to live abroad, you will adapt quicker then you think. Having fun and and maintaining that spirit of adventure means always seeking new and challenging life moments. If you are not finding time to do that at home, then there could be a point were your motivation to do so abroad peters out. Preventing that takes work. It requires  pushing in a direction that is against the tide of familiar routine. But salmon do it every year and they are a ridiculous creature. So you got it.  Surround yourself with good people that want the same great time as you and also have the ability to banter. Always worked for me.

The quote that I began this final blog with sums up most of what I just said. It’s by a stoic philosopher that fled communist Poland. He went on to be a 3x Olympic champion in powerlifting as well as an award winning poet. He was also quoted in a TED talk that I once watched.

“Hard choices, easy life. Easy choices, hard life.”- Jerzy Gregorek

I like his quote because it is simple. It makes immediate sense. Make the choice that scares you, within reason, and have fun in your new land.

It’s been real!

Ellis T

I left the Hague for the final, and last moment ever in the history of time. It was raining, a slight drizzle agains the window pane…of my train. I am not sure if the true sentiments of that morning warrant such skillful poetry. Perhaps it is a hook for the reader. That’s you! How are you? Have you been learning your mathematics/taking your B12?

That morning might have been a bigger deal if I was not completely zonked. I had vowed long ago that I would take every possible precaution to avoid running/fast walking/every genre of hustle through an airport. But I gotta wake up early to honor this and accept the zonk/attitude. I looked deathly. Even my bags had bags. Not my luggage but my eye bags (Lol, my carry-on didn’t have it’s own little bag). So I woke up at some early time, chilled on the fifty minute train ride to Schiphol, and performed a last minute luggage exchange when it became obvious I would not survive the trip while wearing half my clothing. I read about a guy who wore and entire checked bags worth of clothes on an airplane. He passed out from heat exhaustion and had to be escorted to the hospital.

Sometimes I try to make a moment meaningful when I deem it cinematic and worthy of feelings. Sitting in the terminal waiting for my flight to Lisbon seemed like the ideal time to do so. I stared out of the massive windows toward the city of Amsterdam, pushing myself to reflect on the lessons I learned and the friends I made. Fun, fulfilling moments and weird, cringe worthy experiences. I was trying to appreciate them all, and it wasn’t really working. Not sure it’s possible to force that kind of thing. While pondering as such, I suddenly realized I was at the wrong gate and my flight was scheduled to leave 15 minutes prior. I snatched my massive backpack and booked it to my actual gate. It was a sweaty moment, that blossomed into a miraculous miracle. Some divine host had delayed my flight to Lisbon by two marvelous hours. I sighed every ounce of stress away, and sat down at the correct gate. My chair was kind of sticky, and my flight was delayed by so long I was going to miss the connection to my actual destination. But like whateves yo. Life was taking care of itself and I was coastin.

A few days later after a new flight and a reimbursed  hotel and dinner (complements of Air Portugal) I arrived at the Principality of Asturias. Asturias is one of the northern provinces of the country, bordering the Atlantic Sea. The place is great for surf, hiking in the mountains, and the soft clanking of bells from free-range vaca de rubio. It is also known for it’s peyaya and hard cider which pair excellently.  My plane dropped down into Oviedo, the region’s capital and home to my AirBnB among other things. It was a hot and sunny and sexy day. Sadly enough, I was not able allow the slight stoke that I usually associate with such a climate overwhelm me completely. I needed all my neurons to focus on  triangulating my AirBnB. That’s the cold hard reality of my backpack life. Papers, passports, canned goose passé and whatever else one lugs are susceptible to attack by foreign predators. Like a hermit crab scuttling to a new shell, the backpacker must have his wits about him during this vulnerable transitionary period. Fun comes later. I stepped down from the bus and threw my massive backpack over my shoulder. Next I tossed my smaller bag on, kangaroo style. This defensive stance was sure to protect my belongings as well as my virginity.

I survived the trip and met my host. A young guy named Caesar who spoke English like  I speak Spanish. I said “Hola” and “Que Tal,” then proceeded to pantomimed through through the rest of the interaction. When he left, I breathed I sigh of relief and flopped onto my big orange bed, aptly dubbed “Tangerine Dream.” Now at this point I wish I could say that I put Oakley sunglasses, rolled a tight Spanish cigarette, and toasted my prevalence for independence and adventure. That I kicked of my Birkenstocks and put a scoop of Crew’s styling gel into my luscious head fur. Medium hold. (‘Head fur’ makes me uncomfortable but I will leave it to allow breathing room for more  unorthodox descriptions). Anyways, none of those cool guy actions actually occurred. But now I’m forgetting what I actually did…  Think I called my mom or something and was stressed out. Then I watched a Comedy Special with Spanish subtitles.

