Mijn Nederlands Les

That means my Dutch lessons. I am in a very remote part of southern Holland called Waalwijk this week in order to learn how to speak Dutch. It is not going so well.
Learning Dutch is no easy task. And for some reason, I have begun to associate learning a new language with learning how to speak Spanish, since that was the language I last had to learn. That coupled with the fact that we just recently took a trip to Spain where we had to rely solely on my ability to speak broken Spanish, has resulted in an irritating mental roadblock: I can only think in Spanish!
I don't know how this happened! But know my first instinct when someone expects me to think of something in Dutch is to think of what it is in Spanish! And these two languages have only one thing in common: they are both spoken in Europe somewhere.
Learning Dutch is a bit like learning how to ride a bike. At first you feel confident. Your brother, your sister, your friends - they all know how to ride a bicycle. If they can do it, you can do it. This is not going to be a problem. If anything it will be fun. That is, until you start riding into poles and skidding across the pavement. Before you know it you are bleeding and crying and you just want to go home.
My first couple of sentences were robotic, but to my ears they sounded pretty good. To my teacher's ears, not so. I think speaking Portuguese has helped me with the ggggggaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrreeeeuuuur sound which is in just about every word in Dutch (or at least Amsterdam Dutch, which is a bit rougher). It kind of sounds phlegmy and not so pleasant. I can also roll my r's. Also the annoying oooooo sounds in the Baltimore accent have prepared me in some way. But other than that, the sounds are completely foreign to me. And, similar to Chinese, if you mispronounce one of these little nuances in a word, it can completely change the meaning.
Yesterday we had what they called a ''working lunch.'' My 5 classmates and I (all from the E&Y Amsterdam office) had lunch with our teacher and some French dude that was also there to learn Dutch and his teacher. During this lunch we could only speak Dutch. As you can imagine, this was not a very interesting conversation: Where do you live? What is your name? What do you do? Do you have any brothers or sisters? Do you like biterbalen? Very boring. The questions were boring, and the answers were boring. This is not how you want to learn Dutch.
I have learned some curious words and phrases and some useful ones, and I would like to share these with you:
1. Het spijt me - I am sorry.
Interesting, you must be thinking. She has been in the country for nearly 5 months, why doesn't she know how to say sorry? The answer is that people don't say that they are sorry here. If they happen to stomp on your foot or elbow you in the head whilst in the tram (both of which have happened to me several times), if they even notice your existence, they mumble a pathetic "sorry.'' Aside from the fact that it is pronounced with a roll-y r, it is the same word as in English. But it is spoken so lamely, that it really means ''get over it.''
2. Pot verdorie! This is a nicer version of ''shit!''', kind of like ''darn!''
3. Borreltje - A shot. As in a shot of tequila.
4. Winkelen - This word is very important. It means ''to shop.''

Hopefully I will be able to share more Dutch with you in the future, but unfortunately that's all I have for now.

MATT PASSED!!

Matt has passed the last level of the CFA. I asked him to write this blog himself, but since it's been over a week and he hasn't, I will do the honors.

For those of you not familiar with the test, it is a 3 level exam, offered once a year, in order to become a very fancy title: Chartered Financial Analyst. It is similar to the CPA in that it tests you on finance, accounting and ethics in business. But this test in particular has been deemed by Matt to be the ''hardest test in the world.''

Matt has stated this to be the case on several occassions. And if you dare, I would suggest you try to challenge him on this. He has a special part of his brain whose exclusive responsibility is to store pass rates for each level of any given year for the past 10 years, the number of CFAs in the US as well as in the world, and various other facts that you nor I care nothing about, we're just glad he passed. My sister in particular has found this declaration to be quite obnoxious, being a fellow CPA herself, and upon the news of Matt passing I told Matt that I can just imagine her response: ''So much for it being the hardest test in the world, if YOU passed!'' (My sister and Matt have a love-hate relationship - their personalities are very similar).

