What does good scotch have in common with cheese and men?

On Wednesday May 9, Katrina and I hopped on a 7:17am train to Schipol, hoping and praying we wouldn't hear the dreadful words "Schipol niet" on the way, knowing that we really didn't ourselves much wiggle room in case of delays. We arrived at the airport at 8:38am, leaving us what normally would be plenty of time to join the other travelers in the chaos of security, finding your gate, and hiding your slightly over-sized carry on from the attendants as you push your through the doors to the outdoor stairway to the plane with the bright orange letters of "EasyJet.com" plastered on each side.

Unfortunately for us, we were traveling to the UK, which means passport checks. Since we now had our visas, we didn't think this would be an issue-- that is, until we realized there were 4 lines open for EU passports and 1 for non-EU passports. Naturally, the bulk of the travelers that Wednesday morning were non-EU residence and also had flights around 10am to catch. So, we waited patiently until we were called to the next available passport check desk. Katrina went first. There I sat, watching Katrina thumb through her wallet for the proper identification documents. Suddenly, I saw the color disappear from her face and the check pick up the phone. He then waved me up and Katrina explained the situation-- she had never picked up her actual visa, just had the letter that said "Hey you, come pick up this little pink card for your last month in Europe. Sincerely, you're screwed if you don't." Somehow Katrina overlooked that part of the letter and figured the very official looking envelope with the official-type letter was our visa. The man asked to see my visa, so I handed him the pink card, complete with yet another unflattering mug shot to identify me by. Another official passport check guy arrived and took us to the backroom where they looked in the system to see if Katrina was actually studying here. Twenty-minutes later, he arrived back bearing good news: Katrina had indeed been studying here since January! I wished the man a nice day and we proceeded to our gate. Pause: where did security go? Well, the Netherlands has this all figured out-- you separate security so that not all of your travelers for all of your flights are fed through one security check point (I suggest they consider doing this for their passport checks as well). So, our gate had its own security and we made it just in time to wait for 10 minutes to board our flight. And then we were officially off to see Scotland!

We arrived in Scotland just before 11am, traded our now seemingly worthless euros for pounds and pents, and hopped on a double-decker shuttle to the center of Edinburgh. When we arrived, we walked down the Royal Mile and down a side street to our hostile. Yes, that's right, I sucked it up and stayed in another hostile. It's really the only way to go when traveling in a pair, because hotels are too expensive and sleeping in an airport just didn't cut it for LaRae and I earlier in the semester.

It was a beautiful day to walk around the city and see what Scotland was all about. And that we did, finding kilts, bagpipes, Harry Potter's birthplace, Greyfriar's, and haggis all in the first day. This country was perfect in every way. We were told the weather would be horrible, but it was perfect for a stroll through the city of Edinburgh. For dinner, we met up with a childhood friend of Katrina's for a good old-fashioned Scottish meal: haggis, tattes, and something else I can't spell or remember. Now, what is this meal? I asked Katrina the same thing earlier that evening but all she managed to "remember" was that it was cooked in sheep intestines. Alright, I can deal with that. I've consumed stranger things, and besides, it's not like I was actually eating the sheep intestine, right? False. The truth is, I had just consumed sheep intestines that were cooked in a sheep's stomach (don't worry, they reassured me the sheep was not living when they used its stomach as a cooking cauldron), mashed potatoes, and mashed turnips. Strange as it may seem, it was probably my favorite "traditional" meal of the countries I traveled to this semester. It was really good, and you know what made it better: half price, because we got the "beautiful American who knows music" discount (namely Katrina was able to name the band playing in the pub and the waiter gave us our meals half price). Nothing like BOGO sheep intestines to woo a couple of American beauties.

