As soon as we stepped out of Rotterdam Centraal, I felt more at home since I had arrived in the Netherlands. Rotterdam, on first glance, looked a lot like Toronto–or at least worlds closer than Amsterdam or Utrecht. The city was almost completely destroyed by bombings in World War II and was rebuilt with a distinctly post-modern look.

But upon closer inspection, it wasn’t hard to tell that Rotterdam’s architecture was far superior to Toronto’s. In old cities like Amsterdam and Paris, I am charmed by the old-world atmosphere but eventually find it difficult to tell buildings apart since they all look so similarly historic. Rotterdam fits into the office-topia that I’m accustomed; but, at the same time, it would be an insult to describe something so unique that way. Where skyscraper-lined streets can get as uniform looking as ones with antiquities, everything in this city stands out. It’s hard to imagine getting lost in a city filled with so many good landmarks.

My Spanish roommates and I came for the Rotterdam International Film Festival on Monday. At the VVV (tourist information centre) we were told that museums were not open Mondays and were provided with a map for walking tour of the city instead. I’m not much of a museum person but it was a little bit disheartening. But just touring the city felt like exploring an art gallery for me. Whether you know the significance or history or not (if there is any), everything is just interesting to look at.

My favourite sight, by far, was the Erasmusbrug. The bridge was completed in 1996 and named after Erasmus Roterodamus, celebrated Dutch academic. To my surprise (though I don’t know why I was at this point) I saw bicyclists and pedestrians crossing the bridge. I still have to get over the Canadian idea that roads are only for cars and keeps me from reclaiming the streets. Next time I’m back in Rotterdam, I’m determined to walk across the bridge and see what’s on the other side.

posted by vicky at 12:05 pm under Europe, Netherlands
3 Comments

Last night, I headed to Amsterdam on a whim. Emily, my friend from high school, is doing her masters in Amsterdam. She said a big party was going down and invited me to come along. This is what I found:

First off, the actual ride to Amsterdam took about 35 minutes. This is mindblowing for someone who can’t get from her bus stop to Finch Station in 35 minutes. When I got to Amsterdam Centraal, I had to ask a security guard help me use the payphone to call Emily. In my defense, the phone I was trying to use turned out to be broken. When I put in my 0,50€, he told me that the phone time would go fast and to talk quickly. I’ve never been cut off by a payphone in Canada so my idea of “fast” is a one minute call. It cut me off after 30 seconds. The second time I called back I got voicemail. And the third I finally arranged details to meet. The last two times I called, I only had 1€ coins and soon discovered that payphones don’t give change. That was probably the worst (though necessary) 2,50€ I ever spent, considering that costs more than a glass of beer.

Other things that don’t give change: vending machines. These ones took my 2€ and neglected to give back the remaining 0.40€ for a plate of delicious kroket. Kroket is breaded stick with meat inside, kind of like a chicken nugget but with Chunky soup filling. (Unfortunately there is no picture of my kroket as it was consumed immediately.) The kitchen with the chefs is behind the vending machine and they fill each space as they make the food. The best part was seeing a drunken British girl bargain through an open slot with a chef for more food and slipping coins through it.

We hit up three bars over the course of the night. The first one was apparently the most Dutch bar in town. The music they played was so weird. I couldn’t tell whether it was supposed to be ironic or whether that’s just what they enjoy. They played modern Dutch music but also traditional Dutch songs (a.k.a. polka-like music.) Other weird songs they played between thumpy euro hits were: Dolly Parton’s “9 to 5,” a song that had the same tune as “The Lonely Goatherd” in the “Sound of Music” and a dance remix of “Lion Sleeps Tonight.” The best reaction was when they played Robbie Williams’ “Angels.” All of Emily’s foreign friends knew it, all the Dutch natives knew it and they all sang along with unbridled passion. I couldn’t stop giggling. Last call is WAY later than Toronto. We left at 5:30AM and things were still going on.

