Licensed.
One of the first "cultural differences" I encountered here in Holland was that Dutch people love Schtickling. Maybe you remember my story about the obscene difficulty getting a work permit, despite being a Dutch citizen. The paperwork, the rules, the waiting for letters to arrive in the mail... It made Japan seem "regulation-free". This time, it was an epic 2-month struggle to get my driver's licence.

Not that I really need a driver's licence in Holland, since I don't have a car, and I have free weekend public transportation, but it is always handy to have. And it means I don't have to bring my passport with me where-ever I go. (Officially, everybody always needs to be able to show official ID, I guess in an effort to stop terrorism. Because as everyone knows, a terrorist's ID card always has the word "terrorist" on it.)

Growing up in New Zealand, I have driven since I was 15, and I was in no mood to take another driver's test in Holland. Especially since there is a minimum of 5 compulsory lessons, and a very expensive process. After asking many different people at city hall and the Driver's association about changing my license over to a Dutch one and getting nowhere, I asked a relative who works in the government. He found out that Holland does not accept New Zealand driver's licences. However, they do accept Japanese ones. (I have a Japanese one, although I never needed to take a test for that either.)

That was lucky, I thought.


Step one: Declaration of Health.
Holland is very strict on licencees and will ensure that only the healthy are on the roads. To enforce this, you must buy a 20 Euro health declaration form, and fill it in. If you acknowledge that you are sick, then you must go to a doctor so they can officially agree that you are in fact, sick. I answered all the questions correctly, and posted the form away.

Step two: Pay for the licence application
I forget exactly how much, but it was in the 40 Euro-range. I sent away the application and my Japanese licence.

Step three: Wait
... until they send your new Dutch licence to you. It all seemed so simple. It all seems so long ago.

Step four: Instead of sending the licence, they send you a letter saying they need an official translation of the Japanese licence
Okay... official translation... I mean, it is a matter of translating a few words, which I could explain to them in a few minutes. But no, they need an official translation, with a nice rubber stamp. More costs. Great. I went to to Japanese embassy, hoping they would have dealt with this before. Maybe they have a simple template which would show exactly what a Japanese licence says. But no, they needed to translate it, for 15 Euro. And I had to pay in cash.

Step five: Instead of sending the licence, they send a letter saying that they need proof that I lived in that country for longer than three months, and that I got the licence within the first year.
Now, I wasn's sure exactly what kind of proof that they needed. I guess it is to avoid "licence tourism" where people go to a poor country with bad drivers, and take a quick driving test between scuba-diving and dancing to house music on the beach, and get the licence converted on return to Holland.
I had nice shiny rubber stamps-which Dutch people love- in my passport, but that was my NZ passport, and by now I had a horrible feeling about Dutch "schtickling", that they would then need proof that I was the same person as in the other passport, and that they would need official proof of my employment in Japan, which would require cross-cultural schtickling.
I tried sending an official copy of my passport- including all blank pages. Yes, 40 pages, each with a nice rubbery stamp.

Step six: Pick up the licence from city hall.
Yes, it actually worked! Not that I have a car, or any plans to drive. I might be able to do some courier work, but mostly, I am enjoying having three licences, for which I only needed to take two lessons and two tests over 8 years ago. It makes me feel like this guy:



All I need now is a green-card to be a true international spy, and I'm sure that can't be harder than what I have just been through.

I have always generally disliked celebrating my birthday. This year, today, is the first birthday of mine in Holland, the first birthday celebrating with my extended family. In Holland, it seems to be a common theme to invite over family and friends to your house and serve everyone beer, wine, coffee, cake, savoury snacks, dinner, coffee, cake and chocolates. Of course, I don't have friends yet, and my student house isn't appropriate to bring all my family over to, so I'm using my Opa's place. In the spirit of Dutch culture, on this, my birthday, instead of feeding you all delicious foods, I want to give you all some entertainment in the form of this posting. Earlier, I promised to write about my education at some point, so considering that the first term is already finished, that's what I'll do. (But considering my student life right now, it will probably be a very short post then, and it probably won't be entertaining... Let's just roll with it...).

The first term is finished. That means, I am technically 1/4 of the way towards my ultimate goal of adding two letters to my name. That's ridiculous. I hope to demonstate this level of ridiculousness by showing you how little I have done so far.

