Insta-Dam

It's funny where inspiration comes from sometimes. I can spend the whole day in the library, forcing words from my brain, uncomfortably piecing them together to tease out sentences, paragraphs, pages that nobody but my supervisor is even going to ever read again. Yet, uploading one photo from my phone to Facebook. One photo taken in a drunken haze of happiness and exhaustion last week and something sparks. Something sparks and I want to spend pages telling you about a city, a moment, a feeling.

Some of my happiest moments in Amsterdam are when I'm cycling home from work at 6am. When the streets are empty and houses are just beginning to stir. The occasional jogger pants on by. But other than that it's still. It's silent. And it's mine. I make my way in a dazed state of post-work exhaustion and subdued tipsyness. Music in my ears and usually some crazy prop I've inherited from the nights work in my hand - the other night it was an empty 4.5litre bottle of Jamesons, and yes, it was bloody heavy.
It's my me time, my content time, my gezellig time. Time to unwind, reflect on my day, remember just how much I have to do tomorrow. But it can wait, it has to. Because now I'm cycling, and now I'm happy.

Amsterdam has this way of making you feel at home despite everything. Not like Paris, who did everything in his power to make me feel unwelcome, to let me do everything the hard way.
(...People consistently reassure me that at least I learnt from these experiences but believe you me, there are geen lessons to be learnt from being homeless for two weeks!)
But it's not just the kooky, crooked houses leaning over the canals, peering down at you to say hello. Or the friendly, little cobbled streets, each one inviting you in for an adventure. Or even the Coco's terrace, where there's always a familiar face, where everybody knows your name. It's the whole package of this city. The whole atmosphere that collects to create these big, open arms - and for a knuffel-whore like myself, it's just what I need.

I constantly return to this analogy of Amsterdam as my boyfriend. And if he was a human, I think he'd be a hipster. He oozes style. He has his own quirky way of dressing, he adores travelling by bike, he was made to be instagrammed. He's the kinda guy that all the cool kids want to drink and smoke with. But also has so much under the surface, so much culture, so much experience. Yes, he puts up a wall sometimes, makes you work for his affections (pda is soo mainstream), but he soon returns with quirky, romantic treats. Each time something new, something exciting. Always keeping you on your toes. It's when I'm cycling home from work that I get the real him though, the vulnerable him, that's when we talk about our feelings. I know he's a slut and all the girls go crazy for him, but in my contented, drunken haze, in the first few hours of sunlight I'm pretty sure he tells me he finds me lief right back.

And that's why last week I opened a Dutch savings account. Why the open tabs on my laptop are apartment rentals on Craigslist. Because Amsterdam, I'm sticking around. I've found a part of me here that I'm not willing to let go of just yet.
Plus, I'm learning Dutch. Where the hell in the world am I going to use that otherwise?

10 non-Master related things I have achieved so far in Amsterdam (namely when I should have been achieving Masters related things):

• I have perfected the amount of phlegm to involve when saying 'geen'
• I can ride my bike with geen hands for approximately 3 seconds
• I can ride my bike with one hand and text/Google map with the other like a pro
• I can ride on the back of someone elses bike without holding on
• Working at Coco's has ensured I have established a vast variety of fancy dress props, predominantly a crackin' hat collection
• Last week I went on a date with a guy who legit has his own Wikipedia page
• I was awfully brave and went swimming in the IJ at midnight when the grimy state of the water; the bottom of the water; or in that case, any of the octopuses were not visible to me
• I won a cuddly crocodile on the Camel Derby at the fair
• When dressed like a savvy gent, I learnt how to flip my top hat up my arm until it reaches my head
• Gezelligheid
  

...On that note, if anyone wants to send the 'priorities' talk my way anytime soon, it would be greatly appreciated. One month 'til thesis deadline and 18,000 words to go.
Dammit, Amsterdam, stop being such a babe.

You can find him sitting on your doorstep, waiting for a surprise..

Sitting in my usual spot on the 9th floor at the VU, procrastinating from my thesis, when I realise the coffee machine I purposefully place myself in such close proximity to is in fact out of order. Upon noticing my sincere shock and heartache, the Dutch guy sitting next to me states that he is in fact heading downstairs for caffeinated supplies and he'll bring me back a coffee. So sitting at my laptop, hot coffee and a Balisto in hand, I got to thinking about Dutch guys, and my experiences so far with the tallest, cheese-eating, bike-riders in all the land.
As a young, single, (& sassy?) female living in Amsterdam. One of the first things people ask me about my time here is how are the Dutch boys? Is the talent better than back home? Have I got myself a Dutch boyfriend yet? So, as somewhat of an answer to these queries, here's a list from me to you of all the things I've noticed about Dutch boys so far:

NB. This list is subject to change, particularly when/if a Dutchie opens my eyes and sweeps me off my feet. Until then, cynicism overrules.

- Surprisingly, not all Dutchies are as tall as you'd like them to be
- Many Dutch males naturally have frustratingly luscious hair
- As a result of this, if I'm ever crashing at one of the guys places after work, unlike with English boys, there are no hair straighteners for me to borrow in the morning
- Dutchies don't tend to beat around the bush, they are very direct. Which makes playing dumb, flirty, chasing games a no go.
- Dutch guys, of all ages, love red jeans
- They also love trainers, the chunkier the better, although Vans and Converse are also a hit. In fact, every successful and high-up male museum exhibition curator I have met through my Masters so far, has loved pairing a subtle floral shirt, with a sharp blazer, jeans and high top Conny's.
- Backpacks are a third fashion essential
- Dutch guys don't really like to date, normally because that entails buying things for girls
- They also make you pancakes because it's normal, not because they're being cute
- The slicked back hair. 'Nough said.
- Oh, and one Dutch guy very kindly punched my female friend in the face the other night, what a sweetheart.

So, in a word, no. I have not got myself a Dutch boyfriend yet. Do I mind? No, the fact I can't borrow a dumb pair of hair straighteners is just a mere, insignificant downfall of the fabulous friendships these guys can offer. Dutch guys are loyal. They're hilarious. What's more, they get sarcasm. Dutch guys love to have fun. To get wasted. To dance. To leave you the keys to their place for the week while they're out of town. They're there for you when you need them. Whether you're in need of a temporary phone or a lift home on the handlebars of their bikes.
And sometimes, just sometimes, you can find the occasional Dutch guys willing to steal you a bike. To paint it a delightful, hipster colour for you. To bring you treats for every two hours of study you successfully complete during your study dates. To feed you through a hangover. And to stand by your side in a whole film roll of disposable camera photos, none of which any of you can remember. The Porthos and Aramis to your Athos, one might say. It's those who are the ones worth writing home about.
Plus, all the drunken, bow-tie clad Facebook photos together can even give my family the false hope they need that I won't be hopelessly single forever, win win.

And on that note, meet Ruby..

She may be bike number 5 over 9 months, but she's the fourth leg of this tripod.