I said I wanted to live in a university town and get away from big city life. but damn it, I want to live in the ‘Dam.

posted by vicky at 11:42 pm under Europe, Netherlands
1 Comment

I’m on my sixth glass of ginger tea, staring out a bay window with a brass Buddha sitting peacefully on the ledge. I didn’t think I’d this is what I’d be arriving to but I’m happy with the Dutch experience so far. In the three hours that I’ve been here, I’ve taken the train, eaten a stroopwafel and cardamon bread. And, I’m willing to put this out there, the Dutch, so far, seem nicer than Canadians purport themselves to be.

My flight on KLM was as good as a 7 hour flight could be, which is never actually enjoyable. Food was pretty good (chicken with spinach for dinner and weird yogurt for breakfast) and there was free alcohol even in economy class, though I didn’t imbibe. The entertainment console was pretty amazing though. I watched episodes of Entourage, It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, Simpsons, Futurama and also Superbad. That’s so dirty North American of me, but to my credit, I did try to watch some travel documentaries (but they turned out to be too cheesy.)

I didn’t sleep on the plane, so there’s going to be an inevitable crash in a few hours when the last two days catch up with me. Luckily, the entire process of getting to my destination has been so easy, it’s almost criminal. A Dutch girl from my class picked up at Schiphol at 8 AM and rode the train with me from Amsterdam to Utrecht. She volunteered to pick up the exchange students because she wanted to do for others what she would like for herself (Aww!) From the train station, my landlord drove me back to our house.

He and his wife are the cutest people ever. He’s Dutch and she’s Surinamese. When we were talking about the other tenants, she accidentally referred to them as “the children.”Right now, I’m waiting for my Spanish flatmates to wake up. They offered to let me sleep with them one night since the other room doesn’t become vacant until tomorrow. I know they’re Spanish so that doesn’t technically count under this Dutch niceness I’m making a claim about, but I’ll chalk it up to the Dutch anyways.

I’m haven’t figured out how I will spend my first day in the Netherlands yet: out and about or face down in a bed.

posted by vicky at 5:25 am under Europe, Netherlands
1 Comment

I was always the sort of kid who had trouble sleeping before the first day of school. If I think too much before bed (usually out of excitement or worry) I fall prey to insomnia. And for a day that I’ve been anticipating for a few years, I slept surprisingly well last night–my cough was the only thing that kept me up for a while.

In a few hours I’m leaving Canada for seven months. A lot of people have been asking how I’m feeling and looking slightly surprised that I’m not more visibly excited. When you decide years ahead of time you’re going to go live in another country, you tell everyone but it doesn’t really mean anything. It was just this thing that was in the back of my head I pulled out in conversation sometimes. When it got to the one-year countdown, I finally had to make some real decisions to prepare for it and make it happen (like moving back with my parents.)

Around the one month mark was when I really realized what was going to happen. The anxiety started to build and more than one night ended in tears. People didn’t seem to understand when I confessed I was suddenly scared of going. They said it was going to be fine, I was going to have a great time and they seemed to mean it. It took me until the last week to calm down.

A quick recap of what’s happened in the last week. Ontario Premier Dalton McGuinty stopped into my News Reporting class and fielded questions from eager hoard of J-schoolers.

I asked him to what extent government entities (specifically the Human Rights Commission) should have in say in editorial content. He gave me an honest answer, “I don’t have a neat and tidy answer for you,” and went about a roundabout story involving lecturing a Pakistani university. It was probably the most exciting thing that has happened in J-School thus far.

Later that night I had my goodbye party at my on-and-off-again haunt, The Library. Conveniently, I chose that night to begin promoting this website. Having a crowd of people available and a few drinks in a my system was just a coincidence.