I left Oviedo on the 31st de Enero and arrived on the WWOOF farm that was really more of a garden. If you don’t know WWOOF, it is an acronym for World Wide Opportunities on Organic Farms. Connects farmers of organics and such with naive young adults so that that the latter works in exchange for room and board.  Based off my experience, the organization seems to have abroad idea of  what a ‘farm’ actually is. Apparently it is possible qualify  as a WWOOF host if you own around three potted plants and collect forgotten walnuts from your neighbor’s backyard.

It’s interesting and frustrating and necessary to meet people with different viewpoints from your own and learn from them. Sometimes it feels impossible, but it plays a large role in becoming my idea of a cool person. My host 2 weeks with Almand, a retired actor from the Spanish island of Mallorca, cemented this truth into the fiber of my being. Sixty-six years old, recently divorced, and wielding a passion for Catalonian independence matched only by an adamant belief in chem-trails.

Meeting him and only him was my first surprise. His ad on the world wide web declared that h

e was apart of a small family that was studying permaculture on the weekdays and baked bread for neighbors and friends on the weekends. YET as I pulled up to his house perched on the high hills of Asturias, no family seemed to exist. No wife, no kids. Just a cat and a ridiculous dog that looked like an chewbaca if he was inbred.

 

Almand greeted me in Spanish and quickly learned that was not going to be our method of communication. To his credit, his english was the best I had heard so far in Spain. But that is a high bar (limbo metaphor) given that my only other interactions with the spaniards were limited to tapa bars. Quiero una tapa does the trick. He walked me through his little house and the two other buildings on his property. The casa was cute and comfy. Two stories high and surrounded by a little garden full of zanhorias and zucchinis.

Most of my time here was spent clearing debris out of a packed room to make space for the main man’s AirBnB. I did most of the space in about 2 hours. Everything except a shoddy sofa with faded upholstery and holes in the cushion. Pretty certain a coalition of mice were living inside. Almand assured me that I was right but field mice are cute lil guyz and  are unlikely to carry the plague. The sofa was gross. I would have thrown it away, but craigslist does not exist in the mountains of Asturias and Almand recycles about 80% of his waste. So we invested about 30 hours into this couch, 28 of which were spent making coasters for the legs so they wouldn’t scratch the floors.

So in summary I didn’t exactly enjoy my time on this farm. The Almand was enough hombre, but the age/language difference did not produce much stimulating conversation. Community is important and I was missing it from two sides, homies in Europe and homies in US, and decided to come home early after five days. A wonderful decision I have yet to regret, yet still difficult to make. Never feels good to not to follow through with a goal, but I give myself wiggle room here due to a deficit in little details. Such as living with a retired senior just skirting by off his pension whilst committing to quit cigarettes. Not fun for anyone.

One of my favorite and final conversations with Almand took place at the small dinner table in his kitchen. I was particularly bummed on this particular evening and had no shred of motivation to follow Almand’s rickety train of thought as to why our soup was saltier then he would of liked. I think it had something to do with adding salt to black beans that were already laced with sodium. Riveting! Half way through his 10 minute explanation, I realized that I needed to share an actual feeling to an actual person or risk a brain aneurysm. When he was done I looked at him and said (clearly and with my monosyllabics), “I have been sad today,” He looked at me curiously before asking, “Why is this?” I told him of my plights and frustrations, to which he replied, “AHHH yes. Matters of the heart. What can I tell you. Hmmm, well, the world is always changing. Nature is always changing.” “Like the seasons,” I offered. He ignored me and continued. “Human beings don’t deal well with change.” He gestured with his hand towards the window. “Humans like to grab on to moments that are subject to change, and hold them close. But this is, incorrect. To be whole with ourselves we must be whole with nature. We must embrace change.” This little speech had very little to do with my situation, but it was authentic and actually coherent, and it made me feel better.

The moral of the blog is to give relationships breathing room for change and hopefully growth. Seems like an honorable endeavor. But then again Almand was drinking a decent amount fermented stinging nettle, so head these words at your own risk.

