Health Care in the Netherlands vs. Health Care in the US

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When you think about the entire globe, the cultural differences between people in North America and Europe aren’t huge. But the one thing that separates specifically the United States from say, the rest of the developed world, is lack of affordable health care. I can not emphasize enough how huge of a deal this is, but I’ll try by way of example.

Back in October 2006, I moved to NYC from Paris. A few weeks later I accidentally cut my finger pretty badly while I was at home in Brooklyn. I was working full time, but I didn’t have health care, which is entirely normal. I bandaged it up myself, but later in the evening the wound opened up again while I was out at a bar. It looked worse than it was, honestly, but blood always freaks everyone out. I was shuffled outside, and a nice Scottish girl demanded that I go to the hospital right away for stitches. It was pretty obvious that’s what I needed – again, the cut wasn’t going to kill me or anything, it just was too deep for a simple band-aid. The thing is, I didn’t have health insurance. So I couldn’t go to the hospital. That was that, there was no “well maybe I should anyway….,” the fact was that there was no way I was willing to pay hundred and hundreds (if not thousands) of dollars to get stitches in my finger – and also wait for hours in the emergency room until someone could see me. I just couldn’t afford that. Every single one of my (American) friends that I was with understood that, but the Scottish girl just kept saying “but this is crazy, you need stitches, then you’ll be fine, why won’t you go to the hospital?” as though I was trying to prove something about how tough I was being. It wasn’t about being tough, it was about reality. In the US, just because you happen to live there and work full time and pay taxes, that doesn’t mean you have the right to get stitches if you cut yourself. This is the way I was raised, this is what my society taught me. This seems normal to me.

Anyway, I bought a huge pile of supplies from a pharmacy, bandaged myself up properly, and my finger healed slowly – there’s still a scar, and the inside knuckle of my left pointer finger is still incredibly sensitive, but that’s all fine. I don’t have a big, scary story about getting hit by a car or breaking my leg without health insurance, because honestly, if something like that happened, there’s no way I would be in Europe right now. I would be in debt for the rest of my life, like millions of Americans are right now.

A few weeks ago in this blog that I fell off my bike after getting my tire caught in the tram tracks, which is apparently a right of passage here. I was pretty banged up, but it didn’t occur to me to go see a doctor, even though a couple different people told me I should just get myself checked out. First, I thought “it’s nothing, I just scraped up my leg.” Second, I still have this American mentality in me that says “you can’t afford it, and you don’t deserve it” – even though I know both of those things aren’t true. So I didn’t do anything about my cuts and scrapes, I just tried to keep everything clean and bandaged. Then, a few days ago, I noticed that shit, my right ankle was still swollen, it had been over two weeks, and it seemed to just be getting worse. The wound on the top of my foot wasn’t scabbing up the way it should have been (which meant it wasn’t healing), and this was becoming not only painful, but annoying. I haven’t been able to wear heels in over two weeks, and I’ve avoiding running after a frisbee being thrown my way. Not good. So I finally freaked out and went to talk to a pharmacist in my neighborhood this past Saturday.

The pharmacist took one look at my foot and told me to go see a doctor right away, because I had an infection. Since it was a Saturday, I had to make arrangements to go to the hospital, rather than just go see my doctor (I actually haven’t picked a doctor yet). Just the words “go to the hospital” scared me to death, though I kept telling myself, “okay, this won’t be like it is in the states, it won’t be like it is in the states,” but I still took 200 Euros out of the ATM machine. The thing is, I do have Dutch health insurance, but I just literally signed up for my plan and I don’t think I’m in the system yet, so I had to do the whole thing as if I’m not insured. This wasn’t a problem, and I kept getting assured that I would be reimbursed by my insurance company.

When I got to the hospital, the American in me expected to be there all day, which was a bummer, since I had been planning on enjoying my Saturday. Instead I waited about 3 minutes before someone called my name. I wasn’t asked to fill out forms or show ID. The doctor took a look at my foot, said “yup, you have an infection, but it appears to just be local and you simply need to treat it 3 times a day with antibiotics.” The entire process took no more than ten minutes, he wrote me a prescription, shook my hand, and sent me on my way. And that’s… it? Does anyone need to see my passport? Anyone want to charge me 50 Euros just for walking in the room? No?

The pharmacy was just down the hall from where I saw my doctor. I handed the woman my slip, give her my phone number, and waited for it to be filled. Ok, my brain is thinking, this is where I get charged. This is the scary part. Five minutes later, my prescription was ready. “That will be 9.70 Euros please. And keep this receipt, be sure to use it to get reimbursed from your insurance company.” And that was that. Less than ten Euros. That’s what the entire process cost me, and if I feel like it, I can get that 9.70 reimbursed.  At no point was I ever given a different type of treatment because I’m a foreigner who doesn’t speak Dutch. It’s very simple, very obvious – but so incredibly foreign to me – health care being a basic human right.

