Viva Hollandia: A Toast to New Friends and Travels Yet to Come

It’s finally time. My bags are packed, sitting in a bulging heap of fabric by the front door, my goodbyes said, and my room is the cleanest it’s ever been, which is to say, empty.

I’ll be heading home soon, and despite having navigated maps written in seven different languages across two continents, I’m not sure which way to go.

For the first time in a long time, I’m lost for words. No arrangement of sentences or paragraphs put to paper could adequately describe all I’ve experienced during the past six months.

          Nor can they possibly explain this picture

 This is my last post though, and as such, I feel to leave it at that would be a disservice. At the very least, I owe you, the reader, some sort of meaningful resolution; a sense of closure that maybe…just maybe…. scratches the surface of describing the adventure.

 To put it as simply as possible, I’ve been supremely fortunate over the past six months to feel at home in places that couldn’t be further away from home.

 It’s a simultaneously unsettling and assuring realization, because it implies being ‘home’ is not dependent upon physical location. Rather, ‘home’ is a state of mind available at any time and in any place, and everyone has his or her own recipe for it.

 Home for me is one part Colorado, where I was lucky enough to spend my first 18 years on this earth.

Where a landscape so divinely carved by nature emits a resonant, organic charm that never ceases to make leaving more difficult.

Where my roots as a person – my family and my friends – took hold in the lush fertile soil of the foothills.

 Where my body learned to draw every molecule of oxygen it could from the thin, icy air at the bases of the snow-capped mountains I can’t wait to see again.

                                                

                                               Feast your eyes

Home is one part South Carolina, where I learned to value a lifestyle that takes things a little slower.

Where it’s okay, even necessary, to toss the work aside for the day and enjoy a cold drink, warm weather, and Saturday football games on a tailgate under a grove of palmetto trees.

Where 18 holes and a six-pack of Natty is always exactly what the doctor ordered

Where the immensely powerful (albeit, expensive) hand of higher education unearthed passions I didn't know I possessed.

                                    

                                    *Choirs of Angels sing "Simple Man"*

And now, home is one part Rotterdam – a city that rose defiantly from the ashes of Hitler’s blitzkrieg not only to begin anew, but thrive.

Emblazoned across the bottom of the city’s coat of arms is the phrase Sterker door strijd, or, “Stronger Through Struggle.” It’s fitting, because I feel Rotterdam is where I’ve become just that.

It’s where I became irreversibly enriched and profoundly blessed with a new group of driven, accepting, and erudite friends from all over the world.

It’s where I learned of, and will forever cherish, Kralingen Bos’s ability to soothe hangovers and an anxious soul.

It’s where the nights spent in Jordan’s room playing Asshole and the subsequent club outings provided no shortage of honest words, hilarious stories, and very real friendships built over bummed cigarettes and Kapsalon sunrises.

Anyone who says money can't buy happiness has clearly never spent 6 euros on a large Kapsalon after a night of drinking and subsequent moral bankruptcy 

It’s where I was forced to confront my inadequacies and insecurities head on, only to realize that I needed only to confront myself.

It’s where I learned that movement does not equal progress and that progress is not so much a great leap forward as it is an accumulated product of daily diligence and ceaseless drive.

It’s where I realized all things are external to us, and thus, that only our perception of the external has the ability to dictate our reality.

This same sensation of feeling at home in a foreign place is not specific just to Rotterdam either. Home is now equal parts Amsterdam, Delft, Utrecht, Den Haag, Antwerp, Brussels, Bruges, Berlin, Cologne, Marrakech, Agadir, Taghazout, Prague, Milan, Paris, Rimini, Rome, and every cobblestone, train station, hotel balcony, pub-crawl, 4am conversation, and smoky bar in between.

 

Unseen picture: The Gentlemen of Rimini (Dan-o, Habibi, Laucha, Philippe).

It’s odd to think I’ve probably done more in six months than most people get to do in a lifetime. From drunkenly roaming Italian beaches under the stars to getting showered with champagne in a Czech club, every single moment has been a pulse-pounding delight; a cocktail of adrenaline and pure bliss that spirals down my spine and courses through my blood, even as I write.

