I'm out of deodorant. Valentine's day 2009, I slept through the whole morning after a night of pub skipping to stress for the RoboCup qualification deadline. Outside I hear an airplane circling, probably dragging someone's expression of undying love through the icy blue winter sky. Today I expect no such message directed to me, not in the least because not even I know my address for sure. Before I manage to open the curtains when I realize that in such a case the best way to reach somebody would be by a huge banner and a noisy vehicle, the plane has already left. Oh well, maybe next year.

Time to get out and do some shopping. This is the chance to finally get an iron, some coat hangers, food and of course deodorant, so I get my bags and head to Asda. On the way I stop at Subway for brunch, the ham sub of the day and I listen to the conversation of the couple coming in after me. Woman: 'What is the sub of the day?' Employee: 'Ham' W: 'Just ham?' (husband comes in) H: 'What is the sub of the day?' W: 'Ham' H: 'Just ham?'. I wish I had somebody as in tune with me like that. But preferably one who can read the 'Sub Of The Day' sign in front of her face herself.

At Asda I'm already half way in when I remember I forgot to get money and remind myself not to forget anymore to remember to go to the bank to figure out where and moreover what my PIN code is. Money is even nicer when you not only can look at it on your computer screen, but can also actually use it. So I get a few Pound of Euros and start filling my cart with appliances, food, beverages and other stuff. At the register the cashier starts up a conversation, which I actually enjoy. Usually I am too Dutch to care about his week and think he should care less about mine, whether I need a bag, if I want him to slow down the line even more by packing my groceries after already halting it by waiting until the previous customer has packed all his stuff, but not this time. He even surprised me by recognizing I'm Dutch. I would like to speak perfect english instead, but at least all the french and german accents I've been exposed to haven't stuck with me. The amazement subsided a bit however when he explained he recognized the accent from some wacky crazy Dutch guy on MTV Europe in the early 90's. Always good to see people exposed to your native culture. And to see all those men huddling around the flower stand to buy overprized, most likely Dutch flowers as a last minute resort to appease their significant others.

Now I'm back home, waiting to be treated to a nice steak dinner by myself and looking forward to try out my new Asda steam iron and coat hangers of which I'm not sure whether they are green or blue. The rest of the weekend will not be too energetic, since I'm still out of deodorant..

Family life

Family is important. Family is the cornerstone of a society. Honour thy family. Whether true or not it is still nice to have a surrogate family in another country. My temporary family consists of a Scot and a Maltese and their 2 children, a 17 year old girl and a 6 year old boy. They accepted me with open arms and spoil me with good food, wine and affection in their nice St Albans home. My back has been especially fond of the bed, which offers a great sleeping experience. Unfortunately, most mornings this experience is cut short by the sound of a Ritalin deficient boy starting his day. In the evening however this hyperactivity helps to ensure sleep comes early. For pictures of life in St. Albans and a bit of the University of Hertfordshire, see my Facebook account.

These pictures are taken with my new toy, pride and joy: a Canon Powershot SX110 IS. I have never been much of a photographer, the last camera I owned was an analog monstrosity, purchased over 12 years ago. If I managed to fill more than 3 rolls with it in all that time I would be surprised. The last few years I leeched on my nerdy friends and travel companions who always hauled along a fortune worth of SLR cameras, lenses and flashes, snapping away to gather thousands of digital memories, enabling me to enjoy the scenery unhindered by a camera. Or, if I wanted, I could walk around with my eyes close and listen to the rhythm of shutters, not having to worry about missing anything because it was all recorded for me.

Now however, I can no longer rely on this, I am responsible for capturing moments of importance and beauty myself, so I had to get my own camera. Being aware that I would probably lose interest quickly if there is no challenge, I decided to not settle for the cheapest point-and-click camera, but opted for one which gives me more control and drive to dive into the art of photography. For now I still rely heavily on the 'Auto' setting, but I feel motivated to learn all about ISOs, shuttertimes, aperture et cetera. So keep an eye on my photo album for the amateuristic but hopefully steadily improving graphical portrayal of life on this side of the North Sea.

The first full week in England is already over, time for a recapitulation.

