Couch party...

The house elves still hadn't brought my armchair and I was beginning to feel pissed off. I had a theory reader the size of a telephone book to get through, and no comfy chair to sit drinking tea and reading in a civilised manner. This was a major problem.

Fortunately I had a strategic advantage. A common room, redolent of fun that was had in the past, with bright painted walls and sad little streamers hanging from the ceiling. It was a lonely place, basking in the glorious memories of its days in the sun, of better times. "Members only" proudly displayed above the door. But as though its inhabitants had befallen some untimely fate, it now lay empty underneath an inch of dust.

So like any good student, I commandeered a couch. Cushion by cushion I furtively carried it down the corridoor and into my room, imagining mission impossible music playing in the background. Each step of the corridoor seeming a mile long as I hoped desparately not to be caught in the act. Once the mission was over I vacuumed it from head to toe, and then road-tested it wtih the next chapter of my theory reader. Ahhh..... comfort and domestic bliss.

To celebrate my new aquisition I decided to have a couch party. Only Erik, Nadia and a bottle of calimoxo showed up, but that was ok because the couch could only fit 3 people anyway. And we talked and drank until 4:30 in the morning.

Later in the week I finally accumulated another next door neighbour; Neils. I only ever seem to meet people when they are cleaning out their cupboards in the hallway. The rest of the time their doors are shut like clams.

Being the expert pilferer I am, it wasn't long before Neils came to my door to offer me a spare coffee table he had. He wasn't using it, it was just taking up space in the hallway. Like a gentleman he carried it into the room for me. At this point I decided that it was probably necessary, however awkward, to say something about the couch. "Oh, maybe you noticed that I borrowed a couch from the common room too."
"Oh yes" he replied. "Actually, thats my grandmother's couch"

Oh the shame!

He didn't seem to mind though, and I've become too attached to it to let go now. If I had enough carry-on luggage I would take it back to Australia on the plane.

Lost in Delft....

Never again will I underestimate my own ability to get hopelessly, irrevocably lost. My first week in Delft was a constant experience of feeling confused, weary and generally incompetant.

There can be a distance of 100m between two points, and still I will walk for half an hour, trying to figure out exactly what went wrong. This situation is somewhat aggravated in Delft, because my 'beeline' approach doesn't work.
Its normally a fairly reliable approach, fixing my eyes on the place I want to be, and walking directly towards it. Ignoring all obstacles; poles, bicycles, small children..... Unfortunately, doing this in Delft would necessitate several brief but invigorating underwater trips. Furthermore, the canals are guarded by swans with an attitude problem. Or even worse, enraged geese.

Upon encountering a canal, it becomes necessary to follow it until the nearest passenger bridge. You would think that by crossing the bridge and following the canal back on the other side you could regain your bearings, but this mysteriously doesnt' work. Instead you find yourself passing through an endless series of charmingly identical alleyways, to be spat out somewhere hopelessly overshot from your original destination. In Delft you can't just cross the road, you must plan your road crossings well in advance ( a week is best).

After many days of this, one of the reasons for my confusion was revealed. There are three large churches in Delft; I thought there were only two. So my clever idea of navigating by the steeple was only causing further mayhem. Fortunately there is only one giant blue and red tower, so I can always find my house "pardon, waar is de toren? Grote toren, rood en blauw!"

And don't even talk to me about Amsterdam.....

But it turned out that I was not the only one with this problem. At 11 o'clock one night Erik and I were meeting Elia to go to a party in Marcushof. But trying to find Elia escalated from one coincidental misunderstanding, into a series of catastrophic misunderstandings, worthy of a Shakespearian comedy. Combined with Elia's broken English over a mobile phone as we wildly tried to give her directions that would mean something.

First she rang to say she was crossing over a bridge and under the railway, and would then turn left. Thinking she was crossing over the OTHER bridge and under the OTHER railway, I told her to go straight ahead. Later she rang to say she was outside the Rabobank. So we waited... there were two Rabobanks in Delft. Then she called to say she was outside a very high building with blue lights on it. Miraculously we found it. Surely there would only be one of those? Wrong once again.

By the time we made it to the party it was midnight. But like good little erasmus students we went anyway, and drank sangria util 3...

Further gratification...

The bicycle picture which also refused to publish with my "the day my bicycle and I were reconciled" post (blogger hates me). So now you can see it in all its 120 euro glory.

And for your gratification....

The stroopwafels picture which for some reason refuses to publish with my "supermarket traumas" post. Mmmm..... I think I'll have a stroopwafel right now..... (and she did)

ahhh, the serenity...