I’ve been using these antibiotics for just a couple days and my foot is almost totally fine. After 24 hours, the wound started shrinking and the swelling went down significantly. If I had just done this when I fell off the bike, I would probably would be walking around in heels right now.

I’m sure that somehow, in the US, there are clinics and doctors and special programs that would provide something somewhat similar to what I described above. But I’ll tell you something: I wouldn’t really have any idea where to find them, and I have tried. I went to a public clinic once in New York for an exam – the type of place that exists specifically for people who don’t have health insurance. It took me about 30 minutes to fill out all the forms, I had to provide my ID, social security card, pay stubs, and some other paperwork. Then they charged me $175 USD and required me to pay up front (before I even saw the doctor) and in cash. When I told them I only had $100 on me, they gave me directions to the nearest ATM machine. I had to leave the office, walk down the street, get more money, and hand it over before anyone would see me… and this was, again, a “public health clinic.” The actual exam took about 10 minutes, and I was in the office for over 2 hours. I spent most of my time looking at advertisements for different drugs, which were hanging all over the walls.

It’s not about the language, or the food, the religion, the time we eat dinner, or even the legal drugs and prostitution that really create such huge differences between the Dutch and Americans. It’s not a Dutch vs. US thing at all, it’s a US vs. The Rest Of The Developed World type thing. And I’ve got to say, I just don’t see myself ever being able to give this up – this amazing privilege of being treated like a human being if I’m sick. There will always be a part of me that sees this as really special, and not just the way everyone else is doing it. I hope so much that Europeans fight against the privatization of health care, which is slowly starting to happen (but is nowhere near what it’s like in the US), and pressure their governments to keep health care affordable for everyone.

The logistics of living and working in Amsterdam

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In the past few weeks, I have been many places. It hasn’t all been cafes and bars and picnics in the park. In chronological order, this is where I’ve been since the 9th of June 2008:

1. To the main IND office in Rijswijk. This is where I applied for permission to get a work permit, basically. After deciding to hire me, my employer gave me a 1-year job contract and made the appointment for me at the IND office. The outcome of this appointment was getting a sticker in my passport that proves I reported myself to the authorities and my visa is in process. I had to bring my contract, passport, and 1 official Dutch-size passport picture, and application forms (which were prepared for me by my employer, again). This was a really simple appointment – I was in and out of the building in ten minutes.

2. To the bank (ABN) to set up an account. In order to get paid, I need a bank account – practically everything here is done with bank transfers and direct deposit. Normally you have to provide a BSN number (which was called a SOFI number, or a dutch social security number). However! My employer has an agreement with this bank that allows employees to set up bank accounts before getting a BSN number (though I need to give them one within a certain time period). I needed to provide a letter from my employer and a copy of my job contract, along with my passport and an address.

3. To the main branch of the DienstPersoonsGegevens (DPG) in Amsterdam, on Stadhouderskade 85. This is where I had to register myself to the city with a legal address. See, in order to get a BSN number, I need a legal address in Amsterdam (keep in mind, everything about this process is different if you have an EU passport, which I do not have). And since you need a BSN number to do just about anything, this is a really important step. I’m fortunate enough to have friends that own their own apartment here in Amsterdam and said “sure, you can use our address to register.” I want to emphasize this is a really big deal here – I needed a copy of their mortgage agreement, a letter saying that I could stay, and a copy of my friends passport. And from here on in, all my mail goes to their place, which is also a huge deal. Everything is communicated through the post – my bank account number, my BSN number, etc. Anyway, everything went fine at the DPG (I was there for about an hour or so) and now I’m officially in the system.

There’s one weird thing that I needed to provide that I don’t have, which is a birth certificate with an apostle stamp. I have never been asked for something like this before and I really have no idea why the Netherlands needs it. I do have my original birth certificate, and the people at the DPG seemed really understanding about this whole lack-of-apostle-stamp thing. They said I had six months to get it, which means requesting a copy from the state of New York, where I was born. So, okay, I’ll start figuring out how to get that sometime soon.

I want to emphasize that because I have a job with a proper contract, my whole integration process into Amsterdam has become absurdly simple. Everything I’m doing right now is based on the fact that I have a job… and everything I do, I do with the help of the HR department at my company. I’ve had one or two very minor problems/inconveniences along the way, but honestly nothing even worth detailing in this blog. Every time I go anywhere, whether it’s to the bank or the immigration office, I just simply bring everything with me. Everything. My passport, photos, birth certificate, job contract, housing contract, etc., and of course I have multiple copies of each one of these things.

So, what’s next? Finding an apartment. I know, my housing situation must sound a little confusing. Here’s what’s going on, in the simplest terms.