     

It’s a time that I will forever regard as the spark that ignited a fire in my soul; an experience that unleashed latent passions with such joyous fury that the point between what I thought I could do and what I found myself capable of doing could not have been more clearly defined. It’s true: more often than not, you are the only thing keeping you from what you want.

More so, I’m incredibly grateful to have done it all with a group of people who equipped me with new eyes; a group of people who injected me with an unbelievably potent mixture of similar aspirations, contagious passion, and new perspective; a group of people who brought parts of me once dead or dormant roaring back to life.

          

                      We're all demons, and it's not even the full group

In that sense, I regard study abroad not so much as an end, but as the beginning of something completely new. It may be the end of constantly seeing and experiencing the people who allowed this change to occur, but that in and of itself does not signify the end of the metamorphosis that was set in motion.

 This is beginning of a new wanderlust. It’s the beginning of another new adventure; a new level of exploration and camaraderie, the roots of which are so firmly entrenched in Dutch soil they can never be replaced.

                                    A fitting photo...roots....ya know. Hah.

Today, I watched the sun rise over the leafy treetops stretching down Oostzeedijk, and tonight, I’ll watch the sunset over mountains 3,000 miles away as life in Rotterdam carries on. It makes me realize that even though we all came from the most varied corners of the planet, we’ll all always have Rotterdam in common, no matter where we go or what we do. It’s as much a part of us as anywhere else.

 Doesn't get much better

To all the RSM 2013-2014 Exchange Group and the students at Erasmus University: Dank je wel. This level of personal freedom and sublime fulfillment would not have been attainable without you all. Other exchange groups may come and go, but none of them will ever have as much fun as we've had or be half as close as we are.

I know it sucks to say goodbye, but I also know that you’re all profoundly fascinating people whom I greatly anticipate seeing again. I hope this experience has meant as much to you as it does to me. Now let's all go out and make money so we can have a champagne shower of a reunion at Club Bed when we're pushing 35. Ya'll are the best.  #HupHollandHup

                             Make more of that spinach stuff, Burcin

Also, to my roommates: Oostzeedijk 164c can never be undone. I’ve had an unbelievable amount of fun living with you all, and I’ll always regard ya’ll as the next best thing to family….a family of occasionally ratchet degenerates who provided an ever-consoling level of stability and familiarity in a faraway place. I can’t wait to see ya’ll back in Columbia in the Fall (even though the fact we’ll have classes together is terrifying). Thank you for making even the moments that are supposed to be boring anything but. See ya'll soon. Go Gamecocks. 

Lastly, thank you to everyone for your loyal readership, whether you loved every word or barely skimmed my posts out of sympathy. Hopefully I’ve left you blubbering like a tween girl at the end of “The Fault in Our Stars” or, at the very least, provided a brief respite from summertime monotony.

In the words of Professor Dan Ostergaard, “Here’s to the good ships, the wood ships, the ships that sail the sea. But the best ships are our friendships, and may they always be.”

Cheers ya’ll, wherever you may be.

Until next time,

 

- Drew 

Paris

When I first sat down to write this post, I found myself running into a brick wall when it came to creating a title. The famed author/angelically-bearded Ernest Hemingway once said, "My aim is to put down on paper what I see and what I feel in the best and simplest way."

                                     Look at that facial flow...LOOK AT IT!

Like Hemingway, I found Paris exhilarating and hardly in need of an introduction. Hence, the uncharacteristically pointed title of this post.

 I've now been twice in less than ten days, and can safely say The City of Lights is one of the most perfect places in the world. 

Nowhere else can one go from enjoying world famous art to quaffing world famous wine to eating world famous food in the span of a few hours. Public gardens such as the Jardin des Tuileries put other titans of floral exhibition from Central Park to Chanticlear to shame. The back streets of starving artist haven Montmarte might as well have been taken out of a Disney movie (if, you know, Disney movies included drunken sexual escapades and manic-depressive tendencies).

                                   Van Gogh cut off his ear somewhere near here
                                    
Oh, did I mention the museums are free with a student ID card?

Yep. Just skip the line at the Louvre, flash your card to the ticket collectors at the entrances to any of the former palace's hallowed halls, and enjoy. Apparently, after Robespierre guillotined pretty much everyone in France, including Louis XVI, people decided the same artwork once reserved for the aristocratic elite should be opened for viewing to anyone and everyone. 

