A Not So Regular Wednesday

The coordinators of N-Spice have organized a fair amount of excursions for the students of the program. This makes sense, because since we're here in the Netherlands, we might as well see the important things in the Netherlands instead of just studying them in school. Many of you may have heard of a guy named Rembrandt; he was supposedly pretty good at throwing some paint onto a big piece of canvas and then selling the paint-canvas combination. Since he was so good at that, we decided to see a little of what he did, first by going to his house and then by going to the Rijksmuseum (where we could also see some paint-canvas combinations by other brush-wielders, as well as big hunks of stone that people altered with small pieces of iron, and other things that our teacher told us fell under the category of some Dutch word that I think is spelled "art"). But before that, we were also scheduled to visit a place called the "Scarlet Cord." It's not actually called that; there's a Dutch name for it, but that's what the name translated into English is; but anyway more on that place later. All of these sights were really amazing, especially the World-Renouned Rijksmuseum, but my blog entry today is not about any of those places. Rather, my blog entry is about the things that happened among these events that really made the day exciting.

1. Bryan got lost... again.

In Zwolle, Dustin and I boarded the train to Amsterdam Centraal. Since the train was already quite full, our walk down the aisles didn't yield any seats that were together, so we walked through the next train car. Here, we found some pretty descent seats and settled in for the one-and-a-half hour ride. About thirty minutes into the trip, right around Amesfoort, we noticed that our train had split apart; one half was headed for Amsterdam Centraal, our half for Utrecht Centraal. See, we had been told that sometimes you need to be on the correct part of the train because only part of the train will go where you want to go, but I had long forgotten this important fact, and apparently it had slipped Dustin's mind as well. So we were on a train to Utrecht, and the entire rest of our class, since nobody followed us into the second car, was on their way to Amsterdam.

At that point, Dustin and I had to figure out what we were going to do. The obvious first step was to board the first train to Amsterdam upon arriving in Utrecht. As we were both becoming comfortable reading the Netherlands train schedules, this really wasn't a problem, and soon enough we were on a high-speed "Inter City Express" train (the type that are shaped like bullets), to Amsterdam. Ahh, but the problem of what to do when we arrived in Amsterdam was the real problem that needed to be solved. At the beginning of the N-Spice trip, Aloisa, the lady that seems to be in charge of pretty much everything, gave every student her business card and had us write down her cell-phone and home-phone numbers on it. Thankfully, mine was still in my bag, so I dug it out and we had our plan. Glazing over this unimportant part of the story: after a bit of difficulty with the phones and a small process of trying to make change, Aloisa was answered neither her cell nor home phones, and we were left having to make up a new plan.

Neither Dustin nor I had the trip itinerary for the day's events in Amsterdam, so we had to try to remember the event order. We decided that the second sight the group was visiting was the "Scarlet Cord," a Christian organization in the heart of the Red Light District that helps girls get out of prostitution and begin a normal life. We figured that since it was the second sight, we would just wait there until the group showed up, and we'd be united with our long-lost friends. However, not quite being brave enough to walk right into the Red Light District unprepared, we decided to stop at the tourist information office across the street from the now familiar Amsterdam Centraal Station on the off chance that they might know where this "Scarlet Cord" organization was. And it's a great thing we made this decision, because as we walked into the building that is such a welcome haven to tourists, we spotted Jen and Tymona, two fellow N-Spicers who had apparently missed the train to Amsterdam alltogether. We were thankful to see them and they were thankful to see us, so it was a very joyous occasion for all involved. With uplifted spirits, we decided to head into the Red Light District.

It should be noted that in the excitement of finding two other lost classmates, we never actually asked the tourist information workers if they knew where our destination was, so we were walking into the infamous Red Light District basically blind. We walked straight in, crossing a few canals, and then took a right and walked along one canal right through the district (thankfully it was ten in the morning and there isn't much action so early). As we were walking and discussing that we should probably ask the first descent-looking stranger where our target building was located, something caught my eye in a nearby window. There, in the lower part of the building we were passing was a gold-lettered black sign that read "A light shines in the darkness." To me, that was as close to a bible verse as I needed, so I stopped the group. Right as we stopped, a young man was unlocking the door to this exact building, so we asked him if he knew where the Scarlet Cord was located. He didn't, but he led us to a lady who did know, and she gave us a rough outline of how to get to the location, a mere two blocks away. "Right past the hostel," she told us, "on your left you'll see a sign for it." Elated, we set off to continue our journey through the streets. We found the hostel easily; the hostel was some sort of Christian organization as well, at least according to the sign that advertised it. As instructed, we walked past it and kept our eyes to the left looking for any indication of where we were supposed to be, and we kept walking until we got to a major road. We all had the impression that we were too far, and we were all quite confused, so we decided to keep with the system of asking places that looked descent and we returned to the Christian hostel. Apparently, the organization was next door to the hostel and had a sign about the size of my fist, so it is no surprise that we missed it the first time. But, we were there, and as we found out, so was the rest of the group, so we partook in much merriment and drinking of coffee.

2. Free Marijuana?

After the day's events were through and everybody was on their way home, Dustin and I were standing in front of the train station waiting for our tram to Elize's apartment. (Elize, our host sister, lives in Amsterdam during the week and comes home on the weekends. We had planned that since we were in Amsterdam that day anyway, we would hang out with her in the evening and head back to Zwolle in the morning.) We had been standing there, near the trams, for quite a while, because apparently lucky number 26 tram isn't nearly as frequent as the number 16 tram, which had passed by at least three times since we had arrived. As usual, Dustin and I were talking about something that is quite unimportant, but it is important to note that since we both know only one language, it should come as no surprise that we were speaking together in English. (You may think nothing of this fact in the United States, but I recently heard one man answer questions in four different languages.) As we were chatting, a young man, I'd say about in his mid-twenty's, approached us, saying "Excuse me, you guys speak English?" As we were right in front of the train station where all of the tourists tend to end up at some point, and since I had already done the same thing many times since arriving in the Netherlands, I assumed that this slightly scruffy looking young adult was looking for directions and I told him that we weren't from around the area. Apparently, however, he wasn't looking for directions because he was still interested in talking to us. He asked us what we were doing in Amsterdam, and told us he was Irish and was at the end of a three day vacation, and we continued with a grand casual conversation with a native English speaker, how swell. Then, he reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a small, see-through bag, showed it to us, and explained that he had visited one of Amsterdam's many coffee shops, which, despite their name, sell marijuana. As he was going back to Ireland soon, he really couldn't keep the drug with him, so he was getting rid of it. He wasn't even trying to sell it to us, he was just trying to give it away so that he could pass through customs, but he didn't want to "waste it by throwing it away."

All of this was a little bit strange for me. Firstly, I have never seen marijuana in my life. He could have had dried, crushed lettuce in the bag, and I wouldn't've had a clue. So you can probably assume that I have also never been approached about buying marijuana, or any drugs for that matter. So this was all quite new to me. Secondly, he was giving it away. From what I understand, not many people try to give away drugs. In fact, there are plenty of people who make plenty of money selling drugs for that same reason: people want it and nobody gives it away. So, yes, I found it a very strange encounter.

Apology

Wow, this post ended up being so much longer than originally, so for all of you who suffered through the more than sixteen hundred words, you have my sympathy. As Dustin said, I really did have a lot of time to write today. Thursday wonderful Thursday.