If the shoe fits...

Oh, Holland.

How can you not love a country where giant wooden shoes line the streets? For me, it was, at the very least, infatuation at first sight.

But there are many other things to love about the Netherlands. Not the least of which is the fact that some of the larger-than-life shoes double as small pleasure boats on the city's many canals - I've found my ideal sea vessel.

Other wondrous Dutch inventions include the stroopwafel, a flat, caramel, chewy concoction that melts when placed on top of a steaming mug of tea. Now you see where that grad-school 15 is going to come from.

And did I mention that Nutella is easily (and cheaply) imported? Don't even get me started on the ready availability of falafel. Obviously, Holland is my mecca.

Luckily, people walk and bike everywhere here, which offsets any pastry indulgences. A downside to this mobility is the thriving bike thievery 'business.' I even had the seat stolen off of my rent-a-bike in Amsterdam, although the loss was covered by three-euro rental insurance. Still, the depth of my sorrow was evident (see above photo).

Holland also has a thriving elderly population (not to be confused with the thriving thieves...at least not until further investigations have been completed). Nowhere else but in the Netherlands will you be forced to jump to the side of the road to make way for a white-haired, rosy-cheeked granny on a bicycle. Trust me, nothing gets in their way.

Between Vermeer, Heineken, and (hopefully) surviving the granny-laden bicycles that hurtle through the streets, I should have no problem thinking of blessings for an stroopwafel-filled expatriate Thanksgiving this November.

The International Courts

Sometimes it seems like all of the headlines are grim. Yesterday, Russian journalist Anna Politkovskaya was murdered, death tolls are rising in Iraq and, every day, I read about war crimes and atrocities committed in the Balkans during the 1990s.

It's difficult to watch the trials go on and know that, while these men and women are being prosecuted for events that took place years ago, similar things are happening in places like Darfur and Chechnya right now and not enough is being done about it.

But I still think you have to have faith in the international courts. Maybe Zimbabwe's ruler, Robert Mugabe, isn't thinking about the possibility of prosecution later in life, and his people are suffering now. But there is something to be said for justice, and I doubt Charles Taylor expected to be awaiting trial in The Hague after his dictatorship finally crumbled.

The international courts need recognition from nations, like the U.S., who have yet to support the International Criminal Court (ICC), although the U.S. does help fund the tribunals. Because, although the courts currently provide justice and closure for victims, strengthening their presence might bring them to the attention of those committing crimes today.

In other IWPR musings, I wrote my first article (with a byline) for the site, which was published on Friday.

And, just so you don't think I'm totally enveloped in a cloud of darkness and news of war crimes, I also went to a Hungarian festival this weekend and checked out The Hague's nightlife. Next up: Happy Hour Wednesday with the ICC interns.

Buckets of Rain

I've been in the Netherlands for ten days now, and have yet to buy an umbrella that won't flip inside-out in the wind. My walks are like a scene from Mary Poppins gone terribly awry.

Today, on the way home from IWPR, it started to rain...not a downpour, but still a heavy, persistent shower. I had left my hapless umbrella at home, and proceeded to get drenched.

I can't remember the last time I've been caught in a cloudburst, but there's something about it that satisfies a small, careless part of you. I don't know if it reminds you of when you were younger, or if it just seems more natural to become completely soaked rather than fumbling with an awkward umbrella that leaves a cold drizzle dripping down the back of your neck no matter which way you maneuver it.

Then again, take that too far and you could end up forty-years-old, standing on a corner in a thunderstorm singing "Who'll Stop the Rain?" while strumming the air guitar. It's all a matter of degree.

Dear Catastrophe Apartment,

Catastrophe #1: Losing power on the first night in my apartment.

Catastrophe #2: Realizing landlord left behind a pair of navy briefs in my apartment. Awkward. May throw them away. Realized am writing in Bridget-Jones style. Will stop.

Catastrophe #3: Losing Internet on the second day in the apartment. Horrors.