Glad to be back in the US. My mommy bought the Kirkland double pack of bacon at Costco which has come to define what I missed about this country. I have one more blog post to submit and, (my god Chihuahua has aged terribly and looks like a Wight Walker.) But yes. I have one more post to submit about reverse culture shock. IM excited. Until next time. xoxox.

The Strupwaffle is the best snack ever to be gifted to mere mortals in my opinion. But then again whole blog is my opinion..

The first Strupwaffle was flown down from Valahala by a chorus of golden swans. The Original had wafers strewn from grain that grazed Kiera Knightly’s fingertips. It was crafted by the finest bakers of the heavens, ensuring that every bite remained satisfying to the soul and complete to the molar. The syrup was harvested by honey bee’s, just regular honey which is an oxymoron because honey is heavenly and everything but regular(bee population is up 3% btw). The snack was then hand delivered to the Dutch people who promised to ensure it’s simple elegance. If we’re cool I’ll bring you some.

I’ve deleted this draft only once this time! If this happens again I will not inform you as to maintain the illusion that I am less accident prone then usual. Turns out that forty-five minutes of typing without a grade on the line is a debilitating loss. Really cause me to question the merit of this entire endeavor. Good thing I’m motivated and back with  a vengeance and mad typing skills. Tech tech typing might have failed me but travel writing for Western is actually creating some nuance in my finger bones. Might take that last part out. This sentence too, or maybe I’ll keep it who knows.

Today I will be walking y’all through the daily routine of a contemporary cosmopolitan. Do all of this if you want to succeed abroad, in life, and during your mindful meditations!

MORNING:

First activity of the morning is I wake up. The next activity of the morning is I indulge in 20 minutes of meditation. Once I achieve enlightenment I hover crosslegged down the hall and into my community kitchen and kick it with one my flatmates. Some are cooler then others and they quality of the conversation varies as such. We discuss life and whoop up breakfast.

Breakfast is typically eggs, bell peppers, and cheese. Eggs and peppers are cheap as af and come in three packs for 1 Euro. Peppers are referred to paprika which is what the spice is derived from! Another PAPRIKA fun fact is that the green ones are just unripe, not separate vegetables. When I learned thisit blew my mind into a thousand pieces. My german friend Theresa would say ‘Mind Blowing,’ instead, which I love because it’s just wrong enough to be adorable.

Once the munching and chatting come and pass, I hover to my floor’s elevator and loosen my grip in nirvana so that I may mingle with the masses . I head down to my hotel’s lobby and walk through the automatic doors into the depressing dutch climate. Weather in the Netherlands is similar to that of Washington’s except for way more wind. Look it up on Reddit it’s insane.

There’s a giant rack where every bike in the hotel is stored. Here’s a picture instead of a thousand words-

I snatch mine and head to The Hague University of Applied Science. But, I work hard and have my very own blog, so today I treat myself to a pastry at one of the several bakery’s within eyesight.  Baked goods have become a weakness of mine ever since I realized gluten intolerance is a social construct propagated by alt-right amazon shareholders. I stuff my backpack with lemon tarts and Nutella filled donuts and bike on.

 

AFTERNOON:

IF I get to school and every single bike stand is full, I feel entitled to a certain degree of frustration. This doesn’t happen often but when it does it is daunting/makes for decent story telling. Dilemmas are good when writing because it makes the reader/obligated family member feel bad for an abstraction of yourself and root for the noble cause. It doesn’t have to be a major dilemma. Something small works to. In this case, I was in an innovative mood and strapped my bike’s chain to the frame of an acquaintance of mine before hustling up to class. Crisis has averted and pastries secured.

The ‘energy/flow’ of my Dutch classes is not super duper different then college at Western. A bit more dialogue going on between the teacher and the students. Easier for me to ask questions and receive critique and whatnot. One major difference is my teachers feel quite comfortable using me as a primary source for most of Donald Trump’s delightful antics. I try to explain that my free subscription to Washington Post only works in the US, but my journalism teacher doesn’t consider that a valid excuse. After all I am American, and am qualified to speak as such. Sometimes I randomly stand an recite the pledge of allegiance during lecture and my peers cry tears of envy. I smile knowingly at them while I utter the final word. I then weave around the room, dabbing their cheeks with my star spangled handkerchief.