                   Arterial blood makes for a good contrast, according to this critic

As much as I admire this state-endorsed provision of some of history's most famed art pieces and worldly treasures, I'd be lying if I told you it was enough for Paris to win my affection. 

To be honest, it was pretty much all about the food, and assuming you haven't been living in a cave all your life, you've probably heard a thing or two about the nearly-sexual nature of French cuisine. In that sense, Paris is to food porn what Amsterdam is to actual porn. From crepes to duck confit to exotic cheeses, every single bite of every meal was without comparison, especially considering that I'd come from subsisting mainly off oats, honey, and yogurt here in Rotterdam.

                                             Omg, get inside me
Sure, it was expensive. The concentration of wealth in Paris is absolutely on a whole different level. If you're reading this back home in Colorado, the only way I would describe Paris is that it pretty much makes Cherry Hills Village look like the projects of Los Angeles

Even so, to think that I was able to completely and fully experience a city which played host to Napoleon and Hitler, Picasso and Dali, Voltaire and Dumas, and countless legends of history for as much as I spent made it worth every penny.

The French have a favorite saying from writer Andre Breton which states, "Rien ne sert d'être vivant s'il faut qu'on travaille," meaning, "Being alive serves no purpose if you have to work."  Despite their reputation for indolence, I found the French to be well-read, astute, and enjoyable people adept in exercising the concept of joie de vivre; a steady exaltation of one's true self and a persistent appreciation for the little things in life.

In my opinion, it's a state of mind Americans would be well-served in emulating, and a state of mind that I find myself missing already.

Thanks for reading everyone! I've now got less than a month left here in Rotterdam, and as my new friends from exchange return to their varied homelands, I will now focus my attention on composing my final Wanderlust Rotterdam post: a farewell letter to Rotterdam, to the amazing country that is The Netherlands, and a "see you later" to all the amazing people I've been so blessed to meet over here.

I'll probably cry. All you Wanderlust readers here in Rotterdam will probably cry, but it goes without saying: this is only the beginning of a new Wanderlust; a new chapter in our lives which we attack with enthusiasm and renewed vigor, consoled with the fond memories of our new friends, and eager to experience more.

Cheers ya'll,

Drew 

An Epiphany on Time and The Importance of Having a Motto

Upon opening my laptop yesterday morning in the campus food/study court, reality hit me like a brick lobbed by Macaulay Culkin from the rooftop of a decrepit New York apartment building in Home Alone 2: I've only got a month and a half left here in Rotterdam.

                                         How did this guy NOT DIE?!

I feel like I've now gained a sense of what parents mean when they say, "It seems like only yesterday you were in diapers." Time seems to have both sped up to breakneck speeds and slowed to a slothly crawl. The linear, deadline salient part of my mind says, "You've been here for five months. That's a pretty long time." and another says, "Five months is only a chip of the tip of the iceberg, bruh."

                                                   "Back up, son."

Since doing schoolwork was out of the question, I started thinking about how traveling affects my perception of passing time, and I subsequently concluded that traveling has a paradoxical ability to slow time down, whereas staying put counterintuitively speeds time up. As we grow older, have kids, and surrender the fast times of virile youth, the more sedentary we become, thus making our perception of time speed up to the point that we look at the passing of each year with incredulous dismay.

On the other hand, traveling allows us to experience places and people only briefly in terms of clock hands and calendar days, but at such depth that we tend to perceive it to be longer.

                                                My face in Starbucks
In that sense, time is indeed money. It serves as a currency in its truest form; as a medium of exchange which inherently acts as a store of economic or psychological value. Just like money, you can invest time in the right things just as easily as you can waste time on the wrong things. You can have a lot of it or none at all.

                                            Literal wheelbarrows full of time

So really, when you think about it, and assuming you agree with the notion that time and money are interchangeable terms, sacrificing your time for money doesn't make much sense. It's like trading money for money.

If that's the case, then homeless people technically would be the richest people in the world, whereas the perpetually busy, 80 hour workweek Fortune 500 company executives would be the most destitute of us all.

                                                 I stack bills, playa

Though I'm still relatively new to this whole "real world" idea, I know enough to know this not how the world works

"How come, Drew?"