-I’m registering at my friends’ apartment, in Bos en Lommer. This is where Amsterdam believes I live, where all my mail goes, etc.
-I’m actually living in a different apartment, south of Vondelpark, in the Oud Zuid. It is not possible for me to register there, since I’m “illegally subletting.”
-Therefore I’m looking for my own place, something nice and legal, someplace that allows me to register which…
-Is incredibly difficult to find here in Amsterdam for a million different reasons but…
-I found one anyway.

This is incredible! I’m going to move into my new place on the 1st of July. It’s located near the Weesperplein, which is technically in the center, but it’s actually more east of the the center (just across the Amstel). Anytime you change addresses in Amsterdam, you need to re-register. So – yes, I just went through this whole process of registering in Bos en Lommer and getting my mail sent there and everything, and now I’ll have to change all that stuff. The thing is, I just really needed that BSN number and couldn’t wait to register myself (and honestly, I didn’t expect to find an apartment so quickly). The good news is that there are DPG offices all over Amsterdam and I can change my address at any of them (think about them like little City or Town Halls), I don’t have to go back to the main branch.

So, just in case there’s anyone reading who might be embarking on something similar – honestly – none of this stuff was hard. Since every other person who moves to Amsterdam seems intent on emphasizing how hard it is to live here, how it’s impossible for Americans to find jobs, how dealing with Dutch bureaucracy is a total nightmare… I just wanted to be that one person on the internet who says that hey, in my particular case, it’s all working out fine. And even though it was raining while I biked to work this morning, I still thought, man, I am so happy to be here.

Legally residing in Amsterdam – victory!

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I recently celebrated my 29th birthday, and the best birthday present was putting my signature on the (ten-page!) contract that will allow me to live and work here in Amsterdam. Once I was done meeting with the HR people, I went out to meet up with some new friends and celebrate.

Now, I’ve been planning this move for about 7 months and put in a lot of effort, work, etc., into making this all happen. But I want to acknowledge that yes, I’m really, really lucky to have everything work out the way it has. Way back in October 2007, I found a company that has offices both in the US and Amsterdam, and I met with them in person in NY and Oregon. Once I got to Amsterdam I had about four meetings with the folks here, and was then finally offered the job (to make a long story short). So while a lot of people say “wow, you’ve been here for just over a month, that sure was quick!” it doesn’t quite seem that way to me. Then again, now that I actually have the contract and my start date is coming up soon, it does seem to be rushing up!

Because the company is now sponsoring me to stay here, they made the appointment for me at the IND (the Dutch immigration office). the purpose of this appointment will be to hand in my residence/work permit paperwork and getting a sticker in my passport that proves I’ve reported myself to the authorities and my visa is in process. I need to bring:

1. My signed employment contract
2. the application forms (which are being prepared for me by my employers)
3. My passport, obviously
4. a Dutch official passport picture

The differences between starting a job here in the Netherlands and starting a job in the US are drastically different. I have twenty-five vacation days, and if you’re American, I don’t need to explain how unbelievable that is. When I got to the part in the contract that explained sick leave, I asked “so how many sick days do I get?” and the woman looked at me like she didn’t understand the question. If you’re sick, you’re sick, she said. Basically, there is no “number of sick days.” Sick days are totally different from vacation time.  I thought about my previous full-time job in NYC, where during my first year of employment, I was granted exactly 3 personal days, 5 sick days, and no health coverage at all. And you know what, that’s absolutely not uncommon or weird. Here, I’ll have health care and a pension plan (if I want it), just like everyone else who lives and works (legally) in the Netherlands. They even offer free Dutch classes!

Having the past two months to just kind of relax, travel around a bit, and explore Amsterdam was perfect… now it’s time to really develop a life here.

One month in Amsterdam

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The first time I was in Amsterdam was back in the Spring of 2005. I hardly knew anything about the city before I arrived, and I remember being surprised by two things – 1) that it was so beautiful and 2) that it seemed really diverse. I still think these two things almost every day. This past Monday night, I rode my bike home from the Lloyd Hotel after a great evening of free music – European musicians performed with artists from all over Africa and Europe as part of the Virus Free Generation Tour. The (South African) host of the night spoke English to the room, the artists performed in English, Slovak, Zulu, Swahili, Sardinian, Italian, and probably a few other languages that I’m forgetting. I sat with a group of new friends – Dutch, Croatian, Austrian, etc – and as I looked around the room I realized that out of the 100 or so people, we could have probably come up with at least thirty languages, easily. Every Monday night, the Lloyd Hotel hosts these free events, completely open to the public. You’re not even obligated to buy a drink, though there is a nice bar.

So the diversity, the combination of people who end up in Amsterdam from all over the world – this really appeals to me. In some ways, it reminds me a bit of New York City, just in the way that everyone seems to be from somewhere else, but every so often I’ll run into a born-and-raised Amsterdammer. This makes for good stories, but at the same time everyone has heard all the stories… so one more foreigner showing up here from somewhere else really isn’t that big of a deal.

