Paris smells like cigarette smoke and expensive perfume and I couldn’t have loved it more!
I walked for hours through the streets of Paris amazed with the buildings and the history they displayed. I found myself caught up in the romance of the wrought iron balconies decorated with groomed trees and blooming flowers.
I began to daydream about how the average person lived in these amazing buildings – in the 1960’s which of course made my daydreams black and white. I had visions of someone named Sabrina dusting her carpets and yelling to her neighbor about their later rendezvous for espresso and something sweet. In the air rose a wonderful aroma from the corner bakery to entice the senses of its pass goers filling them with visions of freshly baked bread and chocolate croissants.
Yes, I do have a vivid imagination and Paris is everything they say it is and more!
The Men
The experience in Paris with the men was quite different from the one of being pushed at baggage claim in Germany. I often found myself distracted by the how wonderful they smelled and I seemed to be at a loss for words as they invited themselves into my personal space which I couldn’t resist. They made me feel completely at ease as they stared into my soul. I think that they could hear my thoughts.
The Food
The food was amazing and never ending. Dinner literally lasted for hours as I leisurely consumed appetizers, main courses, desserts, bread, cheese, and wine. There is a chocolate version of everything and eating dessert is completely acceptable after every meal. It made me want to go native and never come home. In fact, I am going to attempt to learn French as I often found myself wanting to carry on conversations and let them know that I loved France! Not that they wanted to hear it. I am not sure they have patience for Americans because as I tried to communicate to them in French they only seemed annoyed (broken with a strong American accent-not a good thing).
As I stood waiting for the elevator on my way to the airport, I began to run through the rolodex of my experiences in Paris. This nice woman snapped me back to reality when she began to speak to me in French. I replied, “Sorry, I only speak English”. “Really, but you are European, no?” Well yes, but I was born in the states.” “I knew you had to be European,” she replied.
And just like that, Paris became my second favorite place in the world.
If you ever find yourself in Paris, go to the Eiffel Tower! You are saying to yourself of course I would go, but there are so many people who skip it because of the hours you have to wait in line. Wait and go to the top - the view is unprecedented!
A special note to my two new South African friends. Thank you for always making sure that I was moving forward in line and for a great dinner!
Till nous rencontrer à nouveau....
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Friday, April 24, 2009
Mouth Full of Chiclets
Γειά!
My tour of Europe has had its moments, but none like the moments I experienced while in Greece. I was on a bus from Athens to Kalamata lost in the beauty of the place my parents where born. Athens leaves little to be desired, as it poorly displays the beauty Greece has to offer its natives and visitors. Olive trees, grape vineyards and crystal waters for miles and miles. A land u
ntouched, where citizens live as they always have - off the land - with the most fresh ingredients at their fingertips. Did you know a fresh egg yolk is a bright orange color?
The mountains are so close you feel as though you could reach out and touc
h them. They look perfect, almost fake. It felt surreal as I sat in silence (yes, which is not my usual nature) taking it all in and the memories came flooding back - the summers I spent as a child and adolescent.
- The sounds.
- The smells of the blooming orange blossoms.
- The rooster waking me in the morning.
- The lambs happily chewing their greens with no thought that they would soon be rotating on a rotisserie for Easter.
I watched the bus driver smoke his cigarette as he drove up and down the mountain side, sipping his frappe coffee looking at his cell phone. I chuckled as I thought of what my typical reaction would be if someone was driving me up a mountain side (no gardrails, straight drop) smoking and texting. I didn't mind, I sang along to the latest Greek hits. I was in Greece.
My people smoke in airports, restaurants and bars. They actually smoke everywhere. There is talk about banning smoking, but they only laugh at how ridiculous that would be. I didn't mind. I was in Greece.
No family visit would be complete without the unrelenting pressure of getting married. Of course, there is always a guy that is “perfect”. Apparently Mr. Perfect has been waiting to meet me for two years (he saw a picture of me from my cousins wedding). I was convinced Mr. Perfect was a toothless village dweller, but he had all his teeth. In fact, his teeth looked like a perfect row of mini Chiclets. You know - the ones that used to come in the tiny envelope pack (reference pic)?
As he charged at me to introduce himself, I was convinced had there not been a desk between us he would have picked me up, thrown me over his shoulder, and carried me out.
To humor my family I proceeded to have small talk with him. I was at my cousin’s office, as I needed internet access to be able to work (things to wrap up before I was “officially” on vacation). He finally stopped with the small talk and began speaking with someone else. I took that as a cue for me to continue to work, as that was what I had set out to do and he had interrupted me.
When I began to type one of my long-winded emails he proceeded to tell me how rude I was being and how having that much focus on one particular thing was a bad tendency to have.
I thought to myself - me rude? How can I explain to Mr. Know-it-all what rude is? I know how about I tell him if he doesn’t stop interrupting me he is going to have a mouth full of bloody Chiclets? Just the thought of it put a smile on my face, which I am sure he thought was for him.
Was it his presumption of what was good for me that did him in? Or was it the presumption that I of course would throw myself at him because he wanted me to that did him in? Maybe it was the way he informed me he would pick my up in two hours for coffee and then drop me off when we were done talking about my bad tendencies?
Poor bastard - he had no idea who he was dealing with. When I didn’t comply with the coffee, the request to call him, or changing my views on life, there was more unrelenting pressure to get it together and realize this was my chance. Eventually I had to threaten that I would never come back for it to all stop. And by stop I mean they continued to make snyde comments about my attitude and demmand that I change my thinking.
I would just sing a verse from one of my favorite Greek songs.