Last time, I wrote about the Smallford Sofa that has been my home and has made a hopefully temporary impression on my back for the last 8 nights. Today I am happy to be able to announce that it has been replaced by a proper, modern bed. A double bed even! After the second move in just over a week, and certainly not the last one I will endeavor this year, I am now settled in the lovely town of St. Albans, the town of bell towers, camera shops with bad timing, pubs and kebab shops that put cheese on your chips.

Last week I took a day off from running around to have a look in St. Albans, with the ultimate goal of buying myself a digital camera. I had selected the camera I want, found a shop through the internet, took the bus, actually managed to find the shop, asked about the camera, the last one they had was on the counter, ready to be sold to the happy customer! The guy that entered the shop just before me did indeed look quite happy with it..

After that disappointing experience and a nonetheless pleasant stroll through the town center I had to get back to all arrangements waiting for me. Luckily these were not much of a burden. Getting a bank account consisted of a nice chat with Emma about Holland, Hatfield and Hair straighteners. Getting my work place sorted was a bit more of a hustle. After finally gaining entry to the office of my supervisor, who wasn't there until yesterday, it turned out that the expectation to find my computer there was false. A bit more searching located it with the department's technicians, who were kind enough to pre-install it, so I only had to plug it in to be off digging through a big pile of papers relevant to my research.

With all that out of the way I was ready to start some real work the next week, so it was time for a nice weekend to get the energy for it. Friday this meant going into St. Albans to discover the pub, club and kebab scene. Some members of the adaptive systems research group, of which I am a member, arranged a night out with people of the astrophysics group, with which we share a hallway at the Science and Technology Reasearch Institute at the university. It turned out to be a pretty good night, even though I have to get used to English beer, drunk people at 10pm already and having cheese on your chips, I guess I will just have to experience it more often.

The next night was poker night, at the other house shared by members of our research group. The level of the game was about the same as I was used to back in Groningen, so it was good fun and despite a good start I ended up with a 10 pound donation to the local community of German and French poker players. When the new financial balance was determined, there were quite some gorgeous home made chocolate cookies, philosophical and political discussions interupting stories and random gossip about girls and finally a short ride back through the icey cold to the faithful sofa.

Even though it has done it's job well, the job itself was uncomfortable enough that I still looked for another place to sleep. The university supplied me with a list of temporary lodgings that I could try and after a significant drainage of my temporary English phone credit I finally found a place with still a room available. Being in St. Albans it is a bit further away. But there is a bed. After a small bus ride and a walk with all my current belongings trailing behind me in my suitcase I now live with a family consisting of a Scot, Maltese and their daughter and son of 17 and 6 respectively. And a bed. I can stay here until I can move into a room on campus at the 24th, enjoying the nice house and neighborhood, home cooked meals included. And a bed. All I need to get through the intellectually intens first phase of my work. Have I mentioned the bed? It's a double bed!

Now I'm enjoying some British football and a wine with the man of the house, but it won't be long until I start my research on the physical and mental benefits of a bed over a couch, which I have to call a sofa so as not to confuse little British boys with words of some weird foreign language.

The other side of the road

A small walk from the bus stop, attempting to avoid the traffic on the wrong side, the asphalted pavement icy under a clear star speckled night. A quiet home to rest in after a long day, on the couch that has been my bed for the last night and will keep that function for at least one night more. If not for the void of Dutch but on my laptop screen one may not notice the difference with a Dutch student house. However, do not think that the language and it's accents used are a clear indication of the country of residence. Either the US, the UK or Germany could be the conclusion and at the university this is not any different. Only the rough mumbling of the bus and taxi drivers makes it clear you are in England, the London area more specifically and unmistakeably the birth place of Guy Ritchie.

Yesterday evening I made the journey across the Northern Sea. In the afternoon me and my parents left to go to the airport of Eindhoven. Not the nearest port, nor the biggest, but still the cheapest and most convenient, even with the layer of snow covering it. Just after notifying my British contact that all was fine time wise it was announced that the plane would have a delay of almost an hour. Luckily my planning was forgiving enough to still allow me to make it to the last coach from Stansted to Hatfield, where I was happy to see Amiy again, the person who was so hospitable to offer me this imperfect but very welcome place to sleep. And sleep I did well.

