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.

..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.