And then there’s the beauty, and this is me still being in the honeymoon phase. I still simply just love riding my bike across the city late at night, when it’s quiet. On Monday night, my roommate and I rode home together, side by side, and only occasionally saw a car on the road. We crossed canals and rode past the windmill and the beautiful homes along Koninginneweg, not too far from where I live. It was such a great night, and to end it with the ability to cycle so easily, riding next to a friend the whole way … it’s just very special. Spring is in full bloom, and everything is so green and alive. I know I sound like a big hippie here, but whatever.

I’ve been trying to make myself take care of some of the more practical matters, like getting a printer cartridge refilled, going to the post office, and picking up a few things for my apartment. On the advice of practically everyone I’ve met I finally went over to the Albert Cuyp market and was successful getting just about everything I wanted. This is where you want to go to get everything from new bedding to envelopes, bike locks, food, clothes, etc – and at very, very affordable prices. However, if you plan to buy a mattress topper, I would advise you to maybe put some thought into how you’re going to transport it home if you go via bike. As I rode home I just had to hope that I wasn’t going to need to use my brakes or bell, since my hands were completely full holding the mattress in front of my handlebars in a very specific way (I got home without incident, fortunately).

Oh my god the BIKES (welcome to Amsterdam)

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I’ve been in Amsterdam for about a week or so, and I don’t really know that many people, so when I find myself with free time and no desire to unpack, buy practical supplies for my apartment, or clean … I bike. The weather has been absolutely perfect lately. I’m talking warm, sunny, blue skies, and cafes full of people eating outside. On Saturday, I spent several hours enjoying free wireless internet at Debaille, a cafe in Leidseplein. I left around 6pm and didn’t stop biking until about midnight. It doesn’t really even start to get dark until 9pm or so, which makes the days feel incredibly long – and when the weather is as perfect as it was on Saturday, all those daylight hours feel really great.

While I was in the center of Amsterdam today, I had my first pedestrian run-in. He stepped in front of my bike (while I was in the bike lane) and I didn’t have the time to ring my bell, so technically, I hit him. Or collided into him, if you will. I fell down and was also a bit hurt, so I said “Look before you walk next time!”, which is probably about ten times more polite than I would have been in New York (when a simple “fuck you, asshole” would have done). Everyone around me was instantly concerned about the welfare of my bike and cast disparaging looks at the sad pedestrian, who dared step foot in the bike path. It’s moments like this when I feel like I feel like all is right with the world – cyclists always win here.

I say I’m averaging about 6 hours a day on my bike. At the end of the night, I’m exhausted (which is one reason why I haven’t done nearly enough cleaning/unpacking/apartment-sorting out). Now, I’ve been riding for what feels like my entire life, and I’ve ridden in all different types of places – from the middle of nowhere to the heart of Chinatown in Manhattan. But these Amsterdam bikes are unlike anything I’ve ever ridden before. No gears and no hand brakes – to stop I push back on the pedals and also get a lot of use out of stopping myself with my feet. My hands feel like they have nothing to do! My left hand stays firmly near the bell while I’m riding through the center of the city, but once I’m outside the super-busy area… it’s so strange, but I do like it. The bikes here are simple machines. Comfortable, not built for speed or going up hills, but perfectly built for this city.

I’m leaving for Barcelona tomorrow night, just for a quick 3-day vacation to avoid the madness of Queens Day here in Amsterdam. Having never been here for Queens Day, I don’t really have any opinion of it one way or the other, but my roommate isn’t a fan and convinced me a few months ago to go out of town for the holiday. I’ve never been to Barcelona, but I have a guidebook to read from 1995, some high school Spanish skills, and a wonderful friend who will meet me at our hotel on Monday night. So I pretty much think I’m all set.

Goodbye Los Angeles – originally published 15 April 2008

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My last day of work in Los Angeles is tomorrow (technically, today), the 15th of April, and I keep getting a lot of “wow, you sure are leaving quickly, huh?” type of comments because my flight to New York is the 16th. But Los Angeles was only a temporary move, so it doesn’t seem like a quick departure to me. What else am I going to do here? Go look at movie star homes? I saved some money, enjoyed the weather and the food, and now it’s time to go. But before I leave, I have to pack.

