It’s a very humbling experience to be here. Trenton described it as hitting the reset button, and he’s exactly right. More or less every day, I have to work up the nerve to leave the apartment to go to the store around the corner and complete a transaction in a language that I barely know. Crossing the street requires your full attention, and is like nothing I’ve ever experienced. It goes like this: sidewalk, bike lane, car lane, tram lines, car lane, bike lane, sidewalk; with little islands of pedestrian sanctuary in between, about 3 feet wide. I’m grateful to have been such a dedicated jaywalker in the past, because those skills of timing and intuiting traffic are tested every time I want to leave the building.

I packed a magazine and a grapefruit in a bag and sat on a bench for a few hours today, looking over the canal (graacht) near our apartment. As stupid as it sounds, at one point I actually reached over to pinch myself. Just to bring me back into my body again. Do you ever catch yourself in one of those completely super-ego-less moments, when your internal monologue has been awed into silence, and then the sudden awareness that your self is miles away slams you back to Earth? It’s happening to me daily. I have these momentary minor panics where I wonder if I might accidentally be naked because there’s such a dreamlike quality to the feeling of walking around this city, having to constantly remind myself “I live here.”

To me, everyone is tall. But the Dutch are, like, next level. Imagine if every tall person never felt out of place or unaccommodated and was allowed to grow into the fullness of their height without ever being made to feel like a freak or that they should hunch down just a tiny bit to keep from sticking out. Imagine if every tall person was among other tall people and lived in a world made to fit their shape. These are the fucking Vikings and Valkyries of Holland and they are an awesome site to behold. At once quiet and powerful, massive and unassuming.

To flush the toilet, you either press a large round button or a small round button, accordingly.

I haven’t had a decent cup of coffee since I arrived.

None of the 50+ hours of Rosetta Stone practice has prepared me for real conversation with real Dutch.

The cats are adjusting beautifully. They love looking out the giant windows that overlook the street and canals, and are already acclimated to the constant street sounds coming from the always-open windows (the Dutch don’t do screens).

Last night Trenton and I met some of his work friends for some drinks and then dinner. I shared a cheese fondue with Suzanne’s giant Dutch boyfriend, Jeffrey, and after dinner the group relocated to a table on the patio. I should have been prepared for this–we were told that going out to dinner is a massive, long-term affair with drinks then food then definitely more drinks and possibly if you’ve been there long enough, more food. But after drinks-food-drinks I was bushed, and Trenton and I made our farewells. On our way out, I tried a little Dutch, “leuk je te ontmoeten” and Suzanne and Jeffrey were delighted. It was after 10 when we set out for home, and we passed over lit up canals and cafes. All of a sudden, I stopped for a second in the middle of one of the squares, to look at the dozens of people enjoying what was sure to be one of the last warm nights of the year. Sitting in groups of 3 and 4 around small cafe tables, drinking, smoking, speaking a million languages–none of them English. I LIVE here.