I am taking two classes. Literally. I have two classes per week. Both classes are 2 hours each, but classes in Leiden officially start 15 minutes late. Then, there is a lunch break of fifteen minutes. I feel this is excessive. Fifteen minutes is a toilet break for the constipated, and when they are done, they picnic-time of 15 minutes. A quarter of an hour is a long time. I don't think any breastfeeding mothers there either.

And it's not as if there are strict rules about not eating during class. My word, people carry on the picnic in class. Unwrapping museli bars, bringing hot coffees and hot chocolates before class and after the break, sucking on the nipple of a sports bottle (which could look like something else depending on who you believe), or eating fruit or sandwiches with the crusts cut off and cut diagonally. Why don't we stop pissing around and just put a fondoe set in the middle of the classroom?

I'm sure most of my classmates would like that. Why? Because I'm doing a degree in the liberal arts, which is like modern-day finishing school. (They are mostly girls.) Sorry to stereotype, but I have never heard one of my guy friends say "Dude! We should totally have a fondoe party! That would be awesome!"

I probably shouldn't be so sexist, since this course I am talking about is "Theory of Criticism in Literature and Art", and there is considerable amount of content devoted to feminist studies, gender studies, gay and lesbian studies and something called "Queer Theory". I sometimes can't help myself from thinking in my head after a girl makes an intellegent comment: "that's one smart bitch". of course I don't mean it, I just don't quite understand the relevance to the course and I get impatient. Besides, I thought I was liberal enough, but Holland disagreed.

But the point is, why does everyone have to eat during class? Is everyone a diabetic? Does discussing feminist theory make girls hungry? I really don't know, but it annoys me.

My other course is studying super modern art, based on science, or actually using science. I never knew this all existed, but apparently it does. Here are a few pictures of what we are discussing in class:

It's a a genetically altered bunny rabbit with glow in the dark jellyfish genes.Just some dude with a cloned ear on his arm.

Okay, so yeah. This is not what I expected to be studying, but I need to make up points. This course is actually incredibly interesting, despite/because of the wierd content. This week there was a conference in Amsterdam on this exact topic. Our lecturer is pretty well-connected in this new form of art, so as his students, we went. There was free coffee and free lunch. I was worried that they would serve experimental food products, but I am pretty sure that it was tuna in my sandwiches. Either way, it was delicious.

And on top of that heavy 4 hour per week workload, I am studying toward my end-year thesis. At the moment I am doing mostly background reading, but I will be focusing on some aspect of modern Japanese Art. That means by the end of the year, I will be an expert on Japanese Art. I know, I wouldn't be so naiive to think that I could learn everything about Japanese art within 12 months. (It would take at least 16 months).

So that is my student part of my student-life. Hopefully, I have demonstrated that I am incredibly un-busy, still incredibly immature, studying irrellevant subjects, and enjoying every minute of the quest for those extra two letters.

Hoorn Day

In this week's excursion to use my golden ticket, (free travel on the weekends, and my museum card), I went to Hoorn. Hoorn is an old Dutch city with a rich history as a coastal port which grew in prominence during the Golden Age. In fact, Cape Hoorn was named by a captain from Hoorn. (And I thought that was a name to describe it's shape.) Now, it is no longer a coastal town, as the sea has been "Dyked", and it is more a satellite town for Amsterdam. And I saw there was a Museum of the 20th Century there.

Mostly though, I wanted to go to Hoorn because I feel it is a funny name, but I couldn't think of a way to incorporate it into a joke, using the word "horny"... I am kidding less than you think.

I like to just sit on the train, idly write and look out the window. The train flew by the flat scenery- flat in more ways than just physically. There were boggy fields, or fieldy bogs. Grey skies, empty rows of trees and ditches broke down the landscape. There were birds, but no nature. There was no nature, but no people either. For the first time, Holland felt large. Holland felt empty.