I’d like to think that I’m a good packer, but I wonder if I’m lying to myself. When one makes a “normal” move, ie: moving to a different town, you pack up all your crap in boxes and go. Of course I’m sure you throw a lot of stuff away and donate and whatnot, but for the most part, you don’t get rid of everything. That’s the big difference when you move across an ocean, especially if you have absolutely no idea how long you’ll be away or where you might end up. So yes, I have a few boxes in my father’s attic with photo albums and comic books. I will leave another box or two at my mom’s house in LA with clothes and shoes – but my reasoning for leaving behind my beautiful shiny black shoes? They’re heavy. I love them, but they’re heavy, so they stay in the US. The goal is to get all of my worldly belongings in two suitcases, each under 50 lbs., and heavy shoes do not make the cut. I won’t be moving books, movies, or photo albums. For the most part, all I’m bringing with me to Amsterdam is clothes, about 1/4th of my shoe collection (which is really hard), and a couple thousand of dollars worth of electronics. It would be nice to think that if I do manage to settle down in Amsterdam, I could have a few boxes sent to me and reclaim some of these items. The hardest things for me to leave behind (other than the shoes) are the pictures that I keep in frames and my wonderful winter coat, which is long and warm and wonderful and completely impractical for Amsterdam in every way. I spent over four hours this past Sunday listening to the Clash very loudly and going through every item I currently own, trying to figure out if it stays or goes… and I’m not done. And have I ever mentioned that when I came to California, I only had two suitcases? I know most of the time I spent packing was really going through paperwork – years of bank statements, old passport copies, plane tickets – but still. I have no idea how that took four hours.

I know those first few weeks that I spend in Amsterdam are going to be really weird – going from a super-structured life in the US to a totally unstructured life in Europe is obviously going to take some getting used to. I have a meeting with some folks in Amsterdam on my first full day there (the 24th), and I admit, having something to do – a place to go and a time to be there – it helps, mentally.

So the first leg of the journey starts with a 6-hour plane ride east. Back to Eastern Standard Time, back to Brooklyn, back home to New York. I’ll spend four days running all over the place, picking up a few last-minute items, trying not to be late to some last-minute appointments, and of course, saying goodbye to friends and family. My time is booked up nicely with dinners and drinks and hopefully, lots and lots of sleep.

Preparing to leave NYC – originally published 3 Jan 2008

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I purchased one-way flight tickets from New York City to Portland, Oregon and from Oregon to Los Angeles. I leave New York on the 29th of January, and I’m spending five days in Portland before heading to LA to begin my (temporary) new life as someone who works at an accounting office as of February 4. Working in an accounting office = saving money, pure and simple. Then in April, I plan to move (by myself) to Amsterdam.

While in Portland I’ll be meeting with the woman I talked to about a potential job in Amsterdam at an editorial company. Getting in with this company would give me the best chance at a legit way of living and working in the Netherlands and would do wonders for my career, so obviously that is my first choice. The company has their main office in Oregon, a very small operation in NYC, and a growing operation in Amsterdam. I already met someone from the NY office and really fell in love with the entire company and filled my head with all types of wishful thinking.
In the time between Christmas and the New Year, I really went back and forth a million times about taking this next step. Quitting my job here in New York, moving to the west coast for a few months, planning out my living situation in Amsterdam… it definitely all started to seem a little overwhelming. But what I keep coming back to is this very simple fact: if it doesn’t work out, I’ll do something else, and that will be okay. If the weather or the flat landscape of the Netherlands depresses me too much, or if I really can’t find a way to get the proper permits, or if I run out of money, then I will just simply do something else.Here’s the thing I’ve learned after having moved around a bit from city to city, and it’s a very simple lesson: I need to allow myself a decent amount of time to figure things out. When I lived in Paris, I honestly never really felt like it was my home until I had been there for about a year. It took about that long to figure out my routine, to find my regular spots, and to stop having to ask questions about the culture/language/policies before doing everything. After about a year, I had been to French doctors, done little things like give directions to other Parisians who would end up lost in my neighborhood, and I found a job. When I moved to New York City in October 2006, it took about six months before I felt similarly comfortable, even though I was raised about 2 hours from NYC. Still, I had to learn a lot of things about this culture that I didn’t know that I needed to know, if that makes sense. I had to act like a ten-hour work day was something I was totally familiar with, when in fact I had just moved from France where I worked about six hours a day max. I had to figure out how to survive without any health insurance, it took months to find an apartment, and everything in NYC is done through favors and friends and knowing the right people. The rules are always bent and things are always just a little (or a lot) illegal, from apartment terms to work conditions.

Living in Paris was originally a six-month experiment that ended up stretching on for almost two years. There was so much I figured out as I went along, and it’s been the same for NYC. I thought I would move to NYC and stay for a few years, but after about six months here, everything in my personal life changed and it prompted me to come up with another plan. I love this city and I love the people here, but this isn’t the life that I want right now. If you had asked me about a year ago, I would have given a totally different answer.

So what I’m going to do is keep trying to learn as much as I can about living in Amsterdam. I’ll keep listening to podcasts on Radio Netherlands and trying to teach myself as much as I can from books, message boards, blogs, and expat communities online. I will save as much money as humanly possible in the next several months. However, I know that no amount of research is really going to teach me all the things I’m bound to pick up along the way.

Though I have been having a great time in New York City lately, recently my neighbors were robbed (at knife point) and I had to step over two dead rats on the sidewalk outside my house. It comes with the territory of course, but it is nice to remember all the things I won’t miss.