Ah, I was hoping you'd ask, because just like money, it doesn't matter the amount of time we have that determines its value, but instead, the amount of time we use. Thus, it's better to use a small amount of time and wring out every last drop of its value than it is to hoard it.

In case nobody has told you, "studying abroad" consists of maybe one week, cumulatively, of actual study. The rest of that time is yours to expend as you see fit, not accounting for necessities, such as sleep.

                                 Sometimes, we sleep on floors

I only write about this epiphany of mine because, like anyone else, I'm guilty of wasting my free time. I stay on Facebook or Stumbleupon when I should probably be doing homework or studying. But, adding to the litany of lessons I've learned abroad, time you enjoy wasting is not the same as wasted time.

Plus, because we all know how easy it is to waste time, how do we ensure that, if we choose to waste time, we waste it effectively? I know it sounds crazy, but over the course of my five months here in Holland, I've been increasingly making a conscious effort to waste time.

True to economics, I incur an opportunity cost when I do this. I trade a two hour documentary for two hours that could've been spent on my assignments. But what do I gain? Perhaps new knowledge about something I never would've known about had my nose been buried in books all day; perhaps a new insight or understanding or perspective, the signal of which can only be detected when I make the conscious effort to devote my time to clearing out the white noise and clutter.

During these times, I've often find myself gravitating towards poetry, literature, music, art, and really anything that piques my interest and distracts me from the hustle and bustle of the world.

                                 What you'd see if you walked in my room rn

I've reread some of the books I used to complain about having to read in high school, poring over their precious contents to identify lessons I missed during English class, where I was too focused on my ability to formulaically regurgitate the information on a quiz, rather than think critically about the point the author was trying to convey and how it may relate to me as a person.

                              Dickens really isn't such an asshole after all

In the process, I've unearthed bite-sized bits of sage wisdom and timeless lessons that I'll cherish and remember just as vividly as the insane trips and the raging parties and the nights spent playing "President" in Jordan's room. I know it sounds oh so stereotypical of every person who's ever studied abroad in history, but I've really found myself here in Holland. For lack of a better word, I've found my motto(s), and for the first time, concretely defined what my values are as a person.

The point is, I don't write this blog so that everyone can think I'm The Man. I write it because.........well.........I enjoy it. I enjoy entertaining people and inspiring people. As such, it's not that I've attained some level of esoteric fulfillment reserved for the lucky few.  To the contrary, the whole point of this blog's is to serve as a testament to the fact that anyone, at any time, anywhere in the world is able to do cool shit.

                     You can do it...with a safety harness and testicular fortitude

Since I just know you've all been salivating in anticipation for these tasty AF morsels of life mottos I'm about to lay down, I'll leave you to them. But because the amount of material I find inspiration in could probably fill libraries, I've limited myself to the select few that I always find myself coming back to, as well as links and the reason why these pieces in particular were chosen.

As a final word, you may not identify with them as closely as I do, and that's okay. Under no circumstances should you allow me or anyone else to dictate what you can or cannot relate to. If you like them, great. If you don't, then you've already got a headstart on answering the "why not" side of the coin, which is often just as important.

Cheers everyone, and thanks for reading.

-Drew

Drewby's Top Ten Inspirational AF Books, Poems, and Quotes (in no particular order)

Ozymandias by Percy Bysshe Shelley- A fantastic poem about the fleeting nature of power and the frighteningly ephemeral nature of life, as well as the title of the most spellbinding episode of Breaking Bad ever. It never ceases to entrance me.
http://www.online-literature.com/shelley_percy/672/

The Man in the Arena by Teddy Roosevelt - Another sweet ass, bomb ass, dank ass excerpt of a speech titled "Citizenship in a Republic" from arguably the coolest President in American history delivered at the Sorbonne in Paris. Essentially reminds me that 'tis better to try; to spend oneself in a worthy cause and fail than never try at all.
http://www.theodore-roosevelt.com/trsorbonnespeech.html

The Slight Edge by Jeff Olson - One of very few useful self-improvement/business books which posits success is the product of mundane habits doggedly conducted over a very long period of time.