The closer I got to Hoorn the bleaker it became. In theory, the photo above is what I should have seen. After 90 minutes of travelling, this is what I got:

```````````````````````````````````````````````
````````````````````````````````````````````````
````````````````````````````````````````````````
````````````````````````````````````````````````
````````````````````````````````````````````````
````````````````````````````````````````````````
````````````````````````````````````````````````
````````````````````````````````````````````````
````````````````````````````````````````````````
````````````````````````````````````````````````
````````````````````````````````````````````````
````````````````````````````````````````````````
````````````````````````````````````````````````
````````````````````````````````````````````````
````````````````````````````````````````````````
`````````````````````````````````````````````````
``````````````````````````````````````````````````
```````````````````````````````````````````````````
````````````````````````````````````````````````````
`````````````````````````````````````````````````````
``````````````````````````````````````````````````````
```````````````````````````````````````````````````````
````````````````````````````````````````````````````````
`````````````````````````````````````````````````````````
``````````````````````````````````````````````````````````

Typical Dutch weather. Anyway, I powered on to find the 20th Century Museum. I walked in, and something seemed wrong. I saw toys for sale in the foyer. Hmmm. I got my ticket, and went upstairs to the main collection. It wasn't a museum of modern art. It was a museum of old appliances! It was an antique store without pricetags to laugh at... I mean, these are fine sometimes, like on a school trip. But see, I am an art history student, and I need to practice my "furrowed brow infront of a painting" technique.

It was one of those history museums where they set up each corner in a certain theme of the time. There was a baker, a sweet-shop, a cheesemaker, a living room, a classroom, and each one had a mannequinn living inside. They all looked stangely similar. The moustaches didn't fool me- they had obviously bought all their mannequinns in bulk- and they are all female. I have a fine-tuned gaydar, and I can spot a lady-man from a mile off, even a plastic one.Seriously, you can't slip a chick by me!

I took a walk in the miser, standing on the pier where what once was ocean is a lake...







In all, it wasn't a terribly entertaining day. But I did get this nugget of a photo at the Museum of the 20th Century:
And on the way back, I saw this cafe and restaurant. I didn't go in. I wasn't that much in the mood to experience Hoorn, aye. Besides, that is what Amsterdam is for.

More Dress-ups

Now, I know I'm making it seem like Dutch University is all a conspiracy to let people play dress-ups. One of these days, I will mention something about that learning thing, but the problem is, those photos aren't nearly as embarrassing.

The great thing about this costume was that it gave me an excuse to shave my beard off- something I hadn't done in over half a year. I really didn't want to turn into that old guy: "I have had this beard since the summer of '08, and haven't looked back since..."

The moment it came off, I worried that I might get asked for my ID when I buy alcohol. In Holland, the minimum age is 15. Yes, I look that young again. Which was good because for this Superhero-themed party, I was going as young prince Aladdin.

Okay, I realise that he isn't technically "super", but he has 3 wishes. Close enough. Besides, he is the world's most loveable Arab. Any other Arab costume you wouldn't be allowed to wear in most other countries in this mixed up world, where people would either get angry or scared, and call the police, except liberal Holland where you can even dress up as a blackface-minstrel (and presumably Arabia). Now, that's pretty super. Really though, I just wanted to wear those silky golden pants. Can you blame me?


So, I showed up to the party a half-hour fashionably late, put on my hat and my monkey, and went into the main room...

[...]

Inside, there was nobody but 2 barmen and 2 DJs... I strolled in, dressed like a complete idiot. Was this a big set-up? Was everybody hiding and about to jump out to surprise me? The old "Tell some-one it is a dress-up party" prank? I promised myself I'd never fall for that one again...

Luckily, most other people were simply more fashionable than me, and much more lame. There were some other costumes, and semi-costumes, but most people dressed up as "Super-Lame-Tshirt Guy". I was proudly the owner of the 'most-skin-showing' costume. So, that's something right there. And now, I could also see my face again. It's true what they say- sometimes a costume can reveal yourself the most clearly.

(as an idiot?)

Reggae Nights

I have never liked to talk about my musical tastes much, unless it is about how awesome Michael Jackson and Stevie Wonder are. Most of the conversations about musical tastes just end up with people saying something very similar to "I listen to lots of different stuff." Of course you do! We don't expect you to listen to one style of music, douche bag! Just be a little honest and tell me what you really think!

I mean, sure, I appreciate the classics like most people do. But mostly, I am about the reggae. I know, I realise that I might not look like it. ("wait Ruben, I thought you were a geek?")

That's my point. I love the music. I feel reggae has been totally overrun by stereotypes, in the way that hip hop had been 10 years ago. But this is no time to wave my angry old-man fist at the media; I was going to a reggae concert this weekend.