“Δεν παντρεύoμαι, δεν παντρεύoμαι, και δεν νοικοκυρeνομαι…”
It won’t translate exactly, but you will get the point!
I was in Greece.
Αντίο
My tour of Europe has had its moments, but none like the moments I experienced while in Greece. I was on a bus from Athens to Kalamata lost in the beauty of the place my parents where born. Athens leaves little to be desired, as it poorly displays the beauty Greece has to offer its natives and visitors. Olive trees, grape vineyards and crystal waters for miles and miles. A land u
ntouched, where citizens live as they always have - off the land - with the most fresh ingredients at their fingertips. Did you know a fresh egg yolk is a bright orange color?The mountains are so close you feel as though you could reach out and touc
h them. They look perfect, almost fake. It felt surreal as I sat in silence (yes, which is not my usual nature) taking it all in and the memories came flooding back - the summers I spent as a child and adolescent.- The sounds.
- The smells of the blooming orange blossoms.
- The rooster waking me in the morning.
- The lambs happily chewing their greens with no thought that they would soon be rotating on a rotisserie for Easter.
I watched the bus driver smoke his cigarette as he drove up and down the mountain side, sipping his frappe coffee looking at his cell phone. I chuckled as I thought of what my typical reaction would be if someone was driving me up a mountain side (no gardrails, straight drop) smoking and texting. I didn't mind, I sang along to the latest Greek hits. I was in Greece.
My people smoke in airports, restaurants and bars. They actually smoke everywhere. There is talk about banning smoking, but they only laugh at how ridiculous that would be. I didn't mind. I was in Greece.
The driving - it is like nothing I have ever seen.
- People passing on the left and right.
- Passing whether the line is solid or dashed - one day I even witnessed someone passing a police officer.
- Cars passing other cars in both lanes (at the same time) with on-coming traffic at excessive speeds.
This I did mind. But I was still in Greece.
It costs one Euro to ride the bus or metro anywhere. My cousin convinced me to take the bus a couple of stops with no ticket as waiting 10 minutes for the next bus seemed to be too much. But I was caught and was fined 60 Euro. I tried to pull the dumb American card but he was just not buying it. I didn’t mind, I didn’t argue, I almost gladly gave him the money. I was in Greece.No family visit would be complete without the unrelenting pressure of getting married. Of course, there is always a guy that is “perfect”. Apparently Mr. Perfect has been waiting to meet me for two years (he saw a picture of me from my cousins wedding). I was convinced Mr. Perfect was a toothless village dweller, but he had all his teeth. In fact, his teeth looked like a perfect row of mini Chiclets. You know - the ones that used to come in the tiny envelope pack (reference pic)?
As he charged at me to introduce himself, I was convinced had there not been a desk between us he would have picked me up, thrown me over his shoulder, and carried me out.To humor my family I proceeded to have small talk with him. I was at my cousin’s office, as I needed internet access to be able to work (things to wrap up before I was “officially” on vacation). He finally stopped with the small talk and began speaking with someone else. I took that as a cue for me to continue to work, as that was what I had set out to do and he had interrupted me.
When I began to type one of my long-winded emails he proceeded to tell me how rude I was being and how having that much focus on one particular thing was a bad tendency to have.
I thought to myself - me rude? How can I explain to Mr. Know-it-all what rude is? I know how about I tell him if he doesn’t stop interrupting me he is going to have a mouth full of bloody Chiclets? Just the thought of it put a smile on my face, which I am sure he thought was for him.
Was it his presumption of what was good for me that did him in? Or was it the presumption that I of course would throw myself at him because he wanted me to that did him in? Maybe it was the way he informed me he would pick my up in two hours for coffee and then drop me off when we were done talking about my bad tendencies?
Poor bastard - he had no idea who he was dealing with. When I didn’t comply with the coffee, the request to call him, or changing my views on life, there was more unrelenting pressure to get it together and realize this was my chance. Eventually I had to threaten that I would never come back for it to all stop. And by stop I mean they continued to make snyde comments about my attitude and demmand that I change my thinking.
I would just sing a verse from one of my favorite Greek songs.
“Δεν παντρεύoμαι, δεν παντρεύoμαι, και δεν νοικοκυρeνομαι…”
It won’t translate exactly, but you will get the point!
I was in Greece.
Αντίο
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Americana......
When I found out that I would have the opportunity to spend six months in Europe I was ecstatic. In true Fotine form I had visions of what it would be like. Visiting many places and meeting new people. They of course would love me! How could they not? After all, I was European.
This is not at all the case. In fact, I seem to have quite the opposite affect on people. If there is ever a point when I do actually get into a conversation with someone the question of ethnicity always seems to surface and my response is always met with skepticism. When I tell them I am Greek-American it seems as though the light goes on and they respond with, “Ah….Americana…not Greek" (apply any EU accent).
I am of course appalled by this. My whole life it is all I’ve known. In fact, when ever people introduce me, no matter the situation personal or profession it is always the same. “This is Fotine, she is Greek.” I even have my own feelings on people who claim to be something they are clearly not. People tend to be so excited to make a connection with you that I often have conversations like the one below.
The “Italian”: “I can’t believe you are Greek, I am Italian.”
Fotine the Greek: "Really, what part of Italy are your parents from?”
The “Italian”: “My parents were born in Connecticut.”
Fotine the Greek: “Oh, I see.”
The “Italian”: “But my great-grandmother on my mother’s side was second-generation Italian and had the best meatball recipe.”
Fotine the Greek: “That is interesting logic. I make the best Pad Thai and if I apply your logic, well I guess that would make me Thai.”