 

(END OF THAT)

When school is over I corral my friends into some sort of a bonding activity. It could be anything, but today riding bikes through the dutch countryside is the winner. Frank Ocean has a great song called “Biking” that I reserve for such moments. The part I especially love is: “I’m biking uphill and it’s burnin’ my quads. I’m biking downhill and it sounds like a fishing rod. Savage at bikin’, yah.” The song is best experienced while biking with good company in sparse shrubbery. Surrounded by slow canals and no sound but that slight click click click.

 

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I DONT GET WEAK IN THE KNEEES

EVENING:

Zoop bap beep iz about time to eat! The sun sets at 17h (5pm for n00bs) and we all want to get home before the darkness sets. There are two buildings of residence for  exchange students and my friends are split between the two. The Student Hotel (where I live) is the luxurious choice. It sports a pool table and private vending machines. DUWO is the other option. It’s a housing company in the Hague and has like three buildings that are decently close together. It’s the punk rock option in a ‘puke in the only elevator’ kind of way. We choose TSH for dinner and proceed on the fifteen minute trip. We pass over several arched bridges and narrow alleys along the way. It is all very European.

Dinners are a popular social activity throughout the world. We are all from the world so it is  popular with us. I’m gonna generalize here because they all sort of become a blur when the gluhwein get flowing. For the most part they are great fun and chalked full of intelligent conversation about our friendly differences.

The cultural question I get asked the most is, “Ellis, why do Americans like their flag so much?” To which I reply, “Don’t you like yours?” To which THEY say, “Well, sure but we don’t have like flag poles in our front-yards and like fifty flag laws.” Then I’m all like, “Whaaaaat ,I thought every country had those rules. Your right, I guess that is pretty weird. I think it has to do with our novelty as country, and how the flag is like a symbol for freedom and bald eagles are an endangered species and the red, white, and blue are across from each other on the color wheel and jet fuel doesn’t melt steel beams.

I say something like that of they reply with a theory that is WAY more plausible and eloquent. Then I just sort of nod dumbly and say, “ Yeah that also makes sense. So is everyone like still mad at Germany?”

The personal question I get asked the most is, “Ellis, why do you never where a coat or rain gear when it rains?” To which I reply, “Cuz I’m just super hard core yo. Umbrella’s are for nerds and raincoats are upper body umbrellas.” I haven’t really said that but I DO get asked that all the time. I think that people from Washington are just true northerners that don’t let a little thing like latitude effect our pride as a people. Helpful to realize this when abroad. Nothin but a little rain.

The Temptations have a really fantastic song called, “I Wish it Would Rain” that I like to reserve for such weather. It’s about a man that wishes it would rain so he can go outside and be able to cry in public incognito. BAD ASS, not at all as sad as it sounds.

Ok there ya, a cinematic snapshot into the daily life. I go to bed after all this but that should be obvious because I’m not like sentient code or something haha. I leave the Netherlands on the 26th and will be working in Spain so that I may learn Español and eat muchos Tapas. I’ll be writing all about it. Adios!

This entry shall BRIEFLY cover a few topics. I am not messing around here. I’ve written this flippin entry TWICE and forgot to save it TWICE. I poured my heart out on two separate occasions and have nothing to show for it. TWO times I crafted beautiful sentences chalked with wit, whimsy, walliteration. But I’m done now. This final draft is like, that the third marshmallow you cook over the fire after you mistakenly roasted the first two because you were spacing out thinking about the hotdogs your dumbest friend threw into the fire without considering that we are about to camp in bear/Sasquatch country. I think what I mean is I probably had legitimate things on my mind when I forgot to save the previous drafts. Like a gruesome squatch attack.

I am going to talk about the first things that “shocked” or more aptly, “mildly startled” me when I first arrived in the Netherlands. Then if I feel like it, I will talk about the goals I have set and the habits I am trying to form so I may reach them. That’s it. If that doesn’t sound fun or interesting enough, I hear Jane Birkliend’s blog is pretty entertaining.

Dutch people are down for any vehicle powered via the human leg. Here are some examples.

Bike: Obvious, but worth mentioning. There are more bikes in the Netherlands then there are people. There are also more more mopeds then there are stroopwafles.. but that doesn’t further my point.

People bike everywhere because it is a cheap and casual form of transportation. Cheap because dutch babies exit the womb holding a barbie sized trike that develops with them. Casual because the bikers here are granted wide, colorful lanes that are comfortably sandwiched between the rode and sidewalk. Plenty of space to chill and ponder simpler times.

The bikers clearly hold the top position of the vehicular hierarchy. They enjoy flat and level land, ideal for cruising side by side with a homey or two. No one wears helmets, including the children, so they seem to be very confident of their ability to avoid collisions. They do not factor in the exchange students.