One problem about living in a box amongst a pile of other boxes, is that it is impossible to escape the occupants of those other boxes. Thus I know all the bathroom habits of the person above me (she sings), and what kind of shoes she wear (high heels). And she likes to play "Bombtrack" on her electric guitar. And drums on the table when shes bored. Unless of course shes is actually a he, and a transvestite (I'm sure about those high heels).

And because I am next to the laundry room, I have learned that people really don't abide by that 'no laundry after 10:30pm" rule. The only working machine has an inferiority complex, and is actually aspiring to be a rocket. Since DUWO kindly affixed my reading lamp to the wall for me, my bed is stuck in the one position of the room that is as close as possible to the adjoining wall. But at least its as far away as possible from the compressor on my fridge.

When my furniture first arrived I had a ticking clock on my wall. That lasted about 9 hours, until the first time I went to bed. At which point it was deprived of its battery. However, the second day when I came home, my house fairies had visited again. The clock was mysteriously back on the wall, with a new battery inside. Once again, it was promptly gutted. I wonder how long I can keep playing this game for? I could accumulate quite a collection of batteries this way.
But at least my apartment block is relatively quiet. My neighbours don't have parties very often, and when there is one its normally me having it. Even better now that the cold weather has come and banished the noisy BBQ-goers from the courtyard beneath my window. So, quite peaceful really.

Oh, except for the fireworks.
I awoke to the beginning of world war 3. Surely only a tank gun could be so noisy? But no, when I walked behind my curtain to look out the window, somebody was setting off fireworks right underneath. First the small ones that go 'pieow' "pieow' and then the big ones that burst your ear drums. They all but crisped the paint on their way past. Although amusingly I wasn't the only one wondering about the noise, so when I looked around the courtyard everybody was pressed against the window behind their curtains in their night attire. Ugly dressing gowns, boxers, slips, underpants.
So apart from that my room is quite peaceful.

Oh, and the foghorn too.
The night after, I believe the faculty of electrical engineering must have been conducting some kind of initiation ritual. The task would involve, "making somebody so annoyed that they give you a black eye". Their weapon of choice was a foghorn. You know, the ones with compressed gas, where you press a button and they go "WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRPP". They did this consistantly between 6pm and 12pm. So much that I shut my windows because it was hurting my ears. Then they would tantalisingly stop for 10 minutes, enough so that I'd breathe a sigh of relief and open my windows again. As soon as I sat down: "WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRPPPPP"

Not to mention the construction workers that started a couple of weeks ago. At 7:00 every morning, in the carpark next to my building. They appear to be pulling the bricks up, and then putting them back down again. So much for my monday morning sleep-in. When I cycled past and one of them shouted "hows it goin' good lookin" (or the dutch construction worker equivalent) I was tempted to reply "pretty crap actually, since your machines wake me up every morning". But then I thought that might not be very socially minded of me.

So when I got the following mail in my letterbox, containing the inspiring phrase "de werkzaamheden zullen, afhankelijk van de weersomstandigheden, rond eind december 2006 afgerond zijn" I formed a basic translation. Workers, continuing to wake me up, until around the end of december. Conveniently, also almost the end of my stay. Somehow I'm not surprised that these things happen to me.

Searching for something (anything!) to talk to my (peculiar) next door neighbour about I mentioned the construction work and the letter. "Oh no" he said "thats for a different construction. They're about to start maintenance work on the roof of our building"

What a happy day. I'm also forgetting to mention that cat that is permanatly on heat, yowling in the courtyard....

The day my bicycle and I were reconciled...

It was a relationship of mutual hatred. For the first week I tried my hardest to steer my bicycle into every possible obstacle, while it tried its hardest to make me infertile. I took it down the cobble-stoned back ways, over bricks and bumps. It responded by bouncing me up and down on the seat like a marrionette. Every time I sat down I would wince.
Everyone else flicked their bicycle lights on so quickly that I never managed to figure out how it was done. So every night before setting off in the dark I would battle with the switch, poking it in a hundred different ways, foaming at the mouth with barely supressed rage. Eventually it would give an impudent 'click' and switch on, and I would still be none the wiser as to how it had happened.

Even the bicycle chain was against me. It took me about ten minutes to get the two little hooky things lined up, and then just as I was about to turn the key on the padlock they would slip out of my hands and I would be back to square one. When you're just been riding with the wind in your face, and you're bent over with your nose running, it is not fun playing hide and seek with a padlock.