Song of the Open Road by Walt Whitman - A great poem for travelers that emphasizes an appreciation for the outdoors and the democratic nature of traveling/meeting others. It's lackadaisical, uplifting, and beautifully written in rhythmic verse.
http://www.bartleby.com/142/82.html

Desiderata by Max Ehrmann - Very empowering poem that doles out some fantastic life advice and consoles the worried mind, all written in layman's terms. A personal favorite.
http://www.cs.columbia.edu/~gongsu/desiderata_textonly.html

"Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer's Day" by Shakespeare - Inspiring in that it forces you to realize that though you'll cease to exist someday, your legacy, your memory, and your words basically make you immortal.
http://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/shall-i-compare-thee-summers-day-sonnet-18

"Invictus" by William Earnest Henley - Kicks you in the balls with a visceral message that always reminds us we are more in control of ourselves than we think. Last two lines are definitely among the best denouements in literary history.
http://www.bartleby.com/103/7.html

"Never fear quarrels, but seek hazardous adventures"- Alexandre Dumas, The Three Musketeers, ie don't allow fear of conflict to preclude your pursuit of whatever you enjoy.

"If" by Rudyard Kipling- Kipling had a pretty god-awful childhood and he still turned out alright I guess. Basically, it says if you can weather the shitstorm of life without forsaking your beliefs, you'll be a better person because of it.
http://www.kiplingsociety.co.uk/poems_if.htm

"Harbors rot ships and men." - Admiral Nelson. Short. Sweet. To the point. Always reminds me that to move is to be alive; that when faced with something in your life, the best thing you can do is the right thing, the second best is to do the wrong thing, and the worst thing you can do is nothing at all.




     

Ode to Club Bed

                     Likely the only non-incriminating photo of Club Bed in existence

For lack of a better phrase, Club Bed Rotterdam is everything your mother warned you about. When you crowd obscene numbers of 18-25 year old international university students – most of whom are already intoxicated – into a venue that sells cheap alcohol and plays ratchet music in a sultry, dimly-lit dungeon of a dance hall, odds are, shit's going to hit the fan on a weekly basis.

In fact, the metaphorical effluence will typically stream forth like some hormonal Niagara Falls, inundating the aforementioned fan in a veritable river of debauchery and loose morals.

That's precisely why we love it.

I think I speak for everyone when I say that every Tuesday, after an arduous day of class, drinking Irish Coffee, and watching documentaries, Club Bed provides a much-needed break from taking a break. It's quite literally, the weekly shitshow that drags you down from your cloister atop the Ivory Tower into a world of grit, grime, and self-imposed alcohol intoxication.

I know what you're saying: why not just study instead, right? This sounds crazy, but it's hard to study when everyone you know is out on the town, drink and drug-induced dopamine pouring into their bloodstreams, dancing on table tops, and bonding over conversations that can only occur when any semblance of sobriety is torn asunder.

The magic of Club Bed lies in its ability to make you aware of the fact that, instead of studying, you're chain-smoking cigarettes and dancing awkwardly in front of complete strangers, some of whom look like they might be human traffickers. Put another way, Club Bed is pretty much an opportunity to blackmail yourself into actually being productive for the remainder of the week.

Seriously. You wake up in the morning, perhaps with no recollection of the previous night's events. You're then forced to confront the reality that you've had your fun for the week, and therefore, must atone for your sins by putting in hours at the library. I think we can all agree, for the most part, that school isn't fun. Thus, one must take solace in an evening of merrymaking, however grossly disproportionate, if one hopes to avoid burning out on school/losing their soul entirely.

Surely, there are healthier ways to have fun. You could do yoga, go for a walk, draw, or play guitar, but all of these require effort. It's simply much easier, as a 21 year-old student studying abroad, to cut corners and let the five euro convenience store wine accomplish the task for you.

Moreover, if there's any further redeeming quality to Club Bed, it's this: I never once imagined that I would be drunkenly biking around a city like Rotterdam at 4:00a.m., narrowly avoiding errant car mirrors, and fleeing angry crack junkies, all with a person who was a complete stranger only weeks prior intermittently vomiting and losing consciousness while holding on for dear life on the back of the bike.

Going through such an experience with someone forms an inexplicable bond that persists, even into sobriety. It also makes for a great story that can be whipped out at any time in the future for some good old-fashioned nostalgia and laughter.

I feel like Club Bed brings everyone back down to Earth and there will always be a spot in my heart (and likely, my liver) for the place not because it enables the consummation of carnal vices, but because it helps you develop a wholesome discipline with yourself; an ability to self-deprecate and avoid the insidiousness of Holier-Than-Thou hubris which all too often, negatively affects relationships.