Luckily, because good sleep was what I needed to recharge after the journey and prepare for the day of today, themed 'back and forth'. Corridor D has been explored so many times it feels like I have been using it all my life. It started with my official enrollment into the university. I was a bit early, so I had to go to administration twice before they were ready for me. The process consisted of filling out information that I already supplied into a different system, double checking this information, some signing and stamping and it was concluded by taking a picture and supplying me with a shiny student pass, which proves I am now officially a student at the University of Hertfordshire!

But there the bureaucracy does not end. There is for instance the student account for online services and wireless internet that has to be arranged on the other side of campus and, not in the least, the question of housing. This couch will do for now, but I doubt multiple weeks on it will have a good impact on the quality of my sleep. So after some discussion during a couple of visits to the student center I managed to receive one more big bundle of paper which states that I will have a room on campus for half a year. Unfortunately I am not allowed to move in just yet, not even when I ask the current inhabitant nicely. The doors will not open for me until the 24th, so they supplied me with a list of people that offer temporary stay at their place to poor old hobos like me. So there is more arranging to do tomorrow.

Not that I was running out of things. I still need a bank account, for which I need a letter from the university, for which I first need the address of the bank I want to open an account with. Before I start traversing the list of phone numbers I need a British SIM card to prevent high phone bills. And then there is the situation with the computer especially bought for me and conveniently locked into the office of my supervisor, who is away for another week. This last fact makes the trouble of having to do all this stuff before actually being able to do work actually a good thing, because there isn't much research to do without discussing with my supervisor.

So off I go, to the sofa that looks like it is designed in the 70's and has been supporting buttocks continuously since then, but is still more than willing and able to receive my fatigue, to prepare for another day of Britonisation by dreaming of yet other lifes.

Empty

It has been done, the end of an era has come, a new age has started. Today was the day of the big move. My dad and I broke down all furniture, packed the last bits of junk and cleaned up my old home, erasing the last traces of my occupation of the room. 'It must be a strange feeling' people keep saying. I guess it should be, but it's still more of an idea than a feeling. When standing in the empty room the only thing going through my mind was: 'it looks the same as when I moved in. Did I actually live here for 4 years?' The only thing feeling weird is that when I want to go to Groningen again I have to remember that I have to actually arrange a place to sleep. Probably it will hit in harder when the other thing that is more an idea than a feeling, actually moving to England, will become reality in no more than 5 days.

One of the last activities of the great move was going through my memory drawer. Readers who were appalled by the sentimental undertone of my previous post may skip this section. My natural memory is not one to brag about. Actually at some times it's not even worth mentioning. Both short as long term could use some improvement, so I would remember a name 5 seconds after somebody introduced himself, important deadlines or apointments or details about past events. To help with the latter I have my Memory Drawer, the container of photos, cards, letters, tickets and even receipts and other random tokens of events in my life that could be noteworthy to remember. And once in a while I get to dig through all of it to select what is still really important to me and, moreover, to relive it all.

There are photos of the beginning of highschool, of old friends who I haven't seen or spoken for ages, of the journeys I have made. Things go back to primary school, like pictures of our old house in Gorinchem, a very interesting story about human colonisation of the solar system and evil martians and a diary kept during the hamster mating experiment with Liselotte, the girl I shared a crib with about 25 years ago. Other things I loved to see again were letters of my best friend from primary school from just after we moved to the other side of the country, the envelope with women's underwear of my 'secret admirer', the report of the trip to Rome in the 6th year of high school. And finally of course the letters, cards and other little things from old romances, some even challenging the Ilias or the Elements in volume and content. Even though these bygones are bygone, it is still fun to reminisce, relive great times and review life lessons, for instance that the definition of 'always' is rather blurry. All in all, memories have taken up a significant part of the packing time, making it more than just putting stuff into boxes.

So now everything is out of Groningen and ready for a new life, including myself. I will return there one more time to take care of the last formalities and meetings with friends and sisters and then it's off to the other side of the North sea. New year has never been this new. Even though there are things missing that I would have given a lot for to have with me to share the transition of years with, or even the whole new year, it will be exciting enough and maybe even top the wonderful year that has just passed.

Meditations

It was luck that brought me here, even though I am not sure whether luck is something I belief in. Still, I was lucky enough to end up at the place that will be my home for just a few more days. There were two parts of this luck.