So yes, I have been known to snub those who claim they are something they are not. But me - the receiver of the ethnic snub? I grimace at the thought of it!
1. My parents made me work at the restaurant rather than joining any sports teams or letting me hang out with my friends on half-days!
2. I am endlessly tortured at all family events for being in my thirties and single. In fact, there are still questions about why I actually wore black to my sister’s engagement party and if I was crying tears of joy!!
3. I eat lamb on EVERY holiday!!!
4. This year my mother wanted to have a Yankee Swap, so she wrapped up our gifts and when ever we chose the wrong one she said, “No not that one”!!!!
5. I went to Greek school after American school. I can conjugate verbs DAMN IT!!!!!
Don’t get me wrong. I am proud to be an American and love living in the states. But in my heart I am Greek.
Depending on the birth-place of your family members you have the privilege of obtaining a certain countries passport. In fact, people even ask. “Do you have a Greek passport?” ” No”, I reply. “Then you of course you cannot claim to be Greek. You have an US passport – Americana.”
I am happy to report in six months I will be the proud recipient of a Greek passport. When the skeptics ask I will of course proudly display my passport and say, “yah that’s right”.
So yes, there has been an adjustment period to this whole “I’m moving to Europe!”, thing. It is not at all as glamorous as it was in my mind. But I am adjusting.
This is not at all the case. In fact, I seem to have quite the opposite affect on people. If there is ever a point when I do actually get into a conversation with someone the question of ethnicity always seems to surface and my response is always met with skepticism. When I tell them I am Greek-American it seems as though the light goes on and they respond with, “Ah….Americana…not Greek" (apply any EU accent).
I am of course appalled by this. My whole life it is all I’ve known. In fact, when ever people introduce me, no matter the situation personal or profession it is always the same. “This is Fotine, she is Greek.” I even have my own feelings on people who claim to be something they are clearly not. People tend to be so excited to make a connection with you that I often have conversations like the one below.
The “Italian”: “I can’t believe you are Greek, I am Italian.”
Fotine the Greek: "Really, what part of Italy are your parents from?”
The “Italian”: “My parents were born in Connecticut.”
Fotine the Greek: “Oh, I see.”
The “Italian”: “But my great-grandmother on my mother’s side was second-generation Italian and had the best meatball recipe.”
Fotine the Greek: “That is interesting logic. I make the best Pad Thai and if I apply your logic, well I guess that would make me Thai.”
So yes, I have been known to snub those who claim they are something they are not. But me - the receiver of the ethnic snub? I grimace at the thought of it!
1. My parents made me work at the restaurant rather than joining any sports teams or letting me hang out with my friends on half-days!
2. I am endlessly tortured at all family events for being in my thirties and single. In fact, there are still questions about why I actually wore black to my sister’s engagement party and if I was crying tears of joy!!
3. I eat lamb on EVERY holiday!!!
4. This year my mother wanted to have a Yankee Swap, so she wrapped up our gifts and when ever we chose the wrong one she said, “No not that one”!!!!
5. I went to Greek school after American school. I can conjugate verbs DAMN IT!!!!!
Don’t get me wrong. I am proud to be an American and love living in the states. But in my heart I am Greek.
Depending on the birth-place of your family members you have the privilege of obtaining a certain countries passport. In fact, people even ask. “Do you have a Greek passport?” ” No”, I reply. “Then you of course you cannot claim to be Greek. You have an US passport – Americana.”
I am happy to report in six months I will be the proud recipient of a Greek passport. When the skeptics ask I will of course proudly display my passport and say, “yah that’s right”.
So yes, there has been an adjustment period to this whole “I’m moving to Europe!”, thing. It is not at all as glamorous as it was in my mind. But I am adjusting.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
..rubbish, rubbish I say!
I think that Holland should implement a walkers’ education course. There are many rules to follow when walking on the streets of Amsterdam and trying to figure them all out yourself can lead to confusion and ultimately could put you in physical danger. After a month of walking everywhere I have to get to in Amsterdam, I have finally figured out that:
· There is a road where cars can drive but bicycles and vespas can too.
· There are the tram tracks for the trams but you will often find cars, bicycles, and vespas using this as a means to get to where they need to go.
· There is a biking lane for bicycles and vespas.
· And then there is the sidewalk, which I assumed was for pedestrians. But as I have grimly determined pedestrians actually don’t have the right-of-way anywhere.
If you are in the biking lane you are often met with a bell ringing out of control and someone yelling and swearing (in Dutch but I think I might have heard an f-bomb in there) at you for being in the biking line. Biking lanes are not always clearly marked. This I figured out after several near death experiences. I just thought everyone had “bike rage” and that there were really wide sidewalks.
I have begun to use these said “sidewalks”. You see there are so many bicycles that need to be parked that there is not enough room to actually walk on the sidewalk. If by chance you find a stretch of open sidewalk, you are of course risking your life as you don’t know what kind of vehicle will need to use your space to get to where it needs to be. Note: For future reference - If you do encounter a vehicle of some sort on the sidewalk, please don’t expect that this vehicle will take into consideration that you are there or that it will slow down.
For example, if you are walking on the right side of the sidewalk (aka - the pedestrian lane) if a biker is coming your way they don’t slow down or maneuver around you - they continue to pedal at the same speed towards you. The other day I went to cross the street and a biker had her baby (and by baby I mean 6 months old or so) in a basket on the front of her handlebars and was pedaling at a high-speed. I gasped as I had a vision of what a collision would have been like. She just seemed to accelerate. I felt as though she was taunting me - silently daring me to step into the street to cross.