Thursday we woke up to what Scotland is actually all about: rain. That day we had intended to climb Arthur's Seat and do a ton of walking, which we did, but it mostly included walking in and out of cafes, H&M, and souvenir shops. This would have been a bit more upsetting if I wouldn't have already seen most of the city the day before and known that the next day I would be heading up to Loch Ness and the Highlands. Besides, I was prepared for the rain-- umbrella, boots (no heels, learned my lesson in London), and a rain jacket. We ate dinner in the birthplace of Harry Potter and then headed back to our hostile to get ready for the pub crawl later that evening. Around 7:30pm we headed to the lounge and met our fellow crawlees and our leader-- most of which (including our leader) were Australians. We headed off to a "sister" hostile, met up with some more crawlees and their leader (a Frenchman) and then hit up the pubs. I always wonder what locals think when they see large groups of clueless tourists waltzing around their hometowns. I know if I saw a bunch rookies running around Nampa, jay-walking, and shouting in foreign languages (OK, the Scottish people speak English, but it sounds funny--very attractive but funny-- and pretend they don't for the sake of my visual), I would be shaking my head for days. With all the fun we were having (especially at the karaoke bar!) the night flew by and an 8am tour departure would roll around just as rapidly, so we departed and hit the hay.

Sure enough, 8am came very, very quickly, when we were greeted by our loud-mouthed, hilarious but occasionally inappropriate (but overlooked due to that killer accent), kilt-wearing tour guide. Naturally, I spent the first hour and a half (plus a few other much-needed cat naps throughout the day) sleeping as the tour guide explained bits of information about the scenery my beloved companion, Katrina, would fill me in on when I awoke. We arrived in a small village, grabbed some coffee, and made our way to Loch Ness. There we were given the option to hop on a boat and get a "full" tour of Loch Ness or spend an hour and a half exploring the city. Now, tell me, if a person really believed there was a monster in this Loch, what would possess them to hop on a boat to venture into its territory? No thanks, I'll stick to the land and if the monster decides to pay us a visit, I can witness it from the safety of the land. Katrina and I instead chose to eat fish and chips by the lochs of loch ness and bask in the misty glory of the Scottish highlands. We then continued our tour out west to see the beautiful mountains of the highlands (see my facebook to see for yourself-- incredible!).

On our final night in Edinburgh we decided we had to try some Scottish whiskey. After all, our tour guide only spent about half of the tour debriefing us on proper whiskey consumption. So, we headed to a pub just down the street, where we stumbled upon a very generous businessman from the States who wanted to share his 30lb tab with us. We asked the bartender for a suggestion, and he handed us a whole menu of whiskey. These people sure do know and love their whiskey!

Now, the answer to my blog title: What does good scotch have in common with blue cheese and men?
Well, the older the better, the first taste wasn't the best (we had a "young-ish" one), but it takes time to find one you love.

The Last Bloggeth

Please note: The first part of this blog was written while I was still in the Netherlands. The later parts were written today, 4 days after I returned.

About 6 months ago I promised myself I would blog everything about my time in Europe-- the good, the bad, the ugly. Come what may, it was part of the "process." Six months later, I lay here thinking about this semester, all the emotions rushing through me as I attempted to experience all of Europe in merely 15 weeks. What a stupid thought, thinking that would be enough time to fully appreciate and fully understand everything. An even dumber thought-- thinking I'd be ready to leave here. All semester I knew this day would come, but now, I am writing my last blog from Europe, as tomorrow (6am I leave for the airport by the way), I leave behind everything and everyone I've grown to love so much.

Earlier this semester I told my sister that leaving the Netherlands would probably be the most difficult thing I've done in my life. She basically called me out and said that I can count my blessings if that was the hardest thing I had to deal with. At first I thought she could maybe be right. Saying goodbye isn't so bad, and besides I know I'll be back to see all these people again in 6 or so months. So it's not actually a goodbye; it's just a temporary parting of ways. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong! Here is why I was right in the first place:

I came here 4 months ago, a rookie to the Dutch way of life, to traveling, and to everything this semester was about. I was interesting to the Dutch people. I don't speak their language, eat their food, use their modes of transportation, or have the same political views as many. Yes, I'm an arrogant, loud American who will probably get married much too early, but I was new. I had a story (or 107890351290) that they hadn't heard before. I had a family from here they didn't know anything about. I had a history. Throughout the semester, together with all the SPICE participants and random Dutch people, I shared all of this and more, as we went through experiences together that created bonds and relationships so strong that you can't keep secrets, that you don't want to keep secrets. By the end of the semester, there were so many connections, so many friendships, so much love, I wanted nothing less than to ensure these people of how much they meant to me and how much I really trusted and cared for them. By the end of the semester, saying goodbye, even if it is only for 6 or 7 months, is indeed the most difficult thing I have come across thus far in my life.