Firstly, the way I came to this place. My parents live not too far from where I have enjoyed my academic education, so at first I still lived with them, commuting to the university by bus each day. Naturally, after a while this got tiresome, especially because the last bus back went at a time way before the end of an average party, so at a certain moment I decided to look for a place for myself. Only days after that decision I once again sat in the bus to a party and it happened to be that another invitee, a fellow student and friend, also took that bus. We started talking and during that discussion we came to my recently made up plan. This turned out to be more than just small talk, because later on, at the very same party, she called me to her and let me know that another attendee of the party lived in a student house where very soon a room would become available. One thing led to another and my life in the Badstratenbuurt had begun.

This was the second aspect of the luck: the great location. The neighborhood consists of only a few streets, concentrated around an old bath house, is filled with picturesque houses and the population is a mix of students, families and elders, giving it a great atmosphere. Now you may think there would be some sort of compromise to balance nature, a yang like a tiny living area. Wrong. The space I had was plenty, especially for a simple student and even more so when I transfered to the largest room in the house, where I have lived the last 4 years. I never found a better response than 'exactly' to the expression of surprise by new visitors: 'wow, this room is big'.

Usually I don't get very attached to a certain place, a home is a home is a home just like the next one, but I think I will miss this place and will often look back on my time here with joy. The most important events of my life so far have their base and left their traces here. Important people in my life have visited here, spent days here or even lived here. During the packing and cleaning I stumble upon and go through many memorabilia connected to these events and people, which is one of the more rewarding aspects of the moving process. Also I try to soak up as much of the neighborhood as possible when walking around. For instance literally in the form of the fumes coming from the tobacco plant around the corner which fills the air with its sometimes pungent but strongly habituating fumes, but also by observing the views and the people.

Most notably, there is my neighbor, the 85 year old man whose name I never learned, but who has entertained me with his stories about for instance his 105 years old mother who still lived with him only a few years ago. Every time I see him I know I will be occupied for at least the next 30 minutes, learning trivial things about neighbors I have never heard of, but also learning from his wise words about his many life experiences. These put the events in my own short life into perspective and make me look forward to the rest of it. He reminds me also of my grandma, who has been going strong and enjoying life for so long, but of who we learned today that now she is admitted to the hospital. I already planned a last visit to her before I go to England, but this new premise will probably make it less joyful.

All in all I have a great time to look back upon, which could make one sad and homesick. However, I would rather use it as an inspiration for the future, to drive me to have a time at least as great in any upcoming part of my life. There is no point in looking back to the past with melancholy or look to the future with despair. A person cannot lose what has already been, neither what is yet to be, but only this very moment.

The socks and towels conundrum

Here is a problem of which I am hardly the first to bring it up: how come socks always go missing? At times I even had a total of 6 different widowed socks that became useless by the disappearance of their significant others. To prevent their depression I attempted to do some mix-and-matching, but luckily for them, as well as for my fashion sense, lost partners have reappeared as mysteriously as their dispersal. However, my accounting of my sock stocks has never been very rigorous and I can't help to have the feeling that some have never made it back and that eventually even whole pairs have gone missing.

Like I said before, this seems to be a global problem, as shown by results of the research performed by the Bureau of Missing Socks. Many theories have been constructed to explain this phenomenon, from Brazil to leprechauns to terrorists, but I prefer a more modern scientific approach. Whatever may be the true reason, I cannot help but to see the correlation with another statistic I encountered while going through all my stuff: the surprising amount of towels I appear to own. As far as I can remember they always fit in a single drawer of my dresser, but at the moment they also occupy space originally reserved for T-Shirts. The amount of beach towels in all different colors is astounding, even when taking into account that my number of visits to sunny beaches has been higher than ever the last 18 months. However, next to this, the majority of the towel population still consists of regular towels, some of which bear labels of fabric suppliers that I have never heard of, let alone have visited. Some of them that I thought were unique suddenly turn out to have twins and of at least one I know it was destined to dry the back of somebody else. And I'm not even mentioning the kitchen towels..

So in my case I can only come to a single conclusion: somewhere in the wear-wash-dry-store cycle my socks are transformed into towels. Luckily for me and others with a working olfactory system this seems to happen in a part of the cycle where foot odor is neutralized. Still, my need for socks is greater than that for towels, so it may be time to find a way to put an end to this madness. In the meantime: anybody need a towel?