And that’s it. Bye Canada, see you in seven months. Next stop: The Netherlands.

posted by vicky at 12:38 pm under Europe, J-School, Pre-departure
5 Comments

Clafouti
915 Queen Street West/ 416-603-1935

Despite the years of moaning about wanting to live in Europe and the fact I’m leaving next week, sometimes I doubt that there can be a place in the world nicer than Toronto in the summer. I’ve suspected it since my days in high school commuting down to traipse around Queen West (read: Muchmusic and the surrounding stores) but living downtown last summer confirmed it.

Clafouti epitomizes the ideal summer morning that I once had the privilege to call routine existence. This French patisserie is at the heart of the West Queen West, right across from Trinity Bellwoods Park. Every morning last August I would pass through the park, making my way between dogs, their owners and children before turning on Queen Street on my walk to my internship. The late start time allowed for a leisurely walk that took in the best part of the Queen Street–west of commercialization and east of pretension.

On a good morning I would stop at Clafouti for a chocolate almond croissant. On the best mornings I would stop at Clafouti for a chocolate almond croissant and eat it sitting on a bench in the park. When I went early enough to get them fresh from the oven (around 10 a.m. worked for me), the croissant was just enough to create that warm, happy feeling in my stomach. The worst days, however, were Mondays when I forgot that they weren’t open.

There are only three small tables inside the store so orders are almost always to go. It’s a little disappointing when I want to stare at the colourful shelves of imported European confections, enjoy the impeccable music selection and stare at the store’s display cases. These vitrines are the stuff dreams are made of. Inside sit rows of tarts (lychee-caramel, almond-pear), sandwich croissants (shrimp with avocado) each with elegant little signs in front of each one, explaining its contents. Outside the store, a slate sign quietly broadcasts the staff’s daily musings (“War is over.”)

It’s the little details that give this patisserie its chaleur. Clafouti embodies the romantic life that Amélie made us wistful for. It is the seamless melding of urbanity and old-world charm together in one delicious package.

posted by vicky at 9:49 pm under Food, Pre-departure, Toronto
5 Comments

The first time I had schwarma, I was in my first year of university. It was at La Zeez (now Pita Land), a small fast-food schwarma joint close to my university residence. I don’t remember much about my first schwarma, other than it didn’t compel me to have it again. The closest I would come to having a schwarma for the rest of the school year was the Extreme Pita kiosk in the residence cafeteria.

That summer I went with my friend Alex to Université Laval on the EXPLORE program to learn French. By the time we arrived in Ste Foy, it was late and we hadn’t eaten. We walked past the set of three malls next to the campus, half exploring, half desperate for a meal. The only place that was open, was Beyrouth Cité, a 24-hour Lebanese restaurant. The man who worked the night shift dressed like a pirate, blared Middle Eastern techno music and gave us generous doses of garlic mayonnaise, or “mayo magique.” His persona was too weird to be normal, too real to be a gimmick, but either way we ate it up. And it was delicious.

(Prepare for old, slightly embarassing picture)

Some of my best memories of Québec City involve schwarma and this man (pictured center.) He had whetted my appetite for schwarma but I needed to find a place in Toronto that could sustain it.

Wrap & Grab
618 Yonge Street/ 416-915-7482

Wrap & Grab was a big part of my life in second year. It used to be located at Yonge and College, which made it close enough from campus for lunch and on route to the streetcar ride home. This summer they moved to a new location at Yonge and St. Joseph (one block north of Wellesley) but I still find myself making the trip. $6.99 buys you 2 schwarmas, chicken or beef, but I don’t go there for the price. I pass at least 10 schwarma places on the walk from school to Wrap & Grab but I doubt any can do the schwarma this kind of justice.