I am outraged at the complete disregard for pedestrians and as I throw my fist into the air I exclaim in my new British Flare (with a Greek twist), “...rubbish, rubbish I say!”
Have you ever noticed that the British always sound so refined, dignified and controlled? I have decided that I want to gain this sort of control. I have been known to once in a while to let my “passion” get the best of me. But I watch and listen in admiration to the dignified control and have decided to adopt it. I imagine that when I master this it will be “quite lovely”. It will also allow me to use new neat words such as “bugger”. When someone communicates something to me that I may not like I will respond in a controlled monotone fashion, “well, that’s a bugger now isn’t it”. Or if someone gives me something horrible to eat, I will smile politely and say “Well, this is interesting now isn’t”.
But I digress. I say to the bikers, or should I say "road warriors", as you easily pedal in your high-healed sneakers (by the way this is not a good look) lightheartedly talking on your mobile. I will stand as it is my right and I will not be bullied or scared off the road. Go ahead obsessively ring your little bell.
I wonder if they take Anthem Blue Cross/Blue Shield here.
· There is a road where cars can drive but bicycles and vespas can too.
· There are the tram tracks for the trams but you will often find cars, bicycles, and vespas using this as a means to get to where they need to go.
· There is a biking lane for bicycles and vespas.
· And then there is the sidewalk, which I assumed was for pedestrians. But as I have grimly determined pedestrians actually don’t have the right-of-way anywhere.
If you are in the biking lane you are often met with a bell ringing out of control and someone yelling and swearing (in Dutch but I think I might have heard an f-bomb in there) at you for being in the biking line. Biking lanes are not always clearly marked. This I figured out after several near death experiences. I just thought everyone had “bike rage” and that there were really wide sidewalks.
I have begun to use these said “sidewalks”. You see there are so many bicycles that need to be parked that there is not enough room to actually walk on the sidewalk. If by chance you find a stretch of open sidewalk, you are of course risking your life as you don’t know what kind of vehicle will need to use your space to get to where it needs to be. Note: For future reference - If you do encounter a vehicle of some sort on the sidewalk, please don’t expect that this vehicle will take into consideration that you are there or that it will slow down.
For example, if you are walking on the right side of the sidewalk (aka - the pedestrian lane) if a biker is coming your way they don’t slow down or maneuver around you - they continue to pedal at the same speed towards you. The other day I went to cross the street and a biker had her baby (and by baby I mean 6 months old or so) in a basket on the front of her handlebars and was pedaling at a high-speed. I gasped as I had a vision of what a collision would have been like. She just seemed to accelerate. I felt as though she was taunting me - silently daring me to step into the street to cross.
I am outraged at the complete disregard for pedestrians and as I throw my fist into the air I exclaim in my new British Flare (with a Greek twist), “...rubbish, rubbish I say!”
Have you ever noticed that the British always sound so refined, dignified and controlled? I have decided that I want to gain this sort of control. I have been known to once in a while to let my “passion” get the best of me. But I watch and listen in admiration to the dignified control and have decided to adopt it. I imagine that when I master this it will be “quite lovely”. It will also allow me to use new neat words such as “bugger”. When someone communicates something to me that I may not like I will respond in a controlled monotone fashion, “well, that’s a bugger now isn’t it”. Or if someone gives me something horrible to eat, I will smile politely and say “Well, this is interesting now isn’t”.
But I digress. I say to the bikers, or should I say "road warriors", as you easily pedal in your high-healed sneakers (by the way this is not a good look) lightheartedly talking on your mobile. I will stand as it is my right and I will not be bullied or scared off the road. Go ahead obsessively ring your little bell.
I wonder if they take Anthem Blue Cross/Blue Shield here.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
So they are not pulling a dead body out of the canal?
Prior to moving to Amsterdam I took a trip over the pond to look for a place to live. I had several email exchanges with the broker that was helping me find a place. He asked for me to be specific about what I was looking for. As directed, in one of my emails I listed the following:
1. Must be walking distance from public transportation – I will not have a car.
2. Must be modern, clean, and safe.
3. Would like it if it faced a canal (but not a must).
4. Would like it to be in Amsterdam.
5. Finally, must be available as of January 1st.
On a brisk sunny day in November, off I went to meet the broker at 12:00pm SHARP as he said in his email at a place called RAI station. When he finally picked me up at 12:15 (I should have known that is what he meant by 12:00pm sharp) we set off in his smart car to look at potential places for habitation.
I looked at two really amazing places first. They were nice and new, clean and modern. “Are these walking distance from public transportation”, I asked. “No you need a car”, he replied. “Um..oh, but as I said in my email I won’t have a car”. “You won’t, huh that would be a problem I guess”, he replied. “Are we in Amsterdam”, I asked? “No, I didn’t realize you wanted to live in the city, but don’t worry we are looking at several apartments and a couple are in the city”.
“Great, glad you are paying attention”.
The sixth flat I looked at was in fact in the city. But getting there was an experience. Looking for parking in the city is nearly impossible and I realized there were no driving rules.
1. Backing up in the middle of a street with on coming traffic because you turned down that street by mistake – acceptable.
2. Doing a complete U-turn in the middle of a street with on coming traffic – acceptable.
3. Driving over sidewalks to get where you need to go – also completely acceptable.
I was also able to figure out that there are three kinds of vehicles on the streets of Amsterdam.
1. Cars – which are the biggest vehicles on the road but don’t actually own the road.
2. Vespas – which move quickly and efficiently anywhere they would like to go and have great big weather protecting shields.