Not because I'm going to miss them (though that is true). But because in 6 or 7 months, there will be someone else new, someone else with stories and family and travel plans to discover. There will be another obnoxious American girl who likes to have a good time and speak her mind. 

Call me selfish, I've known since my childhood that's something I have to work on, but I really don't like that idea. Not because I have a problem with new people, but because I don't want to be "replaced." Every year the GH harbors students from Dordt College, and every year they meet the same people and form the same relationships with the people who gave me so many opportunities, so much love and support, and a much more positive outlook than I left America with. I never want to replace any of the relationships I made here. I never want to even try. And it kills me that someday, I could be replaced. Selfish me wants the SPICE program to be cancelled next year, not because I don't want others to have the opportunities I have (because I fully believe that studying abroad is the best choice a student can make), but because I don't want to feel like I didn't make a difference to the people I spent so much time with the past 4 months. No photos, no blogs, no amount of tears shed will ever fully grasp the impact this semester made for me. 

Alright, now I'm done being selfish. I know that people always say that we'll keep in touch, we'll never forget each other, and so on and so forth, but this time, I mean it... I can't imagine life without the people I met in the Netherlands, and so I won't. :) Yesterday I was on the phone with my best friend and I was telling her about the discomfort I've been feeling about this whole parting of ways thing with those Dutchies I met. She empathized with me but then she said something that my selfishness wouldn't let me think about earlier. Yes, every year there's new SPICE students, but every year they're different. No SPICE group is the same. No SPICE student is the same. No SPICE relationship with the Dutchies is the same. While that is comforting, I still dread the thought of things changing in the next 6 months. I am fully aware and prepared for some serious change to take place in my life in the coming months, and I look forward to the good things that will come of that. I can't wait to share what I experienced in Europe and my renewed spirit with my friends and family back home. I can't wait to create new memories with the ones I love here in America, but I'm curious to see if the dynamics of my relationships will change. Regardless, I know that I'll always have my family and my closest friends, no matter how dumb my decisions are. Come what may, they're always going to be there.

I hope and pray that this remains the same for my relationships in the Netherlands. What I discovered about myself this semester is that I suck at keeping in touch. Yes, I blogged for everyone to read, posted pictures for everyone to see, but I had hardly any idea what was going on back home. I even missed one of my closest high school friend's engagement! I'm sure this will happen with some people in the Netherlands, but I don't want it to. I want to keep in touch both ways. I want to share my life with them and theirs with me, so that when we are reunited, it's like we were never apart.

“Why do you go away? So that you can come back. So that you can see the place you came from with new eyes and extra colors. And the people there see you differently, too. Coming back to where you started is not the same as never leaving.”
-- Terry Pratchett

Daddy/Daughter Dates: May 1-6

My dad has arrived in the Netherlands! After a very long, but probably the best day I've had in Holland in awhile, on Monday, I woke up early to catch a train to Schipol to meet my dad at the airport. I arrived around 9:15 and met my uncle at the gate. We waited for what seemed like hours (but was actually only about 40 minutes) and finally, my dad appeared through the sliding doors I arrived in 3 1/2 months ago.

We arrived back in Kubaard around 12:30, just in time for a typical farm dinner: meatballs, potatoes, and yoghurt. After that, we drove around, saw some friends of my dad's, and then headed back for a light meal, a few drinks, and bed. We were wiped-- from traveling... and the previous night's activities.
Upon my dad's arrival, he mentioned going to the Keukenhof. Even though I had already gone with my host parents, visiting it again didn't sound too bad to me either. What other SPICE students can say they went to the Keukenhof with both their host dad and their biological dad? I bet I'm the first, and we all know how much I love being number one. So, Wednesday after lunch (dinner, whatever you want to call it), we headed to the Keukenhof. Naturally, I slept the entire car ride there, but it was much needed: this time I had to be the tour guide. Unfortunately a lot of the flowers were already cut off, but it was still a beautiful day. After that, I took another power nap in the car as we headed back towards Friesland and found a restaurant to eat at.