Inspiration in Philadelphia: originally published 12 Dec 2007

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(This post was written while I lived in NYC in 2007, during the “I think I want to move back to Europe” phase)

This past Saturday I was running (well, biking) all over Philadelphia from one event to another. I started off at Molly’s Bookstore in the Italian Market, where Big Tea Party was having their 10th-anniversary celebration and fundraiser. They had a great crowd come out, and the small bookstore was packed with activists, artists, filmmakers, musicians, etc.

I was happy to see someone I knew from back in the day, Ellen, come in to the room. As we started talking I caught her up on what I’m up to (living in Brooklyn and working in TV post-production) and what I’m planning in the near future. Part of me remains a little scared that that no one will take me or my plans seriously, but I shouldn’t have been worried about something like that while I was at a fundraiser for an anarchist cooking/crafts/activist show. So I began talking in more detail about why I want to live in Amsterdam and the documentary that I want to make – and Ellen’s response is “I did that exact same thing!”

I’m going to guess Ellen is about 40 years old. When she was younger, she decided to move to Paris with her boyfriend for no real specific reason (hey, me too!). Then she took a 3-day trip to Amsterdam, fell in love with that city, and relocated. She stayed for about five years, had her son there, and had a great story about living on a houseboat. She’s currently a video production instructor in Philadelphia and also makes her own documentaries. Both of us shared pretty much the exact same views on why Paris is great but we don’t want to live there and why Amsterdam is such an appealing city.  So now I’m in this amazing conversation with an American documentary filmmaker who has lived in Paris and Amsterdam, and this guy who has experience shooting throughout Sarajevo joined in on the talk, and they’re both telling me that I should absolutely move back to Europe and make documentaries. “How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?” the guy (whose name I forget, dammit) said.

“28,” I replied.

“Oh, you’re still a baby! Of course you have to do this,” was his response.

In my head, I silently thanked him for thinking of me as someone who is still a kid. Every so often I get an irrational fear in my head that I have waited too long, that I should have been out there when I was 18 years old. I should know more languages and I should have traveled to more places by now, and maybe it’s too late and I should just stay in New York City and work myself into the ground trying to become a bigshot in TV production. But then I attend events like the Big Tea Party fundraiser, and I’m surrounded by people like Elizabeth, who will be celebrating her 50th birthday this year and is still just as passionate and daring as any 18-year-old. These people are still traveling, still protesting, still activists, and still have time to encourage me to do the same. I feel very grateful to have such amazing role models in my life.

It’s always been hard for me to be patient, but I really want to do it right this time around. This is the good part about being 28, and not 22 – I simply know a little more now. I know that my first priority in Amsterdam must be figuring out a way to live there legally with a proper residence permit. I know that is going to be very, very difficult. The first few months I’m there – well, I have no idea what it will be like, but it won’t all be sunshine and roses and bike rides and apple strudels. There will be mountains of paperwork, bureaucracy rules that I’m not used to, and the very real fact that I don’t have a lot of friends living there right now that I can lean on for support. But when I do have all my paperwork in order and I’ve obtained the residence permit and gotten myself a place to live (and I don’t doubt that I will be able to do all of that), I’m sure I will have made a few more friends along the way, and I’ll toast to the next phase in my life.

Vienna to Romania – originally written in October 2006

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(Copied and pasted from a former blog – links may not work)

We I arrived in Vienna on the 3rd of October, around 8:30am. We had spent the night on a train in a 6-person couchette. Here’s a tip about overnight train travel in Europe: if you reserve a spot in a 6-person couchette, you won’t be able to sit up (there’s no head space). You have to lay down. That’s weird. I mean, it’s better than sitting up for 13 hours in a seat, but you can’t really do… anything but lay down. Anyway, when we got to Vienna, I went to the very conveniently located internet cafe/coffee shop in the train station and looked up a few hostels, since the Hospitality Club people that we had planned to stay with earlier in the week were no longer in town. Found one that sounded good (Hostel Ruthensteiner) and just a few minutes away from the train station. We shelled out a bit of extra money for a private room and were able to check in early. The staff was really nice, the place was immaculate, wonderful location, etc. Two thumbs up. At no point during our trip did we make reservations in advance for anything, and we never ran into problems.

Vienna does coffee really, really, REALLY well. You can have any coffee, anytime, any way you want. To go, to stay, big, small, iced, etc. Coffee, apple strudels, and weird museums were our Vienna theme. The first day we headed out to St. Stephen’s Cathedral to see the catacombs. The church was beautiful from the outside and incredibly packed with tourists inside. To visit the catacombs we had to wait for a guide and take a tour, but that was actually really helpful because we got a lot of good information. There were piles of bones from plague victims and the hearts of old bishops in tins, all deep beneath the church. It was probably the only thing that Manning and I could have been capable of doing that day – we were exhausted from our night of travel and hadn’t really slept much – but man, I’ll wake up for piles of old bones and dead people buried under churches no matter what.

