Amster-Damsel in Distress?

Whoever said "life begins at the end of your comfort zone", got that first four letter word so wrong. Or at least that's what I thought as I hopped on a one-way flight out of the country, my life packed into one suitcase, ready to surround myself with the complete strangers I am to spend almost everyday of the next year of my life with. That four letter word? That was definitely something more like fear. 

Shying away from the big move even once I'd arrived, I spent my first couple of days in Amsterdam with my number one Dutchie, plus friends, bbqing in the Vondelpark and sipping coffee in the sun, leaving it literally to the last available minute to move into my home for the next 12 months. Unfortunately, I would find out that this leaving of everything to the last minute is way down the bottom of that list of things that the Dutch folk like. Off to a bad start at the Uilenstede one could say but within the hour I'd slipped, surprisingly with ease, back into the Anglophone amongst internationals state of play. And as our first beer fuelled and naturally awkward night at the on-campus Cafe Uilenstede played out, I began to recognise those little tricks and traits Paris taught me about internationals meeting abroad and the way said internationals can seamlessly, let's face it, do it so much cooler than us Brits:

1) The Europeans (anyone mainland, for the sake of this blog) will always be the first to dance. And regardless of the circa 2009 music they are dancing to, it will start with the innocent side step and get only progressively more sexual. Meanwhile the flustered English folk will watch from the side lines, those brave enough to go in will only return traumatised, either from what they saw, from the pelvis that grinded up against them or the most psychologically scarring of all, the circle of chanting internationals they get shoved into the middle of and forced, yes it was physical, to bust a move.

2) Fellow international students pretend to be jealous of our native tongue but every time I answer the age old question "where are you from?", I can see the empathy in their eyes. They also are surprised every time we complain about the rain. Yes we are used to it but who can turn down an opportunity for a good moan?
3) Anyone you can get past the following four questions with is a potential-BFF.. 

    - "What's your name?"

    - "Where are you from?"
    - "What do you study?"

    - "Are you exchange or Masters?" 

NB. Anyone who doesn't meet this but is from an exotic, tropical place slash anywhere you'd love to visit and wouldn't mind a free bed is worth persevering with.
4) There's only a certain amount of times it is appropriate to ask someone to remind you of their name. Once it's reached three, go along the lines of asking for the spelling for the inevitable Facebook add. Passed four? Try glancing over their shoulder at a credit card/phone/notebook and hope you can pronounce those letters in that order.

5) The unavoidable hug/kiss/handshake dilemma is only significantly more disastrous at an accommodation campus of over 300 international students made up of 40 odd nationalities. You're just going to have to face it.

My first week here has certainly had a lot to leave Paris feeling red-faced for. With speed dating, a trip to Ikea, a stand-up comedian, a lecture on doing soft drugs responsibly and a team leader who provided us with two bottles of wine throughout a scavenger hunt through the city to name few, I can honestly say I'm feeling completely settled.

And as far as being Dutch goes (now that I'm an officially registered resident and all), meet Leonart. My other half, wind beneath my wings if you will. He doesn't much like tram lines or going too fast but we're already inseparable. Until he gets stolen that is. 

So keep it coming Netherlands and I promise that one day, I'll even turn up on time..