Thursday brought a lot of wonderful things-- bad weather and the flu. I woke up that morning feeling horrible but didn't want it to ruin the time with my dad. So, since I had a little homework to do anyways, I let him and my uncle go visit the non-English speaking friends while I rested up a bit and finished an assignment or two. Then we went off to Topenhuizen to meet up with one of my dad's cousins-- luckily this portion of the family speaks some English. We spent the rest of the afternoon and evening visiting with him and his family. Because of the poor weather, we weren't able to do the thing I was most excited for: a hot air balloon ride! I guess it's OK though. I don't really want to know what the flu would feel like from one of those anyways.

Friday I went with my dad to the town of Epe where he was once a policeman. We stopped by a few friends of his from his police days and then he showed me around a bit-- where he lived, where he worked, and so on. We then found the same Indonesian place we ate at 6 years ago when we were in the Netherlands. After thoroughly stuffing ourselves with loempias, bami, nasi, chicken soup, and ice cream, we headed back to Zwolle where we would split ways for a few days. When we arrived back in Zwolle, my two dads met at long last! We spent the rest of the evening with a few of my host brothers, my host parents, and another very tasty and equally large meal. From there,  my dad took me to the train station and I picked up my bike and headed home, just in time to meet my host brother and a herd of his friends getting ready to go out for the night. Naturally I joined them:  how can I say no to such a group of young Dutchmen?

Saturday was Liberation Day-- the biggest celebration in the Netherlands and Zwolle was the place to be. The city was packed with beer drinking, snack eating, music loving, proud Dutch folks. We began our afternoon at some of the Dutch students' house and then made our way to the big festival in the park across from the GH with a few of the Americans. Here's the thing about festivals like this: you show up with 10 people and you leave with 2, never to find the other 8 again because your phones/i-devices don't work, since every human is packed into one location trying to find their other 8 persons as well. So, after a few free beers (because I'm a good citizen and picked up over 20 cups from the ground), some fries, and a nice rain and beer shower, Katrina and I headed back to the house. There we met up with the group for awhile, and then I headed back into the festival with some of the Dutch guys....never to find the Americans again (until about 12:30am at the Flying Horse). As much fun as those sort of festivals are, I never want to be separated from friends like that again, especially knowing that I missed out on a goodbye or two. Lucky me, these are the goodbyes that don't actually count because I'll see them in 3 months again at school. Regardless, it was a fun day and an experience I'll never forget.

Sunday I attended church with my host family, had coffee, packed up my belongings (almost for good), and was picked up in the afternoon by my dad. Bittersweet, being separated again from Zwolle, because I know the next time I return, it will be the last. As much as I love having my dad here, I knew I would kind of feel bittersweet about it as well. There's so much he wants to see and do and I want to do it all with him, but leaving Zwolle, even for a few days now, breaks my heart. It's the place I call home, and for the first time in a long time, it's a home I'm not ready to leave. But alas, my sunset in paradise is still on the setting side. Perhaps it will rise again someday, but for now, I'll just keep embracing the good times I have left here and enjoy the company I've been blessed to share it with.

"I met a lot of people in Europe...even myself."

I knew going into this semester it would go quickly, and I knew that I wouldn't be ready when the end approached. I knew this semester would be the best thing that I could have chosen for myself, and I knew that the people, places, and things I experienced and learned to love would impact me more than I was willing to acknowledge beforehand. I knew a lot about what this semester would bring for me, but I think that's because I knew exactly what I wanted it to bring me. As I mentioned in some of my first blogs, this semester was all about me discovering-- new cultures, new people, new things about myself in the midst of all the changes and chaos. I expected incredible things from the experience and extraordinary outcomes from it. I knew of the places I wanted to visit and of the things I wanted to learn, but the means by which I would achieve these things, the paths which I would take were unknown until they came to me.