3. Bicycles – these are the vehicles that actually own the road.
When we finally made it to a parking space (I was car sick) we got out to walk and it was amazing. The apartment was surrounded by the most amazing buildings and it looked as though it was walking distance to public transportation as well as many other things, and you guessed - a canal!
I was basking in all my glee when I noticed police and what looked to be city employees. As we came upon this activity someone looked at me and said “We are pulling a dead body out of the canal”. WHAT?! At this point the broker was telling me to just keep walking. I stopped and said….”so they are not pulling a dead body out of the canal”? As he pushed me to get me to keep walking he replied “no, they are, but don’t worry. They only kill criminals here not common people”.
wat zei je?
I explained to the broker as he really wasn't grasping what I was saying, that there was nothing common about me and there was no way I was going to live here.
“I assure you it is safe. I am sure that guy was drunk and fell in the canal trying to go to the bathroom,” he said, as he continued to push me. I looked at the apartment in protest. It had the most amazing concrete countertops, but again there was no way I was living there!
Off we went to the final apartment. I was so disappointed. A whole day wasted and still no place to live. As I wallowed, I thought, this guy officially sucked.
And there is was - old architecture. My spirits begin to lift. We enter the building and he said “it’s upstairs”, so I followed.
one flight
two flights
three flights
….this guy is killing me.
As I walked up the fourth flight of the narrow and steep stairs (completely winded), I think there is no way I can live here either. When we arrived at the top, the annoying broker tried to open the door of the wrong apartment and the owner came to the door. Then he couldn’t open the door of the correct apartment. I felt like ripping the keys out of his hand and throwing them at him and yelling, "ARE YOU KIDDING ME"?
Finally, he managed to get the door open and the angels sang. Windows everywhere, bright and clean. AND…. brace yourselves - an amazing view of Amsteldijk Canal. There was even a room that was actually a closet (I was already arranging my shoes).
“I’LL TAKE IT, I exclaim! I will move in on January 3rd “.
And just like that. A quick plummet to disappointment.
But - it worked out (with a bit of negotiating of course). Check out the pictures below of my new place.
The View
The Flat
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Yes, I said a table for one!
I found this little Italian restaurant that I was hoping would be great (it was) around the corner from my new flat. When I walked in not one person could be bothered to help me. When this older gentleman finally walked over he said, “Table for two?” and I responded, “No just one thank you”. “Not for two”, he responded. To which I replied, “No just one thank you”. He looked at me sympathetically and then spoke in his native tongue to the waitress about where exactly they were going to put me. This seemed to really perplex them. I mean all the tables where set for two. Where would they possibly seat me at all those (I counted 7) empty tables for two?
Then they seemed to be going back and forth about who was going to wait on me. I chose a table and made myself at home - didn’t win me any points - they made me move.
Fifteen minutes later when the waitress finally graced me with her presence I asked, “Do you speak English”?
W: “No”.
F: “Ok, do you have any specialties”?
W: “No, it is all good. You want fish”?
F: “No, not really".
W: “Let me show you we have a great fish plate, spicy but tasty”!
F: “Something without fish”?
W: “No, sorry I don’t know”.
F: “Ok, great I will have the Gnocchi”.
And…..I never saw the young girl with dirty hair again. All the other customers however did. She buzzed around laughing and getting customers their wine, but they were all at tables for two. By the way, she did speak English. I witnessed this as she spoke to and waited on other customers. They of course were at tables that were set for and filled by two. I still wonder. Did she understand the American saying on her t-shirt? “Have it your way.” Clearly that did not translate into my experience. Or maybe it did? She was having it her way.
When my meal was ready it just remained on the counter then back in the kitchen and then on the counter and then back in the kitchen. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD! I will just get it myself.
As I sit here sipping my Mai Tai a couple of days later at this great Thai food restaurant also around the corner from my new flat, I thought about my table for one experience and the older man who kept staring at me sympathetically (but couldn’t be bothered to bring me my meal) and at one point even said “Such a nice girl” (apply EU accent) as he shook his head. I had to wonder, what is wrong with everyone? I was completely content enjoying my meal (I love fresh basil). Why do I spend so much time convincing people (especially my mother) about how I love my life and experiencing new things? Why does my mother say she will not be able to rest in her grave as she clutches her chest? By the way my mother is healthy (even though once a year she claims she almost died from an illness or disease that no one can diagnose) and only 50.
As I ponder the inner workings of the mind, I can only think of a quote out of a book that my friend gave me.
“…even God is single, get over it”.
Here is what else I have experienced while in Amsterdam.
1. The Dutch know a thing or two about how to make a functional grocery basket. They have wheels and a handle. This makes things much easier unlike the baskets in the US. I never just pick up one or two things and I end up barely making it to the counter with my overflowing basket that is hurting my arm! This allows for a much more pleasant experience….must have done some usability testing prior to launch.
2. Traditional Chinese Massage Centers are not AT ALL like massage centers in the states.
3. Infomercials run all day on Sunday, over and over and over. I’ve decided I absolutely do need a “Halogen Oven”. It works better than a microwave because your food does not come out soggy and faster than an oven because of the vortex! What you want – how and when you want it!
4. Europeans like to take coffee breaks in the middle of 1 hour meetings and for some reason I have developed a twitch.
A special note to the IDEXX Digital Development Team - IDEXX-PACS 3.0.48 is now officially living in Amsterdam!
Then they seemed to be going back and forth about who was going to wait on me. I chose a table and made myself at home - didn’t win me any points - they made me move.
Fifteen minutes later when the waitress finally graced me with her presence I asked, “Do you speak English”?
W: “No”.
F: “Ok, do you have any specialties”?