For almost as long as Matt and I have been dating (approaching 5 years this winter), he has spent 6 months out of the year either studying for this test or worrying about not studying enough. In turn, January through June has become a high-stress period for him. But don't forget about me. It has been quite stressful for me too.

The funny part is, that for most of you who know Matt will agree, I have very rarely heard Matt say, "I really nailed that exam/presentation/meeting/interview/etc." He is quite modest. But he has been very successful in his career, and he even got better grades than me in college (except for Presentations - sorry, Matt). And what he will never let me forget, he scored 30 points higher than me in the SATs (who cares about SATs anyway). Matt is very driven, very intellegent, and very eager to learn. So please join me in sending him a huge CONGRATULATIONS for passing the hardest test in the world. And maybe one to me too for dealing with him for these past 4 years that he's been taking it ;-).

Back from Spain!

So we're back from our 10-day tour of Andalucia.We are tan, relaxed, and happy to be home. We couldn't have asked for better weather in Spain. Everyday was beautifully sunny, around 35 Celsius, and every evening was clear and cool. Amsterdam, however, is not very nice at the moment.

We had many adventures along the way, beginning with our arrival in Malaga airport and our 2 hr attempt at trying to get our rental car. The Spainish are in no rush to do anything except get home for their siesta (as was evidenced by the even more aggressive driving at around 3pm). Matt wasted no time damaging our car as we hit the wall in the garage, and then we were on our way! Luckily for us, we had Sally helping us again (Sally is the name given by Mrs. Sgrizzi to the GPS in the rental car we got when we drove to Belgium and France. We thought this name worked quite well!) so we found our way to Sanluca de Barrameda, our first destination, quite easily!

We spent most of our days in Sanlucar on the beach at the mouth of the Rio Guadalquivir. Matt was impressed with what he deemed to be the "legitemacy" of the town, meaning it was all very Spanish. Very little English was spoken by the inhabitants, mostly none at all, so I really had to work on my Spanish. I think I did ok. Especially when it came to taking Matt to Urgencias (E.R.) when the cut on his leg became infected and very scary looking. I just remember sitting in the doctor's office, and the doctor coming in all smug and saying ''que paso el'', meaning what happened to him, and i said ''no se'' (dunno). I tried to explain that it just got worse with time, and as the doctor went back to the room where matt was apparently being worked on, i heard some screams for help as the door swung shut. Now it was my turn to ask ''que paso el''! We attempted to tour a bodega where they make manzanilla, a special wine made only in this region, but unaware that we needed to make reservations for a wine tour (how crazy is that) we were shunned. But the people there didn't speak english anyway, so that probably wouldn't have been quite boring for us. To make up for our rejection, we went to a bar on the beach to try this infamous manzanilla, and it was terrible! So we weren't too bummed about it. Our last day at the beach in Sanlucar was marked by a 7pm horse race on the beach. Very cool.

On our way to our next destination, Vejer de la Frontera, we stopped over at Playa de la Barorosa. This was a Sunday, so the beach was absolutely packed! It was really a beautiful beach, and this is where Matt and I got our Spiderman paddles for beach tennis. Vejer de la Frontera was one of the more beautiful places we've ever seen. A small town atop a mountain, it is very secluded, very Spanish, and very quiet. We took a hike one day through a sketchy forest path to Santa Lucia to see the ancient ruins of a Roman aqueduct. Vejer is also where we tried our first Spanish sangria, which was actually Tinto de Verano (sangrias are for tourists, the Spanish drink Tinto de Verano, which is red wine mixed with either sprite or lemon soda water and sugar with orange slices). We were hooked from that moment on.

Next we were on our way to Tarifa. As was our custom during this week, we stopped by a beach along the way. This particular beach was on the Canos de la Meca, on the Trafalgar Bay. Along with our spiderman paddles, we brought a prepacked picnic cooler. 30 euros worth of pure deliciousness. What we hadn't planned on however, was the loss of appetite we would experience from the crowd of nudists congregating around our beach towells. You see, Trafalgar Bay is teeming with gypsies. Selling their wares, braiding hair, and yes, nude sunbathing. We dug our noses into our books and our couscous, got a few beers, and got through it. Then we hit the road.


