This Time, Amsterdam

In the last three years, I have maintained two other web logs. I thought I had something to say, and as it turned out, it was more like I had some things I wanted to capture. In 2010 I lived in Phnom Penh, Cambodia for two months while employed at the International School of Phnom Penh as an English teacher. My life for eight weeks can be seen in Two Months From Home at http://www.twomonthsfromhome.blogspot.com.

With no random connection, I was able to procure a position at The International School of Amsterdam in 2012 as a fifth grade teacher. To do so, I lived and worked in Holland for six months and wrote about it in Waking Up in Holland at www.jthanner.blogspot.com. Through that blog, I captured in words and pictures what I saw, what I did, what I learned, and how I felt. To say farewell in the entry titled Coda, in a silly mock interview, Playboy style (one does need a splash of color) I wrote “until next time.”

Interesting phrase that. “Until next time” is hopeful. “Until next time” is optimistic. It seems to indicate a level of admiration or even adoration—until next time, I will live with the memory of you. Which, of course, we can’t avoid. In my case, my memories of Holland are so astoundingly fond, I sought the opportunity to relive the dream-come-true.

Sort of. In Waking Up in Holland I claimed I would never leave again without Gwaz, (so named thanks to the grandkids) and I meant it. In the autumn of 2012 after three months back home I learned of another opportunity at ISA. (There are two choices here: I can give you the almost daily exchange of what-ifs required to work through the myriad of considerations before a married couple of nearly forty years packs it up and heads to Europe for six months, or I can tell you—we’re here.)

For reasons related closely to heritage, nurturing, and personality disorder I hesitate to describe the preparations required to be here now. The only part I will share is my complete frustration with the rental agents and their Dutchness. I am on record as saying that Dutch people don’t worry, they don’t even seem to care, they never apologize, and a lot of the time, they don’t seem to even recognize the presence of others. All Dutch people? Nah, stereotyping is thin ice; but stereotypes are stereotypes for daggone good reason—there’s a level of reality somewhere in there.

In Next Time, Amsterdam I will surely get around to describing our apartment, the life-threatening staircase leading to it, and the process by which it was found and procured—Dutch rental agents and all, but my goal is to capture our lives together—Gwaz’s and mine—over the next six months. A few readers have contacted me to ask if there will be a blog this time (or as they say it “another blog”). I told them all that the commitment, the dedication, just the time required was enough not to attempt it yet again. I was resolute—not this time. Then my youngest nephew wrote this: I wanted to ask if you were going to set up a blog again.  It is truly enjoyable to share your experience through your words.  Last year, I checked your blog everyday.  Just letting you know you have a fan here in Baltimore.

Years ago, I imagined living and working in Europe. You know, the usual “what-if” stuff. If not Europe, then out west, maybe L.A. or in San Francisco, perhaps Mexico or the Carribbean. Mine was London. Now I think I imagined London because they speak English (although you’d never know it some times.) Matt’s email makes me think that maybe everybody imagines something similar at some point.  Maybe, just maybe, Next Time, Amsterdam will be a chance for others to know what it might be like if they weren’t doing what they’re already doing.

We don’t choose where we’re born; but we do choose where we live, and for Gwaz and me, this time, Amsterdam.