W: “No, it is all good. You want fish”?
F: “No, not really".
W: “Let me show you we have a great fish plate, spicy but tasty”!
F: “Something without fish”?
W: “No, sorry I don’t know”.
F: “Ok, great I will have the Gnocchi”.
And…..I never saw the young girl with dirty hair again. All the other customers however did. She buzzed around laughing and getting customers their wine, but they were all at tables for two. By the way, she did speak English. I witnessed this as she spoke to and waited on other customers. They of course were at tables that were set for and filled by two. I still wonder. Did she understand the American saying on her t-shirt? “Have it your way.” Clearly that did not translate into my experience. Or maybe it did? She was having it her way.
When my meal was ready it just remained on the counter then back in the kitchen and then on the counter and then back in the kitchen. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD! I will just get it myself.
As I sit here sipping my Mai Tai a couple of days later at this great Thai food restaurant also around the corner from my new flat, I thought about my table for one experience and the older man who kept staring at me sympathetically (but couldn’t be bothered to bring me my meal) and at one point even said “Such a nice girl” (apply EU accent) as he shook his head. I had to wonder, what is wrong with everyone? I was completely content enjoying my meal (I love fresh basil). Why do I spend so much time convincing people (especially my mother) about how I love my life and experiencing new things? Why does my mother say she will not be able to rest in her grave as she clutches her chest? By the way my mother is healthy (even though once a year she claims she almost died from an illness or disease that no one can diagnose) and only 50.
As I ponder the inner workings of the mind, I can only think of a quote out of a book that my friend gave me.
“…even God is single, get over it”.
Here is what else I have experienced while in Amsterdam.
1. The Dutch know a thing or two about how to make a functional grocery basket. They have wheels and a handle. This makes things much easier unlike the baskets in the US. I never just pick up one or two things and I end up barely making it to the counter with my overflowing basket that is hurting my arm! This allows for a much more pleasant experience….must have done some usability testing prior to launch.
2. Traditional Chinese Massage Centers are not AT ALL like massage centers in the states.
3. Infomercials run all day on Sunday, over and over and over. I’ve decided I absolutely do need a “Halogen Oven”. It works better than a microwave because your food does not come out soggy and faster than an oven because of the vortex! What you want – how and when you want it!
4. Europeans like to take coffee breaks in the middle of 1 hour meetings and for some reason I have developed a twitch.
A special note to the IDEXX Digital Development Team - IDEXX-PACS 3.0.48 is now officially living in Amsterdam!
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Excuse me sir but your ass is in my face...again!
Yesterday was one of those days where everything just went wrong.
1. I couldn't figure out how to make the shower work. Why are there so many knobs in Europe? Do there really need to be that many choices? Hot and cold...on or off. Simple.
2. Then I got stuck on the third floor of my hotel. See you need a key card to run the elevator and I couldn't use the elevator or get back into my room because I didn't have a key card. So I walked up and down the hallways too scared to use the fire exit because I thought it would set off the alarms. This is not always the case, sometimes they post those signs to throw you off...really it's true. I finally remembered (no need to know how long I was actually up there...it's not important) I had the hotel number and called. They sent someone right up. So he helped me get my stuff into the elevator and hit the BIG GREEN BUTTON. Is that all I had to do hot British bell boy? "Yes ma'm." I didn't need a key card? "No ma'm you didn't". Did you just call me ma'm? Great now I look old (note to self do a mud mask) and stupid. But all I could do was laugh. I was so preoccupied with being annoyed I didn't even notice the BIG GREEN BUTTON. You only need to key card to get to each floor, not to go down to the lobby. Smart.
3. The person at the front desk messed up my bill which took about 30 minutes to fix. He didn't want to fix it as he proceeded to say, "this will be quite a long manual process to clear up. Would you like me to leave it the way it is"? If I wanted you to leave it the way it was, I wouldn't have asked you to fix it.
4. The taxi driver dropped me off at the wrong terminal but was nice enough to at least put my luggage on a cart. By the way I would suggest a short lesson on using these things. Always have the handle down, it is actually dangerous when you are walking fast and let go of the handle, "oops...sorry." Did I mention that my bags kept falling off the cart? Over and over and over...more fun in London!
5. So I schlepped my suitcases here there and everywhere and made it to my gate just in time. Apparently I look dangerous and had to be searched by the securiy person. Fine look in my bags. Ok, I will take off my shoes and coat. Hey wait-I don't think you need to search me there! I guess I shouldn't complain - action and in public! How racy of me! How you doin....
6. Finally I made it to my seat . I can relax now. Soon I will be in the air, I can nap, then maybe do a bit of work...I can breath easy. But wait! What is that I see coming towards my face, oh right it is the big ass of the guy sitting in the next seat. Ummm hello - that was my face sir. No need to apologize...right you didn't. This proceeded to happen through the whole flight. How can you not feel bumping somone over and over?! A few times he was completely bent over in my face backing up to arrage his ugly shoes underneath his seat and hit me in the side of the head. Finally, around the seventh (yes I counted) time this happened he realized what was going on. "Oh..sorry", he said. So I thought ell at least now he is aware, but I spoke to soon. Look out!
I was completely and thoroughly annoyed. Explain to me why it is that men think that just because you can't hear it when they release gas on an airplane it means it is ok?! We can still smell it disgusto.
The plane finally landed and I was home free. As I began my descent off the plane the nice British flight attendant said (brace yourselves folks), "Cheerio miss". I could have kissed him. Cheerio...did you just say that? I have been waiting all bloody (my new British word) week for someone to say that to me. And did you just call me Miss?