The advantage of staying in the hostel was having access to a pretty decent kitchen, so I cooked dinner and we prepared our own breakfasts while we stayed there. After a decent night of sleep, I was ready to explore. Vienna is a busy, lively city with a bazillion museums. We saw some of the more out-of-the-way spots… the Austrian Folklore Museum (doesn’t seem to have an English version of the website), the Globe museum (which Manning suggested as a joke, kind of, but I thought it sounded great), and the Esperanto museum (we were the only visitors). Honestly, I loved them all. They were 2 Euros or less (with our expired, phony student ID cards), and when would I ever have the chance again to see “the largest collection of globes and globe-related instruments available to the public?” The ground floor of the Folklore museum was pretty cool, but the first floor was AMAZING. It was full of monster masks and bird costumes and we had the entire place to ourselves.

So we had about 3 days in Vienna, we had met some nice people from New Zealand at the hostel, we drank a lot of coffee, and then decided that it was time to get to Romania. We took a train from Vienna that left around 8pm on October 5th and arrived in Alba luila, Romania around 7:30am on October 6th. This time we reserved a 4-person couchette and were a zillion times more comfortable – we even had a fairly decent night of sleep! Waking up around 7am in early October in Transylvania, watching the sun rise while the rain is falling outside… it doesn’t get much better than that. We had to hang out at the station for a few hours to catch a bus to Sibiu, “European Capital of Culture 2007.” We stayed in Sibiu last year in late October, but unfortunately didn’t get to see that much because we had gotten sick, so we figured we owed it to ourselves to explore the town for real. We arrived around 11am or so (the bus ride was only 1 1/2 hours from Alba), found the hostel, and were settled in by noon. The hostel was really, really clean, with comfortable beds, a super friendly staff, great kitchen, and fantastic view. No privacy to speak of, but at least it was affordable and comfortable (about 10 Euros a night, each). We went out for lunch and I ate some of the best pizza of my entire life, and then explored the town. It’s such an amazing place – so Romaniaish. The whole town is under construction in anticipation of this 2007 event and they’re really making wonderful improvements, but there are still plenty of old houses and hidden passages and vine-covered walkways.

I had been exchanging messages with an American woman (Therisa) who is teaching English in Sibiu, and she offered to meet up with us  for drinks. I described us in a text message “I have long black hair, he has bleached blond spikey hair, and we’ll be standing outside.” She responded “I’m the only black woman in Sibiu.” Needless to say, it was very easy to spot each other in the crowds. So we hung out with her for a few hours that night… before the power outage! Oh man, there is nothing better than a power outage in an old town in Romania. It only affected one street, but it was the main street, full of restaurants and cafes. Most of them remained open and just lit tons of candles for the people who were already eating. It was totally dark out with no streetlights, and we walked through candle-lit streets in Romania. I was in heaven.

We went back to the hostel and fell asleep pretty early. The trip had a nice rhythm to it – we weren’t really making plans up until a few hours in advance – we didn’t even know how long we’d stay in a town when we arrived. It’s really easy to travel around Romania on buses (as long as you get an early start), and we were super lucky to talk to a very well-traveled Romanian guy at the Sibiu hostel. He was from Curtea de Arges, which was the little town that was our next destination! This town wasn’t written up in any of the guidebooks that I had seen (though I bet that will change soon) and it had been really almost impossible for me to find any information about how to travel there, other than by car. Last year, we mostly traveled by hitchhiking. This time, we were a bit more pressed for time and did all our traveling by bus – which in many cases is the same thing as hitchhiking. I referred to the mini-buses in Romania as “organized hitchhiking.” More on that later. Anyway, this guy assured us that there are buses that run to Curtea de Arges, told us the town we’d have to stop at along the way, and we were all set. So why Curtea de Arges? Because that’s the biggest town near the ruins of Cetatea Poenari, aka “The real Dracula’s Castle.” Vlad the Impaler, the inspiration behind Bram Stoker’s Dracula, built (well, made slaves build) that fucking castle, on a cliff, and it’s possible to visit it if you’re properly motivated.

I was very, very motivated. We had intended to visit the castle last year, but didn’t make it. Do you know how hard that was? To get all the way to Romania, travel around, visit churches and castles and cemeteries, and then miss out on the castle-on-a-cliff built by Dracula? It was hard. And I swore I would go back and see it, no matter what. While both of us really loved Sibiu, I couldn’t wait to get to Curtea de Arges and make my way up to that castle. On a cloudy Saturday afternoon, we took a bus from Sibiu to Pitpsti and a cab from Pitpsti to Curtea de Arges. (continued)…

Vienne vs Wien – Orginally published 14 Oct 2006

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Here’s a funny story where I look fairly  stupid, and the only reason I’m telling the internet this is so no one else makes the same mistake (though I doubt anyone else would).