You can have ten degrees on the wall, drive a Beamer, and wear Cartier watches, but at Bed, you're just another person out to have a good time like anyone else in the world.

Until next Tuesday, thanks for reading ya'll.

-Drew

  

  

Let's Go to Holland: A Toast to Travel

Salutations everybody. A most sincere Happy New Year to you all at home in the US, abroad, and on whatever plane, train, automobile, or random futon you may find yourself at the moment.

Home for me is now Oostzeedijk (pronounced 'oh-shay-dyke) 164C, not more than a mile from the Woudestein campus of Erasmus University and the (apparently?) highly-esteemed Rotterdam School of Management.

 It's indeed strange to now be calling Rotterdam my home, since there is certainly a difference between a house and a home. It's become increasingly clear to me that a 'home' is not so much a physical place, but a state of mind; one which implies a comfortable, productive environment conducive to personal growth and social openness.

But I digress. This inaugural post is a celebration of the innumerable freedoms afforded by world travel, not an argument on semantics. First of all, I would not be inspired to regularly document my world travels via this blog if it wasn't for the awe-inspiring love and support of my family, friends, and professors. Writing probably ranks among the top of my list of passions, alongside Bob Ross reruns, Nutella, and music. Naturally, one's passion is easily directed towards things we find fulfilling and stimulating; however, there is a distinct pleasure to be found in exploring, studying, and mastering the unknown.

As an international business major, it is this insatiable need to see the world for myself, free from the positive/negative biases of others, which sustains my desire to grow not only intellectually, but to evolve as a twenty something college student a mere year away from leaving the comparatively secure confines of an American university.

So first, why I love traveling. If we can agree that perception is reality, and more so, that traveling alters our perception, it then only stands to reason that traveling alters our reality. The magic of travel is its ability to take all of our preconceived notions of success, morality, politics, nationality, and personal position in the world, and flip it upside down. Travel takes away the metaphorical bars of the myopic jail cell we instinctively imprison ourselves in, and instead, shows us a sprawling, pastoral, lush world full of opportunity.

Sure, the world is a dangerous place. Try reading a newspaper without coming across some lengthy column detailing the gruesome consequences of an Al-Qaeda operative martyring himself in the streets of Baghdad. Or the deplorable atrocities committed each day in the name of religion, social justice, or political legitimacy. To pretend that Earth is full of nothing but good people is optimistic, but pragmatically naive. Conversely, to pretend that the world is full of nothing but evil people hellbent on committing evil acts inherently makes us fear what we only scarcely know.

I love traveling because it allows us to give others the benefit of doubt. To see things through a different lens. Through travel, we can discover what makes one man's suicide bomber another man's freedom fighter. We can discover why people do what they do from an economic standpoint. We can discover where we, as individuals, have erred in our perceptions, and also, how we can correct those perceptions to more profoundly experience, and learn from, the magnificently diverse collective consciousness of mankind.

Reading from my handy-dandy book of cliches, how many people simply exist, rather than live? How many people put off traveling- whether it be for financial, logistical, or personal reasons- and become mired in the comfort of a 9:00am to 5:00pm job, of a ho-hum marriage, of a one-track mind only focused on the next paycheck, the next holiday with in-laws, the next bill to pay?

I'm by no means holier-than-thou in this regard. Part of traveling demands respecting the specific circumstances of any individual. Travel is not for everyone, but if there's anything I've learned in my nascent time on this planet, it is that fortune favors the brave. Admiral Nelson once said, "Harbors rot ships and men" and at any rate, I can scarce imagine a more fulfilling way to live my life than in pursuit of the Thoreau-esque "marrow" of life. I may incur a few scars. I'll definitely make mistakes. I might stare death in the eye. But at the very least, when all is said and done, I can sleep easy knowing, in the words of the great Teddy Roosevelt, that my soul shall never be amongst those cold and timid souls who know neither victory, nor defeat.

This is the commencement of my Wanderlust, and I definitely look forward to sharing it with you all. Coming up next, a post on my travels to Amsterdam and Delft, as well as more on my experience here, at home, in Rotterdam. Until next time compadres. Thanks for reading.