Not being able to signal without falling off my bicycle, and it being a fine and sunny day, I decided to visit Delftse Hout - a man made lake and park to the east of delft. There I could practice my riding, and fall off to my hearts content. The sky was blue, the birds were singing. My bicycle and I travelled past the oostport, and down along the canal. We stumbled across a parade where it began (endearingly called a 'taptoe' in Dutch). The start of a parade is the best place to watch, because you see all the musicians farting around and having last minute ciggies before forming themselves into regiments. I leaned my bicycle against its kickstand, where it waited patiently for me to finish taking photos of the parade. Then we moved along, unified in motion.

We cycled down towards the park, finding our way by the sun. There we came across a woman to ask directions. We glided to a halt in front of her, found our new bearing, and were on our way. We made it to the park, moving as one. Together we cycled through the dappled shade of the trees, crossing pathways unknown to man. I took in the view, cruising along, while my bicycle enjoyed the sensation of sand beneath its treads.

We spent an emotional day together. Gradually I learned to accept my bicycle for what it was, and forgave it for being so expensive. The biycle itself is not to blame, it can't help the way it was made. And as my attitude towards it softened it sensed this transition. It too found the inner strength to come to terms with its new lifestyle, learning to co-operate with its new master.

Now no longer do I confine it to the lonesome dark of the bicycle shed, now I let it go to rest and be free beneath the spreading leaves of the apple tree.

Beurocratic Nightmares...

Why is nothing ever easy?
I must have repeated this phrase 1000 times in my first week in Delft. Sometimes I repeated it while banging my head on the wall in rhythm to the pace of the words.

The emails from the international co-ordinator had sounded so chirpy, so very organised, with efficient phrases like "TUDelft opens a bank account for all foreign students" and "DUWO can arrange housing for periods from 3 months to one year through their shortstay program". If only it were all true. Instead Janneke cheerfully handed us a rather large pile of forms in a bag. These appeared to be indiscriminately either the wrong form, or in Dutch.

Let me guide you through the seven deadly sins of arriving at TUDelft.

1. Getting a house
First go to DUWO and make sure that your house is available. Then make sure there is furniture in it. If there is furniture in it, make sure it is clean and works properly. If none of the above, then you should accept it anyway, because you can't live, breathe, eat or do anything else without your housing contract.

When you go to DUWO don't forget your passport! The fact that its in the ID Kafee under such a big pile of other people's bags that you would need mountineering training to get to it, is not a valid excuse. And you can't always rely on the fact that the girl from Valencia lost her passport in Amsterdam, meaning DUWO has to think of another solution (phew!)

2. Buying art equipment
Unfortunately you can't do this, you don't yet have a Dutch bank account. And they don't accept cash. No, not even if your drawing classes are starting today and you need a caran d'ache white pencil. But you can always beg a Dutch student to do it for you (this is the usual technique).

3. Opening a bank account
Have you got your housing contract? If not forget it.
Walk politely up to the counter and hand them the form that TUDelft gave you. They will scratch their heads and tell you that this form doesn't exist.
"But it does. Its here, and I've filled it out."
No, it still doesn't exist. If you want to open a bank account you will have to fill in the new forms and make an appointment. No, there are no appointments available for this afternoon, or for tomorrow.

If in desparate need of a bank account, which you inevitably are, you can do a damsel-in-distress act. "Please I really need it (bat eyelids), I can't do anything at all in this country without it. I've walked for half an hour to get here and I have all my paperwork. My legs are oh so sore. I've got all my papers, my passport, my housing contract, and my proof of being a student. Pretty please. PLEAAAAAAAASSSSE"
Unbelievably, this actually worked. The man at the 'information' counter opened it for me while a queue of angry Dutch people backed up behind me.

4. Getting a library card
Still don't have your housing contract? No, you're looking for somewhere else because DUWO has put you in a complete shithole? Tough, you can't even get a library card without your housing contract. Need to borrow a book for the assignment thats due next week? Tough. Oh.... and don't forget your passport. We need to photocopy it, so in the case that you steal any books we can fly to Australia and GET YOU!!!

5. Enrolling
Unfortunately all that time you spent carefully planning your study program so as to avoid any exams, and have one day a week off, was for nothing. Exchange students enrollment needs to be entered 'manually' (ie. after every else has enrolled online and taken all the places in the good subject) Never mind that you had handed your preferences in ten weeks before online enrollment even opened.
PS. This is a unique activity, in that you DON'T need a Dutch bank account to do it.

6. Registering at the municipality
The first form in your bag says "things to do: on Tuesday the 5th of September you must go and register at the municipality.
Like a good little lamb to the slaughter, your 433 euros in pocket, you go to the municipality to buy your residence permit (which in Delft looks like a public swimming pool).
No, your name is on the list, you don't have an appointment today. Come back tomorrow.
"What if I can't come back tomorrow?"
"You have to, it has to be within five days of your arrival in the Netherlands".
"But what if I can't?"
"Then you can come back on Thursday"
"Okay then"
With more money than you have ever seen before burning a hole in your pocket, dejectedly walk the half an hour back to yoru house.

