Where to begin.

It’s been quite awhile since my last post, and it feels like it has been two months since my last post.

On the first Friday of every month the police sell the bicycles which they collect and fix after they’ve been left in the streets. My friend Emilio and I planned to go early to ensure that we would get the best selection of bicycles. The line forms before 7:30 at which time they hand out tickets. At 8:30 you can come back with your ticket to buy bicycles. Emilio and I arrived at 6:40 and the line already had fifty people waiting. When the ticket person came to distribute tickets the line was around the corner and probably had 300 or more people all eagerly awaiting the opportunity to buy bicycles. As they had 41 bicycles to sell, and including the massive cutting which took place in front of us, we were numbers 75 and 76 in line. It was pointless to wait so we walked back to the student house. A mass influx of university students in the past two weeks explains the flood of students desiring cheap bicycles and thus the absurd line.

Later that day while in class I talked to my friend Jurjen (this is pronounced something like gullian) and he told me about a Polish guy who sold bikes which he made. While in the fish market looking at overpriced bikes for sale Jurjen finished his phone call and informed me that the Polish guy had a bike to sell me.

The next day I awoke to the sound of heavy rain and bemoaned the fact that I had a thirty minute walk across town to the Polish guy’s house where I was to meet Jurjen. Upon arriving I noticed no Jurjen and thought that I had missed him, I walked back through the market (mind you it was still raining the whole time) and upon returning to my room began hanging up my wet clothes on makeshift clotheslines and screws in the wall. An hour passed then Jurjen bursts through my door and asks where I was earlier. I told him, and he then told me that I had missed by a few minutes as he had arrived ten minutes late. “why didn’t you just wait inside? You knew the address”
Something about waiting in the home of a man I didn’t know who makes bicycles which he sells didn’t seem safe to me. So back on went my wet clothes as Jurjen and I ventured into the rain back to the Polish man’s home. The Polish man was extremely nice and gave me a one month guarantee on his craftsmanship. I thanked him then Jurjen and I began to cycle around the city.

On Monday I had my first lecture for another course, though for the rest of the semester I will only meet with the class on Fridays. Monday and Tuesday were unseasonably warm and I wanted to enjoy the good weather. I had heard talk of a lake just south of the city and a beach. As I was looking this up online I found out that the name of the lake was Hoornse Meer. Then I found out that cycling maps of the country could be purchased at the visitor’s center which closed in ten minutes. I left the library and raced across the city center just in time to purchase a bike route map, and to get directions to the lake. The lake is a ten to fifteen minute ride south of the city. Keeping with the Dutch tolerance and liberal mindedness that has constantly proved itself to be characteristic of this city the lake had a nude section on the southern edge. As I have never been to a nude beach nor a nude lake I was immediately interested. Not out of a sense of voyeurism but out of a healthy curiosity of humans in a weird sort of reversion to animalism. I went for a short swim and then cycled home. While there I noticed hot air balloons, a theme that has repeated itself once and I hope continues to do so in the coming weeks.

After consulting my cycling map I found that you could ride your bike to the coast then take a ferry to an island just north where there was a beach. The idea of swimming in the north sea after arriving there under the power of my own two legs was irresistible to me. However, the reality of the situation is that it is a forty kilometer cycle (one way) and my bike, while good for riding around town and dependable, is not ideal for distance riding. I woke too late on Tuesday to even attempt the ride. After a few moments indecision I decided the next best thing would be to work up my length strength and ride halfway. My destination was the town of, Oldehoove. I packed some food, and set off. Once outside of the city the countryside is dominated primarily by farmers of sheep and cow. This didn’t, however, change the beauty of the countryside. I had a very pleasurable afternoon riding to Oldehove, eating my lunch/dinner, and seeing hot air balloons again as I traveled back to the lake (clothed side this time) and taking a dip before returning to the student house. All told I probably cycled between 55 and 60 kilometers yesterday.

Yesterday evening I had a chance to see this, red heroin, the devil music ensemble are a group of musicians that play live music for old silent films and are based out of Boston.

I just finished the first of a weekly lecture series about the dutch. The lecturer from this evening is planning a bike trip to a transient camp from the Holocaust, called westerbork. round trip from Groningen will be 90 km. This is the same camp where Anne Frank stayed shortly after being deported from Amsterdam. The trip seems interesting to me.

Groningen is a nice place to spend time and also seems to have an endless amount to do for the ones willing to put in a little leg work and research.