Vienna, as we (the English-speaking world) know it, is spelled Wien to the German world. This I knew. I’ve seen it on maps. But the French call it Vienne. So I bought train tickets from the french website to Vienne. And Vienne turns out to be not just the capitol city of Austria, but also a small town in France, about a half hour south of Lyon. I realized my mistake in the Lyon train station around 5pm on September 30. Fortunately, we are in a pretty good financial state right now, and fortunately, my boyfriend is not the type of guy to get all crazy and mad about the fact that I totally fucked up (I had even gotten us a Hospitality Club host in Vienna, Austria for that night, not even thinking about how long it would actually take to take a train from Paris to Vienna). We weighed our options and decided to just keep heading east by train. It was about 6pm. The best we could do was buy tickets for Geneva, plan to stay there for the night, and then figure out what to do next. The train was supposed to come at (about) 6:38pm and when a train pulled up at about 6:30pm, we got on, figuring it was our train. Guess what? It wasn’t! We realized our mistake as soon as the train started moving about 8 minutes before it was supposed to. I kept hoping it was something super-regional and we could just hop off after five minutes, but 20 minutes later, we were still going. When the train conductor came around, M. did most of the talking and impressed the conductor enough for him to not care that we had the wrong tickets, not charge us for the right tickets, and strike up a friendly conversation about god knows what, but we sure did a lot of smiling and laughing and nodding.

We get to Macon, a small town about 45 minutes from Lyon, wait an hour or so for the next train BACK to Lyon, get in touch with our HC guest to tell them we won’t make it, get back on the right train, get to Lyon, and called it a night. Let’s just stay here, we thought. It’s a big city, there will probably be a hostel, lots of internet cafes, or at least a million cheap hotels and tons of places to eat. After getting stopped and thoroughly searched by the cops, we went looking for a place to sleep. The cops in the Lyon train station were everywhere, and they were kind of assholes. There wasn’t any reason for them to stop us and demand our papers, but then again, the law in France is that there doesn’t have to be a reason. So we had to go back to their office, have them take all our carefully packed clothes and whatnot out of our bags, question our visas, etc. The main cop even questioned how we knew each other, since my passport was from Los Angeles and his was from Philadelphia. We were not fazed or intimidated by these guys (since we don’t carry drugs or weapons and our paperwork is in order) so eventually they became friendly.

Last year, we had arrived in Dresden (Germany) in somewhat similar circumstances (though we were hitchhiking and just dropped off somewhere near the city). It was dark, we had no idea where we were, no plans about where to stay, but within 20 minutes we had found an internet café. After a few minutes, we got the numbers of some hostels and viola, we had a place to stay for something like 11 euros a night. It was easy and we had time to go out and enjoy the night. This was not the case in Lyon, AKA the Lamest City In France. We ended up at some hotel for 60 Euros (which was the cheapest we could find, and actually felt lucky about it) after walking through a MALL, which seemed to be the Saturday night destination for anyone in Lyon who wanted to eat after 9pm (at applebee-type restaurants). However, I have to say it was nice to have a nice shower and clean, private room to crash in after such a bizarre day. We ended up having to eat at a real restaurant (rather than just a quick sandwich), but actually, the restaurant was pretty great, and decorated in retro-style vinyl furniture.

Moving on! The next day, on October 1st, we went to Geneva, where we only stayed long enough to have a sandwich and coffee. From Geneva, we decided to head to Interlaken, Switzerland. I mean, we had already totally messed up our planned schedule, so we might as well enjoy it, right? We had never been to Switzerland and I had always wanted to go, and since it’s a pretty expensive country, it’s probably better that we went now (at a more financially stable time). I had this picture in my head that everything in Switzerland would be pristine, efficient, easy to understand, and safe, and that’s pretty much exactly what Interlaken was like. The trains were really, really nice. The scenery was breathtaking. And we had picked a good day to travel (all in all, about 8 hours on the train) – it rained all day! As soon as we got off the train there were really exact directions on how to find every hostel and hotel in town and very clear maps. We walked to a nearby hostel and ended up getting in a private room (4 person dorm, but no one else showed up). It was expensive, but then again, so is everything else in Switzerland, so we sucked it up.

October 1st had actually been a really nice day of travel. Watching the land go by out a rainy window, reading books, figuring out schedules. But it was also really nice, on Oct 2nd, to finally have a day where we could enjoy being in a new place. The weather was beautiful, the view outside our hostel window was incredible, and we spent the entire day outside. We hiked up the mountains, took pictures of the snow-covered alps, and found a supermarket so we didn’t have to keep wasting money on cafes. We had decided to only stay one night and take an overnight train to Vienna (for real this time), which left around 8pm, but after a full day of hiking and exploring, we were dying for showers. So when we went back to the hostel around 6pm to get our backpacks, we just casually kept walking into the shower area, and kind of “stole” showers. It worked out great, and we were finally on our real train to Vienna the night of October 2nd.