Obediently, on thursday I returned, hiking back into the centre of town on aching legs.
"Do you have an appointment?"
"No, but you told me to come back today."
He acts like he has never seen me before.
"But you don't have an appointment."
By this point I'd had enough.
"No, I don't have an appointment. But YOU told me to come back here today, so you'd better make one for me right now."
And he did.
So eventually the irritating buzzer-thing rang to say it was my turn, after an interminable wait in a room full of depressed illegal immigrants. The somewhat more kindly-faced lady in the booth calls me over.
"Okay, I have my passport, my housing contract, my TUDelft acceptance letter, some passport photos, and 433 euros."
"Do you have your forms?"
"Forms?"
"Yes, forms." She pulls a giant sheath of paper off the shelf. "You'll need to make an appointment for another day so you can fill them in."
Once again, I grovel. No please don't send me away, the man at the counter sent me away on tuesday without even telling me I need forms. My legs hurt and I have no bicycle. I can fill them in really quickly, please please please. Maybe its something in my eyes, that gleam of desparation that shows people that if they push me just an inch further I will crack. She takes pity on me.
"Okay, I'm taking a break for ten minutes. You'll have to take another set of passport photos, those ones are too big. And if you have the forms filled in by the time I get back I'll do your appointment today."
So the municipality now has me registered as a widowed afghani planatation worker on a vacation, but at least I got them filled in in ten minutes.
Several hours of stress and 433 euros later I am now the proud owner of a little sticker in my passport, proclaiming that I am allowed to stay in the country while they process my application. Ironically, it takes six months for them to process it. By the time I am allowed to stay, I will be gone.

7. Ordering readers
So you're a resident, you have a bank account, a house and a library card. You're all set right?
I logged on to the online book store and ordered my reader, which I was already supposed to have read. I selected bank transfer as the payment method. Cash is of course not an option, and in this case neither is over-the-counter bank card.
I go to ABN-amro. "I would like to make a bank transfer for 15 euros please."
"Certainly, that will be 12,50."
"Sorry, I dont understand, is there a discount?"
"No, if we make the transfer here it will cost you 12;50 extra."
Okay. Thats somewhat ridiculous, to pay almost the same amount in fees as what I am actually transferring.
"Is there any other way to do it?"
"Only if you have internet banking."
"Okay, can i get internet banking?"
"Certainly."
She starts typing behind the counter, and I consider my problem solved.
"Okay, I've signed you up. You should get the acceptance letter in 5 working days, and after that it will take another 8 days for your e-dentifier to arrive."
AAAAAAAARGH! By this time my first assignment will have come and gone.
Salvation comes in the form of a Dutch angel. Martine, my partner for the assignment, through a combination of pity and self-interest, has ordered the reader for me. And when I shamefacedly go back a second time to ask her to order my Design Manifestation reader, she has conveniently accidentally printed off the reader (tell me, how do you do that?).

But its okay, I forgave ABN-amro eventually, after they sent me this cool little thing.

Gone with the wind...

Chattering away one day, excited about my coming trip, I wondered out loud "I wonder if its windy in the Netherlands. I don't mind cold places, its when they're windy as well as cold that it really gets me"
I was remembering my trip to Scotland, when I was tempted to walk around with two walrus-tusks of tissue up my nose. It was either that, or stop every two seconds to blow my nose. Those of you who have experienced incessant wind will understand what I mean.

So I sat peacefully drinking my cup of tea for 10 minutes, thinking about nothing in particular. Until the thought rose unbidden in my mind, like some unpleasant sea cresture from the deep.
"Windmills!" I said, startled out of my blissful repose.
"They have windmills!"

The first Saturday I got there was the worst. I walked home from the town centre, but as I turned off the Mekelweg and onto my street it hit me like a tonne of bricks and almost knocked me over. Conveniently I discovered, my street happens to be the windiest in Delft.

People on bicycles were weaving past on trajectories not entirely of their own choosing. "Suckers" I thought, until I discovered that the wind was actually blowing my legs about when I lifted them to take a step. This makes walking impossible. You lift one foot, only to have it blow sideways and hit your other leg, as though some poltergeist were maliciously animating your limbs. And you discover that it is in fact possible to trip yourself over without any external intervention.

Lets just say I'm glad that I got my hair cut short before I got here, otherwise I would be opting for dreadlocks.