And that my friends changed my whole day.
1. I couldn't figure out how to make the shower work. Why are there so many knobs in Europe? Do there really need to be that many choices? Hot and cold...on or off. Simple.
2. Then I got stuck on the third floor of my hotel. See you need a key card to run the elevator and I couldn't use the elevator or get back into my room because I didn't have a key card. So I walked up and down the hallways too scared to use the fire exit because I thought it would set off the alarms. This is not always the case, sometimes they post those signs to throw you off...really it's true. I finally remembered (no need to know how long I was actually up there...it's not important) I had the hotel number and called. They sent someone right up. So he helped me get my stuff into the elevator and hit the BIG GREEN BUTTON. Is that all I had to do hot British bell boy? "Yes ma'm." I didn't need a key card? "No ma'm you didn't". Did you just call me ma'm? Great now I look old (note to self do a mud mask) and stupid. But all I could do was laugh. I was so preoccupied with being annoyed I didn't even notice the BIG GREEN BUTTON. You only need to key card to get to each floor, not to go down to the lobby. Smart.
3. The person at the front desk messed up my bill which took about 30 minutes to fix. He didn't want to fix it as he proceeded to say, "this will be quite a long manual process to clear up. Would you like me to leave it the way it is"? If I wanted you to leave it the way it was, I wouldn't have asked you to fix it.
4. The taxi driver dropped me off at the wrong terminal but was nice enough to at least put my luggage on a cart. By the way I would suggest a short lesson on using these things. Always have the handle down, it is actually dangerous when you are walking fast and let go of the handle, "oops...sorry." Did I mention that my bags kept falling off the cart? Over and over and over...more fun in London!
5. So I schlepped my suitcases here there and everywhere and made it to my gate just in time. Apparently I look dangerous and had to be searched by the securiy person. Fine look in my bags. Ok, I will take off my shoes and coat. Hey wait-I don't think you need to search me there! I guess I shouldn't complain - action and in public! How racy of me! How you doin....
6. Finally I made it to my seat . I can relax now. Soon I will be in the air, I can nap, then maybe do a bit of work...I can breath easy. But wait! What is that I see coming towards my face, oh right it is the big ass of the guy sitting in the next seat. Ummm hello - that was my face sir. No need to apologize...right you didn't. This proceeded to happen through the whole flight. How can you not feel bumping somone over and over?! A few times he was completely bent over in my face backing up to arrage his ugly shoes underneath his seat and hit me in the side of the head. Finally, around the seventh (yes I counted) time this happened he realized what was going on. "Oh..sorry", he said. So I thought ell at least now he is aware, but I spoke to soon. Look out!
I was completely and thoroughly annoyed. Explain to me why it is that men think that just because you can't hear it when they release gas on an airplane it means it is ok?! We can still smell it disgusto.
The plane finally landed and I was home free. As I began my descent off the plane the nice British flight attendant said (brace yourselves folks), "Cheerio miss". I could have kissed him. Cheerio...did you just say that? I have been waiting all bloody (my new British word) week for someone to say that to me. And did you just call me Miss?
And that my friends changed my whole day.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Denmark is that you?
Heg,I was very excited to visit Denmark and had many visions of what it would be like to meet the prince. For those of you who have seen The Prince & Me, I envisioned my experience to be one like Paige Morgan’s (played by Julia Stiles) in the movie. I would be standing watching the royal family parade by and he would see me in the crowd and whisk me away on his royal white horse as the people cheered. I had visions that he would take me to the royal palace and the queen would guide me to the royal safe and let me choose anything I wanted from the collection of royal jewels. And finally, I had visions of being Queen!
I am sad to report that the closest I got to the prince was seeing the queens carriages and of course as you have might have guessed – he’s married. DAMN HIM. I had a dream….
What else did I see in Denmark? Well I am glad that you asked. I saw much of nothing. Yes that is right nothing. The only thing I saw was fog, fog, and more fog. In fact, when I was landing I couldn't’t even see the ground until we actually hit it. I am told that the countryside (which I drove through) is beautiful and resembles Maine. I will have to take their word for it.
I did learn quite a lot though. So I am passing my facts on to you.
1. Did you know that Denmark has the longest spanning free-standing bridge in Europe? It’s true.
2. Did you know that Denmark gets 20% of its energy from wind mills? Yep, it’s true.
3. Did you know that Denmark produces its oil and natural gas therefore does not have to rely on buying alternative energy sources? They are fortunate unlike the Germans who had the Russians turn off their supply of gas during a cold spell! Also all true.
4. Did you know that Denmark has regulated and outlawed trans-fat?! It’s only allowed in 12 or so products and cannot be above 20%. True.
5. And finally, did you know that the Danish know a thing or two about…well everything. Just ask them! I guess the Danish and the Greeks have more in common than I thought.
Finally my friends I leave you with this. Do you think it was necessary for someone to tell me that their sister was having surgery on her rectum and why? You decide....(I’m not making it up..it's true.)
IDEXX Digital Development Team - IDEXX PACS 3.0.48 has visited Denmark.
Farvel
Disclaimer: Fotine Sotiropoulos accepts no liability for the “fun facts” listed above given to her by a third-party resource and is not subject to any ridicule for the consequences of any verbal actions taken on the basis of the information provided.
I did learn quite a lot though. So I am passing my facts on to you.
1. Did you know that Denmark has the longest spanning free-standing bridge in Europe? It’s true.
2. Did you know that Denmark gets 20% of its energy from wind mills? Yep, it’s true.
3. Did you know that Denmark produces its oil and natural gas therefore does not have to rely on buying alternative energy sources? They are fortunate unlike the Germans who had the Russians turn off their supply of gas during a cold spell! Also all true.