Despite the growing popularity of gangsta-hip-hop influenced "dancehall" music infiltrating the genre of reggae, there is a large group of reggae artists who are staying true to the reggae style, and one of these artists came to Amsterdam last weekend. The concert's main act was for Richie Spice, a singer whose style is between dancehall and reggae, but much more on the reggae side. I hadn't been to a reggae concert since getting to Holland, so I decided to go despite:
A) Not knowing anybody else who was going (Which isn't so surprising since I have no friends)
B) Where the concert was
C) 25 Euro entry fee
D) Not planning to drink (or, you know... the fact it was a reggae concert)
E) Not knowing what time I would get home the next morning.

Yes, I was going purely for the music.

I arrived early, despite getting lost and finding some Scandinavians to somehow find the venue. Apparently Dutch people like to go out to places that no-one can find. It was in some industrial outskirt of Amsterdam, in a giant indoor beach-venue (Yes, apparently the weather is so bad in Holland that the beach is better inside).

But I went inside, 25 Euros poorer, and went to get rid of my jacket and bag. A 5 Euro fee, plus a 5 Euro bond. Seriously, Dutch people will charge you any chance they get. Once rid of my bag, I was about to buy a drink with the little money I still had. I passed the toilets where I saw a sign:

"Toilets- .50cents
allnight- 2 Euro"

Seriously, Dutch people will charge you any chance that they get.

In New Zealand (Or Japan, for that matter), "All you can piss" means something else. So, I decided not to get ripped off and get pissed and piss. Besides, I was here for the music, right?

The DJ swung violently between pure reggae and violent dance-hall music. I guess that is normal these days. Finally the first act came on- some girl singer with two back up singers. ( I guess in case she got injured.) They played some under-appreciated songs, although she started every song with long "ooooooh"'s.

The second act was a guy called Norrisman. He wore a camouflage suit. I agree with comedian Dimitri Martin about this sensitive subject:

"One of my favorite clothing patterns is camouflage. Because when you're in the woods it makes you blend in. But when you're not it does just the opposite. It's like "hey, there's an asshole."

I guess the best thing I can say about him was that I liked his energy. He had so much. At times, he was just spazzing-out all over the stage. He was also a perfectionist. At the beginning of his set, he said "This is my first time playing with this band. They are doing a great job." I am sure he regretting saying that. Ever single song from there on, he made the band start over. I must have heard the familiar reggae drumming start 50 times.

During an interlude, he pulled a girl onto the stage. She was a black girl with expensive-looking dreadlocks. Norrisman said to the crowd:

"I am her Bob Marley. And she is my Rita Marley. Do you know what that means?"

I wanted to shout out: "That you will cheat on her several times and make a dozen illegitemate children?"

Of course, I did not want to die on the spot, so I said nothing. Then he asked the crowd if he could "take her to Jamacia." Really classy...

The next act was Chezidek. This guy was a class act. I mean, smooth as silk, with a voice that could melt butter. He played with the same band, and there were very few re-starts. I was familiar with a few songs of him, and heaing him, I wondered why he wasn't more well-known. Pure class.

Then came Richie Spice. (The first song on this video is his, and the 3rd one is Chezidek)



The band played a whole song while he was off-stage (I liked to imagine that he wasn't wearing pants yet). He played his songs, which I really like, but after the energy of Norrisman, and the pure class of Chezidek, I wasn't impressed. He couldn't sing his own high notes, leaving them to his lady-backup singer, and it sounded amateur-karoke-ish. At least I should be happy that he wasn't lip synching... right? Moreover, he looked bored on-stage. Seriously, his main dance-move was waving to the crowd exactly like how the Queen of England would do it. Maybe it was his first time to Amsterdam, and he had tried marijuana for the first time, and was too interested in the size of his hands to worry about his performance. Whatever, it wasn't very professional.

What I am going to say next, may be the only time in human history that this sentence has been uttered:
He didn't sound as good live.
It's amazing this is the first time anyone has said this considering the amazing technological advancements in sound recording where they can correct any slight mistake.

At the risk of severely impressing my parents, leading up to my birthday, I admit that I did not smoke "the herb", despite a lot of peer pressure. (If Richie Spice, all the other acts and the MC could be considered my peers.) Recently, an anti-smoking law has passed in Holland, so many venues now have smoking rooms. From outside, it looked like a dead fish-tank. People did bring it down onto the floor though, which smells strangely similar to marijuana flavoured insence, but it wasn't all good. People were smoking everything: Cigars, fags, and I swear some people were smoking used-car tyres.

At 4am, I had to think about going home. Thinking was all I could do. I had to wait until 7am to get the train, getting to bed at 8am. I had a lot of time to consider whether it was worth me going. I went purely for the music, and sadly, it wasn't enough.