It is also common to be cursed with he plague upon cutting off some of the older Dutch men.

Biking tips in the Netherlands:

Brakes are to function ONLY as decorative ornaments. Any biker foolish enough to stop for 500 kilo vehicles will immediately be swerved into by said vehicle, in order to conserve the purity of the bloodline. As is tradition.

Stick to the right side of the road unless, like you don’t want to, or whatever.

When no bike lane is present, ride on the rode alongside traffic and allot two feet of breathing room. Engage your core and pretend you are doing something else.

Roller Blades: 

Yus queen. Dutch people  blade and they rock itttt. They cut and glide with the whimsical grace of your favorite ice dancer. All the while sporting cashmere gloves and Burberry scarves. Do not be surprised if you see me shredding the fruit boot during next spring quarter.

A big reason why I came to the Netherlands is because I figured it would be a fun way to get to know myself a little better. I have lived in Bellingham, Washington for 21 years. By exposing myself to a crazy different environment, I hoped the contrast would be stark enough to illuminate some of the bad habits that keep me from slamming through my goals. I hoped coming here would be enough to spark a powder keg of motivation that would blast me into, idk, personal fulfillment? Something like that.

We all have crazy amounts of untapped potential within us. This trip has forced me to recognize this. The fact that I CAN really do whatever the fuck I want. It was hard to admit, especially since it’s been a sec since I’ve really put a challenge in front of myself just to prove to myself that I can overcome it. The more I see this realized in day to day moments, the prouder of myself I become. It starts with getting out of bed, and going. Just pick a direction, and go. Short term micro goals that eventually should assemble into a fulfilled life, maybe? Either that or an illuminati triangle, which would be hilarious and fulfilling in itself.

So I am setting a few goals to prove to myself that I can do things. One of the larger goals I have set for myself is running the Chuckanut 50k when I get home in March. So I have been running and preparing for that. I am also surfing, traveling, and maintaining eye contact with the ladies.

SO there is a lot to look forward to! I’m gonna try and write this thing more frequently so to provide a holistic update to everything I am comfortable sharing with all of you! Thank you for patient eyes and pandering to these ramblings. Good day, and may the moon reap you bounties beyond comprehension!

 

Greetings. It is I, Ellis Theodore of the house of Thomson. These letters, words, and sentences are the beginnings of a blog I am sharing for my six months of studying in the Hauge, Netherlands. On the complete real, I waited way too flipping long to to write this first entry.  I am now forced to ask all my friends, family, and meme administrators to forgive any misspellings or cliche musings (Maybe I waited until the last minute for that very excuse because I feel incrediably self-conscous about the writing this and want to fall back on the deadline as an excuse for lack of quality. Les put a pin in that).

You might be wondering why I have decided to study abroad in the first place. Right? Like maybe idk.

That question has been difficult for me. The answer doesn’t fit into my idea of what social convention deems “financially responsible”, and for that I will always feel the creeping tendrils of doubt. But that “doubt” is slowly being displaced by a growing desire to challenge myself in different and subversive ways. I chose to empty my bank account and set out to Europe because I cannot see myself sitting in my deathpod 2000, surrounded by personal robot nurses and automated head scratchers, (you would think the robot nurses could perform this function) and wishing I had been fiscally responisble at 21 years old.

I REALLY like the idea of living life like a really good story. Spontaneous choices, the potential for danger, challenges met, and emerging victorious with new skills and talents uncovered. These aren’t abstract concepts. They are experiences that have real world value, tested and observed to have REAL WORLD utility.

I’m not reckless, at least I dont think I am. Reckless people don’t plan things out, and not to sound like mister planny pants but yeah, I know what I’m doing. That being said, maintaining a balance between spontaneity and responsibility is not something I’m used to. I am anticipating plenty of mistakes.

The theme of this blog shall be one of pushing the boundaries of the comfort zone and overcoming and learning from these mistakes. Each entry will consist of a particulare situation in which I rise to an uncomforable occasion. Maybe I’ll slay a dragon, or destroy one of Sauron’s thirteen Horcruxes.

Whatever the challenge, I’m excited for what this call to adventure shall bring! (In case you haven’t noticed I have been watching a lot of Game of Thrones and it is transfering tomy writing). But no matter! On my return we shall drinkhoney mead from ram’s horns and be merry! Huzzah!