Tarifa in the most southern point on the Spanish coast, and is very, very windy. From here is where we took our day trip to Gibraltar. Gibraltar is a Brittish territory, so technically not part of the country of Spain. Gibraltar has had a very violent history, since this is the legendary land of Hercules, the legend stating that he pulled apart the towers between the lands of Spain and Africa. Spain is still a bit peeved that the U.K. still has not returned the land, which was awarded to the Brittish by a French king of Spain several hundred years ago, on the condition that hey, just give it back when you're done with it. In turn the Spanish got a small region in Florida, including St. Augustine, which spain then subsequently lost to the Americans. Enough of the history lesson: aside from all this, Gibraltar is also the only land in Europe with free roaming apes. As we made our way up the rock, the apes made themselves quite the force to be reckoned with, and as you can see, one even jumped on Matt's head (having been lured by a peanut - not Matt's peanut-head, but the actual pea-nut). Our tour guide had made up family names for the monkeys since he knows them so well. This particular ape is of the Simpson family. The apes have no natural predators on the rock, so Gibraltar is experiencing a bit of a population problem with them. Enter the tourists: galavanting around with our ice cream cones, Diet Colas and Twix bars, the monkeys don't miss an opportunity. In fact, their successful thievery of sugary sweets have led to yet a different type of natural predator: cholestorol. High blood pressure and diabetes are the only things controlling the overpopulation of these species. Ha, and they're not even American! Take that, Europe!

Also in Tarifa, we took a brief drive into Bolonia. In Bolonia are the ruins of an ancient Roman salting village, Baelo Claudia. These were some amazing ruins. From one vantage point, you could take in the ruins, the mountains, the rural farms and cattle, the sandy beach and the ocean. Absolutely beautiful. We also visited the beach in Bolonia, and took a walk up to the enormous sand dunes. We headed back to our hotel around 7 pm and had dinner (at our hotel restaurant that served traditional Andanlucain cuisine) to celebrate our last night in the Costa de la Luz. The next day we start our drive back to Malaga. Instead of a straight trip (about 2 hrs), we decided to stop over in Marbella for a taste of the Mediterranean. All the beaches we had visited during this trip had up until that point been on the Atlantic ocean. Plus, I hear Beyonce and Jay-Z like to vacation there, so it must be at least glamorous enough for rappers. Well, maybe so, but not glamourous enough for these two primadonnas here. Playas de Marbella was perhaps the most disappointing beach I've been to. The sand was dark and rough, the ocean dirty and and the shore had big rocks that cut your feet. And the people were no Gwyneth Paltrow. We left right away to try somewhere else. Anyplace had to be better! We find ourselves on a coastal highway on the way to Malaga, and stop off at Arroyo de la Miel, which translates to Stream of Honey, so it has to be pretty, right? No. The place was a virtual Brittish tourist trap. We decide to hang on the beach for a few hours, then continue our drive to Malaga. Our hotel in Malaga had a swimming pool, and Matt got to show off his canonballs. And I beat him in another swim race. Well, we didn't race, but if we had I would have definetely won.

For our last night in Spain, we drive into the downtown area of Malaga. We were confronted with throngs of drunks and dirty stinky streets. We stop at a square for some Tinto de Veranos, and find out from our waiter that it was Malaga Carnival, and people came downtown to party and dance and drink until around 8pm. Then everyone goes home and goes back out at midnight into the outskirts of the city to the discoteques. Sorry we missed that!

The next day we make our sad return to the Malaga airport. Again, the Spanish are in no rush. They let us go for the scratch on the rental, which was good, since we got a little worried when the guy actually noticed. After a long 11 hours of traveling, we get home to Amsterdam to cold and rainy weather. Ah, it's good to be home. Luckily, Matt's baggage also made it, and we were quite glad about that. We celebrated with some macaroni and cheese.