That's a part of my personality that was released this semester. I always know what I want. I always have an end goal, but the details of how I'm going to get there, it's like they don't matter to me, when in reality those are what's going to make all the difference. It's about the journey (the process, right GH profs?). Getting there is what makes the end result whatever it is. If we could all just apparate like they do on Harry Potter, it would be too easy. I was once told that if what I'm doing is easy, I'm not doing it right. Look at this example we used for our persecution project. God says that those who are persecuted are blessed. Since when is that a blessing? Well, as our brilliant 3rd years said, because their faith is tested; it's authentic. In the midst of chaos and undeserved torture, they remain strong. Meanwhile, Christians in free countries are living the dream, going about life without taking a second thought, making decisions based on what is "right" for them. Life is easy for them, but does that mean they're doing it "right?"
Or my personal favorite example is an experience from earlier this semester when we visited a school in Zwolle and were all left with very bitter tastes about the Dutch education system. Paraphrasing: he said something to the extent of splitting into tracks because the teachers cannot handle the variety of learning styles/abilities (also the reason for special schools for special ed students). What I gathered from this was that if it's not convenient or easy for the teacher, it's wrong. On the contrary, I believe that teaching isn't going to necessarily be a breeze, nor do I really want it to be. I want to be forced to challenge myself, and I want my students to have an educational experience that prepares them as much as possible for real life, not some warped view of the world that they are just going to be placed where they should be and with the people they will work best with. 

So, here I was, 3 1/2 months ago, knowing that I wanted to try every new thing I could get my hands on throughout this semester. I wanted to put myself in a place so different than what I was used to, that my world would be forever rocked. How this was supposed to happen? No idea. Did it happen? More than I expected. Never would I have imagined walking out of this semester with what I get to take away from it. 

And now, this week the grieving process begins. Saturday night when we arrived home from Rome, From there a bunch of us attended our "going away party." It was completely different than I expected (still fun, just different), except for one part-- the tears. That's right, the goodbyes come with tears. Even though I know I'll see everyone when I seem them, I have no idea when that will be, and that's not very comforting. But alas, even the sun will set in paradise and I knew this time would come. And this was just the beginning.

Sunday we had our family going-away party. We had dinner with the host brothers that live in Zwolle and our host sister-in-law and niece, played just dance, and drank coffee-- a typical Dutch evening (minus the dancing). After that, LaRae and I went to celebrate Queen's Night with 3 of our host brothers. It was so much fun, until I realized it was the last night out with LaRae. All weekend I wouldn't even allow her to hug me, because I was dreading the goodbye process. Best friends cannot be replaced, and I didn't expect her to do that for me this semester. But throughout the semester, she became one of the best friends I could have asked for. No matter what-- whether I was in a good mood, bad mood, or celebrating my birthday, she was always there for me. And seeing her off the on the train Monday evening couldn't have been any more difficult. But of course, it had to happen... so there Kaitlyn and I were, running after our roommates' train headed toward Schipol... I know that we will all be together again-- when, I don't know, but not too far in the future, I hope!

Monday was perhaps the most bittersweet day of my life-- saying goodbye to some of the best friends I could have made this semester and celebrating Queen's Day. The weather was beautiful and the people of Zwolle were loving every second of their old Queen's birthday-- parades, loud (and various) music all over the city center, and of course beer drinking. Monday night I went out with a few of the girls and one of their host brothers and his friends, listened to the music, and watched the fireworks (as Kaitlyn said, also smaller than in America as usual), and ended up spending far more time out than I anticipated (but it was worth every second of it). In fact, I think Queen's Day is my favorite holiday I've experienced. Maybe the 5th of May will be better, we'll see. 

As much as it saddens me to know that half of the people I've grown so close to this semester are gone, I am sure that what we encountered throughout this semester together created a bond that means more than just our semester here-- it'll be long-lasting. While we may have all accomplished what we hoped to this semester, I am pretty sure this semester didn't go exactly how we all planned. For me, it exceeded my expectations, and I hope that it did the same for the rest of the SPICE group. We were blessed to spend the past 4 months learning new things, meeting new people, and creating relationships and challenging ourselves in a welcoming environment where these opportunities were available and encouraged. For the rest of my life, I know I'll look back on this semester and cherish it as one of the best decisions I have ever made.

Alright, enough sentimentality for one blog entry... 

(Note: prepare for even more in the next 2 weeks.)