4. Did you know that Denmark has regulated and outlawed trans-fat?! It’s only allowed in 12 or so products and cannot be above 20%. True.
5. And finally, did you know that the Danish know a thing or two about…well everything. Just ask them! I guess the Danish and the Greeks have more in common than I thought.
Finally my friends I leave you with this. Do you think it was necessary for someone to tell me that their sister was having surgery on her rectum and why? You decide....(I’m not making it up..it's true.)
IDEXX Digital Development Team - IDEXX PACS 3.0.48 has visited Denmark.
Farvel
Disclaimer: Fotine Sotiropoulos accepts no liability for the “fun facts” listed above given to her by a third-party resource and is not subject to any ridicule for the consequences of any verbal actions taken on the basis of the information provided.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Have the men in Maine moved to Germany?
I have an unspoken set of rules that I live by and these rules help me navigate day to day. Some people break these rules and end up on the “list”.
The men from Maine tend to be on this “unwritten list” and using the below guidelines you will be able easily identify them.
1. These are the men you will meet and after some conversation will say to you “stay right here, I will be right back. I just have to get myself a drink”. But NEVER offer to get you a drink. Oh and did I forget to mention that they expect that you will be there when they return.
2. These are the men who will open a door and walk through it as it shuts in your face and not look back.
3. These are then men who pretend they can’t figure out the tip on a bill just so to show you how much the meal costs.
4. These are the men that keep track of how many meals they have paid for and tell you when it’s your turn.
5. And finally, these are the men that on the third date explain to you that the national average is three dates before a couple “sleeps” together and can’t understand why you don’t agree.
My theory was that these men only lived in Maine. But as I stood at Stuttgart Airport baggage claim one of these men pushed me out of the way so he could wait for his bags. I repeat wait for his bags. Not pull them off the conveyer but wait for them. I stand corrected….these men are worldwide!
After visiting Germany here are my thoughts.
1. Why do you charge .50 Euros to use the restroom when there is not even a basket with toiletries to use?
2. The Germans know a thing or two about keeping toilets clean. Actual toilet seat washers in public restrooms (ahh…that explains the .50 euros). I pushed the button twice just to watch.
3. Is it really necessary to drive 220 km/hour on the highway? This will be described to all of you as my near death experience in Germany.
4. If I tell you I cannot speak German talking to me louder won’t all of sudden make me understand what you are saying! I guess Germans and Greeks have more in common than I thought.
5. Men in skinny jeans?! Not sure I agree that this is a good thing.
For those 2 wonderful people in Germany who helped me figure out where I was going and helped me get my suitcases off the train.THANK YOU. I will pay it forward!
IDEXX Digital Development Team – IDEXX-PACS 3.0.48 has been to Germany and visited Stuttgart, Tubingen, the mountains in Oberstordf, and Munich.
Gute Nacht
Monday, January 12, 2009
Stranded in London...
International airports smell different than US airports. Not bad but just different. Taking in that smell often brings on exciting thoughts of new adventures and meeting new people.
In my head, the idea of meeting new people never plays out the way it does when it actually happens. In my head...the British are happy people and will of course be delighted to help me. But when I asked - "Is this gate closed? Did I miss my flight?" My first thought was why won't you look at me when answering. Just because you have good hair and are wearing Prada on your feet doesn't make you superior or does it? And excuse me British Airlines service representative I already told you I wanted to rebook my flight please spare me the lecture on how there is no excuse for me missing my flight and demanding an explanation. You people are supposed to be proper and polite....right? Say chip chip cheerio....that is how I pictured it - SAY IT!
However as there is a silver lining in every story, all this time gives me the opportunity to share the things I discovered at Heathrow Airport.
1. Just because the flight board says a flight is leaving at 7:55 doesn't mean that it will. In fact even if the gate opens at 7:30 it doesn't mean the plane will actually be there when you get there. It just leaves when it feels like it...even 11 minutes early.
2. The Brits know a thing or two about how escalators should run. Here they move flat for about four rises to give you an opportunity to get your balance and adjust your luggage.
3. The toilet paper is broken out for you in perfect little pieces.
4. Hand dryers are strangely and unexpectedly powerful here.
A special note to the Digital Development Team...IDEXX-PACS 3.0.48 is in London!
In my head, the idea of meeting new people never plays out the way it does when it actually happens. In my head...the British are happy people and will of course be delighted to help me. But when I asked - "Is this gate closed? Did I miss my flight?" My first thought was why won't you look at me when answering. Just because you have good hair and are wearing Prada on your feet doesn't make you superior or does it? And excuse me British Airlines service representative I already told you I wanted to rebook my flight please spare me the lecture on how there is no excuse for me missing my flight and demanding an explanation. You people are supposed to be proper and polite....right? Say chip chip cheerio....that is how I pictured it - SAY IT!
However as there is a silver lining in every story, all this time gives me the opportunity to share the things I discovered at Heathrow Airport.
1. Just because the flight board says a flight is leaving at 7:55 doesn't mean that it will. In fact even if the gate opens at 7:30 it doesn't mean the plane will actually be there when you get there. It just leaves when it feels like it...even 11 minutes early.
2. The Brits know a thing or two about how escalators should run. Here they move flat for about four rises to give you an opportunity to get your balance and adjust your luggage.
3. The toilet paper is broken out for you in perfect little pieces.
4. Hand dryers are strangely and unexpectedly powerful here.
A special note to the Digital Development Team...IDEXX-PACS 3.0.48 is in London!
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