Their schwarma is, in a word, godly. The meat is freshly cut and expertly seasoned. Opt for the hot sauce, it’s the flavourful kind of spicy, not hot. Personally, when I remember I pass on the hummus and ask for extra garlic. Maybe eating schwarma lets me relive Québec, or maybe I’m just partial to those flavours–either way, it tastes amazing.

posted by vicky at 6:29 pm under Food, Pre-departure, Toronto
2 Comments

Whenever people go away for long periods of time, they spend an inordinate amount of time worrying about leaving their friends and family. What they don’t realize they will miss are the everyday things that are so common and convenient, they’re almost invisible. I am trying to avoid these oversights and become more aware of the things I will leave behind with each passing day. My hour-and-fifteen-minute bus/subway ride on the TTC everyday, copy editing class, salt stains on the bottom of my jeans: these are things I am only too happy to leave behind. But there are also those things which I hesitate to leave behind and will miss dearly while I am gone.

This is why I will dedicate my last two weeks to dining at my favourite Toronto establishments. It is with pleasure and sadness I introduce the Last Suppers. This is the first in a series of heartbreaking and savoury goodbyes.

New York Subway
520 Queen St. W. / 416-703-4496

The name is a misnomer; New York Subway is the go-to place for burritos. Some people will swear that Burrito Boyz is the best burrito joint in town. I have heard this testimony often and do not take it lightly. However, I still haven’t had a chance to try out the Boyz. But for those of us who have no reason to be in the Richmond/Adelaide area and avoid going there unnccessarily, I am happy to go on believing.

Their sandwich board advertising a spinach burrito for $3.99 attracted to eat here for the first time, and, to this day, it remains my favourite. The main cook is a stoic man but makes a burrito just as mean as he sometimes comes off. When he asks you how spicy you want it, keep in mind their sauce is more rich and creamy than mouth-burning. Their burritos are a perfect example of spicy flavourful and not spicy hot. The only burrito I’ve tried and haven’t liked was the cheese and eggplant burrito. It sounded good in theory but was just bland.

This is a popular lunch take-out place, so during your wait expect to see people who walk in after you to get their food before you. Preparation takes an eon in retail job lunch time, even when there is no line. Call ahead if you’re in a rush; this is anything but fast food. That isn’t a dig at the service, but a reminder that gourmet burritos, like all gourmet food, are best enjoyed with leisure.

posted by vicky at 2:15 am under Food, Pre-departure, Toronto
1 Comment

This fall, when I moved back to my parents’ house, one of my former roommates admitted to me that living together drove him crazy. Everyone knows bad roommate horror stories but I never saw myself as one. I didn’t make loud noise during odd hours, we rarely fought, the company I kept was agreeable–what was so terrible about living with me?

He said I lived and treated our house like it was temporary. I knew I was bad at cleaning, cooking and every other exercise in domesticity. But he said it was because I made no attempt to personalize the house and only when my replacement moved in did the house “finally look like someone lives here.” He made me rhetorically promise the next time I lived on my own I would live better instead of just choosing to do without.

Yes, we used the clear curtain liner our landlord gave us instead as an excuse not to buy a shower curtain. Yes, our one plastic spatula was slightly melted. And maybe there was one time I had to run to Shoppers Drug Mart bleeding to buy band-aids when I accidentally cut my finger and realized we didn’t have any.  But isn’t the impoverished college student lifestyle acceptable when you are an impoverished college student? Still, he had a point.

I remembered what he said today when I was shopping for a backpack for my new laptop and to take traveling in Europe. I have a new laptop because I cracked the screen of the old one a year ago when I left it under a car seat unprotected (while the car was being driven.) Today I stood inside a backpack mecca today with a bag that met my basic requirements (reasonably priced) and one that promised more comfort for me, more safety for my computer and some fun hi-tech gizmos (what I would call indulgent) at a crossroads. It required some justification and debate, but I allowed myself the more expensive bag.

Three weeks from now I am leaving for the Netherlands to go on exchange and it will be the impoverished life once more. I will be fending for myself in foreign lands for seven months. But I am proud to have taken the first step to leaving the coddled suburban comfort I hope to outgrow the only way I know how. God bless Mastercard.

posted by vicky at 11:24 pm under Netherlands, Pre-departure, Toronto
No Comments